#wonder★wings

[potatofever]

project sekai personality swap au doodles

more about this on my tiktok btw

reblog not repost ... tags can be seen as platonic or romantic

[yandere-wishes]

⚙︎ Just same quick Yandere Transformers One thoughts

Imagine Sentinal Prime taking you as his darling. It's so easy for him to make you disappear, to erase you from a semi-functional world. He snaps his fingers and you're kneeling before him, optics wide in fear, servos bound behind you. All Cybertron runs through his digits, and you little girl should be utterly honored to have caught his optic.

He colors you in the richest of paints, upgrades you with the newest enhancements in all of Cybertron.

Reconstructed as the perfect doll, sitting pretty in his lap as his golden wings gently caress your back. Maybe if you're particularly feisty, rebellious, and tenacious he'll even remove your T-cog. Making you watch as he crushes your metallic organ in his fist.

"Don't forget your place, my dear. Don't make me remind you again"

Sentinal always has you propped up pretty on his lap. Trailing his fingers over your arms and thighs. Half-heartedly tracing stars and swirls as he's forced to listen to Cybertron's newest developments and his latest orders. The senate's conversations are unfiltered, they peel away the senator's golden facades leaving only the monstrous truth. Sentinel especially is the wickedest of all. Diabolic traitor playing king-prophet. You fight the urge to sink your teeth into him, biting and ridding until only scrap remains...

But the truth is too brittle. You have no power, no strength compared to him. And you're too terrified of Sentinal's punishments to step out of line.

Sometimes when the conversations get too grotesque to drown out, your desperate optics weave to an open window, peering helplessly at a world that's forgotten you. It's usually Senital's cold lips that melt away the melancholy trance. Reawaking you into your nightmare...

── .✦⋆˚☆˖°⋆｡° ✮˖ ࣪ ⊹⋆.˚ ✦ . ──

Imagine D-16 finding you as he's defeating Sentinal. You look so bruised and battered, so broken. Maybe he knew you once, a transformer who was always sweet and kind to the miners. Maybe it's the look of utter despair and hopelessness in your optics that catches his attention. Almost like a mirror of his pain. His servos itch to wrap around your neck, to crush wires and circuits, to eliminate anything that Sentinal has ever held dear.

But he can't...

His broken spark screams in pity. You're just another helpless bot trapped in Sentinel's web of deceit. He saves you for himself, a shivered war prize he's convinced he can fix. He makes plans to seek out Solus Prime's T-cog to lay within your chest. He wonders if Megatronus would approve.

But it doesn't end that way now, does it?

Destiny is too cruel for such fragile hopes.

⛧°。 ⋆༺★༻⋆。 °⛧

Alternatively, Maybe Orian is the one to find you, sacred confused, and utterly alone. He's so eager to lend a helping hand. Wanting so badly to wrap you in his arms, to give you warmth and hope. He plucks you away from Sentinal's tarnished castle. Pulling you away into a life that tastest of saccharine daydreams and sugar-laced optimism.

And Orian -or rather Optimus- is perfect, sweet and loving, and hopeful...

But he's also tasted loss and duplicity. Bitter truths leading to his jaded obsession. He's so careful with you always having a servo on your hip, always listening to every conversation. He can't have this fragile world hurt you again. He needs to protect you from everything at every cost.

Sometimes when your body is curled next to him recharging peacefully. He'll reminisce about the other Primes, wonder if they've ever felt such a love that bites so sharply at the spark. He wonders if he can really make Cybertron the perfect world for you...

[lanascurse]

IT DOES WONDERS WHEN YOU EMBODY YOUR ‘DR SELF’ (basically you, duh)

Anytime of the day, when doing your morning or night routine, cleaning the house, LITERALLY WHENEVER YOU HAVE THE FREE TIME TO THINK FOR YOURSELF, THINK AS IF YOU’RE DOING THOSE THINGS IN YOUR DR.

Okay, very basic advice you’ve heard already. Now, think about what your DR self would think about. Are you worried about an upcoming event? Why is that? Are you getting ready to hang out with your best friends/partner? What outfit will you wear? Maybe reflect on what you did that day in your DR and how people from your DR interacted with you. You’d be thinking as if it already happened to you.

If you scripted where, how, and when you wake up in your DR, you can start from there to make it easier. Or if you have a vague script, then even better! You can build upon what you know about yourself in that reality and just wing it. You’ll be thinking as if you’ve just made it into your DR and are already grounding yourself into that reality with your responsibilities, relationships, skills etc.

Doing this may also help with “observing and not absorbing” your 3d. You’re doing your regular tasks but your thoughts are grounded in your DR and that version of yourself. If something cuts off your train of thought, that’s fine. This is just another interesting way of connecting to that desired/intended reality of yours.

Nothing groundbreaking. Fuck the 3d, your 4d is where it’s at.

Now, go shift )^o^(

- lana ★彡

[sunder-soul]

hiii cud u pl do a headcanon/oneshot where its a muggleborn reader who smhow ends up befriending the tom riddle who always seems to soft only to her, including tolerating her sassy attitude and its a study session together and they're bantering or summin? i think it wud be nice. thank you!

A/N: Girl I gotchu

･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ.

Unsaid

Summary: By now you've got a pretty good idea why you're friends with Tom, but sometimes, when it comes up, you wonder why he's friends with you. [GN reader ★ no pronouns ★ Hufflepuff house (but ngl it doesn't really come up u just gotta trust me)] Word count: 1.2k

･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ.

“I’m dropping out,” you announce, dumping your bag on the table and falling emphatically into the seat adjacent to Tom’s.

Tom, for his part, does not look up. His quill doesn’t even hesitate as he writes in a smooth, unbroken script across his parchment. Instead, he says: “Your bag is on my book.”

You shove it unenthusiastically to the side to reveal the open textbook he’s been working from, and then fix him with a pointed look. Tom is set up in the same little spot in the library as always, his bag at his feet and at least ten other books neatly stacked off to the side of the table. He looks (as Tom always looks) like the poster boy of adhering to the uniform dress code.

“Aren’t you going to ask me what’s wrong?” you say, slightly put out.

“I would not bother,” he says simply, leaning forward and dipping his quill in a small inkwell in front of him. “I’ve come to accept the inevitability of you telling me all sorts of things I don’t care to hear about, whether I ask about them or not.”

He resumes writing.

You kick his chair leg lightly and his quill skips sharply down the page, leaving a jolted line about an inch long off where he’d been writing the word putrescence.

This finally makes him look up, fixing you with a supremely irritated glare that’s made his whole face go tense.

You lean your elbows on the table and smile at him.

Tom’s jaw works slightly, and he takes a long breath. “What’s wrong?” he asks sarcastically.

“Well,” you say as he puts down his quill and bends to pick up his bag. “In Herbology this morning when we were cracking Wiggentree nuts, Lucy Grollen had this horrible allergic reaction and her feet swelled up so much that her shoes burst.”

“And this affects you how?” Tom drawls, diligently rubbing a Spellfriends eraser across his parchment.

You give him a scandalised look. “She’s my friend, Tom.”

He gives you a very dry look and then flips the eraser over to the purple side. “I hardly think you’d be tempted to leave the school because your friend is allergic to nuts.”

“Well she’s also my greenhouse partner,” you say dramatically, throwing yourself back in your seat, “and because she had to go to the hospital wing I had to finish the rest of the assignment alone­, and obviously by the end of class I didn’t have all our nuts cracked so Beery made me stay late to finish them. And that meant that I missed the sign up for the fieldtrip to the Menagerie of Mirabilia.”

Tom throws down the eraser and exhales in frustration. The ink remains unmoved. “You have been talking about that fieldtrip for six weeks,” he says in a clipped tone, pulling his wand from his bag. “And I have been telling you for six weeks that it was going to fill up quickly. Evanesco.”

The eraser shavings on his parchment vanish and leave both of you staring at the tenacious line of ink—which if anything, now just looks a little smudged.

His little comment about the whole six weeks thing has not left you feeling very sympathetic for him. “Wow. You have got to tell me what kind of ink you buy,” you say with a smirk as Tom tosses his wand onto the desk in frustration.

“I wouldn’t recommend it,” he says hotly, folding his arms and finally looking at you properly as he leans back in his chair. “Well?”

“Well what?”

“What happened with the fieldtrip?” he prompts irritably.

“Oh – so as I’m sure you remember, I promised Madeline I’d go with her on the fieldtrip because she’s obsessed with magizoology at the moment, so then I had to tell her I wasn’t going, and she was so upset, and I couldn't stop thinking about it because I felt so bad. So then I was really distracted in Transfiguration and of course Dumbledore notices and asks me to recite the whole definition of Amandation’s Command in front of everybody.” You sigh loudly. “So I can’t do it because I hadn't been paying attention, but then he points to the board and the definition is written right there and I just hadn’t noticed, and everyone laughed at me.”

