#wited

[zevrans-remade]

💚🌿🍀

[mournfulroses]

Natalie Diaz, from “Manhattan Is A Lenape Word,” featured in Postcolonial Love Poem

[wolfram-but-art]

can you draw engie holding/using this pretty please

https://encrypted-tbn0.gstatic.com/images?q=tbn:ANd9GcQmgL-OUADqWDIjZathVCXxeYf-vdm0X_o_VRttwGQiG_3TRRLdIff1EaLw&s=10

maybe he makes big dispenser for big healing

normally, i don't open random links sent to me by anons, but it made me laugh so i made an exception

so here he is, just for you

[hermitcraft-alignment-charts]

i have been resurrected from the dead by the pure energy of absentmindedly scrolling through rendogs channel and being forcefully YANKED back into my hermitcraft phase by the sound of his voice

[fleuraimer]

i NEED to hear your thoughts on reader's arguments with boxer!carmy. what's their first argument about? who usually caves first?

you, anon, are a hero and a scholar and are about to receive the greatest blurb in the history of the the tumblr industry (pls someone understand this reference 😭😭)

BUT IT ALL SERIOUSNESS, this is fucking gold; i love you for sending this.

tw!! ooooohh they get into it yall. carmen being a man (ik, i’m sorry). some suggestive content. happy ending.

bf boxer!carmy and reader fighting!!

concept 1. concept 2. bf boxer!carmy hcs.

ok, so, me thinks bf boxer!carmy and his pretty broad actually argue a lot. so often it teeters just on the edge of being unhealthy. but, they also know each other and realize they’re two petty asf ppl (😭😭). so, even though they argue often, it’s usually over stupid shit, or their little fears (like who was supposed to wash the dishes that night, or how carmy’s profession holds a great deal of power over his life, enough to take it away—

she tries hard not to think about it too much; that argument is a losing game).

if carmy’s being frank, it’s half the reason he’s so fucking obsessed in love with her. she’s feisty—she’s trouble, and carmy’s never been good at staying out of it, even before he was the one starting the fights.

however…

when they fight—oh boy! do they fight.

i’d like to think bf boxer!carmy has a hugeeeee jealousy problem (lil insecure loser ☹️🫶🏽), and so that’s usually how their more heated fights begin.

i think their very first BIG fight has to do with a mix of his jealousy issue and the nature of how their relationship came to be.

allow me to set the scene:

so carmy wins the fight against timmy boy (surprise??) and starts talking to his pretty broad, finds out her and timmy aren’t exclusive, just messing around, and takes the green light.

a few weeks go by and everything is going smoothly—you know, the usual, extravagant dates and expensive gifts, lots of pampering and affection from both ends; the rose-hued, honeymoon stage—and carmy invites her as his plus one to some big party/event for his job.

he knocks on the front door of her apartment at 7:15 pm on the dot with a stunning bouquet—baby’s breath and lilies and anemones—of flowers in his right hand. he’s dressed to the nines; a fitted black tux—double breasted, with peak lapels, and slightly high-waisted trousers—and a brown dress-shirt, first thee to four buttons undone (whore 🥸) with a black chiffon, nearly iridescent slip over it that makes that same brown look an earthy, rich green at a swift glance. one gold bracelet, one gold ring for each hand (middle and pinky fingers), his unnecessarily attractive little gold hoop earrings, and a simple gold crucifix hangin’ ‘round his neck.

he raps his busted knuckles against the door with his left hand, and then patiently leans against the frame and awaits the telltale sign of her heels against the hardwood floors.

he counts to seventeen before her front door is swinging open.

the first thing he notices is that smile (that smile, the one she only ever gives to him—not eddie (god forbid), or nacho, or benny, or fucking timmy—just him). pearly whites, with bow and cherry gems (i loveeee teeth gems if my pfp didn’t make that clear), on display, framed by those plump, painted lips—brown liner, blackberry pink lipstick, and a nice, shiny gloss—that never seem to leave his head; burned into his memory, melded to his mind.

his eyes drop to the baby pink toes he’s become far too fond of, the white strap and silver chain of her dior heels placed prettily over top. flits his appraising gaze up to her ankles, the left one wrapped in the anklet he gifted her on their fourth date, a (boxing) glove charm hanging from the gold link. up—up, up, up—they go, trailing the soft ruffles and tedious buttons lining her long sleeve knit dress, hem hitting just at her shin, tight fitting—cinched to her figure—with a swoop neckline that shows off just the right amount of cleavage.

he stops when his eyes find hers again, brown sugar and saccharine.

he pushes off the door frame and steps through, ‘til they’re standing toe to toe and her head is awkwardly bent backward so she can keep eye contact.

