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#number one nobody act surprised

alpaca-clouds · 7 months

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Why the media CEOs will always learn the wrong lessons

Yesterday a friend and I talked about how the entire (AAA) game industrie looked at BG3 being as popular as it is and going: "Oh, we need to produce 100+ hour games, I guess! Those sell!" Which... obviously is not why it is popular. The game is not popular because it has 100+ hours of gameplay, but because it has engaging characters, that are well-acted and that work as good hooks for the players. Like, let's face it: The reason why I so far have sunken 160 hours into this game is, because I wanna spend time with these characters - and because I wanna give them their happy endings.

But the same has happened too, just a bit earlier this year, right? When Barbie broke the 1 billion and every Hollywood CEO went: "Oh, so the people want movies based on toy franchises! Got it!" To which the internet at large replied: "... How is that the lesson you learned from this?"

Well, let me explain to you, why this is the lesson they learn: It is because the CEOs and the boards of directors at large are not artists or even engaged with the medium they produce. They mostly are economists. And their dry little hearts do not understand stuff more complex than numbers and spread sheets.

That sounds evil, I know, but... It is sadly the truth. When they look at a successful movie/series/game/book/comic, they look at it as a product, not a piece of art or narrative. It is just a product that has very clear metrics.

To them Barbie is not a movie with interesting stylistic choices that stand out from the majority of high budget action blockbusters. It is a toy movie with mildly feminist themes.

Or Oppenheimer is not a movie to them with a strong visual language and good acting direction. No, it is a historical blockbuster.

And this is true for basically every form of media. I mean, books are actually a fairly good example. In my life I do remember the big book fads that happened. When Harry Potter was a success, there was at least a dozen other "magical school" book series being released. When Twilight was a big success there was suddenly an endless number of "teen girl falls in love with bad boy, who is [magical creature]" YA. When the Hunger Games was a success, there were hundreds of "YA dystopia" books. Meanwhile in adult reading, we had the big "next Game of Throne" fad.

Of course, the irony is, that within each of those fads there might have been one or two somewhat successful series - but never even one that came even close to whatever started the fad.

Or with movies, we have seen it, too. When Avengers broke the 1 billion (which up to this point only few movies did) the studios went: "Ooooooh, so we need shared universe film series" - and then all went to try and fail to create their own cinematic universe.

Because the people, who call the shots, are just immensely desinterested in the thing they are selling. They do not really care about the content. All they care about is having a supposedly easy avenue of selling it. Just as they do not care about the consumer. All they care about is that the consumer buys it. Why he buys it... Well, they do not care. They could not care less, in fact.

So, yeah, get ready for a 20 overproduced games with a bloated 100+ hours of empty gameplay, but without the engaging characters. And for like at least 15 more moves based on some toy franchise, that nobody actually cares about.

And then get ready for all the CEOs to do the surprised Pikachu face, when all of that ends up not financially successful.

Really, I read some interviews yesterday from some AAA-studio CEOs and their blatant shock and missing understanding on why BG3 works for so many people.

Because, yeah... capitalism does not appreciate art. Capitalism does not understand art. It only understands spread sheets.

#baldurs gate 3 #oppenheimer #barbie #barbie movie #hollywood #game industry #media #indie media #media criticism #anti capitalism #late stage capitalism

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textmel8r · 25 days

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[ SMAU + DRABBLE ] 𝐒𝐔𝐆𝐀𝐑 𝐁𝐀𝐁𝐘 ! ( fifth installment ) in which you find toji fushiguro’s number off a sugar baby site .

୨୧˚ part; one. two. three. four. five. six. seven. eight.

୨୧˚ incl; toji fushiguro

୨୧˚ cw; sugar mommy! reader , sugar baby! toji , mommy kink , drug + alcohol usage , smut drabble , submissive toji , soft sex , profanity

୨୧˚ an; guys… i don’t know what took over me when i wrote this one….im sorry ,, also yes drabble time, you all knew this would happen eventually don’t act surprised 🙄🙄🙄

come over and show me then

The last message Toji had sent you. He was bold, heart racing just the slightest bit when he thumbed that frightening, little arrow icon to send a text that would most likely change his whole relationship chemistry with you. You, the kind hearted woman who graced him with your undying benevolence and wealth.

You, the woman Toji called mommy not even twelve hours ago during an idiotic, drunken stupor.

You, the woman who graced his bed, peering up to him with the softest gaze Toji’d ever been observed with. It was an odd sight–you splayed on his mattress. Dawning a lavish top; silken, Toji absentmindedly recognizes the fabric ( then proceeds to grimace at the fact that he can actually discern between different breeds of fabric. Your lifestyle was rubbing off on him ) and thinks you look out of place. An expensive jewel among the dank cave of his shoddy bedroom.

Toji crawls in after you, winding up your side, clinging akin to a baby koala bear. Still, he doesn’t speak, preferring to let the sounds of sheets sliding against each other fill the gaps of silence. You take his hulking body in those loving arms and break the quiet. “I’m not buying you for the night.” You cradle his cheek; you make him look up to you and Toji nods under your hand. “You know that, right?”

He nods again. “Sure,” and for once, it comes out without a modicum of sarcasm. Because Toji believes it when you tell him that you’re not looking to gain access to his body through flimsy transactions. Your sincerity is displayed through the months of torturous anticipation. Months of him on the cusp of begging–and Toji Fushiguro has never begged for anything in his goddamned miserable life. Your sincerity is displayed through the gingerness in which you hold his face. Because how could someone with such gentle hands ever tell a lie? And your sincerity is displayed through your words. You tell Toji things that nobody has ever told him before. Nice things, reassuring things despite his insistence on being an asshole to you.

Toji pushes his torso to be propped up on an elbow before he leans in. It’s not a tame first kiss by any means; Toji is mammalian in the way his teeth gnash yours and his tongue laves your cupid’s bow. “Slow,” you whisper in the short absence of his lips. “Slowly.” A command that he feels inclined to follow like some kept mutt, swapping out the animalistic pace with a more refined, controlled tempo. Your face was swallowed by two massive hands; they clamped on either side of your jaw, calloused and dry and forcefully pulling you closer. “Just like that, Toji.”

The way you say his name… Fuck. Toji grunts, swinging a heavy thigh over your own to situate between your legs. “I’ve never,” there's a pause when he leans in to suck the tip of your tongue, “been so desperate to be inside a woman.” His thick tongue worms back into your mouth, pushing smoky saliva down your throat. You were writhing; your hand slides over his, the one still tending to your cheek, and you guide it lower. He let you drag his hand down the smooth slope of your neck, over the hill of your delicate chest, across the plain of your soft tummy to meet the waistband of your designer pants.

Your head tilts, something devious glinting in the colored rings of your eyes that have Toji so enchanted. He plucks at the brass button of your pants, nudging the point of his nose to the high of your cheekbone. Breathing in the luxury branded perfume that overpowered the cigarette stench still lingering in his room from his morning smoke; evidenced by the stub crumbled in the glass tray on his wobbly nightstand. “What about the girl…Girl from last night?”

Toji smiles at the breathy question. “What girl?” He hums cheekily against your mouth, letting his tongue slip back through the seam of your delicious lips. You slap his face rather playful, but his breath hitches all the same.

“Dick.”

At last, he pops the button. The acrylic of your nails sink into the meat of his forearm, legs widening, ass shifting; all of the signs that Toji hyperfixated on. The way you tell him to keep going without so much as saying a word has him hotter than anytime another woman has begged for his touch in bed. Toji kisses you as he dips beneath the ajar slacks, then those sheer panties, slipping down to where you needed him most. You’re wet, he notes to himself. Wet, squelching and red hot when his thick middle finger sandwiches itself between the labia.

Both pairs of legs tangled together amidst the desperation. While Toji touches you, you’re hiking your leg up–the one snuggled between two of the man’s built thighs. It presses to his clothed crotch, and you reach around grab a handful of his ass. “Hump it,” you dictate, using his ass cheek as leverage to pull his hips down against your awaiting thigh. Toji jolts; never had his ass been grabbed like that, but he thinks he likes it.

So he grinds. His groin crashes against your leg with rough enthusiasm, so rough that it should be a threat to your poor femur bone. But he doesn’t let up. Toji’s arm tenses and shakes with exertion as he fingers you, forearm burning from the intensity at which he moves. But he doesn’t let up.

“Fuck,” he huffs. “Fuck.”

What is he, some kind of dog? Chasing his high against a leg, licking your neck, barking obscenities into existence. Had you been anyone else, Toji would have had them bent at the waist over his bed, forcing their face into his lonesome pillow and taking what he needed. But you had this certain authority–you’d always had–as if you owned him. Not that you would ever admit that, nor did you believe it, but Toji did. You pay for his living quarters, his meals, his clothes, his car, hell, his time. The leash was cuffed at his throat, leather digging into his flesh, and he fucking loved it. Toji would wait for your instructions like a well behaved puppy.

“Take my pants off,” you utter, and it’s only then does Toji realize that the both of you hadn’t bothered shedding any layers, taking favor in rutting clothed bodies together like a couple of immature teens. His hips pause their humping, and his tongue finds one long, last lick to your jugular before pulling back.

Two thumbs hook beneath both layers of material at your hips. “Can’t believe you made me wait this long,” he mutters offhandedly, dragging your pants down.

You’re bare. His mouth waters at the sight of glistening moisture between your legs, encapsulated by a dusting of hair. Toji stares, nestled on his knees, straddling your thigh. He just stares.

“I told you my reasons,” you say.

He doesn’t respond to that. “I want to fuck you.”

Your chest rises. Are you arching for him? “Ask me.” When he cocks a confused brow, you lightly elaborate. “Show me some of that respect I taught you and ask me nicely.”

The sole of your foot caresses his pec over the black tee shirt he sports, a gentle notion that he is allowed to take his time. Toji doesn’t need time though; he’s got your twisted little request all figured out. It’s funny, he shouldn’t have expected any less. To him, respect didn’t exist in the bedroom, but Toji would make an exception. “Will you let me fuck you tonight?” You’re not letting him get off that easy, your pointed eyes say it all. So, in an uncharacteristically piteous voice, the man adds “please, ma’am” and strokes your calf for good measure.

That does it.

Your legs spread, arms racing up to coil around the thick post of his neck. He lets you pull him down, lets you kiss him tenderly, lets your tongue curl behind his teeth. Toji groans, reaching a sticky hand down to clumsily shove his sweatpants around his ass. “You have no–” kiss “idea what you–” kiss “you do to me–” kiss, kiss “when you call me that.”

His length drags over your core, hot and heavy and thick and raw. He doesn’t move to grab a condom knowing damn well there’s a box that sits in his nightstand to the left of them. A box that has been forgotten, left untouched in the waking months of his realization that he doesn’t want to fuck other people. Why would he? When you take such good fucking care of him, what’s the point in sleeping around anymore?

“Be grateful,” Toji husks, rubbing up against the warmth beneath him. “‘M never this nice in bed.”

“I’m not, either.”

He throbs at that. A small hand snakes behind his head, weaving into the raven shag of his hair, and tugs. “I really never meant for this to happen.” Toji narrows those steely eyes at you. “To end up in your bed, I mean. I thought I had more resolve than this.”

Too bad money can’t buy resolve, he thinks inwardly. Hand still between bodies, Toji jerks himself slowly, soaking his tip in your entrance. His gaze is glued to your face, flitting amidst all the gorgeous features it had to offer. “I knew I’d get you here eventually,” he speaks with a lilt of confidence, prodding the point of his nose to yours. And then he pushes inside without warning. You’re gooey; a hot, wet heat encasing his body from head to toe. He feels you shudder, feels nails in his nape. He feels your sticky breaths on his cheek, feels your pillowy thighs squish against his hip bones. Toji serves you the entire length in one slow thrust, holding himself inside. “Fuck.”

“Slow,” you warn once more in a broken voice. His hair was grabbed again, you used it as a makeshift handlebar to yank Toji’s head down. His handsome face plummeted into the divot between your breasts, still gift wrapped in that undoubtedly overpriced shirt. His nose pressed to your sternum, taking deep inhales.

Slow.

Slow sex was unfamiliar territory to Toji, one among the list of foreign concepts you had introduced to him during your time together. Fucking was animalistic practice between two people, fast-paced and greedy and surprisingly lonely. Toji fucked with the intention of climaxing; intimacy is irrelevant. Was irrelevant.

Toji slips a hand beneath your back, locking a grip on the underside of your shoulder to weld your chest to his face. Slow, timely thrusts met your cunt, watery squelches filled the room. “Oh, fuck.”

Your hands wander. Crawling down the base of his spine, breezing over his tail bone, clutching his bare ass. Guiding him in a way, and he doesn’t entirely mind. “My boy,” you moan in the throes of pleasure, a free hand blindly feeling for the back of his sweaty neck. Fingers stroke the precious skin there, sensitive flesh that nobody has ever paid attention to, not even himself. Toji trembles.

“Take it,” he whispers back, as if he still had any semblance of control. But you let him, and he thinks you’re too fucking nice for sparing his pride like that. “Take it, goddamn it.”

“Yes, my sweet boy.”

Idiotic. He is no longer a boy, nor does he even slightly compare to anything sweet. God, if you knew him. If you knew what he did for work… How many people he’s gutted and bled like livestock for quick cash… You would leave. He knows this to be a fact of life, you’re simply too moralistic and caring and selfless to keep in contact with a monster like him.

“Let mommy take care of you.”

Oh Jesus Christ, he’s done for. You wax praises so sincere that Toji starts to let himself believe he’s good. He pretends he’s worthy of being here with you right now in this bed, with your lithe fingers petting his damp hair and your breasts against his cheek, and fucks you harder. The toes of two socked feet bury into the mattress.

You successfully conquered his flimsy pride. “Mom… my…,” Toji breathes out, stifling down the impending whine caught at the back of his esophagus. He bucks deep inside, pubic bone to pubic bone, and grabs a handful of tit. So fucking soft even under this stupid shirt.

The sex plays out this way until the very end. A gentle tango that reminds Toji he hadn’t actually fucked in missionary position for some time. But at last, you came around him. “Toji, baby I’m here.” As if you were charged with electricity, you twitched and jumped beneath him. Toji fucked you through it, grinding his hips in a trajectory that caught your clit with his pubic hair. The friction was passionate, and you came with your jaw unhinged on a silent yelp.

“Give it to me,” he rasped, tongue lolling out to lick at your cleavage through your shirt. Drool rolled down the palate, collecting into a small puddle and dampening the fabric. A messy puppy, drooling all over you like that. Toji fucked harder, much too hard to be considered ‘slow’ anymore, but you didn’t stop him.

“Come on.” A hand dips beneath the collar of Toji’s tight shirt, scratching the ever loving fuck out of his upper back. “Cum baby boy.”

“Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuckfuckfuck.” The thrusts halt abruptly; Toji rams himself deep inside and holds onto you for dear life. There’s a brief pause before he empties himself into the deepest depths of your pussy, twitching as he does so. You coo, talking him through it with an inoffensive hand raking his bangs back. They stick, his sweat acting like a sort of natural gel, and Toji’s forehead is on display. You drag him up and press your lips to it—he flushes and drops back onto you, hiding in your neck.

Toji gasps on his come down, gulping in air through his nose. He’s weak and it’s strange. Despite the stupid amount of strength trapped within that Herculean body, Toji cannot find it in him to hover anymore. His entire weight drops onto your much tinier frame, but he hears no objections so he keeps himself there.

“Worth the buildup?” You ask at last, rubbing soothing circles into the plates of his shoulder blades. Your voice is a little strained, no doubt the effects of a two-hundred-and-something-pound man crushing your lungs, but Toji likes the funny grate of it in his ears.

“You already know the answer.” It’s written in the way your cum mixes together and wets the crease of his inner thighs. He’s not exactly going to say that was the most intimate and passionate sex i’ve ever had, but he’ll show you how much it meant to him by letting you cradle him to your chest.

likes and reblogs are appreciated !

tags . • @4imhry @sugurubabe @mastermasterlist1p1 @mikisspeak @fluttershyfangs @iluv-ace @xstom @bratbby333 @mizzfizz @sserafin @wo-ming-bai @maexc @r0ckst4rjk @aesukuni

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riiwrites · 5 months

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boyfriend!dazai who…

a/n : for my love @perfectlyjollyland who requested this ages ago but i didn’t see until recently because i only pay attention to my inbox! im so sorry ill be checking comments too next time, hope you’re well! <3

a/n : also i hope you’re okay with the pre-boyfriend/before boyfriend part, i just thought that’d be cute i love lovesick!dazai sooo much.. more boyfriend dazai under the cut!!

chuuyas version | atsushis version

dividers used belong to @/benkeibear

masterlist | taglist | main page

pre-boyfriend!dazai who at the start asks you for a double suicide (as per usual), but when you give him the cutest smile and giggle and say no, he knows he’s too deep in now.

pre-boyfriend!dazai who becomes head over heels when he first meets you and now has a new mission, making you reciprocate those feelings.

pre-boyfriend!dazai who loves the cliches, the random ‘anonymous’ love notes on your desk when you’re at work or the random flowers delivered to your workplace/home - he loves it all.

pre-boyfriend!dazai who respects your boundaries if you were to tell him to lay off or if he was making you uncomfortable.

pre-boyfriend!dazai who finally gives up..gives up throwing hints and just decides to take his shot.

“So..say, if a handsome stranger who’s kind of not a stranger since you know him as an acquaintance asks you out because he’s given up with all of the deadpanned hints he’s been giving you for the past few months but he’s kind of scared of being rejected..what would you say?”

You stare him with a few blinks as he looks at you with a great smile on his face, although you can see subtle drops of sweat dripping down the side of his temple.

"..Is this said handsome stranger you, perchance?”

