#rent a car script

[eddiesghxst]

LIGHTS, CAMERA, ACCIÓN - AN EDDIE MUNSON X READER AU

credit for cute lil cut off divider: @cafekitsune

————

18+ — MINORS DNI

pairing: eddie munson x pornstar!reader

summary: eddie is short on rent this month and needs quick cash, luckily he stumbles upon an ad for casting in an adult film and finds himself shooting a porno with you

contains: strangers to lovers trope, drug and alcohol use, mentions of smoking, awkward situations, oral (f and m receiving), p in v (unprotected — be safe pls), mentions of people being judgemental of readers line of work, mentions of anal, slightly exhibitionism, lots of smut, a sliver of mechanic!eddie, and eddie being the charming loser he's always been <3

word count: 13.5k (i am so fucking sorry omg)

-masterlist-

Eddie might be way in over his head.

Eddie’s been naked in front of groups of people before (the high school boy's locker room is a scary place to be, honestly), but never in those awful days of forced physical education was Eddie’s dick the center of everyone’s attention.

It’s weird, no doubt about it, standing at the front of a conference room with a table full of producers and writers and whatnot just… ogling Eddie’s naked frame.

“Can you lift your dick, please? So we can see your balls.”

Yeah. This is definitely going at the top of Eddie’s ‘weird things I’ve done for money’ list.

Still, Eddie reaches down and presses his dick up against his lower stomach to give his audience an unrestricted view of his balls.

Jesus.

“Okay, you can put your clothes back on.”

Honestly, Eddie wouldn’t be in this situation if it weren’t for Robert, the manager at Eddie’s job— well, old job. 

Robert had some kind of weird fucking vengeance out for Eddie. Maybe it was because Eddie came back high from, like, most of his lunch breaks, but should that really matter if Eddie still got the job done? How coherent do you have to be to organize music records by name? Not very fuckin’ much.

Robert disagreed, though, so he fired Eddie.

Robert was an asshole, though, and whenever Eddie would nicely warn him, ‘Hey, Rob, I’m gonna be out of town next Saturday,’ Robert would still fucking schedule him to close on that exact day! 

Good riddance.

Except now, Eddie’s short on rent for the month, which is why he’s found himself standing fully naked in a room full of adult filmmakers.

Eddie’s almost dropped out of this deal ten times by now. He wasn’t sure if he was keen on the idea of his bare, naked body being out for the entire world and future generations to see. But then Eddie thought about it, and, well, he’s got a pretty decent cock. It’s an average size, and it’s not weird looking or anything, and his balls don’t sag— and, like, isn’t his dick primarily the star of the show? Eddie Jr. could pass for a star, Eddie thinks, and so do the people looking at it right now. 

And he also really fucking needs the money, so. Porn it is.

Whatever.

Eddie could deal with it as long as he gets enough money to keep a roof over his head. Which reminds him— “Hey, uh, how much will I be getting paid, by the way?”

Eddie’s now fully clothed, car keys in hand, and ready to go now that he’s been dismissed, and he’s scratching the back of his neck as he waits for an answer.

One of the men at the table (Eddie thinks his name is Brian, but he’s not 100% sure) glances up at Eddie from the pile of papers he’d been sorting through, “Eight hundred for the booking and ten percent from the sales.”

Which, yeah, that covers Eddie’s rent. It also leaves a little bit of change in Eddie’s pocket, so “Sweet.” Eddie nods.

So, Eddie follows one of the assistants to her office, where she hands Eddie a file with the word SCRIPT written in bold and red letters, “Read over it, practice the lines a few times, do whatever you need to do to prepare for Friday.” She kindly smiles.

She’s sweet. Short, stout, and pretty, and she has these cute glasses that remind Eddie of a ladybug. Eddie takes the manila folder, bowing his head with a cheesy smile, “Thank you, Emily.” 

“So, will I be getting a costume? Do pornos still have those dramatic plots with, like, pirates and shit?” Eddie rambles as he cracks the folder open to take a gander.

Emily snorts, “Sure, but unfortunately, you’re not a pirate for this one,” Eddie glances at her and dramatically pouts, “You will be taking on the role of a neighbor. Pretty simple and easy, not much setup needed, but I’m sure you’ll see that when you read over the script.”

Eddie looked over the script as soon as he got in his van, and Emily was right: there’s not much setup at all. There’s a few cheesy lines, cliche porno shit that definitely gets skipped over, and then they go straight to fucking. Eddie tries to run his lines a few times, but then he fails miserably, so he ends up tossing the script in his passenger seat and making a mental note to look at it later.

How hard can it be?

Apparently pretty fucking hard.

It’s Friday, and Eddie’s a chaotic mess as he walks in through the doors of the film studio. He’d just spent the last 30 minutes in his van trying to practice his lines, but Eddie was never the greatest theater kid, and the lines wouldn’t stick, so he ended up smoking a joint to ease his nerves.

People are bustling around the room, calling out orders and setting up lights, mics, furniture— the whole mile. It’s an entire ordeal that Eddie has walked into, and for a second, Eddie forgets that he’s one of the actual stars when someone walks up to him and says, “You're the new talent?”

“Huh?”

“New talent. Are you the guy we’re filming today?”

Eddie glances around and catches a glimpse of a half-naked girl eyeing him from across the room as a lady fixes her hair for the cameraman. She’s pretty. Gorgeous, actually. Nice body and soft-looking skin that Eddie would like to sink his teeth into and leave pretty little marks.

“Uh, yeah. Yeah, I’m Eddie.”

“Good. You’re late.”

Shit. Eddie must’ve lost track of time while practically hacking up a lung in his hotboxed van.

The person drags Eddie to a vanity and nudges him toward the high chair, “You’ll get your hair and makeup done, then we should be rolling in about half an hour.” 

It’s jarring, really, seeing the amount of work that goes into the shitty raunchy films Eddie jacks off to, but it’s captivating nonetheless. Eddie can see the movement behind him through the vanity mirror, but he’s more focused on the pretty girl still posing for the camera. If that’s the girl Eddie will be working with, then this will be way easier than Eddie thought it would be because he’s already getting hard. Some might call it pathetic, but oh well.

“Hiya, hon! You the new talent?” A chirpy girl walks up behind Eddie, pearly white teeth and glossed lips working in tandem as she chews her gum and blows a quick bubble. She doesn’t wait for Eddie’s response as she digs her fingers into Eddie’s curly strands, tossing and gently pulling them about to see what she’s working with. 

Her name is Nicki. She’s friendly and very talkative; Eddie comes to learn, because for the majority of the time that she’s working on Eddie’s hair, her mouth is running nonstop. Eddie doesn’t mind, though; honestly, it helps to take his mind off of whatever the fuck he’s gotten himself into.

Emily, the assistant from earlier, walks up to the vanity, her cute ladybug glasses slipping down her nose as she steps into Eddie’s view— and Eddie is happy to see a familiar and kind face. “Will you be needing a fluffer?”

Eddie blinks, eyes fluttering when the hairstylist dusts his bangs over his lashes, “Uh— a what now?”

Nicki loudly pops her gum as she shakes a can of hairspray, “A fluffer, honey. Someone to jack you off and get you ready for the scene.” 

Eddie’s eyes widened for a split second, and he made the mistake of glancing over at the girl who was still modeling across the room. Her tits are out now, and they’re perfect, and she catches Eddie’s eyes for the second time, and it makes his already stiffened cock stir within his pants.

Eddie shakes his head as he looks back at Emily, his voice higher when he responds, “No, I uh… I think I’m good.”

Which, duh. Eddie's dick is practically breaking the seams of his jeans because of the pretty girl, and it’s only getting worse because now she’s walking toward him dressed in a white robe. “You must be Eddie.”

Eddie’s surprised you know his name, but then he figures, obviously, you must know his name given the fact that you’re about to let him swing his dick near you. “That’s me,” Eddie smiles, “You must be… I’m sorry nobody’s told me anything.” He awkwardly laughs.

You nod with a shrug and tell him your name, “Is this your first time filming?” You ask.

Eddie nods, “Is it that obvious?” He nervously asks. You shrug, “Most guys in the industry need more than a pair of tits to get that hard.” You nod towards Eddie’s crotch— and oh god. How embarrassing! She knows you were checking her out!

“No need to be embarrassed though, Eddie. Pretty soon, you’ll be shoving your cock down my throat, so.”

Eddie’s cock may have gotten harder from those words alone.

“A rookie? Seriously, Don?”

Your makeup is being done, so you don’t see how your manager rolls her eyes at you. “When I said I wanted someone fresh, I didn’t mean never-been-under-the-camera fresh.” 

The makeup artist finishes with your touch-ups, and you take the opportunity to turn to Don and glare at her, “He doesn’t know what he’s doing, Don.”

The older lady waves a dismissive hand, “He’ll do just fine, babe,” she deadpans. You shake your head, turning to look at the man of the hour. He’s attractive; you’ll give him that. Tall, pretty curly hair, sweet brown eyes, a panty-dropping voice. Sure, he’s attractive, okay. But he’s got no clue how to do this type of thing. Clearly— I mean, you’re literally watching him gaze down at the dildos that have been lined up for you as if he’s never seen one in his life— which you doubt. If he knew how to find an adult filmmaking studio, then he’s definitely seen some fucking dildos.

You suppress a laugh when he accidentally drops a glass dildo, turning back to your manager as you ignore his chorus of apologies to the staff, “My case in point.”

Don fails to hold back a laugh, “So he’s a little off the walls,” she shrugs, “He’s cute though. And his dick is nice. Trust me.”

And, well, she’s not wrong.

Don’s never been one to lie without reason, so unfortunately, Eddie’s cock is nice. Pretty, even. Which is weird because after some time being in this industry, the thrill of a nice-looking cock has gotten lost on you because they practically all look the same— just different shades of colors, really.

But Eddie’s cock is nice in the sense that it’s real. He’s not shot up with steroids to make it overly veiny and big or cleanly shaved or any of that superficial camera-ready shit. No, Eddie is natural. He’s got neatly trimmed curly hairs across his pelvis that smell like his body wash when you nuzzle your nose against it, and he’s big enough to wrap your hand around, but you know the second he pushes inside of you, it will be a nice stretch. He’s cut, and he has a slight curve to the left, and he’s so sensitive his cock jumps when you tap the pearly white drop that leaks from his tip. You giggle, shuffling forward on your knees as you stroke him.

You’re already done with the opening scene, finally. Eddie couldn’t remember any of his lines, so it took a lot longer than it should’ve, but you think it was worth it either way because the way Eddie moans when you finally wrap your lips around his tip is the prettiest sound you think you’ve ever heard.

“F-fuck,” He quietly curses, hips shifting as you swallow more of him. He sinks a slightly shaking hand into your hair, gently cupping your head as you work your mouth over him. Your eyes flutter to gaze up at him, and your stomach flutters at the cocky grin he gives you. “You’ve got such a good little mouth on you, sweetheart. Gonna let me fuck it?”

You hum and nod as best as you can with his cock in your mouth, and he hums, “Open up for me, baby.”

You shift on your knees, finding a comfortable position for the action before blinking up at Eddie, indicating you’re ready. Eddie’s hands are steady and certain as he cups both sides of your head, holding you still as he draws his cock out once before slowly thrusting in until your throat tightens around his tip.

He fills your mouth so perfectly, just enough to where you won’t get bored, but you also won’t get an overly aching jaw, and you can’t wait to feel him inside you. Can’t wait to feel how his cock twitches when he first nestles deep in your walls or how much better the sounds he makes will be.

It’s a nice feeling, having Eddie fuck your mouth, and you usually don’t care much for shots like this because most of the time, it’s either underwhelming or overwhelming, but Eddie fucks your throat in a sense that’s dirty yet so caring. He’s spewing out filthy praises, and you're drooling onto his balls, but he’s looking at you with these soft brown eyes and caressing you so gently you might quiver. Fuck, you really wanted to hate him.

Behind the camera, the director makes a motion for you to cut to the next action, but since your back is to them, Eddie is the one that sees it and gently coaxes you off from his cock, cooing when you let out the smallest whine that only he can hear. He smiles, thumb running beneath your swollen lip to catch the strings of spit and cum, “What? You liked having me down your throat, sweet girl?”

You mewl, pressing your chin into his palm as you nod.

"Yeah. Want it, please?" You whisper. God, you didn’t expect to be fucked out within the first scene. "Aw, maybe next time, princess. You can keep me warm as long as you'd like."

It’s almost embarrassing, how much you like the sound of that and how it makes your tummy flip, but you don’t have much time to think about it because Eddie’s ushering you up from the floor to climb onto the couch and straddle his lap. 

You’re both bare now, and when Eddie had first taken his shirt off, you wanted nothing more than to run your hands down his graffitied chest, but you were too busy sinking to your knees. But now you have the chance, and boy, do you fucking take it.

You marvel as you coast your hands across Eddie’s body, fingertips gliding through fields of inked stories and vast skin. His breath hitches when you graze over his nipples, and his hips shift beneath you, wet cock slipping against your sticky folds. You whimper, grinding down onto him, and he curses as he grabs ahold of your hips. “Y’like them?” He sweetly asks, referring to his tattoos.

"Yeah," you nod, grinding down harder to have his cock nestled between your folds, his ruddy tip nudging your clit. “I can tell you all about them if you want.”

You giggle at his timing, but before you can respond, a director speaks up from the side, “Less talking, please.”

Eddie glances over your shoulder and salutes the man, “Roger that, sir.”

You can’t help but snort at his actions, but you’re quickly hushed when Eddie reaches down to paint his cock between your folds before lining himself up, “Go ahead and sit on it, baby.” He whispers.

You listen, nuzzling your face against his shoulder as you wriggle yourself down the length of his cock.

And god, you love being fucking right. The stretch is so good, better than you had imagined it to be, and you can’t help the high-pitched moan that slips from your lips when Eddie thrusts up into you. 

"O-oh. Oh fuck," You whimper. You’re practically boneless as Eddie fucks you, your entire body just draped over him as his hands dig into your ass to help bounce you on his cock. “Jesus fucking— you feel so good,” He pants, and you mewl, cunt clenching around his cock as he drills up into you. “You gonna cum for me, hm? Be my best girl and cum for me. I know you’ll sound so pretty.” He whispers.

Before you know it, you’re moaning out and writhing in Eddie’s hold, juices dripping down his cock and forming a sticky mess in the patch of curls at his base as you cum.

“Let’s have a shot from the back.” 

Your body feels weightless as you and Eddie change positions so you’re on all fours. You’re blinking through a hazy fog, and it feels so good. Eddie’s hands send chills up your spine as they grip your waist and tug you towards him. 

“Oh, baby, you’re shaking,” Eddie hums, running his hands over the fat of your ass, thumbs digging into the skin to spread you open. You’re so wet you can hear the sticky noise of your folds parting, and Eddie groans as he watches your pussy clench around nothing. “You open up so well for me, sweet girl.” 

Jesus.

You don’t get much of a warning before you feel Eddie lapping and sucking at your cunt, devouring you until you’re nothing but a mess of moans and quivering limbs.

Jesus Christ, that wasn’t in the fucking script. Half of the shit Eddie’s doing isn’t in the fucking script, and it's making your head spin.

God, who is this man?

You whimper his name, reaching a shaky hand back to grapple at his hair, and Eddie nuzzles his face deeper into your cunt, nose nudging your ass in a way that makes your toes curl. He’s good. He’s really good, you’ll give him that.

You and Eddie go at it for about an hour, switching positions and pausing every now and then to get a good shot of your cunt wrapped around Eddie’s cock, or Eddie’s tongue lapping over your clit or tits.

And it's fun doing this with Eddie.

Eddie is like a breath of fresh air. Most guys in this industry are stuck up and make things annoyingly serious, and most girls are either bitchy or just want to get it over with, which you don’t blame them for. 

But Eddie makes things feel so normal— like you’re just two best friends getting filmed having sex— because he keeps whispering tiny jokes to make you giggle. He tells you how pretty you sound and look, and he’s so incredibly clueless because he keeps leaning in and asking things like, “Is this, like, a good angle for the camera?” and “Should I maybe kiss you more?” and “Is it okay if I stop fucking you for a second? Because I’m about to blow.”

And all you can do is breathlessly moan and nod because he’s plunging himself so deep into you that it almost hurts, but it’s so good.

You’re so fucked out you barely even register Eddie’s words when he tells you he’s about to cum, but your body immediately reacts when he pats your hip, indicating for you to get ready.

You scramble down from the couch, limbs weighted from pleasure as you settle on your knees, batting your lashes up at Eddie as he towers over you, stroking his wet cock. Eddie rests a hand on your head, fingers grasping your hair to keep you still as he gazes down at you. You’re impatient, so you can’t help but let yourself sneakily lick the tip of his cock, and he grins, “It’s coming, precious girl. Stick your tongue out for me.”

You shuffle closer, sticking your tongue out as you eagerly await the taste of Eddie on your tongue— and when you get it, god, you never want it to stop. Everything about it is perfect: the way his face twists up, the way he tastes, the pretty moans he lets out. You want it on repeat.

You might buy this film just to relive it.

You take every last drop Eddie has to give you with a happy hum; a little bit catches your lip, and Eddie swipes it with his thumb before bringing it to his mouth and suckling. You whine, frowning and causing Eddie to laugh, “You got most of it, sweetheart. Can’t be too greedy, can you?”

It’s like you’re both in your own world. Only talking to each other and enjoying each other's bodies because Eddie just… it’s weird, but he makes the room go away. He makes things feel less performative— and maybe it’s just your hazy, blissed-out state of mind, but you think you might like Eddie.

You’re snapped from your trance when the director yells cut, and then everyone’s springing into action to tear down the set because another crew will be using it next. Eddie helps you stand on your wobbly legs, “You alright?”

You nod, “Great. You did good, by the way.”

Eddie leans forward and grabs your robe that had been pushed to the side. He smiles as he holds it open for you, “Thank you. You did pretty awesome yourself.” He responds as you slink your arms through the sleeves.

You turn to Eddie as you close your robe and tie it shut. Your assistant, Emily, hands Eddie a robe for himself, and he thanks her, curtly bowing his head as he grabs the plush article. “So,” Eddie starts as he slips on the robe. You both start walking towards the dressing rooms as he speaks, “Think I could make a career for myself here?” He asks. 

You halt at that, turning to Eddie with a confused look, “Is that… is that not why you’re here?” You ask.

Eddie shakes his head as he ties his robe, “Nah, I got fired from my job. Needed some cash for rent this month.” He explains.

Is it selfish to say you’re disappointed to hear this? If Eddie had been wanting to join this industry, you would’ve had the opportunity to work with him again. But maybe it’s more selfish to say you’re happy he isn’t joining this industry. Eddie becoming an adult film star would mean half of the time, he’d be fucking other people, and unfortunately, that idea alone makes your gut twist with jealousy.

You nod, pursing your lips as you fiddle with your fingers, “Well… would you be interested in this type of thing?” You try your best to sound casual about it, and you think it works because Eddie only shrugs again with a short hum, “I don’t know. Wouldn’t be opposed to it, I guess.”

Before you can respond, Emily calls your name, “Don needs to speak with you in the other room about your next shoot.”

You turn back to Eddie and try to commit his pretty brown eyes to memory, “I guess I’ll see you around, Eddie.” You smile. Eddie smiles back and does somewhat of a dramatic bow, and you snort as you walk off.

You glance over your shoulder as you walk with Emily.

“Could you do me a favor?” You ask her. Emily nods, and you take one last glance at Eddie before he disappears into the dressing room. 

“Get his number for me. And leave it in my purse, please.”

A couple of weeks have passed since Eddie made his big debut in the film world.

Eddie made a pretty penny from that film, enough to pay his rent and have some play money on the side. Thankfully, Eddie doesn’t have to scramble for cash this month again because he got a job at the mechanic shop downtown. It’s a lot of labor and a lot of hours, but the pay is good, and nobody gives a shit if Eddie comes back from lunch smelling like a dispensary, so.

Suck that, Robert.

However, Eddie’s still thoroughly surprised to see you sitting in the shop office when he returns from a quick smoke break. “Woah, funny seeing you here. Car problems?” He questions. Eddie tries not to think about the fact that he’s seen you completely bare before. Tries not to think of how he’d spent over an hour in your guts last month or how you swallowed his load like it was nothing. Eddie fails miserably.

You shake your head as you stand up from the leather couch in the office, grabbing your purse as Eddie walks closer to you, “No, actually, Lola’s doing great.”

Eddie cocks his head, “Lola?”

You nod, “My car.” You gesture out towards the window where your car is parked. Eddie makes an understanding noise as he nods. 

“I was actually hoping to talk to you.” 

Eddie pauses at that, confusion settling over his body as he looks at you. You’re beautiful, kind, soft eyes with soft, pretty lips that Eddie thinks about kissing when he goes to bed. Eddie points to himself with raised eyebrows, “Me?”

You nod again, “Yeah, about like… my job and stuff.”

Oh.

Ohhhh.

“Oh, shit, yeah, um,” Eddie glances around the office and nods, “Yeah, we can step out and talk, like, in my van, maybe?” He offers. Not because he’s, like, ashamed to talk about porn or something, most people watch it! But a few of the guys that work here are downright dipshits, and Eddie won’t hesitate to punch one of them if they say some sly shit about you or your job. And, well, Eddie would like to keep his job, so.

You don’t take offense to it, though; you just nod with your pretty smile and tell Eddie to lead the way.

Eddie’s van smells like weed, cologne, and a hint of whatever he had for lunch.

“Sorry,” Eddie mumbles as he clears off the passenger seat that’s filled with bottles of different drinks, rolling papers, food wrappers, and things of the like. “She’s seen better days.” 

You smile nonetheless, thanking him when he steps away and holds the door open for you. You hop into the seat, glancing around as Eddie shuts your door and jogs to the driver's seat.

He gets in with a heavy sigh, hair unruly from the wind, brown eyes wide and excited when he looks at you. “Hey.” He huffs with a smile, and there’s a piece of hair in Eddie’s bangs that’s sticking straight up. “Hey.” You giggle, reaching out to fix the rebellious strand. Eddie softly thanks you, and you swear you see a hint of pink dust across his cheeks.

He shifts in his seat, rubbing his hands against his thighs as he sighs again, “So… what’s up?”

God, he’s so cute. So incredibly weird and awkward and cute. He looks handsome in his navy blue coveralls, grease stains smeared across his torso, and some sneaky smudges on his neck. “You’re very hard to get ahold of, you know?” You tease.

Eddie’s face twists in confusion, “Huh?”

You shrug, distracting yourself by poking around at his dashboard, sifting through the CDs and tapes he has lying about. Eddie doesn’t stop you; he only watches, and you give him a cheeky smile. “My assistant got your number, right? But then you, like, never answered my calls.” You shrug as you flip through more of his things. You hear Eddie mumble something about needing a new cord for his home phone before he asks louder, " So, how’d you find me?”

God, he must think you’re a stalker or something. You didn’t really think that through, honestly.

You hum, “Just asked around a bit. You’re a bit of a hot commodity around here, by the way. Heard you started a cult? What’s that about?” 

Eddie’s eyes widen at your words, and you laugh, “Oh god. Jesus, no, I didn’t start a cult. I just,” he groans as he pinches the bridge of his nose, “I was just weird in high school.”

“You’re still weird.”

Eddie’s face falters at your words, but you smile as you add, “I like it.”

Eddie blushes again, but he turns to look away this time, and you think he’s the cutest thing you’ve ever set your eyes upon. He turns back to you with a shy grin, “Did you come here just to flirt with me?” He teases, wrapping a strand of his hair around his finger to twirl in a shy manner. “Maybe… but I also have a question.” You respond.

Eddie nods, “Shoot.”

You take a deep breath as you shift in your seat, “Well, uh, I wanted to ask if you maybe…” You glance at Eddie, who's expectantly awaiting your question, and your stomach twists with nerves. Why are you so nervous to ask Eddie for something you’ve already done before?

“Well, I’m doing a shoot tomorrow,” you finally begin, “And I just found out the guy they paired me with is, like, a total asshole— I’ve worked with him before, he’s just… awful,” You explain. “So, I was just… I don’t know; I was just wondering— hoping— you’d be up for it, maybe? To take the guy's place, I mean.”

You finish rambling and glance at Eddie as his eyes widen, “Oh, um. Like— like, film with you again?”

Eddie could leap for joy right now.

Not only are you, like, the cutest, prettiest, kindest fucking human being to ever grace this earth, but you’re sitting in Eddie’s van, chewing on your lip and asking Eddie to fuck you for the cameras again.

Eddie must’ve done something incredibly right in his past life.

