#cliché bullshit

[earlgodwin]

"The fact that Juan is aware of [Cesare and Lucrezia's affair] and concerned by it is quite an interesting one. I don’t think he’s jealous of them being together. I think he’s jealous of not being a part of it as well. " — David Oakes

[faggylittleleatherboy]

The reason Jegulus got so big and why everyone fucking loves Regulus is because he represents a character that did everything wrong until the last minute and who on top of that feels like he’s unlovable and has a deep self hatred; and in spite of all those things there’s still someone who loves him unconditionally.

Regulus doesn’t need to put in the work to become a better person, to not treat people like shit, to think about the consequences of his own actions on himself and others. He doesn’t need to think or do anything, because there’s someone who takes the blame and responsibility for everything wrong he does and there’s someone who loves him like that (even when he treats that person like shit before and during the relationship).

It’s just because he represents feeling loved even when you fuck up in every possible way and feel no one could love you. It’s a massive self insert, he represents a free pass, that’s it.

[br1ghtestlight]

giving myself false hope maybe but i think i could finish my childhood friends boblin summer vacation fic by boblin week?? maybe?

[notajoinerofthings]

so, so tired of the whole dreiecksgeschichte in nord bei nordwest 🙃

[pinktinselmonstrosity]

[writes one hundred words of pure nonsense] ah time for a tumblr break methinks

[eddiernunson]

"Do You Want One?" | Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader | 18+

Summary: your cousin shows you around Hawkins High for your first day, and is surprised to say the least when her sweet cousin hooks onto Eddie Munson. Just seeing him brings a swoop to your stomach you've never quite felt before, and become desperate for more of him.

Warnings: late bloomer!reader, virgin!reader, mentions never having experienced lust of the sort or really understanding what it is, corruption!kink, little praise, taking of virginity, slight perv!eddie

Authors' note: I, myself didn't feel any sort of sexual attraction or lust until i was 15/16. I tried to write the reader innocent without being infantilized. Also, these photos are for aesthetics only, not much of the reader is described, except for height. Also, my editor pulled through, despite her busy schedule, thanks @forget-you-morelike-fuck-you! This is a birthday present to @bebe07011, always one of the first to read <3

Word Count: 9k

The subtle, yet annoying ring of your alarm yanks you out of your sleep, a sleep that took hours to settle into after anxious tossing and turning. A yawn overtakes your body as you sit up, looking around sleepily at the boxes that contain the contents of your room. You whine as the stars overflow your vision from the rubbing of your eye.

Your tongue clicks against the roof of your mouth, tasting the mint of your mouthwash when your mom pushes a bagel into your hand. Most of the kitchen is still in boxes, just a few appliances on the unnaturally bare counters. “Hey, Aunt Karen just called and said Nancy will be here any minute.” She offers, and a part of you feels for the bags under her eyes.

“Thanks.” You say, garbled with a piece of bagel in your mouth.

“Oh, and Mike is being a little testy, so he probably won’t move from the front seat for you.” She laughs, shaking her head.

You shrug, not caring. “I’ve been in the backseat for this long.”

Two honks out the front announce their arrival, and you ignore the anxious reminders she hurriedly spits out as you grab your backpack by the front door, already filled with school supplies from Texas. You shout an I love you to her as the Wheelers’ Station Wagon comes into your sight from the swung open door, finally out of her worried clutches that you’ve been in from the last week straight.

True to Aunt Karen’s word, Mike gave a defiant look when Nancy demanded he get out the front seat. Again, you didn’t care. “Sorry Mike has a ruler up his ass.” Nancy apologizes, her smirk reaching your own in the rearview.

You roll your eyes, a signal that it really doesn’t matter to you.

Hawkins, miniscule in comparison to that of your old home, Houston, passes by in the windows and you huff a sigh out at how much smaller your world has gotten. Your town, your school…you wish you could go back and give a reality check to the girl who patronized Nancy for it on the phone.

As promised, Nancy shows you to the front office and your first few classes. Being the new girl in the middle of a semester is absolute bullshit, but at least it wasn’t Forks, Washington levels of bullshit. That level of attention would’ve had you crawling under a bridge. Thank God only one teacher asked you to introduce yourself to the class. The rest of them couldn’t even be bothered.

Nancy sits alone at lunch, a notepad in her hand next to a near empty lunch tray. One thing you notice is that this school is much more categorized than yours was. It felt straight out of a high school dramedy, one you would criticize for being cliché.

Oh. Maybe it does some have truth to it.

“Hey loner.” You greet her, your butt hitting the hard plastic chair.

“I’m not a loner.” She huffs, hand moving absentmindedly as she writes. “My news team is getting this week’s paper done, we usually get it done during lunch.”

You roll your eyes, having noted the empty space on her tray. “You work too hard.”

“Nope. If you fail to plan, you plan to fail.” She answers, her signature side smirk on her face. Sometimes, only sometimes, Nancy doesn’t really have a serious bone in her body.

You gesture to the cafeteria, opening your fruit cup. “So, tell me about your very categorized cafeteria.”

She laughs, pausing in the middle of the sentence she’s writing. “So. There’s the jocks/cheerleaders, the nerds, the band nerds, drama nerds, science nerds—"

“Those are different from the regular nerds?” You ask, eyebrow quirked.

“Yes.” She deadpans. “Those are the kids without a clique,” she points, a bunch of kids not interacting, shyly nibbling at their lunches. “And finally, where my brother sits. Hellfire.”

It felt dramatic, but the table definitely earned their last but not least position. They stand out from the crowd, not seeming to care about fitting in like everyone else so desperately does. From the looks of it, individually, none of them would fit in the crowd. As a group, they stick out like a sore thumb. They don’t even care.

Nancy seems to be speaking, but she fades into the background. While you tricked yourself into believing you were observing the table, it occurs to you your eyes are fixated on the head of it, your heart beating out of your chest as you stare at him.

Him.

“Who’s he?” You interrupt Nancy, watching as his long frizzy hair curtain over his face. You didn’t even know someone in real life could be this good looking, you were sure it was reserved for celebrities in magazines.

Nancy switches her glance back and forth between your slack jaw and wide eyes and him. “That’s Eddie Munson.” She answers, her voice calculated. “The dork that I complained about Mike copying, remember?”

Your tongue reaches out to lick your lips, staring at him distractedly. A hot feeling in the swell of your gut overwhelms your senses. “You described a wet-rat loser.”

Nancy huffs in abrupt laughter. “That’s cause he is!”

“Him?” You ask, this hot feeling starting to radiate. You notice it’s especially hot in your crotch, a sort of…want you’ve never felt before. You’ve never craved for anyone this badly.

Nancy laughs in disbelief, surprised to say the least that her sweet cousin is openly drooling over Eddie The Freak Munson of all people. “I can put in a good word, if you want.” She teases, smirking at the way your eyes widen in panic.

“No, no, please don’t.” You insist, your eyes finally flickering back to her.

“Fine, you can drool from afar.” She muses. “Oh, lunch’ll be over in a handful of minutes. What’s your next class?”

“History.” You answer, viewing your crumpled schedule. God, not another boring lecture.

Nancy bites her lip, something she’s clearly not willing to share with the class. You don’t ask, still trying to catch your breath.

She walks you across the school to the classroom littered with historical figures and maps. She salutes you, telling you she’ll see you in AP Calculus right after this one. The look on her face never leaves it, she’s always got a secret right under the surface, but this one seemed more entertaining than the rest.

When you enter the classroom, the teacher tells you there’s assigned seats in this one and lucky for you, there’s one seat left. She directs you to the far-left corner, signalling to the one on the right. You shyly ignore the looks on your new classmates faces, all of them observing the face of the new kid who started so late in the year.

New faces are always hard to ignore, it’s just human nature to stare. Still, your stage fright is present in the forefront of your mind.

Your teacher starts the lecture by introducing you as a new kid, offering a wave to everyone that turns their head to look at you. Why can’t teachers just learn to be normal?

Your head is turned down, leaning on your elbow as she starts to explain a concept you’ve already learned last year. Are they sure they put you in a grade 12 class? At least this will be easier than most. Suddenly the heavy door opens, and your heart stutters as the man who’s taken over your every thought stumbles into the room ten minutes late.

“Mr. Munson! How nice of you to join us!” She greets, her scowl indicating that it’s anything but.

“You are so welcome, Miss. Greyson.” Eddie answers, his voice dripping in a tenor tone that sends a shiver down your spine. Not a lick of sarcasm comes from him, answering as if she was genuine.

She sighs, closing her eyes in exasperation. “Just go have a seat.”

Something in you suddenly realizes that the only available seat is right next to yours. A thrill takes over you, biting your lip excitedly as he struts as if he has all the time in the world.

After a brief stint on the projector, Miss. Greyson instructs the class to open their textbooks and answer questions on the following pages. “You may work in pairs.” She answers the many raised hands, and the room is filled by the harsh sound of desks groaning against the floor.

You get up from your desk, leaning into the teacher as she gathers the laminated sheets she had just used for the lesson. “I don’t have a textbook, yet.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry.” She replies, dropping her pile to shuffle off to her desk. “I completely forgot, in all the excitement.” She hands you the textbook that looks about fifteen years old, the spine cracked to oblivion. She leans in as you grab it, an apologetic look on her face. “I’m sorry about the placement of your desk, just ignore him. There was no one I hated in this classroom enough to place next to him.”

You resist the urge to raise an eyebrow, perplexed at her open disdain for him. It reminded you of the tone of voice Nancy had over the phone, wondering if the whole school was really this open about it. “I’ll live.” You answer, and she winks like you two share a secret.

Your textbook lands harshly on the desk, opening it to the page indicated in white chalk written on the blackboard. God, the reading is four pages, and the questions are a paragraph each. This much reading on the downfall of Mycenae? A jarring noise to your left surprises you, looking up to face his desk come closer and closer.

He leans over, a smile on his face that sends a thrill right through you. “So, how come I’ve never seen you around?”

He talks low, you spend the time hoping he doesn’t notice the goosebumps that trails over your skin. “Uh, I just started today.” You beg yourself to seem normal, to look him in the eyes like a decent conversationalist. You can’t bring yourself to, no matter how hard you try. Somehow you know when you finally look in those eyes of his, you’ll be too mesmerized to look away.

The printed words on the page make no sense, just a blur of boring text in black and white.

He leans back in his chair; you can feel his eyes planted on you. “Ah, makes sense. I would’ve remembered seeing your pretty face around.”

Oh my god he just called me pretty. Surely, he’s lying? Being in his line of sight and being considered good looking enough to him for him to even glance at was never in your wildest imagination, picturing him glazing right over you. Just a bug on the windshield. You gulp, pretending to be infatuated with the page in front of you instead of the man next to you.

“You shy?” He asks. In the corner of your eye, you see him leaning onto his elbow, his eyes staring a hole in your head.

Finally, you tear your glance off the textbook and onto him. God were you right about his eyes. How can a pair of brown eyes be so captivating? They’re a perfect chocolate brown, his mouth in a lopsided expression that sucks the air out of your lungs. “A little.” You admit, distracted by the sound of his fingers tapping rhythmically on the desk.

His limber fingers are dressed in chunky silver rings, the sight of his hands moving distractedly suddenly sends the heat you felt in your stomach earlier into a frenzy, the pull strong and overwhelming. “I can work with that.” A shy smile lands on your face, clenching your teeth as a method of resisting the urge to smile ear to ear. “Can I get a name?”

You tell him and hearing it from his lips is a vice and a half. “And you’re Eddie.” You say before he can introduce himself.

“So, my reputation precedes me.” He laughs, crossing his arms. “Or am I exactly like they said?”

You shrug. “Not exactly.”

His shoulders indicate a silent huff of laughter. “Care to expand on that?”

You shrug again. “You’re just…different.”

The look on his face indicates this answer isn’t good enough, but he doesn’t care to ask you to expand any further. As you work on your homework, finally settling your heartbeat and breathing rate, he writes in a notebook littered with graffiti. His left foot rests on the edge of his desk, the book resting on his thigh as he writes with the dull pencil.

He’s not doing any homework, but he’s at least letting you work on yours. The bell finally rings, dismissing you from your class and the room fills with chatter as everyone packs their bags. “You know where your next class is?”

You shake your head; having told Nancy you could work it out on your own. “Uh, no. It’s AP Calculus with Mr. Warner.”

“Mr. Warner.” He muses, his notebook in one hand and carrying a small metal tin. “Here, I’ll walk you.”

You pause, gulping as your bag rests on one shoulder. “You don’t have to do that.” You insist, suddenly realizing he’s about a whole head taller than you.

He smiles, his gaze making you feel…hot. “I didn’t ask, sweetheart.”

The way you gulp, your wide eyes darting back and forth between his, your teeth biting on your bottom lip nervously, Eddie was startled at the physical reaction and it was all going straight to his dick. The urge to shove his thumb between your pretty, plump lips is overwhelming, to say the least.

“Oh.” You answer, fingernails digging into the strap of your backpack. “Then lead the way.”

Eddie shakes his head, starting down the hallway to the other end of the school. As soon as he reaches the classroom, he turns around, leaning against the locker on his arm, neck hunching over you. Oh god, he’s gorgeous. “Will you let me take you out on a date, tonight?”

Every bone in your body wants to say yes, fingers just itching to reach out and touch his lithe hips. “My mom won’t let me go out on a Monday.”

So, that was not a No. “I would’ve asked for Friday, but I can’t wait that long.”

His admission drives you crazy, that heat ever present. Things like this just don’t happen. “Neither can I.” You admit, feeling scared of the rush that overwhelms you, yet scared of the idea of it never happening. You think quickly, biting your lip. “Think you can pick me up from my cousin’s house?”

He squints, crossing his arms as he leans against the locker. “Who’s your cousin?"

“Nancy Wheeler.”

His eyes bug out of the sockets, sighing in disbelief. “You’re cousins with Wheeler?” You nod, wondering if there’s any unspoken animosity between them. “I’ve dropped her kid brother off a few times, I know where she lives. You gonna tell your mom where you’re heading out for the night?”

You shake your head, sure he knows the answer, already.

Eddie huffs, hoping the crotch of his pants won’t give him away. “You ever snuck out before?”

“No.” You answer, looking up as the bell rings. “But I’m sure I can manage.”

You can’t place the expression on his face, somewhere between bewildered and amused.