Dazai let’s out a single laugh, placing his hands on his hips.

“Ha! How bold of you, though..I am charmed your first thought of this handsome stranger would be me, bella~” He coyly smirks, closing his eyes in what you can’t tell is either pride or suspense.

You furrow your eyebrows with a little smile, fixing up your paperwork as you place them on the desk. “No, I just figured since it was you who’s been leaving such persistent and eager notes on my desk as of late.”

You watch his expression slightly change as he lets out a cough of embarrassment, locking eyes with you now.

“Well..” He starts, then gives up halfway through.

“..Is it a yes?”

pre-boyfriend!dazai who not only is taken by surprise by your response, but his heart does a few jumps in joy as his efforts became a success, making him now your boyfriend.

boyfriend!dazai who has his hand down your back pocket whenever you two are walking together.

boyfriend!dazai who’s love language is both physical touch and acts of service, always having his hands on you in the littlest way and also providing the most he can to his s/o.

boyfriend!dazai who has the reputation of being quite the flirtatious one, gives it up to his precious s/o.

boyfriend!dazai who googles cheesy and dirty pickup lines to try and rizz you with, always ending them in a winky face.

boyfriend!dazai who sends you little messages every day now that he has your number, little words of affirmations and talks to get you ready for your days.

boyfriend!dazai who if he had a tiktok account he’d make slideshows of you two and repost videos of couples relating to you two.

boyfriend!dazai who you spend all of your holidays with, especially christmas and new years.

boyfriend!dazai who practically lives at your house now, but nobody’s complaining.

boyfriend!dazai who has a box of every little thing you’ve given him, so when he’s feeling down he can look at it and smile.

boyfriend!dazai who tries to keep you away from his past, to protect you from the ugly truth.

boyfriend!dazai who opens up about oda, not all of it but most of it since he believes oda would’ve liked you.

boyfriend!dazai who takes you to the places he has the fondest memories in. the lupin bar, the art gallery, the agency.

boyfriend!dazai who appreciates the little things, as he’s not someone who can afford much he tries to give you the best he can.

boyfriend!dazai who always argues that he loves you more trying to get the last word and when you think you have it, you hear a little mumble of “I love you more” as you walk away.

boyfriend!dazai who loves your hands, tracing the lines of your palm and fingers and creating little shapes on them makes him feel at peace.

boyfriend!dazai who can be possessive but in a good way, he has good reasons to be possessive.

boyfriend!dazai who when he sees someone give you a half lidded smirk or bedroom eyes, he gives them a deadly stare that could imprint on their skull as he wraps an arm around your waist.

boyfriend!dazai who constantly babbles on about you at work with the agency, always telling Atsushi about the cutest things that you did the night before or what you did the day before that.

“Ahh..and the way they just clench their fists at their sides when they are angry with me! Ah~ I could melt..”

“That’s..really nice, Dazai-san..”

“Oh! And the way they grab my hand so tightly when we’re in public ahhh~ I could melt!”

“D-dazai-san..-“

“Ahhh, and the way the-“

boyfriend!dazai who ends up with about 14 wounds all over his body because of kunikidas beatings..kunikida says he’s lucky it wasn’t 15.

boyfriend!dazai who you take care of at his lowest.

boyfriend!dazai who sometimes can’t understand why you put up with him, but you reassure him with words and kisses all over his face.

boyfriend!dazai who peppers your face with kisses back and gives you a small smile despite how sad he can feel.

boyfriend!dazai who watches the fireworks with you and doesn’t think of going out just as beautifully because why would he let such a precious thing slip out of his hands like that?

boyfriend!dazai who doesn’t care about himself or his mental health, but cares the most about yours.

boyfriend!dazai who once felt like he was drowning, but then found his light to the surface who has a smile of diamonds and a heart of gold.

TAGLIST : @hauntedsol @hopefulpain @forgotten-blues @ruru-kiss @texas-bitch-yee @lvstyangel @thetizzler @is-therelife-onmars @atlasnessie @101strawberries101 @reesesnieces @suzurans-world @mackereland-slug @heartsfourdazai @iratherowan @onlinewhisper14 @nomnomventi

white = unable to be tagged :(

@/riiwrites - reblogs are highly appreciated ❤︎︎

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superhumanfoods · 5 months

Text

We need to talk about Sending Rocks.

You probably don't understand what that means. That's fine. It's a weird little example I made up, and I'll explain.

I'm the creator of the near-future cyberpunk podcast SINKHOLE. SINKHOLE is weird, short-form, nearly impossible to explain to people, and utterly unmonetizable. It's also got a very healthy listenership for something so esoteric. (I promise season three is coming; life just keeps happening, constantly.)

Because of that, I have a reputation as a weird little indie creator. And if I were to run a crowdfund, I could set up a donation tier that was literally just

"I will go outside, find a rock on the ground, and mail it to you."

and most people would find that funny and charming. I think, at worst, people might find it puzzling, but they'd still opt in out of curiosity.

A lot of you would let me send you rocks.

Now we need to talk about the re: Dracula crowdfund- about the zines. A handful of people got very upset about the perceived lack of quality present in the zines.

That caught me off-guard. To me, a zine should always be kind of janky. You should be able to tell exactly how far down the pile your specific zine was based purely on how committed to hitting the fold lines the person folding it was. Zines are handmade and should feel handmade.

So it seemed like people were complaining about the zines being zines, and I didn't get it.

And then I realized something: it's not about the zines. It's about the fact that they were coming from Tal Minear.

If Tal Minear ran a crowdfund and set up a donation tier that was just

"I will go outside, find a rock on the ground, and mail it to you."

I would give it about a day before someone found a way to turn that specifically into a talking point about how Tal doesn't respect the audio drama community.

Tal Minear cannot send rocks. The zine was never the problem. The way people think about Tal is the problem.

We need to talk about how this community keeps trying to reinvent classism based on nothing but vibes and follower numbers.

I'm going to tell you something you already know but probably don't want to admit: the independent audio drama scene is to the independent film scene what a fish tank in a dentist's office is to the ocean.

The biggest names in this community are just a step up from being nobodies.

If you went outside right now and spoke to the first person you saw on the street, the only non-BBC fiction podcasts you would have any realistic hope of them knowing are Welcome to Night Vale or Archive 81- and the latter only because it got turned into a Netflix show, which means that they might not even realize it was a podcast first. There's also a chance they'll have heard of The Magnus Archives, but it's not a guarantee by any means.

Now, this last one I've mentioned to a few people, and was surprised to get a lot of pushback. There seems to be this thought that no, of course everyone has heard of The Magnus Archives.

No. No, man.

You're doing the Homestuck thing. I hate to hurt you like this, but you're doing that thing people did where they assumed everyone had at least heard of Homestuck.

There are people in your life that have never heard of Homestuck.

The Magnus Archives was a mini-zeitgeist in which the fandom engaged in wild speculating, plentiful shipping, and lots and lots of aligning yourself with a specific Fear.

And it was never as big as Homestuck.

I'm sorry. Jonny Sims is not a household name. That's simply the truth.

He is also in this fish tank with us. As far as I am aware, he has not escaped to begin acting in feature films or begun voicing characters in massive video game franchises. Slay the Princess was pretty cool. It's not exactly fucking Assassin's Creed, though.

He doesn't even have a Wikipedia page.

And notice how my metric for breakout success involved going to other, better-known mediums? That's because a breakout success in this community involves getting a blurb on Buzzfeed or in Cosmo. There is no audio fiction podcasting elite. The idea is hilarious.

Even Markiplier doesn't count, because he's YouTube royalty. He's not famous because of The Edge of Sleep. The same is true of any celebrity. They're visitors. They didn't get their break here.

Tal Minear is not your landlord. They're a slightly bigger fish in the same tank as you that likes to poke around in the muck a bit more than you personally enjoy. And, well, you cannot argue that Tal's position as showrunner of re: Dracula justifies framing them that way.

Because the thing is, I'm not just the creator of SINKHOLE. I'm also the showrunner and head writer of Mayfair Watchers Society as of season two. Showrunning and writing is most of my income these days. Tal and I are very comparable in terms of the material power we wield. This isn't a secret.

And yet, a lot of you would still let me send you rocks.

Now the actually important thing.

We need to talk about how this exact illusion, this fanciful idea that there are real industry goliaths in this fishbowl, has already been used to justify the mistreatment of marginalized people.

When Tonia Ransom brought up the issues she had with how the AnonymousAD tumblr had characterized her crowdfunding campaign, this is the reason why people felt they could dismiss and ignore her. Because yes, she's a black woman speaking out about having been wronged, but she's also a "Big Creator," and therefore it evens out.

It doesn't even out.

A lot of the most successful creators you know in this space still have day jobs. I spent yesterday and today doing inventory at my retail job. I spent hours poring over shitty little badly printed tags and biting back swear words because our owner will not let us close, so there were still customers in the store, actively buying the things we were trying to count.

This Us vs Them shit has got to stop. It's nothing. It's a parody and a sham. If you tried to explain it to your grandmother, she'd give you the exact same reaction as if you had tried to tell her about drama in the Homestuck fandom.

Because it's the same.

And you don't get to use it to justify being shitty to someone who you know perfectly well would deserve your humility and understanding if you weren't pretending they were your boss.

Who can send rocks is not and has never been a reflection of real power or privilege. Deciding someone cannot send rocks is just a convenient excuse to disregard their perspective when it makes you angry or uncomfortable.

At best, it's tilting at windmills. At worst, it is punishing your peers for daring to defend themselves or speak out against injustice while being marginally more successful than you.

#audio drama #enough of this #it's been going on for a while and getting progressively worse #none of this Big Name Fan shit #this is fandom toxicity #and we're not even a goddamn fandom

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luveline · 8 days

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Jade omg i love coworker james so much!! I was hoping i could request them taking the elevator up to their office together and it breaking down and them being stuck together!! Super cliche but i think it could be really cute and fun and that you’d write it so well!

You decide today is the day you stop pretending to forget something in your car. James has been nice lately. He does still hide your mug everyday, and he acts like an idiot at your desks. Just yesterday he made a parachute for one of his little figurines and made it land in your lunch. But he keeps saving you when you’re in trouble, and he might think he has to do it but it’s not true.

If something goes wrong, James is the one who helps you out. Maybe it’s proximity, but maybe he’s just not the jerk you pegged him to be.

So you’re being brave. You get out of your car, to James’ surprise, and you give him a teeny tiny smile. “Morning,” you say, making your way to the office steps, and following closely behind him.

“Morning,” he says, looking back. He holds open the door for you without further comment.

You walk in through the building’s lobby and past the main receptionist to the twin elevators. There’s a downstairs to the building, the lab, where the company conducts their water safety testing, and an upstairs where you and James and your colleagues work. He hits the elevator button on the right, you both wait for it to come down.

“Did you see about that movie?” you ask.

“I did!” He laughs at himself generously. “You’ll have to be more specific, I’m afraid.”

“Crazy, if you gave me like, two more seconds before you interrupted, I would’ve specified.” You catch yourself scowling and soften your expression. “You know, the movie you told me about with the aliens that can hear you from ten miles away.”

“Oh. What was I supposed to see about it?”

You should’ve waited in the car. The elevator descends and the doors open. James waits for you to go in first before he follows, and you let him click your floor number as you lean against the mirror.

You elect to wait in silence as the elevator chugs up, and up, and.

It stops short with a horrible sharp sound you’ve never heard it make.

James looks at you, then the control panel. The doors don’t open. “That’s fucked,” he says hotly.

“We stopped too early, right?”

“No, no way.” He clicks the open door button, waiting approximately half a second before he starts to spam it.

“Wait, what if you mess it up?”

“Mess it up? It’s stuck.”

You glare at him. “It’s not stuck.”

“It’s stuck.” James slams his hand into the emergency button and waits with a frown for it to ring. “Hello?” he asks.

“James, it’s still ringing.”

“I’m glad this is funny to you,” he says.

You hide your smile. You’d been unnerved by the sound, sure, but the elevator isn’t creaking or whining, it’s just stopped. There’s an inkling of worry growing in your chest. You’re perhaps a smidge too tired to panic. It’s barely 8AM.

And James’ reaction is wildly comical. He glares at the control panel and rings the emergency button again, and again. Nobody answers. After a few long seconds of this, the control panel goes dark, backlit numbers fading.

The overhead light blinks out.

It’s quite dark without it.

“What the fuck?” James asks. Surprisingly, he sounds less panicked than before. “The electrics gone. A power cut?”

“It’s really dark,” you say unhelpfully.

“If only I had one of my darling Smiskis to light up the lift.” James takes his phone from his pocket and turns on the torch, your eyes aching but then thankful for the added illumination. You can see his face again, the tug of a brow too handsome to be meant for grumpiness, and the confused pout of his lips. He has a lovely face, with sweet eyes, dark brown hair framing it, and the aura around him when he’s smiling is lovely too. He’s a little less lovely when he frowns, but not by much. “I’m gonna shout,” he warns you.

You and James spend that first half an hour believing the lift to be a short problem. Then another half an hour on the phone to Remus and then your boss, who assures you both that the maintenance team will fix it within the hour. “Within the hour?” James says to you where you’ve sat cross-legged on the floor. “Within the hour? How long do they think we’ve been in here?”

“Maybe we can call the fire brigade to come and save us?” you suggest quietly. You and James are in very close quarters. His shouting has hurt your head.

“They might have to. Why does nobody know what’s wrong with the lift? Are they really that complicated?”

James sits down beside you dejectedly. The lift is snug, but there’s room for him to sit further away that he doesn’t use.

“You okay?” you ask.

“Fine.”

You open your bag in your lap and unveil your thermos. It comes with a cup as the lip. “Do you want some hot chocolate?”

James tips his head back against the wall. “Yes,” he says, “okay. You never finished telling me about the alien movie anyways. What’s the news?”

You smother a smile. “I’m not telling you. You should’ve listened to me the first time.”

For some reason, you don’t argue once in the two hours you spend stuck. Not after the initial bickering. You drink your hot chocolate and you end up sitting together watching the trailer for the movie on your phone, and neither of you move away after. That is, until the elevator flicks back on and the doors are being pried open —you spring apart, caught red handed enjoying each other's company.

#james potter #james potter x reader #james potter x fem!reader #james potter x y/n #james potter x you #james potter fic #james potter fluff #james potter blurb #james potter drabble #james potter imagine #james potter fanfic #james potter fanfiction #james potter scenario #james potter oneshot #the marauders #marauders era #marauders

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theemporium · 4 months

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click 'here' to unlock the other boyfriends!

In the most non-dramatic way he could ever begin to explain, James Potter would rather die than let you lift a finger if he could avoid it.

You thought you knew the kind of boy he was long before you even met him—you had seen the type. Pretty boy from a wealthy family who had never really been told no. An only child to add onto everything else, no doubt the pride and joy of his parents. And growing up in a family as well-known and respected as the Potters, you expected him to be like every other pureblood prat you had met over the years.

But James Potter was like nobody else you had ever met in your life, and he showed you as much the first time you ever met him.

It was an undeniable fact that James had a huge ego, it was just a mistake that people seemed to pair with arrogance. But he wasn’t arrogant, not really. He was just extremely confident in a way nobody ever thought was possible. And with that confidence came his unwavering faith to know what people needed before they even realised it.

He knew when Sirius got in his own head, a little down after the latest altercation with his family. James knew he just needed a few more rounds around the quidditch pitch, to put that anger and energy into something else before he eventually opened up about what was bugging him. He knew Sirius liked to bottle up, just so he could wrap his head around his own thoughts before he said something. Not always—no, Sirius Black was firmly an act first, think later kind of guy. Except when it came to his family. And James knew that, he knew what his best friend needed.

He knew when Remus had a particularly rough night, whether it was the full moon or bad dreams keeping him up. He knew what his friend needed, knew that the boy would never outwardly ask for help. He knew that Remus’ pride was his number one enemy but he was glad he never pushed on why James requested a large part of his allowance to be spent on chocolate—the brand James himself hates but he knows Remus loves, knows he will accept under the terrible excuse of forgetting he didn’t like it in the first place.

And he knew it with you, even long before the two of you started dating—or even before you were friends. He knew by the crease in your brows when you walked into the classroom that you were having a bad day, and he would do his damn best to keep the professor’s attention off you for the lesson. He knew the exact way you took your tea in the morning, even if it took three weeks for you to finally trust he hadn’t put anything in it. He knew that he was downright obsessed with you, and he knew you felt the same—even if it took you a little longer to come to that realisation.

James knew what you needed before you did, and he liked being the one to give you those things—which included his infamous surprise date nights.

He noticed the way life was starting to take a toll on you. It was more different than either of you expected after you graduated Hogwarts. Suddenly, you were young and thrust into the real world to try and find your footing. And honestly? It fucking sucked.

The freedom was fun until you realised you had no fucking idea what you were doing. And the crappy desk job at the Ministry you had managed to score out of not knowing what you wanted to do with your career didn’t exactly help. Everyone in your department was old, judgemental and liked to think of you as more of a doormat than anything else.

James hated watching the way it was sucking the life out of you. He hated that he couldn’t help you find the path that would make you the happiest, that it would be a journey you’d have to undertake alone. He hated feeling useless.

So, he found other ways to cheer you up.

“There’s my pretty girl!”

You flashed him a weak smile as you shut the front door to your shared apartment behind you, toeing off your shoes and hanging your jacket on the hooks on the wall. You dumped your bag beside your shoes, letting out a soft sigh before you turned back to him.

Only to pause and frown when you noticed the way he was dressed in slacks and a button-up shirt—clothes far fancier than he even wore to work.