“Oh!” Eddie starts, “ Um… yeah, I’d love to!” What? Weird, take that back. “No, I mean, like, not in a weird way. I just— I’d rather not let the asshole do it if I can do it.”

God, could Eddie sound any more pathetic?

Still, despite how dumb Eddie sounds, you smile and clasp your hands together, “Oh, are you sure? I know it’s last minute, and it’s not really the ideal task—” 

“Woah, wait. What do you mean not the ideal task?” 

Because literally, what do you mean? How could that not be the ideal task? And who made you think that fucking you isn’t the ideal task? If it’s that asshole you were supposed to work with, then Eddie has a few colorful things to say about and to him.

You shrug, fiddling with your fingers in your lap, “Nothing, I just know my job isn’t… you know, traditional or whatever. And you had only done it that one time because you needed it, so I get it if you’re, like, not in the mood to fuck on camera for a bunch of random people.” You ramble. Which, uh, no. You could not be further from the truth. Eddie would love to fuck you on camera for a bunch of random people. Hell, Eddie would love to fuck you under any consensual circumstance, if he’s being honest, so. Yeah, he’s pretty excited.

“No,” Eddie shakes his head, “No, I— I want to, really, I do.” Eddie nods.

Your unsure frown spreads into the prettiest smile before you reach across the center console to pull Eddie into the most bone-crushing, you-scented, chest-warming hug Eddie’s ever been given as you spew out a chorus of thank yous.

“I brought a copy of the script for you to look over so you’re not totally confused,” Eddie watches as you pull back to reach into your bag and pull out a manilla folder. “I usually like to color coordinate my scripts, so I did it for you too. The pink is me, and the red is you, and the specific actions they want us to do are in blue.” You point out. And Eddie thinks he might kiss you right now— you’re so fucking cute!

“Wow, thanks, um… I wish I were, like… good with these types of things, but I think you saw how majestic I am with scripts.” Eddie huffs out a laugh as he scratches the back of his neck. You smile, “I can help you— if you’d like.”

Oh, you’re trying to kill Eddie at this rate.

Eddie nods either way, even though he’s six feet underground and knocking at the fiery gates. “I would love that, actually. I finish work in about three hours if you’re free.”

Eddie definitely broke a handful of laws while driving home.

Since you offered to help Eddie with his lines, you both decided to meet at Eddie’s place. He gave you his address, told you how to get into the complex, and said see you later. Now, Eddie is ecstatic to see you, obviously, but Eddie can’t remember if his home looked normal or like a Walmart clearance aisle after black Friday, so he ran through multiple stop signs and red lights to get home before you showed up so he could clear things up.

He’s hustling through his apartment like a madman, picking up strewn clothes and cat toys before speeding through the few dishes he had in his sink. Honestly, Eddie’s apartment has seen worse days, so there’s not much cleaning he has to do, but he’s still stressed when he hears a knock on the door. 

Eddie doesn’t even like candles, but he lit one just in case there’s a smell he’s grown used to lingering about. Eddie just doesn’t want you to think he’s a slob. Because he isn’t. He just has an orchestrated chaotic lifestyle.

Eddie couldn’t be happier when he opened his door because there you were, beaming with a smile and a bag of takeout, and Eddie thought it wasn’t normal to be this soft for someone you’d basically just met.

“Welcome to my humble abode,” Eddie dramatically bows with an extended hand to show the entrance of his small, homey apartment. You smile as you walk in, taking in your surroundings.

It’s nothing extraordinary, honestly. Eddie’s home is really just vomit of everything Eddie likes: favorite colors, favorite movies, favorite game characters, etc. It’s like Eddie’s brain exploded and painted itself all over the place. Eddie had a girlfriend many moons ago, and she changed things around to become more coordinated, so now it’s less of a shit show and more of an abstract museum sort of thing.

Whatever. Doesn’t matter anyway because you’re gasping and picking up the little roommate Eddie has. 

“Who’s this?” You coo at the little creature. You’re looking down at the furball as you scratch behind her ear, “That,” Eddie sighs, “Is the reason why I didn’t get your calls.”

You look up at Eddie, confusion written across your face. Eddie points across the room to the wall where his home phone hangs, except the wire is broken. “Little asshole chewed through the wire, and I’ve been slow to replace it. Her name is Banshee.”

The cat meows at the mention of her name, wide eyes blinking up at Eddie as you coddle her. She’s a fluffy cat with a black coat decorated with two white spots: one on her back and the other just behind her ear.

You hum, “So technically,” You drag, “It’s your fault.” You tease. You coo as you press your cheek to the tiny kitten, gazing up at Eddie with these soft eyes, “I don’t think you can blame this cutie for your laziness.” 

Eddie rolls his eyes, wills away whatever power he has to not kiss you, and gently takes the takeout bag from your hands so you have less to carry. “Fine then. Ask her what happened to the laces of my work shoes, too, since she’s so innocent.”

Eddie’s home is so… Eddie.

He’s got music and horror movie posters framed along his walls, cute little scary figurines randomly placed within his bookshelves, and there’s an overall smell of Eddie’s musk and the sandalwood candle he has burning. It’s cozy, a nice space for one person who enjoys their alone time, and he let you choose a record to play from his extensive collection, and he has the world's cutest little cat, so it’s safe to say you could spend an eternity in Eddie’s world.

“Shit, that wasn’t my line,” Eddie stresses. You smile as Eddie tosses the packet onto his coffee table and falls back onto the couch, “We’re wasting our time here, princess. I dropped out of theater for a reason.” He grumbles.

You sigh, tilting your head against the couch cushion as you gaze at Eddie, “You’re thinking too hard about it.” You say. “It’s a porno, not a Grammy-nominated film.” You point out.

Eddie snorts before giving a short shrug, “For the record, I think you could land a Grammy, sweetheart.” 

You roll your eyes, “Yeah, right. You don’t need to suck up to me, Eddie, you’re already gonna fuck me tomorrow.” You jokingly say.

Eddie waves you off and shifts into a more comfortable position. “So,” He starts, “What’s the asshole guy's deal?” 

Banshee has hopped onto the couch and made her way into your lap, tiny paws kneading the material of your jeans as she settles. You gently pet her as you glance at Eddie and shrug, “Not sure, he’s just a total dick,” You grumble. “I worked with him once last year, and he, like, told me I wasn’t the best or whatever— which, okay, I can totally understand,” You ramble, “I don’t think I’m, like, some sex god. I don’t expect to be everyone or anyone’s best fuck, but still! It just… it didn’t make me feel good, the way he said it.” You windedly explain. You distract yourself with the cute animal in your lap as you finish your explanation, “So, I asked my manager never to pair us again, but—” You shrug.

Next to you, Eddie shifts once more and scoffs. “He’s a fucking shitfaced liar, princess.”

You snort, playfully rolling your eyes, “Eddie—” “No, I’m serious. He’s a liar. Anybody who even gets the chance to touch you is a lucky fucker, okay? If anything, he probably begged your manager to let him work with you again.”

“You’re just saying that. I don’t need you to try and make me feel better, and it was so long ago anyway.” “Yeah, but that’s the thing, I’m not.”

You frown as you gaze over at Eddie, watching as he sits straight and looks at you with a serious gaze in his eyes. “I don’t know what’s up with that guy, maybe he was dropped as a baby too many times, but anybody with common sense and a properly functioning dick knows just how fucking amazing you are. End of discussion.”

And well, it’s pathetic how your chest warms at his words, but it does. And as Eddie goes on to ramble about his hectic week at work, you can’t help but let your mind spin with Eddie’s kind words until nothing is in your mind but the echoes of Eddie, Eddie, Eddie.

Not many times has Eddie woken up with a girl in his home. Well, at least not a girl that he’s actually liked for more than a one-night stand or a shortly-lived fling.

After running the script for the last time, Eddie suggested putting on a movie and digging into the takeout you’d brought. The meal was delicious, and the movie you’d landed on was hilarious, but it’s hard to keep your eyes open on a full stomach, so when Eddie felt your head drop onto his shoulder, he couldn’t help but let his body sink into the couch and fall asleep too.

You’d woken up about an hour later and tried to make your escape quietly, but Eddie insisted you shouldn’t drive in such a sleepy state, so he let you make yourself comfy in his bed. Banshee, the little traitor, trotted right behind you and left Eddie on the couch to snuggle up beside you for the night.

You’re cute in the morning, Eddie thinks. You have an adorable little pout, and you yawn about 80 times until you’ve had a sip of coffee. 

It takes nearly a lifetime to drag you away from Banshee so you and Eddie can head to the studio because you adore the little asshole, and Banshee loves anything that’ll give her the time of day. You make Eddie promise to let you see her again, though, so you sadly say goodbye with a soft peck to the fluffy area between her eyes and let Eddie drag you to his van.

The car ride is nice; Eddie lets you mess around with the contents of his van and go through the stack of CDs he’s compiled over the years. You land on one of Eddie’s favorites, an old mixtape Wayne made in college that Eddie spent most of his high school blaring loud enough to blow out a speaker.

Today, you’re shooting in a house— a nice one that Eddie could only conjure up in his dreams—but he doesn’t have much time to dwell on it because he’s being dragged over to makeup and hair as soon as he steps in.

“You thinking of joining the industry?” Nicki asks as she works a nice-smelling mousse into Eddie’s hair.

Eddie had been busy watching you talk to one of the producers, but he finds the strength to tear his eyes away and gaze at Nicki through the vanity mirror. “No, not exactly. Just… doing a favor for a friend, I guess.”

Nicki raises an eyebrow, “A friend? Don’t act like I didn’t see you two come in together.”

Eddie’s face warms at that, the tips of his ears turning red as he stutters, “Huh?” 

Nicki looks at Eddie with a ‘Don’t bullshit me’ look.

“I mean, like, yeah, we had breakfast together–” “Mhm.”

Eddie huffs out a gentle laugh, “No, really, we’re friends.”

“Friends that fuck on camera and look at each other the way you two do? Sure.”

Eddie doesn’t ask what Nicki means by that because— well, he knows what Nicki means by that. He’s caught himself looking at you like you put the stars in the sky one too many times, and it’s almost embarrassing. Almost.

But can you blame Eddie? Can you really blame him when you’re the prettiest girl he’s ever seen, the softest smile, the greatest laugh, and the sweetest personality? It’s not Eddie’s fault that you’re perfect.

Eddie just thinks you’re neat. 

He thinks you’re amazing, actually, and it’s hard to remember his fucking lines when you’re standing under a steaming shower, wet body glistening and pebbled nipples practically begging for his mouth.

He’s butchering the script, that’s for sure, but he figures it’s not too bad since nobody’s corrected him. 

The scene starts with you taking a shower and Eddie being a peeping tom, which ultimately leads to Eddie sinking to his knees and licking into you until you’re a quivering, sticky mess on his tongue. Eddie would spend forever on his knees, between your legs, if he could because you taste heavenly and sound better than any song Eddie’s ever listened to, and that says something.

Your fingers thread through the wet strands of Eddie’s hair, and Eddie rapidly blinks when he gazes up at you, only to get an eyeful of his wispy bangs. You smile, petting back his bangs so he can see, and he hums, nudging his face further against you, his tongue teasing more, fingers curling deeper.

It doesn’t take long to make you cum, and the second you do, Eddie is standing up, shutting off the shower, and ushering you out into the expansive main bathroom. It’s almost as if it’s just Eddie and you in the room. No cameras, no directors or producers, or that weird pervy lighting guy that compliments you way too fucking much for Eddie’s liking. It’s just you and Eddie.

“Let’s do an over-the-counter shot next.”

Fuck. It’s not just you two, actually.

What a buzz kill.

Either way, Eddie finds himself pressing your wet, naked waist down against the sink, smiling when you squeal at the cold marble touching your skin. “Stick your ass out, baby, let me see that gorgeous ass.” 

You mewl as you follow Eddie’s instructions, tipping your hips back to present yourself to him and the cameras. You’re dripping. Swollen and wet and throbbing, and Eddie— god, Eddie feels like a fucking animal.

“Got such a pretty pussy, honey. All wet and ready for me, hm?” He teases, gently running his fingers through the sticky arousal between your legs. You shakily breathe as you nod your head, “Yeah. All for you. Please.”

Eddie steps forward, grabbing his cock and painting it between your swollen lips as he hooks his other arm across your shoulders, pulling you back to press against his chest. He presses a wet kiss to the skin of your cheek in front of your ear, voice dry and needy as he whispers in your ear, “You’re so fuckin’ pretty,” His eyes catch yours in the mirror as you keen. “Ask me to fuck you.”

You whimper out loud, wriggling your hips back into his as your hands grip the counter, “P-please fuck me. Please. Need it so bad, want your cock so bad I— o-oh.”

The slide to home base is fucking otherworldly. It was life-changing the first time, and it’s life-changing now, and if Eddie ever gets the chance to fuck you again, he knows it’ll be life-changing then.

You’re so warm, and you're sucking Eddie’s cock in so nicely, so sinfully, that Eddie almost makes a deal with the devil right then and there. Your chest is heaving by the time Eddie’s pelvis presses to your bum, his cock nestled deep into your pulsing cunt. Eddie leans forward, pressing his chest against your back as he loops an arm around your shoulders, holding you tight to him as he gives one slow thrust. He coos when your eyes flutter shut, and your jaw drops, a shaky hand reaching up to sink your nails into Eddie’s forearm.

“S-so deep,” You slur, wriggling your hips back against Eddie.

Eddie grunts, “Fuck. You feel so good, baby. Always so warm and ready for me, hm?” Eddie’s lips are wet against your jaw as he whispers into your ear, and you nod with a mewl.

Eddie works up the pace relatively fast in favor of the cameras, and at some point, he reaches down to grip the thick of your thigh and haul your leg up to rest on the counter so you’re spread open even more. The angle makes it easier for him to catch your spot, and it’s better for the camera to capture the sight of your soaking pussy wrapped around Eddie’s cock, dribbling onto both of your thighs and creating a sticky ring of arousal at the base of Eddie’s dick.

Eddie’s hand is wrapped around your throat when you begin twitching around him, mumbling promises of your climax, and Eddie doesn’t waste time in sinking his hand between your legs to help you reach the edge quicker. Your moans fall silent, eyes squeezed shut, and jaw dropped wide open as Eddie fucks you through your orgasm— and fuck, you feel so good. Squeezing and pulsing and dripping around Eddie’s thighs, throat vibrating beneath his palm when air comes back to you.

“There we go, baby. Get it all out, push it out, honey.” Eddie encourages you.

You’re shaking, trembling like a leaf in Eddie’s arms, and Eddie wants to spend forever tucked into your pussy, warm skin sticky against him, pretty little whines and mewls coating his brain in this cutesy pink fog that makes him want to fucking marry you.

Get you a home, give you his babies, maybe even get you a fucking dog and just live happily goddamn ever.

Jesus, Eddie’s a goner.

“F-fuck, I’m gonna cum.”

Eddie pulls out last second, jerking himself off between your cute ass cheeks until he’s spurting white ropes of cum up your back.

Eddie, ever the considerate man he is, pushes your hair out of the way to avoid getting any of his sticky release in it. You’re breathing heavily, pretty eyes glazed over as you glance back at Eddie, a shy glint in your eyes at the sight of your skin painted in his cum.

Eddie’s obsessed with you now, no doubt.

His ringed fingers slide through the sticky mess on your skin as he grips your ass cheeks, gently spreading them apart and humming when you arch your back, proudly swaying your ass in front of him. The sight makes Eddie dizzy; pools of cum dripping down your back to slink its way through your ass and over your sticky folds. “You’ve got such a cute little hole, baby.” Eddie compliments, taking his thumb and smearing his cum over the puckered muscle, softly laughing when you whine. 

He lightly slaps your ass then, reaching forward to gently grasp your face with his messy hands and pull you back to press a firm kiss over your lips. His thumb, the one that had smeared his cum over your tight hole, sinks between your moving lips, pushing into your mouth and onto your tongue as he whispers a small command to taste it, and you mewl.

“So good, princess—”

“Cut!”

You both jolt at the booming voice, getting rudely snapped out of the daze you’d fallen into. 

These fucking cameras.

You smile, dropping your cheek onto your shoulder as you bat your eyelashes up at Eddie from over your shoulder, “You’re a natural, Eddie, you know that?”

Eddie huffs a laugh, thanking the assistant when they bring you towels and robes.

“Well,” He breathes as he slinks the robe over his shoulders, watching as you do the same, “I’ve got the best coach.” He winks.

Now that you and Eddie have done two films together and basically had a sleepover, you’re practically inseparable.

It’s funny, really. Eddie thought maybe the fact that you’ve seen each other bare and had sex on camera might hinder the aspect of any friendly connection because, well, Eddie’s never done this before! He’s not a pornstar, so he’s not sure how the friendship/relationship aspect of it works, but luckily, it’s easier than most normal friendships Eddie’s had before.

You talk almost every night over the phone (Eddie finally fixed the wire), going over one another’s day and laughing at embarrassing or funny moments. You go on for hours until either one of you falls asleep, and it’s usually you since Eddie has the sleep schedule of a newborn baby who doesn’t know the difference between night and day. All the better for him, though, because he gets to poke fun at you the next day and tease you about how you sometimes snore.

And Eddie loves listening to you talk— could spend hours cuddled up with Banshee as he listens to you ramble on about whatever new show you’re watching or the latest gossip at work. It’s Eddie’s favorite part of his day, talking to you, so he kicks himself when he realizes he forgot to call you last night.

He’s getting ready for bed when he remembers, and he practically sprints to his phone on his nightstand and dials your number in less than thirty seconds. It takes you three rings to answer, and Eddie smiles at the sound of your voice, “Hello?”

“Hi, princess,” Eddie responds.

You gasp, “Eddie, hi! Oh, I was just about to call you! Where have you been?” You ask. Eddie groans, dropping back onto his mattress with spread arms. “Working. I’m so sorry I forgot to call. I just started a new schedule at the shop, and the hours are awful.”

Eddie can hear your frown when you respond, “Bummer. I’ve got a way to cheer you up, though.”

Eddie’s eyes are closed, and sleep is so heavy in his bones he feels like he’s sinking through the mattress, but he smiles as if it’s second nature when he responds, “Hit me.”

You cheer, and Eddie hears the rustling of grocery bags on your end as you speak, “My manager gave me a shit ton of holiday chocolates she had left over, and well, I was wondering if you’d like to drown yourself in sugar with me?” 

Eddie softly laughs, folding his arm to rest his hand on his tummy as he nods, forgetting you can’t see. “You didn’t even have to ask.”

The drive from your flat to Eddie’s is typically around twenty minutes, but with the benefit of it being nearly midnight and most normal people being in bed by now, you’re knocking on Eddie’s door in just a little under twelve minutes. 

Eddie opens the door to let you in and immediately just wants to kiss you. You’re dressed in an oversized sweatshirt, loose pajama pants with cute little ducks printed on them, and fluffy house slippers. You grin up at Eddie as you lift a bag full of candy, “I come bearing gifts!”

Eddie had been exhausted all day, but now that he’s had two handfuls of sugary treats, he’s ready to run a fucking marathon.

He’s sucking on a sour apple jawbreaker and watching some shitty romcom with Banshee curled in his lap when he feels your head softly drop onto his shoulder. He glances down at you and sees the soft flutter of your eyes, “Are you tired? You can take my bed.” He offers.

You tilt your head to blink up at him tiredly, “Will you come with me?”

And well, Eddie was originally going to take the couch, but you’re looking up at him with these cute, bleary eyes, and Eddie can’t even imagine saying no. So, he shuts his TV off, makes a mental note to clean up the candy wrappers sometime tomorrow, and lets you drag him off to his room.

Banshee decided to take advantage of the new space on the couch and sprawl out, so Eddie doesn’t have to worry about asking if you’re okay with her cuddling up on his bed like she usually does. 

Eddie doesn’t do this very often— sleep with other people in his bed, he means. And sure, he’s had partners before that would stay the night here and there, but he hasn’t had that in over a year now, so it’s safe to say that Eddie’s a little bit nervous.

He doesn’t know if you want to be close, but considering how cuddly you are on a daily basis, he’s not surprised when you press yourself into his side with a content sigh, snuggling deeper into the warm covers. He turns, shifting to wrap his arms around your frame, trying his best to ignore the fast beating of his heart in his chest— but that’s not the main issue. The bigger problem is— “Eddie? Are you hard?”

Shit.

God, this is awful. Nothing even remotely sexual happened, and Eddie’s popping a boner and practically stabbing your stomach. Fuck, you probably think he’s a perv now. Nice going.

“No.”

It falls silent for a moment, and Eddie can feel the quiver of your body as you giggle into his shoulder. He smiles, an embarrassed blush rising over her cheeks as he lifts a hand to palm at his eye, “I’m so fucking sorry.”

You turn in Eddie’s arm, pressing a hand to Eddie’s shoulder to lay him on his back. You stay lying by his side, body pressed to him, head resting on his shoulder. You nose at the curly strands of hair on Eddie’s neck, and your hand runs down his torso, fingertips dipping beneath the waistband of his sweats. “O-oh. No, you don’t need to, princess.” Eddie says, yet his voice is shaky and holds anticipation as you drag your nails through the coarse hair leading to his cock. 

“I want to. Please?” You ask. And you’re so good, so obedient, not touching Eddie’s cock until he swallows and nods his head yes. You wriggle, like a happy pup that got a treat, and your hand sinks lower, wrapping around the thick of Eddie’s cock.

Eddie’s breath hitches, sinking into the feeling of your warm hand stroking up his cock, your thumb running over his leaking tip. Eddie curses, hips twitching up into your hold, and you press a kiss to his jaw, and Eddie nearly bursts into stars.

You press another kiss to his jaw, soft and sweet, and Eddie slinks an arm around you, sinking his hands into your hair and shakily breathing. “You keep kissing me like that, and I’m gonna— fuck.”

And it’s so pathetic; you’ve only had your hand down his pants for less than five minutes, and Eddie’s quivering like a virgin having their first time. God, this is so embarrassing.

You kiss Eddie once more, “Wait, wait. Not yet.”

And then you shuffle away from Eddie, and he’s frowning because he feels cold without you snuggled against him. But then you’re sinking underneath the covers, and Eddie’s cursing, “W-what are you doing, honey?”

He lifts the covers just as you wriggle your way between his legs and hook your fingers over the band of his sweats. You peel his sweats away, mouth opening like a hungry lion when Eddie’s cock pops out. You push the front band of his sweats to catch just below his balls, and Eddie’s hips squirm from the pressure making you giggle when his cock twitches.

You loop your fingers around his cock, twisting up on a long stroke, “Did I ever tell you how pretty your cock is, Eddie?”

Jesus Christ.

Eddie breathes shakily through his nose, tummy quivering as your gaze flickers; he shakes his head no. Eddie sinks a hand to pet your hair back, smiling when you nuzzle into his touch, letting your lips brush against his tip, “You think it’s pretty, baby?” He asks.

You nod, letting your tongue loll out of your mouth to catch the pearl of pre-cum dripping from his tip. You don’t say anything else as you lean forward and wrap your mouth around him, languidly taking him as far as you want and sucking him for all he’s worth.

Eddie’s head drops back then, his entire body just losing strength to do anything as you slowly fuck your mouth over him. The blanket falls over you then, and Eddie curses, scrambling to push it back over your head so you don’t, like, suffocate on his cock.

And Eddie was already close before, so it doesn’t take long for him to start cursing and warning you that he’s gonna cum. Before he knows it, he’s emptying himself into the warm cavern of your mouth, soft mixes of curses and your name tumbling from his mouth as you happily take every last drop.

You pull off of him with a small pop, licking up the small remnants of cum that drool down his cock. Eddie feels weightless now; the effects of sugar are long gone now that you practically sucked his soul through his dick. You tuck Eddie back into his pants, and as if you couldn’t get any cuter, any sweeter, you press a gentle kiss to Eddie’s tummy right where the waistband sits.

Eddie’s got a loopy grin on his face when you crawl back up to snuggle back into his side, mumbling something about how you love licking his cock. Eddie nearly dies, by the way.

He thinks he’s in love with you, maybe.

You breathe in deep, draping an arm across Eddie’s tummy and slinking your leg between his, and you sigh all sleepy and cute as you say, “G’night, Eddie.”

Yeah. Eddie’s definitely in love with you.

Weeks go by as you and Eddie become thick as thieves.

You carry on with your nightly calls, obviously, but now there’s a healthy mix of one of you going to the other's home and crashing there for the night, then that bleeds into the next day where you just spend hours with each other doing fuck all.