You cross your arms too, feeling sorry for yourself. “The only solution is to drop out,” you reiterate moodily.

“This is one of your jokes,” says Tom delicately.

You narrow your eyes at him. “Yes well spotted.”

“You’ve ruined my assignment,” he says, nodding at it.

“You ruined your own assignment. With your callousness.”

Rather surprisingly, Tom snorts a laugh. “I would loathe to be my friend, to hear you describe it,” he says with suspicious ease as he extracts a new roll of parchment from his bag. “It begs the question as to why you persevere.”

“Very occasionally, you do something really nice,” you say, watching him with suspicion. Tom’s irritability rarely fades this quickly. “I just kind of zone out all the bits in-between where you’re weird and sarcastic.”

“Weird and sarcastic?” Tom repeats, lips curling. “Have you been listening to yourself since you sat down?”

“My life is ruined, and you’re worried about an assignment.”

“Your life is not ruined,” he says monotonously as he begins diligently copying over his work.

“I’m upset about this and all you care about is telling me that it’s not a big deal!”

Tom sighs curtly and looks up at you, leaning forward a bit and resting his forearms on the desk. “Your life is not ruined. Lucy Groggen is going to be fine, Wiggentree nut allergies are fairly common and the reaction doesn’t last more than an hour, the worst she’ll have to deal with is buying a new pair of shoes. Beery should never have made you complete a two-person task by yourself and it’s ridiculous that he kept you late because of his own poor class management. If Dumbledore was half the teacher that he claims to be, he might have noticed that you were upset about something and think to ask you about it, but his mistake is made all the more egregious given that he chose to single you out in front of the whole class with what sounds like a very silly little trick. And I wouldn’t worry about upsetting Madeline if I were you, because I signed you up for the fieldtrip.”

He resumes writing without another word. You stare at him, dumbfounded. A full ten seconds passes before you can rouse yourself to speak again.

“You signed me up for the fieldtrip?

Tom’s eyes remain level on his work—he’s writing at lightning speed like he’s trying to make up for the lost time. “You have been talking about it for six weeks. It seemed odd that you failed to show up.”

You look at your bag still lying dejectedly on the table in front of you and attempt to process the glowy, warm feeling spreading up through your chest. “Thanks,” you say blandly.

He just looks up at you with a glint in his eyes about halfway between wry and cynical.

“I feel bad about your assignment,” you announce.

Tom slowly smiles, this time very wryly indeed. “You have certainly changed your tune.”

You grab your bag and pull out your water bottle, placing it emphatically on the desk beside him.

Tom’s dark eyes flick from it to you, and he lifts a brow. “Is this supposed to mean something to me?”

“You have to wet a Spellfriends for it to work,” you mumble, folding your arms and resting forward on the desk.

He stares at you in a sort of frozen state of disbelief. “You mean you let me suffer through all of that for absolutely no reason?” he demands in half-subdued outrage.

“There was a reason!” you protest, smiling at him again. “It was funny.”

He blinks once, and then snatches the drink bottle off the desk, shaking his head. “You are extremely irritating,” he says icily, twisting the bottle open.

“Huh, sounds like a nightmare being my friend to hear you describe it,” you parrot back at him with a grin. “One wonders why you persevere, Tom.”

Tom pauses, and instead of the scathing look of irritation or perhaps a biting remark back, he just looks at you with an unplaceable expression like you’ve caught him off guard.

“What?” you frown, sitting up a little in concern.

Tom blinks slightly and then holds out his hand. “Pass me the Spellfriends,” he says colourlessly.

You arch a brow right back at him, and retrieve the eraser from where it’s been lying discarded for the last few minutes in front of you. “If you were wondering what I meant by the weird part in weird and sarcastic…” you say to him pointedly, placing it in his hand.

Tom silently erases the offending ink stain with a taut jaw and an irascible look darkening his eyes.

“Hey,” you say.

He ignores you entirely, sweeping the fresh shavings off his parchment and setting the eraser aside.

“Hey,” you repeat, reaching out and taking his arm.

Tom’s gaze immediately flashes to you and he goes entirely still.

“Thank you,” you tell him sincerely. “For the field trip.”

He does not immediately reply. A second later his lips part like he’s going to say something, but they close like he thinks better of it. He blinks, and then pulls his arm from yours to reach for another book. “Are you intending on actually doing work this evening, or was this visit’s entire premise just to disrupt me?”

You roll your eyes, and reach for your bag again with a smile.

･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ.

[grimmweepers-archive]

— ★ 𝐔𝐍𝐅𝐈𝐍𝐈𝐒𝐇𝐄𝐃 𝐁𝐔𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐒

𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: a year after your bitter divorce, you crossed paths with your ex-husband again, forcing you to confront your unresolved past.

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: Ex-Husband Toji x F!Reader

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨��𝐧𝐭: 3.7k | masterlist | byf/dni | ao3

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬: smut MDNI, light angst, hurt/comfort, the comfort is sex, yearning, arguing, swearing, soft and maybe ooc!toji but rough sex, couch sex, unprotected, oral (fem! receiving), fingering, missionary, make-outs, dirty talk, mild hair-pulling, mild choking, creampie, he calls you ‘little birdie’ and ‘baby’, late-twenties reader in mind

reblogs and interactions are always appreciated ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

The thing about ex-husband Toji is that no matter how much he tries to drown his sorrows in booze or waste his hard-earned money on gambling, he can’t escape the fact that he’s still so painfully— maddeningly in love with you. 

He was no stranger to flirting with random women at the bar, hoping to mask his woes, but it was always a punch to the gut whenever he found himself searching for a piece of you in them. 

Toji, from the very beginning, never believed in marriages, much less divorces— so enduring it for this long had changed him in ways he never expected. 

As the first anniversary of the divorce approached, you remembered when he asked you to be official. Those naive, argument-free days felt like a lifetime ago, and you almost wished you could go back, even for a breath of a second.

It just made you wonder— when did it all go wrong?

You were the one who filed, but it didn’t make it any easier— he didn’t make it easier. The last time you saw him was when he signed the papers for the final time, dropped off some keys, and bid you farewell with a stinging “See ya” before closing the door behind him for good. For longer than you wanted to admit, any time somebody had knocked on the door unexpectedly, you had wished it was him. 

Your love for him never left but you were good enough at concealing it to keep the pitying comments at bay. Although, having the anniversary so close felt like reopening a wound and it fucking sucked. 

The place you became official wasn’t far from home. Toji was never big on flashy things so he had asked you at a quaint, little park with his arm slung around your shoulders as you both sat on the worn-out bench. 

“Toji, would you put that duckling down? It’s trying to get back in the pond.”

“Yeah, in a minute,” he replied, squeezing you. There was a hint of wonder in his eyes as he watched the duckling flap its flightless wings before he set it on the ground. Then he turned to you, a grin playing on his lips. 

“Wanna be my little birdie?” 

“You’re ridiculous,” you said. But you remember your heart pounding out of your chest. His straightforwardness was exactly what you loved about him.

Back then, he watched you with a different kind of intensity and that’s what made you realise he wasn’t fooling around. Finally, you gave him a small nod, “Alright, I’ll be your little birdie.” 

A quiet, satisfied huff escaped him and he pulled you closer. His lips brushed your temple in a brief, possessive kiss that sent a shiver down your spine. For a while you both sat in silence, listening to the rustling trees and soft quacking of ducklings as they reunited with their mother. It was more comforting than Toji would ever admit out loud.

Eventually, he spoke, his voice low and gravelly, “I don’t got a lot to offer and I sure as hell ain’t good with words. But I’ll take care of you. You’ll never have to worry about that.”

You leaned into him, resting your head on his solid shoulder, “That’s all I need.” 

That was when your journey truly began and it wasn’t long before Toji proposed… So again you asked yourself, when did it all go wrong? 

When the anniversary of your divorce finally came around, your friends decided to treat you to dinner to get your mind off your troubles. But on the drive home, you found yourself taking a detour and then another, your mind drifted as your hand steered the wheel almost on its own. 

Before you knew it, you had arrived at the park that started it all. You sat there for a minute, staring at the familiar scenery, unsure of what you were expecting to find— perhaps some ghosts of the past. It was definitely quiet and eerily so. 

You stepped out of the car and walked slowly to that same bench, it had aged even more since you saw it last. Sitting down, you closed your eyes and let the memories from that day wash over you— the warmth of Toji’s arm and the way he looked at you like you were the only thing that mattered. 