“Why are you dressed like that?” You murmured, brows furrowed as you tried to wrack your brain through what the day could possibly be. “Am I missing something? Did we have something planned?” You froze, your eyes widening. “Fuck, is it our anniversary? Baby, I’m so sorry—”

“Hey, breathe f’me,” James commanded in a soft voice, closing the distance between you both as he cupped your face in both his hands. He gave you a smile, a small one but it made your chest feel funny regardless. “You didn’t miss anything. I just wanted a lil’ date night with my girl.”

“We’re going out?” You questioned, trying not to sound too ungrateful or bothered. But you were dog-tired and not in the mood to get all dolled up and socialise.

“Mhm, finest restaurant in the country,” James’ grin widened. “Jamie’s kitchen. You didn’t hear from me but I heard the head chef is fucking gorgeous. Might have to worry about him sweeping you off your feet.”

You snorted, shaking your head. “Depends what his special is tonight.”

“A nice, warm bath waiting for you before dinner at seven,” he responded as he leaned down to press a kiss to the top of your head. “Topped with some fancy lavender muggle thing Evans swears by.”

Your eyes softened, already feeling your eyes well up a little. “You’re perfect, you know that?”

“Yeah, I do,” he murmured back, his thumbs sweeping over the apples of your cheeks. “And I have the perfect girl. Got a pretty great life, huh?”

“I love you,” you whispered before finally closing the last few inches between you, your lips pressed against his in a short but sweet kiss. “Any chance I can tempt the chef to join me in the bath?”

James let out a low groan. “Baby, you can’t say stuff like that.” He let out a huff as he dropped his head against your shoulder, muttering something to himself before lifting his head. “This chef’s priority is making your favourite dinner.”

You pouted.

His eyes gleamed with something wild. “But I think the dessert will make up for it.”

You raised your brows. “Oh yeah?”

“Oh yeah,” he confirmed before leaning down to peck your lips one more, a soft slap on your ass making you giggle against his lips. “In the bath, baby. Want you all happy and relaxed by the time dinner is ready.”

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cultrise · 8 months

Text

DRUNK SEX. DAZAI OSAMU

✮ CONTENTS NSFW, drunk sex (consensual), fingering, oral sex (fem receiving), p in v, dazai lowkey being in love ᵎᵎ wc 2.3k

ᵎᵎ check the mlist for kinktober here !

dazai wasn’t one to get drunk. that role was usually reserved for his ex-partner of the port mafia, nakahara chuuya, who, to dazai’s enjoyment, was pretty lightweight and even more hilarious while drunk.

however, dazai had a bad day that day. which arguably would be every day, considering his past, the trauma he was suppressing and the thoughts haunting his mind. though, usually, he could drown the noise by talking to his fellow peers at the agency or annoying his now-partner, kunikida.

this day, however, had been especially hard. no matter what the situation in front of him was his thoughts ran back to his mafia days, or even further, to his early times, which were mostly a blur. he had been known all his life for being so clear about his plans, his ideas, his beliefs.. having such a foggy brain was uncharacteristic of him. and, to drown it all he took advantage of the little party the ADA was throwing that night to quieten the noise.

the members of the agency were celebrating a tough case that they had cracked, each of them laughing, joking and drinking to their heart's content. none had noticed dazai behaving oddly because of their excitement and the man took the chance to sit in a corner, left hand buried in his pocket as the other dragged glass after glass to his lips. he was pretty thankful he went by so unnoticed, especially with how tipsy they had all gotten. or at least, that's what he was thinking before you took notice of him.

you had been in the agency for a little longer than atsushi, usually assisting ranpo in investigations — even if you were never really needed — or running errands with yosano. you hadn't been as familiar with dazai before, other than taking into account the fact that he was exceptionally handsome and just as much of a pain in the ass. that all, however, changed when you switched desks along with atsushi's arrival, ending up right in front of dazai's desk.

he couldn't act like he hadn't noticed you before. he always made sure to make a mental note of certain behavioural patterns you had and was trying his best to read your character from afar, which wasn't a hard task for him. and since you were now his "desk mate", as he called you, he could pursue his interest further. interest turned into conversations, conversations turned into flirting and flirting into small touches and prolonged stares. now, dazai was unable to go a day without seeing you, which was fucking with his brain hard.

and, what surprised him most of all about you was the ability to read him like an open book, something nobody, maybe other than odasaku, had been able to do. "what's up with you?" you ask, sitting next to him and watching atsushi catch a glass that was about to fall from a table. dazai's tired eyes looked at his drink, wrist circling as the ice cubes clinked against each other.

"nothing. just enjoying a nice glass of whiskey" his response is shallow, making you smile.

you fully turn your attention to him "bullshit. it's your seventh glass"

dazai meets your stare, the atmosphere shift making his eye corners wrinkle up into a sly eye-smile "are you keeping tabs on me? how bold of you to admit that."

you chuckle, bringing your glass to your lips "you're my coworker, dazai. of course i am" he scoffs at your reply. coworker. what a bad joke. the amount of times you were both about to jump on each other and getting interrupted reached a funny number.

"right..." he trails off, looking back at the rest of the agency.

"you still haven't answered my question" you turn to face him so he can't look away.

"should i? how are you so sure i'm not okay?" his brown orbs stare down at you, making your body heat up.

"it's in your eyes. it's in your behaviour. you're not as mysterious as you think, mr. former port mafia executive" his lips curl up into a smile, eyes rolling to the back of his skull.

"aren't you an expert?" you put the glass between your lips again, eyes not leaving his

"i intend to be."

dazai's taken aback by the shift in demeanour "that so?" he bends down slightly, eyes leveling yours "careful what you wish for. i might give in.”

the bottom of your glass hits the counter next to you "nobody is stopping you" and he knows you're right. he knows everyone is too busy to care if you two made a sudden and well-calculated disappearance into his bedroom. his sight was fogging up, head dizzy with need. the alcohol was definitely kicking in.

chugging down the last of his drink was enough for him to grab your wrist, drag you into the hallway and hurry down to his door.

the sounds of drunk people, loud music and chatty voices were drowned by the sudden bang of the door closing behind you. your hands trailed up and down dazai's body, fists grabbing at his hair and clothes as he held onto your hips, pushing you to the bed. his breath was hot, uneven and he reeked of alcohol. but his mind and intentions were clear from the moment he had first talked to you. never had he wanted someone more than he did you and the thought was just another nuisance occupying his tired brain. but he was about to take care of it, about to take matters into his own hands and claim what was his.

you yelped as your back hit the mattress, dazai's hands fiddling with the zipper of your dress. you broke the kiss, chest heaving "are you sure you want to do this?" he stared back at you, ceasing any movement.

"of course i am.. are you?" your hand caressed his cheek, making dazai shiver all over.

"i am.. but are you sure this is okay? right now? i meant it when i asked you if you're okay" his eyes trail down to your lips as his forehead meets yours.

"i'm sure. may i?" you nod as he leans in, kissing you softly as your breaths sync. your face feels hot all over as he parts away.

"i want to fuck you so good tonight i forget all my worries" dazai whispers, making your hairs stand up on end.

"how could i refuse?" you respond, making his eyes twinkle in the dark. moonlight shines through the window as you both hastily help the other to undress, two figures stuck together as if glued. the dark-haired man on top of you groans as he takes off your dress, taking a step back to take in the view.

"matching set? fuck..." you smile.

"i'd much rather have it off, you know?" dazai smirks, bending down to meet your knees. he caresses the smooth skin of your calf with his fingers, making you bite your lip in anticipation. propping one of your legs up, he gently undoes the strap of your heels and looks up at you. he wants to tell you how beautiful you look in the moonlight, how stunning your features are thanks to it, but he doesn't.

he's afraid the alcohol might turn his words into something else, so, with a hazy mind he decides the best way to show you what he thinks is by acting upon it, lips starting to press gentle kisses to your leg: your ankle, your knee, your inner thigh...

your breath gets caught in your throat as he kisses you right above the hem of your laced panties, left hand slowly unclasping and taking off your other heel. his fingers grip the sides of your panties and, watching you closely, slips them off, throwing them on the ground. his dick twitches in his boxers at the sight in front of him, cunt openly displayed in front of him, sopping and inviting.

"shit.. can i taste you?" he asks, making you nod.

"stop asking, just do it" he smiles as your previous demeanour drops, being replaced with sheer desperation.

"just making sure" and he licks a long strip across your clit, making your back arch with a whine.

soon enough his long fingers find their way inside of you, your gummy walls squeezing around them as he sucks on your puffy clit "shit...dazai!" you whine as he curls his fingers up, a chuckle vibrating into your cunt.

"call me by my name, belladonna. want to hear it from those sweet lips" his digit brushes over your clit, rubbing it in a circular motion as he watches you with keen eyes.

you bite your lip, cheeks red from the request "osamu.." and he raises himself, taking your lips on his as he works his fingers into your pussy.

"again" he commands.

"osamu" and he kisses you again, needier, more passionate than before.

"again"

"osamu"

"again"

"f..fuck...osamu"

"again"

"mhm.. 'samu"

dazai's whole sense of control gets thrown out the window as his lips make their way down your neck, breasts and abdomen as he kisses, bites and licks a whole mantra of indiscernible words into your skin. he curses at himself for not being able to do this sooner, for being so stupid as to let you wait for so long.. for making himself wait so much. and as you reach your high, screaming his name as you cum over his fingers, dazai's vision blurs completely.

he moves his hand away from your thighs, sucking on his fingers in the most erotic way possible before taking down his boxers in a hurry "you're not good for me.. at all" he groans as he aligns his dick to your entrance.

you prop yourself up on your elbows, reaching for his face "i disagree. i think i'm perfect for you" and he smiles in approval, tasting your lips again. curse those glasses of alcohol. since when did dazai osamu need liquid courage to get a lady into his bed? his heart was beating against his chest madly as the response came to him. you weren't just anyone. this time, he had it bad. this time, there was no escaping this. and he wanted to be selfish.

he entered you slowly, groaning at the way his length was getting coated bit by bit with your slick. you whined as you took in half of him, arms wrapping around his neck. dazai slowly breathes onto your neck, body pressed against yours "we'll make it fit" and he moves slowly, hands caressing your body as you take him. when he finally goes in fully you both take a second to breathe, a choked moan hitting your ear.

"s..see? told you... fuck, you feel way too good" and soon enough his hips are rolling into yours as he buries himself balls deep into your cunt, nails creating crescent marks into his back and shoulders.

dazai fucks you needily, selfishly, obsessively... he talks to you sweetly, he rambles, he stops in the middle of his sentences because he can't think properly. he lets himself get drowned in your moans, in your body heat, into the smell of your hair. he wants to mark you, have you, tie you to him. his whole body tenses with each touch, each whisper of his name. and he's so sure he's fucked.

"f..uck, bella... who's making you feel this good, huh?" you whine his name into his ear.

"you.. you are.. 'samu.. shit! right there!" he keeps his hips steady as he kisses down your neck.

"yeah? there? fu..fuck.. yeah, there" and he snaps his hips again, the lewd sound of skin claps hitting the room's white walls. he doesn't even care if anybody hears, let them. he's so drunk in the feeling of you he might as well call himself an alcoholic. and that's exactly what he blurts out to you, too fucked out of his mind to keep his mouth shut.

you giggle at his words, cheek pressed against his shoulder "how sappy of you. didn't picture you as the cheesy type" and he looks at you with the most lovesick smile a man could wear, his bangs getting caught into his eyelashes.

"so? don't like cheesiness?" you chuckle again, pressing your lips to his.

"i like you, that's enough" and he laughs back, cheeks pink. he thinks of himself as so stupid. so pathetic. how could he think he's entitled to love and cherish someone like you? would he even do it right?

but in that moment his head gets cleared of any worry, any negative thoughts and he thanks the alcohol for that.. wait, no.. not the alcohol. he knows it's you who's blocking out those thoughts. dazai can't help but bury his head in the crook of your neck as his pelvis hits yours in another messy stroke. you grab onto his hair as his tip hits your cervix, completely oblivious to his racing thoughts and all-over-the-place emotions.

his body tenses up, heat travelling under his skin as he mutters up some curses under his breath. and as your walls clench around his aching cock he finds himself cumming loads inside of you, moaning loudly as he does.

you're soon spent out under the covers of his bed, trying so hard to keep your eyes open. his legs tangle with yours, your head placed onto his arm as he keeps you glued to his chest "i really shouldn't have drank so much so quickly" dazai chuckles and groans as you join in.

"what, you think you'll regret this tomorrow?" his eyelids threaten to close anytime soon. his digits caress your lower back as he juts his lips out and slowly shakes his head.

"the only thing i'll regret is the massive hangover i'm about to have" you laugh at him again, placing a gentle kiss on his adam's apple as his eyes close.

"but not this... never this" he whispers as he drifts off to sleep.

#✦— kinktober.#𐙚 — pages.#𐙚— dreamscape.#dazai #dazai x reader smut #dazai osamu #bsd #bungo stray dogs #bungo stray dogs dazai #dazai x reader #dazai smut #bsd dazai #dazai osamu x reader #kinktober #kinktober '23 #kinktober 2023

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munsoninthedark86 · 4 months

Text

I Guess It's Different Cause You Love Him(Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader)

warnings: fluff, angst, mentions of cheating, mentions of possible abuse, alcohol use, reader gets drunk, Eddie is weak for her word count: 1.4k pairings: Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

Eddie hates your boyfriend. He does his best to be on his best behavior because he is your best friend, but Eddie knows you could do so much better than this fool. Still, he’ll bite his tongue and pretend to be supportive of this relationship. It just hurts when he watches the person he loves the most get shit all over.

Day after day, he sees the real you begin to disappear. The shine and glow of you fades as your boyfriend takes over more and more aspects of your life. Eddie wants to say something, but he’s so damn scared to lose you. He’s scared that if he tells you that this guy is bad for you that it’ll end up backfiring on you and you’ll only think that Eddie is jealous of your boyfriend.

And it hurts him so much to watch you begin to fade away. Your normally sunny smile is only half-assed these days. You were someone who would try decently well in school and in work, but now it would seem you’re doing so poorly. You even stopped coming to the Hellfire club meets, which ends up worrying everyone.

But you always try to pass it off as nothing. Eddie knows that you’ll barely open up to it because this asshole has got you convinced you’re happy. He sees how your boyfriend acts around you, especially when he thinks nobody else is around. Eddie sees the tired look in your eyes along with the heavy bags that begin to form under them. He sees the way you flinch whenever someone raises their voice just a little too loud.

This all culminates one night when someone at school begins passing around the rumor that your boyfriend has been cheating on you. At first you try not to believe it, but the more you hear it from people who give you sad and pitiful looks, it becomes obvious that this isn’t just a rumor. You’ve been played and you’re so embarrassed. You don’t even know who to turn to because you’ve just alienated yourself with the help of that asshole. You’re way too afraid to turn to Eddie, the man who you trust in the most. You’ve been hurting him the most, you realize as all of this comes crashing down.

The bar near your home allows you inside even if you aren’t quite of age. You know the patrons and the bartenders. They can tell you’re not doing well. So the bartender pours you a drink, which soon turns into two…then three…then four.

By the time you’re five drinks in, you’re more than tipsy. You’re absolutely drunk. You’re dancing to whatever song they’ve got playing on the jukebox, but it isn’t healing your heart. It won’t heal your heart ever. There’s not much that ever could. You find yourself sitting on a stool at the bar, your head in your hands as you try to steady yourself.

“You got someone to come pick you up, dear?” The bartender asks.

You’re about to say no, but then you remember Eddie. You nod your head and the bartender gives you money for the payphone in the corner of the bar. You sway as you walk over there, and you lean against the wall to steady yourself. The phone feels heavy in your hands, but you press it to your ear and you put the coin in the slot. It surprises yourself to be able to remember Eddie’s number while you’re in this state. After a few rings, you feel like crying because someone answers.

“Munson residence, Eddie speaking,” Eddie says on the other end, a mocking tone to his voice.

You half-sob, “Eddie can you…can you come pick me up?”

Immediately he’s freezing on the spot, worried about what’s going on with you. He had heard those rumors today too but he didn’t want to hurt your feelings. He had wanted you to come to him for comfort.

“Babe, what’s the matter?”

“Come pick me up. I’m at the bar.”

You tell him the address and beg him to hurry. He can tell you’re not feeling well at all. So he quickly gets into his van and drives over to the bar. Once he arrives, he spots you just sitting outside. You’re obviously drunk and he feels so sorry for you.

“Eds…” you moan softly, clutching your head in pain.

Eddie is quick to pick you up, allowing you to lean on him. He’s not even really sure what to say just yet, so instead he focuses on getting you buckled into your seat.

Then he begins driving the moment he’s back into the driver’s seat. You moan in pain and you begin to cry. It’s breaking his heart to see you like this. Eddie feels guilty because he knows he should have been there for you. He should have done more for you.

“Honey,” he says softly. “Don’t worry. Things will be okay.”

You shake your head, “No…he made a fool of me.”

Eddie feels his heart wrench when you say this. It’s painful to see you hurting this way. So he drives you back to his trailer, knowing you’ll have a safe space to recover from being this drunk. Once you two arrive, he unbuckles your seatbelt and he guides you inside the trailer. You are so thankful that his uncle isn’t home right now. You don’t want him to think poorly of you.

“Easy there,” Eddie says as you begin to stumble. He’s guiding you towards his bedroom.

As the alcohol burns in your veins even more and your mind gets hazy, you allow Eddie to lay you on the bed. First he takes off your shoes, then he begins to remove your jeans. He takes off your shirt, gently caressing your shoulders before pulling on his old Iron Maiden shirt on you. Then you watch as he leaves you on the bed for a few moments.

When Eddie reappears, you’re so happy to see him. He’s got a bottle of water in his hands. He helps you sit up, and you relish in the feelings of his warm hands on your skin. He holds you close as he brings the bottle to your lips.