“hi, bear,” she chirps, soft and taunting. grins at him while her jewel adorned hands slide up the smooth lapels of his tux.

the left corner of his mouth kicks up into a smirk as he snakes his left arm around her waist, dragging her closer.

his head spins with the scent of cinnamon and evergreen, and he wants to nuzzle in her neck because of it.

“hey, cub,” he rumbles back, and neither of them acknowledge the way she practically melts into her, she just curls her fingers into his lapels, and he tightens his hold on her waist.

she looks at the flowers in his right hand, “those for me?”

carmy turns his head to look at the flowers, lifts his hand with a noisy crinkle to present ‘em to her.

still, he shakes his head, puts on his best poker face and huffs, “nah, i’m taking that real pretty broad down the hall on a date tonight. just dropping in to say ‘hi’.”

her grin drops, face flat, eyes narrowed.

she unfurls her fists from his jacket, starts pushing him away, out from where he came.

“well, since we’ve finished swapping pleasantries—”

this time when he huffs, he’s huffing out a laugh, “i’m kidding. hey, baby, i’m kidding. swear.” he drops the flowers (unimportant; he can get more if she really wants them) to the ground at the side of their feet and wraps his other arm around her waist, crowding her space, barely giving her room to breathe, let alone slip from his grasp.

she wriggles in his hold, still shoving uselessly at his firm chest. “carmen, let go—”

and, well he’s definitely in trouble, but there’s not much to be done about that now, is there?

he takes both her tiny, pounding fists and locks them behind her back in one fell swoop “never. now look at me.”

she looks into the hallway, just over his shoulder, to piss him off.

his eye threatens to twitch.

“look at me, cub. don’t make me say it again.”

she rolls her brown sugar eyes, but does thereafter shift her gaze to look at him. raises an impatient brow.

“i’m sorry for saying that. it was a shitty joke—”

“it wasn’t fucking funny, carm.”

he grunts, “all right. wasn’t funny, i’m sorry, baby.”

she continues to glare at him for another 30 to 45 seconds, but then her shoulders are slumping and her face is scrunching in that cute little pout and she’s whining like a sweet little baby.

“wasn’t funny, bear,” she grumbles, and carmy snickers.

“y’already said that; gimme a kiss.”

she shakes her head, fussy, and now it’s carmy’s turn to raise an impatient brow.

“what was that? speak up, baby.”

“no,” she groans, stomping her foot, trying to free her hands from behind her back, but there’s no way she’s getting out now, not if she wants to act like a brat.

“try again.”

“n—”

he yanks her into his chest, “try the fuck again.”

but when has she ever just willingly rolled over?

“let me go, carmen.”

“give me a fucking kiss, cub.”

—

they show up to carmy’s work gathering an hour and a half late, but who’s fucking fault is that (this, too, is a losing game)?

when they step into the venue together, all eyes immediately fall on them. how could they not?

carmen ‘carmy’ berzatto, the bear, and his new girl.

timothy ‘timmy’ grayson’s ex girl.

they don’t let it phase them, the side eye and poorly disguised whispering, just find their way to their way to the open bar and mingle with their inner circle.

the night quickly descends from business to casual, but that could just be because they were so late. as the older patrons slip out, the inconsequential jazz humming in the background is shut off, and then the ceiling is shaking with the bass of keep it g by asap rocky.

somehow, carmy’s on his second glass of bourbon and his girl just finished her third glass of wine and they’re…tipsy.

it’s not even like the song playing is inherently sexual, at all, really, but carmy’s lips are trailing over the back of her neck, uncoordinated—messy—and his fingers are digging into her hips because the way she’s fucking grinding on him should not be legal.

“god, cub,” he grunts in her ear, rolling his hips back into her.

“mhmm,” she moans in the back of her throat, subdued, swallowed down, and places her hands over his that grip at her like a lifeline. she lets her head fall back, settle in the crook of his neck so she can nose at the hinge of his jaw and suck a pretty hickey there, too.

he fully thrusts into her, the bass of the speakers muffling the too audible slap of their bodies connecting.

she squirms and squeaks, “bear!”

he growls, “what?”

she giggles in the shell of his ear. “down, boy. i gotta hit the restroom.”

carmy, very reluctantly, lets her slip from his grasp and venture to find the woman’s room. he nurses on another drink—whiskey, this time—but paces himself as he waits for his girl’s return.

that is, until he sees his girl in question talking with timothy fucking grayson. then, he downs the rest of his drink like water and calmly—calmly—walks up to them.

now, if (and this is a very big fucking if) carmen wasn’t being a complete a***** ******* ****** ***** *****, then maybe he would’ve noticed the rather unkempt state of his pretty broad, her soured expression and guarded body language.

he was being a complete redacted though, so he just steps behind her with his chest puffed and his jaw set, just itching for timmy to say something fucking stupid.

and that stupid fucking smirk on his stupid fucking face might scratch that itch just enough to satiate him.