But those were just memories now. 

You weren’t sure how long you’d been sitting there but the cold was beginning to bite through your clothes. So with a deep sigh, you decided it was time to leave. Whatever you were searching for, it wasn’t going to be here. 

The sound of footsteps made your heart skip a beat, and you snapped your head towards the sound. You weren’t expecting anyone to be here at this hour. 

And then you saw him.

You had to blink once, twice— thrice to make sure you weren’t imagining his broad silhouette against the fading light. Neither of you moved and you hoped that maybe you could escape before he saw you too. But you knew that was impossible.

“Toji…”

He didn’t answer right away but he took a step closer with his hands still in his pocket. “Shit… Didn’t expect to see you here,” his voice rough, as if cutting through the silence like a blade. 

“I-I didn’t think…” You pinched the bridge of your nose, praying that when you took your hand away, he’d be gone.

Toji eyed the bench and you saw a flicker of something on his face that made your chest tighten. “This place…” He began as his gaze fell on the empty spot beside you, “It’s somethin’, huh?”

You swallowed hard, unsure of what to say. The park that felt so empty just moments ago was now humming with tension between the both of you— the weight of a year without each other hanging in the air.  

He didn’t mean to sit next to you but he had to do something to make up for the silence. 

“So, how’ve you been?” your question came out more awkwardly than intended. You swallowed hard as you tried to compose yourself. 

Toji shrugged, “Been gettin’ by.”

He was still the same— gruff, unreadable, with an air of indifference that used to drive you crazy in more ways than one.

The small talk felt like a waste of time and you wanted to jump into everything left unsaid. You knew he wasn’t the type to have the patience for it either. 

“I didn’t expect to end up here,” you admitted, more to yourself than to him. “I just… I don’t know. I felt like I needed to see it again.”

His expression darkened, “It brings back a lot, doesn’t it?”

You didn’t answer, you just nodded. This park was a place of new beginnings and now it felt like a graveyard of what could have been. The silence was starting to stretch and grow thicker with each passing second.

“Why didn’t you fight for us, Toji?” The question slipped out before you could stop and it was laced with pain that had been simmering for too long.

Toji turned to you, his eyes narrowed slightly, “What good would it have done?” And then he stood up— you almost thought he was going to leave again. “You made up your mind.”

“You could have tried!” You snapped. “You just let it fall apart like it didn’t mean a damn thing to you.”

His jaw clenched as he stepped closer. “You’re the one who filed for the divorce,” he growled. “You’re the one who walked away.” 

“Because you wouldn’t fight for us!” You shot back, now standing up in his face. 

His eyes flashed with anger as he closed the distance between you, looming over you with that presence that used to make you feel so safe. Now it made your heart race for different reasons. “You think it was easy to watch you leave? To sign those damn papers?” His voice was louder than before. “I didn’t fight because I didn’t think you wanted me to.”

“That’s bullshit, Toji,” you hissed, tears stinging at the corners of your eyes. “You never even tried. You let me walk out of your life like I was nothing.”

He took another step forward and you could almost feel the heat radiating off his body. “Don’t you dare say you were nothing,” he snarled. “You were everything to me.”

The intensity of his words hit you like a physical blow so before you knew it, you were shoving him. “Then why did it feel like I didn’t matter?” Your voice trembled as it came out in a rush and you hated yourself for breaking this fast. “Why did you make it seem like it was so damn easy?”

Toji caught your wrists, his grip was firm but not painful. “You think it was easy for me?” his breath was fanning your face. “You didn’t think I was kickin’ myself every day since? Tell me why you think I came back here,” he shook you. “It’s because I missed the hell out of you!” 

You struggled against his hold but he didn’t let go, and something raw and desperate came over his glare. The air was thick with anger, hurt, and another thing that you didn’t want to admit.

Your breath hitched in your throat, “You don’t get to do this. You don’t get to walk back into—”

Before you could continue, his lips crashed against yours, cutting off whatever protest you had. The kiss was rough and hungry, fuelled by the emotions he had been burying for the past year. You tried to resist, to push him away but your body worked against you.

“Let… me… go…” You said between gasps, though you lacked the conviction.

“No,” he whispered, “Not until you understand that you mattered, that you still matter.”

His hands moved to your waist, pulling you closer before catching you in another ferocious kiss. You couldn’t help but melt into him. The hurt began to dissolve into something more primal and you were responding to him with a need that had never really gone away. You could feel his longing and frustration too. All the pent-up emotions came crashing down and it wasn’t just about the kiss anymore; it was about everything left unresolved between you.

He slid his hands up your back and held you until there was no space left. As he brushed his tongue against your lips— as you allowed him in— the familiar scent of his cologne flooded your senses. You didn’t want to think anymore, didn’t want to dwell on the pain or the past. Not yet. Right now, you just wanted to feel.

When the kiss finally broke, you were both breathless.  Your hands hadn’t left his chest and your fingers trembled, the mixed emotions were written on both of your faces. 

“Toji…” 

He looked at your lips, and then your eyes. You understood the conflict writhing in him. 

“Let’s get out of here,” he finally said. 

You knew what he was suggesting— it was a terrible idea. It would only complicate things but the larger part of you didn’t care. You needed this and you needed him, undeniably. 

The walk back to the car was a blur.

When you reached the car, you expected him to ask where to go, but instead, he pushed you against the car door and began trailing kisses down your neck. God, it had been so long since anybody touched you like this so when he started sucking the sensitive spots he knew so well, it was enough for you to forget your own name.

You moaned softly as his hands moved to your breasts, massaging them through your clothes. Hearing you like this after all this time had him grind against your thigh, his already half-hard bulge pressing into you. 

“Fuck—” he muttered, his breath hot and heavy. “The things you do to me…” he paused, brushing his lips against your ear. “Think you’re gonna make it home, baby?” 

No. The honest answer was that you weren’t sure. Every touch was so deliberate and the way he called you ‘baby’ after all these rotten months was so intoxicating, that you were almost offended he remained the same since you last slept together. You probably dragged out the divorce just to hold onto the sex for a little longer. 

Without an answer, he took it as a sign to squeeze your thigh, ready to hoist you around his waist but—

“Toji,” you interrupted, trying not to sound like it was out of pleasure even though it was ready to overtake you. If you were going to fuck your ex-husband, it was going to be on your terms, in the comfort of your own home, 

“My place. Now.”

“Come inside…”

When the front door closed behind you, Toji was on you again, lips crashing into yours with a force that took your breath away.

He backed you into the living room, restraint now completely gone. His hands were everywhere— exploring, claiming— slipping under your shirt, and tracing the contours of your body with a hunger that made your knees weak. 

You didn’t hold back either, your fingers tugging at his jacket, eager to feel his skin. He pinned you against the wall, nipping love bites below your collarbone. You fumbled with his shirt, pushing it off his shoulders as your own clothes began to disappear piece by piece. 

“God, you’re still so perfect,” he murmured as he kissed down your stomach. You were left in only your panties and Toji didn’t hesitate to show his gratitude by pressing his lips against the thin, lacey fabric. “Every damn night… You were always in my head,” he confessed while looking up at you with those sinful eyes. He lapped you through the fabric, once, twice, and your body responded instantly, his name began rolling off your tongue. 

This was taking you right back.

“Don’t know how I let you slip away,” he said, his voice rough with regret, as he yanked your panties to the side and sank his mouth directly into your folds. He swirled circles around your clit and you couldn’t help but rock your hips towards his face.

“Toji… don’t… stop…” you pleaded, biting your lip while your hands were tangled in his hair. He groaned in response, one hand palming his cock through his trousers, the other gripping your thigh to keep you steady. The thought of your ex-husband on his knees, groaning and telling you how much he regretted losing you while his face was buried in your pussy, sent a rush of heat through you.

“I’m not… going anywhere,” he muttered as he unbuttoned his pants. “Not this time,” he freed his cock, stroking it slowly as his tongue sloppily dragged up and down your sweet spot, making you clench around him.

The room was quiet aside from the sound of him devouring you. His movements became faster and more greedy, and you could feel yourself shaking and squirming on him. Every time you moaned his name, he fucked his fist with more desperation, spurred on by the way you tightened around his tongue. 

“You’re so fuckin’ sexy,” he said through grunts. He slid a finger inside you, and then another, stretching you just enough before pumping you with relentless vigor. His impatience was palpable; he never bothered with a slow build-up, and the intensity had you arching against the wall and pushing his head deeper into your cunt. 

Shit. 

You were close— so close— and he wasn’t going to stop until you were cumming all over his mouth.

