#Customer Service is fucking evil

[myheartisworstkindofweapon]

Hiiiii guysssss <33

[binders-and-beanies]

I love when people’s argument for why they’re allowed to be mean to customer service workers is “I did my time in customer service” ah so you Do know how it works and you are choosing to be cruel even with that information! That is worse

[jaredthebc]

Might be a bit of a hot take, but I honestly do hate how we went from being justifiably critical of Respect Your Elders rhetoric to just, being downright mean to older people minding their business for no reason

[undistortedworld]

literally how does a-yao not go apeshit constantly. how does he put up with shit treatment for so long i am one bad customer service sunday away from committing atrocities

[leadmeastraylittlefairy]

.

[poptartmochi]

unfathomable emotions after showering

also.. i hit tag limit on this, so watch out for a very long post if you hit read more on the tags! 😨

[oceanxveiined]

Honestly, even when I add a new verse for the oc(s) and work them into a still-expanding canon, I like to think their presence in the area/time of the narrative is best justified as essentially them running a B-plot in a sitcom to the main quests/protagonists' journeys. Or like. Half the shit Team Rocket gets up to in the movies-

[irisbaggins]

Hehe, fucking over scammers is funny. Sorry ma'am, but currently I do not possess a computer and if you get mad at me for it then I'm sorry, that's your problem :)

[nullwork]

some kinda primal violence takes over my brain when its 30 minutes to the end of my shift and a customer won't stop squeaking every dog toy possible as loudly as she can for a ridiculous amount of time. i have a headache we're 10 minutes to close and i can envision deep-frying her with a pool and 10 mil volts.

[drdemonprince]

obviously people who work with The Public have very good systemic reasons to complain about customers, and i would never tone police them for that or say it is not their sacred right to bitch about how the public is dumb. hating on customers is a time honored tradition and an important bonding and stress relief practice

it's just the case that the actual root of their suffering is the exploitation and alienation of the industry in which they are working, and the highly routinized, structured interactions which they are forced to reenact hundreds of times in a day, with a focus placed upon brute efficiency and predictability, such that they only way that they can experience another person who is confused, has questions, or breaks the expected script is as an annoyance or a dummy, rather than as a human being who is not operating with the same information or incentives as them.

not saying anyone should be more patient with customers, truly fuck them, it just ultimately sucks that capitalism creates an adversarial relationship between service worker and customer when typically both parties are being taken advantage of by a common evil.

the more rigidly scripted the customer service dialogue options are on the phone, the more frustrated and stuck the customer calling in is because they have no way of communicating accurately what they need, and the more the customer service worker on the other end of the line (who is forced to act out that script) hates them, when obviously it's the people writing the phone script and forcing it onto people who is the source of the evil, etcetera.

[bunnys-kisses]

bunny love hiiiii, since i’ve been beyond satisfied with my last order at your bakery i’ve come again with more ! How about a chocolate cake with s’more and make in “on the house “ with SIR lewis hamilton

xx

bakery menu

want to suggest your own order? then check out the menu! i'm always baking up smiles! as for this return customer, thank you, thank you, thank you for coming back! also mister lewis using that accent for evil, tsk, tsk, tsk. i hope you enjoy the fic!

chocolate cake ("do you feel that? that's what happens when i think about you all day.") + s'mores ("The accent gets to you, doesn't it?) + on the house: champagne (sugar daddy au) served by lewis hamilton

cw: smut/pwp, (slight) sugar daddy au, former mechanic!reader, cowgirl position, (slight) praise kink, couch sex

lewis knew he liked you the moment you got into his face, wagging a finger at him and said the words,

"if you fuck up my car again, hamilton. i will have your head!"

it had been a long time since someone was willing to bite back to sir lewis hamilton. the top dog of formula one, but there you were in greasy coveralls, your hair a mess and a look on your face that could kill. lewis knew he had to have you.

that felt like a long time ago, you had gone from mechanic to live-in girlfriend. you still worked, but at a local shop near where you two lived. when he said that you didn't need to work, you held your head high and told him you didn't want a large gap in your resume.

"i'm not your live in housekeeper." and you were determined to cover the cost of the streaming services you paid for, your own clothes and snacks on times off. he admired that, even though your wage as a small time mechanic couldn't cover close to the cost of the place you lived, you were stubborn enough to want to contribute something.

that didn't mean lewis didn't spoil you. when he washed the grease off your face and put you into something nicer you looked like the most beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes on.

even the little scars along your arms from years of tinkering with cars, even the scar on your chin for an accident in your youth was cute enough for him to want to kiss.

he had come home for the summer break in the season, riding off the high of a successful weekend. he couldn't wait to get home to his girl. when he got through the door of the house you shared, he could smell something cooking on the stove.

with his bags by the door, he slipped his shoes off and padded through the house. he followed the scent of cooking meat.

your voice called to him, "i'm in here!" and he found you in front of the stove, checking on the noodles you were cooking.

he broke into a smile at the sight of you, "how very housewife of you." as he slotted himself behind you and wrapped his arms around you. chest pressed against your back, almost putting a little too much of his weight against you.

you tilted your head back to look up at him, "don't worry, you can do dishes." then kissed his chin. you two still were snarky at one another, but it was all wrapped in a deep affection for one another.

he chuckled, "of course, my love." he said as he leaned in further to kiss you on the cheek. he remained close to you while you put together lunch.

despite all the wealth and glory from formula one. it was nice to sit across from you and eat an easy to prepare meal. pasta sauce with ground beef and noodles with parmesan cheese. comfort after a long time apart.

it was domestic, even though the house you two lived in was beyond wealthy. you wanted to give what you could in your own way. lewis could drip you in diamonds and finer fabrics, but he'll always crumble to his knees for his favourite mechanic and her home cooked meals.

lewis one jokingly said that he was your sugar daddy when you moved in with him. the next day you got the job you had now. maybe there was a slight sugar daddy aspect to it, but he appreciated that you helped where you could. he didn't need any "sugar" from you, you were rather unimpressed when he waved any kind of money around. so maybe he did suck at being a sugar daddy in a way, but he always let you know that if you got tired of working. he was more than happy to support his little mechanic.

"and what happens when i get old?" you asked when he brought it up.

"then i'll be old too." he winked at you.

with dinner finished, you talked with lewis while he cleaned the dishes. you admired his backside while he got the plates into the dishwasher and rinsed out the pot used to boil the pasta.

when that was all finished, you got up to grab the bottle of wine from the fridge and two glasses. but as you were bent over to grab the bottle, you heard your lover's voice.

"do you feel that? that's what happens when i think about you all day." he asked as he brushed up against your behind, those strong arms around you, his voice in your ear. you squirmed a little and he chuckled, "the accent still gets to you, doesn't it?"

you admired one time over drinks that you found his accent was one of the more attractive things about him. when he asked what was his least attractive quality you replied that it was messing up your cars. but the fact that you found his accent appealing stuck to the corner of his brain.

you closed the fridge door, with no wine in your hand. you turned in his arms and draped your arms over his shoulders. you pulled him for a kiss. after a moment you pulled away and asked, "i guess you want dessert more than wine."

he chuckled, "well, i wouldn't call you dessert. i'd call you the whole meal." his head dipped down to your neck and kissed across your skin as you held him.

this eventually led to the both of you on the couch, you looked at the television screen briefly and chuckled, "reliving your glory days, hamilton."

his lips crossed your cheeks once more then replied, "well, they're only my glory days because you were there." you stepped away from formula one and to a smaller shop because you didn't want a conflict on interest within the team or if lewis left the team.

in all fairness it felt nicer tinkering with mini vans and having a few days rather than a car that can go over 300mph with a few seconds of time to work on it.

"is this your weird way to seduce me to come with your to ferrari?" you asked as you watch him sit down. he was dressed in sweatpants and a black t-shirt now, wanting to get comfortable at home. you had your hands on your hips and you looked very sexy.