Eddie just likes being around you. You don’t have to be doing anything particularly fun or sexual; no, Eddie just enjoys your company. And most times, you and Eddie will be doing your separate little activities— you reading or watching a movie while Eddie writes up new campaign ideas for Dustin— and you will reach out to twirl a strand of Eddie’s hair around your knuckle and gently tug or poke your finger into his cheek where his dimples reside and Eddie just melts.

Most of the time, you’re only doing it for your peace of mind (Eddie knows because you told him when he asked), but something tells him maybe you actually have something to say when you poke Eddie’s cheek for the third time.

He turns to you, brows raised and hiding beneath his bangs that so badly need a trim, “Yes, doll?”

You smile now that his attention is on you, and you shift, careful not to wake Banshee in your lap from your movements. Eddie thinks Banshee might like you more than she likes him, which is just downright traitorous, considering Eddie’s the one who feeds her and keeps a roof over her head. He doesn’t really blame the cat, though. 

“What are you doing on Saturday?” You ask.

Eddie hums, closing his notebook and leaning back into his couch, “This Saturday?”

You nod, and Eddie shrugs, lips pouting as he speaks, “Nothing, I’m pretty sure. Why?”

You sigh heavily, sinking into the couch as you gently pet Banshee behind her ear, “We have an event for work, and I was just wondering if you would maybe wanna tag along?”

Eddie’s head tips in interest, “Sure. Is it, like, fancy dress shit?” He asks. Eddie thinks he has a tux somewhere deep in the trenches of his closet. Probably the one he wore to Wayne's wedding two years ago; he hopes he still fits.

You shrug, “Eh, nothing too fancy schmancy. Slacks and a nice shirt will do,” You mindlessly watch the television, gently rubbing Banshee’s ear between your fingers. “That I can do, princess. But uh,” Eddie pauses, “You don’t seem too ecstatic about this.” He points out.

You shrug, glancing over at Eddie, and Eddie wants to kiss your pouty lips because you look adorable swallowed up in a throw blanket with sleepy eyes blinking up at him. “S’cause I’m not,” You huff, “I hate those ignorant assholes— don’t get me wrong, some of them are good friends of mine! But most of them are just…” You make a face and roll your eyes, and Eddie softly laughs. You let your head lazily turn to gaze at him, “Don says I have to go, though. So I figured I may as well drag someone I actually enjoy being around.” You softly smile.

Eddie’s heart flutters and grows three times the size of his body.

Saturday night comes quicker than most, and Eddie spends nearly an hour digging through his closet. By the time Eddie finds a nice enough shirt to pair with his neatly ironed (to Eddie’s standard, which is probably not very high) slacks, he’s running behind and starts to stress that he won’t pick you up on time, and he’s just totally made an ass of himself.

It’s five o’clock when Eddie gets to your flat, and when he knocks on your door, he’s out of breath because he smokes more than a godman grill, and he skipped every other step on the staircase to get there quicker. He’s thinking of a million ways to apologize for being late, and he thinks he has it right when you open the door, but then— “Oh. Hey Eds! You’re early!”

Eddie huffs, nearly doubling over in exhaustion because he seriously needs to quit smoking, “Wha– early?”

You hold the door open for Eddie to step in and nod. You’re in a white fluffy robe with house boots on, and your hair is tied back, so you have a clear canvas to work with for your makeup. “Yeah, it starts at seven.” 

And, oh, what the fuck? Here Eddie was stressing and thinking he’d completely ruined his chances with you because he decided to be an asshat and lose track of time on his video games, but in reality, he’s nearly two hours early?!

“Oh, but now you can help me pick a dress. Come on.”

No, Eddie has zero complaints, actually. He’s grateful that he’s timely challenged, he thinks as you drag him toward your room.

Eddie spends the next thirty minutes or so seated at the foot of your bed, judging whichever dresses you surprise him with from out of your closet.

It isn’t easy to give a solid answer because, well, you look good in all of them. And Eddie’s not even being biased because he’s got a sickening crush on you— no, you genuinely look amazing in every dress.

“Eddie, you’ve said yes to all of them.” You huff. “Because they all look good!” Eddie exclaims.

You frown, resting your hands on your hips and tilting your head at him. Eddie shrugs, “I don’t know why you’re upset with me when it’s technically your fault.” He points out, to which you roll your eyes and jokingly throw a dress at his face.

It takes a while for you to decide; by the time you’ve figured it out, there’s about forty minutes until the event begins.

The dress you landed on is evil, to say the least.

It’s a black puffy babydoll-style dress, except instead of a poofy top half, it’s tight fitting and pushes your chest up to sit nice and pretty, and the straps are thin, and Eddie thinks about the sound you’d make if he just reached out and teasingly snapped it against your skin. Wants to coo when you squirm and mewl and press yourself into him.

And the dress is so short, long enough to cover everything, but you wouldn’t have to bend over very far to flash a lucky person, and the sight of your thighs makes Eddie’s head spin.

He doesn’t know where the courage comes from because Eddie is anything but bold when it comes to people he has ridiculous crushes on, but Eddie couldn’t help himself, watching you bent over the sink as you do your last touch-ups to your makeup, the way your silky thighs rub against one another when you shift to get closer to the mirror— Eddie didn’t stand a chance.

He’s behind you before he knows it, and you’re smiling at him through the mirror, “Almost done, promise.” You say.

Eddie lets his hand slink around your waist, dropping his head to nuzzle into your neck, brown eyes fluttering up to hold your gaze through the glass as he kisses your skin before playfully nipping at you. You squeal, curling away from him, and he smiles as you push at him. “You’re cute,” Eddie softly says, and he grins, teeth digging into his bottom lip when you shy away from his gaze, “So pretty.” He adds.

Eddie turns you to face him as he presses you against the bathroom sink. He seeks your lips, but you pout and shake your head, “My lipgloss.” 

Eddie huffs out a laugh, shaking his head before pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth, careful not to catch any of the sticky application before sinking to his knees, hands gentle and greedy as they caress your thighs.

Eddie leans forward to kiss the inside of your knee, “Gonna let me taste you, honey?” He hums, leaning in the press a kiss further up the inside of your thigh. Your breath hitches, legs subconsciously spreading wider to accommodate Eddie. Your nails dig into the countertop as you shakily breathe, “W-we’re gonna be late,” You weakly say as Eddie lets his tongue draw shapes in your skin. Eddie hums, sucking the fat of your thigh into his mouth before leaving with a pop, lips brushing against your hot skin as he says, “I’ll be quick. Promise.”

He doesn’t wait for your response as he coasts his hands up your thighs to loop his fingers around the band of your panties, dragging them down your legs and helping you step out of them. 

Eddie doesn’t waste time then; he kisses a sloppy wet trail up the inside of your thigh, fingers digging into the fat of your skin and helping you spread open for him so he can nuzzle his head beneath the fluffy tulle of your dress and begin his task of devouring you. You’re wet, dripping, and throbbing for Eddie’s tongue, and this is the third time that Eddie has found himself licking into you, and god, it never gets fucking old.

The sounds you make, the way you writhe, the tiny gasps you give, and then the way your cunt pulses around his tongue— it’s the pinnacle of Eddie’s night, he already knows. 

“E-Eddie— oh,” Your breathy whine makes Eddie stuff his face further into your pussy, nose brushing against your clit as he thrusts his tongue into you, your hands scrambling down to sink into Eddie’s hair and tug.

And it took Eddie longer than he’d like to admit to get his hair slicked into the neat bun he’s sporting, but with his tongue plunged deep inside of you and your pretty moans filling his ears, Eddie can’t seem to care that you’re definitely messing up his hard work.

Eddie could spend eternity here, down on his knees, under the dress of your skirt, lapping at your pussy like it’s the last meal he’ll ever have. And sure, Eddie makes this conclusion, like, every single time he finds himself between your legs, but can you blame him? You’re the sweetest thing he’s ever had the pleasure of dealing with.

You lift a leg to hook over Eddie’s shoulder, the heel of your foot pressing into his shoulder blade and pushing a moan from the depths of Eddie’s chest as he snuggles deeper into you, licking and sucking and nipping. 

“S-so close…” You whimper, thighs beginning to quiver on each side of Eddie’s head. He fixes his grip on your hips because Eddie wouldn’t dream of letting you fall in his presence, and you’re standing on your tiptoes when you fumble over the edge, crying out for Eddie as you soak his tongue.

Eddie’s moaning into you, fingers massaging and caressing the thick parts of your hips and thighs as he continues working you through your orgasm. You’re twitching and heavily breathing when Eddie parts his mouth from your slick folds, strings of arousal and spit snapping and falling to his chin. God, it makes Eddie ache in his pants.

He presses sweet and sticky kisses to the insides of your thighs, savoring every moment he has here, breathing you in, tasting you, feeling you, hearing you. He doesn’t doubt for a moment that he looks like a madman when he brings his head out from under your dress, and you giggle, pressing your hand to your lips.

Eddie wants to hear that noise on repeat. Put his headphones on and, like, clean his house or something. Let your giggles play on a constant loop until they’re engrained into the grooves of his brain so he never has to go a second without hearing them.

“What?” Eddie smiles, hands still under your dress and soothingly squeezing the shaky muscles of your thighs. Your eyes are glazed from pleasure, and you look warm as you speak, “I– your hair,” You laugh. You press the wispy curls of Eddie’s bangs back, “I’m so sorry. It looked so nice, and I messed it up.” You happily frown.

Eddie huffs out a laugh, pressing a kiss to your knee and shaking his head, “That’s okay,” He responds, reaching over for your panties to help you slip them back on. “It was for a good cause.” He winks.

Eddie doesn’t frequent fancy parties.

The fanciest event Eddie’s ever been to was a masquerade-themed dinner that he and Jeff snuck into because there were rumors of a big hit producer being there, which, big fucking shocker, they never found him since everyone was in a fucking mask. It was a waste of time, but at least they ate like kings that night.

Besides that, Eddie doesn’t go to fancy places— it’s just not his kind of scene. And it’s not like the event you’ve brought him to tonight is, like, Buckingham Palace tier, but everyone here looks like a million bucks and up, and Eddie’s not quite sure he’s up to that standard.

He would be more worried if you weren’t clinging to him like a koala bear and keeping him in light conversation.

You introduced Eddie to a few of your industry friends, and one or two of them even remembered Eddie from the films he’d done with you, which, Eddie doesn’t know why, but his head grew three times bigger in size from that. And for the most part, you keep to Eddie’s side, pointing out different people from across the room and telling him the lore behind them and whatnot as you share a plate of snacks.

And you love grapes, apparently, because Eddie’s had to get up and refill on them about three times now. “Do you want more?” Eddie asks when he realizes you’re almost done. You glance at him with a small smile as you nod, “I’ll get it this time, though. I want to try some of the cheese.”

So, Eddie nods and keeps an eye on you until the crowd obstructs his view. He busies himself with watching the room, tries to see if he can pick out anyone from any pornos he’s watched before he realizes that’s fucking weird and cringes at himself for being a perv. He finishes his glass of champagne, which Eddie isn’t a champagne guy, but it was either that or whiskey, and Eddie would rather not get shitfaced tonight.

And what’s taking you so long? You’ve been gone for a while now, and Eddie had first thought you maybe made a quick stop at the restrooms, but it’s been more than enough time, and he misses you (as fucking sappy as that is), so he gets up and makes his way to the food bar.

He’s got his empty flute in one hand and the other in his pocket, brown eyes softly scanning the room as he walks. And then he spots you, near the food where you said you’d be, with some guy talking to you, but something isn’t right. 

Eddie’s spent enough time with you now to be able to tell when you’re feeling uneasy just by the way you anxiously drag your nail against the length of your thumb, the way your eyes dart around, or the tense pull of your shoulders.

Your gaze lands on Eddie, and your eyes soften, and Eddie doesn’t even have to think twice before he walks over.

The man's back is facing Eddie, so he doesn’t see the curly-headed boy until he steps around and slinks an arm around your waist, pulling you close with a soft smile, “Been looking for you, sweets.” He presses a kiss to your forehead as you sink into him.

“Mm, just catching up with..a friend.” 

Eddie doesn’t miss the pause. He looks over to the man you’d been talking to, and you take a breath, “Eddie, this is Chris, a coworker.” You introduce the man. And Eddie remembers that name; he thinks he remembers seeing it on the script of the last film you and Eddie did together— the one where you’d asked Eddie to take over because the other guy was an asshole.

Chris reaches out a hand, “Chris. You must be a good friend of hers?”

Eddie doesn’t like that. Doesn’t like that he doesn’t refer to you by your name, or the smug grin on his face, or the sly tone in his voice when he says it. 

And Eddie doesn’t know why he does it, okay. He doesn’t know why the words fly out of his mouth or why he didn’t, like, think it through, but suddenly, Eddie’s introducing himself as your boyfriend. Which, Eddie is not your boyfriend. And you’re not his girlfriend.

Eddie would love to be your boyfriend, and he’d love for you to be his girlfriend, but— but you’re not. So, Eddie doesn’t know why he does it, but he does, and god, it’s comedic how the guy's face falls. Eddie can feel your gaze on him, and he panics a little because what if Eddie just crossed the line big time?

Chris’s gaze flickers to you, and his brows raise as you look at him, “So, I take it this is why you’re only doing solo content now?”

Which, fucking gross. That’s definitely none of this meathead guy's business! So what if you’re making solo content only? And why does he know, and why does he care? God, this guy’s a creep.

But also… why are you only doing solo content? Eddie can’t help but wonder. Did something happen? Was it this asshole's fault? Eddie will kill him if he has anything to do with it. You and Eddie have become so close; you tell each other everything about everything, so why didn’t you tell him about this? It’s not a big deal or whatever, but—

“Does it matter?” Shit, Eddie didn’t mean to say that out loud.

You’re both looking at Eddie in shock, and Eddie just blinks and waits for an answer.

You take in a deep breath, arm squeezing around Eddie’s as you answer— since this guy can’t take a fucking hint, “Yeah, actually, it is. Just didn’t feel right.” You shrug.

The guy nods, pursing his lips together, “Fair enough. Well, if that ever changes, you know where to find me.” He winks before turning around and leaving. Eddie cringes, and he almost steps forward to say something, to tell him to fuck off somewhere, but your grip tightens around his arms, and Eddie understands that you just want the conversation to be over.

Eddie’s quickly turning his attention to you, though, when you press yourself into his side, “Thank you.” You sweetly say.

Eddie nods, a warm hand reaching up to squeeze your hand that's resting over his bicep, “Don’t sweat it, princess. That guy’s a douche.” And you huff, nodding your head, “Yeah. You definitely scared him, though. It was pretty hot.”

Eddie tries not to let that get to his head. 

He fails.

The rest of the night goes well with fewer dickhead run-ins and more grapes, and Eddie is more than Elated when you say it’s time to go.

The ride home is pleasant, and you’ve been extra cuddly all night, so Eddie’s heart is practically the size of Texas when you bring his hand into your lap and slink your fingers together. You’re spending the night, so Eddie’s kind of excited to get in bed and snuggle until you both pass out— but then Eddie’s thrown in for a loop when you both get under his covers.

Banshee is busy in her bakery down at the foot of the bed, kneading little biscuits in preparation for her sleep, and you’re fresh-faced and wrapped in one of Eddie’s shirts when you look over at him with a teasing look, “So,” you start, “You’re my boyfriend.”

Eddie blinks at you, wishing the bed would just let him sink in and become one with the mattress. “Oh god,” He groans, pressing his hands to his face, “I’m sorry, it just came out! That guy was being a dick, and it was the first thing that I thought of, and— god, I’m sorry.” He drags his hands over his face and shoots you an empathetic look. “You can totally, like, kick me in the nuts.”

And Eddie kind of braces himself for you to chew him out or something; tell him he’s a weirdo, and he’ll never in a million years get to call himself your boyfriend because you’re way out of his league. But then you giggle. 

And it’s not the teasing ‘get a load of this loser’ giggle— no, it’s your sweet, kind, and adoring giggle.

“No, no. I was… I was wondering when you would ask, actually.”

Eddie’s never turned his head so fast. He thinks he imagined you saying it, like, maybe he drank too much champagne even though he literally only had less than two full glasses the entire night. “Huh? I– w-what do you mean?” Eddie gapes. “Like… like, ask you to be my girlfriend?”

And you’re so cute as you shyly nod, glancing at Eddie with this expectant gaze.

“Shit, well uh, I-I wanted to ask you in like a bigger way. Like flowers and shit because I… well, I really like you, and it’s what you deserve and—”

You cut Eddie off with a laugh and scoot closer to him, and if Eddie’s heart beats any faster, he might die. “Eddie,” You lowly and softly say, holding his gaze. Eddie nods, eyes darting down to your lips as he holds his breath. “Will you be my boyfriend?”

Shit, Eddie’s never said yes so quickly in his life.

————

a/n: HELLOOO! if you have made it to the end of this awfully long baby i am so thankful and appreciative of you, these two are my babies so I hope you enjoyed them as much as I've enjoyed my time with them <3 as always, thank u for reading and being here, i love and appreciate any feedback, ILYSM MWAH <3

————

cutie teeny taglist: @vol2eddie @paleidiot @hideoutside

[demiesworld]

jjk men and how they show their love for you

☆ characters: satoru gojo, suguru geto, toji fushiguro, kento nanami, + choso

☆ genre: fluff, romantic, domestic

☆ contents: mentions of abuse & death in toji's part, but nothing graphic

☆ notes: reader is a female and uses she/her pronouns. ages are not mentioned in this, but the reader is of legal age. curse spirits, sorcerers, etc. do not exist. everything is purely fictional.

— satoru gojo: cuddling

he likes it when you two are alone together in the privacy of your home, cuddling together underneath a warm blanket while watching a really bad (in his opinion) movie that you picked out. and even though he really wants to critique the writer's script of the characters, and the actors acting performance, satoru doesn't say not a word to you about it. he just holds you around your waist tighter and nuzzles his nose into your neck. he likes the smell of you after a shower because you smell fresh and it's comforting to him.

— suguru geto: quality time

to suguru, there's no better way to keep your attention on him than taking you out somewhere or just spending time together. when he takes you out on a date, he encourages you to silence your phone (or better yet turn it off) to avoid any distractions. same goes for when you two are being intimate. he's a man that wants eyes on him and for you to listen to him. he does the same thing for you. you want to tell suguru about the nosy bitch at work? he's listening and giving you advice. you want to go to the netherlands? he's buying a plane ticket in business class for you two. whatever it is, suguru loves to spend time with you as long as you are on the same page as him.

— toji fushiguro: acts of service

growing up in the zenin family and being abused by them sculpted toji into the cold, callous man he is today. followed by the sudden and tragic death of his previous wife he didn't think he could find love ever again. not until he met you. you warmed this man's heart at the first time he saw you. he likes to show you that he loves you by doing things that makes your life easier. he'll pay and put gas in your car. he will help you with cleaning the dishes after a meal that you've cooked for. if you're running short on money for you rent, he'll even cover it for you and doesn't expect for you to pay him back. just the thought of you being comfortable is a good enough reward.

— kento nanami: words of affirmation

with kento, you would wake up in the mornings to a good morning text followed by him reminding you of your beauty, your excellence, and telling you not to let menial things get you in a bad mood. in your lunches you would find a hand-written note from kento complimenting you. in spite of being a full-time salaryman, kento would call you during his lunch break to talk to you and listen as you complain about your coworkers. he loves hearing your voice. at night, just before your head hits the pillow he would kiss your forehead and wish you a good night's rest. kento can be quite the charming man when it comes to you.

— choso: gift giving

choso... precious choso. he likes to shower you with gifts as a way to show his undying love and appreciation for you. if you mention that you like something, but you couldn't get it, best believe it will be either on your doorstep or in your hand within the next day. when he sees you eyeing something in the store for even a second, choso will buy it for you. he won't take any "no's", "stops", or returning the item back. choso bought it FOR you. if you return any of his gifts it will hurt his feelings and he'll think you don't love him. so be careful when you are trying to let choso know not to get you gifts.

letter from demi: i have adopted a new style of how i do... idk what you call these blurbs? headcanons? idk. anyways im changing some things up with how my posts are... styled. i hope the work and the way it is made looks good! lmk what you think babes!

[velvet-paradox]

Pornstar!König preview

"Hullo?" Your tired voice asked, flinging your other hand over your eyes. There was some shuffling and ruffling sounds, someone was shouting in the background and Rhiannon by Fleetwood Mac could be faintly heard through the chaos.

"This better be fucking important."

"Y/N! Oh thank fuck, I need a favor." It was Tammy, your agent sounding frantic as she cursed at someone nearby.

"Now?"

"Yes now! The new girl must've been nervous as shit to film because she showed up fucking trashed, we can't use her." Tammy huffed into the phone. "We're losing time and money!"

"What's that got to do with me, Tam?"

"An I.O.U. I swear I'll make it up to you if you can get your ass up and ready to film. I can get you a car in ten minutes." Tammy was good people, always put you first even if her brash tone and stony glare had others hightailing it out of her office. Sometimes they were crying; men and women.

"Who's shoot is it?" You asked with a huff as you sadly came to the conclusion that you were not going back to bed at 2:45AM. It was a Wednesday night for fucks sake!

"The Colonel." Tammy's voice flinched.

"Seriously?"

"Come on please Y/N, be sweet for me ok? I'll do your laundry for a week… no a month! Dry cleaning too, you name it you got it. Plus," you could hear the click of a lighter followed by a deep inhale, no doubt another cigarette burning between her chapped but painted lips. "I'll even give you a "$300 advance."

"You do know we're not on speaking terms, right?"

Tammy snorted. "What? Since when?"

"Since Going Down in the Valley! He really gave me an earful on how I should've done better and stretched my jaw before coming to set. So I told him in not so many words that I'm not one of his little soldiers that he can boss around. He didn't like that too much."

You said with a sigh, remembering the stern look he gave down his nose, over his entire head covering. His crossed over massive arms and tilted his head with a click of his teeth. He really didn't like it when you mirrored his posture.

"We'll figure it out when you get here, yeah? For me please, Y/N? You know your my best girl and honestly you're really the only one who can thoroughly handle him." Tammy swindled her way into your veins and answer.

It was tempting. A little too tempting as you weighed your options.

Rent was due, the fridge was a little lacking, you needed gas… She practically squealed with delight as you agreed to the offer, hanging up the phone to take a quick shower and grab your to-go bag before the car arrived.

….

Once on the set, or what was today's mansion and master bedroom of choice, Tammy had rushed up to you with a make-up bag and a flash-in-the-pan hug. She thrusted the two page script to your chest. After curling your lashes and sweeping on some gloss, you slipped into the slinky dress as you went over the obscure dialogue. It was something different.

Something soft and sweet. A couples anniversary, some heavy petting on the ride home, taunts of playfulness. Intrigue. Lust.

Not the rough stuff you were used to when it came to shooting with the Colonel.

Your strappy heels clicked along the freshly polished floors, boom mics and camera men moved around you like puffs of smoke, Tammy who was indeed smoking was frustrated with the lighting.

You paused when you saw him.

König was dressed in a nice and well tailored suit, the jacket held his bulky arms tightly, the button down was checkered and stretched to the very last thread. He looked good. Even though you were giving him the silent treatment as of late, you could appreciate fine art when you saw it.

Your body thrummed when König adjusted his signature face covering hood, messing with the hem before he turned around and saw you for the first time.

You opened your mouth to say something when the bigger, much bigger man spoke.

"Oh no. No no. Nein nein nein!" The Colonel threw up his hands and headed for the master bedroom door.

"Colonel, wait." Tammy shouted, tossing her cigarette into the sink with sizzle, chasing after him and touching his forearm.

"I am not doing a scene with her again." He stated and pointed down at the feather haired agent, he did give you another look though before tearing his arm out of her grip. "Not until she apologizes."

"Well nice to see you too, sir." You snorted and leaned against the built in vanity, fluffing your hair a bit more, fixing your necklace.

"Watch it!"

Tammy put her hands up between the pair of you, the frames of her glasses slipping down the slope of her button nose. You looked up at your co-star, with a head tilt of your own.

"Come on you two, what happened to your chemistry? You guys made us all fucking rich when we shot Tits For That! Can't you put whatever the hell you've got goin' on on the back burner to make some dough?" Tammy made the money gesture with her two fingers in your face. "Who doesn't like money? Think of how much fun we had shooting Bunker Bunny 7!"

"I refuse to work with such a petulant little brat like Velveteen." He huffed, the mask billowing slightly. "You're mature enough to get railed on film but not apologize? Make sense, bitte!"