For the record, it’s pure lust, having just met you and he’s already accidentally convincing you to sneak out for him. He wants you to, wondering if one day you’ll go so far to skip class to have fun with him under the bleachers.

His eyes leer down your body, watching as your skirt dances across your bare thighs while your feet can’t stay in place. He plays with his fingers absentmindedly, just barely resisting the urge to move them past the barrier and watch your face melt in pleasure.

“What time?” Eddie asks, eyes flickering up to your sweet face.

You think about it, knowing you’ll need time to grab at least a dress and get ready at the Wheelers’. “7:30.”

Eddie laughs, turning away from you and back down the hall to where you presumed his class was. “Pick you up at 7.”

“I-I said 7:30!”

“I’ll honk twice!” He answers, hand in his pocket like he didn’t just glue you into place.

The echo of his voice suddenly reminds you the halls are empty, only a few feet away from Mr. Warners classroom. You know more than anyone that AP Calculus students just aren’t late. Maybe he’ll give you grace on your first day.

You ignore the way every set of eyes switch to you, looking around the room for an empty seat. Luckily, Nance has saved one right next to you. “Hi, sorry. Couldn’t find it.”

“That’s alright, take this and have a seat right next to Miss.Wheeler, there.” He offers, gesturing to your cousin.

When the lecture ends and he assigns homework, she gets right to the point. “So, how was History?”

You sigh, rolling your eyes in exasperation. “You knew he’d be there.” You accuse, her grin affirming your assumption completely. “A warning would’ve been nice.”

“Not like you had to speak to him.” Nancy sighs, opening her textbook to the page indicated.

You stare at her pointedly, opening your book to a random page. “I sat next to him.”

Nancy instinctively knows something is up, seeing something was on your mind. “There’s something you’re not telling me.”

“You’ve barely given me a chance.” You comment sarcastically, looking over at her expectant face. “He…he asked me out.”

To say Nancy is surprised at this development would be simply, an understatement. “I’m sorry?”

You grin, finally letting that smile you’ve been hiding take over. “He’s picking me up at 7.”

“Like your mom will let you go out on a weekday.” She squints, knowing your mom’s tendencies to make you prioritize school over anything else.

“…which is why I need you to cover for me.” You hesitate, grinning shyly when she gives you a look of utter disbelief.

“Seriously?” You nod, pleading with her silently. “Fine. But you owe me big.”

You promise to make it up to her.

When the bell rings signifying the end of the day, your heart beats rapidly as the time for your date comes closer and closer. Nancy said she wouldn’t be able to help with your conundrum of the fact that you’ll need a dress and a way to get from your house to Nancy’s.

As you sit next to her while she writes a rough copy of an article wondering who you could possibly get to drive you. You might be shit out of luck. Like an angel, a freckled redhead appears out of nowhere. “Nance, is that the cousin?” She asks, sitting right across from you.

From the look on Nancy’s face, you’re unsure how close they actually are. “Yep.”

“Cool! I’m Robin, over-sharer, anxiety ridden, fast talker. Nice to meet ya.”

You take her extended hands, sort of hypnotized by her warm green eyes. “You too.”

“Hey, Steve busy?” Nancy asks, a million thoughts behind her head.

“Probably not.” Robin offers, getting up from the table. “Why?”

“Oh, she needs a ride.”

Robin eyes you, a smirk landing on her face. “I can convince him.” She side eyes, gesturing for you to follow.

You follow her around the school to the front where you face a handsome lanky dude sitting impatiently as he waits for his friend. When he turns the window down to ask who you are, you realize he’s not just handsome, he’s hot. God, you’ll have to reprimand Nancy for leaving that detail out. “What’s with the guest?”

“She’s Nance’s cousin. She needs a ride, would you mind?”

“What am I, a chauffeur?” Steve asks, face shifting into a deep scowl.

You stop Robin from responding, having an immediate comeback. “I had to listen to my cousin bitch about you for hours. Hours. I think I deserve a little compensation for my time, don’t you?”

Steve smirks, looking from under the hair falling into his face. “Whatever, get in.”

“Where you need a ride to?” He asks as you get into his backseat.

“My house.” You pause, hesitating to say the second location. “Then Nancy’s house.”

Steve squints suspiciously at you in his rear view. “Why two locations?”

“So my date can pick me up tonight.” You admit, glancing out the window shyly.

Robin turns in her seat, jaw dropping open. “Isn’t this your first day?”

You shrug, biting back a smile. “So?”

“Oh shit.” She glances to Steve and back to you. “Who? Do we know him?”

“Um, probably.”

“We know him.” Robin states.

“Turn here, third house on the left…” you tell him, getting out of his car as soon as it stops.

When you get inside your house, you explain to your mom you are way further behind on school than you thought you were and will need some time to get caught up. She asks how late you’ll be, and when you say midnight, she doesn’t even hesitate to let you go.

Thank god you don’t lie, because this should not be this easy. Your hands ruffle through the box of dresses by your bed, grabbing at a few you know look good on you. They’re stuffed into your backpack, cursing yourself for not unpacking your makeup earlier. Hopefully Nancy will be nice enough to lend you some. (You doubt it.)

You rush a love you out to your mom and back into Steve’s back seat, out of breath from running up and down the stairs so damn fast. God, the things you were doing for your goddamn date.

Nancy only lives down a few blocks from you, thus the easy carpool your moms figured out until you get your car. God, in Houston you could’ve just taken a METRORail, you didn’t need a damn car. You thank Steve profusely, thankful for his saving grace.

You would rather tell every member of Hawkins Senior class personally a fun fact about you than go out with Eddie in the same thing you wore to school. You’re shy, not pathetic.

“You don’t owe him anything if you tell us who asked you out.” She calls out of her open window, face full amusement. “C’mon!”

You wait as they pull forward, Steve shaking his head at his best friend’s shenanigans. “It’s Eddie Munson!” You shout, laughing as she shouts a what in utter disbelief.

You wave as they take off, thinking you and her could actually be great friends. She has the kind of spunk you look for in a friend, the same spunk you’ve witnessed in your cousin. A large part of you wonders why they’re not friends.

When your Aunt Karen wonders why she wasn’t alerted, you give the disclaimer you’re just there to catch up on the schoolwork. Your Uncle Ted insinuates Houston must be so far behind Hawkins, and you grit a smile in response, an indent on the tip of your tongue from your teeth. Most of your lessons from the school day you had learned last year, already earning top marks on those questions. The only class that was remotely hard was calculus.

It was borderline hilarious.

You run up the stairs, stomach in knots.                                                                         

Nancy is nice enough to let you use her makeup, grinning up at you with amusement as you ruffle through the dresses you so hurriedly packed. She gives a definite yes to a dress you knew stands out but worry at the way it just brushes against your thigh, and the neckline dives deeper than what you’re used to.

When it cascades down your body, the look in her stark green eyes tells you everything you need to know. This was the dress. Nancy is kind enough to do your hair, talking quietly with you as she curls your hair.

The half hour leading up to 7 has you lying on her bed, freaking out. She does the homework you’re supposed to be doing, answering your questions vaguely. She tries to make you feel better, grinning cheekily as she never imagined her sweet cousin going on date with Hawkin’s resident metal head.

When two honks occur down the street, you sit up starkly at the sound, biting your lip as you glance to her. “Go. I’ll distract my parents.”

She does, asking them for faux advice in the living room as you sneak past them to the front door, closing it with the most care you could muster. When you don’t hear any commotions, that gives you the go ahead to run down the street to the large van that sticks out, headlights on as it sits idly.

You peer up at him through the passenger window, waving as he unlocks it for you. The lopsided smile on his face starts that heat up again, like he turns on burners all over your body at will. The door shuts behind you, and you smile up at him shyly when he turns down the music.

“You look…wow.” He compliments you, watching the way your eyes look up at him, that beautiful shine.

You assess his outfit, a leather jacket worn with a graphic t-shirt and jeans with rips at the knee. He looked casual, but damn fine regardless. Him losing his metal accessories and devil-may-care look probably would’ve disappointed you, anyway. “So do you.” You offer back, taking in the way he looks as he starts his van and pulls out.

“Thanks.” He winks, turning at a traffic intersection. “So, there are several places we can go, the movies, Hal’s Diner, Benny’s Burgers, bowling alley, the Drive In, up to you, sweetheart.” He insists, driving his van around the small town.

The only thing you want at the current moment is to be in close quarters with him, with the need to kiss him crazy, a need you’ve experienced far too much this quickly. There’s only one thing that allows that. “Drive in.” You decide, the prospect of those same close quarters sending a thrill down your spine.

Eddie signals left, the drive-in location the opposite way from where he’s been driving. “Sounds good, love.”

Eddie doesn’t ignore the way you subtly avoid eye contact from him, shyly looking at your near bare thighs. By the way, were you trying to get a rise out of him with this wonderfully slinky dress you’re wearing? The moment you crawled into his van he was overthrown by your sweet perfume and the way your dress smooths over your gorgeous curves. It’s too hard, impossibly hard, to resist leaning in for your sweet scent, to nuzzle his nose in your neck. The idea that you don’t want to leave the intimacy of the van any more than he does is enough to bring the urge to readjust the crotch of his jeans.

By the time he pulls up into the far corner of the lot, turning on his radio so it connects with the movie mid-beginning credit scene, you take in the sparce parking lot, only a few vehicles spread apart sporadically. Well, you wanted intimate. You wanted close, now you've got it. His freshly showered self with the mix of his cologne just adding fuel to the ever-increasing fire.

This fire suddenly sends the need to squeeze your legs together, not completely understanding the feeling, but there’s an inkling. An instinct that on some level you know what it is, but no one ever warned you it could be this intense.

The first act of the movie is shared by you and Eddie laughing at the same jokes together, grabbing candy from his hands when he offers it. You sip on a straw in a glass coke bottle, if only to calm the nerves combined with heat that has completely overshadowed any sense you seem to have. Eddie leans back comfortably in his fabric covered seat, a hand landing on your bare thigh.

Oh, that turned up the heat several notches. It starts to become clearer that this heat is what can now be more clearly defined as a want. A want for…more of his hands, further up, him, close to you. Closer.

As your thighs tense and clench under his touch, Eddie can’t hold back any more like he planned. His other hand is tucked under your chin, lifting your big eyes to look up at his. His thumb brushes against your bottom lip, your mouth parting as you look up at him with stars in your eyes. “Can I?”

Your eyebrows furrow, breath stuttering as you peer up at him. You nod your head, glancing at his shiny pink lips. Every inch of air is tugged from your lungs as he leans forward, lips open as he places them on yours.

Eddie had every intention of kissing you delicately, the way he knows you deserve to be kissed, gently and patiently. As soon as the whimper leaves your throat and vibrates into his mouth, he forgets his good intentions. The kiss turns dirty, fast, the pressure of his spread hand increasing in the best fucking way, making your body fold involuntarily towards him.

Just when you’re enjoying the feeling of his tongue against yours, mewling pathetically against his lips, Eddie starts to kiss down your throat. You sigh, leaning back as that heat finally gains a resolve. Oh, god you're horny. Is that what that is? No wonder teenage boys are such perverts.

The combination of teeth and tongue is everything you needed and more; every muscle feeling like jelly as his lips and hands work like magic over you. Eddie licks a strip up to your ear, a startled and blissful moan filling up the car. He skips right past the pleasantries, past any inclination that you were anything other than wild for eachother. “You ever touch yourself, sweetheart?”

Only God knows why, but the dirty sentence just makes you hungrier for him, more eager. However, the answer to that jarring question is an honest and stuttered, “No.”

 Eddie separates from you, giving you a look, you can’t quite place. “Wait, really?” You confirm it, breathing heavily, gasping as his eyes visibly darken. “So, you’ve never cum before?”

The sentence makes your eyes widen, gulping at that gorgeous face of his. You think you know what he means, but you still need clarification.

“Orgasm, princess. Have you ever had an orgasm?” He asks, a hand placed on your cheek as he watches your reaction.

Oh. That’s what you thought. That’s an absolute and definitive, “No.”

His fingers increase their pressure, a reflex of from his reaction. God, you’re more innocent than he even knew. The idea of even teaching you what it means to get off sends a swoop through his gut, picturing you looking at him with those wide eyes as he corrupts you.

God, does he want to corrupt you. He wants to corrupt every inch of you, turn you into someone who begs him to skip class so you can guzzle on his cock. The way you stare up at him waiting for a response, eyes glazed over as you wait for him to continue kissing you, as if you don’t even remember you’re at a drive in to begin with.

His cock has never hurt so much from the blood pulsing through it, probably an angry red at this point.

“Can I give you one?” He asks, thumb starting to rub on your bottom lip again.

“An-an orgasm?” You stutter, voice squeaking through the question. He’s gorgeous, the way he stares down at you, those same chocolate brown eyes making that heat pool. Despite the fear, the arousal is greater. “Uh, sure.”

He smirks, watching your eyes dart back and forth nervously. “You’re sure?”

“Yes.” You confirm, pulling him for the kiss you so desperately crave. You weren’t sure how it happens, your hands having a damn mind of their own. Despite him pulling away, he slips back into the kiss easily, the hand on your thigh and hand on your face making you feel dizzy.

You’ve had kisses before, but you knew you were missing something in them. At last, you’ve found it, desperately clinging onto his kiss. God, he’s good at making you turn into mush, relaxing into his seats almost completely.

His hand inches up your thigh, waiting for you to protest. Your breath hitches as he gets closer and closer. “I'm gonna make you feel so good.” He promises, his hot breath turning you into a liquid. Finally, his hand lands on the cotton of your underwear, his strokes tugging mewls into his open mouth. “Shit, you’re soaked, baby. You even know how much you want me? Probably confusing, hmm?”

He puts pressure at the top, rubbing small circles and it feels like fire is set to your center, gasping as your concentration falls apart. His fingers feel good, in a way you didn’t think was possible. Words in your mind echo the thought of how damn good he feels, mouth attempting to tell him, but nothing comes out but wanton gasps.

Eddie watches you wither in his chair, legs opening for him. Sure, giving you an orgasm is a fierce turn on, but knowing you’ve never experienced any type of pleasure or want is sent straight to his cock. He remembers learning how good it felt to start rubbing his cock when it got hard, how often he started doing it when he realized it led to something.

All he wants to do is turn you into a pervert, one orgasm at a time.

That same warmth that’s made home in your gut starts to build, your thighs tensing up when it occurs to you what its building to. “Fuck.” You gasp, Eddie humming at the swear that leaves your lips. “Close, and I haven’t even really touched you, hmm?” He muses, lips starting to add a second sensation on your neck with his hot and wet tongue.