“what’re y’doin’ with my girl, timmy?”

he doesn’t register the way she bristles against him at the term.

my girl.

“just makin’ friendly conversation,” he shrugs, still smirking, and carmy has never wanted his knuckles to split so fucking bad.

“friendly conversation?” he nearly coos back, the condescending, possessive prick. “why don’t y’find someone else to go make friendly conversation with, yeah? fuck off.”

he walks away before timmy boy gets the chance to respond, dragging his girl behind him.

when they make it back to the bar, he finally has the decency to assess his pretty broad. or, hound her, more like.

"what was he sayin' to you? and what the hell were you doin' with him in the fuckin' first place? if he bothers you again you come straight to me, understood?"

he's met with silence.

he frowns, looks down at his girl to find the same expression on her face, and goes to repeat himself. "i said, underst—"

"take me home, carmen."

his frown deepens. he bends in the knee to try and catch her eyes, but she turns her head away as soon as he glimpses her brown sugar irises.

"cub—"

"take me home, carmen. now."

and they've fought, all right? small tiffs here and there, "pick your fucking shoes up, carmen!", "stop fucking touching shit, carm!", "god, carmen, just leave me alone!" but this is different. deeper.

he's still frowning as he nods, mutters "okay," softly, as to not upset her any further, and places his hand on the small of her back to guide out of the venue doors and out to the valet.

usually, after a date, carmen will pull in to a parking space and get out first to open the passenger door for his girl and walk her up to her apartment, before either getting sent off with a goodnight kiss or getting tugged through her front door to continue where they'd left off.

this time, though, she out the door before the cars even full parked.

carmen rushes to keep up with her takes the stairs to her apartment two at a time.

"cub, wait up!"

she does no such thing.

in fact, she only seems to move faster in lieu of his request (brat).

he nearly misses his window to at least say goodnight to her, with the way she quickly keys into her home and tries to slam the door in his face, but a foot in the frame easily rectifies that.

"hey!" he barks at her, shoving the door open and slamming it shut after him.

"don't slam my damn door, carmen!"

"don't try to slam your damn door in my damn face, then!"

she frustratedly groans, arms flailing in exclamation. he watches her cautiously as she looks frantically for something—something, anything—before she's bending down to take off her dior heels.

clearly, something has pent up—boiled, festered—within her, because she chucks a shoe at his head (and for someone so unassuming, she has a damn good arm).

he ducks just before it can hit him, instead banging into the wall.

"what the fu— ow!"

she doesn't miss the second time.

"fuck you, carmen!" she screams at him.

"fuck you! you just threw your fucking shoe at my head! twice!"

"and you fucking deserved it," she cries, taking a step closer to him, pointing an accusatory finger. "you dick!"

"what the fuck did i do?" he shouts back, taking a step forward himself, brows furrowed in frustrated confusion.

"you— y-you—"

he takes another step toward her, "huh? i what? spit it the fuck out, baby."

not for the first time, she pouts like a kicked puppy, and her hands brace on his sturdy shoulders, and she pushes at him, angry. but, certainly for the first, carmy actually loses his balance. nearly trips over his feet with the way he stumbles backward.

"ugh, asshole! you made a bet!"

he frowns, bewildered. "what?"

"don't fucking lie to me, carm—"

"baby, what the fuck are you talking about?"

"stop fucking calling me that!" she screams, "with timothy! you made a bet with him before the fight, a bet on me!"

carmy's mouth hangs open, forming to phantom explanations that all fall too short or get too intimate—personal; she doesn't need to know the backstory, the why in his road to success. she can't, not yet. not so soon.

she shoves him again at his lack of response, and, for the second time, carmy stumbles back.

"fuck you, carmy!" she screams, eyes brimming and— fuck, she was not supposed to find out this way (well, ever, really, but surely not in this way). he racks his brain for sufficient a justification.

"fuck you, fuck you, fuck you! is that how you fucking see me? i'm just another belt you meatheads pass around and compete for? fucking kill yourselves over?"

"that's not true, baby—"

"i'm not your fucking baby!" she goes to shove him again, but he's ready this time, steeled. she throws her weight into each nudge and push and shove she gives to him, grunts and grumbles through the exertion of it, but he's stock-still like a statue now, and immovable force to be reckoned with.

"you done?" he mutters when she's huffin' and puffin' too hard to keep going.

her eyes snap from his chest to his baby blues, glaring. "fuck—!"

"—me? yeah, you've already said that, several times actually. now are you gonna let me explain, or do you wanna keep screamin'?"

her eyes, somehow, narrow further, teeth barred.

carmy prepares himself.