"Oh, here we go." You sighed and rolled your eyes, truly one of the only things König couldn't stomach unless he was fucking the brat or sass out of someone.

"Can't you two please be adults?"

"So I gagged a little too hard, big deal?! You have women choking on that thing twice a week but oh no, I do it once and make it sloppy and suddenly I'm the only one being scolded." You snarked, a few of the crew members made a noise and moved out of view. König scoffed and Tammy put her head in her hands, thumbs going to ease the headache you two were throwing at her.

"I did not scold you. I tried to help you and you then spat on my boots remember? Real mature."

"Too bad."

"Children! Please, we're not getting any younger and we're losing time here. Can you both please just try and get along so we can get this done and go home."

"I was at home, remember?" You made a face and then apologized to Tam, it wasn't her fault.

No taglist as of yet; lemme know! :)

[syoddeye]

like i'm winning it - 02 wellspring

ghost x f!reader | 3k words | series page | ao3 cw: alcohol, threats of violence, power imbalance, sexual harassment (quid pro quo offer), reader is in over her head, male ocs You've never made it this far. Not on your own.

Win comes around a lot more after your date. 

He buys booths, bottles. Slips tips to any of your work friends who so happen to breeze by and drops bills on the host stand. In one month, more money passes through your hands than the last three combined.

You pay off the rent you'd been dodging. Renew the subscriptions to your motorized blinds and water filter. Get your nails done. A balance of necessities and luxuries. Indulgence to feel alive, practicality to stay afloat. 

In return, every night you're not working, you accompany him on dates—restaurants, galleries, and shows. Stuff previously out of reach for you. He asks you to read, dead scripts that'll never see the screen, but good practice. You show him your self-tapes. A list of the classes and workshops you want to take. And it's like that first dinner. No jokes, no teasing. Win takes you seriously. Says you got a gift, that you're a little diamond in the rough. Raw potential that only needs polishing.

But as nice as Win is, you're not naïve. His attention is a well that could dry up like Tahoe. You're determined to enjoy it while it lasts, though.

Mal stops you one night, just as you're shrugging your coat off, mid-sentence with Irina. She tilts her head and says there's a 'big guy' waiting for you out front. Your shift's covered, and your pay won't be docked. It doesn't click until she tacks on as an afterthought, "Does he always wear a mask?"

You stop, coat half-off, a cold rush prickling the back of your neck. So. Ghost is here. No big deal—it's probably something for Win. However, when you check your messages, there's nothing recent. Must be a surprise, you think, smiling as Irina jabs her elbow into your ribs, purring out, "Have fun, my little Star."

You pull your coat back on, zipping it to your chin as you bolt out of the dressing room. The club isn't quite to capacity, but you weave through the crowd until you reach the doors. You say goodnight to security as the doors swing open and see him dead ahead.

Ghost pops the door to a sleek red car, but the back seat's empty.

"Where's Win?" You ask as you climb in.

"You see 'im?" The door shuts in your face.

Rude. You don't recognize the car, but Win mentioned owning several. Even curiouser, there's no uniformed driver. Ghost slides into the driver's seat.

You give up on questions. All Ghost does is grunt and answer monosyllabically. 

You temporarily lose your ability to speak at all, anyway, when the sidewalks outside get cleaner and the stores trend nicer. You don't want to believe it when he takes a particular turn, heart swelling in your chest, but then yes—he turns again, and the street narrows, feeding into a set of chrome gates reading CynoSure Studios. 

You've never made it this far. Not on your own.

The car slows but doesn't stop as the red light of the gate's security sensors wash through the interior, then flick blue. The gates open automatically, and you're on the move again, passing warehouse after warehouse. All locked up and closed. Ghost takes you to the last one tucked in the corner. The car door opens for you, inviting in the breeze, carrying the faint scent of cigarette smoke with it.

"Get out, go in, and give 'im your name."

"Win?"

"No."

"Who, then?"

The look Ghost gives you in the mirror tells you ought to try your luck with the stranger. Not him.

You step out and straighten your skirt, and risk one more question. "Can you at least tell me how long this will take?"

"As long as it needs to."

Helpful bastard. 

Your heels click against the pavement, the sound ricocheting down the boulevard of silent studios, the street stretching out, empty but for the murmur of jazz seeping through the warehouse walls. The door gives when you pull the handle, and warm air brushes over you as you step into the dimly lit, cavernous space.

In the center is a small set. Parts of an old school, traditional family home. A kitchen, a bathroom, and a bedroom. A set of speakers on the cement floor. A man leans on the counter, staring at a spread of papers on the table. 

"Hello?"

He looks up, a smile slowly forming on his face. "Can I help you?"

You give him your name, eyes darting around, finding no others. "I think my–I think Win Goforth set this up?"

"Senior or Junior?"

"Junior?"

His golden oculars flicker, the faint glow brightening as something shifts behind his pupils—an interface scanning through a list, maybe a calendar. "Right. Come on in, then. You're the last girl of the day."

You laugh a little incredulously, confused, and glance back at the entrance. Ghost would hear if you screamed, right? He'd also…respond. Right? 

"I'm the last girl for…?"

"The Lumina Vitae shoot? The skincare line?"

Your steps falter. When you didn't hear back after you'd sent off a dozen self-portraits—your hands lit as best as you could manage with a desk lamp and a timed lens—you prepared yourself for rejection. You knew it was a longshot. No professional help, no proper gear, just hoping beyond hope they were good enough. Yet here you were, apparently in the running. 

"Oh, right. That shoot. Of course, thank you. Hard to keep up these days."

He chuckles. "Sure is. I'm Max, by the way. If you'd just…"

Max helps you onto the raised set, immediately positioning you under one of the dangling set lights. He retrieves a small control from amongst the papers, which you realize are printed stills of various hands carefully posed and photographed. 

"No paperwork to sign?"

He ignores the question and turns up the music. "Hands out." You do, arms slightly bent, palms facing down—basic stuff, he mentions. No papers necessary since he knows the Goforths. With a tap to his temple, a small photographic drone floats onto set from somewhere unseen. Its lenses adjust automatically.

"Remain still."

Then, it's all too fast, snapping photos at a dizzying speed, its movements fluid. He must take a hundred pictures, peppering you with generic, scripted questions. How long you've known Win, your day job, if you're a local, and your family. That sort of thing.

Suddenly, he stops, humming, dark shapes moving over his irises as he reviews shots.

"I'm afraid this lighting is too severe. Mind if we…?" He walks toward the bedroom. "There's a better lamp in here."

"Of course." 

You scurry after, the drone following, and sit on the bed, close to the nightstand where he turns on a gentler lamp. The light's warmer, softer. He instructs you to lay one hand over the other, slightly offset, and you're suddenly thankful for the manicure and the little luxuries Win's generosity affords you.

If this goes well, I could get more than a manicure.  

You buzz at the thought, at the domino effect this opportunity might have. You're so caught up in your daydreams that you barely notice Max moving closer, pupils dilating manually. He reaches out, his fingertip pressing gently against your chin, tilting your face toward his.

"Is Win your only agent?"

The question catches you off guard. You're about to correct him, explain that Win isn't your agent, that you wouldn't even call him your boyfriend, but remember your lie. "Yes."

The drone hums past, its tiny turbines leaving a heated wake. It hovers above Max's shoulder, an impersonal observer. "You're not affiliated with any other studio? You've never worked for Echelon? Parallax? You're not, ah, fucking some other big wig?"

You pull back, lips pressing together, but keep your hands in place. After years of trying to wedge a single finger in the door, scrabbling for every chance, you're not about to fold to a sleaze like him. He's not the first, not the last. Still pisses you off, though. "No."

His irises shift from the soft gold to a harsh, ophidian yellow. "No? Good. Then, maybe we can help each other. I'm, ah, inclined to give you this job. Your hands aren't bad. Small, but nothing a shop job couldn't fix. And no mods. No synthetic patchwork. I like that. Makes me curious how much of you is natural." 

You wrinkle your nose.

"Problem is, Win's signed to take half of your earnings," He shakes his head. "That doesn't seem right, does it? You're the one putting in the work."

You don't answer.

"Why don't we cut the middle man out?"

Dread and disgust churns your stomach. What he's insinuating, what he's suggesting—you think of calling for Ghost just to see Max wet himself. He must not know the lug's here. "And I'm sure you're offering this out of the goodness of your heart."

He snorts. "Of course not. This lot isn't booked until tomorrow morning, and there's a perfectly good bed here…" His voice trails. "I'm sure you can put two and two together, sweetheart."

Bile, sharp and bitter, rises to the back of your throat. You have half a mind to spit it onto his shoes, but instead, you swallow it down, determined to keep it together. 

"Thanks for your time, Max," Hundreds of nights coddling drunk assholes at the club have prepared you for this. "I'll be going."

Max doesn't budge when you stand, forcing you into the narrow gap between him and the nightstand. "You sure about that?" He ducks his head closer, the drone bobbing beside his face. "I'll tell Win you're being difficult, and you know, we actually go way back. Might be difficult to find work on a blacklist."

Your lip curls, Ghost's name tucked behind your teeth as a last resort. "You can tell Win whatever lie you want, I'm not doing this. Not for you, not for anyone. Win's been nothing but kind to me. I don't care who he is, I'm not going to–" You glance at the cheap stock bed, "I'm not going to betray his trust like that."

You don't know where you stand with Win—how serious he is about you, or if anything is even there—but you do know that he's been kind, generous, and this…Fucking some slimeball? Cutting him out for a stupid fancy lotion commercial? You couldn't.

Turning on your heel, you make for the door, fuming, and nearly fall off set.

There, leaning against the far wall beside the door, is Ghost. Arms crossed, relaxed, and looking bored as ever. Has he been inside the whole time?

Behind you, laughter. Max follows, clapping and squeezing an over-familiarly hand on your shoulder. "Oh, Win's got a live one, Ghost. Don't you think?"

What the fuck?

You jerk away from him and trip over your words. "What–I don't–Aren't you with Lumina Vitae?"

Max shakes his head. "Oh, I'm no, not at all. I just work for Mr. Goforth. This," He gestures at the hovering drone. "Is his toy. Feel free to wave. Win will watch this later." He taps his temple twice, and the tiny bot emits a melodic chime before lowering obediently into his hand. "Good job by the way, you passed."

"I…passed?"

Max steps around you. "Win's a high-value individual. The Goforths have enemies. Rivals. He likes to vet his, ah, company before he gets in too deep." He gathers the stills and shrugs. "Next time you see him, he'll probably have you sign an NDA. That's the usual timeline."

Heat floods your skin, blooming over your face and neck. The entire situation is outlandish, bordering on absurd, but that's the point, isn't it? It's a test. Win is the heir-apparent to one of the biggest names in film, his family worth billions. You knew that, of course, but you've spent weeks skating around it, choosing instead to lean into the fantasy, pretending it wasn't reality until now.

Max watches you stumble off the set unassisted. "Congrats again. See you around sometime."

Ghost stares past you as you hurry across the warehouse, desperate to put distance between yourself and the stooge. Your arms fold over your chest, hugging yourself tightly, the pressure a weak attempt to steady the choppiness of your breath. He peels off the wall, following close enough that you half-expect him to grab you, stuff you into the trunk, and kick off another leg of this hazing ritual.

But he doesn't. He doesn't say a word when you leave the CynoSure lot, or when you kick off your heels and curl against the door. You press your forehead to the cool glass, mind buzzing with static. Again, you're the one who breaks the silence.

"Does Win…Does he test everyone?"

"Yeah."

Your eyes snap to the back of his head. "Does everyone pass?"

"No."

"What happens to–"

"Don't ask."

"Can I ask one more?" You lick your lip and ask before he can refuse. "Would you have helped me, if he…if he tried something?"

The car jerks suddenly, swerving as it barely misses a motorbike you blast past. Ghost swears, hands choking the steering wheel. After a moment, his shoulders sag, and he cracks his neck with a grunt. "'Course. Don't want to be out of a job."

Ghost doesn't take you home. He takes you to Win. No message or call is needed. He's expecting you. You try to think of something coherent to say to him, but you keep circling back to fuck you. You can't say that, though, glancing at the man behind the wheel.

You follow Ghost from the car into the building, squeezing past him into the lift, and settle into a rear corner. One arm wraps across your torso, the other bent at the elbow, fingertips hovering near your mouth, the impulse to chew your nails loud. The doors close, and the lift starts, numbers climbing in a muted LED glow. You stare into the middle, at and through your reflection.

The jolt is sudden. The lift grinds to a halt, and you instinctively reach for the bars on either side to keep yourself from falling. White light shifts abruptly to red. Your gaze whips to Ghost, mouth opening at the sight of his hand eclipsing the screen, a thumb pressed firmly to the emergency stop.

"What are you–" The question shrivels when he takes one step and closes the distance. The space between you almost nonexistent, and erased further as he leans closer. His head tilts down, all angles and shadows under the crimson light. His eyes are a dimmer red than usual, earthy, like rust. His hands slip over yours, his weight shifting to apply pressure. You try to ignore their smothering warmth.

"You and I are gonna have an understanding."

Your tongue twists. You nod.

"You passed Junior's stupid test. Good for you."  Each word drips with disdain, clipped with irritation, like he can't believe you made it this far. "Doesn't mean your pretty arse belongs in this building, on 'is arm, or anywhere near 'is family. Don't care 'ow much 'e likes you or that cunt of yours. One step out of line, an' you'll be landfill. We clear?"

Landfill. "We're clear."

Ghost grunts and lingers a moment longer, his eyes dropping, and for a second, you think—no, you're sure—he's sneaking a look at your tits. But then one hand lifts, and he plants it against your neck. His thumb settles in the notch above your collarbone, pressing lightly. A scan passes over you, invisible but invasive, crackling in your ears. Then he pulls away with a huff, apparently unimpressed by what he found.

The lift moves before you do. When the doors open, it takes every ounce of willpower to unstick yourself from the corner, legs unsteady beneath you.

The condo is quiet. Ghost disappears ahead without you, before you can toe off one heel in the foyer. Your feet throb, but it's nothing compared to the cement block of stress resting on your shoulders. You should've stayed at the club. Between the 'test' and Ghost's brief, terrifying warning, you think you're close to collapse. You walk as quietly as you can, slow, still at a loss for what to say to Win.

You turn the corner into the living space and flinch at a loud pop, followed by a familiar burst of sparks. A champagne bottle sparkler flares, held aloft by a grinning, dressed-down Win. "There's my beautiful star, my Stella," he calls out, jerking his head. "Get your cute ass over here, and let's celebrate, baby."

This night keeps getting better.

"I look cute, huh?" Win teases as you reluctantly tiptoe closer. "Like I'm you. All I need is a skirt."

You don't know how much longer you can keep playing along. "Win, we need to talk–"

He pours the champagne over two glasses, spilling a bit as he looks between you and the bottle. "I agree. We've got to talk contracts." A wide and knowing grin spreads across his face. "Just got the call—you're in, babe. You're gonna be a Goforth Girl. You got the gig."

You blink. "I what?"

Win chuckles. "Don't look so shocked. I've got a buddy over at Lumina. This one was a gimme. Not all of them will come this easy, but hey, it's your first big one, right?"

You sit before you keel over, swallowing hard as your stomach turns in slow waves. Disbelief, confusion, and the remnants of your indignation tangle together in a knot. Your first gig. A real one. Not some odd job handing out flyers in costume or paid-in-exposure promo modeling. A real commercial for a real company with real reach. Still. You need to say something.

"Yeah, but Win, we need to talk about your friend. Max? The creep at CynoSure? He, um, he told me–"

"We'll cover that, too." He brushes it off with a casual wave as he hands you the flute of champagne. "Got a form or two for you to sign in addition to some business about exclusive representation." He looms over you, ringed fingers twisting the stem of his glass. 

You gape up at him, your head a mess from being pulled in so many directions in one night. It would be crazy, right? To say no now. Max's voice echoes in your head, steady and certain: Win's a high-value individual. The Goforths have enemies. You can't blame him for wanting to protect himself, to protect his family. If roles were reversed, wouldn't you? And if you're going to continue your…entanglement, isn't signing papers in your best interest, to protect yourself?

Win extends his drink. "You'll be a star. We'll make it happen."

We'll make it happen. What else can you say to that? To his complete confidence in you?

Your smile is a brittle thing warped into a crescent, and you watch it in the reflection of your glass as you lift it. "Well, to us, then."

The glasses clink, and you swallow a bitter sip. Win draws you back onto your sore feet for a prolonged kiss.

The slap of bare feet against the floor breaks the moment, eyes popping open as you make a noise into Win's mouth. Across the room, in the kitchen, Ghost reappears. Shirtless. He looks even bigger now, his back a hulking mass of muscle, ridiculous in its sheer width. Scars line his skin, some mods, some implants, but the rest speak to his chosen career. Black ink coils up his arm in a cluttered tattoo, and his skin's slick, the dampness of his blond hair suggesting he came from the shower.

Win pulls away, his mouth smudged with your lipstick.

"Ghost! Join us, we're celebrating! Grab a glass."

The behemoth pauses at the refrigerator, glaring. Despite his state of dress, he's taken the time to hook a cloth mask over his ears, one of which looks puffy. His brow furrows and his gaze shifts between you.

"No." He grinds out, voice low, and a shudder runs down your spine. He lumbers off, water in hand, and Win tuts in playful exasperation.

"Such a buzzkill. Now," His mouth skims your cheek, moving to your ear to whisper. "Where were we, baby?"

[trashland-llamas]

Putting on their Dancing Shoes

x gender neutral reader

Metahuman! Reader who's hiding out in Gotham despite Batman's 'no metahumans rule.' Because when they originally put down roots in Gotham, they weren't a meta nor did that rule exist yet. That and with all the villains in Gotham, rent had become rather cheap. Not the cheapest by any means but when compared to Metropolis or Bludhaven, they didn't exactly have the financial means to move.

So they stayed put, learning how to deal with their new metahuman abilities in secret. Thinking they had been good at keeping it on the down low until they received a knock on the door. Reader, looking through the peephole of their apartment door, hissing under their breath. 'Fuck me.' The man's attire immediately screamed detective, if not cop.

Taking a deep breath, they opened the door. Meeting the man's intimidating gaze. 'Can I help you?' Keeping their tone neutral, not wanting to come across as defensive. 'I'm detective Dick Grayson, with the GCPD. Mind if I asked you some questions?' Dick, while conducting research for a Nightwing sting, found pockets of metahuman activity. Tracking said activity to be near places Reader frequented. All within a 50 mile radius with their house at the epicenter. But unknown to Reader, Dick was recruiting for his team, the Teen Titans.

'Uh, sure. Come on in.' It'd all go well if they just kept their emotions in check. Otherwise, their physical features would shift. More accurately, dripping candle wax that would solidify into different shapes, colors, structures even. It would then be sucked back in the skin. 'I promise to make this quick.' Dick said, pulling a folder out of his bag, rife with papers. 'These are pictures taken from the CCTV cameras down on 4th and main on June 11th.' Putting down 2-3 photos from different angles, showing them with a hoodie.

'Not to assume anything but it seems like you were running away from someone or something. Which is concerning when you factor in how you look to have burn scars on your face and body.' Pointing at the areas of skin that their clothes didn't conceal. 'This was also the same night that the first power outage of the summer happened. But you never called anything in, why?'

'Not reporting something isn't a crime.' Reader shortly responds. 'Am I being charged with something?' Subtly asking if they were being arrested or if they'd end up in the back of his cop car, on the way down to the station without using the word 'arrested.' Taking a deep breath to calm their anxieties. Looking down to see if their arm was still solid. Dick shifted to a softer approach when he noticed this, sitting across from them at the small coffee table. 'Have you ever heard of the hidden figure of crime?'

'The what?'

'The hidden figure of crime or the dark figure. It's the term for the amount of crimes that go unreported. Kinda makes our job difficult. Sometimes it's because the victim experiences intimidation tactics by the perpetrator. Other times, it's because the victim doesn't recognize they've been victimized. Does that sound familiar?' Dick coaxed, using it as a leading question. Even though he technically wasn't supposed to do that. 'No, I don't think that's the case. Me not realizing I'm a victim.'

Pulling out a map with marked locations in orange sharpie. 'Okay. Well, this here is a map showing all known metahuman activity. Does anything about this data look familiar to you?' Recognizing that they weren't responding how he wanted to his questions, Dick turned up the heat. It was at this point that Reader froze, internally screaming that he knew. He must know. If he didn't, it definitely became apparent as their emotions triggered their abilities. Out of control, they now looked more akin to a Picasso. 

'That's uncanny.' Dick's pristinely crafted worksona broke. Unable to continue on with the script he was following. Now assessing if Reader's ability could be of use to the team he was still building. He had to find some way to help. Beyond acting like a benefactor to get them to Central city but that'd equate to abandonment which Dick refused to do. Even if they didn't end up as a member of Teen Titans, he could at least help them figure out how to stabilize their ability. Especially with it being tied to their emotions. 'Come with me.'

Noting their confused look, as the dude literally just spent half an hour making them think he was going to arrest them, clarified. 'I'm not arresting you, this is just my day job. Pack a bag, I'll explain everything in the car.' Pulling open the blinds to show that he hadn't even driven to their apartment in a cop car to begin with. Their face having slowly shifted back to normal.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Amazon Alexa is a graduate of the Darth Vader MBA

Next Tuesday (Oct 31) at 10hPT, the Internet Archive is livestreaming my presentation on my recent book, The Internet Con.

If you own an Alexa, you might enjoy its integration with IFTTT, an easy scripting environment that lets you create your own little voice-controlled apps, like "start my Roomba" or "close the garage door." If so, tough shit, Amazon just nuked IFTTT for Alexa:

https://www.theverge.com/2023/10/25/23931463/ifttt-amazon-alexa-applets-ending-support-integration-automation

Amazon can do this because the Alexa's operating system sits behind a cryptographic lock, and any tool that bypasses that lock is a felony under Section 1201 of the DMCA, punishable by a 5-year prison sentence and a $500,000 fine. That means that it's literally a crime to provide a rival OS that lets users retain functionality that Amazon no longer supports.

This is the proverbial gun on the mantelpiece, a moral hazard and invitation to mischief that tempts Amazon executives to run a bait-and-switch con where they sell you a gadget with five features and then remotely kill-switch two of them. This is prime directive of the Darth Vader MBA: "I am altering the deal. Pray I don't alter it any further."

So many companies got their business-plan at the Darth Vader MBA. The ability to revoke features after the fact means that companies can fuck around, but never find out. Apple sold millions of tracks via iTunes with the promise of letting you stream them to any other device you owned. After a couple years of this, the company caught some heat from the record labels, so they just pushed an update that killed the feature:

https://memex.craphound.com/2004/10/30/apple-to-ipod-owners-eat-shit-and-die-updated/

That gun on the mantelpiece went off all the way back in 2004 and it turns out it was a starter-pistol. Pretty soon, everyone was getting in on the act. If you find an alert on your printer screen demanding that you install a "security update" there's a damned good chance that the "update" is designed to block you from using third-party ink cartridges in a printer that you (sorta) own:

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2020/11/ink-stained-wretches-battle-soul-digital-freedom-taking-place-inside-your-printer

Selling your Tesla? Have fun being poor. The upgrades you spent thousands of dollars on go up in a puff of smoke the minute you trade the car into the dealer, annihilating the resale value of your car at the speed of light:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/10/23/how-to-fix-cars-by-breaking-felony-contempt-of-business-model/

Telsa has to detect the ownership transfer first. But once a product is sufficiently cloud-based, they can destroy your property from a distance without any warning or intervention on your part. That's what Adobe did last year, when it literally stole the colors from your Photoshop files, in history's SaaSiest heist caper:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/10/28/fade-to-black/#trust-the-process

And yet, when we hear about remote killswitches in the news, it's most often as part of a PR blitz for their virtues. Russia's invasion of Ukraine kicked off a new genre of these PR pieces, celebrating the fact that a John Deere dealership was able to remotely brick looted tractors that had been removed to Chechnya:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/05/08/about-those-kill-switched-ukrainian-tractors/

Today, Deere's PR minions are pitching search-and-replace versions of this story about Israeli tractors that Hamas is said to have looted, which were also remotely bricked.

But the main use of this remote killswitch isn't confounding war-looters: it's preventing farmers from fixing their own tractors without paying rent to John Deere. An even bigger omission from this narrative is the fact that John Deere is objectively Very Bad At Security, which means that the world's fleet of critical agricultural equipment is one breach away from being rendered permanently inert:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/04/23/reputation-laundry/#deere-john

There are plenty of good and honorable people working at big companies, from Adobe to Apple to Deere to Tesla to Amazon. But those people have to convince their colleagues that they should do the right thing. Those debates weigh the expected gains from scammy, immoral behavior against the expected costs.