"of course not, but if you did." he shrugged, "i'd put in a good word for you."

you pulled off your tank top and shimmied out of your own sweatpants. you got in your lover's lap and kissed at his jaw, your hands buried in the t-shirt he wore. you said against his warmed skin, "right, right. i think you just liked it when i gave you shit all the time."

he chuckled, "no one does it like you, my love."

you said "true." and pulled at his t-shirt until he got off. soon you two were undressed, in nothing but socks and you straddling your lover's waist. your arms wrapped around his shoulders as you looked down at him, "how much did you miss me?"

"do you want the nice version or the true version?"

you held his jaw for a moment and dipped into a kiss before you responded, "give it to straight, hamilton."

"i hoped you were watching every race, and then every night i went back to my hotel. and i jerked off to photos of you." he responded, "i think i need to take some new ones. i don't even think you have those panties anymore."

you replied, "if they're the pair i'm thinking, it's because you tore them off of me after monaco. you couldn't wait and we did it in the care. i had to pray on the walk to the hotel room that no one would notice i wasn't wearing underwear."

he chuckled, "well." he guided you onto his cock and kissed at your pulse-point. he relaxed against you as he wrapped his arms around you. it was almost a protective feeling being held by him.

slowly you sank down on his cock and gripped onto his shoulders. you felt pleasure lick at your gut as you took all of him. the noise you made was erotic and made the hair stand up on the back of his neck.

you two hotly made out with one another as the two of you moved against one another. you panted heavily between kisses, his soft lips against yours made a thrill run up you.

you were so cute, to sweet to him. you rolled your hips up and down, you felt the heat in your cheeks are you rode him. like you had done a million other times.

he held onto you and kissed at your shoulders. he groaned against you and basked in your warmth. the entire time felt hot, he finally got to touch and feel his perfect little mechanic.

"you feel good like this." he panted, "so good on top of me."

"just as i like it." you giggled, "i know you like looking at my body. i know i turn you on." you leaned in once more and said, "and, truthfully lewis, you turn me on too."

"i guess we're a perfect match then." he said before he pulled you into a hot kiss. his hands were placed on your hips once more and pushed his cock as deep as he could inside of you.

his entire body felt like a live wire, like when he raced, being intimate with you meant the world to him.

the clips continued to play and neither of you paid much attention to it. too wrapped up in one another to really care about much else.

"my little mechanic."

"my pain in the ass driver."

you came first, followed by him. you held onto him while he held onto you. your lips pressed together as you moved against him. you melted under his tough and felt amazing as the pleasure hit you like a wave.

"holy shit." you panted.

"i know." he said as he watched you continue to move your hips. milking you for all he was worth, "relax, love. relax." his voice was warm in your head.

you slowed down your pace and rested against him. your chin on his shoulder as he rubbed your back. he kissed your sweaty temple and his low voice close to you felt so good. the after tremors of orgasmic bliss felt good paired with his sweet praise.

this eventually lad with you two cuddling on the couch. the clips of lewis races played in the background as you two kissed. letting his hands explore your body.

"i wish i could take you to every race. you don't have to be a mechanic, i just want to see you there when i win." his voice was low.

"then win it all for me." you sealed your request with a kiss. you were the mechanic that could stand toe-to-toe with sir lewis hamilton. and while he was the billion dollar driver, with you he was sweeter than candy and more electric than a live wire.

as he kissed you once more, you felt comforted. loved, adored. you'd see if you could get some time off work to be with him after the summer break. if he was going to keep winning, it was only right for you to be there. <3

[luveline]

𝐢𝐭’𝐬 𝐚 𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐞 | 𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧

When Eddie asks you on a date, you don’t believe it. He probably meant as friends, right? Spoiler alert — Eddie wants to be more than friends, and he’s willing to prove it. [4k]

fluff, slight hurt/comfort, fem!reader, plus-sized!reader, reader feels undesirable, kissing, obligatory ‘don’t be cruel’ scene, eddie calls you pretty like ten times, requested here

𓆩❤︎𓆪

Eddie has one of those smiles that screams trouble. Every time he looks at you with that smile he might as well have "I'm gonna break your heart," written across his forehead in tandem. 

You sneak a glance at him across the atrium. Eddie’s paused bussing tables to talk to a patron, his customer service voice in play with a matching smile. It isn't the one you mean, but it's bad enough to make you flush red-hot. You cross your arms over the bar, regret it for its stickiness, and let your head rest against the crook of your elbow. 

You've been working together for a long time now, almost six months, and he's your favourite coworker hands down. He cleans up after himself, he brings snacks that you never accept (lest you look like the greedy chubby girl you worry everyone expects you to be), and he talks to you like a real person.

It's horrifying and it's not fair, but being fat means that sometimes guys don’t want to look at you. They don't want to be in the same room with you, and you can tell; they avert their eyes, or simply don't talk to you directly.

You've never had that feeling with Eddie. He meets your eyes, unflinching, and he sends you one of those pretty smiles and you think Fuck, because he should've been a movie star, he has the cheekbones for it, or a rockstar like that band he's always raving about. He'd have a slim LA girl on both arms, no doubt about it. 

He likely wouldn't waste his time with you. 

Not someone pretty as he is. Sometimes he'll lean over and expose the flat stretch of his stomach, his v-lines and the dark trail of hair peeking above his jeans, and you feel acutely miserable 'cause you know you'll never get to touch him. Workplace crushes suck. 

"Hey, are you okay?" a voice asks, a hand dropping against your shoulder. 

You pull yourself up quickly. Speak of the devil, Eddie stands beside you with his hair tied away from his face. He looks more entertained than concerned, his smile unfortunately genuine. 

"I'm fine," you say, stepping back. His hand falls away from your shoulder. "Sorry, just tired." 

Eddie leans into your space, squinting. You freeze up, but he's only checking the time on the clock behind you. "Gotta tough it out. Still an hour and a half 'til closing." 

Which means there's more than two hours of your shift left. Your face must show how unexciting that is —Eddie laughs, warm and quiet, and gives your hand a squeeze. 

"You'll live," he promises. "Are you busy tonight? Maybe we could go get pizza or something." 

"What, nobody else is available?" you ask. 

His head juts back a touch, put upon shock. "And why can't I ask you? I like you and I like pizza, that's a good combination. And even if you don't like me that much, you like pizza, right?" 

You know —you know, you do— that Eddie doesn't mean it as a slight. This isn't some thinly veiled insult on how you look. Why wouldn't you like pizza? Most people do, but his comment twists itself into an evil inky ball in your chest anyways, thick and hot as tar. 

You shake it off. 

"Who says I don't like you?" you ask, steering the conversation away from food altogether. 

His smile gets somehow better, which is to say worse. You're being punished for something, a childhood wrongdoing or a future crime, perhaps. Nothing else could warrant the mental torture that is being so close to him while he looks the way he does. 

"Good. Good, then we should get pizza. It's a date," he says, nodding. 

Morgan the shift manager calls for him to stop distracting you, though the Hideout is abandoned tonight, and there's nothing to distract you from. Eddie stands at full height, with a soldier's salute. "Yes, sir. No more lollygagging." He turns to you when you laugh, and you share a secret smile. 

He and Morgan disappear into the back of house. If you strain your ears, you can hear Eddie complaining about having to keep his hair in a bun, as it's totally against what he stands for, dude, it's stifling his self expression. 

"Count yourself lucky I don't make you wear a hair net, kid," Morgan says.

You turn back to your sticky bar, numb. It's a date? Did he mean, like, an actual date? A romantic date? 

Not a chance in hell. It's a colloquialism. Nothing more. 

Despite yourself, you stare into the silver reflection of a beer tap and try to liven up. You fix your hair, check your teeth, dig a lip balm out of your apron pocket and scratch the corners of your mouth just in case. The entire time you're heckling yourself about delusions. Eddie Munson doesn't like you. He's had a girl come around once or twice, and she'd been everything you're not: slender, confident. You'd wanted to dislike her, but she hadn't done anything wrong. There's no crime in being desirable. 