He pushes your underwear aside, fingers finally making direct contact with the wet slick of your folds. “Eddie.” You gasp. The skin on skin makes your head spin, clutching onto his leather jacket with desire. The pleasure jumps up thirty notches, that build reaching an all-time high. Nothing has ever felt better, never so fantastic. Again, now you understand why teenagers are such perverts.

“Let me see you cum, I can feel it coming, baby.” He whispers, licking his lips.

He slides a finger deep in you, the sudden intrusion alien but welcome. On the edge, you become even more completely desperate for him. How was his finger even better? How was that possible? The feat thrills you, happily and willingly giving into everything he gives you. “Damn. Baby. You look so fucking good, think you can cum for me?”

His fingers hook within you, and it pushes you over the edge you’ve been staring down, stars invading your vision, the heat you’ve felt everywhere, all at once. Your tight entrance pulses around his fingers, twitching, not aware of the loud, whiny moans that Eddie’s sure the concession stand less than twenty feet away can hear, but he’s proud of it, grinning maniacally at his hard work.

He guides you through it, thrusting his fingers as he watches you come apart under his touch. When you stop shaking, his hand rubs your pussy gently, admiring the slick that is now pooled down your thighs and even onto his chair. He smirks, catching your eye when they finally open to face him. “How’re you doing, love?”

You forget to be shy in your smile, grinning maniacally as you grab him, yanking him in for a hot, wet kiss. It’s even dirtier than before, attempting to show him how grateful you feel for his magical fingers. “That was…so…good.” You mumble, smiling wider when you can feel him do the same.

“Feels good, hmm?” He asks, his fingers still stroking you gently.

“Jesus.” You answer, thighs convulsing involuntarily.

Eddie chuckles, amused that it takes you cumming to cum out of your shell. “You’re pretty like this, you know?” You roll your eyes, and he can feel the dismissal of his compliment. “Can I eat you out, baby?” It shouldn’t be this embarrassing, but it is. You barely know any of this terminology, and he can feel you tense up below him, your once liquid limbs turning to steel. “You have no idea what that means, do you, baby?”

You shake your head, gulping in the embarrassment.

“That’s ok. Of course, I don’t mind helping you.” Eddie doesn’t mind. When he says that he’s under exaggerating, not showing an ounce of his true feelings. How much does it take for you to squirm under his dirty words? How much patience does he have before he begs you to let him shove his hardened cock down your throat. How long will it be until you’re riding him like a porn star? If he was even slightly sleezier, he’d bet on it with someone. “I’d make that pretty pussy feel even better with my tongue.”

Oh. That sounds miles better than anything your brain could’ve come up with. You bite your lip, staring up at him with pure want. “You’d do that?”

“If you’re willing to come into the back with me.” He muses, nodding his head to his elongated trunk. You turn your head, facing a fleece blanket placed on the floor of the van with a few pillows. Did he do this for you, or is it always this nice?

Eddie doesn’t think you can get any cuter, but when you nod excitedly, starting to crawl into the back before he can say anything, he’s proven dead wrong. He’s never been so happy to be wrong. As you crawl, he watches your ass, your underwear still pulled to the side as the shine on your folds is still visible in the light of the movie.

He smiles, crawling as soon as you land awkwardly on the floor of the van. You sit cross legged waiting for him, one spaghetti strap fallen off your shoulder as you bite your lip anxiously. It doesn’t help Eddie that the strap on your shoulder starts to reveal a breast, just peeking at the top of the nipple. He’s barely seen you, just at the tip of the iceberg of touching you, and he’s about to pop from the anticipation.

How are you doing this to him so easily?

Eddie leans in for a kiss, something as soft as he wanted to give you the moment he saw you sitting in the desk next to his, but his hormones got the worst of him. He kisses each bare shoulder, admiring the way you relax into it.  His long fingers reach to the already fallen strap, fingers brushing as he tugs it down further, fully exposing the partially exposed tit. Your heart races, loud, too loud, in your temple and you wonder if he can hear it.

Eddie can’t, as heartbeats are usually inaudible to the naked ear. He can hear, however, the way those sweet breaths get louder, faster, and even more utterly pathetic for him. Eddie feels a goal take over his mind like a parasite, one he welcomes with a bed made. He plans to make you moan and whine louder so that everyone within ten miles can hear how good you feel, what a good whore you are—he’s getting ahead of himself.

Right now, he focuses on making you feel comfortable, helping you become at ease so you will never be self-conscious with him, never afraid of being too loud, or too eager. He can’t imagine ever thinking otherwise with you. He thought he knew the definition of impossible, but now he knows he had no clue.

Every sensible, distinguishable thought has left your brain, too focused on how good his tongue and teeth feel as he expertly works on your beaded nipple. His brain is going a million miles per hour, yours left behind in the middle of a desert. His hand guides the other strap down your shoulder, fully exposing your chest, the soft material falling so it sits wrapped around your hips.

Teeth scrape against the curve of your breast, as if his tongue is attempting to taste every inch, every centimetre of it. One hand smoothing the skin just below them. Wet kisses trail down your torso, tongue dipping into your navel, the sweet swell of your stomach, his dull nails digging into your soft flesh, the pain adding to the beauty of the mixed sensations.

Your pussy is raging in fire, shouting for the same attention he had been so generous at providing. He feels your thighs tensing, attempting to provide friction for yourself where you need it the most. “Does it hurt, baby?” He asks, mouth now at the base of your neck. “Does that sweet pussy hurt for it?” You nod, rubbing your thighs like a damn cricket. “Oh, I know, I’ll make it all feel better, don’t you worry.”

He admires your face, the way your eyes are closed with the muscles beautifully crumpled up.

“Lie down for me, and I’ll eat that fucking pretty pussy.” Without hesitation, you lay down, shifting your body so you can lie comfortably on the floor of the van.

When you do, his hands tug at the fabric around your waist, not pulling it off you, just clutching it like a vice. They slink under it, fingers tight on the waistband on your panties as he pulls them down your legs. As they leave your feet, pulling them around your heels, Eddie stares at the drenched middle, fingers playing with the thick slick that had gathered. Eddie seems to have a talent for stealing the air from your lungs, doing so as you watch him taste them. “Taste so fucking good, sweets.” He makes a show of placing them into his back pocket, shooting a wink when you give him a questioning look.

He adjusts himself onto his forearms, both hands landing on the top of your thighs as his head dives in between them. Your thigh muscles tense in his hold, begging him for mercy, any kind. “Eddie…please…I need…I need—”

He chuckles, bending over your wanton body. “I love how you say my name, but I’m gonna make you scream it.” He mutters, the scent of your arousal making his vision fizzle.

Finally, finally, his tongue touches you, relishing in the immediate whine that leaves your lips. He hums against you, enjoying the way your legs move restlessly. The first touches are so delicate, your heels digging in his (still) clothed back and grinding your hips to force more contact. “That’s a girl, take what you want from me.” He praises you, hand stroking your thigh gently.

The simple instruction drives your hips to grind more, Eddie’s tongue licking up your slick folds harder in response. At this point, fire isn’t a hot enough word to describe the heat in your pussy. Eddie starts to focus on your clit, his ears suddenly muffled by your thighs abruptly closing on his head. He starts a rhythm, switching back and forth, listening to how your sweet whines answer him.

Any thoughts occurring in your head are long gone, all out of your mouth before your brain even knows you’re thinking it. You wonder how you didn’t think of this, ‘how the first thing you thought when you saw Eddie not how good he would look between your legs’?

Answer: the best thing you’ve ever seen in your life. (Spoiler, there will be better things.)

Eddie is more than happy to play with you, to listen how you react to every touch he provides. So far, his favourite sound is when his tongue enters your sopping hole, fucking it gloriously. It was the first truly uninhibited sound he managed to pull from you. Every decision he made for you was purposeful, doing his damn best to send you over the edge again. He wonders how willing he is to put off his own pleasure for the sake of yours.

Honestly, to hear you come apart repeatedly is 1000% worth it to him, even if he has to rut against the floor of the van.

“Cl-close, Eddie.” You tell him, that sudden ending sneaking up on you. “So, so, so, so, good!”

Eddie takes your admission with pride, and as the stars invade your vision, your every limb tensing as you cum, he keeps going.

In your post orgasm haze, the over sensitivity of your pussy is overwhelming. However, his continuing and relentless mouth feels so good you relish in it, absolutely sure your legs will be sore from the constant convulsing. You whimper through a hushed and delayed swear, your hands weaving through his curls and tugging on his scalp.

His thumb meets your clit, rubbing feverishly and driving another orgasm out of you faster than you ever expected. His name is music to his ears as you shout it when the orgasm takes over you. “Fuck, Eddie, mouth feels…ah!”

His brown eyes open, nose nuzzling your clit as he stares at you through those darkened eyes. His tongue licks a long stripe, chin resting the mound of your pubic bone. “Think you can handle a few more?”

Your chest heaves, struggling to catch your breath as you lift your head up to face him.  Your head feels like a weight, too heavy on your neck. Your mouth opens to answer him, but the weight of your head wins, landing back on the van.

Eddie works your clit again, watching your breasts move up and down as you struggle to catch your breath. “Maybe not that many more, hmm? Maybe just one?” …if he’s strong enough to hold back from giving you two.

Stopping at this point would give you a break you need, but at the same time you can’t bear to, Eddie’s tongue acting as a siren’s song. You’re hypnotized by him. “More, please. Please keep going.”

“I love hearing your voice beg for me. Your whimpers are the best thing I’ve ever heard in my life, sweets.”

Eddie dives in again, your choked whimpers telling any near neighbors that you simply don’t remember they exist. They’re not important enough to care about anymore.

As much as you are sensitive to every single touch, even over-stimulated, you welcome the next three orgasms he gives you. At the end of your third, or sixth, orgasm, Eddie rests his chin on your mound again, staring up at you as you recollect yourself. He’s patient, watching the light making its way back into your eyes.

Eddie nearly asks you a question, when your hand reaches out to grab him by his leather collar. He lets out a yelp of surprise, his fully clothed form an odd juxtaposition against your completely naked one. Well, save for the dress still on your waist. Your lips meet, tongues gliding against each other beautifully, and you taste yourself in his mouth. Even with your brain as foggy as it is, your body feeling as weak as it does, the number one thing you can focus on is getting those clothes off him.

Your hands fidget on the harsh leather collar, forcing it off his back. “Take it off,” you tell him, Eddie grinning cheekily in response. As soon as his jacket is off, you feel the graphic shirt start to come off with it. The reveal of his patched treasure trail, his bare skin against yours a marvel of sensations. You become impatient, attempting to hurry the process of taking his shirt off.

A symphony of laughter leaves his lips as his shirt finally is tossed off to the side, watching your eyes marvel at his tattoo littered chest. Your tits pressed against him pulls a groan from his lips, a sound that drives your legs to tug his tented jeans down against your bare pussy. If you thought his tongue felt good, it’s nothing compared to his hips against yours.

His voice is strained, dripping in husk. “Sh-shit, doll. I-I need you. Need to feel that virgin pussy wrapped around my cock. Need it so bad, please.”

Eddie begging like this being such a turn on is a surprise, to say the least. And from the pleasure he gave you, you’re willing him to do whatever he wants to you.

Whatever. He wants.

“Really? You want me?” You ask, whining as he ruts again.

“Desperately.”

Your hand moves down to the button of his jeans, undoing it with shaky hands and even shakier breathing. “You gonna take my virginity, Eddie?”

Somehow you knew this would make him crazy. You enjoyed it, enjoyed the crazy, adored his moan in approval. “I’m gonna take you, baby.” He grunts, starting to move his jeans down his ass, legs, taking his briefs with them.

He’s quick about it, tongue against your skin as he grabs the dress around your waist and slowly drags it down your legs, tongue dragging down along with it. Slyly, he holds a condom from his pants pockets between two fingers. “You ready?”

You bite your lip, making the bottom lip swell from the constant fidgeting. “I’m on birth control…” you admit, only on it to regulate a heavy flow.

He makes a show of tossing the condom over his shoulder, grinning at his crazy eyes. “Well, shit, darling.” He leans in, feeling the size of him as it brushes against your hip. He’s big, right? “Before I enter that pussy, I need you to do me a favour.”

“Hmm?” You ask, the only thing in your mind is how good his bulge felt when it rutted up against your heat. If that felt that good? Sex with Eddie…your mind goes dizzy from the need.

Eddie takes your hand resting by your head, wrapping it around his hardened length. The moan that leaves his lips is deep and rough. Your unsure fingers allow him to assist you, getting a hold of the rhythm. When you do, he lets you take over, face falling in your neck when your grip tightens. “Okay, I can’t take it any longer.” He whispers, gentle, goosebumps erupting in their wake. “Here, help me, will you?”

You don’t ask, only because you don’t have the chance to, when his hips help you brush the head of his cock against your wet entrance. You tease the two of you simultaneously, brushing it numerous times, both of you gasping in harmony. “Oh, you little tease.”

His hand replaces yours, whining as the head finally, finally brushes into your entrance. “Eddie.” You whisper, clinging onto him desperately. “S-so, so, so full.”

“Yeah?” He asks, both winded by the feel of you and by the blissed look on your face. Maybe if he kisses the middle of your eyebrow enough, he can settle every wrinkle you demonstrate from the pain beautifully mixed with pleasure. “Look at you, so drunk on it, did you ever think a cock could make you feel this good? Ever think how much you could want to be fucked so desperately?”

You shake your head, drunk on his words, drunk on his cock. “More, please.”

“Think you can take it?”

You whine impatiently, legs attempting to pull him in harder. “Eddie.”

He smiles as you fall into his trap, pushing in more than he knows he should. He can’t help it, the smile that takes over your face is the perfect reward. “I thought you were shy?”

You roll your eyes, knowing when someone is this close to you, has seen this much of you, there is barely any time to be shy. “Shut up.”

He listens, kissing you deeply as his hips start to move. Your hand weaves itself into his hair, whimpering into his ear as he hits, deeper, harder.

You can’t fully understand the sounds coming out of his mouth, the once coherent, cocky sentences turn into mumbled groans, and it’s refreshing to know he seems to want you as you did him, craved for you the same way. A string of words on repeat come from your mouth, just his name.