Without DMCA 1201, Amazon would have to worry that their decision to revoke IFTTT functionality would motivate customers to seek out alternative software for their Alexas. This is a big deal: once a customer learns how to de-Amazon their Alexa, Amazon might never recapture that customer. Such a switch wouldn't have to come from a scrappy startup or a hacker's DIY solution, either. Take away DMCA 1201 and Walmart could step up, offering an alternative Alexa software stack that let you switch your purchases away from Amazon.

Money talks, bullshit walks. In any boardroom argument about whether to shift value away from customers to the company, a credible argument about how the company will suffer a net loss as a result has a better chance of prevailing than an argument that's just about the ethics of such a course of action:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/07/28/microincentives-and-enshittification/

Inevitably, these killswitches are pitched as a paternalistic tool for protecting customers. An HP rep once told me that they push deceptive security updates to brick third-party ink cartridges so that printer owners aren't tricked into printing out cherished family photos with ink that fades over time. Apple insists that its ability to push iOS updates that revoke functionality is about keeping mobile users safe – not monopolizing repair:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/09/22/vin-locking/#thought-differently

John Deere's killswitches protect you from looters. Adobe's killswitches let them add valuable functionality to their products. Tesla? Well, Tesla at least is refreshingly honest: "We have a killswitch because fuck you, that's why."

These excuses ring hollow because they conspicuously omit the possibility that you could have the benefits without the harms. Like, your tractor could come with a killswitch that you could bypass, meaning you could brick it at a distance, and still fix it yourself. Same with your phone. Software updates that take away functionality you want can be mitigated with the ability to roll back those updates – and by giving users the ability to apply part of a patch, but not the whole patch.

Cloud computing and software as a service are a choice. "Local first" computing is possible, and desirable:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/08/03/there-is-no-cloud/#only-other-peoples-computers

The cheapest rhetorical trick of the tech sector is the "indivisibility gambit" – the idea that these prix-fixe menus could never be served a la carte. Wanna talk to your friends online? Sorry there's just no way to help you do that without spying on you:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/11/08/divisibility/#technognosticism

One important argument over smart-speakers was poisoned by this false dichotomy: the debate about accessibility and IoT gadgets. Every IoT privacy or revocation scandal would provoke blanket statements from technically savvy people like, "No one should ever use one of these." The replies would then swiftly follow: "That's an ableist statement: I rely on my automation because I have a disability and I would otherwise be reliant on a caregiver or have to go without."

But the excluded middle here is: "No one should use one of these because they are killswitched. This is especially bad when a smart speaker is an assistive technology, because those applications are too important to leave up to the whims of giant companies that might brick them or revoke their features due to their own commercial imperatives, callousness, or financial straits."

Like the problem with the "bionic eyes" that Second Sight bricked wasn't that they helped visually impaired people see – it was that they couldn't be operated without the company's ongoing support and consent:

https://spectrum.ieee.org/bionic-eye-obsolete

It's perfectly possible to imagine a bionic eye whose software can be maintained by third parties, whose parts and schematics are widely available. The challenge of making this assistive technology fail gracefully isn't technical – it's commercial.

We're meant to believe that no bionic eye company could survive unless they devise their assistive technology such that it fails catastrophically if the business goes under. But it turns out that a bionic eye company can't survive even if they are allowed to do this.

Even if you believe Milton Friedman's Big Lie that a company is legally obligated to "maximize shareholder value," not even Friedman says that you are legally obligated to maximize companies' shareholder value. The fact that a company can make more money by defrauding you by revoking or bricking the things you buy from them doesn't oblige you to stand up for their right to do this.

Indeed, all of this conduct is arguably illegal, under Section 5 of the FTC Act, which prohibits "unfair and deceptive business practices":

https://pluralistic.net/2023/01/10/the-courage-to-govern/#whos-in-charge

"No one should ever use a smart speaker" lacks nuance. "Anyone who uses a smart speaker should be insulated from unilateral revocations by the manufacturer, both through legal restrictions that bind the manufacturer, and legal rights that empower others to modify our devices to help us," is a much better formulation.

It's only in the land of the Darth Vader MBA that the deal is "take it or leave it." In a good world, we should be able to take the parts that work, and throw away the parts that don't.

(Image: Stock Catalog/https://www.quotecatalog.com, Sam Howzit; CC BY 2.0; modified)

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/10/26/hit-with-a-brick/#graceful-failure

[indigovigilance]

Sovereignty, Citizenship, and the Bookshop

Credit to @flameraven for scripts

Read on Ao3 at: Sovereignty, Citizenship, and the Bookshop (1702 words) by indigovigilance Summary: The rules regarding who may enter the bookshop, and who may give others permission to enter the bookshop, are revealed by events rather than exposition. Parallel themes surround the Bentley. In this meta I generate a theory of sovereignty and citizenship as it pertains to the Bookshop, and what that implies about a statement Crowley makes and Aziraphale's final decision in S2E6.

What actually is the Bookshop?

First, Aziraphale explains to Crowley:

S2E5: AZIRAPHALE: We're perfectly safe in here. Technically, this bookshop still counts as an Embassy.

But then, speaking to Shax, Aziraphale further defines the bookshop:

AZIRAPHALE: Out of the question. Might I remind you, that this bookshop is technically an independent embassy. Being a former outpost of Heaven, and as such…

Which doesn't actually make any sense.

An embassy, by definition, is a satellite of another larger nation. It is usually the residence of an ambassador, and is considered the "soil" and jurisdiction of the home country, regardless of where it is in the world: "An embassy is considered “foreign soil,” meaning that it operates under the jurisdiction and laws of the home country, not the host country (the country where the embassy is physically located)." [ext source]

So an embassy, by its basic definition, cannot be independent. It's an oxymoron. I'll interpret this to mean that the Bookshop constitutes its own nationstate (and that Aziraphale just doesn't say it that way because he's a funky little guy).

Bookshop: A Sovereign Nation of Two

There has been extensive discussion about why Crowley seems never to have told Aziraphale that he was living in his car, and why, if/when Aziraphale figured it out, he didn't say anything about it. (I wrote a meta discussing how we know that Aziraphale knows by the beginning of S2E4 that Crowley is living in his car. Additionally, in S2E6, Aziraphale doesn't seem to look particularly surprised when Crowley announces to the room that he's tired of living in his car; you can interpret this as being distracted and phased out but I don't think Aziraphale is ever so dissociated that he would miss a statement like that and simply not react. So by then, he certainly knows.)

I posit that Crowley did not ask to move in and would have refused to do so even if offered for one very simple reason: moving in would have made him a citizen of Bookshop, and therefore a point of vulnerability for Aziraphale. Because as he explains to Shax in S2E3, he can't technically invite her in:

SHAX: if you won't let me in… CROWLEY: Not technically something I can do.

Of course, Crowley is a demon: he could be lying. But let's take the statement at face value, since Shax, also a demon, who seems reasonably familiar with the rules of entry, doesn't question it. So Crowley, by never establishing citizenship, ensures that he can never be coerced or tricked into letting anyone into the Bookshop. He maintains his foreign entity status on purpose to protect Aziraphale.

One more note, in passing: Crowley stays at the shop in S2E3 and S2E4, but he has been charged by Aziraphale to "mind the bookshop, and Gabriel." His role is more akin to a house-sitter than a houseguest. He's there on work visa, and it does not establish citizenship.

So Crowley isn't a citizen of Bookshop. But someone other than Aziraphale is.

S2E1: MAGGIE: I can be out of here in two weeks. AZIRAPHALE: Out of here? Why? Don't you like it anymore? MAGGIE: Oh, Mr. Fell, I love this shop! I've loved it since I was a baby. But I know how behind I am on rent. (…) MAGGIE: You can't just forgive me eight months' rent. AZIRAPHALE: Oh, I can. I'm very good at forgiveness. It's one of my favorite things. Now, you have paid your rent, I have my music, and I know exactly what I'll be doing for the next 21 minutes. [he giggles and leaves] (creepiest most disturbing giggle in all of cinematic history BUT ANYWAYS)

We've established that Maggie not only is a tenant of land owned by Aziraphale, but that her accounts are all paid up. Her citizenship (or at least, permanent residency) is secure. If simply renting out the space wasn't enough, we learn that she is a fourth-generation resident of the space owned by Aziraphale, which started inside the bookshop itself, and so Maggie may have been born into citizenship. Either way, the consequences of this arise in S2E6:

AZIRAPHALE: Maggie, what just happened? MAGGIE: I… I think I might have just told them they could come in.

Crowley can't tell demons that they can come in. But Maggie can. My explanation for this is because she actually lives (and is up on her rent) in a territory of the nation of Bookshop. It could be posed that Maggie can invite demons in because she is a guest of the ball, and so this is a temporary power, but Crowley was a "guest"/house-sitter and didn't have this power, so I reject this explanation and affirm it as a citizenship/residency power.

The Metatron's Offer

At time of writing, the fandom has spent two months trying to figure out why Metatron offered Aziraphale the job of Supreme Archangel. Was it to get him back into Heaven where he can keep a closer eye on him? Was it to get him away from Crowley? Did Metatron realize that he is a wellspring of power and wants to tap into it for nefarious purpose?

I'm going to propose a different, much simpler reason: he needed to get Aziraphale out of the bookshop. To explain that, we look to a line that Crowley delivers during the Conversation:

CROWLEY: I mean, if Gabriel and Beelzebub can do it, go off together, then we can. Just the two of us. We don't need Heaven, we don't need Hell, they're toxic. We need to get away from them, just be an us. You and me, what do you say? AZIRAPHALE: Come with me… to Heaven. I'll run it, you can be my second in command. We can make a difference. CROWLEY: You can't leave this bookshop.

Hang on, didn't Crowley just say that they should run off together? Why is he now saying that he can't leave the bookshop? These statements seem contradictory, but through the lens of sovereignty, they're not. You see, if Aziraphale goes off to Alpha Centauri without rejoining Heaven, the Bookshop still belongs to him and constitutes the sovereign nation over which he rules. It is the anchor and touchstone of his independent status. What ever new residence they establish will, in turn, be an embassy of that "independent embassy." The Bookshop then (I hypothesize, and posit that Crowley does too) grants Aziraphale protection from Heaven and Hell no matter where he is in the universe.

A Brief Aside on the Mechanics of Satellites

We have some evidence that Bookshop rules extend to wherever Aziraphale happens to be "residing," in that when Aziraphale borrows Crowley's car, Shax must trick him into giving him permission to enter (S2E4):

HITCHHIKER: I'm so sorry, can you be an angel and give me a lift? Only m-my car's broken down and my phone's dead. Just to the next town, there's a garage there. AZIRAPHALE: Oh… yes, well… I suppose you better climb in, then.

Thus establishing that, theoretically, Crowley and Aziraphale could "go off together" and still have the protection of the Bookshop.

The Consequences of Aziraphale's Final Decision

Crowley tells Aziraphale that he cannot leave the bookshop, but then we know that Aziraphale takes the job and ascends to Heaven. Metatron looks extremely relieved. No sooner do they ascend than Muriel enters the bookshop, where we know Metatron has placed them. Let's take this point by point.

The Bookshop is no longer a sovereign nation

By rejoining Heaven, Aziraphale has reclaimed his citizenship as an angel of Heaven. I'm going to go ahead and say (for sake of argument and because it is thematically consistent) that Heaven does not honor duel citizenship. Therefore, Aziraphale has given up his citizenship of Bookshop, but as it still belongs to him, it is now territory subject to the jurisdiction of Heaven. Muriel has been placed there as a representative of Heaven. Having been (we can surmise) the only "independent embassy" in existence where both angels and demons had to ask permission to enter, it is once again a good and proper embassy of Heaven.

This is important because now, neither Aziraphale nor Crowley have any place to go that is protected from both Heaven and Hell.

Muriel has unfettered access to Aziraphale's collection of books

My very simplistic theory for why Metatron went to so much trouble to get Aziraphale to cede control of the Bookshop is that he needs access to his collection of books. Specifically, he needs a certain Scrivener who enjoys reading to set up camp there and peruse every single book. This is because he is looking for something.

Gabriel left Heaven with a large box; he arrived at the Bookshop with an empty box. We can punt around all sorts of possible reasons but let's say, for sake of conjecture, that Gabriel stole the Book of Life on his way out to protect himself and Beelzebub from erasure. We don't know where the Book is now, but Metatron (who doesn't know the box was empty) has good reason to believe that the Book of Life is somewhere in the bookshop. But it's too dangerous to admit that they've lost track of it, so the best way to find a Book in a bookshop is to get the owner out of there, install an avid reader as steward, and wait patiently.

Other consequences of this theory of citizenship

We are given to believe that Crowley and Aziraphale are both outcasts of Hell and Heaven, respectively, yet Aziraphale seems to be the only one of them that benefits from the protections of independence. We could say that it is because Aziraphale owns land, and so that allows him to establish a nationstate, whereas the Bentley does not, but since Aziraphale brings the protections of independence with him when he borrows the Bentley, that seems flimsy. I find it more likely that in S3 we're going to learn something about Crowley that explains why he lacks these protections, and if I dare to make conjecture, it will be the subject of another meta.

I didn't get around to a discussion of the consequences of Aziraphale throwing his halo and "declaring war," or that war declaration being maybe-cancelled by Crowley; suffice to say, that may again be it's own meta.

~~~

If you enjoyed this, you may enjoy: Honolulu Roast: the story of a coup

another meta on the topic of ownership re the Bentley by @ineffable-endearments can be found here.

~~~

edit: I was reminded by @rekishi-aka to note that in S1, Gabriel and Sandolphon walk right in, because at that time the bookshop is an embassy of Heaven. For all of S2 except the final 30 minutes, celestials all have to ask permission to enter, including Michael, Uriel, Saraqael, and Muriel, because the Bookshop is independent. After Aziraphale throws his halo, celestials just appear inside the Bookshop: by declaring war, Aziraphale has relinquished his protection. It's unclear whether it would have been reestablished by Crowley cancelling the war, but it's a moot point because then Aziraphale agrees to become the Supreme Archangel.

[leclsrc]

congrats on 2k!! so happy to see such a talented writer get the recognition they deserve🤍🤍

can i request 5 gifts w/ charles?? ty and congrats again!

presents – cl16

genre: flufff, bit of angst, 2k celebration

Thank God for expensive cars—they barely make noise when they pull into the driveway of the house.

On nights where the bed’s emptiness is just a bit too painful to bear, your ears grow attuned to the silence so they can hear the car better. Because from then you can judge the rest of Charles’ synchronized routine—his shit parking, turning the key into the lock, heavy footsteps through the foyer and up the stairs, deliberate turning of the doorknob so he doesn’t wake you.

But he never does, because you’re never asleep. “Did I wake you?”

“Mmm, no,” you assure him, sitting up a little. He sports evidence of training, a bruise on his arm, extra stubble, a tighter fitting tee. He climbs into bed beside you holding a tiny box, rattles it so you can hear the chain shake inside. 

“Good. I have a gift for you.”

“Can it wait?” You ask throatily. “I miss you.”

He looks perfect like this, you think, pretty and handsome and tired and yours. He is rarely yours in these triple headers, season peaks where neither of your schedules give. So you envelop him into a hug, the box is laid on the bedside table, and they’re both gone by the time you wake up to the sun.

—

You were never one to accept presents, especially if they looked like they cost a month’s rent. Charles had given you a bracelet to commemorate your first year together, one that matched his.

“We agreed small gifts,” you’d said, jaw to the floor at the shiny object.

“It is… small.” He responded dumbly.

“Small, like…” you pull out your paper maché cat, which you painted to look like a Sauber driver. “Like this.”

So he’d kept the bracelet because you insisted, with all the love in the world, that you simply could not bear to wear it. Then he posted six pictures of your gift, claiming it was the best he’d ever gotten, pressing kisses all over your face.

—

“Would you like a message on the card, Sir?”

“Oui, oui. Can you write, uh…”

Charles rifles through his journal, onto which he’s written every detail of his life. There are race stats, strategy comparisons, crude venn diagrams of plans, tic-tac-toe games on slow meetings with Carlos, long-winded spiels on life that evolve from French to Italian to English, dinner date reminders, interview scripts.

But none of those is what he’s looking for. He seeks something else, a line he’d written on the day you fell asleep hugging him, comforted by his arrival. He had to leave early that day, so he enjoyed your presence and spent time writing. 

He spends a minute too long searching for it, but finds it eventually, sandwiched in between a doodle of Fred and Antonio. For all his trying, however, he later learns he miscalculated your checkout time, and the flowers never arrived on time for you to see them. He pictures the lilies, wilting alone, pictures the card you never got to unfold and read.

Thinking of you. I fall in love with you every time you walk into a room. Charles

—

You meet his eyes across the table, and narrow yours in silent challenge.

“Woah!” He laughs, amused, pointing an accusatory finger in your direction. “What was that—” He mimics your challenging expression, eyes briefly flitting down to where he holds his Uno cards. The rest of the room watch idly as the game comes to an intense close.

“It was me telling you I have great cards,” you proclaim with a giggle. “Aaaand uno.” 

The intense close is won by you, much to your opponent’s chagrin. It was an easy win, you state, I had a plus four and he handed it right to me. He finds you by the kitchen of the mansion chewing on a potato chip and extends a bottle of beer toward you, in a truce of sorts.

“Winners deserve a drink, no?” He grins, his eyes crinkling. “Consider it a gift. From me.”

“No, thanks. You already gifted me a win.”

“I just let you win,” he teases. “It was easy.”

“Was it?” You raise an eyebrow, and you both laugh. “All this talk, and I don’t even know my nemesis’ name.”

“Right, how rude,” he tsks, shaking your hand. It stays a bit too long, steals your words. “It’s Charles.”

—

In the end, your relationship befell the same fate as the collection of gifts he’d never been able to get you to receive: it just didn’t work out. 

But sometimes Charles revisits his piles of storage, picks out the florist’s business card or the winning Uno number he’d folded up and kept. He checks and rechecks boxes, wrappers, of gifts ungiven. And he goes to his trophy shelf, full of shiny metal and hard edges, and sees there, in front of them all, the Sauber driver paper maché cat.

And you sometimes go through pictures of the both of you, stare at your empty wrist and wonder what it would look like with a bracelet looped around it. You think of waiting, of the empty bed that’s now become the norm, the phone call from your hotel receptionist who asked if you wanted to return for the flowers that were sent late. 

Both of you remember. Both of you look for the other.

But perhaps most of all, both of you hope there’s a life where gifts were received and love worked. Charles passes the freeway exit that leads to your house and wonders, for a second, if he should turn into it. You lay in bed, ears attuned, wondering if you’ll hear the sound of his car.

[hexidous]

Silk and Sweat

Rating: Explicit (18+ MDNI)

Summary: Your apartment in the city is getting too expensive, so you pick up a side job as a stripper. When a customer gets handsy with you, the club manager Joel comes to your rescue.

Warnings: No use of Y/N but you do have a stage name. No depictions of reader’s physical appearance. Reader late 20s, Joel early 50s. Adult themes, depictions of stripping, sexual assault (not Joel), fingering, general horniness

Word count: 4.2k

Part II: Pretty As You Feel

Series Masterlist

-

Deep in the recesses of your closet hid a large box, collecting dust over the years. You had danced throughout college and kept some of your favorite work wears, just in case you ever returned.

You can totally still do this, you assure yourself as you sift through the long neglected contents.

With a huff of determination you put a bag together, setting your bagged heels at the bottom, followed by a few pairs of panties, a couple of dresses and your cosmetic bag.

There were plenty of strip clubs in the area, but you wanted to be sure to choose the right one. You never liked the younger crowds or nightclub-like scenes, the higher end clubs with older clientele suited your needs much better. Sure, they weren’t throwing handfuls of cash or making bills rain down with money guns to impress their friends, but you couldn’t stand dealing with a never ending sea of frat boys and batchelor parties.

You pull into the parking lot of the first club on your list, reading the simple red script illuminated by LED.

Silk Cabaret

You tried to quell your nervousness. It had been so long and you’re terrified they might turn you away in favor of teens and early twenties dancers.

A few words came to mind as you pushed through the doors. Lavish. Ostentatious, perhaps. The red walls were decorated with matching silk, meeting warm stained wood furnishings and accents.

“Hello!” A cute young woman greets you enthusiastically. “How can I help you?”

“Are you hiring dancers?” You ask, trying to project your voice and sound as confident as possible.

“I think so, let me grab a manager,” she chirps before standing up from her spot behind the counter.

You watch her disappear behind the wall dividing the entry room from the main section of the club. She emerges a moment later with a bright smile and cheery, “Follow me!”

You survey the rest of the club as you trail behind her. The bar was a large and L-shaped and tables covered in red cloth. The stage was displayed at the back of the room, a wide oval shape at the base with a short runway jutting out toward the center of the club.

The host leaves you to wait beside a bottle service section for a manager to come speak with you. After another minute or two of looking around, you noticed a figure emerge from behind a closed door.

Your eyes widen without your permission as you take in the man striding to toward you.

“Joel,” he says in a deep voice, jutting his large hand forward.

You try to maintain your composure as he envelopes your hand in his own and introduce yourself with a small smile, waiting for him to continue.

“You been fired from any clubs around here recently?” He asks, cutting right to the chase.

“No,” you reply with a small laugh. “I haven’t even danced in years. But I’ve never been fired, I’m not on drugs, no crazy boyfriend or baby daddy drama. Nothing that’s gonna give you a headache, I promise.”

You notice his lip curl upward in a slight smirk. “Haven’t danced in years, huh? What’s got you back?”

“I take it by that question you don’t pay rent in this city,” you tell him in a slightly amused tone.

“Ok you got me there. So you wanna start tonight?”

“Got my bag in my car,” you respond with a grin.

“We won’t pick up for a while, I can send you off with some paperwork if you want to come back around 7.”

“I don’t mind, it’ll give me some time to get acquainted,” you tell him as you head to retrieve your bag.

You return inside to find Joel now gone and you make your way toward the dressing room nestled behind the stage.

“One last thing,” Joel calls as you pass the now open door of his office.

Mildly startled, you turn to him and tilt your head, silently questioning.

“What’s your stage name?”

You bring your lip between your teeth, briefly wondering if you should assume a new moniker. Deciding against it, a name rolls off your tongue like an old friend. “Starla.”

-

You feel your anxiety laugh at you for thinking you were nervous before. Knowing one of the most gorgeous men you had seen in a long time would inevitably be watching you dance mostly naked would have excited you years ago. Now you feel almost sick as your heart races and and a knot forms at the base of your throat.

You shake your head, trying to force your unbelievably handsome new boss from your head.

You apply your makeup in a section of the bright, mirrored dressing room that’s unoccupied. You paint your eyes and lips darker and more exaggerated than you would normally and blush that looks ridiculous in the glaring light but perfect for both the dim club and flashy stage lighting. After running a brush through your hair, you stand to undress.

Your favorite dress was beautiful, but didn’t provide the easiest on and off access with the lace up back. Deciding to save it for the end of the night, if at all, you don a set made of a long skirt with a slit up the side and a tight matching top that pushes your breasts together enticingly.

You strap your heels on and shove your bag in an empty locker. With a steadying breath, you push through the thick, velvet curtain that shrouded the dressing room from prying eyes.

There was one customer now, chatting with the only other dancer you’ve seen so far. She looks to be a bit older than you, with spray tanned skin and gravity defying breasts.

You stand awkwardly beside the bar, unwilling to sit just yet.

“Hey there,” you hear in a soft, high pitched voice. You hadn’t noticed the bartender make her way toward you until she stood two feet away. “I’m Kenzie.”

“I’m-“ You begin, but catch yourself with a laugh. “I’m Starla. Gonna take some getting used to that again.”

“It won’t take long,” she responds with a knowing smile. “Want anything to drink?”

“I’m alright,” you tell her. Frankly, you’d love a drink to settle your nerves, but you weren’t about to pay strip club drink prices when you know soon enough there will be a room full of men willing to pay them for you.

“It’s on Phil,” she says with a nod in the direction of the man you noticed earlier.

He and the woman talking to him meet your gaze and give you a smile and wave.

“Thank you!” You call over, waving back. You turn your attention back to Kenzie. “Titos and clubs soda it is then.”

Kenzie returns with your drink and you sip slowly, waiting for the action to pick up.

By the time you reach the end, the only other people to walk in were two more girls, chatting casually as they made their way to the back.

“He said he’ll get you another if you’d like,” Kenzie says, grabbing your empty glass.