"do i wanna keep screamin'? well, since you fucking offered," she gripes, pounding her fists into his chest again. and he lets her. "you don't fucking think, do you? just puff your chest and fucking take it if you want it, right? god, carmen, i'm not some fucking toy—"

"i never implied that you were—"

"so you didn't bet you could fuck me better than timothy at the weigh-in?"

he snaps his mouth shut.

she scoffs, shakes her head. "un-fucking-believable," she mutters under her breath.

she sighs, and the (arguably) worst is over. but it's not like he necessarily welcomes the tears, either.

she sniffles, red-rimmed eyes sparkling in a pool of saltwater, and weakly shoves at his chest again.

"f-fuck you, bear," she weeps softly, voice cracking, head hanging, and carmy's never wanted to fix something so badly in his whole goddamn life. more than mikey. "i thought you fucking liked me—

"i do—!"

"stop lying—!"

and suddenly, carmen's had enough.

"be quiet," he barks.

the room falls silent.

he sighs, grips hers arms to keep her close and up right. drops his head to rest on hers, eye-to-eye, and she's too tuckered out to fight it.

his adams apple bobs, "i'm sorry, y/n," he whispers, and she doesn't think she's ever heard him so earnest before, so sad. "i'm sorry i made a bet on you, and hurt your feelings because of it. you're not a toy, or a belt, or any other prize, boxing or not; you're a human fucking being. and i'm sorry."

she sniffles again, and he takes her lack of shoving and yelling as clearance to continue.

"i'm not fucking sorry it worked, though." he can feel her tense, so he hurries on before she gets the wrong idea. "i'm not fucking sorry i saw you in that damn pink dress, in your damn pink heels, with you fucking pink toes. i'm not sorry that i talked to you after the match, and made good on my promise to timmy."

"carmen—"

he squeezes the sides of her shoulders, "i'm not sorry 'cause i do like you, cub, so fucking much."

she lifts her head, teary eyes blearily finding his, and she frowns up at him, like she doesn't believe him.

"why're lying?" she whimpers, all watery and sad sounding, and carmy just wants to swaddle her in a blanket and kiss her tears away.

he smiles gently at her, "m'not lyin', baby. do you think i'd still be here if all i wanted was a fuck and duck? that's what the ring girls are for, cub."

she makes a face at him, "ew! g-ross, carmy, don't—!"

he bites back a smirk. "you drive me insane," cuts her off, sliding his hands from her arms to her shea butter smooth palms. "you drive me up the fuckin' wall, actually. but i love that about you. i love that you don't take anyone's shit, including mine. love that you put me in my place, and tell me off when i step out of line." his tongue peaks out to lick his chapped bottom lip before he continues. "i love the way you curl up in a ball every night before bed because you can't sleep any other way, and i love the way you bitch and moan about your bones feelin' too stiff in the morning because of it." he regards her fondly, eyes flitting over every feature. “i love your teeth gems, and your long ass nails. i love it when you’re bare-faced and bushy-tailed, or when you’ve got a— what is it?”

she chokes on a snotty laugh, “a full beat?”

“a full beat!” he repeats, enthusiastic and beaming. they both take a moment to giggle, carmy’s hands finding purchase on her hips to draw her in, chest to chest. “i am sorry i hurt your feelings, cub, so fucking sorry. but i would make that bet ten fuckin’ thousand times over if it meant i’d end up anywhere with you.”

and now she’s crying for a whole different, much sweeter reason.

she pouts at him cutely, “bearrr!”

and it’s like nothing even happened.

“whaaat?” he groans, feigning annoyance. “snotty girl, look at those tears,” he tuts, “such a crybaby.”

“that’s not fair—!”

“hush,” he muses, walking them back toward her bedroom, deft fingers working to unfasten the many buttons of her dress. “you talk too much, anyone ever told you that? whatever, you should let me fuck you.”

“what?”

“you should let me fuck you.”

“you literally ate me out for an hour before we left, that’s why we were so fucking late. and who says you fuckin’ deserve it?”

carmy smirks, that’s his girl.

fuckin’ trouble.

he quirks a brow at her, fingers pausing their decent.

“you gonna let me earn it?”

—

a/n: hope u like it babies bc getting this done made me SICK (im serious i can’t fucking breathe right or swallow properly anymore 🙂‍↔️🫶🏽)

not proofread!!

[anlian-aishang]

I just know that Levi's sexual endurance is insane - and that he uses it to your advantage, climax after climax, but they come with a price.

The humiliation this man will put you through for wanting him so badly and taking him this long is nearly sinister. He'll take you to bed and fuck you for hours, but the chill and composure in his voice insists that you are the needy one. As you become more and more oblivious, Levi lets his projecting get more and more obvious -

"Oh? You want more, huh?"

"Never knew you could get this filthy..."

"So fucking wet," Levi sighs, "can't get enough, mm?"

But after more orgasms than you could count, and with another one coming, you can neither think nor realize: though his words rain down on you, they drench him just as well.