For the remainder of the night, you man the bar and serve the occasional patron. It's a Sunday night, so most stick to light beer or soft drinks. The live entertainment says goodnight and the Hideout empties like an opened floodgate. You clean the bar, Eddie buses the tables, and the kitchen staff turn on the radio and get to work cleaning. Soon, you can smell cigarette smoke and reheated mozzarella sticks. 

You wander into the kitchen to help. 

"Hi beautiful," Leon says, one of the cooks, "you want something to eat?" 

"No she does not!" Eddie says, helping the dishwasher Marcie with her last round of plates. Suds drip down to his rolled sleeves as he waves his hands around. "We're going to get pizza." 

"Yes!" Marcie says, delighted. 

"Where are we going?" Paul asks, another cook. 

"We," Eddie says, pointing at you and then himself, "are going to Marletto's. Yeah?" 

You startle when you realise he's asking you. "Oh, sure. Anywhere you want." 

His head bobs up and down, pleased. He goes back to his dishes. "Anywhere I want," he murmurs to Marcie, though he's saying it for everybody to hear, "hear that, Marc? I'm spoiled." 

You wipe down a few counters, label some leftover iceberg lettuce and put it back in the fridge. It's easy work, made better by the camaraderie of your coworkers, but you can't settle down. Your heart races at what's to come. "It's a date," is starting to feel less colloquial now Eddie's dissuading the other from joining you. That's how that works, right? He wants to be alone with you.

It might not mean anything. Maybe Eddie needs something from you he doesn't want the others to know about, like money. Maybe he wants girl advice, finally chasing that pretty girl who drops by sometimes. Or boy advice —there's a guy who comes around too, tall and blond and handsome. 

There's a logical solution. Any other girl would hear the word date and take it at face value, but you aren't them. You're you. You can't remember the last time somebody looked at you with desire in their eyes, if they ever have. High school was a shit show and work isn't exactly a hub for romance. Eddie joining the team here is the most excitement you've ever had in your life, for all his gentle squeezes and teasing elbows, his inside jokes and his tendency to burst into an air guitar solo at any given moment. He's a cheeseball, and you like him. It sucks. 

"Hi, are you ready?" he asks, coming out of nowhere. You're kneeling down near the lockers tying your shoelaces. 

It is a horrible position for him to see you in. You can't imagine what you look like, but you know it won't be pretty. You spring up with your shoelace untied still and smile weakly. "Yeah, I'm ready." 

"You need help with that?" he asks, eyes on your shoe. 

You burn with embarrassment. "I– no, I–" 

Eddie kneels down on the floor and reaches for your shoe. He ties it quickly in a double-knotted bunny-loop and pats the side of your ankle when he's done. When he looks up at you, you're in the middle of hoping a natural disaster will occur and put you out of your misery. 

He smiles at you from his position. Does he ever stop? 

"Cool," he says, standing up. He grabs his coat from his locker and doesn't bother closing it. "Let's go! I'm starving, man, Leon needs to mess up more often so I can steal the rejects." 

You follow him in a daze. Through the lockers and out of the kitchen, waving goodbye to the lingering closers and a grimacing Morgan. You aren't looking forward to seeing him again tomorrow. You're more than sure he'll have something to say about workplace fraternising and general dawdling. 

"You okay for us to take the van?" he asks. 

Eddie's given you rides home before, and what felt awkward before has lended itself to a familiarity. You nod your agreement and cross the small parking lot out back, your breath rising in the cold night air. 

Eddie pulls open the passenger door of his van with a strong-armed tug. 

"Been meaning to get the latch looked at. I'd rather it have trouble opening than trouble closing, though, so that's a plus." 

He waits for you to climb the short step and sit before he closes the door. 

“All limbs inside the ride?" he asks. 

You laugh. It comes out weird. You kind of sound like you're being held at gunpoint. 

Eddie gets in the van and makes small talk as he starts the engine and pulls her out of the lot. Your mind isn't there, exactly, or rather it's too close. You want to think about your answers but instead you're worrying about how you look while you say them. You're worried about the seat belt around your stomach, and the way you look from the side. Being around Eddie makes you more self-conscious than usual. 

Marletto's isn't the best pizza place in Hawkins but it's open until three AM. You and Eddie take the first empty booth you come across, and the agony of ordering in front of someone else begins. 

"Meat feast for me, obviously," he says, pulling off his jacket. 

The cracked vinyl seat beneath him crunches with his movement. You dedicate yourself to staying still. 

"I'll get a margarita," you say, glancing between him and the menu for his reaction.  

"Didn't take you for such a bore," he teases. "Drinks? Sides?" 

"Just water will be fine." 

"Are you sure? I'm paying. If you wanna take advantage of me, now's the time."

You shake your head, pushing your cold hands under your thighs. 

Eddie frowns. "If you're sure…" 

He gets up to track down the register. You sit there, wondering why you agreed to this, what possessed you, why you could ever think this was a good idea. You don't wanna eat in front of him, you don't know what to say, he's looking at you like everything's normal but this is so not normal, this is the opposite side of the spectrum. 

Eddie returns with your water and a coke, all smiles despite your clear nerves. 

He puts the drinks down and clambers into the seat with a leg folded underneath himself, his elbows halfway across the table. He looks you straight in the face. 

"That guy just looked at me like I was crazy. I'm hungry, sue me. Three orders of mozzarella sticks is a normal human thing to get, right?" 

"Three?" you ask. 

His hand reaches toward you. If your hand were there, he'd likely squeeze it roughly as he sometimes does, like a playful scolding. "I'm hungry," he repeats. "I didn't get any lunch on my lunch break. What's the point in that? Just sat down in the locker room thinking about it. It was actually worse than working." 

"You should've had Leon make you a burger. He's always offering." 

"Always offering you, maybe. The rest of us gotta fend for ourselves." 

"That's not true. He asks Marcie, too." 

"Yeah, well, Leon's a sucker for pretty girls." 

You look down at the table. 

"I got enough fries for both of us, I know you didn't want any sides but everyone wants fries. I won't be sharing the mozzarella sticks, so if you want some you better speak now." He raps the table with his knuckles. When you look up, his face softens. "Well, alright. Maybe I'll share them with you. I'm a sucker, too." 

"What's that mean?" 

"What?" 

"You know what," you say. 

Eddie crosses his arms across the table. His hands and arms are pale, the ink of his black tattoos stark. You could draw them without prompting, that's how often you've fallen into his trap. When he crosses his arms like this, his biceps bulge up a little bit, emphasising the pretty curves and ridges of his arms and the hints of greeny-blue veins hiding under his skin. He tilts his head toward his shoulder, his limp curls dragging against the table. 

"It means…" he says, holding your eyes, a gentle smile playing on his lips, "that you're pretty. You're so pretty, I'd do anything you asked me to." 

You flinch. You pull your numb hands from under your thighs and cover your stomach with your forearms, glaring at the table between you thoughtlessly. 

"That's cruel." 

"What?" 

"That's cruel, Eddie. You're being mean," you mutter.

"I–" Eddie stammers. "What? I'm just trying to tell you how I think about you– how I feel. I'm sorry if you don't wanna hear it, I'm not trying to be mean." 

Hurt creeps into the lines of your face, your eyebrows pulled down and the starts pulled up, your lips pursed. Heat bursts in your throat as a molten lump takes shape there. You don't trust yourself to speak, but you have to. 

"I thought you were my friend," you say quietly. 

"I want to be more than that." 

"You're making fun of me." 

"No." 

Eddie reaches across the table again. There's nothing for him to grab so he spreads his fingers and presses his palm flat. He ducks his head to meet your gaze. His eyes are ridiculously big, the black of his pupils blown and leaching into his dark irises until they're almost indistinguishable in the fuzzy lighting of the restaurant. 