The only thing you seem to be able to think of is Eddie, Eddie, Eddie, EddieEddieEddieEddie…

“God, your tight pussy, I’m gonna cum soon…” At least, that’s what you think he says. “Gonna fill you up…” You tighten around him, enjoying the prospect of it. “Gonna see it dripping out of you.”

He doesn’t know how it’s possible you tighten around him more.

“God, you take me so well, it’s like you were made for me, made for my cock.”

Head? Empty. Cunt? Full.

Him? Perfect.

“Fill me up, please.”

“Listen to those dirty little words, gonna turn you into a filthy whore.” He whispers, whining together with you in bliss as his hips rut a final, harsh, jagged time.

Time seems to be endless, as he whispers in your ear, hands on his broad back when he settles, keeping his cock warm. Time is so endless; you don’t even notice the movie turning off and the subtle turnover of engines and wheels driving off past the van.

It takes a poor teenage employee to knock on the van doors, politely asking if you could leave because the drive-in is closed, and they need to lock the gate.

To say the way you avoid their eyes after hurriedly putting your dress back on turns Eddie on would be an understatement.

To say when you waltz with him hand in hand down the hallways the next day turns into a sideshow, would be an even bigger understatement.

You sit on his lap during lunch, curious to the reaction of the other boys sitting with him. When Eddie slips his hand under your skirt and plays with your clothed cunt, he knows he’s just starting to corrupt you as you attempt to seem normal.

He’s just getting started.

-

Regular taglist: @pinkcowracing @yourthebrokengirl @skrzydlak @thirddeadlysin @sammararaven @bebe07011 @prettylovley @josephquinnschesthair @forget-you-morelike-fuck-you @names-were-taken @oddussy420

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Thanks for all the love!

[duckthisone]

it's telling that people's first response to artistic freedom is often accusing the OP of having bad hygiene, being ugly, or smelling bad. it's like all of the leftist activism about not equating hygiene and looks with morality and understanding how health conditions affect hygiene habits was all performative bullshit. it shows just how immature they really are to resort to thought-terminating clichés with the depth of a playground insult instead of making an argument and standing by it.

[fernhelm]

jegulus is more fun for me when james is at least a little bit of the cocky asshole he is in canon. i think him being a tad mean-spirited would make him much more relatable to regulus. he’s a prankster! he’s puck! i think he trusts his own interpretations of how others feel more than their own words. he’s a hopeless romantic and he’s writing a script for the love confession before the convo even happens. so good thing regulus is a grade-A bullshit detector and can knock james off balance in an instant. he’s goofy and charming but he will also push and push until he gets what he wants from you. and this would of course work on regulus (attention starved), but i truly believe it would piss lily off soooo bad. there is an element of performance to his behavior. he is always doing it for the studio audience. he’s throwing out cliché lines like he’s a romcom lead. he knows he’s hot. he does that thing where he lifts his shirt up to wipe his forehead and show off his abs. it’s the guy you want to hate but also begrudgingly respect in high school, and then could actually become friends with once you’re out. he’s a jock, yknow? that’s Sir Robin of Loxley. he’s never thinking about the power differential between him and severus, he sees himself as the knight in shining armor saving lily. insane levels of self-righteousness. this is why jegulus is the type of couple to have a big blowout fight and “go on a break” every couple of months, but ultimately be together forever. it’s what james wants— a relationship where they can break up and make up a thousand times and never doubt their love for each other. he lives for the dramaaa

[reitski]

୨୧˚𝐛𝐥𝐮𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐜𝐤 𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬˚୨୧

☆.｡. 𝑓𝑡: 𝑟𝑒𝑜, 𝑠𝑎𝑒, 𝑐ℎ𝑖𝑔𝑖𝑟𝑖, 𝑛𝑎𝑔𝑖, 𝑟𝑖𝑛, 𝑏𝑎𝑐ℎ𝑖𝑟𝑎, 𝑖𝑠𝑎𝑔𝑖, 𝑡𝑜𝑘𝑖𝑚𝑖𝑡𝑠𝑢, 𝑛𝑖𝑘𝑜, ℎ𝑖𝑜𝑟𝑖, 𝑏𝑎𝑟𝑜𝑢, 𝑠ℎ𝑖𝑑𝑜𝑢, 𝑘𝑢𝑛𝑖𝑔𝑎𝑚𝑖, 𝑘𝑎𝑖𝑠𝑒𝑟

‎♡‧₊˚‎ 𝑹𝑬𝑶- wears a necklace with his partner's initials on it. likes to stare it all the time; when he wins a game, feels sad, feels lonely... also loves it when his partner does the same thing. when people ask you about your necklace and you say ''it's for my boyfriend'', reo feels so proud.

‎♡‧₊˚‎ 𝑺𝑨𝑬- you lift the blanket for him to sleep next to you. you talk about your day as you run your fingers through his hair. sae melts into your arms, tries so hard to keep his eyes open. sadly he can't resist his body and sleeps like a baby in your chest.

‎♡‧₊˚ 𝑪��𝑰𝑮𝑰𝑹𝑰- allows you to do his eyeliner while you sit on his lap. he puts his hands on your hips, you ask him to stop fidgeting and moving, but he disturbs your every word with kisses. he looks so pretty all the time.

‎♡‧₊˚ 𝑵𝑨𝑮𝑰- texting while in the same room. you give exaggerated reactions to each other from where you sit. also nagi is texting inappropriate scenarios just to see your reaction.

‎♡‧₊˚ 𝑹𝑰𝑵- taking care of him while he's drunk is when you will see the real rin. he's so clingy, so cute and blushes so hard. lots of giggles, laughter and ''a kiss! one more time. one more time. one more time.'' he holds your face, caresses it softly and mumbles sweet things.

‎♡‧₊˚ 𝑩𝑨𝑪𝑯𝑰𝑹𝑨- records many of your memories. takes a lot of selfies with you. most of them are blurry and funny, sometimes inappropriate. he loves making videos with his head on your chest, lying between your legs. he looks at these memories when he feels lonely.

♡‧₊˚ 𝑰𝑺𝑨𝑮𝑰- slow dance in the kitchen. isagi adores such cozy moments, even if it's cliché. he opens the song that belongs to the two of you on his phone and gets you swirling around the kitchen. he'll finally kiss you as the two of you rock gently side by side.

♡‧₊˚ 𝑻𝑶𝑲𝑰𝑴𝑰𝑻𝑺𝑼- takes you on picnic dates. nervous at first because he thinks you won't like it. smiles big when he sees you having fun. he makes a crown of flowers for you. compliments you a lot, smiles shyly, tries covering his blush.

♡‧₊˚ 𝑵𝑰𝑲𝑶- night time conversations. it could be about the two of your interests or just plain bullshit. he loves spending quality time with you. niko lies down on your stomach while talking about his favorite greek mythology god at 2 am.

♡‧₊˚ 𝑯𝑰𝑶𝑹𝑰- loves playing video games with you. he looks nonchalant sometimes in real life but actually he is not. shows his love to you with doing cute little things in games. he takes you on dates in animal crossing, puts your beds next to each other in minecraft.

♡‧₊˚ 𝑩𝑨𝑹𝑶𝑼- cooks for you. he knows your favorites and tries to cook them anytime, just for seeing you smile. he breaks his routine and gets up early to make you breakfast. but, barou isn't that good with words. he will most likely put the food in front of you and yell at you to eat it.

♡‧₊˚ 𝑺𝑯𝑰𝑫𝑶𝑼- can't help himself from touching you. it could be an aggressive or a soft touch. he loves both, he loves to put his feelings into his body language. when you walk down the street and he notices a man staring at you, his grip on your hand tightens. if he's excited or happy, his hands will make tiny circles around your waist.

♡‧₊˚ 𝑲𝑼𝑵𝑰𝑮𝑨𝑴𝑰- late night drives, the best way to escape the stress of the day. you both get out of the car to watch the stars together. while watching the enchanting view of the sky, he tells you about his dreams and worries about the future. and of course he doesn't forget to put his jacket on your shoulder.

♡‧₊˚ 𝑲𝑨𝑰𝑺𝑬𝑹- flirts with you in front of your friends just to embarrass you. he loves the expressions you make when you're angry or embarrassed. he wraps his hands around your waist and tells everyone how beautiful, sweet, wonderful you are. kaiser finds your reactions amusing. so, he's determined that you continue to entertain him.

[runninriot]

written for the @corrodedcoffinfest prompt 'behind the scenes'

fun to be famous

wc: 1000 | rated: M | cw: language | tags: famous Corroded Coffin, musicians Jeff, Gareth and Frank, frontman Eddie Munson, model Steve Harrington, the 'struggles' and perks of being famous

Eddie hates photo shoots. Hates the clothes the stylist chose for him to wear. Hates having to pose like a soulless mannequin just to portray some bullshit cliché - surrounded by cheap props like fucking plastic skulls with red glowing eyes that look absolutely hideous. Really ruins the magic of the end result when you know what’s going on behind the scenes.

But he knows it’s part of the game, part of what makes people want to buy their albums, and merch, and come to their shows.

It’s a small price to pay, really, when put in perspective. Because what’s a few hours of being uncomfortable if in return, they get to live their fucking dream.

To be the rock stars they always wanted to be, playing sold-out shows in huge arenas, listening to massive crowds singing their songs back to them.

Still, he hates it.

Especially because they always put him upfront, always the centerpiece of every goddamn magazine cover, as if the other members don’t matter as much. It's stupid but his band mates never complain about it. And maybe he brought it upon himself for being a bit of an attention whore on stage.

It was never a conscious choice; he’s always just being himself. Sue him for looking damn fucking good in his mesh tops, and skin-tight leather pants. For loving to make the crowd go wild when he struts around with his pierced nipples out in the open, wearing a skirt that barely covers his best bits, and thigh-high boots.

He loves to be just a little extravagant and coquettishly playful when putting on a show.

That, and the fact that he's always been unashamedly open about his sexuality and his many hook-ups in the past, gave him a certain… reputation. And he’s completely fine with that, really, as long as the way they’re marketing said image doesn't take away from the really important stuff, which is and always has been the music.

They are good at what they do, all of them, didn’t become famous for nothing.

Jeff, Gareth and Frank are exceptionally gifted musicians. And Eddie doesn’t just say this because they’ve been his best friends forever. It’s a fact. And without them, Corroded Coffin wouldn’t be the band it is.

Eddie wouldn’t be who he is without them.

That’s why he wants to protest when the photographer suggests to do a few shots of just Eddie, to ‘give the people what they want.’, but his treacherous friends beat him to it, agree happily to step back and let them do their thing.

He’s told to sit down on some kind of makeshift throne like he’s the Dark Lord himself, while someone calls for someone else to ‘bring in the models’.

Eddie’s mouth falls open when he sees the two ravishing beauties that look like they’ve just tumbled out of a kinky fantasy. The girl is petite with big blue eyes and the cutest smile, her strawberry blond hair in a high ponytail, dressed in lace and leather, enhancing the perfect shape of her body. She’s gorgeous and totally his type, but-

It's the other model, the guy, who has Eddie's full attention. Because holy shit, that man’s a wet dream come true and for once, being in the spotlight doesn't seem so bad anymore.

Eddie thinks he might be in love.

The photographer is yelling instructions but Eddie can hardly hear what he's saying. He’s too distracted by the way the girl drapes herself lasciviously over the armrest on his left, making him feel hot all over with her closeness. And when the guy drops down to his knees in front of him, both hands on Eddie's thighs, looking up at him like he's a fucking God - Eddie forgets how to breathe.

He moves on autopilot, mindlessly following orders. Not once taking his eyes off the beautiful fucking good boy at is feet, thinking dirty rotten thoughts about all the things he'd do to him if this scenario was real and not just for reader-baiting purposes.

It all ends too soon. He could've done this for hours.

Eddie is in the dressing room when someone knocks at the door. And because he assumes it's one of his mates, he just calls for them to 'Come in!', unbothered by his state of undress, naked except for his underwear – nothing to hide once you've shared a tour bus so many times – standing with his back to the door, rummaging around in his suitcase for a fresh set of clothes.

"Sorry to bother you. I just wanted to as-ohmygod! I am so sorry! I didn't know you where-"

Eddie turns around so quickly it makes him dizzy, surprised to find not Gareth, or Frank, or Jeff but another a familiar set of eyes staring back at him.

It’s hot guy from earlier.

“You’re not a fan, huh?” Eddie asks with a cocky grin on his face, just a bit too proud of himself for how quickly he regained his composure. “Because if you were, you wouldn’t be so shocked to see me half-naked.” Eddie winks and pretty boy's face turns a deep cherry-red.

“No, I, uh, I mean, yes. I mean-,“ the guy struggles for words and it's so precious, Eddie wants to bite him.

“I wanted to ask you for an autograph.”

Oh please. Baby, you can have so much more.

“Tell you what, sweetheart. I’ll sign my name if you give me your number. How’s that sound?”

When Eddie reunites with his friends 30 minutes later, Gareth is immediately onto him.

“Please tell me you didn’t just fuck the model.”

“His name is Steve and you know what they say - what happens behind the scenes, stays there.”

“Literally no one says that. And you’re a slut.” Gareth laughs and Frank and Jeff agree.

They're not wrong, Eddie’s definitely a slut for Steve. And he can’t wait to meet him at the hotel room later to finish what they started.

[missnxthingg]

𝐃𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐂𝐀𝐓𝐄 - 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐎𝐍𝐄

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 - Lando Norris x Actress!Reader (Enemies to Lovers & Fake Dating AU) 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 - Lando Norris really messed up on the first time meeting one of Hollywood's newest and hottest stars, Y/N L/N. But when his reputation gets too bad, she might be the only one who can save his career from being completely doomed. 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒 - 2.2K | 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 - Swearing 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑'𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒 - My first Lando series! And this time, I promised to finish it all because it's been already mostly written. I was just in need for some cliché shit, and I just threw in some of my favourite tropes together. Hope you have as much fun reading it as I did as writing it!

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𝐎𝐍𝐄 - 𝐌𝐘 𝐑𝐄𝐏𝐔𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍'𝐒 𝐍𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐁𝐄𝐄𝐍 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐒𝐄

In a world of celebrities, reputation matters. It doesn’t matter if you’re a singer filling up stadiums, actors earning big awards or a famous race driver, how you are perceived by the public eye is extremely important for your career. Lando Norris knew that. Yet, he continues to fuck things up day after day. The nightclubs, the girls, and the lack of winning on the tracks weren’t doing him any good. It got to the point where it didn’t matter if he did good on the race, climbing from P13 to P2, because, in the end, all everyone talked about was how his personal life was getting in the way of his professional one.