“Drink so slowly, honey.”

You try your best to take his advice, but the water just tastes so refreshing. Soon he’s pulling it away from you and he helps you lay back on the pillows. He pulls the covers up over you and he’s about to leave when you grab his hand and whine a little.

“Stay with me,” you pout. “Please, Eddie.”

His heart skips a beat when he sees how pitiful you are. You’re a sight for sore eyes, but he still thinks you’re the most beautiful woman he’s ever laid eyes on. So without thinking too much, he shrugs off his jacket and kicks off his shoes. He slides under the covers with you, and immediately you cling to him. It feels natural to have you back in his arms like this.

“I’m such a fucking dumbass,” you mutter under your breath.

“No, you’re not. Stop thinking that way. That guy is such an asshole for playing you like that.”

Eddie thinks you might be too drunk to understand what he’s saying, but your heart flutters when he defends your honor. You cling a little tighter to him, and he presses the softest kiss to the top of your head.

“Why are you treatin’ me so good?” you ask, your words a bit slurred.

Eddie sighs, and he knows you might not remember this in the morning. “Cause I love ya,”

Your heart flutters again and you snuggle even closer. You know maybe he doesn’t mean it in the way you need it, but you still love hearing it from him. You smile sweetly at him, and he leans in to kiss your lips so softly.

“You’re my girl,” he finally admits. “And…I couldn’t even protect you.”

You sigh softly, “Eds…I don’t blame you for this. You are so wonderful.”

You two share another kiss, and he caresses your face so softly. You don’t even really know why you were dating that asshole…especially when you could have had this the entire time.

“Sleep now,” Eddie commands. “Sleep now and we’ll talk more tomorrow, okay?”

You nod your head, “Kay…night night, Eddie.”

He holds you close, vowing to himself he’ll never ever let anything else hurt you like this. Never again will you know pain.

#munsoninthedark.writes #eddie munson #stranger things #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x y/n #stranger things x reader #eddie munson x you #stranger things x you #Eddie Munson fluff #Eddie Munson imagines #Eddie Munson angst #stranger things angst

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pastelclovds · 8 months

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yo @trianglesimp, imagine after reader fucked the other alternates, they decide to keep reader and make their home as their hangout place or a place to gather more alternates into our world, and ofc reader is chill with it.

reader doesn’t fear going outside after dark due to the alternates they’ve befriended always guarding them from other alternates who’d want to hurt them. reader isn’t fazed when they see dark, distorted figures eyeing them everywhere they go. all they see are desperate creatures who want a taste of their dick and euphoric orgasms, and reader is always happy to indulge in their needs cause it’s 100 times better than using their hand to get off.

gabriel is both amused and surprised that reader had survived this long after encountering a number of his creations, and the fact that reader is not even afraid of them nor throwing a fit over them staying in their home is beyond impressive. not only that, but the stories his servants told him about your… sexual acts has him curious. gabriel feels torn over wanting to indulge in his needs or simply killing reader. he decides to let you live with the excuse fact that his creations find you entertaining, and that if they ever need relief; they can use you. your future is unpredictable at the moment, but one thing is predictable, you will have these creatures by your side for a long time (and meet their leader very soon).

i also have a funny scenario that involves reader and an acquaintance they have in their workplace.

you were currently chilling on the couch and sharing a bowl of popcorn with an alternate that was watching the television along side you. it was a cheesy romcom that you’ve quickly lost interest in, but the alternate continued to stare at the screen intently.

you had assumed that since they had used electronics to travel wherever they’ve please, that they would have known about the media that electronics produced. but the fact that their blank, dark eyes continued to stare at the show with curiosity and slight fascination was… kinda adorable.

but still, you remember this one very vividly because they were the first one whom you had railed the hell out of. you still have the looks of pleasure on their faces engraved in your mind as you made them lose theirs. you could tell they have never experienced pleasure that you have given them, and they were greedy for more.

their long, distorted limbs wrapped around your body nearly twice as you continued to ravage into their cunt. harsh thrust after thrust made them forget that their original purpose for you was, they continued to cry out to their creator as they squirted over your pelvis and you didn’t stop until you buried yourself to the hilt and filled them up with warmth that doesn’t compare to anything else. you’ve allowed yourself to drift off to your own fantasies of how it would feel if you had owned the alternate beside you.

make them wear a collar with your name on it, make them choke on your dick while their on all fours, and make them scream your name as you rail them in a park, church, anywhere public. so that if any poor, unfortunate soul were to see your acts, they would know who your alternate belonged to. you were snapped out of your thoughts when a frail looking claw-hand landed on your thigh.

the alternate was staring into your eyes, their pupils were pitch black and held a pleading and desperate sort of emotion within them. their hand moved from your thigh to your crotch, you let out a small gasp when they slid their cold, slim fingers inside your boxers and began to fondle your balls.

you let out a breathy chuckle as you imagined the alternate with a wet pussy, and like magic, it appeared between their thighs. the alternate began to shiver and let out low labored breaths as you slipped your own fingers to play with their clit. “i-i knew you were here for a reason, i asume you want the usual? fucking this pretty pussy until nobody else but me get to use it, filling it to the brim with my cum until you become pregnant, is that what you want, pretty thing?” you ask as you removed your sweatpants and threw it off to floor somewhere.

the alternate nodded quickly as they rolled their hips along with your fingers, and gasped when your fingers entered their pussy and began to finger them furiously. “as much as i love seeing you lose yourself to my fingers, i-i can spread for both of us when i say that we should get to the main event.” you spit onto your palm and stroked your cock to full hardness as well as to lube it, and once that was done, you pushed them down onto the couch and lifted their long legs over your shoulders.

the alternate let out a distorted howl when you entered them and didn’t waste time with waiting, the living room quickly became humid as you thrusted in and out of their drooling pussy, their warm walls made it hard for you to not cum right then and there, but you wanted to make them cry and beg you for more until they couldn’t.

a sudden ringing from your phone made your movements stop for a second, the alternate whined when your pleasurable thrusts came to an end, you simply pulled their legs from of your shoulders and wrapped them around your waist (you noticed how their legs immediately tightened around you) and grabbed your phone that was on top of a small cabinet beside your couch. “sorry baby, why don’t you ride me while i’m taking this call?” you almost couldn’t finish your sentence due to the alternate pouncing on top of you and moving it’s hips in a fast pace.

you looked at who the caller was, it was simon from your workplace, you answered him. “what do you want simon i’m— oh fuck-, r-really busy right now,” you tried your hardest to try to pay attention to what he was saying, something about him being worried because you haven’t shown up in work for the past few days or some shit. you were too fixated on the sight of your cock disappearing inside the alternate and the lewd noises of skin slapping against skin to focus on simon.

at the moment, nothing else mattered except for fucking this creature dumb. who needs work when you have this one and their friends at your doorstep. “what is that noise, are you okay?” simon asked, “oh- i’m more than okay, keep moving your hips faster baby, cum on my cock.” on your command, the alternate let out a cry that distorted all electronics nearby before creaming around your cock, the sight alone was enough to make you burst inside them.

“what the!? are you fucking somebody while on call with me?” your acquaintance asked in disbelief, you bit your lip when you saw your mixed releases drip from the alternate’s cunt and down your balls. “fuck yeah i am,” you chuckled before bidding simon goodbye and hanging up. the alternate let out a whimper as the began grinding on your dick once more, what a greedy little thing. you wrapped one of your arms around their waist and thrust your hips up into their used cunt, “you’re desperate to milk another one outta me, aren’t you?” the alternate nodded frantically, moving along with your thrusts as it spewed out strings of moans.

you were caught off guard when you heard static coming from your tv, the romcom was long gone. in the gray mess on your screen, a hooded figure made himself known, and he was staring intensely at the mess between your cock and the other alternate’s pussy.

you couldn’t help a grin overtaking your face, “hello six, the usual as well?” you we’re gonna be busy after all, and not with work.

authors note: well, i’ve officially descended into madness. that or it’s just my monterfucker brain going crazy because it’s nearly october. I hope you’ve enjoyed this, cause i did ;). love you! 💙

#tmc #the mandela catalogue #mandela catalogue #tmc x reader #mandela catalogue x reader #dom reader #dom!reader #top!reader #top reader #sub character #sub!character #amab reader #top male reader #dom male reader #꒰ 🖇️ ꒱ ⎯ ame writes

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carionto · 4 months

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The Equality Games

Once every now and then, the Galactic Coalition's Cultural Exchange department holds a large digital competitive event.

Anyone can participate, and to level the playing field, contestants aren't the ones who actually compete, but instead an advanced deep brain scan (or equivalent body part) and an unbiased AI create a digital avatar that represents the individual and autonomously acts within the digital space.

The cognitive capacity of each is analyzed to a near perfect level and a highly complicated algorithm that, honestly, nobody understands, even the AI that built it, then creates this avatar with traits and weaknesses based on an even more incomprehensible set of criteria and internal points system.

To put it simply - the scan identifies nearly every calculable aspect of a person and assigns a point value for each, then uses those points to "buy" the most relevant and appropriate traits from within its list to give the avatar. There are changing costs, negative value "flaws", and prerequisites based on other information from the scan, but basically it is the most convoluted TTRPG character creation ruleset ever devised.

Given the enormous complexity and diversity that individuals from across thousands of races exhibit, until this system was invented, it was thought impossible to have a sort of intergalactic Olympic Games. There were many attempts over the eons, of course, but one factor or another always made it so that someone did not accept the results.

The Equality Games, however, earned respect and acceptance as a valid alternative once the underlying system was demonstrated and people started to play with it. The avatars were made to act autonomously due to how some species had a distinct advantage when manipulating a digital interface, thus bringing up the old arguments yet again.

One curious result of the AI algorithm avatar generator is that it quite frequently created multiple avatars for each person, only the more hive-mind-like species tended to be represented by a singular avatar within the Games. It is theorized, again because nobody can understand how it really works, that most intelligent beings have multiple "personas" i.e. distinct behavior and personalities in certain common situations, primarily a "public" and "private" persona.

In fact, it is most common for everyone to generate about a three to five avatar "team" that represents the one individual. In comparison, if an ant were to get scanned and put in the games, its avatar would be a single incredibly powerful avatar with many deficiencies, but an overwhelming advantage in several disciplines.

When Humans first entered the Games, as expected, they too had teams as avatars. What was not expected, was that these avatars would sometimes work alone instead of together as a team, deliberately not help one another, and even engage in infighting and the sabotage of another "self".

The Humans suggested that it is perhaps because hypocrisy is not uncommon among them. Self destructive tendencies also appear rather frequently. These Humans almost always are themselves surprised by how contradictory their avatar team composition ends up being.

While the Games themselves happened as normal, the Humans overall placed in the top 20% brackets of most competitive challenges, and scattered roughly evenly everywhere else, they then approached us with a most unusual request.

"Give us a copy of this AI algorithm scanner thing. We think this is the most revolutionary therapy and psychological diagnosis device we've come across."

Of course we obliged and helped set up centers in a number of stations and on Earth itself.

Last we heard, some Humans have avatars that are singular nigh-nightmarish monstrosities, while a very tiny fraction have minds so splintered that their avatars are teams of dozens, one time even over a hundred distinct versions of themselves. Then there are even some seemingly regular Humans who broke the scanner - it gave the error: "Only one individual can be scanned at a time."

Upon "fixing" it with a hack, the results for those were unheard of. Two distinct avatars. Not a team of two, but by all accounts, the AI algorithm identified two separate individuals within one mind, each with very little in common with the other. Sometimes there was nothing in common, even their digital visual representation.

The mind is incredibly complex and hard to comprehend. The Human mind, while biologically quite peculiar but not outside the realms of understood evolution, neurologically it seems to hold near limitless diversity, both complimentary, contradictory, and beyond.

#humans are space orcs #humans are space australians #humans are space oddities #humans are deathworlders #humanity fuck yeah #carionto

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jeanbie · 17 days

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PRESCOTT ★ masterlist.

pairing: connie x reader

warnings: explicit sexual content, awkwardness/second-hand-embarrassment, porn with plot, alcohol, sex under the influence, semi-public sex, quickies, blowjobs, doggy | wc: 13k

note: the yapper allegations are true - example a: this fic. 10k of connie and mama, all because you guys overwhelmed me with love for ghostface!! it's a gift for you guys ✩࿐ connie is sooooo gekko coded in this fic btw!!

★ sequel to ghostface

⏤ After Halloween, you've been trying your hardest to avoid being near Connie Springer, but a little bit of alcohol on Porco's birthday is all it takes for you to find yourself back in his arms.

You can think of a thousand different reasons to avoid going to Porco’s birthday party, but all of them turn to ash in your mouth the second Ymir levels you with her dirtiest glare imaginable.

“Just how many birthdays are there going to be in November?” you ask, punching in the number of the last bottle of Dr Pepper into the vending machine. It threatens to hold the bottle hostage for a moment until you shake the machine by its sides, all whilst desperately trying to avoid looking at Ymir.

You’ve never been a very good liar, nor a great actress, which is exactly why you’re not at all surprised that she’s managed to notice your strangeness since Armin’s birthday. At one point, you thought you were doing a marvellous job at containing the humiliation inside of you, but Ymir’s analytical breakdown of every irregularity in your behaviour made you aware of just how obvious you’ve been making it. It’s a wonder she hasn’t already figured out the exact reason for your distance, created suspiciously after leaving Armin’s flat.

But, it’s not like you can just outrightly say that you got fucked by one of her friends in Eren’s cupboard on Halloween. The timing wasn’t right. And, on top of that, there was nothing remotely wrong with that fact to justify your withdrawal from society because of it — that had happened purely because of how hot Connie actually was underneath that Ghostface mask.

And now, every memory of that moment has been altered so that his face appears bowed over your spread legs instead of that sloping plastic mouth of wide horror. And it’s dreadfully humiliating.

“Porco’s is the last one,” Ymir says, leaning her weight on the other vending machine full with snacks. The library has an entire wing that permits food and drink, but with midterms looming around the corner, you’re not about to waste any more time drinking down here when you could be working, and no more time spent on conjuring up the image of a man you’ve met — and fucked — once.

“I barely know Porco,” you try. It’s true. While you’ve been running with Ymir and Reiner for a long time, it’s only been a few months since you met their extended group consisting of Porco, Pieck, Yelena and a few other faces you only see at house parties or in between classes. “Did I even get invited, or is this one out of pity, too?”

Ymir rolls her eyes. “More out of association, really. Plus, he thinks you’re hot, so that helped.”

“I’m charmed,” you mutter, taking a swig of the Dr Pepper before she, too, decides to rattle her jacket pocket for some loose change. “I’m just your hot friend.”

“Damn straight,” Ymir laughs, sliding her coins into the machine, eyes torn between two drinks. A line is forming quickly behind the pair of you, which makes Ymir slow down on purpose as she makes her choice. With her tongue between her teeth, she thinks long and hard before saying, “Seems like you made quite the impression at Armin’s birthday.”

You try very hard to ignore the regretful twist in your belly. “What? With who?”

Ymir looks at you from the side, crouching after a beady glare to get her drink. “Who are you expecting?”

“Nobody. I’m just curious.”

“Yeah, right. You’ve been acting weird lately,” she accuses, finally giving way to the growing line of students. Ymir looks up in acknowledgement as Reiner rounds one of the glass doorways, immediately heading straight to the instant coffee machine with a grumble. “Don’t think we haven’t noticed. We have.”

“Who’s we?” you ask, slinking in her shadow as she sets off towards Reiner. There must be some sort of gravitational pull between the pair of them — it’s probably what makes them so enjoyable to be around, the reason you choose to call them your closest friends.

Ymir claps Reiner on the back. “We is us. We’ve noticed.”

“Noticed what, sorry?” Reiner asks distractedly, looking up once his little cup is under the tap, the machine screaming to life.

“How weird she’s been since Halloween.”

“Oh. Yeah, you have been acting sus,” Reiner comments, in a way that makes you feel like he’s simply going along with whatever Ymir is saying to spite you. It wouldn’t be the first time, either. He had played his part in convincing you to go to Eren’s Halloween party, and you conveniently remember that party being the main factor behind your week-long self-imposed exile.

“How?” you snort, rather defensively.

“Just weird,” Ymir explains. “Like how you totally blanked us when we called you over the other day outside of Tom’s.”

You vaguely recall seeing Ymir and Reiner standing with a bunch of people outside the corner shop a few days ago. Behind Reiner’s wide body had stood Connie Springer, dazzling in his baggy blue jeans, and it had been enough for you to simply wave and be on your way.

“Being busy doesn’t qualify as being weird, guys.”

Reiner stirs his coffee and shrugs. In hindsight, you know that there are probably better ways to get over the embarrassment you feel from Halloween. It wasn’t even as if you regretted what happened — you didn’t. Being bent over a suitcase in Eren’s utility cupboard had been a thrill, a real pleasure. Connie had been concealed beneath a Scream movie mask and you were blissfully unaware of him, and you like to think that is the only reason why you acted so out of character.

Cumming with your legs in the air, desperately fiddling with your clit and greedily trying to catch every last drop of Ghostface’s cum? That was so unlike you! You’ve never been that horny, that turned on, that animalistic and needy. And seeing Connie a few days later, looking the way that he did, becoming a familiar face — you can’t explain the feeling very well, but mortified comes close.

How are you supposed to look him in the eye without replaying what you did together over and over again? How are you supposed to face him and try and be normal, when you were anything but when he had his cock up your cunt?

“Still being weird, by the way.”

Ymir’s voice doesn’t register until she grabs the back of your neck gently and squeezes, and it’s as if you’ve been rebooted to life. The library canteen manifests into view once more, and you look over at Ymir and Reiner sheepishly, trying to think of something to say that can justify your behaviour.