"Come on," he says quietly, "when have I ever done that to you? I mess around, but I wouldn't say shit like that unless I meant it." His fingers lift off of the table. "I mean it. I think you're beautiful." His voice takes on a raw quality. 

You bite the tip of your tongue, fully frowning now. "I don't believe you," you say. 

"Why not?" he asks, frowning back. 

"Because I'm– I'm– I'm fat." You hate yourself for saying it out loud. 

People hate that word. Usually, if you admit to it, there's a rushed response. No, you're not. Pretty friends talk you down, loved ones wrap an arm around your shoulder and harp about puppy fat or big bones. 

Eddie doesn't do either. He sits back in his seat and smiles hesitantly. 

"Why's that a bad thing?" he asks. He shakes his head at himself. "I mean– I'm sorry, I should've said you aren't, you aren't–" 

"No, I am," you say. 

"You're so pretty," he says again, in a rush. "I don't care what size you are, I really don't. I just think you're beautiful and I wanted to ask you on a real date but I saw you and I couldn't wait anymore." He wraps his hand around the neck of his coke bottles and pulls it towards his chest. "Shit, I've made a huge fucking mess of it." 

You lean forward. Your body doesn't know what to do, the whiplash of hurt smothered by his enthusiastic, sincere compliments.

Why's that a bad thing? means more than anything else he said to you. 

"You really think I'm pretty?" you ask timidly. 

"Drop dead," he says. Hope flickers behind his eyes. "Morgan pulled me aside on my second week, you know that? Said if I didn't stop staring at you he'd put me in the back for the week." 

"He did put you in the back," you say, confused. 

"Exactly." 

Oh. You raise your head properly. Eddie's watching you, just you, obviously waiting for you to speak. The hope on his face is clear as day now, his lips parted, the tiniest peek of his tongue on display. 

"You promise you aren't messing with me?" you ask finally. 

"I promise." He holds his hand out, palm up. "I swear." 

Your heart a hummingbird, you take your hand from your waist and put it carefully in his. His fingers curl around yours like a prince, the tip of his thumb rubbing over your knuckles slowly, half an inch at a time. You exhale out of your nose as goosebumps race up your arm. 

He looks like he has more to say, but the pizza and all his sides arrive. You spring apart like teenagers, blood rushing in your ears. The server unloads his tray.

"Alright guys," he says, looking down at you both with a knowing smile. "Anything else I can get you while I'm here?" 

Eddie sneaks a look at you that holds way too much meaning. "No, I think we're alright." 

There's a tiny, awkward silence. You busy yourself with unfolding a napkin over your lap, not sure what to say to bridge the gap. 

Eddie takes the plunge. 

He slides a basket of mozzarella sticks at you. "Pretty girl privileges," he says.

You feel insecure eating in front of him, but the sheer ferocity of his compliments discourages any shame. He thinks you're pretty. He held your hand like it was made of glass and he got put in Hideout jail for staring. 

"I think you're handsome, too," you say. 

Eddie almost chokes on a handful of fries. "Shit," he says, swallowing roughly, hand thumping at his chest. "Thank god for that. I mean, of course you do. My devilish good looks are hard to resist." 

He's not wrong. 

—

Getting put on kitchen duty isn't half as bad as Morgan seems to think it is. Eddie kind of likes it, the noise, the chaos, the heat. Plus, he can steal fries hot and fresh out of the basket. He's only burned himself once. 

"What're you in for?" Leon asks him.

"Staring." 

"You're a freak, Munson, you know that?" 

Eddie shrugs. "If your girlfriend looked like mine, you'd stare too." 

"Uh-huh." Leon grabs up a spatula to flip a burger, pink meat down and brown side up. Fat sizzles dangerously. Neither man flinches. "She ain't going nowhere." 

"You don't know that. Some rockstar might blaze through here and snap her up. Who would I be to stop her? She should be a trophy wife, she's a stunner." 

"Christ," Marcie says from across the room. 

"How the fuck can you hear us?" Eddie asks. Over the sound of the overhead spray and the sizzle of the burners, Marcie must have superpowers or something. 

"Uh, 'cause you're fucking yelling," she says. 

Eddie looks to Leon for some defence, but Leon agrees. "You are super loud." 

"You would be too–"

"If I had a girlfriend as pretty as yours," Leon says, audibly grouchy. "I know." 

"Don't be jealous that I got there first." 

"How is this fair? You get in trouble and I'm the one punished." 

Eddie blows a big breath out of the corner of his mouth, one of his shorter curls dancing away from his warm face. Ridiculous. They're all awful, and jealous, and nobody wants him to be happy. "Losers," he mumbles. 

He's kidding, mostly. He knows that everyone is actually very happy for the both of you. How could they not be? Eddie's happier than ever and you've turned to mush. It's his favourite thing in the world. 

He thought you were pretty before. These days, you're gold dust incarnate. You see him and smile like you've been waiting for him, no more nervousness (which, he found out, was down to a raging crush on him) (he walked on air for days), no more shying away from his touch. Eddie puts a hand on your shoulder and you don't tense; you melt. Butter in the sun. 

It's glorious. 

And sure, Eddie ends up in the brig a lot. He 'hovers' apparently. So what? He'll say it again, if any of these guys were in his shoes, they'd fall victim to the same compulsion. 

He waits for an opportunity to arise, four dinner tickets and a dishwasher disaster, and sneaks away as silently as he can manage, creeping out of the kitchen and to the bar. You're busy pouring a beer and don't notice him until the customer's left and he's wrapping an arm around your waist. 

"Eddie," you scold lightly, leaning forward to accommodate his weight against your back, "come on. You might actually lose your job." 

"They can't fire me. I'm the best bus boy ever." 

You turn your face to look at him. Eddie wants to put you on TV, you look that sweet. 

"No, you're awful, you," —Eddie interrupts you, leaning down for a quick chaste kiss— "distract me, and you," —he steals a second— "don't actually bus tables when you should," you finish, disjointed. 

He brings his hand to your soft cheek, stroking a badly behaved baby hair back into place. You go lax like he's some kind of quick fix drug, and your eyes contain a tenderness that makes his chest ache. He covers his heart with his hand. 

"You're awful," you murmur. 

He takes your face into both hands slowly. One cups your cheek, and the other slides behind your ear. He pulls your face forward and down toward his chin, his lips by your ear. You smell amazing. His eyes close on instinct.

"A little. It's not my fault. You're just–" 

"So pretty?" you ask. "Yeah, you've told me." 

"I have, have I? Have to let me tell you again." He kisses the skin before your ear, more a press of his lips than anything. "You're beautiful," he mouths. 

You shiver, but ultimately end up planting your hands against his chest and ushering him away from you. 

"Stop it. I mean it! We're in public, at work, and you're gonna mess me up." 

"I want to mess you up," he says easily. 

"I know you do." 

Eddie sighs, agonised, but heeds your warning. "Alright," he says, squeezing your shoulder in goodbye. You smile and squeeze his elbow in return. It's your new thing, silent conversation in fond touches. 

He's a couple of feet away when the urge to turn back is too much. He jogs back to your side, gets his hand behind your neck, and kisses you with enough pressure that your lips part underneath his in shock. He adores the side of your neck with his thumb one sweeping stroke at a time, his nose digging sliding against yours as he inches in further, and further. The dizzy pleasure of your lips can't be understated. Eddie fights back a kiss-ruining smile with all he's worth. 

"Sorry," he says, pulling back. Your lips shine and you blink, dazed. "Sorry," he says again, leaning in to kiss them dry. 

You laugh quietly, a breath against his cheek, and he's a goner, dropping pecks all over your pretty face until you're giggling and sinking into his arms. 

"I really am sorry." He punctuates with a kiss under your jaw. 

"No," you say breathlessly. Your hand twines loosely in his hair. "You're not." 