The way he moved, the way he touched— it was sensory overload. As he flattened his tongue and rubbed it over your clit, again and again, he glanced up at you, his eyes dark with hunger. When he let go of his length to play with your nipples, you were instantly spiraling over the edge.

“Oh, fuck!” You cried out, your fingers tightening in his hair. “Don’t stop!” 

And of course, he didn’t.

Your vision went white as wave after wave of sensation rolled through you, your body convulsing as you came, and your juices coating his chin and fingers. When he finally pulled away, he looked no better than a hound who had just feasted and a small pool of precum sat below his cock, which was now twitching eagerly against his stomach.

Limp and spent, you almost slid down the wall, but Toji quickly caught you by the chin, tilting your face up to meet his gaze. 

“Ah ah ah—” he taunted you, “You’re forgettin’ something.”

You mustered enough energy to roll your eyes, retorting, “You’re in no position to expect anything from me,” but out of the kindness of your heart (not), you did it anyway.

It was almost a custom to kiss him after he’d been between your legs. He loved the filthiness of it, how it riled him up in ways nothing else could. Still catching your breath, you pressed your lips on his, tasting yourself on his tongue as he deepened it.

“Tastes good, huh?” he whispered against your lips, a grin spreading across his face.

Annoyed by the brief pause in his touch, you replied, “Wouldn’t you like to know?” 

You impatiently pulled him back, continuing the heated kiss.

The hint of sass in your voice made his cock twitch, a reminder that there was still unfinished business. Between gasps and sighs, you snaked your hand across the hard lines of his body, heading straight to his length. But as you wrapped your fingers around his throbbing shaft, he grabbed your wrist.

Your eyes widened in surprise.

“Nah,” he gruffed, “You ain’t doing nothin’ tonight, baby.”

Before anything else, Toji moved. In a swift motion, he led you to your couch— pushing you down onto the cushions as they sank beneath your weight. Your heart raced when he positioned himself above you.

“Toji–” you breathed, your hands ran to his chest, feeling the hard muscle flex under your touch. 

“I’m takin’ care of you tonight,” he settled between your thighs, “Just relax for me.”

He rubbed his fat tip at your entrance, teasing just enough to make you whine, but that was the last of his patience. Gripping your hip with his free hand, he buried himself inside you with one deep thrust. It strangled a helpless moan out of you. The stretch was as delicious as you remembered, filling you in a way that was both familiar and overwhelmingly new.

“F-Fuck, I’ve missed this,” he grunted low in his throat. Resting his forehead on yours, his breath was staggered as he gave you a moment to adjust. You couldn’t form a coherent response, too caught up by the way he was splitting you apart. Instead, you wrapped your legs around his waist and he needed no more encouragement than that.

He started moving and his pace was unforgiving from the start. It was hard and deep, each thrust pushing you into the cushions. The couch creaked beneath you but you barely noticed.

“Yes-Yes, Toji—” you gasped, nails digging into the bare skin of his back as he pounded into you. You could feel him everywhere, his hands on your waist, his chest pressed against yours, the thick length of him sliding in and out with a rhythm that had you seeing stars. The way he took you— it was almost like the first time all over again.

But Toji wasn’t having any of it. He grabbed a fistful of your hair, pulling your head back, making you look up at him while he was fucking you, 

“You’re mine.” 

His voice was possessive and it sent a jolt straight to your core. If it was even possible, he picked up his pace and became erratic. Each movement drew a cry from you as your back arched off the couch. 

“More… Please—  don’t stop…”

“I won’t,” he cooed, “I’m right here, baby. I’m not lettin’ you go.”

Your moans grew louder as he continuously hit the sweet spot that had your walls tightening around him. The room mingled with the sound of skin slapping against skin, your breathless cries, and his ragged grunts.

When your nails sunk even deeper into his skin, you could have sworn the bastard threw his head back, with that infamous smirk tugging at his mouth.

But you could feel it coming, your body was tensing and ready to snap. 

“Toji… I think I’m gonna—”

“Do it, baby,” he urged. He released your hair, his hand sliding down to your throat, holding you there as he fucked you even harder. “Let me feel you.”

That was all it took. 

Your orgasm crashed over you but he didn’t slow down. He fucked you right through your climax as you cried out his name.

Toji wasn’t far behind. As you gripped him, he shuddered, thrusting a few more times before spilling his thick white cum into you, pulsing as he filled you with his warmth. His loudest groan followed right after. 

For a moment, neither of you moved as you caught your breath. 

You could feel his heartbeat slowly calming and his grip on you tightened as if to hold you closer. Remaining tangled together was not a choice, you told yourself. It was just the outcome of exhaustion. 

But a part of you knew better.

You wondered how long it was going to take for him to pull out but he stayed inside you. His softening length kept his seed from spilling out entirely.

Then, he pressed a soft kiss to your lips, a stark difference from what had just happened. 

In the darkness of your home, you saw it— the same look he gave you on the day he asked you to be his. There was a glimpse of sadness too.

Maybe, just maybe, he cared after all.

As he looked down at you, chest still heaving from the intensity, Toji was struck by the fear that had haunted him for months. The fear he had truly lost you— that no amount of sex, no confessions, could fix the damage that had been done. But something allowed him to hope.

“I know that didn’t mean shit as an apology,” he said, choosing his words carefully. “But I’m not goin’ anywhere. I’ll earn you back if you’d let me.”

His words hung heavy in the air.

As you searched for an answer, a thought crept in: whatever this was, it was far from over. 

And maybe, just maybe, that was okay— at least for now. 

a/n: this is the first jjk fic i’ve written in two years. i was so scared to post this. i’m not kidding, my heart was gonna fall out of my ass. i’ve been a sukuna girl through and through but toji can take the spotlight i guesssss

© 2024 grimmweepers — do not repost, copy, translate, modify my work on any platform

divider and line break by @/chachachannah

mdni banner template from @/kithsune

[giamee]

🍥 ᯓ★୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ

𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐈 𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐃𝐍'𝐓 𝐂𝐑𝐘, 𝐁𝐔𝐓 𝐈 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐈𝐓, 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐁𝐎𝐘!

STARRING. ノ sunday

request. ノ anon: hello, i saw that your requests were open and i was wondering what sunday would be like in bed with a halovian!reader. would he tease her by touching or nipping at her wings??

word count. ノ 0.8k

contains. ノ SMUT! although tbh it's not too explicit, implied fem!reader, more foreplay-focused / suggestive. halovian!reader, wingplay? sunday cums in his pants like a loser😍, dry humping kinda

gia's notes. ノ good evening everynyan!! starting off kinktober 2024 with sunday smut. because it's good for the soul 🫶

⟡ i think that a soft!sunday as well as a teasing!sunday is one that i like the sound of the most

⟡ he's definitely got a more playful side to him

⟡ and since you're both halovians, of course he knows just how to get under your skin. wings. whatever.

⟡ he knows every little spot that will have you keening and moaning at the slightest touch

⟡ and he'd be a complete fool not to utilise them

⟡ in fact, it's his favourite type of foreplay

⟡ to rile you up gradually throughout the day brings him a certain type of joy

⟡ to pass off every touch as something innocent and unassuming as he watches you bite your lip and shuffle in place

⟡ that's a game that he will never tire of playing

⟡ the way he'll lean into you, just breaching your personal space but still not close enough to be too imposing

⟡ how he'll listen to you so earnestly, before reaching a hand up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear

⟡ to let his gloved fingertips linger against your skin, before trailing a little lower and brushing against the softest, downiest feathers of your wings

⟡ revelling in the little shudder you can't help but let escape at his touch

⟡ fighting to keep his poker face straight as he withdraws, bidding you a good day

⟡ you both know it was nowhere near accidental

⟡ another encounter of a similar nature, where his fingers comb through your wings now, an act so intimate that you blush when he does it in public, makes your knees weak and your fingers dig into his wrist as you shoot him a warning look

⟡ he merely utters a "what's wrong, angel?"