But nothing can. Yes — you’re being weird.

Unfortunately, you think your strange behaviour will only continue once Ymir looks over your head and smiles, and a wave of dread washes over you.

Please be someone I like. Please be anyone but the one person I do not want to see—

“No fucking way,” Ymir laughs joyfully. “Congrats on finding the library, Pock.”

A deep laugh sounds from behind you, and you brave a glance over your shoulder in hopes that it might just be Porco standing there. But as soon as you turn and spot three people standing there, one being the very last person you wanted to see, you feel your body grow hot and your mind whirl.

Great. Fucking great.

Porco glances between you and Ymir for a second, a smirk still on his face, and you’re almost overcome with relief when Reiner pulls you back to stand near his hip slightly, an arm draped over your shoulders.

“First time for everything,” Porco finally replies. By a small mercy, he has devoted his attention to Ymir, the little blonde girl behind his elbow falling into place near Ymir’s armpit. Not that you’re looking at any of them — your eyes are stupidly glued to the guy standing just in front of Reiner.

The guy who had you undone in a fucking utility cupboard.

Unlike at the party, your options are limited on what to look at instead of Connie, which is precisely why you enslave yourself to taking him all in, every last detail of his face, his body, while his eyes are drawn to Ymir as she talks.

Just like how he was on Armin’s birthday, every feature on Connie’s face is practically glowing with charm. It is a miracle that he ended up being more attractive now than he was with the mask on — you hadn’t put too much thought into conjuring up a false image under the mask that night, but even if you had, you wouldn’t have even considered pulling together someone who looked like that.

As you’re ogling his face and body, your heart lurches unexpectedly when Connie glances back over to where you and Reiner are standing, a smile pulling up on his lips. A small set of dimples appear in his cheeks as he does so, the sharp shape of his eyebrows rising as he studies you in particular.

Of course he recognises you. After all, Connie was the only one wearing a mask that night, physically speaking. You pray that Reiner isn’t paying close enough attention to the wandering eyes of his friend as Connie takes a good, long look and you half-heartedly fidget into his side.

“Just you guys?”

Even though your eyes have zeroed in on Connie’s mouth, you blink and process the question with a delay. Thankfully, it seems like Reiner’s talking to Connie instead of you, which you’re grateful for. You have nothing to say to Connie, anyway.

Connie’s green eyes flicker up from his tight assessment of you to Reiner’s face — another act of mercy.

He nods his head backwards, gesturing towards the circular stairs that spin up to the third floor, “Some of us are on the third floor. Marco, Jean…you know. I’m going in about an hour, I’ve gotta go to work.”

Whatever else he says you completely zone out from, though not on purpose. Connie looks both the same and completely different to how he did on Armin’s birthday; his buzzed hair is now a blonde wash, his skin looking more tanned from it.

Now that you’re up close, you count at least three moles on his face in a cluster of spaces, under his eye and across his cheeks. He says something, the tick of his jaw making you glance down ever so slightly to his neck before lifting back to his face — where in a shock, you discover his eyes are back on you.

For how long have you been gawking at him? And how long has he been looking back?

“Did you get that from here?”

You blink. Then, you realise he’s talking to you.

Surprised, you jut your head forwards slightly and look at him with wide eyes. “Sorry?”

Remarkably, Connie laughs, as though he finds your bemusement amusing. He points at the bottle of Dr Pepper in your hand, smile widening into a grin. “That,” he says.

“What?” For a second, you’re mostly confused. Out of everything you could have expected Connie to say to you after Halloween, you had never guessed it would be about the drink in your hand.

Reiner’s arm loosens around your shoulders as he turns to look at you, probably because your silence is stretching on a little too long to be normal. Unbeknownst to Reiner, you know that judging by Connie’s own lapsed silence, he’s perfectly content with waiting until you answer — just to hear you answer, if you even do.

You carefully look back at Connie, as if trying to gauge his sincerity, and for a moment, you catch a glimpse of something in his eyes, a taunting lift of his eyebrows.

He likes your silence. He’s relishing in it.

“Yeah,” you decide to say finally, pointing over your shoulder to the vending machines. “There.”

Connie nods. He could have quite easily figured it out himself, and once he looks away, towards Ymir rather than the vending machines, you realise belatedly that he isn’t actually interested. He was just trying to start a conversation. And you blew it.

“I think I had the last one, though,” you add, which makes Connie break away from Ymir’s story she’s sharing with Porco and the blonde girl with a little bit too much enthusiasm to be faked. Reiner’s entire arm falls from your shoulders and he assesses the gap between you and Connie. When did it get smaller?

Connie steps closer, only once, craning his head around your shoulder to the machines.

“For real?” he laughs, inspecting the selection of drinks from afar. Then, Connie hums, “what else is there?”

Is he seriously asking you about the drinks in the vending machine right now?

Your mouth falls open in surprise — this is not at all how you expected this to go down. You’d been toying between Connie being a total douche and making lewd references to the cupboard, or perhaps being so disinterested in your existence that all he said was hello and nothing more. The casual topic is almost disturbing, so out of the character profile of his that you drew up in the days spent avoiding him.

“Um…I’m not sure,” you reply honestly. The only thing on your mind is him, and his black cloak in the dark cupboard. His voice, his laugh, his hands on your body.

Beside you, Reiner clears his throat and he shoots both you and Connie an insincere smile, before making a speedy exit towards Porco while Ymir is busy entertaining the other girl. You watch with dismay as he moves away.

How could he just leave you here like this? Of course, he doesn’t know that you’re in an internal battle against your feelings for Connie, but still, solidarity! You can’t believe his lack of loyalty.

“I’ll have a look,” is what Connie replies with, and you blink furiously at him as he shortens the distance between you and steps past you. His hand slips very slightly past your leg, a finger delicately brushing past your thigh, and if it weren’t for your hyper-fixation on his every gesture and movement, you might have missed it entirely.

All you can do is watch over your shoulder as he walks towards the vending machines, rather slowly at that, and stands in front of it to browse the selection.

You’re left standing there, away from the throng of friends discussing Porco’s party, even further from the guy who rearranged your guts on Halloween and has been a plague in your thoughts. And for a few seconds, you’re torn on where to go next.

Stand with your friends and avoid talking to Connie? Stay in your place? Leave and go back to your things?

You do none of those things. There is no reasonable explanation for why your body decides to turn and head in Connie’s direction, no explanation you think is good enough. But, you move regardless, until your feet stagger in Connie’s shadow and he glances to the side, surprising himself when he sees that you’ve followed him.

You look between him and the machine, careful not to spend too long caught in the surprised yet pleased look in his eyes.

“Told you,” you say weakly, looking back at the machine.

“Yup, I can see that,” Connie replies, with a slight laugh that feels oddly reminiscent of the way he chuckled over your bent body in the cupboard. His eyes drop to your mouth for a brief second before clamping on your eyes once more, “You want something?”

It takes a beat for you to realise he’s asking in relation to the vending machine. “Oh, no. I’m fine.”

“Oh, okay,” he replies, and maybe you’re overthinking it, but he sounds almost confused. Maybe he is. Maybe he’s confused as to why you’ve followed him over here to do nothing once you’re by his side. He wouldn’t be the only one confused by that; you’re still trying to make sense of it yourself.

Once his eyes are back on the vending machine, you let out an internal groan and focus on the outline of his jaw, desperately thinking of something to say before he punches in the numbers for a bottle of Fanta and says, “you good?”

There’s a pause. What can you say, now that the chance to say anything is here?

You glance back towards the group near the coffee machine and bite the inside of your lip. They’re just a few steps away, engrossed in a conversation you might want to be a part of. Instead, you look back at Connie and nod dumbly, “Yeah. I’m okay.”

“Okay,” he nods, crouching to get his bottle.

Why the hell is this so awkward? Last week, this man had been up your snatch, trying to shove his dick up your ass. Why is seeing him after the fact so fucking uncomfortable?

“Did I do something?” You don’t know what you expected Connie to say after he got his drink, but it definitely wasn’t that.

“What? No?”

His brows pinch together slightly. “Just thought maybe you got uncomfortable or something.”

“…Why?” you ask slowly.

“You’ve avoided coming near me every time I’ve seen you since Armin’s birthday,” he starts. Has Connie suddenly appearing everywhere after Halloween been less of a coincidence than you originally thought, and instead more of a deliberate choice?

You blink, following along with his words, “and you blocked me on Instagram, so I just—” And how the fuck does he know about that?

So, he’s right; you did block him after Armin’s party, but only because you viewed his story on accident after a stalking session once you got home. Honestly, you never thought he’d notice, never need to notice. The hot flush that swarms your body is uncontrollable.

“I…” you start, but the words die like ash in your mouth.

Connie faces you, looking thoughtful. “It’s cool if you got cold feet after Halloween. Sorry if you had a bad time.”

“Wha—wait, I never said I had a bad time,” you rush to say, probably sounding a bit too eager, but it’s too late to reign it back in. You mutter to the floor, “the opposite, actually.”

“So, you did like it.”

“Wasn’t that kind of obvious?” you reply, laughing slightly. “I just…I don’t know. I didn’t expect to see you after Halloween. I just freaked out, it’s not personal.”

“Blocking me felt personal.”

“I panicked! I didn’t want you to think I was weird for finding your Instagram and then looking at your stories and posts and—” You stop. In order for Connie to find out that you blocked him, it would require him doing some online stalking of his own, and once the penny drops, your head jerks back in alarm. “I…I’m sorry?”

At that, Connie sniggers, shaking his head and taking a step back when someone manifests out of thin air behind you in demand of the vending machine. He reaches out for your arm and gently guides you away with him.

Frantically, you look back at the group; Ymir is neck deep in her story, the blonde in her arms enraptured by whatever it is she’s saying. Reiner and Porco are the only ones taking interest in you and Connie, but you look away before their curious glances can garner any attention.

“You don’t have to say sorry,” Connie says, his hand dropping after a beat of holding your arm. “We’re good, mama.”

Mama — just the word makes you feel weightless.

“Mm,” is all you can say in reply.

But Connie seems unperturbed by your lack of response. “You going to Pock’s party this weekend?”

Right — the very thing you had been discussing before your entire afternoon tilted on its axis. Porco’s upcoming birthday was becoming a hot topic in conversation, but you aren’t even sure if you’re going or not. An invite through somebody else doesn’t feel like much of an invite to you, despite that being the case for the last two parties you’ve been in attendance of.

“Uh… Maybe,” you tell him. “I actually don’t know Porco that well.”

“Huh.” Connie’s brows raise, his mouth in a falling slope, “Really?” He looks to the side in Porco’s direction, but you don’t join him. You’re too busy analysing the crestfallen look on his face, wondering what on earth put it there. “I thought he liked you.”

“That’s what Ymir told me.”

He looks back at you immediately, “Do you like him?”

“I don’t even know him.” But, then again, you didn’t know Connie at one point, and it hadn’t been enough to deter you from taking his hand and letting him lead you into Eren’s cupboard with your skirt up over your arse. Based on the flat look on Connie’s face, you assume he’s probably thinking the same thing.

“He’s not really my type,” you add, simply for no reason at all. But Connie’s face tugs up because of it.

He laughs shortly, “That’s good, then.”

Is it? You want to ask why, but Connie’s already looking back at the group and raising his brows in acknowledgement. All of them are looking over at the pair of you almost expectantly, and he addresses you with a simple smile and says, “Maybe I’ll see you at the party, then.”

Your heart is speeding up in your chest. Even though this entire conversation has been drier than bones, something inside of you wants him to stay.

“You’re going?” you ask him, walking slowly by his side as you head back towards your mixed friends.

“Of course,” Connie replies. “I’ll buy you a drink if I see you?”

“Yes,” you say, for it’s all you can say without feeling like you’re going to explode from overheating. And now that the group is mere steps away, you don’t want to compromise the secret hanging between you like a forbidden fruit, waiting for someone to pluck it off the branch and make it known to the world.

Connie says nothing else in confidence to you. All you catch once he turns to leave is a quick goodbye before he follows Porco back up the stairs to his books, meanwhile Ymir is officially taken with the blonde who is pulling her arm in their wake. Only Reiner remains, one eyebrow raised suspiciously.

“Don’t,” you caution him.

“Don’t what?”

“Just…don’t.”

Reiner grins; something tells you he knows more than he’s letting on that he does. But he saves you the drawn out humiliation of raising the point in the library, but you’re not in the clear, yet.

Not by a long shot.

21:43 Reiner: soooo 21:43 Reiner: what happened with you and connie 21:45 You: nothing? 21:45 You: i dont even know him lol 21:46 Reiner: why r u lying 21:46 You: ?? 21:47 Reiner: ik you guys fucked lol

A horrified cry leaves your mouth when the message pops up. All you’ve done since Armin’s birthday is avoid the window of possibility of anybody finding out what happened on Halloween. Are you really that bad of an actress?

21:50 You: ????? 21:51 Ymir: wtf 21:51 Ymir: when?? 21:51 Ymir: how do u even know eachother???? im so confused

For a while, you entertain not replying at all — the horror of both of your best friends now knowing your embarrassing secret for some unkind reason is still sinking in.

But, Reiner seems all too enthusiastic to fill in with what he’s learned.

21:53 Ymir: hellooo???? 21:54 Reiner: on halloween hahah 21:54 Reiner: i only know because connie told me

(At the same time…)

21:55 Ymir: he’s obvs lying 21:55 You: why would he even tell you that? wtf 21:55 Ymir: ITS TRUE??

Lying would have been the smartest option. As Ymir begins to freak out, you berate yourself for not thinking of it sooner.

Still, the pressing irritation you feel in your head builds as you try and make sense of why Connie would even tell people. What on earth would he gain from doing that? A kick? An ego?

Suddenly, Porco’s rumoured “crush” on you starts tasting sour in your mouth.

22:08 Reiner: he kept asking for your insta and i thought it was weird 22:08 Reiner: so i made him tell me why tf he was so desperate 22:08 Reiner: and he said he hooked up w u on halloween and was looking for u so he could like link up or something 22:08 Reiner: idk 22:09 Reiner: i think he was blocked anyway looool why would you do that

Hey, it had been a knee-jerk reaction! But you wouldn’t expect either of them to understand, not when you barely understood yourself.

If only you could be like your drunken self all the time — maybe the simple mission of acting normal around Ghostface would be made ten times easier if you were.

Your mind slides over the memory of the utility cupboard again, and you urgently shake your head and sigh, throwing your phone to the end of the bed with a groan.

Perhaps it wouldn’t be so complicated if only you had left it alone. If you’d never gone online stalking, found Connie and then blocked him after viewing a story posted two minutes ago, then maybe you could have acted normal when the next meeting arose.

And, while you’re thinking about it, at least it was in public. You can’t imagine how stupid you might have acted if Connie had found you alone, perhaps in a bar or at another party, where the dark lights and the loud music could have entranced you into his arms and bent over some other questionable surface.

Considering how often Connie and Halloween have resurfaced in your mind, you can’t honestly say that none of the above wouldn’t have happened if you saw him again. You were lucky to have escaped in the library, albeit after a very awkward exchange.

With almost confident certainty, you believed there would be no chance Connie would want to broach a conversation with you again, not after the tremendous letdown of finding out the way you acted on Halloween was a one-time exclusive.

Having reflected on the whole thing, and suffered the painful consequence of Ghostface being a sexy friend of a friend, you’ll never do it again.

Your phone has been vibrating relentlessly since you threw it, and you reach for it once more and gloss over the messages. A few jump out:

22:18 Ymir: sorry its just too random 22:18 Ymir: im still in shock 22:18 Reiner: ikr 22:18 Reiner: someone needs to tell pock that his dreams of seducing her are over 22:19 Ymir: jfc 22:19 Ymir: im gay but even I’D pick connie over porco 22:19 Ymir: hey was he at least good?? 22:20 You: it was fine 22:20 Ymir: so thats a yes LMAO 22:20 Ymir: i just cant believe you let him fuck u on halloween 22:20 Ymir: YOU!!! 22:20 Ymir: its too amazing 22:21 Reiner: gotta hold her back at pocks bday lololol 22:21 Reiner: something abt a party just gets her going 22:21 You: why dont u stfu

Unbeknownst to them both, you’ve been having the same concerns. Porco’s birthday is a bump in the road you’re currently driving along to get to complete peace and happiness; the final birthday of November, the opportunity for a final drink before rushing to finish assignments before the Christmas rush begins, the scary certainty of seeing Ghostface again — only this time without his mask, which is honestly ten times worse in the sense that you can no longer pretend he is a thing, a someone, an entity drilling into you.

He will instead be Connie Springer; handsome, charming, popular, and as you’ve been made aware, a man who has been trying to look you up online for whatever reason you’re unwilling to think of.

And a little bit of alcohol never stopped you from making a complete and utter fool of yourself.

So far, so good: you’ve been at Invoke for an hour and a half now, and there have been no signs of Ghostface.

Ghostface is what you have elected to calling Connie in an effort to keep him at an arms length, and so far, it has not been working in your favour. Every mention of Ghostface takes you back to the 31st, and now that you’ve been in the club for almost two hours and have made the stupid mistake of drinking two (single) vodka lemonades, you can already feel your conflicted feelings about the subject simply fading away. Which is terrible! The total opposite of what you want!

Every so often, around Porco’s attempts to seduce you, you’ve found your eyes wandering around the lower level of the club, anxiously searching for a buzzed head to appear in a crowd. It doesn’t seem as though Porco minds or has even noticed, for his conversation simply folds over into a discussion with Reiner over something you don’t understand.

Unfortunately, however, your aimless people watching has caught someone else’s attention.

“Who’re you looking for?”