[nostalgiaclown]

Hey do you think there's a deeper meaning or reason Spite looks just like Lucanis...

There's the scene by the fireplace and I picked up on how Lucanis closes his eyes as he turns his head to avoid looking at Spite...

It's like looking in a mirror, right, and your reflection is staring back as you deliberately hurt yourself with your words.

Lucanis, I think, is stuck in a cycle of 'It’s all I know.' 'It's what I'm good at.' But there's cracks there that hint this isn't who he wants to be...

"Death is my calling."

I don't think he actually believes that, but he has to tell himself that, right?

I don't think he's ever been given the chance to explore who he wants to be, he's just been told this is who he is...

Demons are bound when you 'tell' them what they are so loudly that it's all they can hear. They have to be what you want." But a spirit who evolves to become more of a "real person" is less malleable than a spirit and if they have the certainty of who they are and who they desire to be, they can resist binding entirely.

Did someone else bind the spirit to him by force? Corrupt its nature so fit the needs of the user?

If Spite was originally Love (as I've seen some people comment Love being the opposite of Spite) and they were forcibly bound to Lucanis for whatever reason, did that cause Love to twist into Spite?

I think we're going to have to heal both Lucanis and Spite from whatever grief or trauma they've been through, make him come to terms and accept whatever fucked up thing happened, so it sticks, and he stops just "wiping the slate clean".

He comes across to me as a guy who's just like going through the motions, and needs more of a push to change, for himself.

Nevertheless, it is not unheard of for spirits to evolve and become more "human" by coming to terms with grief, heal from being emotionally hurt, and thus be able to learn from what they endured. By coming to terms with grief, a spirit is able to grow as a person and not "wash clean" like a spirit."

Then I was reading up on spirit healers, and again, there's that same theme of trust here, the spirit trusting the 'mage' and also the loss of trust when being tricked by a benevolent spirit...

To gain the services of such benevolent and righteous beings requires that the mage earn their trust. Often this requires a series of trials to prove that the mage's goals are as noble as the spirit demands, though some mages have claimed to command the compliance of such spirits through sheer force of charisma.

So if Spite was Love, imagine if the trust was broken from the get-go, by whoever brought them over from the fade, that surely would cause Love to twist into Spite?

More than one tale exists of a spirit healer being fooled by a demon masquerading as a benevolent spirit, and inadvertently bringing them across the Veil... or being tricked into letting down their guard, and possessed.

On the flip side, Lucanis is not a mage(?) but if he needed help or something idk- and he was tricked and possessed that way - tricked by 'Love'? Owch, the loss of trust there...

Oh and if Spite just a spirit of Love that was corrupted by Lucanis' own feelings? Like how Justice twisted into Vengeance(?)

We know Lucanis is relearning how to trust, and he's a romantic.

How can you trust others If you don't trust yourself? Spite feels like intrusive thoughts made manifest... And how can you Love others if you have no Love left for yourself? Spite seems to be chipping away at Lucanis slowly... he looks so tired.

What exactly happened to him, I wonder, I can't wait to find out cause it's gonna hurt...

[buzzcutlip]

JAW for CK Fall24 (aka the emergency campaign hehe)

[longreads]

I Tried to Forget My Whole Life. I’m Glad I Failed.

“Before I knew I was autistic, the tone of my writing was vicious. I explicitly hated myself, and it was unpleasant to read.”

In our latest piece, John Paul Scotto reflects on his life after being diagnosed as autistic at the age of 35. Read his story here. 

[the-edge-of-sleep]

obsessed with these two

[yurki-posts]

For Gumrob fans

original picture

[billys-slutcherson]

'Bathed in Wine' 18+ MDNI

Derek Danforth x F!Reader

────────────────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.───────────────

Oneshot:

You hated it, the façade. It bored you, but for Derek, you'd do anything just to be there to tease him. In the end, you get what you want, or better yet what you need. Even at the cost of making a slight fool of yourself. It was worth it to see him in ruins.

Tags:

Light Dom/Sub, Power Play, Vaginal Fingering, Grinding, Wet & Messy, Clothed Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Exhibitionism, Rough Sex, Gagged (but not quite, mouth covering), Choking, Rough Kisses, Neck Kissing, Spanking, Doggy Style, Begging, Quickies, Creampie, Mirror Sex, Bathroom Sex. There are mentions of alcohol, but it is not the focus and there is no heavy intoxication etc. (It is wine with dinner so to speak! Just if alcohol in general is not your thing!)

Words: 2,754

────────────────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.───────────────

The hum of music droned and the constant murmuring of people was grating on you. Tapping your heel slightly he grumbled reaching under the dinner table, snaring your knee into his grip.

“Quit…that…” Derek hissed. As frustrated, likely more. You fucking hated these events. You hated the falsity of them. That and them being utterly mind-numbing. Never quite paying attention. Merely sat pretty, lingering on Derek's arm. But since you started ‘dating’ Derek so to speak, or publically letting the world know that you both fuck, these were now a part of your life. His hand lingered against that knee.