“He’ll never get a win if he continues to party like a teenage boy”, said a comment on one of his Instagram posts.

His PR team wanted to pull their hairs, bending backwards trying to clean off his image and making everyone forget about all of those bad things. As much as Lando tried to keep everything very private, things get leaked when you’re a public person. No secret stays hidden for long, especially if you’re not trying too hard to keep it hidden. But there was an old trick under their sleeves that would probably work, although the McLaren golden boy wouldn’t be very trilled with their drastic decision.

“No fucking way”, he shot once the idea was put on the table during a meeting scheduled at the McLaren Technology Centre, where he was spending the weekend to discuss new strategies for next week’s race. “You realize what you’re asking me?”

“Lando, your reputation is completely fucked. We quite literally have nothing else we could do to clean up the mess”, one of the members of the team said. “And we know lying isn’t easy, but this doesn’t have to last forever. We promise that by the end of the year, you can put off this bullshit silently”.

“It’s not the idea that is bad. Is the person you assigned me to lie with”, he crossed his arms and looked away. The head of his team sighed, knowing it would be too hard to make him break and cave into their idea.

Fake dating has been a good old trick in the celebrity world for a very long time, and it almost always works out. When the team came up with the idea, it looked almost flawless. All he needed was a girlfriend, making him look all fluffy and cute for the media once again, making everyone forget about the life he had before. Of course, it would coast a lot of sacrifices for Lando. It would require quitting the DMs slidings and now his parties would all be accompanied by the same girl. He probably would’ve accepted it in the end. Unfortunately, his team did poorly on the choice of who he would be doing this with.

“We know that you and Y/N aren’t exactly best friends, but her PR agency is close to ours, so it was easy to make an agreement with her. Also, she’s quite literally the sweetest person in the world, and everyone on the internet loves her. She’s everything your reputation needs”.

Y/N Y/L/N is the newest actress to arrive in Hollywood. Last year, she made her debut as a supporting actress on a Netflix movie. But recently, she scored a leading role on an HBO show that had everyone obsessed over her. Everyone except Lando, who already had a bad encounter with her a year prior.

“I can prove them I’m serious on the tracks, doing my own job. I don’t need a girlfriend to do that”, he leaned back into his seat and crossed his arms.

“Lando, you know that your reputation is fucked. Everybody thinks you're childish and unserious about your job. We want to change that”, his manager stepped into the conversation, pulling his attention back.

“But why her? Why the person who hates me the most in this universe?” 

“Because she’s the only one who accepted this challenge”.

Y/N was very good at her job, and she most definitely wouldn’t need any relationship to get to new places. But the publicity of dating a Formula 1 driver would be very good, since the sport is doing so good on social media. Hollywood is a game, and she’s just now learning how to play it.

Before he could even ask why she agreed into that idea, Y/N shyly opened the door, opening a small smile to everyone on the table. With his blood already boiling under his skin, Lando chuckled before getting up from the table to exit the room. He passed right through her, shoulder bumping into hers on his way out.

“I guess you already told him”, she sighed, resting her bag over a seat at the meeting table. Y/N looked at his PR agent, who she had a meeting a few days ago, and that shook her head, pointing out the disaster of a meeting they just had. “He didn’t like it at all, did he?”

“He’s not very pleased with the idea”.

“Of course”, she nodded. “I’ll talk to Norris”.

Y/N walked around the entire place, only to find Lando sitting alone in another meeting room, facing a window that had a view to the lake outside. As usual, it was a gray day in England, making the atmosphere even more heavy than he wished for it to be. Without saying a word, she sat next to him and he pretended she wasn’t there by not acknowledging her presence in the room.

“Are you really going to pretend I’m not here?”, Y/N broke the silence and Lando sighed.

“I don’t want to see you right now”, he admitted, making her roll her eyes. Could he be any more childish?

“Norris, I know it seems like the end of the world, but it’s not a big deal. We just have to pretend to be together for a while and have a quiet breakup by the end of the year”, she said, making him finally look at her. “It’s not that hard”.

“But it is, Y/N”, he grunted. “Do you know how does it feel to not be trusted? Not being trusted with your work and, most importantly, not being trusted with your actions as a human. They think that alone I cannot put out the negativity around my name”.

“It’s just for a few months. And after this is done, we won’t ever need to see each other again, you know?”, she said. 

“You realize that we’re going to be together almost all the time through an entire year, right? Not to mention that we cannot be seeing with anyone else until this deal is done. It will drive both of us insane.”

“We have to make it work”, she shot, making Lando chuckle.

“Why, Y/N?”, he crossed his arms and frowned. “Why did you accept this propose?”

“The publicity is good”, she admitted. “And you know, acting is my passion, but people need to know my name, so I can climb my way up in this industry. I’ve been trying so hard to be successful, but no new roles are offered to me. If fake dating you is a way to go, then I’m doing it”.

“You hate me”, Lando stated, making Y/N roll her eyes once again.

“We hate each other”.

“No, YOU hate me. You’ve hated me since the very first time we met”, he said, making Y/N’s mouth fall agape.

“Well, I had a pretty damn good reason to hate you, didn’t I?”

The first time they met each other was at a gala event in Monaco. Lando was required to appear by his PR team, thinking that having him appearing looking pretty as all hell would be good publicity for him. The same thing happened for Y/N, who had just come out with her first big film and needed to be seen by the public eye. But unfortunately, their first encounter wasn’t what they would consider to be nice.

Her stylist chose a beautiful white dress designed by Oscar de la Renta, with feathers at the bottom, making the dress have movement and her look absolutely fantastic as she walked through that amazingly fancy party. But just as she was starting to enjoy the party, someone bumped into her, spilling their red whine all over her. Before she could say anything, the person that bumped into her spoke up.

“Watch where you’re going, doll”, he laughed after he collided with her body, passing his hand through his shirt, checking if there were any drops on his clothes. “You nearly spilt wine on my shirt”.

He was clearly very drunk, and anyone could see it in his eyes. But Y/N didn’t care. Her perfect and amazing dress was ruined, and the person who trashed it didn’t even fucking care. It made her want to burst into flames.

“You fucking idiot! Look what you’ve done!” Y/N cried, looking down at her dress, now painted pink with the splash of wine. When she looked up, Lando was laughing, mostly because he was so out of himself, that he just couldn’t filter whatever happened a few seconds ago. “Aren’t you going to apologize?”

“Sorry”, he said, but proceeded to burp right on her face. Then, the man laughed again. Without any power to continue arguing with him, Y/N left the event and went straight home, not wanting to face another second of that event.

But, it seemed like fate was against her. A week later, after spending some marvellous few days in Monaco, Y/N was invited to watch the Formula 1 Grand Prix by her team. And even though her weekend was going amazing so far, the whole thing went down the drain when she met the same man who ruined her dress a few days ago. Only this time, he wasn’t drunk and he was wearing a racing suit, getting all ready to perform at the track later that day.

“You have got to be fucking joking”, Y/N muttered, low enough so no one could listen to it. Soon, she felt an arm around her, making her turn around and meet her agent, Clara.

“I want you to meet Lando Norris. He’s part of our PR agency as well”, she said, making Y/N walk towards the driver, who was listening to music as the mechanics around him worked at the car. 

Lando didn’t remember meeting Y/N on the gala. He had been so out of himself that night, with all the bad races he was coming from, that he did everything in his will to get out of that reality. So when a beautiful girl crossed paths with him and shot him an angry look, he didn’t understand what he did wrong to deserve such a hateful glance. 

“You don’t remember me?” She frowned once they were introduced again. “Oh, alright. You were so shitfaced that you forgot that you spilt wine over me and didn’t bother to apologize on that gala in Monaco. And then, proceeded to burp right in my face”.

He just couldn’t contain himself, and he laughed once again with the story. “I’m so sorry, baby. But this is actually very funny, sorry”.

Laughing at her face again didn’t do much on making Lando earn points with Y/N. Instead, she proceeded to hate him and make it all crystal clear every time they met on future events. And unfortunately, it happened more times than they enjoyed. After all, having their publicity teams so close to each other, they were often assigned to attend the same events; all of them filled with banters and fights that led them into a lifetime of hatred for each other. Which led them to this very important decision to take.

“Are you actually willing to put everything between us aside for this stunt?”, Lando frowned, not understanding why she would accept that challenge. Y/N took a deep breath and her lips curved into a sad, weak smile.

“I am willing to do anything for my career, Lando. Even pretending to love you”, that was the first time she ever called him Lando since they met. That definitely caught his attention. It definitely made his heart soften.

He knew the feeling of caring so much about your dream to the point of doing anything required to be done in order to achieve it. And for a second, Lando found something that connected Y/N to him: their passion for their jobs. Suddenly, what used to be an angry and confused look, turned soft and understanding just with a few words.

“I’ll do it”, he said, making Y/N breath normally again in relief.

“Okay”, she got up from his seat. But before she could exit the room, Y/N turned around and laughed. “This isn’t going to work, right?”

“Probably not”, Lando laughed too. “But if you feel like this is worthy, I trust you”.

It was one of those rare moments where he would fail on hating Y/N. The moments where his human side spoke louder. And she saw it; this time genuinely smiling to him.

 “Let’s do this, Norris”.

⋘ 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 // 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 ⋙

⤳ 𝐚𝐝𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐎 𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐑𝐈𝐒 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 - @celestialams @lizaschronicles @kapsylia @igotnorrrizz @hiireadstuff @bishhhitsaurion @mrsmaybank13 @bborra @sltwins @riccdannyf1 @kapsylia @67-angelofthelordme-67 @ctrlyomomma @lan4cha16 @alltoomaples @ellen3101 @hellyesjaehyun @tastebaldwin @sweate-r-weathe-r @carmenita122 @m0cha-bunny

crossed means i can't tag you! dm me and maybe we can get it fixed

[lafemmemacabre]

I don't want to take away from the very important and much more urgent point in that post about why Evangelical US missionaries go to countries like Brazil despite the very obvious prevalence of Christianity there (Cristo Redentor and all), that these white supremacist Evangelical missionaries are obsessed with converting Indigenous communities and Black communities that practice African or African-descent spirituality the most. Again, that's the truly urgent part of it and so I'm saying this here and not in the post itself, BUT...

They also target Catholics. Especially people who're Catholic and very poor or otherwise vulnerable.

In general South America is mainly Catholic as far as Christianity goes (at least the cultures that were colonized by Spain, France and Portugal are, which are the vast majority of us), and Evangelicals, Mormons and Jehovah's Witnesses are very anti-Catholic.

I wouldn't give a damn about it because I don't exactly love Catholicism as either a faith or in a political sense. I think the church is a monster, the faith is misanthropic, etc etc. EXCEPT...

Like I mentioned, most of the Catholics in South America who're targeted by these missionaries are very poor ones, often luring them in with prosperity gospel bullshit promises as well as in general entangling them with their cult-like tactics (thought-terminating clichés, love-bombing then withdrawal/threats of withdrawal of community, etc).

I see it in urban Chile all the time; you will rarely, if ever, see a Protestant church of any sort in wealthy areas, and if you see one it'll be a "normal" one like Lutherans. However, in poor areas? Every-fucking-where.

The advancement of Evangelicalism in South America is tightly linked to the advancement of reactionary conservative politics. They're becoming a voting block like they are in the US; nowhere near YET as big as they are in the US thank GOD, but they're there and they're radicalizing vulnerable people continuously and that's something local leftists are worried about, especially because at least here we actually have a history of important communist developments FROM the Catholic church, especially with communist Catholic priests (and that is absolutely part of why local Evangelicals dislike local Catholics).

[beomiracles]

I know I already requested something but I just came up with a specific prompt...

An angsty (maybe tatted) Taehyun who's a smoker and his friend (reader) is totally against it. He asks what else can he be addicted to and,,, well sex 🙂

500 BASH SPECIAL

#serene adds ✎... the second you sent this one in I knew it was the one of the two I would pick hehe. sucker for people who smoke, share ur cigs with me (flirting) ─ it might not be as smutty as you wanted but I felt like this is what fit the plot best? :>

not very proofread I fear...

wc -> 1.8k

pairings smoker!taehyun x afab!reader warnings friends to ???, smoking, taehyun has tattoos, references to alcohol, very public fingering, kissing >.<

The loud thumping of music fills your ears as you stumble out of the beating club. The cold night air showering your body in goosebumps; you shudder as you wrap your arms around yourself. Peering out across the dark street, you find a lonesome figure slumped by the side of the road, their back turned to you. 

You stagger over, heels clacking against the pavement. Upon reaching the figure, you slump down next to them, pulling on your heels with a small grimace. “Stupid fucking shoes..” you mutter as you twist the strap around your ankle. The person next to you scoffs, the small action carrying a dark cloud in your direction and you turn to give them a glare. 

“I thought I told you to quit smoking”, you scold as you point an accusing finger in the direction of Taehyun. He merely rolls his eyes as he brings the cigarette to his lips, taking a slow drag. “You did”, he muses as he twists it between his fingers, blowing you another cloud of smoke. Scrunching your nose in disgust you turn back to your shoes as you attempt to pry them off. 

“Piece of shit”, you whine as your fingers slip against the small clasp. Taehyun cocks an eyebrow at you as his gaze drops to your feet, “are you drunk?”, he asks and you frown. “No…tipsy at best!” You state as you use both hands to untie the leather straps of your heels, it takes some effort but at last you get it open. Kicking your shoes off, you sigh as you stretch your legs out in front of you. 

Leaning back on your hands, you let your head fall back as your eyes flutter closed, the smudged makeup on your face shimmering in the moonlight. “You know that shit kills you?” You mutter without looking at him. Taehyun smirks as he shakes his head, “aren’t we all bound to die?” — His words make you snort, “that’s so cliché.” 

He purses his lips as his gaze drifts to the empty road, “thought you liked those?” — You roll your eyes, “yeah, in movies. There’s nothing cliché about dying of lung cancer”, you then state and Taehyun refuses a small chuckle. For a moment everything is quiet, even the loud bass of the club behind you seemed to have died down, the fresh night air slowly began sobering you up. 

“Why do you smoke?” You suddenly ask, part of you wonders why you hadn’t asked that very question years ago. You had known Taehyun almost your whole teens, and up until early adulthood he had always been seen with a cigarette in his hand. Though you had told him off about it plenty of times, you never stopped to ask why he even did it in the first place. 