Instantly, you tense and rip your eyes off the crowd and back towards the voice, which belongs to Lynne, one of your friends from your Wednesday lectures and a good friend of Ymir’s. She smiles at you sweetly, eyebrows high.

“Oh, nobody, really.”

Lynne’s brows furrow until Ymir jumps in with, “She’s looking for Connie.”

You toss her the dirtiest glare you can conjure up, which she ignores pointedly, while Lynne’s features lift once again with recognition.

“Oh! The Spanish one?”

“I don’t know,” you tell her honestly, pinned under her eager gaze.

“With the really short hair?”

Your heart squeezes. “Oh, um—”

“—Yeah, Springer,” Ymir continues, immune to the look of pure disgrace on your face aimed in her direction. Knowing that there’s little you can do or say to keep her quiet on the matter, your shoulders sag and you lean back in your chair. By now, both Reiner and Porco have lent their ears to the cause, with both of them shuffling closer on their chairs.

Lynne sets her martini on the table. “I know him! My friend Lea has a crush on him, I think. Actually, I think a lot of the girls in the Quantum Mechanics class like him…”

Quantum Mechanics? Your eyebrows raise, not to mention with the effortless fact of Ghostface being more popular than you realised. Hardly surprising, though. If he was in one of your classes, you’d join the percentage.

“Girls take the Quantum Mechanics class?” Porco asks with a bemused laugh. “Wish I’d have known that before I picked Particle Physics. Nothing but nerds in there.”

“Don’t worry, your time picking up girls will come once you’re flying planes like Maverick,” Reiner assures him with a firm slap on the back.

“Wasn’t he in the Navy?” asks Lynne.

“There’s still time for all that,” Porco replies with a wave of his hand. While they focus on naval aviators and physics, you’re thankful the subject of Connie Springer has been put to rest, though you don’t forget to level Ymir with another dirty look before squirming in your chair and rising to your feet.

“Where’re you going?” Porco calls.

“Getting another drink,” you tell him. Your last glass of vodka lemonade had been drained a while ago. “Want one?”

“Sure, I’ll come with you,” he says, and while you’d rather like to avoid getting Porco’s hopes up now that his supposed “crush” on you has been made semi-public, it’s his birthday, and refusing would make you look like an asshole.

So, you nod and hang around while he chugs the last bit of his drink before rising to his feet, coming to your side with a hand on your lower back before you both set off down the miniature flight of stairs off the platform where the tables are, and down towards the sunken, dimly lit bar.

Since you arrived here, Invoke has doubled in guests; the dance floor is thick with dancing bodies, the music so loud that you can feel it vibrating through your feet and up your legs. Around the bar, a large crowd has formed, but you’re actually thankful of Porco when he shuffles you both into place at the far end, in an effort to slowly wedge the stragglers out of place once they’ve been served their drink.

“So, how’s your birthday been?” Might as well make some conversation to pass the time.

Porco looks back at you, perhaps surprised you spoke first considering you’ve made a brilliant effort in saying, at most, four words all night.

“Yeah, pretty good,” he replies with a smile. His arm tightens a smidge around your waist — you’re trying to ignore it valiantly. “My dad’s coming up tomorrow. Reckon I’ll be hungover for that.”

“That sounds nice,” you say politely. “…What’re you gonna order to drink?”

He scans the menu across the bar and hums; you see his lips tighten in on themselves as he thinks, before deciding on the worst drink imaginable, being a Fireball Cinnamon whiskey. You hope the cringe isn’t visible — who the hell orders whiskey in a club? Porco, apparently.

Three minutes pass and you’ve barely made a dent in the packed crowd by the bar, and as you’re still mulling over what vodka infused drink to indulge in, somebody slides into place on the free side of you. You feel their chest brushing past your arm, spot their elbow leaning on the surface next to your forearm, and the look on your face is no doubt comical when you lift your head and face the arrival to your left.

Porco turns his head, too, and his mouth widens into a joyful grin.

“Hey! You made it!”

With an expression of frozen surprise, you all but gape up at Ghostface as he leans beside you, his eyes flickering from you to Porco in amusement before he launches into some birthday greeting, his eyes above your head as though you aren’t even there. Perhaps a mercy on his part — you lower your eyes to the golden view of his neck and collarbones, the shirt he’s wearing uncannily similar to both Porco and Reiner. Looks like they’re matching, though there’s no contest on who is wearing it the best.

Before your mouth can water, you look away, straight forwards behind the bar. Your game of reducing him to Ghostface is forgotten. You pleadingly stare at the bartender in hopes that they might take pity on your situation and come to take your order, but to no avail.

The friends talk over your head for a while before they remember you’re still there. Although Porco’s arm is still tied around your waist, you feel Connie’s fingers brush over your arm gently, your eyes darting back towards him. Traitors.

“How’re we doing, mama? You good?”

Your jaw loosens.

“We should do shots,” Porco declares over the top of your head.

Connie nods, smile still wide, “Sounds good to me. What do you think?” He looks back down at you curiously.

Though your mouth is unbearably dry, and nothing sounds less appealing than the chemical-burn of a shot scratching down your throat, you muster a nod and helplessly turn back to the bartender, who has finally made his way around the sliding length of the bar and towards the three of you.

It’s busy tonight, and you can’t blame him for being busy, but with the birthday boy who apparently has a crush on you attached to your waist like gorilla glue, and Ghostface who is potentially interested in you after fucking you over a random suitcase sewn into your side, every minor inconvenience is beginning to feel personal.

“Let’s do tequila,” Connie suggests.

Your reaction is instinctive, “I hate tequila. Anything else, please.”

Tequila is the demon drink — it is the cause of every terrible decision you’ve ever made. It’s the small shot you took that made you unhinged on Halloween. It’s the first domino to fall before crashing into all the other dominoes put in place.

Connie’s grin widens. “Aw, come on.”

“Three tequila shots!” Porco’s already yelling the order over the bar. You almost want to scream.

The bartender slides over three little shot glasses almost overflowing with tequila, along with a little mini plate of limes that Porco brings closer with his fingers. A pool of dread is forming in real time as Connie leans around you, chest flat on your bicep, to grab his glass and yours, while Porco excitedly lifts both his glass and gaze in your direction.

Connie takes the little shot glass in his hands and lifts it up in a toast. “To the birthday boy!”

Porco says something in a jubilant cry, and for reasons unknown to you in that moment, you inch for your shot and turn to face Connie — bad move.

You forget to even shot yours as Connie lifts the salt-lined glass to his lips, licking the rim with his eyes glued onto yours. The flat spread of his tongue around the rim is what you zero in on for a moment, shimmering with the salt in a coy manner before he swallows the shot with perfect strategy. He barely even grimaces once its down, a glittering trail of it sliding down from his lip to his chin, and it is only when he wedges the lime between his lips in a grin that you remember your shot.

Porco shudders dramatically behind you. “Ugh, nasty!” And before he can get a word in sideways about your lack of ceremony in taking your shot, you reluctantly rip your eyes off Connie and down your shot, cringing immediately at the vile flavour, even when sucking the ever-living daylights out of the lime once its burning down your throat.

“Not so bad, right?” Connie laughs, his lips so close to your ear that you can almost feel them against you. Guiltily, although you hold no obligation to entertain Porco’s rumoured interest in you, you glance over in Porco’s direction and find, with a twist in your gut, that he’s already shuffled along, loudly laughing with another group of guys further down the bar, each in matching shirts. Must be a boy thing.

“How about that drink I promised you?” he asks, though it sounds more like a statement than a request, but you nod regardless. The bartender drifts back to collect the empty shot glasses and plate and glances up at you and Connie expectantly.

You feel him shift around you, crossing behind your back to stand on your right side, where Porco had once been situated. His left hand stays on the bar as he does this, until his arm is crossed around your back caging you inwards.

“Vodka lemonade, please,” you request to the bartender, who has served you this drink three times now and honestly had half the mind to run the order by you anyway. Connie pulls a face, intrigued, before making the same order. “A double,” you add. You’re going to need it.

Connie’s arm tightens around you when the bartender reaches for two new glasses.

“Wasn’t it vodka orange on Halloween?” he murmurs, this time with his lips definitely brushing your ear.

You shudder slightly. “Nobody brought lemonade to the party, I made do.”

“Uh-huh,” he replies. “How much you had tonight?”

“Two singles,” you reply, “and the tequila.”

“Uh-oh, I gotta catch up,” Connie says. His weight is angled on the bar in a way that makes you feel very exposed, despite being so wrapped up in his arm that to an outsider, they wouldn’t be able to guess that you weren’t there together.

The smile on Connie’s lips softens slightly, not as entertained as it was before, and he lets his eyes wander across your face for a moment until he says, “You look so good.”

Hesitating, you look at him and study the expression on his face. Within it, there are no signs to suggest he is lying — why would he, anyway? You’ve been trying to come up with excuses to justify Connie being here with an arm around you, as if he’s here for any other reason than because he’s interested in you. No surprise that you’ve been unsuccessful in that department. But acknowledging that he is willingly seeking you out after Halloween and more specifically, after that embarrassing shit show in the library, is a dangerous game to play.

Besides. So good — he could have just said “good” and moved on. But he didn’t. And you feel your face burning, your body sweating. Just from a little adverb.

“So do you,” you reply after a prolonged silence. He doesn’t seem too fussed by it, only more endeared. You go to say something more, and so does he, but then the bartender shuffles back with two glasses and thrusts the card machine in front of Connie. He whips out his card with no hesitation and pays for the drinks, arm loosening around you slightly as you reach for your drink and take a deep breath, spinning to survey the dance floor.

Ymir and Reiner have since moved from the table; you see Reiner with your handbag over his shoulder, leaning against a counter that frames the dance floor with a cocky smile, Ymir by his arm. Both are staring at you with smug expressions. Reiner even throws a thumbs up, and you scowl at him, feeling lost when Connie’s arm unravels from your waist and falls down between you both, his fingers pinching at your thigh gently as he turns his head to the right and says something to Porco.

“I’ll come find you later,” Connie says loudly over the music when he looks back at you. Something hopeful flashes in his eyes — it sounds more like a promise.

Despite his hand still being wrapped around your thigh like a goddamn claw, your thighs tighten and he lets go, eyes widening just slightly enough for you to notice.

There’s only one thing you can blame when you look up at Connie, in a daze, and say, “Okay,” like it’s nothing at all…

It’s the tequila, you think adamantly. Yes. Blame the tequila.

Connie’s smile transforms into a smirk, so wide that his teeth bare and the dimples you noticed in the library blossom on his face. He dips his head with a slight laugh, and then he lifts his fingers under your chin and affectionately flicks, his thumb running softly under your chin until his nail grazes your skin on his release.

“Be good, mama,” he says, and then he turns away, sliding into Porco’s new formation of friends so effortlessly that you have to blink a few times before it registers that he’s moved along.

Your stomach folds in on itself and clenches, and you take a large gulp of vodka lemonade and bravely turn to Reiner and Ymir, who both look entirely too pleased with the progress you’re making. Maybe you’ll be lucky and Connie will stay occupied until you manage to leave without doing anything horrendously out of character like on Halloween…

But you were wrong. So unbelievably wrong.

The hallway to the club toilets is wide and cold, the music reduced in a way that makes walking down its length feel like entering an alternate dimension of sorts. Your head is spinning once you cross the threshold, every drink you’ve had since the shot with Connie and Porco at the bar taking effect. And there have been at least three more since then, not including the criminally delicious Sourz shots you took with Ymir and Reiner, and then another shot you took off Lynne’s stomach — don’t ask, because you’re not willing to talk about how you ended up doing that in front of everybody.

The men and women’s toilets are right next to one another, with the one disabled toilet suspiciously locked and guarded by a fleet of friends who are nursing a sick girl back to health with a glass of water. If you’re not careful, that’ll be you later on.

You push past them heading for the women’s bathroom, when all of a sudden, a strangely familiar feeling of slender muscle wraps around your waist from behind and within a few seconds, you feel your feet lifting off the floor.

Shock rises up in you like a fountain, a surprised squeal leaving your lips as you watch the women’s bathroom disappear past your arm. Whoever has you bundled up has no intention of helping you on your way to open the floodgates — oh, no. Instead, the arm carries you into the men’s bathroom and around a corner, and you feel your heart rising to your throat, along with another string of surprised noises.

You’re carried past a wall of mirrors lining the sinks, and with a fleeting glance, you spy the shape of someone behind you wearing all black, and you might’ve wrangled around in panic if it weren’t for his buzzed head of hair, the sniggering in your ear. Actually, you might still wrangle around, but for a different reason.

Connie carries you to a stall at the far end that is thankfully clean, and he swiftly shuffles inside and presses you up against the door, sliding the lock in place while he laughs in your face, lips so close to yours they might as well be touching. His hand smothers into your hair affectionately while you stare up at him in bewilderment.

“What are you doing?” you gasp, still trying to process that you are, in fact, in the mens bathroom. While you’re here, you might as well admit to yourself that you expected it to be weirder in here than it is — where was the little trinket lady selling perfumes and key rings by the sinks? Where’s the puking people, the chatter, the laughter? There’s no sense of community in here whatsoever!

“Tour of the mens bathroom, you’re welcome.”

“I’m not allowed in here!”

“So what?” Connie laughs, sounding more infatuated than amused — but you blame any misreading of Connie’s behaviour on the however many gallons of alcohol running wild in your body. Yes, oh it is so easy to blame the alcohol! Connie’s nose gently pushes against yours, and you fight the dreadful urge to kiss him.

“I needed to pee,” you say weakly.

He nods over his shoulder, “There’s a toilet right there if you can’t hold it in, nenita.”

“I’m not going to pee in front of you!”

“Why?” he laughs. Oh, he’s finding this terribly funny, and you hate that every laugh makes your stomach dip. “You’ve done it before.”

You gape at him. “That’s totally different!”

“Not really,” he croons, and before you can protest any further, Connie leans forward and presses his mouth against yours.

You might have swooned, if not for the door pressed against your back and his body trapping you against it. His mouth is firmly pressed to yours, the taste of his last drink strong on your lips — vodka orange, how peculiar. It feels warm, a little clumsy at the worst of times, though you’re not so much looking to fault him on his performance, your mind too busy focusing on his hands cradling your head like a prized possession, the irregular throb between your legs back to torment you.

Connie shifts a thigh between your legs, and with a lurch, your head falls back and crashes against the door rather unsexily. He sniggers again, still peppering kisses to your puckered lips, his mouth wet and shiny as he pulls away and presses a trail from your lips to your cheek, down to the slope under your earlobe down your neck.

Your heart is drumming erratically in your chest, your head spinning for a multitude of reasons. If you weren’t currently sandwiched in a toilet cubicle, you’d be incredibly turned on — actually, where you are is inconsequential. You know for a fact that you’re wet and it’s Connie Springer’s fault.

Your body sags slightly, each kiss pressed to your neck burning you like a naked flame. Connie’s hands find themselves all the way down by your thighs, pulling up the useless little skirt you’ve decided to wear for the special occasion of Porco’s birthday. Not for any reason in particular, of course, other than because you looked exceptional in it.

Connie’s teeth push against your skin as he grins, fiddling his fingers near your panties. With a skirt that short, he wonders why you bothered in the first place. He wiggles a finger up to your crotch and laughs to himself when it’s wet.

“I love these short skirts, mama,” he says quietly.

Of course, Halloween’s short skirt had been solely part of the costume, but today, there’s no real excuse for just how short is actually is.

“This Pock’s birthday present?”

You whimper, but only because Connie moves his fingers away and presses his hips up against you. His nose prods your earlobe, and you feel just how hard he actually is beneath his trousers now that he’s aligning his chest with yours.

“No,” you say rather defensively. “It’s for me.”

“Oh, really?” he asks.

“And for you, I guess,” you hurry to add. The tequila’s talking again!

Connie hums along to what you’re saying with keen interest, pressing a wet kiss to your jaw before he moves his lips against yours, ghosting them across your mouth while his eyes find yours in the dark.

“One of these days, I swear I’ll fuck you on something comfortable,” he tells you, and you pause for a second until it registers. His mouth curves, “just not today.”

With that, Connie lifts up your skirt and tugs down your panties, all while you stand there with your jaw hanging low, eyes wide in the thrilled rush. For a second, your hands drop to his waistline, shyly toying with his buttons.

“I think it’s real cute that you’re shy today,” Connie starts, already spreading your pussy apart with his fingers. His body loosens up when you ping the button free from the front of his trousers, as though letting you undress him.

“I’m not shy,” you protest. You were shy before, but now you have the foolish guidance of alcohol in your system, the only reason you’re not slutting it out for him the way you were in the utility cupboard is because you can now see him, and because you’re in a club bathroom.

On Halloween, the darkness made you more confident than it should’ve; now, you can see Connie in the very dim bathroom light, very much real, very much grinning hopefully while he stabs a finger into you, watching with joy as you gasp in pleasure.

“Shy girl,” he murmurs against your mouth.

Although he’s unbearably close, you manage to pull down his trousers and fist at the hem of his underwear, eager to prove otherwise. Turns out you didn’t need the Halloween darkness to feel confident; all it took was a little comment from the man you’ve been thinking about fucking you for over a week, and his finger up your cunt.

Your mouth hangs open when he lazily pushes his finger in and out of you, adding a second after a few minutes and pressing a kiss or two to the corner of your mouth. Connie hears you let out a breathless whimper, his fingers curling.

“Feels just how I remembered,” Connie mutters.

“God.”

It takes real effort not to moan out loud in the cubicle. Your hands fly around his wrist, hidden between your thighs comfortably, and you keep your eyes closed as you ever so slightly grind your hips backwards and forwards. Without even opening them, you know that Connie is looking at you darkly, his gaze so heavy you can feel it in the same realm his fingers are — his looks are sexual all on their own, you’re amazed to discover.