“I’m bored… it’s so fucking boring…” You whined. Rolling your eyes back his head snapped to the side. Scoffing some as he watched you. Derek's eyes are roving over your skin. Dancing over your collarbones. On the run-up to the event, you had to warn him: No biting. Love bites were banned, unless he wanted caught out in his desperation for you.

“I know, I fucking know. Okay? but just… a few more hours…” He attempted to pacify.

“Hours?!” you hissed like such a brat. Slumping back into the chair. Feeling the eyes of strangers fall on you both. Derek's brows narrowed. You relished getting under his skin. But seriously, you could not suffer this much longer. Derek let out a gravelled sigh. Outside of fucking, your bratty nature just either frustrated him or turned him on. Shifting in his seat his hand was still dipped down under the tablecloth. Tracing lines over your knee. You felt it, smirking to yourself. Tilting your head to him. Catching his tongue wash over his lip he pressed his chin into his palm. The touch of his rough hand slithered further to grip your thigh. The tips of his fingers brushed beneath the soft hem of the dress.

It was a game you knew all too well. Reaching higher on your soft inner thigh. Your skin was left burning beneath his touch. A flurry of warmth washed over your core as he continued his needy pawing at your skin. It was too busy here for this. You reached to snatch at his wrist in defiance. Fingernails biting at his skin as he had a cocky smirk on his face. Trying to shake free from your grip. Shaking your head as you mouthed 'not here'. A waiter leaned over you both, as the deep red wine softly poured into your glasses. The pair of you halting in his presence for only a moment. Till he wandered off.  

Your eyes dragged over the strangers in the room as you addressed Derek's lingering touch. "Why not? Thought you were bored, babygirl?" He continued. And you let him. Pressing forward you hunched slightly against the table. Hiding his forearm tucked between you and the table edge. Derek snickered catching how you shifted in your seat.

Tracing his lower lip with his thumb as it felt like everyone was melting away. Unable to pull your eyes away from him. He hated it when you said how pretty he was. But god, he was. All you could focus on was how his hand wandered further, and a little smile formed on your lips. Catching as Derek's eyes darted to you coughing on his breath as it hitched in his throat. His callous fingers meeting your bare cunt. Pulling away a moment. As you shifted your hips forward. Mumbling incoherently. Pressing back against his touch.

Derek narrowed his eyes at you. A coy smile curled on his lips as he seemed pinker by the second. Very unlike him. His other hand reached to rub the back of his neck. Looking around for prying eyes. Twisting his face back to you. You loved his stare. So full of fucking need all the time. The way his eyes traced you. Like he owned you.

“Nothing?” That was all Derek seemed to mutter. Batting your eyes at him. You shifted clamping your thighs together, toying with him, so his palm was flush against your bare folds. He shook his head, chewing the inside of his lip. Though, Derek nudged your thighs apart a little. His middle finger slipped and caressed against your slit. Your chest tightened slightly. The rubbing became more deliberate.  

“I don't think I can... too busy.” You faltered slightly. Looking at him as he refused eye contact for a moment.

“Try.” Derek purred. Pressing his lips together. The tips of his fingers traced around your clit. Not quite touching it. Not yet anyway. His breath wavered as he could feel how desperately wet you got for him. So quickly, it happened every time, much to your humiliation. Your hand haphazardly hit the table gently. As you failed to control yourself with his intense little traces. You could hear him snickering. Your chest and face got hot and flustered. Unable to focus on anything other than how good it felt to have him touch you. Your mouth became wet, though your throat was still incredibly dry as you rubbed into his touch. Rocking your hips a little. Practically humping at his hand. You can't help it. Derek knows exactly how to rile you, and it feels so fucking good.

“Stop…laughing…” You plead with him in a mousey whisper. But secretly you enjoyed his little moments of playful torture. It melted you knowing how much he enjoyed just touching you. How Derek craved to satisfy you whenever he could. Peeking at him through your half-lidded eyes. You see how his breaths drag out. The way his tongue flicks over his upper lip. Derek catches that longing stare of yours and nudges his finger over your clit. Finally. But your entire body jolted. A sharp exhale expelled from your lips as your eyes fluttered. The wine glass tumbled over on the white tablecloth. Red stains rolled over the material, splashing down over the edge of the table. Drenching your legs in the sweet scent, staining your skin.

Derek withdrew his hand quickly. Much to your dismay, as the wine continued to trickle over you, cooling your fiery hot skin.

He loudly tutted and mocked you to everyone as you sat burning with a dusting of pink on your cheeks. Not from the stupid fucking wine glass, obviously. But he was basking in that shame across your face. You watched him catch some of the wine in his fingers that had been caressing your wet cunt.