No, he isn't. He's never felt less sorry for anything in his life. 

𓆩❤︎𓆪

thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed! If you did, please consider reblogging, it helps more than you know!! <3 

[dyns33]

Obvious

Most of the time I see him as the cool silly big bro, but I love Deadpool, so here's a long Deadpool x female reader.

Normally nothing destined Y/N to meet Wade Wilson.

A normal life, without enemies, without superpowers, without contracts on her head. She didn't fight, respected the law (at least for the most serious and important things) and she considered herself to be a good person.

The first time she had passed Saint Agnes Orphanage, she hadn't really paid it much attention. The second time, she found it a little strange that an orphanage was in this part of the city, which was not really made for children.

Then one evening, when she had had a bad day, she realized that it was a bar and she decided to go in for a drink.

Since she thought an orphanage was strange in that place, she might have thought it was odd for a bar to have such a name. She could also have been scared when she saw the other customers, who all turned towards her, indicating that she might not be welcome.

But Y/N was tired, and she just wanted a drink before going home, so she smiled politely as she sat down at the counter.

The waiter frowned, but he agreed to serve her with a shrug, muttering that as long as she was an adult, it wasn't his problem.

A tall, bald, tattooed guy then approached her, putting a hand on her arm without worrying about her private space, asking her if she wanted to follow him home.

"… No thanks."

“Come on, don’t be a slut.”

"Please."

“Come with me, you stupid bitch.”

"Now, that's really not very nice. The lady said no, a gentleman should know it's time to leave. But no Hector, not only are you insisting, but you're being rude."

"Fuck you, Wade, don't get involved in this !"

The waiter continued to mumble about cleaning, while this Wade guy smashed Hector's head against the counter. A tooth even flew close to Y/N’s face.

That might have been enough to scare her completely. In addition to the surge of violence that was happening right next to her, there was the red suit, the katanas and other guns, which could make you want to flee as quickly as possible.

But when he finished kicking Hector's ass, Wade turned to her, and despite the mask, it was obvious that he was smiling, extending a hand towards her.

"Miss, my apologies for that boor. He knows nothing of good manners."

"… Thank you."

"You're very welcome, lovely angel ! Wade Wilson, Deadpool, Merc with a mouth, at your service ! Oh, he spilled your drink… Bad Hector ! Or was it me ? Maybe it was me. Weasel, the same for the little lady, on my note !”

“You already owe me a fortune.”

“I will kill whoever you want for free !”

“I thought you didn’t kill anymore.”

"Ah yes… I'll suck you for free !"

“Here you go, two drinks, just shup up Wade.”

In the end, Wade was a bit special, but not evil. He stayed with her, partly because he loved having someone to talk to, but also to make sure no one else was going to bother her again.

And he talked a lot. Everything he said didn't always make sense, he even seemed to be talking to himself sometimes, but he was funny. It seemed to please him that Y/N laughed at his jokes. Behind the counter, Weasel was still muttering that she was doing something silly.

Among the long tirade he delivered that evening, she understood that Wade had not had an easy life. That he had done some things that could make him a criminal, but he had been trying to improve for some time.

"Colossus already wanted me to become an X-men but it wasn't for me. Wait, there are X-men in this universe ? I do not know anymore. Anyway, there's Spidey and Devy. No, he's right, this nickname isn't great, Devil. Like Daredevil. They want us to be Team Red, but only if I stop unliving people. It's not fair because they're friends with Frank, and Frank keeps unliving people, but he lost his wife and his kids, so I guess he has more sympathy points than me."

"I don't understand everything, but I guess Spidey is Spiderman ?"

"Yes ! He's super cool ! And his ass ! People confuse us sometimes, it annoys me, but it's a bit of a compliment. He's my role model."

Like a true superhero, Deadpool insisted on taking her home. He was terribly honest, saying that he could leave her a few blocks away, but that was useless, because as a former mercenary, he was very good at stalking people and he could find her address without difficulty, even if he only had her name.

"Which I wouldn't do ! Normally. I might want to see you again, and ask Weasel to find your number, but I know myself, I'll put it in my phone, and I'll hesitate for weeks, then I'll send a lousy message, you'll be scared, you'll block me, I'll be ashamed and I'll shoot myself in the head because I'm a moron."

“I can give you my number.”

"And I… Huh ? Huh ?! For real ?!" exclaimed Wade, jumping like a child on Christmas Day.

Wade called her right away, specifying that it was not to verify that she was giving him a false number but a little. Despite the mask, his face showed surprise when he saw that she hadn't lied.

"I should put a bullet in my head to make sure I'm not dreaming."

“You wouldn’t wake up.”

“Baby girl, we only just met, there are a lot of things you don’t know about me.”

When Deadpool talked about shooting himself, he meant it literally. It often happened that he died, either because of an enemy, an accident, or by his own hand. But he always came back. A gift like a curse.

They became friends. It was obvious, and quite sad, that Wade didn't have many friends.

Most people around him couldn't stand him or were afraid of him. It was true that he could be quite unpredictable, especially when he got lost in his discussions with the boxes, or an imaginary audience. But he was never mean.

Weasel was more of a collaborator, Al was forced to accommodate him, and the other heroes, unable to get rid of him, tried to make him a nice guy.

And he was really nice. Crazy but adorable, funny and wanting to do well.

Very quickly, Y/N started to have a crush, and even more. Even after seeing him without a mask. He never took it off completely to eat, repeating that he didn't want her to lose her appetite or feel like throwing up.

But after landing in a trash can after a fight, and forgetting that he had invited her to watch Princess Bride, Y/N had seen him. Yes, his scars were a bit impressive, but they weren't that bad.

With an embarrassed smile, he waved his hand while remaining frozen near the entrance.

"… I can move if you want to run away. I won't follow you. I may look like Frankenstein's monster, but I only pursue young girls who ask me to. Or who deserve it. Because criminals have no gender, I don't discriminate."

“I brought popcorn.” was her only reaction.

"... Oh. Sweet ? Salty ? Caramel ? Al must have beer somewhere, hidden with the cocaine."

After that, he was a little less afraid to show his face, even though it was obvious he wasn't comfortable. It wasn't easy to reassure him, repeating that she didn't care about his appearance.

Y/N didn’t remember how they ended up having this conversation. The only thing she knew was that she was pressed against him, laughing, when she had innocently said it would be fun if they went out together.

This made Wade laugh, but a very serious laugh, leaving no chance and hitting where it hurt.

"You and me ? Ah ! No chance."

"Why ?"

"It's obvious."

A simple little sentence could sometimes do a lot of damage. Too busy making fun of the characters on the screen, Wade didn't see Y/N's look of sadness, just as he didn't feel her body stiffen.

Still, she should have expected this response. Of course it was obvious that they had nothing to do together. Deadpool was a super hero (in training), he was tall, muscular, funny, rich.

She had seen photos of his deceased ex, Vanessa. She had observed him flirting with beautiful women and men before. It was already fortunate that she was only friends with him.

So Y/N swallowed her pride, accepting the obvious, and not talking about the subject again.

But it was hard, because the more time passed, the stronger the feelings became.

It was even harder when Wade entered his depressive phases. He kept putting himself down, insulting himself and accepting insults from the boxes in his head. It took a lot of patience and perseverance to get him to put down his gun.

"Anyway, I'll come back later. Bad luck for the world. People would be happier if I wasn't here anymore. Maybe they'll miss me a little, for a few minutes."

“I would miss you, Wade.”

"Yeah… You say that because you're adorable, baby girl. But you'd be better off without me too. I'm a real drag."

“You saved me the first time we met.”

"And since then you think you owe me a debt. You know, every time we're in the street, the others look at me and they're afraid. If I wasn't there, you could be with them. You could have lots of friends.”

"I don't want lots of friends, Wade." Y/N sighed, taking him into her arms. “I’m glad we’re friends.”