⟡ delivered with a smile so saccharine that you almost believed it

⟡ oh yes, sunday loved this game

⟡ but what he loved even more was when you decided to play it too

⟡ coming up to him, engulfing him in a quick hug to disguise the sly stripe that you lick behind the shell of his ear, right where his most sensitive feathers lay

⟡ a hand that brushed the back of his neck, twisting into his feathers with one swift tug

⟡ as much as he got you hot and bothered, you had the very same effect upon him

⟡ so it's no surprise that once the two of you are safely behind closed doors, you can barely keep your hands off of each other

⟡ a full day of this little game that the two of you play had him practically pouncing upon you, planting a searing kiss upon your lips as deft fingers begin to undress you

⟡ you respond by deepening the kiss, letting your hands explore the expanse of his silky hair, before returning them to their rightful place buried in his wing-feathers just to hear the low moan that he had been stifling for all of these hours

⟡ he's made quick work of your clothing by now, the fabric now loosened and falling away to reveal your practically naked body to him

⟡ and his lips migrate to the side of your face, your neck, your shoulder, before finally his lips pepper your sensitive wings with butterfly kisses as you squirm, feeling yourself get wetter and wetter at his ministrations

⟡ and then you feel his teeth graze against your wings, a loud moan slipping past your lips at the sensation

⟡ and sunday merely chuckles against your skin, his nose affectionately bumping against your wings once more, not missing the way your hips twitch and grind down against the thigh that he had oh-so-conveniently slotted between your legs

⟡ because he had this all planned out

⟡ he knew your body like the back of his hand by now

⟡ and this part of the game was his favourite

⟡ seeing how quickly he could reduce you into a moaning mess, pathetically grinding against him in a search for any sort of friction to relieve your pent up frustration

⟡ that was the true prize to him

⟡ the thought of you practically being putty for him had him straining against the fabric of his boxers, deciding to indulge the both of you with a rut of his own hips against your core that had the both of you moaning once again

⟡ but what really makes sunday's eyes roll to the back of his head is the sensation of your fingers gripping his wings, enough to make his vision go white as he cums hard

⟡ because as much as he makes you fall apart, you always seem to be just that bit better than him at his very own game

➤ IF YOU LIKED THIS, TRY ... wanna get drunk 'n nasty

(how the hsr men fuck)

➤ alternatively, you can find my hsr masterlist here!

[hashbrowpn]

──★˙ENAMORED ̟

ARTIST: @TRANSLUCENTJADE ON X

" KAZUHA IS ENAMORED OF YOU. "

NOTES: why is my coochiepookiebookieboo so adorable .. hes so umnumnum .. i just wanna kiss him over and over again ..

kazuha is enamored of you. he is oh, so terribly smitten. he usually knows how to describe the feeling, but when his mind drifts to you, he can't think.

kazuha usually speaks his mind, but he finds there something about you that robs him of words. perhaps its that smile of yours, that could melt any cold, or your sweet humming, which could lull anyone to sleep.

"this tree is really beautiful," you said softly, breaking his train of thought. he nodded in agreement. "indeed, it truly is. its enchanting, im simply struck by its vivacity. i question sometimes, how can one being hold such charm? but then again, nature works in its most mysterious, and wonderous ways." he's unaware of the way his eyes shift towards you rather than the tree.

the wind carries autumn leaves to the ground, careful not to rush their fall as one sways back and forth, landing right on kazuha's head. a snicker falls upon your lips, lifting the corners up. he blinks owlishly at you, confused, oblivious. "what?"

"there's a leaf on your head."

He gives you an embarassed smile of his own, and reaches to dust it away, but you catch his wrist, leaning in. "let me."

and his breath hitches. his heart throbs faster than ever as you come closer. butterflies flutter their wings violently, thrashing around his stomach, and he doesn't have the words to tell them to calm down. he studies every part of your face, until his view is nothing more than a pinpoint, gazing right at your lips.

"got'cha," you grin, fiddling with the leaf you took from the top his head, rolling the stem in between your index finger and your thumb. Your look of glee quickly falls into a worried one. "kazuha? are you alright?"

no, in fact, he is really not. nonetheless, he shakes himself out of his trance. "yes, why do you ask?" his voice accidentally comes in one breath, as if hurrying. he feels feverish, looking anywhere but you. oh, the way your fingers rested on his wrist was overwhelming, dizzying.

You looked unconvinced. "you're all red in the face. are you sick?"

he bites down on his lower lip, trying not to look at you, but how could he not? the thought of you worrying for him was bringing him to an edge.

You let go of the leaf in your hand and pressed it against his sweaty forehead. "...so you are." you mused. you stood up and dusted your lap, reaching out to him. "come on, i'll get you checked-"

before you could finish, he got to his feet and pulled you closer, arms snaking around your waist and closing any space in between. his lips crashed into yours, breaths mashing together. when he pulled away you gazed at him with wide eyes, astonished. he was panting, heart beating out of his chest. he looked surprised when he realized what he had done as well, quickly letting go of you. "i- i know that was quite sudden, but i-"

you huffed, slinging your arms around his neck and drawing him close. "enough talk," you laughed, and your lips met for the second time (but certainly not the last).

kazuha is enamored of you.

[staridust]

Sunny Day Jack ★ Stari’s Versions

—

★ DO NOT USE/REPOST WITHOUT MY PERMISSION. NO MINORS.

—

Apologies for the tumblr inactivity, space crew! I’m much more active over on Twitter!

Here’s a simple lineup of Jack designs that I’ll be personally using for myself! I love when artists take a character and add their own personal twists on them, so I’ve done the same to my favorite technicolor clown.

I’ve also seen a few people be interested in two other designs that I’ve done, so I’ve added them to the lineup as well for others to use or to see their full outfits!

—

Here’s a explanation of each design element if you all are interested in that:

Sunnyverse Jack(Left):

Sunnyverse!Jack is my personal interpretation, artistic recolor, and story with him. He is basically a spin-off of the Sunny Time Town AU by JambeeBot.

I wanted his jacket to reflect looking up at a vibrant summer sky, with clouds, rainbow pockets, swirls, and stickers to add to the childlike wonder. His different color suspenders replaces the stripes on his shirt, which is now a sun on the collar!

I’ve personally always liked the idea of Jack’s hair cascading into purple tips, it’s been referenced in many other drawings of mine. Considering Papa Rise also has purple-ish hair, I think it fits!

This design went through a couple sketch phases and some reworks with the most recent showcase being the birthday drawing of Artemis, where this design can be seen in now outdated-concept!

Alternate Outfit (Middle):

Over a year ago, I made a drawing about Jack and bowties, spreading my bowtie propaganda…. And I still am HAHA. Listen, Jack with a bowtie is so cute, So I’m bringing that design back as well as a full ref!

I’d like to say that this is his work or side outfit, but this is not the teacher AU. I did not create that AU, so don’t refer to this design as the teacher AU!

Even though I don’t consider Jack as a rodeo clown, I gave him clown cowboy boots to reference [Redacted] and his southern residence somewhere.

Rainbow Factory Jack(Right):

RainbowFactory!Jack or RF!Jack is an AU I made last year as well, and finally got around to giving you all a full standing ref for him!

He got more attention than I thought, I know a couple of you like delusional men. I get it.

For his hair, aside from the primary highlights, I also changed the coloring to be a bit more muddled and darker on the teal spectrum, as I like to do that when I draw Jack in a not so-friendly manner. His hair is also more spiked, compared to the others who have more of a fluffy round curl.

His coat is very simple, red and yellow stripes down to a cloud border, and the inside of the coat shows a giant sun on the underside. He also has different color rainbow splotches in different places on him!

His eyes can vary in size or be consistent, and the colors of them can change or spiral too! Usually though, the right eye is lighter than the other. His colors are more saturated and darker than the other designs.

Cotton Candy Cupid Jack:

Finally, the last design I have in the lineup is Cupid!Jack!

This is the first custom design I’ve made of Jack. Shared in this post, this was meant to be the Valentine’s Day design I had for him! Though this drawings is extremely old and outdated now for both my MC and art, I decided to carry it on to a proper Cupid AU design for everyone!

He was originally labeled as Cotton Candy Jack in a wip post that keeps getting shared around from time to time, but I’m unsure if I should keep that name for this lover boy now! There was a community cotton candy Jack trend a month or two ago, so maybe I should change the name? What do you all think?

Design wise he parallels the classic Incubus Jack, which I believe was originally a Halloween costume. His design shares similarities on purpose, being the extended body paint gradient and the sheer fabric overlay on the pants.

Almost like an angel/devil duo, Cupid Jack is more pastel, softer/brighter primary hues, has fluffy wings! My goal was to have them be similar enough side by side, but also different enough to tell that they are different themes/holidays.

He has a motif of hearts, ribbons, and sun swirls. His hair gradient is also the most vibrant one, going from cyan to a vibrant pink at the tips.

He has sandals because I thought it fit the whole Cupid vibe, but drawing his dogs out every-time might actually be the end of me.

—

While I will use these personal redesigns, I want to make it clearly stated and obvious that Jack is not my original character, nor are these redesigns an attempt to change his character or completely detach him from his media. There are simply my fun artistic portrayals of him, as I admire his original design, media, and game as well.