“Such a waste of wine babygirl…” He cooed. Using it as an excuse to lick your wet from his fingers. Watching him do it in front of everyone, his eyes locked on yours. Leaning back against the seat, elbow hanging over the back of the frame. You stood up fumbling to fix your dress back in place, wiping some of the wine from your lap. Searing under the eyes of strangers. As you caught him still sucking his fingers. Shaking with a little laughter. You tried to move away from the table. Glaring at him as he grabbed your wrist.

“Don’t lock the bathroom door.” Derek's grin grew raising an eyebrow at you. Was this his plan all along? What a dick you thought, but you nodded and snatched your wrist from his grip. Nipping back the smile on your lips.

“Don't keep me waiting too long.” You hummed.

His eyes burned into your back. You couldn’t help it, of course, you couldn’t. Turning your head to look at him. Derek was still leaning into the back of the chair, his chin on his forearm. Sticking his tongue out mouthing again 'leave the door unlocked'.

Pressing into the door to the bathroom, you heard it shut. You listened. Leaning on the wall by the door. A bunch of tissues in hand as you tried to pat some of the damp from your dress, but it was short-lived.

The door quickly swung open you barely had a chance to react as his lips crashed against yours bruisingly so.

“No fucking underwear? Are you fucking kidding me?…” He groaned. Pressing your back against the tiles as you squealed, tossing the soaked tissues to the side, tangling your arms around his neck. A little laughter rumbled from you. Washing over his lips. “You are such a little fucking slut…” He cooed at you. It was affectionate despite this hiss in his voice.

“I didn’t think you’d have your hand under my dress at the dinner table.” You couldn’t help but retort. He groaned as he loosened his belt. You tried to shift to your knees, but Derek shook his head.

“No time.” Gripping the back of your head his tongue slipped in your mouth. The kiss was violent. Desperate to taste you. The taste of wine on his breath. The sound of the belt crashing into the tiles as he pushed you backwards in the small bathroom. Quickly Derek turned you around. Hands slithering down your arms to guide your palms to the edges of the sink. You could only hear his zipper and breaths. Catching your own eyes in the mirror you stared at the smeared kisses on your lips. Watching him behind you. He caught your stare. Leaning over your shoulder to your ear.

“You gotta be quiet. I know that’s hard for you, isn't it?…” Derek teased nipping your earlobe between his teeth. “Look at yourself, not me…” He snapped.

Then he hoisted the hem of your dress upward till it bunched around your waist. Nudging your legs open further with his knee, he couldn't wait. Refused to. You exhaled softly as he sank his hips forward feeling how fucking drenched you were from his groping under the table. Exhaling softly as you bit back moans. Cursing into the air, eyes pressed shut. Derek's hand reached for your hair. Tangling it between his fingers he yanked your head back.

“What did I say? Eyes on the fucking mirror…” He groaned. Rearing back as he fucked forward into you. You clenched as you tried to slow him. His cock was enveloped in your wet heat. "God you... you're so fucking tight..." Grumbling as his hand moved down your hair tracing your spine, forcing your lower back into a slight arch. Derek's eyes darted over the mirror. Watching you. You looked at him briefly. Then back to yourself, obediently. Catching how your lips fell open further with every thrust he pressed into your cunt.

“Do you want everyone to hear me fucking ruin you?” He hissed. Feeling how you gripped and slicked his dick with your soaked hole. Smirking as he breathed down your neck. Hunching against your body. Gasps turned to moans rolling from your lips. His name was like a prayer as it fell from your mouth beggingly. Derek's hand slunk around you, groping your chest, then up your neck, squeezing softly. Dragging his fingers further upward as he pressed them between your lips. The taste of yourself and the wine still lingering on them. "Don't make me cover those pretty lips..." He rasped. Derek fucking loved your noises. It was usually his undoing. Defiantly you let a few more pleas and moans fall from you as he quickened, listening to them. Grunting out for you. The hand on your hip fell forward, giving a soft slap against your pussy. Lingering against it. You cried out not expecting it. But welcoming it. He swatted again before withdrawing his spit-covered fingers from your mouth, pressing his palm over your mouth.

"I warned you." He snapped forward into you. Hips like a piston as he fucked you more roughly. Holding your head in place. You always looked better ragged and bent, at least that is what Derek said. And finally, you could see it, and fuck, you adored it.

“Feels good, huh?" He gasped. As you were nodding with muffled whines."I’ll take that as a yes.” Derek snorted. Thrusting into you like he was uncontrollable. The cold porcelain of the sink presses into your hips. You closed your eyes. Trying to control your pathetic little moans of relief as he stretched you around him. Fucking you senseless. “Open your eyes. Look at yourself... such a beautiful fucking mess.” He scoffed through his panting. You treasured how broken he made you feel. How he tried to act in control. But he was just as desperate. Twitching inside of you. His hand shifted from your spread folds, back to your hip, bruising it under his grip. Derek slid his rough palm over your rear. Spanking sharply as you called out his name in a muffled act of devotion.