“Oh, sweetie pie, me too !”

It was rarer for them to find themselves in the opposite situation. Not because Deadpool wasn't capable of empathy, but because she didn't like talking about her problems, preferring to keep everything to herself and cry out of sight.

Unfortunately, she had made the decision to become friends with a former mercenary who loved to jump from roof to roof, only to come visit without warning by tapping on the window.

Y/N had no time to hide her tears, holding back a sob as her eyes met those of Wade, who had stopped mid-movement, fist raised against his window.

He didn't hesitate before entering, terribly serious.

"Who ? Who did this ?"

“Wade…”

"Who made my baby girl cry ? I want a name. Spidey and Dev will understand. Yellow wants decapitation, White wants emasculation. Tell me who."

"It's really not necessary. It's not important."

“It’s important if you cry.” Deadpool growled as he looked around the apartment for clues.

Once he had an idea in his head, it was almost impossible to divert his attention. If it wasn't so important, it was possible with food or talking about Spiderman's butt. But this time he considered it very important.

Tired, Y/N thought that all she had to do was say that it was just a ridiculous heartbreak for him to calm down. He had no reason to kill someone just because they didn't love her back.

This actually seemed to calm him down a bit, as he patted his cheeks with his hands in a dramatic gesture.

"What ?! Someone doesn't love you ?! Someone doesn't like my sweet little angel ? Are they crazy or stupid. You deserve the best !"

"Actually… He's the one who's too good for me."

"Bullshit ! The important thing is love ! If a woman can marry a space duck, then everyone can be together, as long as it's legal and consensual !"

"… What ? No, wait, it doesn't matter. Wade, please forget it."

"A name. Let me prove to you that this fool doesn't deserve you, and not the other way around !"

"No."

"A name !"

"You ! It's you !"

For the first time since they met, Wade was silent for more than a minute, staring at her like he wasn't sure she was real. He often had hallucinations, so this happened to him.

Then he muttered incomprehensible things, probably speaking with his boxes to check that he had heard what she had just said.

"… Me ? As in, me ?"

“I know what you’re going to say.” Y/N sighed, wanting to disappear. "You've already said it, it's obvious that we're not meant to be together. You're charismatic, and strong, and funny, with powers. You save people, you have an extraordinary life, while I… I am me."

"… Baby girl. Do you have a fever ? Did you lose a bet ? Because… You saw me without a mask. You know I'm crazy and dangerous. There are several bounties on my head, I've unlived more people than the population of New York, and my favorite movie is Zoolander 2. When I said it was obvious… I meant that you were too good for me."

There had been a misunderstanding, each being convinced that the other could never want the other, because they were too different. But even though he was special, with skin problems and an inability to concentrate for more than ten minutes, Wade was much better than a space duck.

However, while she was sure of what she wanted, he hadn't clearly said what he expected next.

"I mean, if you just want to be friends, I'll understand."

"You can't tease me like that and then break my heart. Don't play with me, woman !"

“Wade…” Y/N sneered, as he gesticulated like a degenerate, declaiming his great love for her and her smile, the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

Taking advantage of his inattention, she approached him, until he froze when he felt her hands on his mask.

With a look, she asked him if she could take it off, and as he didn't move to stop her, she took it off first up to his nose, before hesitating.

Y/N didn’t want to make him uncomfortable, but she also didn’t want him to think that she didn’t want to see him if she didn’t go further. So she took out the whole mask, she observed Wade, smiling before kissing him.

"… Don't take what comes next as a bad thing." he whispered as their lips parted.

"What ?"

"I'm going to have a heart attack…"

As always, Y/N thought he was joking at first, until he collapsed in front of her, looking delighted even though his heart had stopped beating. Fortunately she was used to seeing him die, even if it was still a little traumatic.

It took almost an hour for him to wake up. Y/N had time to take a shower and make herself some tea, sitting on the couch to wait.

"Shit !" he shouted as he opened his eyes, looking around the apartment before looking at her. “Did we kiss ?”

“Yes and you died.”

"It's weird. Normally you go to heaven after you die, not before. But I probably don't have enough superhero points for heaven yet, so the other option is that I became totally crazy."

“Wade…”

"I know, White and Yellow would have told me. They're already saying that all the time, but they would have insisted, especially for me to escape from the asylum. It's no fun fighting with fake people and hippos. Was I dead long ?"

“No, a little over half an hour.”

"And you stayed with me, it's so cute. Nurse Y/N. No, Doctor Y/N, and I'll be Nurse Wilson. Oh, Doctor Y/N, I made a mistake in the dosage of a patient, I'm a bad nurse, punish me."

"… Let's see Nurse Wilson, we're in the middle of an intervention, calm down."

"Uh oh ! You're playing along !" Wade exclaimed, pouting from the ground. "I didn't expect that ! Wait, I need a blonde wig, and a white dress. You'll see, I look super sexy in a dress. Wait, we do this now or it's quick and we should have a date first ?'

“I wouldn’t say no to a date.”

"I see the genre, like in novellas. Doctor Y/N takes me to the restaurant to talk about my future promotion, but in fact, you are going to admit to me that I am pregnant with you, before I even enter your bed !"

“As long as you’re in my bed before the hundredth episode.”

“UH !”

The small, high-pitched cry of pleasure preceded a second cardiac arrest, Deadpool's mind imagining Y/N and him in a bed, with a stetoscope.

When she asked him if he was going to have a heart attack every time, he told her that he would probably die for good the day he saw her naked, or that they made love for the first time.

But Wade was a gentleman, he ate lots of vegetables, exercised, and begged Daredevil to teach him meditation techniques.

So he had the courtesy of having the next heart attack only after they were finished, and in the toilet. And every time after that they were together, Wade would go out of his way to just get a nosebleed.

Especially on Weasel's counter, telling him everything they had done or almost everything, which annoyed the poor waiter a lot, even if he knew that it would happened from the start, the moment he saw Deadpool with Y/N.

[lordprettyflackotara]

kehlani || mattheo riddle

SMUT MINORS DNI 18+. i have no tw’e for this besides the fact this is meant to be like a ✨mystery✨ so happy kinktober detectives!

Mattheo Riddle did not care for relationships.

His father had taught him long ago romantic entanglements were a waste of time. Even with his mother being his father’s right hand in war, he saw her nothing more than just another soldier. Mattheo adored his mother, resulting him deciding it wouldn’t be suitable for him to treat a witch like that. So as he attended Hogwarts University, he focused on his studies instead. The expectation of reviving his father was on his shoulders, the death eaters lurking in the shadows eagerly awaiting Mattheo’s next move. Truthfully Mattheo was a bit behind on his responsibility of being the dark lords son.

Besides stirring up generic chaos in classroom settings with his posse, Mattheo wasn’t living up to the expectations everyone had placed upon him. If anything him and his mates were enjoying having a break from assisting in world domination. Theodore Nott and Draco Malfoy were his right hand men, both pure bloods and death eaters themselves. To pass time besides creating entertaining mischief, they found themselves doing what most wizards were doing at their age: partying until the motherfucking sun came up.

Slytherin’s had always been known to throw the most exciting parties, but the outrageous substances at these parties only escalated once they were all in University. With the war over and many Slytherin’s sent to azkaban, the remaining sought to get high or drunk to find a way to cope with their sorrow. Whether or not they believed in Voldermort’s plan was irrelevant, many just coping with the evil stereotype placed upon them. Or in Draco and Theodore’s case, their parents being sent to azkaban for life. In Mattheo’s case, both his parents were dead. The expectation was exhausting if he were being honest, something he only was with Draco and Theo after a good blunt.