Taehyun sighs next to you as he takes another drag, slowly letting the polluting air drain down his lungs. He tips his head back as he exhales, “why don’t you?” His countering question made you frown, “because it’s fucking disgusting? And I want to live above the age of 30”, you calmly state, a small pout forming on your lips. 

“That still didn’t answer my question”, you add as your finger taps the pavement behind you. Taehyun hums, seemingly considering his answer carefully. “I suppose I do so because it feels good”, he shrugs and you can’t hold back your scoff. “That’s such a bullshit reason”, you jeered. — “There’s plenty of other enjoyable things.” 

“Like what?” 

His question catches you off guard and you open your eyes as you tilt your head to look at him. You find him watching you with a curious, almost menacing expression, the corner of his lip threatening to curl into a smirk. You blink as your lips part, “well…y’know, stuff.” — “Stuff?” He queries and you feel your already blush painted cheeks redden. “Well yeah…oh come on don’t act like you don’t know”, you retort as you shoot him a small glare. 

Taehyun merely grins as he raises an eyebrow, “I don’t.” — You let out a small huff as you leisurely kick your heels around in front of you. “Well…things like kissing are nice I suppose..” you sheepishly mumble as your gaze remains on your discarded shoes. Beside you, Taehyun seems to consider your words as his tongue prods at the inside of his cheek.  Letting his cigarette drop to the ground as he crushes it with the sole of his shoe, causing you to glance in his direction with a confused frown. 

“What are-” 

You don’t get another word out before he leans in so close that you almost forget how to breathe properly. His breath reeks of smoke but you can’t find it in yourself to push him away. “Taehyun..?” You whisper, thinking that maybe you had drank more than you initially thought and that the liquor was playing a cheap trick on you. But his nose grazing yours made everything feel very real. 

His gaze drops to your lips, your lipstick smudged from hours spent on the dancefloor and chugging multiple rounds of shots. “Kissing, you say?” His voice is merely above a whisper and before you know it he presses his lips against yours. 

To kiss Kang Taehyun felt…weird. He had been a part of your life for so long as nothing more than a friend that it had never even crossed your mind what it would be like to have his tongue slide against your own. At the same time you find it hard to push him off, your lips responding against his without hesitation as you wrap an arm around his inked neck. Taehyun’s kisses were sweet, which certainly wasn’t something the multiple tattoos adorning his skin would let on to. 

And suddenly it felt as if you didn’t know him at all. This wasn’t the Taehyun you had called your friend for so many years, the Taehyun you had binged movies with or stayed up late with as you face timed. This was someone completely different, and a small part of you, a very curious part, wanted to get to know him better. 

A rough hand moves down the naked skin of your calf as he squeezes the flesh there, gently spreading your legs as he swiftly slid in between them. “T-Taehyun..” you murmur against his lips, but he doesn’t answer. Teeth clashing together as his chest presses against your sweaty one, you pull yourself from the hot kiss as you pant. Before you, Taehyun licks his lips as his gaze drops to your neck, his eyes roaming over your chest, barely concealed by your small sparkly top. It wasn’t like the two of you hadn’t gone clubbing together before, he was used to seeing you in revealing clothing. — But something in the air felt different tonight, you almost didn’t recognize the hunger in his eyes as his hand snaked around your waist. 

Soft lips graze along the curve of your neck and your head tips back as you gaze up toward the starlit sky. “The others, Taehyun…” you mumble as you steady your hands on the hard concrete of the sidewalk behind you, “they’ll come looking for us and, o-oh..” His cold fingers creeping up your thigh interrupt any train of thought and your mouth fell open as he brushed them against the lining of your panties. 

“They’re probably wasted”, he scoffs as he dips his fingers inside the thin fabric of your underwear, making you shudder as you bite back a small moan. “M-Maybe but…” The way his index finger circles your clit instantly makes your speech falter and you gasp out into the cold air. “You worry too much”, he grunts against the skin of your neck as he trails his kisses up along your jaw. 

Your brows knit together, “h-ah, do I?” Taehyun doesn’t answer as he pushes a teasing finger inside of your wet cunt, making your thighs wrap around his inked forearm, your skin rubbing against his painted one. His thumb slowly circles your clit as his middle finger dwells deep into your core, drawing a lewd moan from your lips. 

You had often seen him with other girls, just like he had seen you with other guys, it never made you feel particularly jealous, he was only your friend, right? How could you have been so blind to not see what you’d had in front of you all along. Gripping onto his shoulder, your nails sink into the fabric of his t-shirt as your head leans against his chest, his hand between your legs making you feel dizzier than any liquor ever had.

The sound of the door to the club behind you instantly makes you freeze, but before you can turn your head to assess the situation further Taehyun’s mouth is back on yours. Your eyes widened as you tried to pry him off, only to be met by a harsh groan as his hand around your waist pulled you closer. “Don’t turn around”, he murmurs against your lips and you do as he says. 

What had turned out to be a rather drunk couple of friends, muttered a few slurred sentences along the lines of ‘everyone’s got someone to kiss besides us”, before they all staggered down the empty street, brushing the small scene off once more. Seemingly unaware of Taehyun’s fingers deep inside of you. — You let out a sigh of relief and Taehyun pulls back with a small smirk. “Don’t look so smug”, you groan, his thumb on your clit causes a shiver to ripple through you, a small ‘f-fuck’, leaving your lips. 

He manages to coax a small whimper from you as he pushes a second finger inside, feeling you immediately clench around his long fingers. You swallow as your gaze meets his, filled to the brim with desire as he intently watches every change in your expression, from the small twitch of your brow to the way your lips parted. Your makeup too, was most certainly all over the place at this point, but you couldn’t find it in you to care as the familiar feeling surged in your stomach. 

“Fuck, you look fucking gorgeous”, he breathes as his gaze darts down to the way your thighs squeezed around his arm, a small groan passing his lips as you clung to him. With a small cry you shuddered as you came all over his fingers, your essence sliding down his hand as he continued to push in and out of your throbbing cunt, making you wail against the overstimulation. 

Taehyun’s lips are quick to sweep in and catch yours in a searing kiss. “Fuck”, he mutters as he slowly withdraws his hand, smearing your fluids all over your thighs as he squeezed the flesh. He leans back as he watches your dazed expression with a big smirk. 

“This might just top smoking.”

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[groundzerosgirlfriend]

Traits they would want in a partner:

Senku Ishigami

(This unedited so dont @ me)

Firstly. IF you ever manage to get into a relationship with the man known as Senku Ishigami you probably deserve some kind of award for having to deal with this man’s crazed scientist bullshit every day. He literally doesn’t change one bit, he's still the same Senku that’s blunt, mean, hates physical affection and mushy words. The reward for the least romantic boyfriend goes to *drumroll effect* SENKU!

Senku probably prefers someone that’s he known for a really long time I’m talking since he was at least in junior high but the further back the better and if you were in the science club with him back in high school fantastic. Meeting new people is one thing but actually having romantic feelings for them is a whole other ball game. It’s easier and less work when liking someone who already knows him inside out and vice versa instead of having to do the whole cliché ‘get to know each other’ façade over and over again.

Also, I feel like Senku has only had like maybe 2 crushes in his entire lifetime: one was some famous scientist he saw on tv talking at a press conference at the head of the table in a room full of men and the other one was in his first year of junior high when he was bested at a mathlete competition (in his defense he pulled the most brutal all-nighter the night before while working on some insane project and messed up the placement of a decimal point) by a girl who wore the chunkiest pair of glasses known to man. He quickly got over both as he had learned that realistic the possibility of this famous scientist (who was also married) falling in love with a prepubescent boy was damn near impossible (and illegal) and the girl he liked in school ended up coming out as a lesbian when she and another girl were caught kissing each other's cheek during break time.

Senku probably likes individuals that are independent and self-sufficient like Kohaku (girl boss!!) People that are clingy and to needy are not his forte’ and makes his face sneer or deadpan brutally. He doesn’t like physical affection or words of affirmation on most days he’s more of a quality time (slaving over more experiments with you doing physical labor) and gift giving (making you little trinkets from his science experiments). I mean it’s pretty obvious remember that one episode where Senku’s own dad was about to give a long emotional speech on the record but stopped because he knew Senku would ew at it. So if you’re somebody that thrives off of praise and attention then *opens the door* please see yourself out respectfully because this man is not going to give it to you. You'll be like a little dried up cactus begging for attention.

Senku likes cleanliness and organization. Senku himself is very clean and hygienic. People that are not are usually big turn off and and an even bigger *thumbs down* for him. He’s also organized despite how his experiments and projects seem to be all over the place they’re not. He knows exactly where everything is, the exact millimeter of, every beaker, of every pipette, of every pencil. It's called organized chaos. If one thing is moved without his consent or worse, his knowledge the entire room is thrown off and he has a hard time finding anything for the next 12 hours.

Personal opinion here but I feel like Senku has as dislike for bugs. Like sure. Bugs are cool to explore and on a scientific level sure but anything other than that he’s not really cheering for joy about it. I also feel like he despises getting sick, like literally any type of sickness whether it’s the common influenzas virus or even a slight stomach bug. He’s miserable and irritated and it takes a really long time to get better because although the scientist in him tells him he needs to rest the stubborn workaholic in him tells him he’ll be fine to do a few minutes of work (which ends up turning into hours-please make this man rest🙏🙏). So if you’re the type where you’re unhygienic to the point of constantly being sick or attracting like actual bugs then either you’re going to have pick up the slack on your hygiene or leave realll quick.

Senku also likes people that smart either intellectually or when they’re witty and have a sharp mouth. If they can understand and even better add in their own input when he’s going on and on about different types of minerals sharing his excitement when they make a scientific breakthrough in the stone world he thinks if he didn't believe marriage was a social construction he'd get down on one knee with some sparkly rock he *borrowed* from Chrome's rock collection. Now even if his partner isn’t all into the science *blah blah* cells *blah blah* quantum mechanics and Schrodinger's equation a partner who is sharp on his mouth will suffice jussst as well. It's makes him snicker the tiniest bit turning his head away so no one can see the grin covered on his mouth covered by his hands. People who are blunt and not softspoken are a *big thumbs* in Senku’s book why would someone who has something to say not say it? A waste of time in his head.

Senku likes a willingness to learn even if it's just about they like every now and again. He knows that science is a high broad topic that covers from up into the vacuum known as space or as to the deep as the aquatic volcanoes known in the deep blue ocean. And he knows about it all in that gorgeous brain of his. In Senku's mind everything thing revolves around science, walking-the physiology of cells to tissues, tissues to muscles and neurological brain activity to make voluntary commands, art- the primary colors created by the art starting from things like mud, bugs and fruits, oh chemicals- easy it all starts with the period table of elements starting from hydrogen all the way down to Ogganseon. Anything you like any hobby you enjoy has to involve some kind of science and if you ask some him some questions about how it works or at least how it originates he knows that somewhere in you have the curiosity of a scientist.

Likes athleticism....maybe? Honestly, I'm kind of unsure about this one because on one hand I can see him liking people that are athletic and physically fit not because he thinks that being skinny is better or anything like that but because he can definitely use you like a horse (do yall know like those short mini scenes between the episodes where Senku like dresses up as different jobs imagine him as a farmer with a straw hat on his head in overalls a piece of straw in his mouth and a riding crop in one hand whew😩😩😩) for a lot of physical labor don't worry he'll return your hard work with a treat of your choice but be prepared he will complain about your laziness and wanting to help 'humanity' but on the other hand I could see him liking people that get winded and red faced after walking up stairs or carrying a bucket of water just like he does (extra points if it's a guy like him) because if you're both low stamina and low endurance you can't tease him about his athletic abilities. So a tie maybe.

Lastly, LOVES a strong will and determination he knows that starting the stone world back to modern humanity from scratch is no easy feat hell even he has made a few mistakes while trying to figure himself out. But what he does know is that science is filled with trail and error (mostly error) and it takes a loooot of time before you actually get what you're looking for so if you're the type to give up easily after failing once or twice and turn your back to his goal of turning the world back into the modern society he once had then....I'm sorry to say it probably won't work out for you there's only so many motivational speeches this man can give before he gets annoyed and just lets you give up without any reassurance (don't worry he doesn't take it personal), besides he still has people like Chrome, Sukia, and Kohaku to help.

@instanthideoutsalad I know you said you wanted Soft Boyfriend Head cannons of Senku but I'm so uninspired with those at the moment so please accept my humble offering of this drabble I made🙏🙏🙏🙏. I swear I'll do it soon it soon. 😪😪

[stop-talking]

So I'm stuck on this shithole Island, and I can't even have a smoke? (pt. 7)

Derek Danforth x fem reader

Word count: 3.6k

Tags: 18+, Derek x fem reader, no use of y/n, HEAVY angst, fluff, enemies, enemies to lovers, (very) slowburn, sass, banter, suggestive themes, mentions of drug use, withdrawals, rehab, masturbating!!

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6

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Derek wakes up long before you do the next morning.

Except, not really. Is it really "waking up" if he never fell asleep in the first place?

He'd insisted on going to bed early, skipping dinner. For once, you hadn't pushed him to reconsider, and he wasn't sure whether to be angry about that or not.

He has plenty of other things to be angry about, anyway.

Derek flings himself onto the couch in a huff, fumbling for the T.V remote. Maybe he could drown out his thoughts with some bullshit movie.

It doesn't really work. His mind keeps wandering back to you. How could you dismiss his feelings so easily? Sure, maybe it's too early to drop to his knees and make a declaration of love... but he's sure there's something between the two of you.

Seriously. You'd given him not one, but TWO kisses yesterday. If you don't like him, you're just being cruel.

Around midmorning, you stumble downstairs, and Derek purposefully ignores your greeting. He doesn't have any especially nice words for you at the moment.

"Have you eaten breakfast yet?" You call out, heading through a doorway and into the adjacent kitchen.

"M'not hungry." He grumbles back, determined to show his displeasure.

There's no response, so he just sighs and curls up on the couch, tucking his face into the cushions and hiding away. He can still feel a bit of lingering embarrassment from yesterday's rejection.

Well, sort-of rejection. Secretly, he was still holding onto some level of hope that you like him. Technically you never told him how YOU feel. You just brushed him off and ran away.

Coward.