“You know they will hear you if you can't control yourself." Derek said with a tinge of excitement. "God look at my needy slut huh, my pathetic little fuckhole…” Moving in and out of you at a maddening pace. You could hardly keep up. His breath washed over the nape of your neck as he peeled his clammy palm from your lips. Stuffing the fingers back in your mouth. You sucked with such lust.

“That’s a good girl…” Derek hadn’t even asked you to. But you knew. You knew what he wanted. You watched yourself. How your lips dripped with drool around his fingers. Clawing at the sink helplessly as he fucked you like a doll. Eyes half-lidded and struggling as he slid his fingers deeper till you gagged. Your eyes watering slightly.

“Close?” He growled. You could only nod. “Say it.” Derek instructed.

“Yes… close… so close baby...” You spluttered on his fingers. You watched him momentarily catching how he pressed his eyes shut hearing you call him that. You became noisy without his hand over your mouth. The slapping of Derek's hips on your ass filled the air. The pair of you quickly became a mess for one another. As you felt him bottom out inside of you. He swapped hands. Dragging his fingers from your lips. Spit strands following. Cascading down your chin and chest. As his other hand returned to smother your noises. Holding your mouth shut as his spit-coated fingers found themselves nestling against your clit. Rubbing firmly over it in circular motions. With that touch, you nearly buckled beneath him. Like a thread ready to snap. The grip of your hands slipped against the sink as your eyes flickered to his in the mirror.

“Don’t… eyes on you…” He was pink-faced. Close. Derek always turned a warm rosey shade when he was fighting it. Resisting his own orgasm. Your pussy throbbed around him. Gazing at yourself, following his demand.

“That’s it…my….m-my slut…” He chimed. “Is my little slut going to cum…? Fuck, cum for me babygirl...” He grunted. It came out like a plea, not a demand. Derek could feel how hard you were tightening against his thrusts. You pressed your hands down hard into the rim of the sink. Cursing sharply as you came. He didn’t slow. Fucking you through the orgasm roughly. Your orgasm pulsating against his dick. You felt his arm reach around gripping your throat. Pressing your head back into his chest, you could see his devilish smile. Derek was licking your neck. Then behind your ear.

“Look how fucking pretty you look when you cum on my cock…” Derek hissed. Pumping faster. Shuddering. “Look at you. Don’t stop…fuck…ugh, yes. Fuck you are such a tight..." Trailing off as his head was thrown back. "Ah…ah I’m gonna…”

“Do it…don't pull out, Derek please...” You gasped.

His forehead pressed into your back hearing you say that.

“N-no! Look at me…please?…” You pleaded. As Derek flicked his eyes up. Peering from over your shoulder. Rasping. Giving into your begging. His brow furrowed as he fought to keep his eyes open. Biting against your shoulder he muffled his own loud and messy climax. Ropes of his cum poured into you. Then a whimper fell from his lips. Freezing a moment, before pulling back. His finish was buried so fucking deep. Only slightly dripping from you. The pair of you buckled over the sink, catching your breath.

"Fucking hell..." He hissed. Tucking himself back into his pants, attempting to not look like he just bent you over and fucked you full of cum. Running his palms over your dress to tug it down and back into place as you stayed pressed over the sink. Failing to compose yourself as he laughed at you softly.

"Hm?..." You purred, looking back at him, scoffing back at him from your lipstick-smeared lips, more than dazed.

────────────────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.───────────────

BACK AT IT AGAIN WITH THE FILTH teehee

Anyway, if no one has noticed I am feral about Derek Danforth

and no it is not your business

Anyway, enjoy to all the freakies out there 💚(✿◡‿◡)💚

also shout out to @joshfutturman with the new gifs, I butchered the colour editing and squashed the quality more than likely, sorry

[echoelena-ing]

Me :What the fuck do you mean I'm a good person, I just told you about how I threatened a girl and enjoyed it 'cuz she said something to my friend.

My seatmate:Because that's what a good person does.

Me*realizing I'm not actually trash I just went through puberty reading about Cale Henituse and ended up imitating his personality to T by accident, and now I'm just that batshit crazy friend that will do anything if pushed to a certain point with absolutely no regards for my own safety as long as everyone else is ok.*

[sonyaheaneyauthor]

20-22 Khreshchatyk Street, Kyiv, Ukraine.

Before (1937) and after (1941) being blown up by the Soviets as part of the Kremlin's scorched earth policy for the city during WWII.

[cookkoo]

Kyoto curry

[raphoupix]

Ben White - Arsenal FC v. Olympique Lyonnais - Friendly game