You bite your lip, braving a look at the man in front of you. Connie’s cool and collected, his expression as impassive as his Ghostface mask was, and by some twist of fate, you feel no embarrassment or urge to hide away when you look into his eyes, those little shadowed beads staring almost boredly into you. Though, you know he’s far from bored — his dick is so hard between his legs it looks painful, and you glance down at it, reaching for it with your hands.

Connie flinches when your hand comes into contact with his cock, the warmth of your fingers unexpected as you run one finger over the tip, your other hand wrapping around the base of his dick. This you never had to do on Halloween; back then, he’d just ushered you in the cupboard and bent you over. Must have been rock solid under his cloak, brushing the tip against your panties until you all but begged him to fuck you.

“Not so shy now,” you sneer at him.

Connie kisses you with a grin. “You’re so brave for touching my cock, honey. Nice job.”

“Thanks.”

His mouth wanders again, but your confidence is coming back in a giant wave; not long after Connie’s got his fingers pruned with your wetness, a cocky and drunken smile on his face, you reluctantly force his hand away and watch the smile slide off his face when he looks up at you in alert.

Whatever he is about to say is cut short when you sink to your haunches and find Connie’s dick level with your eyes. Immediately, Connie’s hands rise from below to above, smoothing around your head and cheeks as you assess the mission stood tall before you.

There’s no time wasted on stalling; Connie can’t help but let out a quiet moan when you take more than half of his dick into your mouth at once.

In your head, you keep telling yourself to watch him, gauge every reaction until they’re things to get more drunk off, but even after a minute or so of watching him, your lips tight around his cock, you feel an embarrassed flush work its way from your cheeks to your neck.

The little flat circle of light is behind his head, his face coloured with shadows, and you can only see his eyes due to the glint of them flashing in the dark. You find, unsurprisingly, that it excites you — looking for the face you know is there somewhere, uncertain of what he looks like as you suck his cock.

Connie’s hands tighten slightly around your head, his legs widening apart as he stables his swaying body. His thumb brushes across your neck before curling up to your lower lip, curled against his dick, and he hisses, so quiet that you almost miss it. Then, he says something in Spanish and pulls your face closer to him.

You feel his dick brush the back of your throat right as you gag with the length of him, your thumb tightly wrapped in your palm. Not that it works — each time he pulls out and thrusts his dick back in, you retch, the reflex hitting, which only makes him moan harder.

“Shit, mama,” he groans, voice a little strained but far from tuckered out. You glance up around tears; his head is leaning to the side, his cheek practically glued to his shoulder, and a glint of saliva on his lip tells you he’s wide-mouthed, overcome with pleasure.

You didn’t suck his cock on Halloween, there’d been no time for it. His eyes flicker down and find yours, the light hitting him just right, and you whimper around him, a hand cautiously coming to the base of his dick to save you from another round of gagging.

“Gotta say,” he rasps, grunting when he jerks his hips back against your mouth. This time, you adjust; your tongue is flat against his shaft, running along the vein bolting across it while he staggers and falls still. His head straightens as he looks down at you appreciatively, “I love looking at you like this.”

You hum. He can interpret it however he likes, which you suppose he does because he grins, chuckles to himself in satisfaction, and gently slaps his hand across your cheek. It barely hurts, but you put on a show to whine around him and wrinkle your nose, which he seems to like. He moans loudly, running his thumb across every feature he can reach without accidentally removing himself from the wet hole he’s buried inside.

“I liked my shy girl, but you just look so fucking pretty when you’re actin’ like a slut.”

Your brows raise, though you can’t say you didn’t expect that. After all, you’d dug out your sluttiest skirt from first year just for Porco’s birthday, all whilst trying to convince yourself that it wasn’t for him because you knew he’d be there. The affectionate way he’d called you “slut” on Halloween echoes in your mind. You knew nothing about Connie, and yet you’d read him like a book.

You feel your body inching slowly back against the door, and you wouldn’t be shocked if your shoes were visible underneath the stall door from the outside. It had been the most trivial thing about getting on your haunches to suck Connie’s cock, but all of a sudden, you’re reminded of where the fuck you are and your heart stammers, your hand loosening around his dick.

Fortunately, Connie doesn’t misread this. Instead, he pulls himself out from your throat with a quiet curse and pulls at your hands so you’re up on your feet. Slightly off balance, you wobble in his arms as he presses a wet kiss to your mouth, his hands wrenching around your thighs and lifting you up off the floor once more.

You snake your arms around his neck, hands brushing against the bleached fuzz atop his head, while Connie reaches between his legs for his dick and slides it until he finds the wet folds of your pussy. You moan into his mouth happily, the tip of his dick sliding between you, lapping up all your juice like a tongue.

With one arm wrapped underneath you, holding you up around his waist, he quickly reaches into the breast pocket of his shirt and pulls out a glossy packet, a condom he took out of his wallet in a hurry whilst watching you set off in the direction of the bathrooms.

At least one of you is responsible — you’d forgotten about it completely, and you get comfortable and stable on his hip while he tears open the packet with his teeth and folds it over his cock.

“You came prepared,” you say to fill the silence.

He laughs through his nose. “We both knew it was gonna happen.”

Did you? Hoped for, maybe — knew, not so much.

“We didn’t use it last time,” you point out.

“Rookie mistake. Won’t happen again, angel.”

Rookie — you almost laugh.

You run a finger across the nape of his neck where his buzzed hair ends, watching him shudder as he makes sure the condoms on properly, “Just this once, then.”

Connie’s eyes flicker up to yours. “Oh, you’re precious.”

Then, now that his tip is back pressed against your entrance, he lines himself up with a grin and pushes you down. Your legs are tight around his waist, no doubt strangling him, but now that you’ve taken a seat on his dick, your jaw slackens even wider and you forget where you are again, moaning so loud that Connie has to come forward and kiss you just to keep you quiet.

He laughs into your mouth, wildly entertained by the fit of your bodies, his body relaxing now that his dick is back somewhere wet and warm. Like Halloween, you’re tight, which feels miraculous considering how many times your fingers and toys have been shoved up there since that night, trying to find an alternative to having to seek him out, hoping to forget he existed and simply replace his legacy with something inanimate. Failure was met. Here you are.

You’ve never been fucked against a toilet stall door before, and you find with slight shyness that you don’t quite know what to do. Keeping your eyes on his and arms wrapped around his neck, you struggle to drag yourself up and down off his dick, though he seems very content with doing all the work himself, and you quickly let him.

Connie pistons his hips back up into you, going so deep that a tight wheeze leaves your mouth straight into his. He remains as cocky as he has been all night, the corners of his mouth curved upwards as he watches you with a narrowed gaze.

The stall door rattles dangerously behind your back, the plastic rattle filling your ears as Connie picks you back up higher, his mouth flushed against your own to quell your pleasured noises. What he wouldn’t give to actually hear them one day.

Your cunt clenches around him and he groans, tongue flicking up past yours as he rearranges you on his cock. Your chest brushes up against his; how he desperately wants to rip off your top and shove your tits in his face, to leave little bites across your skin like a brand. Forgetful, you reach an arm up and grab the top of the stall door, taking more of him inside of you as a result. Not like there’s anyone to see you, anyway; unlike the joyful hubbub of the women’s bathroom, the men seem careless of coming in here tonight.

Your legs tighten around Connie as he daggers himself into you, winding the knot in your stomach tighter until it feels as hard as his dick is up your snatch. He hisses, his arms buckling as your back slides precariously down the door — but he doesn’t want to let up. No, you’ve both been daydreaming about each other enough times to know that this simply isn’t enough.

Connie’s just about to hike your leg higher up his body when a cacophony of laughter sounds across the bathroom, and in an instant, your hand snatches off the top of the door and he scurries to catch you so you don’t fall to the floor with a fright. Your eyes are blown wide with the horrifying realisation that people are coming in — you spoke too soon.

Connie pulls himself out of you, clamping a hand over your mouth as you cry out, the tight fit of his dick felt now he’s gone. Then, he spins you around and is left with no other choice than to bend you over the toilet. The lid is closed and you cock a leg up on it instinctively, your hands clawing at the shelf above the tank.

There’s simply no time to spend being a snob about the setting. It’s a downgrade from the utility cupboard, but considering that was where you first let Connie fuck you, you can’t be too disgraced by your second encounter being in a toilet cubicle.

Third times a charm, right?

Connie bends you over, his hand sliding from your mouth and sliding to your ass. Both of his hands hold you in place while he fumbles back for your hole, and once he finds it, quivering in anticipation, he plunges back inside, glancing at you as you very quietly let out a breath once his dick sinks inside.

Like old times, he fits in there like a man made for it, the stretched burn of his dick gone now that you’re once again familiar with the shape and size of him.

Suddenly aware of the people using the bathroom, you bite your inner cheek desperately, hoping to remain as quiet as you possibly can when a man like Connie is fucking himself into you. A flame of arousal burns inside of you as the voices grow louder, more rambunctious. Connie clenches his teeth and smiles, trying not to laugh when the voices begin to talk, oblivious to you both.

You can’t stop. Not now.

You feel him settling in your lower stomach, your ass slamming down on his skin with a slap so sudden it makes you toss your head back to look at Connie with wide eyes. His smile splits apart, silent laughter falling from his mouth as he stills in place.

Nobody seems to have heard — if they have, they are minding their own business.

Connie shakes his head at you slightly as if in assurance, and you clamp your teeth down so hard on your bottom lip that Connie has to nod his head up to force you to look away. Your eyes return to the peeling paint of the walls, trying so eagerly to keep the knot tightening in your tummy from unravelling in ropes of white.

Connie shifts a hand up to his abdomen, and you feel his knuckles against your ass to keep the sound of slapping skin from rippling out across the bathroom. Whoever’s here is loyally hanging around the urinals on the parallel side, a few others talking over the sound of running sinks.

Connie bristles when you clench harder around him, desperate to keep your mind and body in tact. Your leg shifts, letting Connie sink deeper ever so slightly, the tip of him pushing past an untouched boundary.

God, you want to scream; yell, cry, moan out and let everyone know. But you don’t. Your mouth hangs open and a silent scream comes out, your face twisted up in pleasure as Connie quickens. His dick spears into you like a machine, so perfect in rhythm that you’re amazed you’re able to stay so quiet. You do whimper, however, so quietly that the people outside would have to be pushed up against the door to hear it.

You knock your head back, braving a look over your shoulder at Connie, keeping your cool when you find his eyes are already looking at you, glazed over in a kind of hunger made visible now you’ve turned around to face the fall of the light. A little bead of sweat lines his neck, and you crane even further to look at your ass bouncing off his hand. His other hand creeps around from your waist between your legs, where his thumb and finger flick and twist at your clit.

You twitch violently, the build up of tension so strong that you can feel a heat rising up from the balls of your heel up your legs. You look at Connie pleadingly, an unspoken message sent from your eyes into his. Connie’s brows raise as he pounds into you silently, playing dumb. But when you accidentally whimper a little louder than expected, he can’t hide his amusement.

Of course, he knows you’re close. If your shaking legs weren’t enough indication, then the way your cunt is clutching him like a vice has given you away. Luckily for you, he’s not absurdly far behind — you feel better than any cunt he’s been in before, and he doesn’t think it would take much for him to coax one out of him whenever you were involved.

Connie squeezes your ass with his hand, abandoning his safety assurance of remaining quiet, and now that the taps are back on and the music has picked up a bit outside, Connie speeds up relentlessly.

Your hands slide from the edge of the shelf up to the wall, and with nothing to grab, you slump ungracefully and do your best to keep upright. His cock burrows in deeper, tip prodding against a spot that makes you carelessly moan out loud, but that doesn’t matter anymore.

You can hear the sound of your ass slapping against him as your bodies connect, his grunts more pronounced now he can afford a bit of noise with the taps.

He doesn’t even care if they can hear, as long as it’s not a bouncer determined to kick you both out of the club. Connie doesn’t even spare more than a second entertaining the idea before he falls back into the wickedly cosmic feeling of your pussy around his dick. He would happily put himself up here every day of the week if he had the chance.

Meanwhile, you feel a bubbling sort of pain in your lower stomach, the knot unwinding slightly until your legs shake uncontrollably, a white rush of heat blinding you as you give way. Thankfully, Connie catches you and holds you up, feeling your pussy heat up with pleasure as you cry out and cum around his cock. You immediately silence yourself and clamp your mouth closed, but the taps silence outside and you fear the damage may have already been done.

Connie hasn’t caught the silence of the taps yet. He pulls your hips back so that he continues to push his tip against your spongey walls, feeling the ribbons of your cum dribbling down both of your legs, down the length of his fingers as he toys with your clit like a button. His chest rises and falls heavily as he mumbles to himself, like trying to contain a whispery moan, until he can’t any longer.

Connie spears in and out, and in, and out, your pussy clenching up sensitively as he finishes his tempo and slams back into you with a final drag. He bows his head, groaning as he cums, the condom filling with his seed warmly. He remains inside of you for a moment, shuddering through the tremors of your orgasms, eyes closed tightly as he twitches. You flinch as his dick jolts inside of you, and tossing your head over your shoulder tiredly, you wait patiently until he pulls his eyes open and finds your gaze eagerly looking at him.

He laughs breathily, ears trained outside the door. For a second, it’s clear, until both of you hear a very downtrodden, “What the fuck” from someone at the sinks, and he has to reign in his laughter in an effort to gaslight the stranger into thinking they imagined the sound of you both cumming.

Ordinarily, you would have been ablaze with disgraced horror at the thought of someone hearing you being fucked. But now, with Connie’s endeared gaze on your face, his smile the kind of smile you’d want to do sinful things for, you find yourself shaking with bemused laughter.

Of course, it’s the tequila. Totally the tequila, and not because you secretly enjoy being a slut for Connie Springer.

“Still a slut?” you ask. God, you almost sound desperate for him to say yes!

Connie sniggers, running his hands up your arched back. “Biggest slut I ever saw.” Your smile widens happily. “Look at you grinning about it.”

“Sorry,” you say earnestly, tightening around him as you try to heave yourself up. Connie hisses unexpectedly and pulls himself out of you. He reaches to the side and unravels a few squares of tissue, using it to kindly wipe between your legs. You stop him midway, “I’ll take that pee now. Turn, please.”

Connie laughs and throws his hands up in surrender, spinning on his feet after grabbing more tissue to dry the slick juices off his dick. You take pleasure in staring at the shaped curve of his ass as he does this, half-disappointed when he reaches for his underwear and trousers and pulls them up over whatever goods you were marvelling over.

“Nothing I haven’t seen before,” Connie says offhandedly.

“Don’t care,” you tell him, wiping up and flushing. You did a valiant job in keeping all that in as he was fucking you — well, you wouldn’t want a repeat of squirting down his Halloween costume, would you? “We’re not there yet.”

He looks over his shoulder as the toilet flushes. “How ‘bout you let me take you out sometime so we can get there?”

You smile at him, “You want to see me pee that badly?”

Connie rolls his eyes, turning his body so he’s facing you as he pulls you into his arms. “Not what I meant.”

“I know,” you laugh, unable to help yourself when you lean forwards to peck his lips. His eyes widen happily, the dimples deepening on his cheeks. “Ask me in the morning.”

“How? You blocked me, remember,” Connie says, sighing with an emphasised sadness. He locks his hands behind your back, caging you against his chest.

“I did no such thing.”

“If I look right now, I’ll be unblocked, then?”

You nod, nose brushing his. “You will.” You unblocked him out of morbid curiosity before heading to the club with Ymir and Reiner.

Connie hums loudly, brushing a kiss over your lips, then your cheek, then your jaw. His arms squeeze slightly around you before he gives in and releases you, reaching round to slide the lock free. He then pulls it open, wedging next to you before creating a gap for you to leave first, like a true gentleman.

“I can’t go out first,” you tell him. “What if someone sees me?”

“We’ll walk together,” Connie offers, already ushering you out of the cubicle. As you step out, he hurriedly fiddles with the back of your skirt, plucking it out from where its caught in your underwear and he follows your quick steps to the sinks.

Despite your anxious desperation to flee the scene without being caught, you stop by the sinks and press the tap on, coating your hands in a generous amount of soap before glancing at him.

“You, too.”

He sniggers. “Yes, ma’am.”

“I know we just fucked in a toilet cubicle, but there are still germs in here,” you fuss, scrubbing your hands. “I touched the wall.”

“I only touched you.”

“Scrub.”

He slathers his hands in soap and rinses them under the water, only looking up in the mirror when someone steps into the bathroom behind you and starts with a noise of surprise once he sees you bent over the sinks.

“Um,” the guy starts. When you look up, you freeze.

“She’s drunk,” Connie says smoothly, then gestures to the cubicle you were just in, “don’t go in that one. Vomit everywhere. Poor thing.”

“Oh, okay,” the guy replies, shrugging before stalking off to the urinals. Men are really such simple creatures.

You watch him go in the mirror and look at Connie questioningly. He shrugs. He leans over to the paper towels and pulls two out, handing you one. Then, once your hands are dry, his arm returns around your waist for the mutual walk of shame out of the bathroom and back into the club.

Connie says, his mouth pressed to your head, “So where’d you wanna go?”

Your heart thumps nervously. “No preference…”

He tuts. “Think on it.” You will, thanks for the pointer.

Connie’s arm tightens around you in a way you can’t explain once you round the corner and step back out into the wide hallway, which fortunately seems less busy than it was when you last saw it — with the not so fortunate exception of Porco stopping in his tracks a few feet away from your both, his eyes jumping between Connie’s arm and your face wildly before his mouth hangs open dumbly.

Connie smiles normally. “Hey, big boy. You alright?”