・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・

"Sit up. I'm not letting you skip two meals in a row." You gently shake Derek's shoulder and place a plate of food on the coffee table. A simple breakfast, toast and some fruit. Hardly a good offering considering he made you pancakes yesterday, but damnit, you weren't sure he was going to eat at all.

Derek rolls over and stares blankly at the meager breakfast, mumbling some kind of thanks. He doesn't make any effort to sit up and offer you room on the couch... so you make due and perch on the armrest, near his head.

"So... what do you wanna do today?" You ask, trying to remain casual after yesterday's uncomfortable conversation.

Actually, "uncomfortable" might be an understatement. Damn him. Couldn't he see that anything romantic between the two of you is ABSOLUTELY out of the question?

Even ignoring the whole son-of-your-boss thing, (which is disgustingly cliché), he's still a fucking Danforth. Son of the goddamn president. And a billionaire, to boot.

Okay, those qualities were probably attractive to some people. Or most people. But not you.

You look down at the man who is pointedly ignoring your question and poking at his food. No, his wealth and influence were not his best qualities. You much preferred his dorky charm. Hell, even his bratty side could be cute. Sometimes.

"It's toast, Derek. Not poison." You scoff and take a bite of your own food just to prove a point.

He glares at you for a moment, and you finally get a good look at him. Are those... eye bags? Suddenly, you feel guilty for not offering to let him sleep in your bed again. Maybe he really does need it.

Eventually, he grumbles something under his breath and grabs for his plate, beginning to nibble a piece of fruit.

Damn. He's so cold this morning. Usually you'd be sitting properly on the couch with him, his head in your lap, and your hand in his hair... not just precariously balanced on the stupid armrest.

Is he really that upset about last night? You'd tried to let him down as gently as possible. And there was no way he was serious about you, anyway. He's the kind of rich asshole who could snap a finger and have the perfect trophy wife delivered to his door in a heartbeat.

You have to be honest with yourself here, and the truth is that Derek Danforth would drop you as soon as you two got back home. Better to save yourself the heartbreak.

"If I have to watch T.V all day I think I'll die of boredom." Derek breaks your contemplative silence after a few minutes, whining and dramatically draping an arm over his eyes.

Ah, right. Gotta keep the brat entertained so he stays out of trouble.

"I'll see what I have for us to do." You respond calmly, hopping down from the armrest and heading upstairs.

Damnit. You need to diffuse the situation, fast. Everything feels so tense between the two of you, like he's pulling back into his shell. Normally you'd suggest going down to the beach again, but considering he nearly drowned yesterday? That's off the table.

After poking around in your closet for a few minutes, you return with an armload of various boxes. A few board games, a pack of cards, puzzles, books, and even some paper and colored pencils. Hey, with no internet, you'd have to make due.

"Any of this look interesting?" You huff, dumping it all on the coffee table.

Derek sits up and raises an eyebrow at the pile of less-than-adequate activities. "What is this, a summer camp? Do I look five?"

"Hey, you're the one that called me a glorified babysitter."

He just rolls his eyes in return, standing up and muttering something about a headache.

"Where are you going?" You ask, watching him trudge upstairs.

"To rest."

You're left alone on the living room floor, watching him disappear as a couple of the various precariously-stacked boxes tip off the coffee table and spill their contents across the rug.

This is not going well.

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Derek lies back on the mound of pillows piled against his headboard, a sleepy haze clouding his mind as he tries to stay awake.

He rubs his eyes, blinking at the flat screen TV mounted to the wall opposite him. The bright flashing colors are probably the only thing keeping him awake right now.

Just as he's about to drift off, a knock at the door pulls him back into reality.

"Derek? I brought you some Tylenol."

Before he can tell you to go away, you throw the door open and waltz in. Apparently, you've forgotten what happened the first time you did that.

"Here, take this. And something to wash it down with."

He sighs and accepts the medicine, swallowing the little pill and downing half the glass of water before setting it aside.

"Oh, so watching TV wasn't the issue, you just didn't want to watch it with me, huh?" You ask, taking a seat at the foot of his bed and turning your attention to the television.

He can tell you're just being playful, but the question still makes him squirm slightly. Damnit. He's torn between wanting to joke back, and wanting to chew you out for acting so normal. You made his whole world fall apart last night, and now you're going to sit on his bed and crack jokes?

"You're blocking the screen." Derek grumbles, trying to show his annoyance.

Unfortunately, you take that to mean "crawl further into my bed", and end up taking a seat next to him, with your back to the headboard.

He begrudgingly allows it, silently watching as the stupid movie he picked out plays. At least you're not touching him.

...

Fuck. Not even a minute passes before you lace your fingers into his hair, a gesture he'd usually appreciate. Now? It just serves as a reminder that you aren't his.

He finally loses it when you tug on his hair in that oh-so-familiar way that makes him whine involuntarily.

"Can you stop?"

"Stop what?" You blink down at him with a blank expression, clearly confused. God, can't you see what you're doing to him? How is he supposed to just sit back and let you touch him like this after being rejected?

"Acting like everything can just go back to normal."

"Can't it?"

"No."

You take in a sharp breath, but before you can respond Derek pushes your hand away and sits up. He isn't done with last night's conversation, and he's not letting you worm your way out of his questions this time around.

"If you don't like me, that's fine. But stop fucking pretending like you do."

That statement seems to hit you hard, because you wince at his words and harsh tone.

Derek doesn't care, continuing his rant. "Always touching me... playing with my hair, hugging me, kissing me, hell... we fucking slept together..."

"Don't say it like that, please." You visibly grimace, slinking back against the bed.

That just agitates him further.

"Yeah, well, even if we didn't fuck it was still EXTREMELY intimate."

"YOU'RE the one who begged to sleep in my bed."

"Yeah, after you KISSED me!"

"On the cheek!"

Derek is just fuming. He wants to argue back, but the truth is, he's not even sure you're wrong.

Yes, the two of you have gotten... closer, over the past week or so. But is he reading too far into things? Are you really just... this nice?

Fuck. He has no idea. Maybe he's not special. Maybe you treat everyone this way. Or everyone you're close with, at least.

He slumps down face first into his pillows, having completely lost the will to argue. Something tugs at his chest, but it's not the same pain he felt last night.

He just feels... defeated.

・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・

You stare down at Derek, and you can't help but feel bad for the man, even if he's sort of pissing you off as well.

Yeah, you've been getting closer with him... so what? He's not some innocent bystander in all this. He literally BEGS to be touched, whether he realizes it or not.

Like right now. God, you can't just leave him like that. If he starts crying again, you'll probably cry with him.

"C'mere, love. Can I hold you?"

It's probably best to ask permission before grabbing for him, just in case he tries to use this as further evidence you're leading him on. You don't exactly give him a chance to say no, though, tugging him up towards you.

He resists slightly at first, but gives in completely when he looks up into your eyes.

You pull him tightly against your chest, his cheek pressed just above your heart. If you weren't wearing the simple cotton t-shirt, you could probably feel his stubble.

One of your hands finds its way into his hair, lacing your fingers in his soft curls. The other rubs soothing circles into his back, pulling him as close as possible.

His arms wrap around your waist in return, and he shifts to lie between your legs, melting into your embrace.

You lean back against the headboard and just hold him for a while, doing your best to comfort him. He can act angry and standoffish all he wants, but you know deep down he still craves your touch.

"This sucks."

"I'm trying my best here, Derek. I'd like to think I'm a pretty good hugger..."

"Not you. Well... not ALL you. This whole things sucks. Being stuck here, I mean."

Derek sighs and tilts his head up to look at you, his chin resting right between your breasts as he slumps lower.

"Well, you only have..." You pause briefly to do the math. "...11 days left?"

"I was only SUPPOSED to be here for two," he grumbles.

"I know... just, your mother thought-"

"My MOTHER is part of the fucking problem." His face turns sour and he squeezes you a little tighter as he rants.

"I thought- FINALLY - she was going to make time for me. Of fucking course not. She just wanted to get rid of me for three weeks."

Ah, great. So drug issues AND mommy issues. This man really has it all, huh?

"It's not exactly a good look for the president to have a druggie as a son." You say the words in a lightly teasing tone, but he seems to take them as accusing.

"I didn't ASK her to be the fucking president, okay? And regardless, she never would have made it this far in her political career if it weren't for me. Before I stepped in, she was behind in 15 of 20 counties she needed to win."

You just watch helplessly as he rants, biting your lip as to not say anything that could provoke him further.

"15 of 20!" He repeats, scoffing. "I fund her entire fucking campaign... and how does she repay me? By shipping me off to some shithole island."

It's wrong, but... you can't help but wistfully smile at his little comments.

"You know, Danforth... most people don't have the luxury of an all-expenses-paid vacation on a private island while they're getting through an addiction... they just continue working their shitty dead-end jobs."

"Spare me, please. When has the 'It could be worse' sentiment ever helped anyone, EVER?" He responds sarcastically, rolling his eyes.

Honestly? He has a point. Even if he's still relatively spoiled when compared to the general public... well, this is probably the toughest thing he's ever gone through in his sheltered life. And it IS your job to help him though it.

You tug at his hair a little more in an attempt to soothe him, which just makes him wine. He tries to cover it up by burying his face into you, but accidentally ends up with a faceful of titty.

He seems to immediately realize his mistake, because he mumbles a lame-ass apology and starts to pull away from you.

You pull him right back against you, probably a little too eagerly.

"I don't mind."

It's a struggle to get the words out without sounding giddy. You absolutely love having him there, so close to your heart.

Your chest swells with warmth as he looks up at you through his eyelashes, the lower half of his face sinking between your breasts.

“This is cruel.” He grumbles and looks down, burying his face in your chest.

“What? Letting you shove your face in my tits is cruel?”

“When I know you're just going to write it off as platonic behavior later, yes.”

Ouch. Okay, he had a point with that one, too. Damnit. Can he really blame you, though? Getting involved with Derek Danforth of all people… can’t he see just how MESSY that could be for you?

But looking down at him, it’s really hard to see him as your boss’s son, or the president's son, or a billionaire, or whatever-the-fuck else. He just looks… needy.

You continue to stroke his hair and rub his back simultaneously, and a few whimpers escape him as he nestles his face between your breasts.

It’s honestly shocking just how natural the whole thing feels. God, if only you were bare-chested…

"Okay, maybe this isn't a purely platonic relationship." You slump back against the headboard as you admit this, groaning internally.

This piques his interest, but you don't give him the chance to look up at you, shoving his face back down into your chest. Looking him in the eyes is just too much right now.

Hell, all of this is too much. Derek seems to share the sentiment, because he lets out a low groan. Or was that a moan?

"You're killing me." He whines, shifting his hips almost imperceptibly and slowly grinding them against the mattress.

"Oh? What's wrong, love?" You hum in response, tugging at his hair with one hand and tracing your nails across his back with the other. Like you even need to ask. It's obvious how he's feeling. Horny bastard.

He groans in response, tipping his head back to stare up at you. Fuck. Those eyes. He looks completely lovesick. Or lust-sick, maybe? He's still not-so-subtly grinding against the bed.

"You're so fucking pretty. It's not fair." You cup his face in your hands, lifting him from your chest slightly to better examine his face. His dark eyelashes flutter as he blinks up at you, a look of pure disbelief on his face.

Yeah. Pretty. You can't think of any other word to describe him in this moment. His cheeks, lightly dusted with freckles, turn pinker by the second as you lean in for a kiss. Then another kiss. And another.

He squirms in your grasp as you pepper soft kisses from one side of his face to the other, following the pattern of his freckles. His eyes flutter shut and he squeezes you tighter, eager to feel your touch.

You pull back to look at him again, still cradling his face in your hands. This is so wrong. You shouldn't be kissing him like this. You shouldn't be kissing him at all, actually. What happened to stomping out your feelings and hoping for the best? Protecting yourself from the man who would just inevitably break your heart?

"You're prettier." He mumbles, eyes half-lidded and hazy as he stares up at you with blissful admiration.

Those words penetrate straight to your core. Damnit... as much as you hate to admit it, this man is no heartbreaker.

"Oh, love..." You pull him back against your chest as you trail off, the words getting lost on their way from your heart to your lips.

He whines again as you absentmindedly tug at his curls, something that's become nearly as comforting for you as it is for him.

"Please... I'm... mnnghh..." He mumbles, the words coming out muffled as he nuzzles further into your chest.

You're not even completely sure what he's asking for, but damn, hearing him beg is addictive.

"What do you want, love?" You coo at him, voice soft and low as you hold him tightly against your chest.

He just pants in response, occasionally letting a whimper slip free as you continue to play with his hair. His breathing gets more and more shallow as he continues to shamelessly jut his hips into the mattress.

For the hundredth time, you remind yourself just how wrong this is. Those thoughts are immediately drowned out by his soft noises of pleasure, and you can't help but wonder just how much he can even feel through those sweatpants, anyways. Maybe if you took them off for him...?

No. Fuck. That's too far. Right now, you're not doing anything wrong. How could you be? You aren't even touching him. Well... not touching him there.

"Please." He repeats, crying the word out a little louder this time.

Guilt and lust battle in your stomach, and you can tell which has won when you clench around nothing. God, something about him begging is just so... ugh.

"What? You wanna cum?"

Derek lets out a high pitched whine, nodding into your chest.

"Can you wait for me?" You whisper the words, barely audible as one of your hands makes it's way down to the waistband of your shorts.

Another nod. More panting. The bed starts to shake slightly with the intensity of his grinding, and your brain goes fuzzy as thoughts of him overwhelm your senses.

Your had dips into your shorts, and you begin to play with yourself as Derek does the same. Well, something similar enough.

"Faster." The word comes out as a moan, and you aren't sure if you're talking to Derek or yourself.

He takes the order seriously, jutting his hips into the bed more rapidly.

Fuck. The noises he's making are almost pathetic, and somehow it's the hottest thing you've ever heard. Soon your own moans join his, creating a lustful symphony as you both lose yourselves in the other's touch.

All thoughts of this being inappropriate are long gone. All thoughts in general are long gone. You see, taste, smell, hear, feel, and breathe Derek Danforth.

He must feel the same way, because he starts to mumble your name over and over, his hips stuttering as he grips you tighter, like he's afraid you'll slip away.

"I'm here, love." You coo at him, planting a quick kiss on the top of his head.

"Cum for me. Can you do that for me, pretty boy? Hm?"

Apparently he can, because he gasps, and with a few more thrusts... he's reduced to a sweaty, writhing mess in your lap.