The Rainbow Factory and Cupid AUs are technically my AUs. Ship art, written stories, headcanons, etc. of RF or Cupid Jack are completely okay to create! I just ask that you tag me so that I can see what you all do with him!

However, I ask that if Sunnyverse Jack is used, please ask for permission before using his custom design, as it is my own design of him that I use personally.

…and also, I wanna see more MV Jacks! Artists! Show me how you would draw him in your trademark! I love creative expression!

[lenoraah]

𝘭𝘢𝘴 𝘷𝘦𝘨𝘢𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘭𝘰𝘶𝘴𝘺 𝘵𝘦𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘭𝘢

pairing - george russell x wife!reader

summary - reader and George always been friend of a friend of a friend, but the 2022 Las Vegas GP and one night out partying with tequila changes out, they only find out until a year later

a/n - this is going to be full of dirty, dirty secrets between characters. i imagine reader to have short raven hair and, weirdly specifically, a tattoo of angel wings with a heart in between them on her chest. but of course the hair color won’t be black and the tattoo might be mentioned…. also reader’s best friend is Daniel Ricciardo and she will have another best friend (who will be named Anastasia) because I need another character and I’m to lazy to add another driver who fits the vibe 🥴 idk, this is so random :) p.s not proofread

★ ☆ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“Look what I found!”

Daniel sing-songs happily as he enters the room. He clutches a leather covered book in his hands as a shit-eating grin covers his face.

“What did you find now Daniel?” Y/n sighs as she smiles a little at the excitement in her best friend’s eyes.

“A photo album that someone has been hiding.” Daniel glances at Anastasia who shrugs and sticks her tongue out.

George walks in with a three cups of coffee in his hands just as Daniel is about to open his mouth and the book.

“Hi Georgie,” Stassie teases as George hands her the steaming cup of caffeine.

The Brit rolls his eyes and hands Daniel his coffee next.

“Hi George,” Y/n makes her appearance known and George jumps in surprise.

“Hi Y/n,” George says as a tinted pink color covers his cheeks. “Sorry, I would gotten you coffee too if someone would’ve told me you were here.”

George narrow his eyes at Daniel who scoffs.

“Here, you can have my cup.” Daniel hands his cup to Y/n who glances at George and then smiles sheepishly as she takes it.

“Yeah it’s not like he needs it anyway, he’s all sunshine and rainbows.” Ana snort laughs and George smiles little.

Daniel rolls his eyes and sits down at the armchair next to him.

“Let’s see what’s in here,” The Australian opens the book and raises an eyebrow at the first photo.

“What? What is it?” Ana leans over and tries to take a look but Daniel pulls away, leaning to the other side of the chair.

“It’s you,” Daniel can’t help but start laughing uncontrollably as he flips the album to show George and Y/n.

The picture is of Anastasia as a toddler with a party hat on her head of strawberry blonde hair and frosting covering her hands and body.

Ana screeches reaching for the book but Daniel only keeps laughing as he keeps looking over the book.

The find pictures of George and Daniel in racing gear and with helmets too big for their heads. Y/n and Ana doing baby antics like putting their foot in their mouth or throwing food around with a toothless grin on their face.

“Uh, woah, what is this?” Daniel’s face scrunches together as he pulls the book closer to his face.

“What? What is it?” Anastasia leans over to read and her jaw drops the moment she sees the document in the album.

“What is it?” George and Y/n both tug their brows together and all four of their eyes widen when they like in the realization of the information of the paper in front of them.

“The two of you of married?”

————————————————————————

“Uh huh, yep, thank you.”

Anastasia sighs and places her phone on the table before she sits down.

“So? What is it? Are we married or not.” Y/n nudges at Anastasia’s elbow and bounces in her seat.

“Y/n Y/m/n Y/l/n, you are the Mrs Russell.”

George and Y/n share a look and Daniel and Stassie can only open their mouths in wonder before closing them.

It was a mistake. They could barely remember stumbling into the church and having the drunkest smiles on their faces as they said yes.

The feelings and emotions were hidden for so long until finally their intrusive thoughts finally took over; at a church, in Las Vegas while they were both drunk.

“What’s the next step?” Daniel asks quietly.

“Uh, I think it’s time we talk it out.” George ushers both Daniel and Anastasia out the door.

The two both sigh once their friends leave and they are left alone.

George glances at Y/n’s form. She looks out at the window with her knees brought up to her chest. Her tattoo is visible through her lavender tank top.

“I love you, you know?” George kneels down in front of Y/n and takes her hands in his.

“I know and I love you too. But we both knew that eventually that is we were going to have to talk about it.” The y/h/c smiles sheepishly as her tries to avoid George’s eyes.

“I know, and we’ll figure it out. Because you’re my wife, ring or no ring.”

“Well, a ring wouldn’t be that bad.” Y/n mumbles and George laughs.

“Yeah, we’ll make it work.”

————————————————————————

five years later-

”Henry, please stop running again.”

“Mummy! Mummy, look! Daddy’s on TV.” The four year old happily grins as he points at the screen which is playing reruns of moments from the race.

“Yes, he is darling. Please sit down,” Y/n presses a kiss on her son’s head who happily obliges with his eyes glued on the TV.

Y/n sighs and runs a hand through Henry’s hair and watches as George’s post-race interview plays.

A light tug on the bottom on Y/n’s sweatpants makes her tear her attention away from watching her husband’s face on the TV screen.

The toddler wobbles in her place as she hold onto her mother’s leg for support. Y/n picks up her one year old and sets her right above her belly.

Henry turns around and faces his mother, his small hands resting on Y/n’s bump. Pippa immediately turns to face her brother who reaches up to peck his baby sister’s nose.

The toddler shrieks and giggles flapping her hands around. Y/n smiles at her children’s happiness that she can’t even notice that sound of the door opening.

Pippa leans against her mother’s chest and one of her hands press up against the heart on her mother’s chest. The toddler smiles and starts mumbling when she notices someone walk through into the living room.

“Daddy, Daddy, Daddy.” Pippa whimpers and mumbles into Y/n’s shoulder as she watches George smiles at her and places a finger on his lips.

“Sweetheart, Daddy’s not home yet.” Y/n rubs her daughter’s back and places a kiss on her head.

Pippa whines and Y/n rocks her side to side. Y/n stays like that with her daughter until she feels a pair of arms wrap around the crook between her belly and breasts.

“Woah, hi stranger.” Y/n raises an eyebrow at her husband who reaches out for his daughter with a small pout on his face.

“Daddy!” Henry runs fastest than Y/n has ever seen him run and clutches his father’s leg.

George grins while hugging both of his children and wife.

“I missed you,” He presses a kiss on Y/n’s head and a hand on her bump. “All four of you.”

“We missed you too,” Y/n rolls her eyes at her husband’s slight cheesiness. She pretends that she hates it but he knows that she loves it.

They’ve made it through everything, there is no way that they weren’t going to make everything work for the rest of forever.

[jeanbie]

PRESCOTT ★ masterlist.

pairing: connie x reader

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

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

★ sequel to ghostface

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Nobody. I’m just curious.”

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

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

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

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

“How weird she’s been since Halloween.”

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

“How?” you snort, rather defensively. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Still being weird, by the way.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Great. Fucking great.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Just you guys?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Did you get that from here?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What? No?”

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

“…Why?” you ask slowly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So, you did like it.”

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

“Blocking me felt personal.”

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

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

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

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

Mama — just the word makes you feel weightless.

“Mm,” is all you can say in reply.

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

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

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

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

“That’s what Ymir told me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t,” you caution him.

“Don’t what?”

“Just…don’t.”

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

Not by a long shot.

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

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

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

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

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

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

(At the same time…)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Who’re you looking for?”

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

“Oh, nobody, really.”

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

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

“Oh! The Spanish one?”

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

“With the really short hair?”

Your heart squeezes. “Oh, um—”

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

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

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

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

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

“Wasn’t he in the Navy?” asks Lynne.

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

“Where’re you going?” Porco calls.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey! You made it!”

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

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

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

“How’re we doing, mama? You good?”

Your jaw loosens. 

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

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

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

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

“Let’s do tequila,” Connie suggests.

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

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

Connie’s grin widens. “Aw, come on.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But you were wrong. So unbelievably wrong.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m not allowed in here!”

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

“I needed to pee,” you say weakly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“This Pock’s birthday present?”

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

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

“Oh, really?” he asks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Shy girl,” he murmurs against your mouth. 

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

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

“Feels just how I remembered,” Connie mutters.

“God.”

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

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

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

“Not so shy now,” you sneer at him.

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

“Thanks.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Rookie — you almost laugh. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Third times a charm, right?

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

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

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

You can’t stop. Not now.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I did no such thing.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You, too.”