“I should probably take it slow,” you respond.

“Smart girl. I like you.”

You smile at her compliment and see Joel emerging from his office again, taking a stance beside the vip section. He catches your gaze and gives you a smile.

With nothing else going on you decide to approach him, the confidence of your former persona coming through.

“You look beautiful,” he tells you sincerely. Your stomach flutters and you feel a blush rise to your cheeks. You were used to lecherous compliments at the club, given with a lustful look over your body. But Joel kept his eyes on yours.

“Thanks. I guess I’m glad I didn’t the heart to give away everything when I stopped dancing.”

“What did you do before deciding to come back to this?” He asks, his eyes scanning the nonexistent crowd.

“I’m a graphic designer,” you tell him. “With outsourcing and AI it’s been a nightmare to find reasonable pay.”

He nods empathetically. “I bet.”

“How long have you worked here?” You ask.

“About ten years. I took work as a bouncer after serving in the military. Came here, got promoted after two and… Well, here I am.” He runs a hand through his tousled salt and brown sugar hair.

Before you can say anything else, another pair of girls come strolling by.

“Hi, Joel,” one says, slowly dragging the vowels out before giggling with her friend.

“Ladies,” Joel says curtly with a nod.

“What time does the DJ get in?” You ask Joel nervously.

“About an hour.”

Your stomach drops a bit. You haven’t been on a stage in years. “Do you mind if I maybe do a practice song or two before rotation starts? It’s been so long and I’m a bit antsy to get it over with.”

“Of course,” he answers.

“Thanks,” you turn to make your way over. “Sure hope it’s like riding a bike!” you call over your shoulder as you walk away. You think you hear a chuckle but you don’t dare turn around to check.

The preset playlist cycles through typical 80s hair metal and pop songs. Good to know some things don’t change.

You step through the curtain, thankful the room is nearly empty. Your eyes dart to where Joel was standing and you breathe a sigh of relief to see it empty.

You slowly sway your hips to the beat, grasping the cold metal pole in your hands. You spin around it, rotating your body with quick ease. Feeling more confident, you grasp higher and begin to climb.

The friction is painful between your legs, your thighs no longer desensitized to the intense grip. But you’re doing it. You carefully wrap your body around the pole, losing yourself to the beat as you transition into some basic moves.

You breathe a sigh of relief that your stage time maybe won’t be as painfully awkward as you feared.

You push through the curtain back into the dressing room.

“You’re wasting your time you know,” a girl sitting down to get ready tells you as she smiles at herself in the mirror, applying dark red lipstick.

Your brow furrows as you wait for her to continue.

“Joel Miller doesn’t fuck with the dancers. Trust me, we’ve all tried,” she says with a laugh. “I’m just giving you a heads up before you lose out on money trying to get in his chastity belt.”

“Thanks, but I wasn’t…”

“Mmhmm,” she says with an unbelieving raised brow and knowing smirk before returning to her routine.

-

The night begins to pick up, patrons and more dancers slowly filling the modest space. The DJ arrives and you introduce yourself.

“I’m Tommy,” he tells you with a warm smile. “Anything you like to dance to?” He asks.

“I’m not too picky,” you reply. “But I may have slight PTSD from the song Girls, Girls, Girls so please avoid that one.”

“That’s our promo song,” he says with a frown.

“Oh god,” you grumble. The thought of hearing that song every hour on the hour nearly giving you a headache.

“I kid, couldn’t help myself,” he reveals with a proud smile.

“Thank Christ. I almost quit.”

-

It’s not long before you hear Tommy call you to the stage for the next song. Your nerves are set alight as you make your way through the dressing room and enter the DJ booth.

“Hope you got a good set for me,” you tell him.

“I got you, superstar,” he replies with a wide grin.

You throw your shoulders back and emerge onto the large, glossy wooden stage, heels clicking with each step.

You freeze, hearing the familiar beginning notes of Girls, Girls, Girls and shoot Tommy a death stare. The song smoothly transitions into Alice Cooper’s Poison and you fight a smile as you watch Tommy shake with silent laughter.

You’ve danced to the song plenty of times and didn’t have to think much about your movements, your muscle memory doing all the work. You slowly shed your clothing and give attention to the men at the stage tipping you.

Sitting before a group of transfixed men, you arch your back and spread your legs. Your head comes forward and you lock eyes with Joel, who you hadn’t realized was staring intently at you. As soon as he notices your gaze, he scans the room, looking everywhere but the stage.

You finish your set and grab your money and dress.

“You’re an ass for that, you know,” you tell Tommy with a smile as you head to the dressing room.

-

You slip back into your former routine easily. Approach a man, laugh at his lame jokes, hand out light touches to his arm or knee, seem interested in his boring life.

“I’ve got someone coming in to see me soon, but I’d really love to dance for you,” you deliver your go to line with a purr.

“Can’t be havin’ that,” the man you’re talking to growls, a slight slur to his words. “Want ya all to m’self.”.

“Let’s go then,” you say, forcing out a giggle.

He hands you a few hundreds. “Half hour.”

You approach Joel and hand over the dance fee for the private room.

He nods and marks down the time. You lead the moderately intoxicated man by his hand and he uses his free one to slap your ass.

You turn around and see Joel puffing his broad chest out, ready to make a move. You shake your head subtly, indicating you could handle it.

“You’ll want to behave, baby, I don’t give refunds,” you tell him sternly.

You begin dancing for him in the tiny private space. His suit is rumpled and his drunkenness seems to increase as he sits before you.

Clammy fingers grab at your skirt, trying to pull it off. You bat his hands away, annoyed. “It’s called a strip tease for a reason, have a little patience.”

“You sure are a fuckin’ tease,” he spits.

You turn to face away from him, bending slightly and slowly shaking your ass to hide the look of rage you don’t care to conceal. He smacks your ass again.

“Touch me one more time and see what the fuck happens,” you seethe in his face, unable to contain your anger at the drunken bastard.

“Better make it count then,” he growls through clenched teeth.

More nimbly than you’d expect, he stands up and presses you to the wall, using one hand to cover your mouth and shoving the other down the front of your panties.

You thrash against him but before you can make a move, you hear the curtain rip open. Joel storms in, dominating the small space with his imposing frame. He grabs the man off of you swiftly.

“She asked me to!” He lies in his defense.

You watch as Joel’s nostrils flare, his large muscles twitching. Before you can register it, he’s delivering blow after blow to the man’s face.

“And I’m pretty fuckin’ sure I heard you ask me to do that,” he says in a frighteningly low, steady voice.

He drags the man out and you stay frozen, trying to collect yourself.

Of course this would fucking happen, you think bitterly. You feel a dull throb between your thighs as you think about the way Joel defended you. And of course it would turn me on.

You’re not sure how long you stand there before Joel tentatively renters the room.

“Are you ok?” He asks, his voice soft and low, warming you from the inside like a cup of tea on a cold night.

“Yeah,” you say flatly. “Been through worse. It’s fine.”

“It’s not,” he says firmly. “I am so sorry that happened in my club. I should have stepped in when I saw him smack your ass.”

“It’s not your fault. Thank you for coming so quickly,” you reply honestly. “How did you know to get here so fast?”

He clears his throat almost bashfully and looks away. “I was standing close by and heard you yell at him. Heard too much commotion so I came in.”

“So much for not causing you a headache,” you joke, trying to lighten the air.

“You didn’t cause a headache for me, darlin’” he assures. “You wanna press charges?”

“So the law can favor the rich guy over the stripper and he sues you for hitting him? Nah, I’m good.”

He studies your face for a moment. “You ok to go back out?”

“Yeah. I think I could go for another drink now.”

-

The rest of your night goes by with relative ease. You notice Joel’s eyes on you a few times, but when you catch him he doesn’t look away. Silently assuring you that you’re safe under his watch.

What I'd give to be safe under his body, you think to yourself.

"As much as I've loved talking to you," you lie to whoever you're sitting beside now, "I gotta get a move on."

"One more drink," he pleads.

"My boss is kind of a hard ass," you lie again. "He’ll really lay into me if I stay in one place for too long.”

God I wish he’d lay into me, your filthy brain whispers again.

“Alright,” the man relents. “A dance then?”

“That I can do,” you respond, leaving your chair. You see Joel’s eyes fixed on you in your peripheral vision. It drives you wild.

You wait for a new song to come on before you begin to shake your hips between the man’s legs. He’s not terrible looking. Probably around the same age as Joel, but lacking the sex appeal that exudes from the man dominating your thoughts.

You straddle one of his thighs, arching your back and resting your forearms well above his shoulder. You pop your pussy, making your ass jiggle rhythmically. Your center just barely grazes his thigh and you close your eyes, imagining Joel beneath you. You shudder out a breath and change your position. You rub your thighs together, your thoughts of Joel cumulating to a dull ache between them.

The song ends and the man below you seems to notice your desire, mistaking it to be for him. He requests to keep going and you oblige, continuing to picture Joel with every tormented move.

Tommy announces that he’s about to play the last three songs of the evening.

“Might as well see it through to the end,” you whisper.

“Might as well,” he grunts back, adjusting himself in his pants.

You dance for the remainder of the night, collecting the cash from your final customer.

“Will I see you again?” He asks as you redress.

“I don’t know,” you reply honestly. “But if I keep dancing it’ll be here.”

“Here’s hoping you do,” he tells you as he stands. “It was great to meet you.”

“Thanks, you too. Goodnight.” You give him a small smile before heading to the dressing room.

-

Most of the girls have left by the time you change back into the dress you wore in. Your face feels heavy with sweat and makeup, so you decide to remove it all before making your way up to the DJ booth. You catch Tommy just as he’s about to head out.

“You know, I debated stiffing you for that stunt you pulled earlier,” you say, handing him a few twenties, tipping more than necessary because you know the value of having the DJ on your side. “But you did pretty good otherwise so I guess I’ll hock it over.”

“Why thank you, darlin’,” he tells you with a little bow of his head. “See you tomorrow?”

“With how sore I’m gonna be? You’ll see me in a week. Maybe.”

“Don’t wait till it hits ya, take an epsom soak tonight,” he advises.

“I think that is exactly what I’ll do.”

You find Joel in his office, sorting through stacks of bills and paperwork, a pair of glasses resting on the bridge of his strong nose. You thought he couldn’t get any sexier, but here you were, slowly melting from the inside out.

“Hi,” you say softly to get his attention. He looks up at you as hand your house fee his way.

“I don’t want that after what you dealt with tonight,” he says with a shake of his head.

“Like I said, been through worse. Just take it.”

He obliges, setting it alongside the other stacks.

“You can still help me feel better about it though,” you say, drunk off all the attention given to you that night. And the drinks.

“How’s that?” He asks, genuinely curious.

“I don’t like when control is taken from me,” you state. “I hate that his clammy little hands were the last ones to touch me.”

He stares up at you silently. It’s almost imperceivable but you take note of the way his brow furrows and chest rises and falls a little harder.

He doesn’t get up from his chair, but swivels it to face you fully. He takes one hand and places it on the inside of your thigh, just above your knee. He slides it upward at an excruciating pace, causing a shiver to run through your body. “This is what you want? What you’re asking of me?”

“Yes,” you whimper and nod your head. “Please.”

He continues up your thigh until reaching your cotton panties, a much more comfortable switch from the ones you wore while working. He drags a finger around the hem teasingly before brushing his thumb over your clit.

He looks up at you, waiting for your eyes to return to his. There’s a fire in them as he yanks your panties down roughly, causing you to yelp in surprise.

“Shut the door,” he commands. You quickly do as you’re told.

He returns his hand to your center, hissing as he feels the extent of how turned on you are.

“What’s got you so wet, baby?” He asks with a smirk, lightly running his fingers up and down your slit.

“Been thinking about you,” you admit breathlessly. “Couldn’t stop myself.”

He pushes two digits fully into you, eliciting a partly stifled moan. He sets a quick pace, causing your knees to almost buckle.

Joel takes off his reading glasses with his free hand. “Lift your dress,” he commands. “I want to see.”

You lift your dress and watch as he stares at his fingers brutally fucking into your pussy, his other hand returning to roughly grasp your hip. His breaths are more labored and his lips are curled into a slight snarl. The sight sends you closer to the edge.

He feels your walls start to constrict around his fingers and brings the hand on your hip to settle flat against your stomach, his thumb finding your clit and pressing quick circles into it.

“Oh fuck,” you cry out, your greedy cunt tightening further, wanting more.

“Shut that pretty mouth if you want me to make you cum,” he warns.

“Yes sir,” you whisper, biting your lip to stop from crying out.

“Good girl,” he praises in a softer tone.

That’s all it takes for the knot in your center to pull itself free, a wave of intense pleasure rushing through you. You bite your lip harder and place a hand on Joel’s firm, muscled shoulder to keep from screaming or collapsing.

You let your hand run down his strong bicep as he removes his fingers.

“On your knees,” he demands.

You readily sink between his legs and eye the massive bulge he has there. You want to reach out and touch it, free it from the strict confines of his pants and take him in your mouth. Wordlessly thank him. You want to fucking worship him.

But you know that you’re not the one in charge, you handed those reigns over to Joel with pleasure.

He brings his wet fingers to your lips and you eagerly take them in your mouth, twirling your tongue around his digits as you suck them clean. He groans, sending another twinge of desire to your spent pussy. You were insatiable.

He slowly pumps his fingers in and out of your hot mouth a few times, transfixed by your soft lips.

He takes his hand away and wipes his saliva on his shirt.

Standing up, his throbbing cock just inches from your face. You look up at him, silently begging for permission to take it out.

“Come on,” he says instead, offering a hand down to you. “I’ll walk you out.”

You take his hand and rise, disappointed.

He’s quiet as he walks you to your car and you worry that you fucked up by asking him to touch you. You were already warned that he didn’t mess around with the dancers. It was a good policy to stick to but you had met very few men working in clubs who had the willpower to follow through with it. Now he probably didn’t want you coming back.

“Thank you,” you tell him as you reach your car. “For walking me out, for saving me from that creep and for helping me feel better about it. I know that’s all it was, I won’t be weird about it. But I understand if you don’t want me to come back.”

He shoots you an offended look. “Jesus, no. You are more than welcome back here.”

He pauses for a moment before opening his arms to you. You shyly sink into them, reveling in how firm yet soft his warm body felt against yours. He pats your upper back, like a dad would to a kid. “I’m sorry again about tonight. Drive safe.”

“Will do,” you tell him before slipping into your car. You watch as he turns to head back into the club, taking in his broad frame with admiration. You were fucked.

[callahanisms]

Impressions - Part 02

pairing: tashi duncan x bipoc! fem! reader

word count: 2.3k words

context: 2019. los angeles. tashi duncan has found her perfect actor after a vigorous round of auditions. but did the actor stumble upon the audition by chance? or was it premeditated?

no specific pronouns used. reader is able bodied and can speak. reader is about 25, while tashi is 31/32.

based on this post. check out part 01.

sorry for taking so long. grad school is really kicking my butt right now.

She doesn’t seem impressed.

The way she turns the pages of the stapled papers, her nails glimmering in the light. There’s a hint of glitter and they have a cream to pink ombre. They look really nice. And it was clear she had just gotten them done. The clear gloss made her lips look soft and shiny.

Your heart is pounding. You don’t know why. Tashi Duncan asked you for criticism of her work. Were you perhaps not harsh enough? It was hard to tell. The script was just…well, you wanted to keep reading. You had to read it a fourth time to actually start annotating and adding your notes. It was also hard to criticize her vision without any sort of visual. Film was a visual medium after all. It was hard to see what she meant when you were reading.

“Did you hold back?”

You pick up the glass of sangria and take a small sip. “Well…”

Tashi looks at you expectantly. “I thought you’d be harsher.”

“It’s hard to judge entirely. Because part of film critique is…to see the film…”

Her other hand plays with the fork, before stabbing a few leaves and tomatoes of her salad. “So…essentially, you can’t fully critique it without seeing the actual film.”

“A script is only part of it. I just think it’d be nice to have some sort of visual.” Your plate was already clean from your appetizer. It felt odd to be treated to a full course meal by Tashi. But she said you wouldn’t need to pay. Which was generous considering how expensive the restaurant was and being an adjunct didn’t pay as much as you wanted it to. Plus rent was due soon.

“That’s fair. I have a specific vision I want to achieve.” She closes the script and her finger runs over the colored tabs. She liked that the cover page had a key for the colors—by highlighter and by tab. “You seem well aware of that.”

“I’ve watched…most of your stuff. All your films. Majority of the television episodes you’ve directed. And I’ve watched a lot of behind the scenes interviews.” You feel your cheeks heat up. Honestly, you sounded like a bit of a fan.

There’s a smile creeping up on Tashi’s face. “It’s surprisingly rare to find people that have watched your work and…understand your process.” She says. “It takes a certain amount of trust and popularity to be given full control.”

“I’m pretty sure you’ve proven yourself already. Your last film was amazing. 5 stars on Letterboxd.” You hold your glass, tipping it towards the director.

Tashi picks up her cocktail and gently taps the glass against your own. “You and the other hundreds of thousands of people.”

“Where are we?”

Tashi puts the car in park and turns off the ignition with the touch of a button. There’s a click and the rapid retraction of her seatbelt. “My house.” The sound of the door opening is crisp. Or maybe it’s because the sangria made things sound sharper than they should.

It was actually smaller than you thought. But certainly a lot of space for a person living alone. “How many bedrooms?” You unbuckle your seat and climb out of the car. The air feels refreshing against the hot skin of your face. You could feel the vessels throbbing beneath from the body’s processing of the ingested alcohol. You make sure to close the door all the way and follow after her.

Her keys have a keychain attached to it: a Sonny Angel with a frog hat. And he’s wearing a green shirt and some jeans. “Three beds, one full bath, one half bath.” She says. “It’s expensive, but I can afford it. And one of the bedrooms is…well, you’ll see.” When she looks back at you, it’s teasing. The corner of her mouth is curled into one of her charming smirks. The kind that also became a popular meme to use online. “The other is a guest bedroom. Because you never know when someone’s going to stay the night.”

“So…does that mean your parents drop in often?”

“Yes.” The door clicks and she pushes the door open. “Hi~” Her voice is suddenly a pitch higher.

When you step into the house and close the door behind you, you see why. A gray tabby cat nuzzles up against Tashi’s leg, mewling. It suddenly jumps, trying to climb up her pants. You remove your shoes, setting them to the side so they aren't in the way of the door. And you make sure to lock the front door. “Who’s this?” You ask.

“I named her K.C.” Tashi gently pries the cat off of her pants and holds her.

“After your character on that spy sitcom?”

“Yes. Precisely.” Her nails scratch K.C.’s chin and there’s a purr in response. “She’s a little troublemaker. But she followed me home one day after I went out to eat. No one came to claim her, so now she’s my cat.”

You take a few steps closer to her and put your finger out. K.C. sniffs the offered finger and nuzzles her nose against it. “How old is she?”

“Around six months. She followed me home when she was only eight weeks old.” Tashi bends down to set the cat down. You follow the director into the kitchen, taking in the decorations after your eyes adjust to the sudden turning on of the soft lights. You’re not surprised to find plenty of movie posters on the wall, including one of Amélie and Tampopo. Which was smart. Putting the movie about food in the kitchen certainly made the hunger return.

Tashi quickly fills her bowl with some kibble, wet food, and a little bit of bone broth. She sets it down and K.C. immediately begins to eat. “Kittens. They always eat like they were never fed.” You joke.

“There was a time she literally ate my toast.” Tashi slowly plucks the rings off her fingers and washes her hands. They move so delicately. Covered in a thick layer of suds. Her scrubbing beneath her fingernails. The water washes away the soap and she turns off the faucet, drying her hands. The towel gets between her fingers. Her fingers. Her long fingers. She slides the rings back on. “She jumped up and just took my toast out of my fingers. And it had grape jelly on it—”

“Wait. You eat grape jelly?” You knew no one that actually liked grape jelly. Aside from your grandfather and younger brother.

Tashi rolls her eyes. “I prefer raspberry. But a friend got me an artisanal grape jelly when he visited the farmer’s market. Said it’d be good to try it. And it was good. I just prefer raspberry. The tartness balances better with the sugar.” She begins walking and when she looks back at you, you know what she’s saying.

Follow me.

Your feet carry you and you can faintly smell the lingering notes of her perfume. Tashi turns the hallway light on and then opens a door off to the side. She flicks the light switch on and the room is filled with a warm light. You stand in the door while she goes over to the desk and leans against it, arms crossed over her chest.

You’re taken in by the boxes in the corner, stacked. There’s an easel by the window. Multiple sheets of paper were taped onto the wall. There’s a board with more sheets of paper pinned to it. It definitely feels like an artist’s studio, a stark contrast to the reality of Tashi Duncan as a filmmaker.

“So you’re artsy?” You ask.

“You could say that.” She cocks her head to the side. “You can come in, you know.”

“Yeah…I’m afraid I might set this place on fire.” A nervous chuckle escapes you. It’s utterly gorgeous. And some of the pieces on the wall take your breath away. Gorgeous. Vibrant. Full of color and with gorgeous shading. There’s some photographs tapped around the room too. Mostly landscapes and settings. One collection is just a room at different angles.

“You won’t. Just come take a look. These are my storyboards.”

“...Huh!”

Your jaw practically dropped.

These were Tashi Duncan’s storyboards?

This was on a similar level to Ridley Scott. That was kind of mindblowing. “Y-Your storyboards?”

“I just have a really tedious process.” Tashi uncrosses her arms and rests them between her thighs. “It’s a little…frustrating. But it really helps get the images out of my head and onto something tangible. And if it doesn’t look like what I actually want it to, then I am still satisfied anyways because my vision was fulfilled.”

Your step is gentle and you walk over to the board first. This was clearly the storyboard with guidelines and vague shapes to indicate lighting and shadows. It was clear to see that Tashi’s strong suit was perspective. Your eyes slowly move to the big paper taped to the wall. A woman looking up. The light is shining down while the background is bathed in a dark blue light. Blood covers her mouth and drips down her chin and neck. The neckline of her dress is red, soaked from blood. And…

“She kind of looks like me.”

Tashi purses her lips. “Yeah.” She lets out a small laugh. “It just came to me in a dream.”

You look back at her, smiling. “It’s funny how dreams work, huh? The kind of people our subconscious recognizes and puts together. Which reminds me. I think you should maybe lean more into psychoanalysis for your movie. I know the idea of id, ego, and superego is overdone and may be boring…but I think there would be something interesting in presenting your three primary characters in that way. It never gets old. And honestly, psychoanalytical readings are never not trendy.”

“That’s actually an amazing suggestion.” Tashi licks her lips. You fail to notice her eyes trailing down your back.

“I’m happy you think so. I think a lot of film scholars would just go crazy over it.” You look at her. “Also, where’s the bathroom?”

“Down the hall to your right. It has a peacock on the door.”

“Got it. I’ll be back. I just had a lot of sangria.”

Tashi watches you leave. And she turns back to her desk, collecting the photos together and putting them in a neat pile. Pictures of you. Some of them were stills. Some your headshots. Others from your Instagram account. She opens the drawer and lifts up a manila folder and sketchbook, shoving the photos beneath. The drawer slams shut and she opens another drawer off the side, pulling out some more books.

She hears the sound of the toilet flushing and then the running water of the sink. You come back within three minutes, hands dried and rubbing lotion into your skin. “Where’d you get the lotion in the bathroom?”

“Costco.”

“Damn. That’s hot.”

You realize what you just said.

“I-I mean…it’s hot that you have a Costco membership!”

Tashi can’t help but laugh. “I would say the same to someone. Do you want something to drink? Some tea? Or maybe some water?”

“I think water would be good.”

“Be right back.” When Tashi leaves the room, her clothes brush against you. You feel the goosebumps forming over your arm. And there’s her perfume. It was addictive.

You decide to walk around the room, taking in the storyboards more. You don’t dare touch the boxes, despite the urge to look. There’s something else that satiates your curiosity: the books on the desk. You pick one up and carefully open it to a random page. It’s some sketches. You recognize one of the sketches as actor and producer Art Donaldson. You forgot that he was in Tashi’s second film, on top of producing it.

“Like them?”

You nearly jump, slamming the book closed. Tashi walks over and sets a mug of water on the desk. She hands you the other one and you take it. There are flowers on it. “Sorry. I was just looking—”

“It’s fine. You’re already in here. You might as well look.” Tashi shrugs.

“You’re like…amazing!”

“It took a lot of practice.” Tashi grabs the more run down book and flips it open. You purse your lips to stifle a laugh. “It’s okay, you know. We all start somewhere. Besides, Rian Johnson’s storyboards look the same. And this was my first time directing.”