You aren't much better off, finishing immediately after him. Shit... are your legs trembling? Is that normal? Fucking Danforth.

・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・・・・・・○・

Derek finally pries himself from your chest, staring up into your eyes and breathing heavily from the exertion.

Two days in a row... that's got to be a personal record. He shudders at the uncomfortable, yet familiar, feeling of hot cum in his sweatpants.

"S-sorry... Did you...?" He stumbles over his own words, face flushing as you stare down at him. This is so fucking embarrassing. He shouldn't let himself get so damn desperate.

"Yeah... I did." You respond, blinking at him with a dazed expression.

Derek knows that feeling. He's half convinced this is all some kind of sick hallucination induced by his severe sleep depravity.

His worries are washed away as you lean down and plant another kiss on his forehead. He wants nothing more than to stay here with you, but fuck... the mess.

"I'm gonna go clean up." He mumbles, pulling away from you and discreetly covering the wet spot on his sweats... like you don't already know what happened.

"Please, just... stay." Derek looks back at you one last time before disappearing into his bathroom, and all he can do is pray you'll still be there when he returns.

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Author's note: Okay this took WAY too long and I have no excuse I'm sorry. I hope it was worth the wait! It's currently 3am, stayed up all night writing this because I'll be out of town then next few days. Hopefully I can get the next chapter out in a reasonable amount of time... but I do plan to write a one-off smut piece first, so... who knows. I'll try.

Also I REALLY want to write about Derek teaching the reader to play poker but I do not know how to play poker. Someone help. Can two people play poker together? Or does one have to be the dealer? How does that work? DM me or send an ask or a comment or something I need help!!!

LOVE Y'ALL thanks so much for being patient <3

[ihopeinevergetsoberr]

do you fancy a quickie? word count: 2,5k cw: shameless smut, viktor is a tease (everybody act surprised), no use of y/n, reader is reffered to as spouse. what else? ah yes. semi-public sex.

art cr: @arcanescribbles. saw her viktor in formal wear and instanly knew i had to write something mentioning it. *standard 'english is not my first language please don't be mean to me' bullshit*

It felt immaculate. The languid wince of bright eyes, the smirk you were wearing — chiselled just perfectly precisely for a moment like this, as if you were an inborn heartthrob rejecting unfortunate suitors left and right — a natural, if you will. 

“I appreciate the compliment,” you started from a far, making sure — patently by total accident — to casually snake a dextrous hand up your chest, resting it right above your cleavage — just where that fool’s eyes were devouring you. “But I am simply not interested. I’m married.”

You’re savoring the drop of his face when he notices the ring. You just wiped a grin off a man’s face with class — surely, that must’ve felt spectacular, and you rejoiced when he hummed — suddenly all clumsy and simply pitiful — and, with a rather impolite mumble of a sharp ‘excuse me’, walked away, leaving you all proud and unapproachable. Yeah, that’s right. Don’t ask me for a hand in a dance, gentlemen — because someone has already put a ring on it. 

You got back to chugging on your champagne, lips tightly closed around the rim of that ridiculously fancy glass, although it matched the ridiculously fancy gown you were impressing the so-called select society with tonight. And it actually worked (or so it seems),  since you managed to strike the fancy of the mentioned earlier tipsy sir, who were now pouting his lips like an offended child, turning his subtle drunkenness into a full-blown intoxication; squinting, and ranting, and swallowing yet another drink as he kept whining about your flawless rejection to a bunch of sympathetic peers. 

But you couldn’t care less — not when you were just minutes away from leaving this bougie ballroom behind, with all its curious glances and endless mingling; so many faces, when you only wanted to stare into the sharpness of one — with two moles piercing the pale canvas of skin and cheekbones hollow enough to stroke a soft finger over the lines of them, demanding a kiss. You sigh — almost dreamily in the way your head wearily leans its weight onto the back of your palm. So cliché, but who are they to blame you? Not when your husband is such a sight, and certainly not when your husband is such a sound — raspy, low, and, frankly – simply hot, and you giggle at the thought, sinking two front teeth into the pad of your thumb. 

You barely understand a word when Viktor tells the inquisitive Upsiders about the Hexclaw glove, yet still absorb each moment of his speech with tender thoroughness, because listening to him talk — about anything, really — is a privilege, one you cherished dearly and with genuine care. You were an admirer, watching him — all intelligent and so pensive, in that suit, with that raw passion in the depth of copper eyes, on that stage. And comprehension is not necessary — not when you see how talking about his inventions lights him up; so bright, that he could easily outshine the golden boy. In your loving eyes, at the very least. 

He notices when you join the round of enthusiastic applause, quietly thanking his audience for the attention — pensive and polite, so uniquely pretty in his demureness. It feels like showing him off, and that grin stretches even further across your face when he goes down the stage to walk up in your direction. 

You’re not subtle with that kiss. Pulling on his tie, shamelessly pushing your tongue into his mouth, knowing that they stare, and when Viktor — all wide-eyed and smitten — reciprocates, humming into the heat of your lips, you’re gone. He’s breathless when it’s over, arches a thick eyebrow in a curious manner, sinking your proud expression in. 

“What was that for?” he chuckles, feeling the damage done to his bottom lip with your teeth. 

“Can’t I kiss my husband simply because I felt like it?” you purr in response, greedily eyeing him. 

He laughs. You stroke a hand over the rise of his chest, and he clutches his cane — the pretty one for special occasions, with elegant carving and gilding. 

A thin arm wrapped around your waist coaxes you to jump off the stool, allowing him to steal an embrace. Can’t resist Viktor in a suit. In his other attire too, of course, but god does he look spectacular all dressed up. It’s almost like he was made for all the blazers, vests, and ironed shirts — an inborn gentleman, sickeningly handsome.  

His gaze travels down, to the oh so taunting cut of the silky dress: a peek of garter holding the elegant stocking, and you notice just how he relentlessly fails not to drool over you too shamelessly.

“How was my, er, speech?” he asks, practically forcing himself to rip those eyes off your hip. “I suppose it went rather well — very laconically, if I do say so myself. However, I’m afraid that Jayce is much more natural when it comes to keeping the audience entertained.”

“I was too busy listening to you to pay much attention to the golden boy,” you confess, straightening his vest for him — another excuse to touch him, but Viktor decides to touch you instead.

“That is rather disrespectful,” he scoffs, gently capturing your wrist into the warmth of his hand, and before you can react — presses a chaste kiss to the back of your palm. Damn him and his gentlemanly tricks. 

“Perhaps,” you shrug, giggling when his breath tickles your knuckles. “But you did amazing. Truly.”

“I am flattered,” he acknowledges, letting go of your wrist. His touch lingers there — warm and domestic, a wordless way of returning the courtesy. “I hope that my brief absence didn’t bore you too much?”

“Not in the slightest,” you assured him with a wry smile, and he met your words with another inquisitive hum. “Some very persistent gentleman kept trying to convince me that I need an interlocutor.”

“Is that so?” the inventor asked, evidently amused by your revelation. “And just how did that go for him, may I ask?”

“He was heartbroken to hear that I was married, you see,” you sigh, and your lips protrude into a pout — one of fake, rather comical sympathy.

“What a pity,” Viktor retorted, blessing your ears with that low, raspy laugh of his. “I hope the news didn’t crush him.” 

“Ah, don’t even bother. You hope they did.”

“What an accusation,” he exclaims, and your hands ache to strangle him with that pretty tie. “Though not an entirely unreasonable one, I must admit.”

“My point exactly,” you bite back, and your arms rush to be wrapped around the bastard's neck, chest pressed flush to his, heartbeats mingling into a mess of thuds. 

Sinewy fingers don’t hesitate to slip into the cut of your dress. They also don’t falter to cautiously crawl into the band of your stocking, almost forcing you to whimper his name into the crook of his neck — an indirect plea to proceed in private. 

“Such a mouthy thing,” Viktor whispers, and you’re done with him, almost ready to demand he bends you over in front of those very Topsiders. “Just what shall I do with you, hm?” 

He’s hard against your thigh, even a hint of friction has him jolting, hissing a quiet curse into your mouth when he occupies it with a kiss again — one too lewd to be appropriate for public eyes. 

“You should steal me away,” you suggest, staring into the madness of heavy eyes piercing yours. “For some fresh air, of course.”

“Fresh air?” he mocks, shaking his head in fake disapproval. “Is that the only reason? Not that I’m reluctant to be alone with you — quite the opposite, actually. I simply doubt that it’s the real, eh… purpose of the encounter you’re suggesting.”

Fuck’s sake. He’s utterly incorrigible. Thanks Janna you love this man. 

You sigh, struggling to suppress the urge to slap him. 

“Do you fancy a quickie?” you finally surrender, knowing damn well that to out-smartass Viktor is simply impossible. Besides — the way his lips stretch into a thin handsome line feels greater than any meaningless pleasure a well-aimed smart comment could ever bring.

It feels even better when his mouth hovers above your ear, purring out a sweet, “I most certainly do.”

***

You squeak when he presses you against the cool bathroom wall, and a cautious hand cradles the back of your head, preventing it from repeating the dreary fate of his cane, which had just hit the floor with a loud thud. You, on the other hand — no pun intended, of course — are not that careful with your limbs, fingers already tangled into his hair, messing up its unusually neat style. He’s kissing you with desperation: rush didn’t leave him any time for hesitation, but you’ll gladly take him like this — all frantic, cock an aching swell inside his finest dress pants. 

“Darling,” he keens, licking at the fresh proof of his lust after you, as if trying to soothe the pain from his teeth needling into the softness of your neck. 

“Yes?” you breathe out, thoughts a mush of smutty images, but the limited privacy of this bathroom is not enough for a full-course debauchery. They call it a quickie for a reason. 

His hand slips under your gown, shamelessly kneading the plumpness of ass, ready to free you of the lace underwear. 

“No,” you pull away, shaking your head with a sharp inhale. “We don’t have time for this.” Your outfit is too impractical to allow him the pleasure of undressing you even partially, even though you’d love to let him have his way with you.

“But, beloved, isn’t that what we’re here for?” he protests, but you shut him up with another kiss, and, while he suffocates against your mouth, smoothly turn him around, firmly capturing between the wall and your softly pushed between his legs knee.

“I had other plans,” you reply, kissing down his jugular — some brief foreplay before abruptly sinking down.

“Oh,” he lets out a shaky laugh, leaning that bright head against the wall, but his eyes never leave yours — they attentively follow your every motion, carnal need thickly seeping out of them. “You’ll get on your knees for me? In that dress? My, I might’ve done something good in my past life.” 

“Will you please shut up?” you snarl, fighting with the buttons of his pants, and he nods, figuratively zipping his mouth with one dextrous move of a hand, informing you that his lips are sealed. Viktor knows better than to talk back to a person who’s about to suck him off. Teeth are a rather dangerous weapon.

He tenses up when you tease the head of his cock — slightly swollen flesh a pretty shade of pink, so sensitive that it twitches against the warmth of your fingers when you wrap them around the hilt.

He goes quiet, but not purely for the sake of not getting caught. He watches you in fascination: mouth forms a silent ‘ah’ the second you dip your tongue into the slit, and precum coats its tip, all sticky and bitterish. You both know he won’t last long — your next ministration proves it, relentlessly riding him of his wits. 

You kiss at his shaft with tenderness, to the point when it becomes barely palpable, so he squirms, demanding the resumption, and you can’t help but smile against the velvety skin of his tip. Pearly liquid clings to your bottom lip, forming a translucent trail — a mixture of him mingled with your saliva; just enough lubrication to slip lower, licking at the sensitive frenulum. Viktor lets out an illegible sound — you recognise a keen of your name in it, and it earns him one languid stroke — just the tiniest mercy. 

“Don’t you just love to torture me?” he sighs, looking down — all vulnerable and pretty, weak knees threatening to start trembling any second. 

“I’m only using your weapons against you,” a sweet reproach rolls of the very tongue you’re tormenting him with, and he swallows the most delicious whimper when you swirl it around the tip — once, twice, but thrice is what finally has him slapping a palm over his open mouth to muffle a dirty moan. 

He abstains from grabbing a handful of your hair, reluctant to ruin its whimsical style — because at least one of the spouses has to be an actually considerate lover. His long legs are struggling to keep in place, relentlessly spreading apart with each bob of your head — but he’s leaned against the wall securely enough not to fall. 

You swallow around him in a rather messy rhythm, but it still manages to reduce Viktor to a mush of babbles and incoherent praises. You have him by the balls — quite literally, because your free from squeezing his width hand is cruel enough to knead them, dragging more throaty sounds of pleasure out the thrusting into your mouth man. 

You’re fucking him with skill, painfully aware of just what goes through his head in this exact moment: that orgasm will be intense enough to hurt, making him wish you’d rather proceeded with those teasing licks and fleeting kisses. His hips jerk when you suppress the gag, taking him whole, not a single inch left without your thorough attention. Even the hand shoving those moans back into his lungs doesn’t stop him from letting out the most embarrassingly high-pitched keen — it breaks free when he coats your tongue in warm spurts of thick cum. You stick it out, allowing him a pornographic view of exactly what he’d just done to you, and he almost sobs, completely forgetting about his initial intentions of keeping quiet. 

“Gods a-above,” he stutters, suffocating like he’s the one whose mouth was just frantically fucked, wiping his release off your lips with his trembling thumb — a gesture of gratitude, tender in comparison to the curses he was panting just seconds ago. 

The air is thick with the smell of sex, raunchy enough for anyone who decides to walk into this bathroom to meticulously define what the two of you had just committed in it. Even getting off your knees and tucking him back into his pants wouldn’t help your condition — the pure way Viktor looks at you right now makes it all appallingly obvious. One doesn’t need to become a witness of the intercourse itself to confidently state “They’ve just fucked, Your Honor.” It’s written on both of your faces, on the mess of his hair, and, of course — on the burning under the thin material of stockings redness of your knees. 

You accept his touch, swallowing the remnants of his climax still covering your tired tongue, and he sighs, engraving the sight into his mind — probably to get off to the thought of it someday. But you decide not to tease him about it. You’re not that evil after all. 

You’ve never stormed out of the bathroom so fast before, all trembling limbs and nasty giggles —  the afterglow of your shared secret, dirty enough to banish Viktor from the Academy. 

He’ll recall it later, most definitely next Progress Day, when you’ll wrap those impatient arms around his neck, whispering a famous “Do you fancy a quickie?” into his ear again. 

Except for this time, your outfit will be easily removable.