It was another one of those kind of nights, the Slytherin common room crowded with party attendees. Not many other houses had the courage to attend Slytherin parties and when they did, they dressed in neutral clothing to blend in. Mattheo could always spot another house member from a mile away though. Gryffindors were often too rowdy, Ravenclaws too reserved, Hufflepuffs too eager to try anything and everything put in front of them. They might as well have written their house on their forehead if you asked Mattheo. He watched the party over the rim of his red solo cup, a custom that Theo had shamelessly stolen from muggle culture. After the war Theodore Nott had been sentenced to community services to assist the muggles. The council assumed it would help them abolish his stigmatization. Unfortunately all it really did was introduce him to the world of muggle drugs.

Draco stood beside Mattheo, inhaling the freshly rolled blunt. If there was anything the three of them thought muggles were good for, it was their drugs. Strobe lights and blaring music helped Mattheo drown out any sort of coherent thoughts, his body living in the now. Theo elbowed him from the other side, cocking his head to the left. “Hey, who the hell is that? I can’t figure out what house she’s in,” Theo asked. He gestured to you, Mattheo’s eyes lighting up at the sight of you. You looked like a breath of fresh air. He had never seen you before, but merlin were you stunning. You wore a black sparkly dress as you talked to what looked to be a Ravenclaw. “Couldn’t tell ya. But she’s not Slytherin so therefore she’s most certainly not pure,” Draco chimed in. Theo and Draco were on opposite ends of the spectrum. Theo would fuck anything with two breasts, while Draco only sought out purebloods. Mattheo feared the pureblood ideology had seeped a little too deep into the blondes head, but he’d never mention it.

“Huh. She doesn’t look like any of them honestly,” Mattheo muttered. Finishing his drink he carelessly tossed the red solo cup away, wiping his upper lip with his sleeve. Curiosity was beginning to nag at Mattheo as he watched you laugh. “I think i’ll go find out,” He announced, confidently strolling over to you. The moment he arrived to your conversation the Ravenclaw boy took a hint, disappearing into the never ending sea of swaying bodies. Your eyes met Mattheo’s, the brunette digging in his pocket and taking out a box of cigarettes. “Cig?” He offered, handing it out to you. You politely declined, watching him place a cigarette between his lips. “Who doesn’t smoke these days?” He asked, lighting the cigarette with the end of his wand. You awkwardly shrugged. “I guess me,” You answered. Mattheo couldn’t quite understand why he was even talking to you, putting aside the morbid curiosity. “So what house are you in?” Mattheo asked. He figured once you answered he’d lose interest, as he did most things.

“Hufflepuff.”

Your answer surprised him, considering how confident you were standing. “Thats shocking,” Mattheo answered honestly. You seemed confused, raising an eyebrow. “Oh? Why is that shocking?” You asked. Mattheo chuckled as he inhaled his cigarette, relishing in the feeling of the tobacco swirling around his lungs before he exhaled. “Well, usually Hufflepuff’s piss themselves when I try to talk to them,” Mattheo explained. He found the situation odd. He had been around the block many of times and was always able to stop the micro movements that belonged to each house. Yet you shockingly displayed none of them. “Huh. You don’t seem so scary to me,” You quipped. Mattheo found himself entertained, chuckling again. “Do you know who I am?” He asked. It was impossible that you didn’t know who he was if you were a student here. “Of course I do. You just aren’t that scary to me,” You replied. The brunette was at a loss for words, the tension between the two of you growing awkward. Mattheo glanced at his friends, who were observing the two of you chat from a far. He figured he should return to them, having the answer to the question they wanted to know.

Just as he was about to walk away, your voice interrupted him, “Wanna dance?”

Your question had taken him aback. No one had ever asked him to dance before. Doing so took a lot of courage, a strangely Gryffindor trait for such a confident Hufflepuff. “Sorry sweetheart I don’t dance,” Mattheo declined, a sly smirk crawling up his lips. You laughed at his remark, grabbing his arm. “Sure you do,” You replied, dragging him onto the self designated dance floor. Mattheo didn’t recognize whatever song was playing, the bass loud and borderline overbearing if he was sober. The only dancing he had ever done was traditional ballroom style, the kind you’d do at the Yule ball for example. He wasn’t quite sure what to do as you swayed your hips in front of him, your eyes gleaming up at him as you patiently waited for him to join. He nervously finished his cigarette, tossing it aside and exhaling through his nose. It wasn’t often Mattheo felt nervous, but your confidence compared to his reluctance definitely made him feel so. You grabbed his hands, your touch warm and soft as you placed them on your hips. You pressed your body against his, Mattheo’s cheeks growing hot. “I’m not quite sure you wanna do that sweetheart, i’m not gentle,” He purred.

Mattheo wasn’t a virgin or anything, having experimented plenty in his teen years. He knew he was rough when it came to sex. He had been on the straight and narrow for a couple of years now, focusing on world domination or whatever his father wanted. But your hips were tempting. Your confidence made it all of the better, your long eyelashes batting up at him. “I didn’t ask if you were. Who knows? Maybe I like it a bit rougher,” You hummed. You turned around, your ass placed against his crotch. Mattheo readjusted his grip on your hips, squeezing the flesh harshly even with your dress providing some form of protection. Mattheo’s hips involuntarily grinded against yours, your body shamelessly dancing to the music. “You’re playing in the snake den princess, wouldn’t want you to get bit,” Mattheo grumbled into your ear, his breath deliciously hot against your skin. You grinned at the sensation, soaking in the attention. “You don’t scare me Riddle,” You replied, pushing your ass against him. He felt himself growing hard under your touch, having not felt someone this close to him in a long time.

Hearing his name fall off of your tongue was music to his ears, the green strobe lights dancing off of your body. Mattheo glanced over at Draco and Theodore, who were cheering him on from a far. Draco was intoxicated enough to put aside his pureblood bigotry and was giving Mattheo two thumbs up. Theo on the other hand was plastered, fresh flakes of cocaine still decorating his upper lip. He was mouthing the words ‘fuck her!’ as he childishly humped the air. Mattheo rolled his eyes, before returning his gaze back to you. Mattheo began having an internal debate, wondering if he should give in to his urges. Could he really allow you to be treated like his mother long term if he followed in his father’s footsteps? He bit his bottom lip as he admired your ass. Maybe he wouldn’t be too terrible of a person if he let you seduce him. Just for a night anyways. “Hey you wanna get out of here?” Mattheo asked, his lips a millimeter away from your earlobe. You grinned as you turned around, intertwining your fingers with his.

“Lead the way.”

Mattheo had a lot of questions about you. You were so mysterious, eagerly following him down to the lower level dungeons where the forms were. He shared a dorm with Theodore and Draco, who would know the room was being more than occupied. His questions arose even further when your lips clashed with his before he could barely shut the door. You were eager and desperate to have him, which puzzled him endlessly. Mattheo was a walking threat to any other witch and wizard, yet a supposed Hufflepuff was nibbling at his bottom lip. Mattheo found himself just as desperate to match your energy, not having any relief from pent up stress in Merlin knows how long. He pressed you against the door, kissing down the side of your neck. His large hands cupped your waist, itching to pull up your dress. “Never would’ve thought the devil would be as eager as me,” You teased, tilting your head to the side to allow him better access.

The time for thinking was over, his hormones and desires in full control as he unzipped your undress. “Never seen a Hufflepuff so slutty,” Mattheo countered, his voice husk as watched your dress fall. Goosebumps rose across your skin as he admired your frame, licking his lips. “You’re looking at me like a virgin Riddle,” You teased, causing Mattheo to chuckle. As he lowered himself to his knees he looped his fingers with your lacey black panties, pulling them down before tucking them into his pocket for safe keeping. His mind wondered to your witty comment, making a mental note how Ravenclaw like it sounded. Your glistening cunt was the perfect distraction from his thoughts, your legs slowly spreading open. Like a starved man Mattheo dived into your folds, lapping at your cunt as if he was dying of thirst. “Fucking shit, Riddle-” You moaned, tilting your head back against the door. Your fingers raked through his chocolate curls, pulling at them as he sucked on your clit. Mattheo wrapped his arms around your plush thighs, pulling them closer to him.