Tashi Duncan’s directorial debut. Inside Audrey Horne.

“You’re right. I mean if it gets the job done…what’s the point in arguing?” You take a sip of the cold water. “So you practiced and now…you just do full on art pieces?”

“I like experimenting with color.” She shrugs. “And naturally if I am taking inspiration from Dario Argento and technicolor, then it’s best to figure out what colors mesh well.”

“So what do you use?”

“Pastels. I like my drawings to look smooth.”

“You do have a way with color.” Your eyes keep going back to the big drawing on the wall, of your lookalike staring up at something in both awe and horror. “I’m guessing that’s the scene of when I cannibalize my former castmate?”

“It is. I have a specific idea of what that shot would look like.” Tashi takes a sip, her brown eyes watching your body language. You’re at ease. You’re relaxed. You’re in the mood for chatter and to hear more, like the film nerd that you were. “So…do you have anything else you want to add?”

“I mean…your script is solid. And seeing what you intend to make just…it’s awesome to see what your vision is.”

Even though Tashi said she didn’t want a yes man, she still liked getting praise. It was necessary to know what she was doing right and how to keep it right. But hearing it from you was different. It was more special. So she decides to prompt you.

“Tell me what’s on your mind.”

[jmdbjk]

Fan service

Just going through my 5GBs/800 images and vids in (just) my Jikook folder and noticed a lot... A LOT of fan service type images and stuff. Staggering. The amount of thoughtfulness and preparation Jungkook and Jimin have done for us through the years, sacrificing themselves all in the name of fan service...

Like this obviously staged and scripted reaction from Jungkook, sitting there waiting for Jimin to show up in comments:

Actually, go look at almost any of JK's lives and see him performing flawlessly. The timing is impeccable, how he spots Jimin's comments is 🔥 level reflexes.

This ultimate fan service live when Jungkook set up an hour and a half of fan servicing about Jimin:

Of course the fan service has been going on for YEARS...

This fleeting moment that someone snapped for fan service:

Was it Tae or Hobi that snapped the pic? We'll never know, they didn't bother to take a pic of themselves during this gorgeous sunset with either of these guys because... it was only for fan service.

And this random Instragram person who was in on the fan service agenda, and JK with the eagle eyes finding it amongst the 100s of 1000s of questions/comments:

I wonder if maybe he telepathed some questions out to the universe so these people from all over the place would know what to ask/say, like secret code shit?

And H.E.R. doing her part in fan service, its great to have willing participants for your fan service agenda:

I bet she's done this before too.

And of course this ultimate, elaborate and expensive fan service weekend getaway... anything for the fans:

The best part about it is, Jungkook didn't tell Jimin he was filming all this for fan service. Made him stay in a hotel room with no privacy in the bathroom in a hotel that caters to couples... the lengths... the sacrifices... bless them.

And here they are again, the never ending fan service, so tiring:

I bet they staged the entire Jack in the Box listening party just for jikook fan service. I wouldn't be surprised. Rented out the top floor of the HYBE building, catered it, all for fan service.

The general public is in on the fan service too. A random person taking sneaky fan service pics, great timing and teamwork:

And this random person too in on the sneaky fan service agenda, everyone playing their part in the charade:

This was one of many photos from this particular dinner (fake) date with non-celeb friends.

The general public really are the stars of fan service:

Another (fake) restaurant date but this time with other celeb friends.

But the eyes on the back of JK's head seeing his cue for FS? 💀:

How can he see through his hair though? That's my question. Sheer talent! 🔥 🔥 🔥 🔥 🔥

And JK's eyes on his face automatically performing fan service, must be muscle memory or something:

And his hands too, more muscle memory from all that fan service practice:

I can visualize it now... "Jimin, hold still, I need to practice feeling you up, stop squirming, I'm gonna have to use those handcuffs you brought home if you don't stop trying to get away..." um... wait... that went a little too far...

Anyway...

And this pre-planned-the-night-before fan service, they are such professionals always thinking of fan service, practicing, perfecting...I wonder how many times they had to do THIS to get it just right? :

I could say a lot here about "practice makes perfect" but I will refrain...

Hobi going off-script here taking Jimin by surprise... maybe it was something Jimin and Jungkook were practicing for fan service and Hobi almost spilled the beans?

And this ingeniously pre-programed mechanical ear reaction fan service...so clever:

This happy-as-shit-to-be-going-overseas fan service, JK and his fake bouncy happiness, Oscar-worthy. I wonder if they practiced in the car on the way to the airport:

The general public doing that fan service shit again... wonder how much they get paid for this? I want in on it:

Jungkook telling Jimin, "we have to go around a bunch of times to make sure that random person gets it right."

It's never ending, 24/7 fan service with these two. It must be very time consuming to come up with new fan service moments. I wonder what they will show us next?

[please read the tags for heavens sakes]

[velvet-paradox]

Dream

Fandom: Call of Duty Pairing: König x Female reader/Velveteen Summary: 70's porn star! AU <-- that's it… that's the whole thing Length: LONG ( I got carried away & I am NOT sorry) Warnings: NSFW 18+ ONLY, strong language, explicit content, sex work, a little misogyny, tobacco mentions, alcohol consumption, vaginal fingering, blow job mentions, unprotected p in v, creampies, coworkers to lovers, a little somnophilia, heavily detailed smut. ENJOY!!!

You thought it was a dream, surely it was some made up mirage. There was no one and no way someone was calling you this late into the night. But alas, you blinked your blurry eyes open, one at a time, just to be sure your mind wasn't playing a terrible trick on you.

But it was terribly true.

You fumbled your hand around for the receiver, gripping it as if you were about to bash whoever was on the opposite end right in the nose.

"Hullo?" Your tired voice asked, flinging your other hand over your eyes. There was some shuffling and ruffling sounds, someone was shouting in the background and Rhiannon by Fleetwood Mac could be faintly heard through the chaos.

"This better be fucking important."

"Y/N! Oh thank fuck, I need a favor." It was Tammy, your agent sounding frantic as she cursed at someone nearby.

"Now?"

"Yes now! The new girl must've been nervous as shit to film because she showed up fucking trashed, we can't use her." Tammy huffed into the phone. "We're losing time and money!"

"What's that got to do with me, Tam?"

"An I.O.U. I swear I'll make it up to you if you can get your ass up and ready to film. I can get you a car in ten minutes." Tammy was good people, always put you first even if her brash tone and stony glare had others hightailing it out of her office. Sometimes they were crying; men and women.

"Who's shoot is it?" You asked with a huff as you sadly came to the conclusion that you were not going back to bed at 2:45AM. It was a Wednesday night for fucks sake!

"The Colonel." Tammy's voice flinched.

"Seriously?"

"Come on please Y/N, be sweet for me ok? I'll do your laundry for a week… no a month! Dry cleaning too, you name it you got it. Plus," you could hear the click of a lighter followed by a deep inhale, no doubt another cigarette burning between her chapped but painted lips. "I'll even give you a "$300 advance."

"You do know we're not on speaking terms, right?"

Tammy snorted. "What? Since when?"

"Since Going Down in the Valley! He really gave me an earful on how I should've done better and stretched my jaw before coming to set. So I told him in not so many words that I'm not one of his little soldiers that he can boss around. He didn't like that too much."

You said with a sigh, remembering the stern look he gave down his nose, over his entire head covering. His crossed over massive arms and tilted his head with a click of his teeth. He really didn't like it when you mirrored his posture.

"We'll figure it out when you get here, yeah? For me please, Y/N? You know your my best girl and honestly you're really the only one who can thoroughly handle him." Tammy swindled her way into your veins and answer.

It was tempting. A little too tempting as you weighed your options. Rent was due, the fridge was a little lacking, you needed gas…

She practically squealed with delight as you agreed to the offer, hanging up the phone to take a quick shower and grab your to-go bag before the car arrived.

….

Once on the set, or what was today's mansion and master bedroom of choice, Tammy had rushed up to you with a make-up bag and a flash-in-the-pan hug. She thrusted the two page script to your chest. After curling your lashes and sweeping on some gloss, you slipped into the slinky dress as you went over the obscure dialogue. It was something different. Something soft and sweet.

A couples anniversary, some heavy petting on the ride home, taunts of playfulness. Intrigue. Lust.

Not the rough stuff you were used to when it came to shooting with The Colonel.

Your strappy heels clicked along the freshly polished floors, boom mics and camera men moved around you like puffs of smoke, Tammy who was indeed smoking was frustrated with the lighting.

You paused when you saw him.

König was dressed in a nice and well tailored suit, the jacket held his bulky arms tightly, the button down was checkered and stretched to the very last thread. He looked good. Even though you were giving him the silent treatment as of late, you could appreciate fine art when you saw it.

Your body thrummed when König adjusted his signature face covering hood, messing with the hem before he turned around and saw you for the first time.

You opened your mouth to say something when the bigger, much bigger man spoke.

"Oh no. No no. Nein nein nein!" The Colonel threw up his hands and headed for the master bedroom door.

"Colonel, wait." Tammy shouted, tossing her cigarette into the sink with sizzle, chasing after him and touching his forearm.

"I am not doing a scene with her again." He stated and pointed down at the feather haired agent, he did give you another look though before tearing his arm out of her grip. "Not until she apologizes."

"Well nice to see you too, sir." You snorted and leaned against the built in vanity, fluffing your hair a bit more, fixing your necklace.

"Watch it!"

Tammy put her hands up between the pair of you, the frames of her glasses slipping down the slope of her button nose. You looked up at your co-star, with a head tilt of your own.

"Come on you two, what happened to your chemistry? You guys made us all fucking rich when we shot Tits For That! Can't you put whatever the hell you've got goin' on on the back burner to make some dough?" Tammy made the money gesture with her two fingers in your face. "Who doesn't like money? Think of how much fun we had shooting Bunker Bunny 7!"

"I refuse to work with such a petulant little brat like Velveteen." He huffed, the mask billowing slightly. "You're mature enough to get railed on film but not apologize? Make sense, bitte!"

"Oh, here we go." You sighed and rolled your eyes, truly one of the only things König couldn't stomach unless he was fucking the brat or sass out of someone.

"Can't you two please be adults?"

"So I gagged a little too hard, big deal?! You have women choking on that thing twice a week but oh no, I do it once and make it sloppy and suddenly I'm the only one being scolded." You snarked, a few of the crew members made a noise and moved out of view. König scoffed and Tammy put her head in her hands, thumbs going to ease the headache you two were throwing at her.

"I did not scold you. I tried to help you and you then spat on my boots remember? Real mature."

"Too bad."

"Children! Please, we're not getting any younger and we're losing time here. Can you both please just try and get along so we can get this done and go home."

"I was at home." You made a face and then apologized to Tam, it wasn't her fault.

….

Elise, Tammy's older sister with the fresh haircut and extra long shiny nails, who had started her career on the same side as you only a few short years ago, was now the director. You could hear her calling out positions, where was her coffee? And where on Earth did that cat come from?!

You stood on the landing with König , waiting for your turn to enter the scene and get it over with when you felt his hand on your shoulder.

"Yes?"

"You truly are stubborn you know that, ja?"

"Seriously?" You ground your teeth and seethed behind them, even more so when he gave your arm a squeeze and a little drag closer to him.

"Why are you so upset with me when you're the one who put us in this mess in the first place! All I did was mention something to you."

You scoffed and looked up at in his suit, now with the jacket on.

"Seriously? You pretty much told me I don't know what I'm doing and then proceeded to give me a play-by-play of how to suck dick. I know what I'm doing and I've had no complaints. You've seen my work and we've been co-stars more than a few times by now. Plus, you're the one who made the scene out there just now, not me!" You snapped and fixed the strap of your dress in annoyance.

"I was not telling you what to do, my dear. I only gave you but a few pointers."

"Pointers? I think I'm good thanks."

"I know you know what you're doing but--"

"But what, big guy?"

"I was not instructing you on how to suck cock," König shifted and took his hand away, instead he put in his front slack pocket like the other. "You are perfectly capable and quite good at it. I was instructing into you how I'd like you to perform on me. Specifically."

"What?"

"I don't care how those other women suck me off. I don't care for them. I do however care about you and if were not so stubborn you might have noticed that by now, hmm."

Well that was certainly news to you.

"If you weren't scolding me-- wait." Bells and whistles were soon going off in your head, ringing in your ears that he had some sort of affection, attachment to you. Yes you had chemistry, yes you two got along, yes you two… then it it hit like a car crash dummy. "Oh… oh no."

"Oh ja. That's what I've been trying to explain to you, my dear but you are so incredibly particular, you just wanted to be sassy about it. So I let you. Actions have consequences you know?" König's voice held a lilt to it, as if he had the audacity to be smiling under that hood.

"Oh this is embarrassing."

"Not as embarrassing as you still not apologizing."

You shrugged your shoulders, turned and took his hands in yours. "I'm sorry Colonel. I thought you were giving me shit and telling me I couldn't do my job."

You thought back to that mid-afternoon shoot. On your knees, mouthful and panties wet. König had been moving your head around while he fucked your throat, telling you this and that, how to make him feel good. He wanted you to make him feel good.

You felt guilty now. For two weeks of feeling like shit and taking on roles so you wouldn't have to think about fighting with The Colonel and here it was all a misunderstanding. Your fault.

"You are forgiven, my dear." König said with a smile in his voice, squeezing your hands as you could hear Elise call out that they were ready for you.

"Well if that's the case," you squeeze his hand through his pocket. "I better make this worth it."

"You always do." König chuckled.

….

He destroyed you.

It was strange at first, this soft version of König - you didn't know he had it in him.

With his ex-military background (and Lord knows what he's done or seen!) he was a stickler for routine - order. It made things simple. A blowjob or a sloppy handy, sometimes both because The Colonel literally packs a punch. Girth alone made you feel stuffed. It wasn't until he got the pace down, touched the inside of your knee, moved the silk hem of your dress and thrusted into you. All in one go. His thick fingers had prepped you quite nicely, just like usual.

You got a thumbs up from Elise to get louder, greedier - hungrier for the Austrian inside you, which wasn't hard at all if you were being honest and you had promised to make up your communication error worth it.

A shout of his name, scratching your nails down his thick back had him grunting and fucking down into you harder and faster. Little tears and black dots tickled the corners of your eyes.

"You're so fucking deep!" You sobbed into his bicep, taking a chunk of his soft and conditioned muscle into your mouth.

"You like it that way, no? I can always go deeper, my dear. How would you like that, then?"

"Deeper?" You played your roles well, creasing your brow, biting your lip as if you were truly his innocent wife.

Through the hood you could see how blue eyes darken, a smile in his tone. "Deeper."

He pulled himself out of your sex, thick cock coated in your arousal. Just the sight of him, sparse and glistening pubic hair with you, made you bite your lip. He flipped you over, knew the right angle for the camera and gave your ass a hard spank. It echoed through the bedroom. The noise you made sounded painful but in reality, to be under König's hand, his touch, his body, his musk made it feel like a kiss.

"Say you're ready for me, princess. Say your ready for your Colonel to fuck you nice and deep." He cooed and taunted from behind you, hoisting up your lower half, massaging your cheeks, slapping his length against your pussy.

You looked at him over your shoulder, all blissed out eyes and spit slicked lips. "I'm ready for you Colonel."

Good thing he pushed your head down into the fluffy pillows to muffle your shouts of pleasure because in between the cries for him fucking you, the angle of your hips, how deep he was hitting that spot only König could seem to reach… you whined his name.

His real name. ….

It wasn't the first time you'd let König slip from your lips; only difference was you were always alone when you said it. Not in a room full of boom mics and camera men.

After you finished the shoot and pulled on warm terry cloth robe, thanks to Tammy, you made your way into the master bath to clean up. As you lifted your leg and planted your foot on a very ornate and well cared for clawfoot tub, what remained of König's spend dripping out and down your thigh, the door suddenly opened.

"Just a minute God dammit!"

" 's just me," König announced, slipping into the spacious room. Without a care in the world he sauntered past you to take a piss.

"Really?" You guffawed and turned away, grabbing a fresh washcloth from the ring rack, wetting it.

He snorted. "I quite literally just came inside of you, my dear. This is nothing." He finished, flushed and sat down on the toilet, a robe of his own draped over his shoulders.

"Are you planning on watching me clean you out, or what?"

"I thought you were apologizing, princess. Taking up an attitude like this won't do."

You sighed and tossed the cum rag into the hamper. He'd crossed his arms over his chest and for a split second he looked tiny, cute. "How can I make it better?"

"Take me out to dinner."

"What?"

"We both need to eat. Especially after all that."

"König it's like 4 in the morning."

"So what? Take me to breakfast then."

You scoffed but the look in his eyes and body language, the tilt of his head and little tap taps of his feet on the linoleum floor, meant he was quite serious.

As serious as he was about French toast and runny eggs it seemed as well. You'd done a lot of things with the giant sitting across from you at some hole in the wall diner but eating together was not one of them.

….

Roller Sluts 5.

The cover screams, begs, cries for your attention. Not because it's naughty or too risqué to be in the back of a video store in the ADULTS ONLY XXX section and certainly not because it's number five in a roller rink sex fest. Oh no. It's because it's you on the cover.

Tam had set up the photoshoot months ago, helping her go over the negatives in her luxury home in the sprawling green hills. Laying on your stomach, bare feet and legs kicking as you got your pick for your first solo cover. Usually there were other girls with you, a compilation of arms and legs, flirty glances to the camera or to each other.

You smiled as you mentally gave yourself a little gold star for picking the right image of Velveteen.

A deep navy backless halter top, white trimmed short shorts, knee high ribbed socks and glittering roller skates. You looked almost innocent on the cover, looking over your shoulder as you bent over just enough to show a little cheek, a wink on your face and coy smile.

You were the main attraction of the nudie film, saved the best for last to get railed in. A burly and handsome, devil may care Scotsman by the simple name of Soap (you knew him quite well to call him by his birth name) had cored you out in the Arcade area. You were meant to play Space Invaders when Johnny makes his debut, eating you out from behind, fingering your ass a little before destroying you and your score.

Someone clears their throat, bringing back to the store, out of the fun spring shoot.

A young man, no more than 23 with a soul patch came around the corner, nodding towards the VHS in your palm.

"Are you Velveteen? Like the Velveteen?" The kid stuttered, coming closer and cautiously.

"In the flesh." You smirked and put back the tape.

"Holy balls!" He exclaimed and rushed to shake your hand, his bright eyes never leaving your face. "My friends' are never gonna' believe this. I'm a big fan, I've like, like I've seen everything you've done."

Patchy over here damn near shook your hand clean off before wiping his brow and palms on his jeans. "My pop is gonna' be so pissed he didn't wanna' drive me today!"

"Another big fan I take it?"

"He's the one who showed me Carnal Car Trouble!"

Your third film; your first shoot with König.

Fuck you were so nervous. Intimidated wasn't even close, especially when you met him in person after watching and studying his legit, dirty work for a week. He was big all over. His thighs were the size of a solid tree trunk, waist trim with a deep Adonis cut. His hands, in those tactical gloves, fixing your car under the hood before you were to repay him with what you had that wasn't in your wallet.

That first stretch of his cock was immense, even if it was already slick and covered in your spit. You still felt König 36 hours after that, your scalp was on fire and your make-up was completely ruined by the end of the night.

You autographed a copy of Carnal Car Trouble, made out to the kids' father before leaving the backrooms empty handed. Though you did stop at the door, recognizing König, Soap and another beefcake porn star named Ghost on the cover of a magazine. You hadn't worked with him yet but the way Johnny gushed over the guy, you felt like you knew him well.

….

Tammy called a few days later, another shoot, another idea. She even mentioned that Elise wants to do an actual photospread for Playboy! Not the centerfold the girls you worked with and lived with strived for, no, but a shoot for the team would be bring big bucks and more eyes on Velveteen.

With your head in the clouds, excited and nervous to be in an actual magazine a car honked and stopped you from roller skating down the sidewalk. You turned to see a familiar green Jeep.

With a smile and push off from the curb you rolled your way over to the passenger door, watching the glass disappear as König rolled the window down.

You rested your arms on the frame, ducking your head inside just a bit. "Sorry; you can't afford me, old man."

"Ha ha," König rolled his eyes and that's when you noticed his attire. He wore a nice all black suit and jacket, a forest green silk tie somehow fit around his neck. He looked good. He smelled good, too.

"Got a hot date or what?" The fact that he might be made a stone form in your gut.

"Actually I was looking for you." He admitted as your eyebrows rose.

"For moi?"

"Für dich. Tammy wants to see you. ASAP."

"I just talked to her a few days ago."

"Something important came up I guess. Hop in, cutie."

You snorted at his little pet names, used to them and quietly seeking them out, geeking over how they made you feel and climbed in, taking his hand so you wouldn't slip on your skates. He let you mess around with the radio while he drove, a couple of times you'd catch him tapping his fingers against the wheel.

König really big Bowie was a pleasant surprise.

"You did it!" Tam practically screamed, running around her living room, smoke following her as she circled her desk for the third time as you and The Colonel looked at like a chicken with its' head cut off, which is exactly what she looked like.

"We're gonna' be stinkin' rich!" Tam laughed maniacally while you The Colonel exchanged bamboozled looks.

"What's going on?"

"What's going on, she asks! Oh honey bee I got off the phone with the boss, the head honcho downtown and your films are flying off the shelves! Did you really sign a copy for some punk?"

"Oh. Yeah that was weeks ago."

"Which one?" König asked, curiously crossing his arms behind himself. At ease.

"Carnal Car Trouble."

You didn't miss the way his body jerked when you answered.

"Well thank fuck for that because you're all anyone is talking about and the big boss is giving you your first starring role," Tammy held the cigarette between her teeth and snatched a scribbled down note on the back of coffee ring stained napkin.

Velveteen Dream.

"None of that straight to video shit for you hon," Tam proudly looked at you, proud of her number one fuck doll. "You're name will be front and center on the marquee. You're going to be in theaters baby!"

Your name in lights.

"You did it kid," König gave you a side hug, affection outside of work felt strange but good. He was proud of you too.

"Do it with me."

"What?"

"Be my on screen." You looked up at him, hopeful - begging. You trusted him the most, with or without clothes. He looked between Tam, who gave him shrug, without so many words saying he could if he wanted to and then back to you.

"If you say so."

….

The theatre was packed, not an empty seat in the whole place! Chatter and laughter bounced off the emerald embossed walls, some people (other than you, The Colonel, Tam and Elise of course) had dressed up. Some fans had spotted you and König right away, he's hard to miss when he can see over everyone like some sort of surveillance up there.

The shower scene left some of the audience breathless. You could hear it in the room. König gave your knee a squeeze, before he moved it back to his own you stopped him and kept it there. You needed extra grounding, watching yourself for the first time on the big screen.

Everyone can see your pleading face, your desperately wiggling in The Colonel's big strong hands, your fingers flex in his grip. He holds them above your head with one hand, covered in soapy suds and running water while the other is finding that perfect, spongy patch inside your gummy pussy.

"Oh fuck yeah!" Your voice echoes, making you clench around nothing as you remember the exact feeling. "Keep fucking me with your fingers, big guy. I want you to make me cum."

You look a fucking mess as you blush, watching yourself crumble as König turned a bit to show off how hard he was, the curve of his naked ass got a few women to holler at the screen. Everyone laughed. He had lifted your leg then, over his thick forearm to change the angle. The camera getting a full look at your trimmed bush, how fast and how deep The Colonel was finger fucking you to a sobbing climax.

The kitchen scene was loved by all. You didn't think you would get aroused from watching yourself and König, it was a job but… something about seeing it from an outsiders view made it seem more real. You could see how he looked at you, how thoughtful he was in gathering up your hair as you swallowed him down your throat there at the kitchen table. You had remembered to stretch your jaw this time. Spit was everywhere, your eyes looked so pretty all mascara streaked. You dug your nails into his naked thighs, dragging them towards his knees as you took his cock a little further.

"Look at you, my dear, so greedy for cock, ja? You'll take it wherever you can get it, hmmm? I like you like this, pliant and useful just like that body of yours. I am going to ruin you."

And he did.

That kitchen table didn't stand a chance, it shook and creaked, and begged for as much mercy as you did getting fucked on top of it. He's propped your leg up in an L shape on the wood, holding on your hip as he pounded you out. That grip he held on the back of your neck, facing the camera as you whined and grabbed at the tablecloth. He hadn't seen it then in the moment but as you looked at the screen, staring at yourself you licked your lips and smiled at the camera.

König squeezed your leg again when he saw it.