Your body is tense with nerves — not even a day ago, you were being told of Porco’s rumoured crush on you; not even a few hours ago, he’d had his arm around you at the bar. Your feet shuffle uncomfortably, guilt rising, until you watch Porco’s shock expression morph into one of morbid curiosity, his brows arched in and upwards while a shocked smile takes shape on his lips.

Thankfully, he looks amused, nowhere close to annoyed or hurt like you had expected. He laughs, at first slightly and then uncontrollably, before he holds his stomach and steps closer with the bathroom in mind.

“What the fuck,” he wheezes out. You’re just happy he looks in good spirits, all things considering. It’s one thing for the girl you might like to be fucking someone else, and another thing for that someone else to be one of your best friends. “I’m good. Are you guys good?”

Connie flashes Porco a winning smile, one that makes it look like he has won a great victory whilst simultaneously making you feel like you’re missing something.

“I think so,” Connie replies, sparing you a glance out the corner of his eye.

You gulp, trying to find the words to say.

“You don’t need to explain,” Porco urges quickly, seeming far too entertained than normal. He walks up to you both and steps around you, “Literally.”

He tosses you a warm and genuine smile before vanishing around the corner, and only after he’s gone do you look back at Connie, torn between being relieved and ashamed.

“We have his blessing,” Connie says with a firm nod, and you hold back a scoff and roll your eyes, pinching the skin of his wrist.

“You’re so mean. It’s his birthday!”

“I know. That’s why his blessing is so important.”

You shake your head, ignoring his laughter in your ear as you try to march off back into the club, his arm still glued around your waist like a permanent attachment. You even find that with every step back into the buzz of the club, the expected drilled shame of being fucked by Connie never comes. Instead, you only feel a content glow widening in your chest, painting your skin, the promise of a date hanging over your head like floating stars and clouds.

Thank you tequila, you think. And, in a way, thank you Eren, for the Halloween party that led Ghostface between your legs and Connie Springer into your life.

��━━━━★. *· @gorehsk @arminarlertssword & @madstronaut for simply being the reason why i wrote this sequel

#aot #attack on titan #aot x reader #connie springer #connie springer x reader #connie x reader #connie springer imagine #connie springer smut #connie smut #aot connie #ghostface #snk #aot smut #aot imagine #connie aot #jeanbie

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gods-favorite-autistic · 9 months

Text

Good Omens incorrect quotes:

Aziraphale: You know, I'm starting to regret showing you how that blender works.

Crowley, drinking toast: Why do you say that?

Aziraphale: Violence isn't the answer.

Crowley: You’re right.

Aziraphale: *sighs in relief*

Crowley: Violence is the question.

Aziraphale: What?

Crowley, bolting away: And the answer is yes.

Aziraphale, running after them: NO-

Aziraphale: Do you take constructive criticism?

Crowley: I only take cash or credit.

Aziraphale: I've already sent good vibes your way… they’re coming. There’s nothing you can do to stop them.

Crowley: This is the most threatening way I’ve ever been cheered up.

Aziraphale: *Kicks the door down looking panicked*

Crowley: What did you do?

Aziraphale: Nobody died.

Crowley: WHAT KIND OF ANSWER IS THAT?!

Aziraphale: Treat spiders the way you want to be treated.

Crowley: Killed without hesitation.

Aziraphale: No.

*how season 3 should start*

Aziraphale: Top 30 reasons why Aziraphale is sorry... Number 5 will surprise you!

Crowley: Top 30 anime deaths. Number One: YOUR FUCKING ASS RIGHT NOW!!!

Crowley: You're right.

Aziraphale: That's... That's an unusual phrase for you. Did you just learn it?

Beelzebub: I’m going to take you out

Gabriel: great, it’s a date!

Beelzebub: I meant that as a threat.

Gabriel: See you at five!

Crowley: *Walking in to a room* Sorry I’m late... I was... doing things.

*Sounds of running footsteps progressively getting louder*

Gabriel: *Out of breath* THEY PUSHED ME DOWN THE FUCKIN’ STAIRS.

Beelzebub: I made tea.

Crowley: I don’t want tea.

Beelzebub: I did not make tea for you. This is my tea.

Crowley: Then why are you telling me?

Beelzebub: It is a conversation starter.

Crowley: That’s a lousy conversation starter.

Beelzebub: Oh, is it? We are conversing. Checkmate.

Aziraphale: This is bothering me.

Crowley: Well, you are digging up a corpse.

Aziraphale: No, not that. That's, uh, pretty par for the course, actually.

Aziraphale: Whaddya call a fish with no eye?

Gabriel, not looking up: Myxine Circifrons

Aziraphale:

Aziraphale: fsh

Crowley: God, give me patience.

Gabriel: I think you mean 'give me strength'.

Crowley: If God gave me strength, you'd be dead.

Aziraphale: You know, not every problem can be solved with a sword.

Crowley: That's why I carry two swords.

Gabriel: So what’s for dinner?

Beelzebub, staring at the food they just burnt: Regret.

Muriel: Why are you on the floor?

Crowley: I'm depressed.

Crowley: Also I was stabbed, can you get Aziraphale, please.

Store Worker: Would a Mr. Fell please come to the front desk?

Aziraphale, arriving at the desk: Hello, is there a problem?

Store Worker: points to Crowley and Muriel

Store Worker: I believe they belong to you?

Crowley and Muriel, simultaneously: We got lost :(

Aziraphale: I didn’t even bring you guys here with me-

Muriel: Sometimes I drink milk straight out of the container.

Crowley: The cow???

Muriel: What?

Aziraphale: Crowley, W H Y?

Aziraphale: Do you ever want to talk about your emotions, Crowley?

Crowley: … No.

Muriel: I do!

Aziraphale: I know, Muriel.

Muriel: I’m sad!

Aziraphale: I know, Muriel.

Muriel: What if I press the brake and gas at the same time?

Crowley: The car takes a screenshot.

Aziraphale: For the last time, get the fuck out.

Crowley: Aziraphale and I don’t use pet names.

Nina: I see. Hey, what are those things with the halos called again??

Crowley: Angel?

Aziraphale: Yes, dear?

Crowley:

Nina: Don't ever lie to my face again.

Muriel: I really like this whole ‘good guy, bad guy’ thing you guys have going on.

Crowley: It’s not an act, it’s just that I’m mean and Aziraphale isn’t

Aziraphale: We need a distraction.

Crowley: Is anyone here good at jumping up and down and making weird noises?

Muriel, whispering: My time has come

Aziraphale: Let me show you a picture from last night that really upset me

Muriel: Okay, but in my defense, Mr. Crowley bet me 50 cents I couldn’t drink all that shampoo.

Aziraphale: That’s not what I wanted to- you drank SHAMPOO?!

Aziraphale: Crowley, keep an eye on Gabriel today. They're going to say something to the wrong person and get punched.

Crowley: Sure, I’d love to see Gabriel get punched.

Aziraphale: Try again.

Crowley, sighing: I will stop Gabriel from getting punched.

Maggie: Are you the big spoon or the little spoon?

Crowley: I'm a knife.

Aziraphale, from across the room: They're the little spoon.

Aziraphale, driving Crowley and Muriel: So how was your day?

Muriel: We almost got surprise adopted!

Aziraphale: What?

Crowley: We almost got kidnapped.

Aziraphale: Oh, okay.

Aziraphale: *slams on the breaks* WAIT WHAT?

Aziraphale: You have to apologize to Gabriel

Crowley: Fine.

Crowley: 'Unfuck you' or whatever.

Crowley: Hey angel,

Aziraphale: Yes?

Crowley: Can a person breathe inside a washing machine while it’s on?

Aziraphale:

Aziraphale: Where’s Gabriel?

Aziraphale: WHY. why did you give Muriel a KNIFE?!

Crowley: I’m sorry. They said they felt unsafe.

Aziraphale: Now I feel unsafe!

Crowley: I’m sorry.

Crowley: ... would you like a knife?

Muriel: Hey, Mr. Crowley? Can I get some dating advice?

Crowley: Just because I’m with Aziraphale doesn’t mean I know how I did it.

Aziraphale: Crowley and I are having a baby.

Muriel: That's gre-

Aziraphale, slamming adoption papers on the table: It's you, sign here.

Muriel: Are you sure this is the right direction?

Crowley: Certainly, I'm as sure as I am honest!

Aziraphale: In that case, we're definitely lost

Muriel: What do you think Mr. Crowley will do for a distraction?

Aziraphale: They’ll probably, like, make a noise or throw a rock. That’s what I would do.

*Building explodes and several car alarms go off*

Aziraphale: ... or they could do that.

Aziraphale: I trust Crowley.

Muriel: You think they know what they're doing?

Aziraphale: I wouldn't go that far.

Aziraphale: While I’m gone, Muriel, you’re in charge.

Muriel: Yes!!!

Aziraphale, whispering: Crowley, you’re secretly in charge.

Crowley: Obviously.

Aziraphale: In your opinion, what’s the height of stupidity?

Crowley: *turning to Gabriel* How tall are you?

#featuring a lot of inneffable husbands #Crowley and Aziraphale being Muriel’s parents essentially #Aziraphale refusing to let Crowley drive with Muriel in the car #a tiny bit of inneffable bureaucracy #a whole lot of Crowley openly hating Gabriel now that he can’t get smited for that #bad influence Crowley #Maggie and Nina supporting the dumbass gays #they/them Crowley and Muriel #and just Crowley being my favorite character #maddy’s thoughts (taken straight from the brain)#good omens #good omens 2 #inneffable husbands #inneffable bureaucracy #incorrect good omens quotes

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milaisreading · 9 months

Text

Crossdressing!Player!Reader×Blue lock pt 2

Warnings: Reader uses she/her while narrating. The players see reader as a boy tho. Requests are open for this au

⚽️Blue Lock belongs to Muneyuki Kaneshiro and Yusuke Nomura⚽️

Pt1

'I don't want to go back home... I don't want to see them again.' (Y/n) chanted as she kicked the football back at the boy, causing him to kick it back at her. The rest of the group watched in a mix of anticipation and confusion, while Barou was a little annoyed.

'Why isn't he trying to target anyone else?' The black-haired boy thought, looking at (Y/n) who was getting more and more frustrated with this cat and mouse game.

'10 more seconds left!' She looked at the timer as the boy kicked the ball at her again.

'8... 7... 6...' She panicked and ran at the football, quickly kicking it back at the boy. The other player had no time to react, and as soon as the timer hit 2 seconds, the ball hit him in the chest. (Y/n) flinched as the boy stumbled down, and the siren buzzed to signal the end of the first challenge.

'I... I did it... I won't go back home. I am safe!' She thought happily as Ego announced to the boy that he was out.

After the room was left with only 11 players, Ego announced the start of their week long training, and (Y/n) grew mortified at all the challenges they needed to start.

'Is he a sadist?! Oh well, better than being with my parents.' She thought, then looked back at her team, tensing up when she saw Barou glaring at her.

'What's with that glare?!' (Y/n) gulped.

'He is so weird... just like that hairstyle. But I need to ignore him for now. My main focus should be surviving this project and making sure nobody finds out I am a girl...' She hummed. While (Y/n) ignored the rest, Barou kept inspecting her figure, unsure why he was getting a weird vibe from her.

'He is so weird... but he does have a cute face.' The taller thought, nearly slapping himself for the last thought.

Later that day, (Y/n) went to the restroom and dressed in the blue shirt and sweats the team was given. She them went off to the cafeteria to get some dinner.

"I am so hungry... what's for dinner?" She thought, putting her rank number on the scanner.

'Nice! Rice and teriyaki tofu!' Her eyes lit up as she saw her food, and took it to her table.

'Hmmm I wonder if that guy from today is here in this building.' (Y/n) thought, looking around the cafeteria to find the blue-eyed boy, but to her disappointment, he was nowhere to be found.

"What are you looking so stupid for?" (Y/n) jumped, startled by Barou's voice as he sat across from her.

"Oh? Barou, I am surprised you sat down with me." She commented, taking a bite from her food as the boy raised his eyebrow.

"And why are you surprised over that?" He asked, a little annoyed as he took a bite from his food.

'Boiled eggs? Why is he eating that with rice?' She raised an eyebrow and answered.

"You seem more like the type of guy who acts too cool to be around anyone."

(Y/n) answered truthfully, watching as he chocked on his food a little.

"What's with your bluntness?"

"I am just being honest." She shrugged, taking a sip from her drink.

"And why are you eating boiled eggs? Isn't that weird with rice?"

Barou stopped eating for a moment, looking at her in disbelief.

"Our food is based on our ranking. You are the highest ranked one in our team, so you got the better food. Didn't you listen to Ego's explanations?" Barou's question caused (Y/n) to blush and laugh nervously, stuffing her food with the rest of her tofu.

"I did! I did! Just wanted to check if you knew what was going on!" (Y/n) lied.

"You lie horrendously." Barou said, sounding bored as he watched (Y/n) stop eating for a moment.

"Can I ask you something?" The girl asked as Barou nodded his head.

"Why did you want me to stay?" There was a short silence between the duo, and she watched as Barou contemplated on how to answer the question.

"Easy, you are the only player around I see worthy as an opponent. After you and those 2 friends of yours beat me, I made sure to study all your plays. I still can't figure out how you are so precise with your goals..." Barou started explaining, oblivious or purposefully ignorant to the embarrassed blush on her face.

'He studied my goals?!'

"How do you know where to aim?" Barou questioned.

"Huh?" She wondered, finding his question odd. Nobody really questioned it.

"I don't know.... it's just a feeling I get while I am in the possession of the ball." She shrugged. Barou stayed silent for a moment, nodding his head as he observed (Y/n) a little more.

'Why is he looking at me like that?!' She wondered.

"I will figure that out, then." (Y/n) heard the boy say.

"Mhmm... if you want to, we can train together. It might help us later." She suggested, watching as Barou thought about it for a moment, and then nodded his head.

"Sure. A training buddy on my level is a good idea."

(Y/n) nodded her head, and with that a duo was unofficially created. A very unlikely one.

Later that night, (Y/n) laid on her bed as everyone else was sleeping. The girl was lying on the futon, unable to fall asleep from all the thoughts plaguing her.

'This whole plan will blow up in my face eventually... one way or the other, they will find out I am not a boy. What will they do then? Will they disqualify me? Will I be publicly shamed for this? Will I have to go home?!' She gulped athe last idea, and put a hand over her racing heart, while the other one played with her (h/c) hair, hoping to find any form of comfort in it.

'I will hide this as long as possible... nobody can know. For my own happiness and freedom, I will pretend to be someone I am not for a little bit longer... I can do that.' She nodded to herself and closed her eyes, curling up on her side.

'I can do that. I will survive this. If I can't become the best striker... I will become (L/n) (Y/n) one day.' She smiled at the idea, sleep slowly consuming her form.

#bllk #blue lock anime #blue lock manga #blue lock x reader #isagi yoichi #bllk x reader #reo mikage #chigiri hyoma #barou shouei #blue lock barou #blue lock nagi #bachira meguru #crossdressing #itoshi rin

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fuck-customers · 2 months

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2.28.24

Genuinely cannot please these fucking people. All they do is bitch and whine that they never get good customer service but if you provide it to them you might as well have flipped them the bird the moment they walked into the store.

It’s Presidents’ Day.

Lady comes in masked up and with gloves. Mask, I get. Gloves? Eh alright. You do you. She’s walking around shopping (i work in an Adult Toy Store) and she comes up to me with a toy and says she wants this one but doesn’t want one that people have been taking out and messing with, it’s contaminated, she’s a “huge germaphobe” etc. so can I get her a new unopened one from the stock room? Sure, no problem. I know we don’t have anymore in the back but god forbid i tell her that without looking first so I go into the stock room, bum around for a few minutes, come back and tell her no but I’m more than happy to completely sanitize the item for her.

You have a problem, I have a solution.

Absolutely the fuck not, apparently. she gets huffy and says nevermind she doesn’t want it and she’ll find someone that can actually help her.

Fuck me i guess. whatever.

she doesn’t want anything to do with me given her attitude but consistently comes to me with problem after problem after problem despite the fact i’m not the only associate on the floor. every “problem” she has, I have a solution for, and she’s progressively getting more and more pissed off!!!

I’m not giving her any attitude or anything, I’m genuinely trying to help her find something that will work for her.

And now on to check-out. Finally, after like an hour of walking around she finds a toy. She didn’t even really want it but it was a box that was shrink-wrapped shut and couldn’t be opened so that’s what she had to “settle” for, as if i had a fucking gun to her head and made her buy anything in the first place.

I ask if she wants a rewards account.

“What is everything that entails?”

i explain it all to her and i just get the lead-poisoning boomer stare from this lady. she can’t be more than like 30, btw.

“…so would you like to make an account?”

“yes???”

see maam this is when you use your Big Girl words, yeah? you know what those are? when you at least open your fucking mouth and speak? maybe even include a “please”? honestly with the way she was acting i’d be surprised if her mouth could even sound out the fucking word.

go through getting her signed up which includes a name, an email, a phone number, and a birthday

we go through all of it and then once it gets to birthday i ask for the year (an 18+ verification, you can’t have an account if you’re underage and it’s REQUIRED IN OUR SYSTEM) and she just yells “I DONT WANT TO GIVE YOU THAT INFORMATION” and calls for my manager because i’m “being ridiculous”

maam.

i have your legal government name, your email, your phone number, and the month and day of your birth. you think adding the year you were born is going to make much of a difference here?

i don’t fucking know what her issue was.

also, for “a huge germaphobe” she sure was out shopping on the second largest shopping holiday of the year.

also later that same day i had a lady get mad because she asked if we had wide-toed shoes and i told her we don’t. this woman yells back “oh so cause i’m fat you think i can’t be a dancer?”

literally nobody fucking said anything about you being fat!!!!!

Posted by admin Rodney.

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