You were so cute like this, so desperate and horny. “Feel good princess?” He mumbled into your slick, watching you fall apart against his door. You were bucking your hips against his face, the knot in your stomach tightening. Your thighs squeezed around his head, before a wave of euphoria crashed down over you. Your heart pounded as you danced with stars, your breath shallow as you tried to catch it. You looked down at a cocky Mattheo Riddle, your juices coating his chin and lips as he grinned up at you. “I’m that good huh?” He asked sarcastically. You reached down and grabbed his emerald tie, yanking him to his feet. Mattheo followed your lead, guiding you to his bed. Your tongues danced for dominance as your juices coated your own taste buds. Mattheo fell back onto the bed, watching you eagerly paw at his belt. He put his hands behind his head, attempting to enjoy the experience as obnoxious questions circled his mind. “So uh, how come i’ve never seen you around before?” He asked suddenly. His questioning didn’t faze you though, his belt clinking as you pulled down his trousers.

“I’m a transfer student,” You answered automatically. You palmed Mattheo through his boxers, attempting to get him to focus on the matter at hand. Mattheo found your attempt to be dominant quite brave, causing him to prop himself up on his elbows. “We take transfer students?” He asked. You glared up at him, taking his hard cock out of his boxers. “Quite obviously since i’m here, now do you want me to suck your dick or not?” You quipped, tired of the interrogation. Mattheo verbalized agreement, laying back and closing his eyes as you took him into your mouth. You were hot and everything, but all of your traits were contradicting. It was like you were all of the houses at once. He tried to enjoy the way you bobbed your head up and down on his cock. The way you picked the underside of his shaft and kitten licked the tip to tease him. Yet his mind poked and prodded at him, causing him to prop himself up on his elbows once more. “Yeah sorry just one more question, how did you get sorted if you transferred-” He began, the dorm door opening causing him to stop mid sentence.

Draco and Theo stood in the doorway, covering each others eyes. “I told you he was going to be in here!” Theo hissed, cringing in disgust. Your face was flushed with embarrassment as you scrambled to cover yourself, while Mattheo instantly went to pull his pants back up. “Fuck this,” You grumbled, pulling down your dress. Mattheo scrambled to follow you, managing to button up his pants before trailing behind you.

“Hey wait! I didn’t even catch your name!”

“It’s Kehlani,” You hissed coldly, before shoving past Draco and Theodore and storming out of the room.

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

aita for deceiving a psychiatrist with lies to get diagnosed with a psychological disorder so i could get attendance accommodations at school where it was really nazi strict and evil forced attendance and they would fail me for not going to class EVEN THO I DID EVERYTHING TO THE TOPS?????? Sick fucks tbh. May those “educators” burn in torment💖 i wasn’t allowed to have my anxiety/agoraphobia/aversion/truancy/YOUTHFUN absences excused bc of the fasc policies in place as a standard in our christofascist bluemaga joe biden hillary fucked bernie in the ass dry clinton fake woke coopting bullshit society. so because of their nazi policy i had to find a way to get accommodation bc clearly i couldnt be in class every day in a row and needed leniency, not academo nazi policy, i was like. Fuck it let me get my papers for that accommodations letter approval. Bc like i had already been going to the counselors for stress and general social bullshit So since i wasn’t allowed to use that for accommodation i hd to make sooo many months long appointments w this far af psych and i didnt have a car and what an added stress. They were like “we dont got a car to pick you up like a normal fucking doctors place. Take the bus!” Ok die first. Next fucking help me!!! I did the meds they really sucked bc i guess i didnt need it and it was all side effects, no benefits, and i was like FUCKING DIAGNOSE ME!!! after reading the DSM5 and “practicing whats wrong w me” so that they are like . Hm yeah that sounds bad. Then IN THE END IT WAS A FUCKING PERSONALITY INVENTORY THEY USED TO ASSESS MY ILLNESS. IT WAS A BAR GRAPH. It was bullshit service in the goddamn american healthcare system and then bullshit actual healthcare bc it was fucking fake. Dumb psych couldnt even tell i wasn a liar???? DUMBASS BITCH LOSER FAGGOT CUNT SCUM. I remember how they made me wait AND CHARGED ME WHEN I MISSED AN APP BC IT WAS SO FCKN FAR AND ANOTHER BC I TOOK A NAP. CHARGING UR POOR MENTALLY ILL CUSTOMERS??? They can explode forreal💖and so can the dumb school policy bitches who couldnt just let me get my A had to be like ohhh cant accomodate u even tho u hve a 98 u are gonna fail :/ DIE ON FIRE SCREAMING YOU SCUM BITCH!!!! <-me to that professor nazi. May she be tortured. ANNMYWAY im sorry to everyone who’s gone thru academic ableism and abuse by this bullshit system!!!!! my school ended up being transphobic and zionist so i transfered anyway bc i dont want that bullshit on my titles. I’m glad i got my classes accomodated tho! I only wonder if im legally beholden to that diagnosis or if we can just be like fuck that doctor. Hm. Like i lied 😂 ffbsjfbsjfbjsnfjekfnsjs FREE ATTENDANCEE THOOOOOOOOOO it should be like that always for everyone. Kill every nazi teacher forreal. And kill teachers who dont give free B’s. Fuck your grade curve bitch. Fuck your admin. FUCK IT ALL!!!!! And i know its possible bc ive had actually good teachers. Hmmm the nazis WISH they could hide!!!

[coffeeviolinist]

One of the most fascinating things about Furuya Rei is how deeply unsettling his Amuro persona actually is, at least to anyone who truly knows him. I would argue that Amuro is even creepier than Bourbon because while Bourbon is a cold-blooded killer, at least with him, what you see is what you get. There's no darker side hiding behind Bourbon's mask because Bourbon is supposed to be evil.

But Amuro Tooru is meant to come off as (at least mostly) harmless. To anyone who only knows Amuro, it's easy to like him. He's friendly, charming, handsome, smart, maybe a bit dorky, and he's good with kids. Add the fact that he's also a customer service worker, and you've got yourself a man that most people would be completely fine with letting their guard down around - which is precisely what makes him so dangerous.

Because at the end of the day, Amuro is just a mask that Rei created to help further his mission. And Rei, as we all know, is the very opposite of harmless. We've seen time and time again that he has no problem with potentially destroying innocent lives if it benefits him in some way. None of the charming friendliness that Amuro Tooru displays is sincere because Furuya Rei has almost no one left alive in the world that he genuinely cares about. Arguably, the only people left alive that Rei cares about are Akai, Conan, Kazami, and maybe the Detective Boys (granted, Akai is more in the sense that it's impossible to hate someone and not care about them). And even then, Rei would have no problem with screwing them over for the sake of his mission and letting them get themselves out of trouble. Sure, he might hesitate a little if it was the DB since they're children, but he would ultimately still be able to do it, and he would leave it up to Conan (and Haibara) to save them.

I mean, he would fuck Akai's life up for a Klondike bar, but that's beside the point.

When it comes to everyone else, though, Rei couldn't care less about any of them. He would kill or at least majorly fuck them over for his own benefit in a heartbeat, and more to the point, he would care very little about ensuring that they had a way to save themselves or had someone that could save them. If they do, great, if not, well, sucks to be them, but it was for the greater good. At any given time, anyone who knows him as the cheerful, dorky, nice guy (no, not that type of nice guy) Amuro - Ran, Sonoko, Azusa, Hattori, the Poirot customers who keep fawning over him, anyone - could find themselves on the wrong end of one of his schemes, and the odds of him feeling any remorse if they die or have their lives permanently ruined in some way are slim to none.

TL;DR: Amuro Tooru is the type of guy who pretends to be a friend and lures people into a false sense of security while holding a knife to their back, and that, at least to me, is far more disturbing than a man who's just an outright ruthless criminal.