He sniggers. “Yes, ma’am.”

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

“I only touched you.”

“Scrub.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your heart thumps nervously. “No preference…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You gulp, trying to find the words to say.

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

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

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

“You’re so mean. It’s his birthday!”

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

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

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

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

[sobfultoast]

Hi! I read your Careful Touches and was wondering if you could do it for the sides too if it isn't too much? If not that's okay! Also I love how aesthetic your blog is ☺️

Thank you :)

•~°★ Careful Touches ★°~•

Prompt: MC touches their demonic/angelic features for the first time.

Characters: Diavolo, Barbados, Simeon, Luke.

You have rarely seen their true forms in the past. At least, compared to the brothers. So whenever they do let their true form shine, you stand in awe. They look astounding.

You just had to say something...

"They're just so beautiful... Can I touch your wings/tail?"

• ~ ° ★ ° ~ •

Diavolo

"Haha! Of course you can!"

Not any one would have asked the young prince if they could touch his wings, in fear that it could be seen as offensive to their beloved ruler. Any one but you. Diavolo loves that about you. So honest with him. You treat him like you would with everyone.

Diavolo's wings are grand and regal, as majestic as a dragon's. Fit for a king. Each wing is bigger than you, almost twice the size. Your hand is so very small in comparison. They feel rough but are nothing like leather. They're stronger and smoother. The power you feel from this beast from his wings alone is magnificent.

The golden parts of his wings and horns may look like jewellery but they are actually embedded into his body. It's done to every royal member of the monarchy of Devildom. Their version of a crown, something done as soon as their birth. That is the only part Diavolo won't let you touch. He doesn't swat you away or raise his voice, he just simply takes your hand and moves them away. "I know you're curious, but it would be rude," he informs you.

What ever you doing, Diavolo is wearing a massive grin throughout the whole experience. Such a goofy expression compared to his demonic form. You just look so cute with that fascination in your eyes. How could he not smile?

You can touch his wings whenever you want to, Diavolo loves this affection. Although every demon in the room hold their breath when you do.

Barbatos

"... Well, I can't see a timeline where you don't."

Barbatos hates his tail being touched because of how sensitive it is. If any living thing accidentally brushes against it, even for a second, his tail will flinch. The reason for this sensitivity is because it is made to feel the miniscule movements in the environment. Be it physical, magical or spiritual. It's perfect for a being made to foresee events. Unfortunately, it also makes him feel overwhelmed when just anyone will grab it and it frustrates him. Mammon learnt the hard way.

Barbatos naturally says no to these questions but like he just said, he can't see a timeline where you don't touch it. Perhaps he trusts you in every single one, he doesn't specify.

Barbatos braces himself as you lay your palm gently on his tail. It's smooth and slimy, your hand can easily glide across it. The longer you hold his tail, the more your fingers begin to tingle with an magnetic feel; Your hair stands on edge. It's strange.

It wasn't as bad as he thought it would be if he was honest. Although it's still making him shake. He feels vulnerable which hasn't happened to him in eons. It's shocking to feel that emotion again. He's glad he can trust you in that state.

Barbatos is much calmer with you near his tail. It has started to lean against you now, with no hesitation and minor shakiness. He will still jump if you just grab it though, give him a warning beforehand.

Simeon

"Beautiful? Aw, thank you, MC. Of course."

Simeon has one pair of white wings although they aren't as glorious as one would expect from such a saint. They aren't as thick with feathers as Lucifer's or as fluffy as Luke's. They're simple, modest, and humble. Yet you gave him a reaction he'd expect from someone seeing Michael's wings. He's flattered.

The first thing you notice as you hand strokes his wings is how warm they are, like a cozy cottage fire. You could hug them for hours... When you do hug it, Simeon laughs and folds the wings to pull you closer. Such bliss.

Simeon happily hugs you with his wings from now on. Holding you on his lap and his wings wrapped around the both of you while reading a fairytale.

He used to believe his wings were never special and that never bothered him. Now, however, you think they are. Now they feel magical to him, thanks to you.

Luke

"Thank you! Normally I'd say no but since it's you, you can."

Luke is very pleased you like his wings! You're one of his favourite people and your opinion matters to him more than he thought it would.

Big and puffy, the purest white is the only way I can describe his wings. Petting his wings is like petting a fluffy puppy. So soft. They're also really warm, like a soft hot water bottle.

They show that a lot of care has been put into his wings which makes sense considering that an angel's wings are seen as a gift from god, and he has three pairs of them!

Luke's wings are comedically large compared to his size. Almost every demon in RAD pointed this out immediately and made laughs about it, telling him not to trip on them. Simeon says that he'll grow into them eventually.

If you bring up the fact that he let you pet his wings, especially to one of the brothers like Lucifer, the teasing will get worse. "MC said your wings were soft, like a tiny dog. Is that right, chihuahua?" 😡

•~°★ Have a lovely day ★°~•

[legionofshaza]

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚　˚

Eternal love･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

@officialfeysandweek

The stars winked down at them, as though they held secrets too ancient for the world to remember. But Feyre had always known the truth—there were no secrets between her and Rhysand.

They stood together on the balcony of the House of Wind, the night air cool and fresh around them. Velaris sparkled below, a breathtaking view of their city, their home. The soft glow of faelights illuminated the streets, a reminder of all they had fought for, all they had endured.

But tonight, there was only stillness.

"How long do you think the stars have been watching us?" Feyre asked, her voice a whisper in the silence of the night.

Rhysand’s arm tightened around her waist, pulling her closer against him. His wings, dark and magnificent, unfurled slightly behind him, as if they too wished to protect her from the cool breeze. He gazed at the sky, his violet eyes thoughtful. "Long enough to know that some things—some people—are eternal."

Feyre tilted her head to look up at him. The Lord of Night, her mate, her husband. In him, she had found not just love, but her equal, her partner in all things. His gaze was soft but held the intensity she had always known—the kind that promised forever.

"And us?" she asked, her voice barely a murmur, though she already knew the answer.

Rhysand smiled, that crooked, devastating smile that sent warmth flooding through her, even after all these years. "Eternal," he whispered, brushing a kiss against her temple. "You and me, Feyre darling. Even the stars will grow tired of watching us."

Feyre’s heart swelled, her chest aching with the depth of her love for him. It was more than just the bond that tied their souls together—it was the quiet moments like this, where words were unnecessary because everything had already been said in the way he touched her, in the way he looked at her.

And yet, as she rested her head against his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat, she couldn’t help but think about all the trials they had faced—Amarantha, Hybern, the wars, the losses. There had been so much pain, so much darkness, but somehow, they had always found their way back to each other.

"I used to wonder," Feyre said softly, "if we would ever have a moment of peace. If we would ever stop fighting, stop running."

Rhysand’s hand found hers, their fingers intertwining. His thumb traced soothing circles on her skin. "We’ve fought enough battles to last ten lifetimes. But the real fight was always for this—for us. And that, Feyre, is eternal."

She closed her eyes, letting his words wrap around her like a warm blanket. He was right, of course. The battles they had fought were behind them, but their love—that was something beyond time, beyond the wars and the bloodshed. It was woven into the very fabric of who they were.

Feyre shifted in his arms, turning to face him fully. The moonlight bathed his face in silver, casting shadows that only made him look more ethereal, more like the High Lord of Night that he was. But to her, he would always be more than that. He would always be her Rhys.

"I love you," she said, her voice steady, though her heart raced with the weight of the words. No matter how many times she said it, it never felt enough to capture the depth of what she felt for him.

Rhysand’s smile softened, his eyes glinting with something fierce and tender all at once. "I know, Feyre darling. I love you, too. More than words can ever express."

*＊✿❀　❀✿＊*

They stood there for a long time, wrapped in each other, in the quiet promise of forever.

Eventually, Rhysand turned his gaze back to the sky, his hand still holding hers. "Do you think the stars will ever fade?" he mused, his voice thoughtful.

Feyre followed his gaze, watching the glittering constellations. "Maybe one day," she replied. "But not for a long time."

Rhysand hummed softly, his wings rustling behind him. "Even if they do, we will still be here. In whatever form we take next. You and I—eternal."

Feyre smiled, leaning into him. The future stretched out before them, vast and unknowable. But for the first time in a long time, she wasn’t afraid of it.

Because no matter what the future held, they would face it together.

And together, they were eternal.