The main event was coming and the tension and squirming in the auditorium was intense, the room was hot and you were fairly certain the couple behind you was doing more than just watching the screen.

The bedroom is dark, just a table lamp is on casting shadows all over the screen and all the viewer can see is König's big, muscular back, a white sheet covering his lower half and his hand is moving back and forth. One might think he was just on display jerking off but it's not until the camera moved to show you there, on your side asleep as he groped over your tits, squeezing them, playing and tugging at your nipples as you slept. The crowd made an audible gasp.

"Just so pretty when you sleep," The Colonel announces, breathless as he moved his hand down your body, taking his time in spreading your legs, showing God and everyone your cunt. "So soft and loose, fuck you're wet even in your sleep, just gonna'--" The noise he made when he easily slid his middle finger inside you. You licked your lips as you watched him finger you, his ring finger joined the party and the thick pad of his thumb pressed down on your clit. You jumped in your "sleep", a few women behind in front of you gasped and turned around to look at you with cheesy grins.

"Takes my fingers so well, gotta' prep this cute little hole for my fat cock, right? Can't core you out without doing some work first." König groaned when he pulled his fingers out, wet and glossy with your juices. You moaned quietly and moved your legs further apart as he started to lift your leg, stopping for a moment as he waited for you to settle back into "sleep".

He kept your leg up, holding it softly, gently rubbing his mask to the back of your head before rocking his leaking cock between your folds, gathering up more and more of your arousal as lube.

"Good girl, stay sleeping… I'm just gonna' ease right into this pussy. My favorite pussy, ja. Nothing like it, fuck." The Colonel admitted on screen as he pushed himself into you.

König fucked you slow and steady, the drag of his cock inside you was full and at times overwhelming but he know how to treat you and your body, you had never gotten off as thoroughly with another co-star or partner than with the big ex-KorTac operator next to you.

He had moved your leg a little higher then, showing the camera how good you could take his size. Watching it disappear inside you, rocking back and forth as his large hand separates your labia, touching what's left of his shaft as he groans in your ear.

Suddenly your eyes blink open and you gasp, looking back at him.

"What… What are you doing?"

"Shhh baby it's okay, go back to sleep okay?" The Colonel grunts and attempted to close your eyes but you're "waking up" now and getting fidgety.

"Do you do this a lot? Do you fuck me in my sleep?"

König paused to look down at you. "Nein. This isn't the first time."

"That's so… that is so fucking hot." You moan and loop your arm around his neck, looking at him drowsily and kissing his mask. "You fucking me while I'm unconscious, using my body. Do I cum?"

The Colonel grabbed you tight, rolling you onto your back, hovering over your naked body. This looks like watching a couple on film versus just two actors but you must be doing something right.

"Oh baby you cum so hard and it feels so good, like your body just knows what to do, milks my cocks dry."

"You cum inside me too?"

"Every time."

"No wonder I'm sticky when I wake up sometimes."

"Can't help it, this pussy was made for me."

It sounded like an admission, like König meant it. It made you feel hot as you continued watching yourself fuck on the screen. It's not until he leans over in his seat do you realize you're holding your breath.

"I didn't lie about that part."

Startled, as if he read your mind you look over at him and when the shot changes to show you now in his lap, legs wrapped around his waist, his thick hands under your ass lifting you up and down his cock, moaning loudly and holding his masked face to your chest do you look down and see the bulge in his slacks.

His eyes are locked on yours, your bodies moving on the screen are the last thing you're worried about at the moment. Because you're thinking the exact same thing.

….

"Fuck me you feel so fucking good. How do you feel this good all the time? Fuckin' magical pussy I swear!" König admitted once he was balls deep, taking your hand as you snuck out of the theater and into one of the private bathrooms. You couldn't get your dress hiked up fast enough, your panties to the side, bent over the sink. Getting railed for the first time without a camera present had you both feral.

You barely got to taste his pre-cum before he had lifted his hood for the first time, ever, and kissed you hard and fast on the mouth. You whined and held onto his heavy arms, pulling your body into his. Your breasts pilled out over the silk slip you wore for the evening, looking frantic into the mirror in front of you both.

"You're so fucking thick baby, you fill me up so good."

"Oh ja? You like being a greedy little toy for me don't you? You are so fucking juicy."

You hung your head then, moaning his name and getting dragged back and forth on his cock. This was more sensual of course because you weren't being watched with eager eyes, this was just for you two. König reached between your legs once he kicked them apart a little further and lightly, at first, rubbed your clit in little circles, pressing down on the hood of it, pinching it between two fingers, rolling it until you cried and fucked back on him. It was swollen and sensitive, edged while watching your first major picture was unexpected but this… holy fuck, this was worth it.

Even more so when he grabbed a handful of your hair to make you look at him rail you in the bathroom mirror.

"I want you to cum. I want you to look at me as you do it, I need to know--"

"It's for you, König I swear. Just give it to me a little harder. Just like that!"

He slapped your ass and held onto your hips until you couldn't take it anymore, the build up was too much, the little glances here and there, the lingering touches, the easiness - the trust.

You came suddenly with a shudder, your legs jerking as he was close to follow after you, spilling his cum, rope after rope. Warmth filled your entire body and even though you'd just climaxed with your co-star, your previous work could be heard through the walls.

You both locked eyes and laughed in the mirror.

Tagging: @nexthyperfix @konig-breedme @the-con-she-called-conscience @littlelovebug98 @mafer383 @synnersaint

[weather-mood]

A Mini Rec List Medley

For this year’s meal to remember event by @iwtvfanevents, a medley of twelve themed mini rec lists ranging from ‘Car Guy Daniel’ to ‘Dyke Loumand Supremacy’

Trying to more or less stick to newer fics that I didn’t list during my last years’s meal to remember lists (loumand bingo and canon compliant recs) but there are some repetitions!

Recent Claudia

the hour of lead (M) by @dictee

The Night After (T) by @wouriqueen

Amber (M) and Forge (M) by @nlbv

Wolfkiller (M) by @iwtvdramacd18

cursed / blessed (M) by @enterprisery

I’m normal and fine about biblical references and imagery I swear

the golden calf (M) by @devotiondroid

rapture (E) by baberainbow

Leslou that had me saying ‘oh my God’ out loud

Perfect (E) by Anonymous

Exposure (E) by @iwtvdramacd18

All Things in One (E) by @nakiaslilhoodoo

Works that first sold me on a pairing and a recent gem

Danlou: nothing left to give you now (E) and i'll let you win (E) by @diasdelasombra

Loumand: dirges (E) by @dictee and Keep me Humming (T) by @meastyeyes

Lesmand: Humble Through Hunger (E) by @iwtvdramacd18 and bruise pristine (E) by @knifeeater

Nickimand: To Pluck Gently at Strings (M) by @iwtvdramacd18 and sīc. (E) by @salmoncakepls

Car Guy Daniel

rocket man (M) by @keithal

long live the car crash hearts (M) by @keepoffthetardis

Bonus: Somewhere in Portugal, September 1975 (M, chapter 32, little kidnaps) by @diasdelasombra

Fairytale and Fantasy AUs

rhododendron by @blueiight

Allude me, Pursue me, Consume me (E) by @salmoncakepls

Lunacy (E) by @iwtvdramacd18

Dyke Loumand Supremacy

Snow in the Champagne (E) by @nakiaslilhoodoo

i am amazed by peace (E) by @dictee

Lives rent free in my head

in a lonely place (M) by @devotiondroid

Yawning, Terrible Voids (M) by @iwtvdramacd18

in the delta breeze [dare to breathe] (T) by @blueiight

cleave / tie (E) @kittyldpdl

*Octavia Butler voice* symbiosis is deeply sexy

coalescence (M) by @enterprisery

Body Open as a Wound (E) by @feedingicetothedog

He's inside me, he takes out my insides, he sews me up (M) by @salmoncakepls

Alluvium (E) by @knifeeater

Fluff! Time for some fluff!

Warmth (M) by @nakiaslilhoodoo

The Indwelling-Place of Love (E) by @thelioncourts

I saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus (T) by @meastyeyes

Yellow (T) by @dlsintegration

Sexual Immorality (E) by @blacclotusss

Creative uses and mixes of formats!

Théâtre Revue (T) by @sygoflyy (Human Actor AU, magazine article format)

Design;Intricate (E) by @salmoncakepls (Android AU, hidden pages, codes, and links)

the first interview (E) by @kittyldpdl (scripts)

reply by baberainbow (emails)

Longer fic and current wips my beloved

a holy love (E, Crime Boss AU, Complete) by @shewhomustbecalledking

like a heathen clung to the homily (E, Sex Club AU, WIP) by @thelioncourts

overlords (E, Murder Mystery AU, WIP) by @diasdelasombra and @shewhomustbecalledking

before death (M, Afterlife AU, WIP) by @dwreader

Capillary (E, Phantom Thread AU, WIP) by @salmoncakepls and @kittyldpdl

Wrath of the Lamb (E, Hannibal AU, WIP) by @iwtvdramacd18 and @kittyldpdl

[winchesterdreamgirl88]

Famous In Love

Pairing: Jensen Ackles x Reader

Warnings: So much freaking fluff!! Bf/n= Best friends name

Summary: This takes place in an AU where Jensen isn't with Danneel and is just a normal actor in Hollywood, and Y/n hears about an open casting call for a movie and goes to read for the part meets Jensen and things go from there:)

Word count:1.7k

A/n: I loved this show when it first came out so I figured I would try writing a story based on the pilot of this show. The pilot for this show gets all the credit!

"Come on Y/n this would be so fun to try. You never take any risks why not try this one." Bf/n was saying as you were walking down the street passing a billboard for an open call audition for some movie.

"No Bf/n you know that's just a publicity stunt. They're never gonna take some ordinary person like me. Besides I'm not pretty enough or good enough to ever be in a movie." You said as you stopped to think about how unlucky your life has been.

First your parents kicked you out at the age of 16 and you lived in your car while you worked a full time and part time job to afford rent. Then when you finally got settled in your new apartment it flooded and you had lost everything. You were 21 now and life was not looking to get any better. Luckily you had met Bf/n at work and she let you move in with her and you guys became inseparable.

"Please just do this one thing for me and if it turns out to be a disaster I'll do your laundry for a whole month. We'll go buy new clothes and go in there and nail this audition."

"Okay I guess we can give it a shot." You said finally giving in and letting her drag you to stores to pick out outfits.

Two days later you and Bf/n were sitting in a casting room waiting to audition. You were nervous but you didn't have high hopes. Expect disappointment and you'll never be disappointed. It was your friends turn to go audition and you wished her good luck as she disappeared down the hall. After about 10 minutes she came back with a smile on her face.

"So how'd it go?" You said interested to know what was gonna happen.

"It went alright, I definitely don't think I'll get the part but there was the most handsome man in the room watching me audition. I swear I forgot every single line because he was just so distracting."

Bf/n has always been super boy crazy so you didn't think anything of her mentioning another random guy she found cute. After about 10 minutes your name was called and you start to walk down the hall towards the audition room. Expect disappointment and you won't be disappointed you kept saying to yourself as you walked down the hall. You took a deep breathe before entering the room. When you entered the room you lock eyes with the most gorgeous pair of green eyes with a hint of brown you have ever seen.

Jensen's POV

I had been at auditions for only a few hours and I was already over everyone who had come and seemed to think it was a game or didn't really seem to try and care about what was happening. I started zoning out through most of the auditions because no one had that special spark that made me feel anything. Suddenly I hear the door open again and it's the last audition of the day, I lift my head up and look over at the door and see the most beautiful girl I have ever seen.

Reader POV

Your breathe got caught in your throat as you made eye contact with a man who looked to be about 25 years old. He had a very faint beard that you could only see in the light. You took a moment to breathe and then cleared your throat.

"Hi, my name is Y/n and I'm here to read for the role of Paige." You said walking up in front of the table that had the directors and producers behind it. You tried not to make eye contact with the guy who hadn't seemed to take his eyes off you since you came in the door.

"You may begin whenever you're ready."

You take a deep breathe before starting to read the script. "But what about me? What about what I feel. You don't just get to decide how I feel or how I control my life. I love you and nothing is going to change that." You said with your voice cracking as you finish up the scene. You notice everyone has a shocked look on their face, it seems like forever until the director speaks up.

"Thank you very much for coming today. We'll be in touch." You took one last look at the man and then exited the hallway to go find your friend.

Jensen POV

She captivated my attention from the moment she walked into the room. I could tell she was very nervous and shy because she kept her head down and wouldn't look at anybody. But as soon as she started the scene I couldn't help but just stare at her with astonishment. She's been the first person today that has captured my attention and actually made me feel something about the character. I realize she has to be the one for this part.

"She's the best we've seen all day. She knew the script, she was emotional, she was believable, and really cared about what she was saying." I said looking at everyone else in the room suddenly defending some girl I hadn't even said anything to.

"She's just a nobody though. It just doesn't seem right to give her the part." I was completely taken aback by this. "What if we bring her back in, and she reads a scene with me. If we have chemistry and it's believable then she gets the part." Everyone seemed to think that was fair so the assistant producer went to go find her while I tried to prepare myself.

Reader POV

You and bf/n were getting ready to leave the building when a slightly shorter woman ran up to you and stopped you. "Excuse me miss but they want you to come back and read another scene with your love interest and see if you can handle it." You were very shocked because you didn't think that you did that good. You looked back at your friend who had a big smile on her face telling you to go for it. You decide to follow the lady back into the room. When you open the door suddenly everything makes sense, the guy from earlier was playing your love interest.

Your heart started to speed up when you realized you would not only have to keep eye contact with this man but also try and remember words and talk to him.

"Hi, I'm Jensen I'll be playing Blake your love interest." He said while holding out his hand for you to shake. You smiled and shook his hand. "I'm Y/n."

"Okay so let's just read from the top of the page down and then we'll stop." Jensen said letting you know to start. "And action!" the director had called out.

"But what about me? What about what I feel. You don't just get to decide how I feel or how I control my life. I love you and nothing is going to change that."

"You can't love me. I can't stay here, I can't allow myself to fall deeper in love with you. You will only get hurt in the end and I can't let that happen."

"The only one hurting me right now is you. You aren't even considering my feelings. You're just doing what's best for you."

"What's best for me? What's best for me is being with you. But I just can't, I won't." He then turns away from you and you walk up behind him and place your hand on his shoulder.

"Yes you can, I'm not going anywhere anytime soon, you're stuck with me. I know you may think you don't deserve to be happy. But you do, you deserve everything in the world that would make you happy. Starting with me." You said and looked away because that was the end of the scene. Suddenly you feel an arm grab your wrist and pull you back and then you feel lips on yours. You were surprised at first because you thought you were done with the scene, but it looked like he wanted to go further. It takes a second but then your brain catches up and starts kissing back. Suddenly he pulls away "Okay, lets do this together." "And cut!" the director said as Jensen slowly backs away from you. You were so distracted by what just happened instead of seeing anything you just walked out the door and ran down the hall. You couldn't believe he had just kissed you like that. It had been the best kiss you had in years and it was from this random guy.

Jenson POV

She was such a phenomenal actress I forgot we were even acting for a minute. When she said her last line of dialogue I didn't want the scene to be over so I pulled her in and kissed her keeping the scene going. I expected her to pull back but instead she gives herself into the kiss and it's the best kiss I've had in forever. Right after she ran out the door looking very nervous. I just knew I had to get to know more about this amazing girl.

"So?" I asked looking at the director. "We like her she's got the part." I get a big smile on my face and go to run out the door to catch her before she leaves.

Reader POV

Suddenly you hear noises behind you and see Jensen running up to you. "You got the part Y/n, you'll be playing me love interest." You were so excited you just decided to give him a hug, Shocked at what you just did you start to pull away but then feel him hug you back. "Congratulations." "Thank you," you say with the biggest smile on your face.

"Would you like to go out sometime. Maybe just do something casual like get a beer and dinner and just talk." He says suddenly being really shy like he's nervous to talk to you. But why would he be nervous, he's him and you weren't anything special. You decided to take a leap of faith, "Yeah I would really like that." He gave you that signature smile and you knew you were hooked.

[ineffableigh]

Timeline of Suspicious Events Brain Dump - PART 1

OK, I gotta get this out of my brain and onto some kinda page so here we go! Spoilers galore in here probably

I feel there's far too many instances of Incredibly Convenient Timing™ throughout season two so I gotta get these written down. Leaving out the minisodes for now since, until I watch them through again, I feel they're mainly there to provide character background and show Aziraphale's arc from naive to more understanding of the deep cruelty of Heaven. Dropping the rest under the cut!

Semi-chronological events:

Armageddidn't - Beelzebub and Gabriel discuss how that shit was supremely fucked.

Bar 1 and 2 - Beez and Gab meet up again and agree NOT to do Armageddon 2 Electric Boogaloo. NOTE: in BOTH these instances, the same two guys are at the table behind them playing chess, then cards. Very suspicious.

Bar 3 - Beez and Gab set up the Every Day phenomenon in Edinburgh and Gab receives the fly. I couldn't see the dudes from the previous bar in the background this time but not sure.

Heaven - Gabriel refuses to start Armageddon 2. They seem to move on.

Heaven - An unknown amount of time later, Gabriel is put on trial by the Metatron and sentenced to a big demotion. He 'goes to clean out his desk' and flees to Earth. CONVENIENTLY, the Metatron essentially lets him go ("Should we sound an alarm?" "Oh don't be so wet. You'll all just have to find him." This is suspicious because we KNOW the disdain he has for the angels' competence.)

We then see Aziraphale get the message from Maggie that she wants to talk, which has three suspicious elements for me: That she left a note instead of coming to talk to him, the misspelling (ugrency), and then the odd fake crying. Everything about this interaction feels strange and scripted for a planned interaction, whether Maggie knows it or not. Why did she wait 8 months to bring up the late rent?

Sometime after this, or perhaps during, Shax and Crowley discuss in the park about "something going down in the Up. UP up." I feel like this implies that Beez already knows Gab was getting fired, but I'm speculating heavily here. But clearly SOMEONE in Hell knows something was going on, OR Hell already knows about the Second Coming being on the agenda.

Gabriel arrives to GREAT AND DRAMATIC FANFARE at the Bookshop. Sure, a naked man is novel, but LOTS of weird people are constantly shown in the background of most outdoor shots throughout both seasons. I find it EXTREMELY STRANGE that the ENTIRE street plus cars all stop and crowd around to watch Gabriel arrive. The cars even block the streets! It's VERY strange.

Aziraphale calls Crowley, who's driving Somewhere™. They agree to meet at the cafe across the street. Awkwardness about the 'naked man friend' ensues, etc.

The two move to the bookshop and cross Maggie along the way. They make a point of having her call Aziraphale 'an angel' and refuse food. Likely a red herring but worth noting.

Crowley meets 'Jim' and loses his shit. I agree it's very Interesting™ that Crowley says to 'ask him properly', as this ties in to suspicious memory related stuff throughout the season.

Crowley leaves and gets hit by lightning. We see the lightning hit the cafe door and some lights. I do wonder WHY it did though - it didn't hit any other shops, why only Nina's cafe, and while Maggie happened to be there? AND it affected their phones? It's just a LOT to get them stuck in the cafe together 'til later.

Crowley gets summoned to Hell by Beez and the Housefly Brigade and learns about the Book of Life threat. We heard this over the phone with Michael earlier. Crowley doubts the existence of the Book, so we know there's a threat out there but can't be sure it's real.

SIDE THOUGHT: Michael says anyone involved could be struck from the Book of Life but at the end of e06, the Metatron says Michael 'has no such authority'. This brings up a huge 'who said what to whom?' gap we absolutely need to fill. Where did Michael get the Book of Life idea if not from the Metatron?

The Husbands do their giant miracle as a direct result of the above dubious threat, which directly triggers Heaven suspecting the bookshop as Gabriel's hideout. This is our first major 'convenient plot progression' flag, I think.

Next modern day segments are intercut with the Job minisode. Here we learn about the Every Day song that Gabriel, surprisingly, can remember. It feels likely that love can make you remember things you lost, so I doubt this particular event is Too Convenient.

On the other hand, it feels Too Convenient that of all the record shops, MAGGIE'S shop is the one supplying records to that particular pub up in Edinburgh? That seems an awfully long way off. It's like 7.5 hours!

Point 2: This interaction with Maggie is extremely strange. She's idly flipping through records until Aziraphale comes in, and then she stands there very blankly until bursting into very dubious tears about Nina. I don't know about you but I feel it very strange for anyone who WASN'T comfortable to directly come talk to their landlord to suddenly wax poetic about their 'doomed love life'. And then immediately pivot to the song/records/pub. We also learn Nina has a partner here but Azi just. Ignores this later?

IMMEDIATELY after this, the Archangels make a surprise visit and because Maggie's convenient outburst was on his mind, he pretends THAT was what the giant miracle was about. This is our second major 'convenient plot progression' flag.

Right after this is the meetup in the pub. CONVENIENTLY this is right when Mr. Brown (of Brown's World of Carpets) happens to be getting a drink, rather than running his store. He has his clipboard with him and everything, and pins the Monthly Shop Associates Meeting on Aziraphale. I think this is awfully convenient and becomes our third major suspicious plot flag.

After this, Aziraphale and Crowley discuss having to set up Nina and Maggie. These two dinguses go straight to 'we have to make them actually fall in love!' instead of coming up with a scam plan like they did in the Job minisode. I don't know what to make of this, but I figure the two of them are just so flustered by everything they don't come up with, well... a smarter plan.

IMPORANT: Before the Job Minisode the clock nearby says it's 5:20pm. When Aziraphale comes back from his apparent reverie, Crowley is gone and it's freaking 6:30pm! That's a big gap to fill.

UHHH HAVE WE DISCUSSED THE FACT THAT THE RESURRECTIONIST PUB ADDRESS IS 66 GOAT GATE EDINBURGH? 66 GOAT? THAT SEEMS VERY SUSPICIOUS DOES IT NOT?

Here Crowley learns a) that Maggie and Nina got stuck in the cafe together after his tantrum, b) Nina has a partner and c) Nina doesn't appear terribly interested in Maggie. He never seems to mention this to Aziraphale.

Aziraphale asks for the Bentley to go investigate the pub. I find it very strange that he's determined to go by car when car = 7.5hrs, train = 5hrs, and plane = 1.5hrs. Why you gotta leave for 16+hrs Aziraphale??

The next day, Muriel shows up to 'inspect' the miracle. Both Aziraphale and Crowley can see that they (Muriel) are out of their depth and extremely inexperienced. This is their SECOND chance to make shit up like they did with Job!

It really feels like Saraquiel was trying to do them a solid and they fuckin flubbed it lol

CONTINUE HERE: [linky]

[kujakumai]

curious after doing much thinking (as im wont to do) and also rereading coming forth by day like 5 times (its really good) im curious on how you think things went for ishizu in the short term after the . leaving of the tombs. like im assuming if theres extended tombkeeper family she probably got taken in by one of the surface dwellers but do you think it was....awkward? or what that shuffle into mainstream society would have been like both in terms of like, interacting with the host family and also things like figuring out how to legally exist

(thank you very much!! it is fun to write!!!)

I do not think there's any reason to believe there's extended tombkeeper family aboveground I think all god knows how many of them lived down there. We simply do not know how many. We know there are more and those caverns are fucking huge. I feel like it could be anywhere from 30-300. But some of them must have gone up sometimes, if only to get supplies, and sort of knew the deal (Ishizu showed familiarity with stuff like TV and how the market worked when she went up with Marik). By that same token they probably had some amount of money (and there's always selling off a few ancient heirlooms if they really need rent). I think between all that and the necklace help Ishizu would've been able to muddle through and get set up aboveground without too much trouble.

I think the necklace really is a boon here and she'd have a way easier time adjusting than Marik or Rishid did. She has perfect clarity and a sense of control on tap. Doing your first job interview shortly after being introduced to the concept is probably much less nerve-wracking when it's been magically pre-scripted for you. I'm honestly more worried about her life after she loses it!

As for being legal people I feel very confident that A) Marik and Rishid forged their papers via criminal contacts and B) Ishizu went the long way around and got actual papers by claiming to be an unregistered birth (not a lie!), possibly by forging the corroborating evidence and using government contacts.

Anyway I think the rest of the tombkeepers after this debacle ended and this whole thing dissolved probably spread out over Egypt to do their own thing. Maybe some really weird/dedicated/agoraphobic ones stayed or went back underground. They're celebrating weird ancient egyptian holidays and helping each other get jobs. They're sending Ishizu auntie gifs on whatsapp. Cousin Amir runs a used car dealership in Giza. etc.