»»——End——««

[milunalupin]

hello !!   I just found your page, and your work is very good! If you’re willing to, I thought I would ask if you could write an Ominis x FMC piece where the FMC is actually a major fan of history and tends to go on a hyperfixiated rant whenever she’s asked about it, but seeing how many people don’t care for the subject, especially Ominis, she feels embarrassed and stops midway. With that, maybe you could incorporate ominis comforting her? or possibly him trying to seem engrossed in the subject to impress her?

thank you for your request, i hope you like it ! :)

— mon amour, mon ami

ominis gaunt x reader ★ 535 words

If you asked any of the students at Hogwarts, they would say that History of Magic was their least favorite class. That would be because of Professor Binns, whose constant droning on did nothing but put the class to sleep. A midday lesson would keep you drowsy for the rest of the day. Not that History of Magic was a particularly boring subject, but the professor enjoyed talking about his own past too much to really learn anything.

You were the exception.

Despite doing quite well academically, even Ominis couldn't fight against the way his eyes fell shut during the ghost professor's draining lectures. He doesn't understand how you can stay bright eyed and upright during them.

"Tell Sebastian he should be more careful. Him and that friend of his have been in the Hospital Wing more times than I can count. They're one dragon claw away from getting sent to St. Mungo's." you had told him one day, sitting side by side in the Transfiguration Courtyard. "Speaking of, they should be careful with dragons, in general. We just learned about Dragon Pox you see, and Professor Binns said..."

Ominis smiled to himself, wondering how you could work on your Divination essay, the Arithmancy extra credit work, and in the nicest way possible, prattle on about your History of Magic lesson.

If it was your lovely voice speaking to him, perhaps the dangers of Peruvian Vipertooths and ancient illnesses would interest him more.

Ominis kept rubbing his eyes, having stayed up last night studying. He didn't make it to breakfast that morning, needing to sleep in, so you were catching him up on Sebastian's latest adventure. The dumb sod tried to clear a whole mountain troll den on his own, his plans on finding a rare plant having failed. This woke him up, he could put his newly acquired knowledge to use.

"You know what else failed?" Ominis piped up, switching his wand between his clammy hands, "The Werewolf Code of Conduct that was developed in 1637. It's a shame that no one felt safe enough to reveal themselves as werewolves and sign it."

"Very true. You know, my cousin knew a girl whose uncle was a werewolf and- hey-" you brows knitted together, turning "How did you know?"

"Last week's lesson."

"Obviously it was last weeks lesson, but you hate History of Magic!"

He chuckled nervously, "It's been growing on me."

"Ominis that's wonderful!" you gasped, both hands coming to hold onto his arm. "You know, I was talking to Professor Binns the other day and we're going to have a project on wandlore in a few weeks. We could partner up and get started on it early!"

His heart rate picked up as you squeezed his arm with excitement, nodding in agreement because he could never say no to you.

"Perfect! I was thinking we could go to Ollivander's and ask for some samples of the different types of wand wood. I also already started researching wand wilting, and Stella from Potions said she'd let me take a look at hers since it's hazel wood! Did you know..."

No, he laughed inwardly. Ominis had no idea about what you were rambling on about.

[gambleofstars]

Electrician Reader as Vox’s Assistant (Pt. II)

₍ ⌨ ᶻᶻᶻ gambleofstars is typing ... ₎

↳ ❝ [a/n: i’m on a roll, expect a third part also haha, i kind of love this concept to be honest, not to mention i work an office job too so, pretty relatable to me. also minor content warning for smoking, but it's just casual, really] ¡! ❞

Part I

⋆♡* In fact, you liked hell, because people were much less judgmental.

⋆♡* In the overworld, your coworkers would judge you for every move. You were polite? You were a suck-up. You were cold? You were rude. You were professional? You were distant. So when you started calculating your every move? You were scheming.

⋆♡* But here? Your scheming qualities were greatly appreciated and utilized.

⋆♡* Your boss would let you stay in the conference room for business holder meetings. He doesn’t want you to know, but Vox definitely observed your reactions during these meetings. Every twitch of your brow and rolling of eyes you thought went unnoticed, were important.

⋆♡* And having a boss who sees your abilities is a sure way of making a loyal employee. Maybe this was also scheming on Vox’s part but hey, who judges who in hell?

⋆♡* If Vox’s honest, the 8am coffee and your faint groan of annoyance at his client was a bit of a highlight of his day, if you will.

⋆♡* He has to listen to either: boring meetings or other vees’ tantrums every day, so your small presence is welcome as a solidarity of someone seeing what he has to deal with.

⋆♡* (Even though his own hissy fits are no less ridiculous and much more dangerous)

⋆♡* You do get bonuses for putting up with them though. Don’t be mistaken, this is a business transaction, after all.

⋆♡* Sometimes though, you wonder who he was on earth? Or if you crossed paths in any way. You get this sentimental feeling at times that you can never explain…

★゜・。。・゜゜・。。・゜☆゜・。。・゜゜・。。・゜★

“FUCK!” Vox exclaims as he slumps down on his desk (?) chair after raging about the PR management team messing up their work. Yet again. At this point, his bowtie is all messed up and his button-up is half wrinkled.

He’s still seething, but you can see the anger is slowly sizzling out. Good, you were really not in the mood for playing therapist this evening. You already had a long day of sorting out the PR nightmare that is Valentino’s social media (which was partially the reason for Vox’s current exhaustion).

Usually, you’d listen to Vox yap about 99 problems in his vicinity. Let him let it out and then distract him with an upcoming business opportunity - kinda dealing it like you would with a teenager.

For some reason though, this evening the soft breeze coming through the open windows of the office and purple dust color of the hell’s sky, you felt an olive branch form in your heart.

“Would you like a cigarette?”

It always worked for you. After the stress of sorting out numerous affairs for the Vees (primarily your boss), a cigarette felt like a piece of heaven, really. So, why not? Bonding time with your boss or whatever.

He eyes your outstretched hand that’s holding a pack of Malborry Red (delivered straight from the gluttony ring); he seems almost suspicious, which makes you laugh.

“Don’t worry boss, drugs is Mr. V’s style. This is just tobacco”

“Fuck it”

He grabs the cigarette out of the pack and sighs like a single dad of 50 kids. Before you can laugh at this pathetic little man, you get out your lighter and light the cig up as courtesy, seeing as you’re the one who offered it.

There’s a tense moment when he just looks at you. You don’t know what he’s thinking at times and this is one of them. It bothers you a bit, like you can’t read an open book.

Either way, when he takes the first drag, he slowly goes to lean over the balcony railing with his elbows as you light your own stick. You don’t join him though.

Both of you stay silent in the comfort of an otherwise empty wing. The only noise is from the city down below and the quiet whirring of Vox’s fans to filter out the nicotine-filled smoke.

It’s kind of relaxing, in all honesty.

“Maybe I should just jump off here” he says out loud. The casual tone makes you scoff with amusement as you join him on the balcony as well. You stay close to the door though.

“Please think of the company’s integrity sir” you remind him, taking a drag of your own cigarette “Also, you can’t really die here. There are 75 electricians and technicians on standby at all times.”

Vox groans and puts the screen of his head down onto his forearm, his cigarette hanging off the 50 story building with just his two fingers as a safety measurement.

“Then maybe I’ll go out of commission for a week and ignore everything and everyone for once” he concludes with the same casuality.

“You need to be present at the shareholders meeting tomorrow afternoon or it won’t commence” you explain, honestly a bit delighted in deliberately pissing him off.

“You go do it then”

“No thank you”

Another sigh and a comfortable silence. You’d think Vox fell asleep if his fans weren’t still whirring. Even though feeling pity for the rich is a bit ridiculous, you find yourself approaching him and leaning with your back on the railing.

“Tell you what boss, I think you need to present the angelic security plan by tomorrow at 4:45” you suggest, eyeing his reaction.

He looks up at you a bit confused “Right after the meeting?”

You chuckle a bit mean-spirited “What are they gonna do? Leave?”

He picks up at what you’re putting down and a wicked smile crosses his face “So that means I won’t have any meetings until Friday”

You pick up an ashtray on the coffee table next to you and hold it out for him. But seeing as he doesn’t even notice how his cig is burning away as he plans his Thursday, you pluck it out of his hands to put it out for him.

It’s almost laughable how perplexed he looks, but you resist as you put your own stick out too and place the tray back down.

“Do you need me to plan anything for Thursday sir?”

“Do you think on earth we ever crossed paths?”

Well that was out of the blue “I don’t know sir, never thought about it” that’s a lie, you’ve thought about it every time you left the office with a feeling of deja vu.

“Whatever, who gives a shit” he said, aloof and walked back into his office “You’re more useful as my assistant down here anyway”

Maybe. Not like your life was any less stressful on earth, right? (please, do note the sarcasm).

Still, watching your boss blow up like a bomb every other morning was enough entertainment to make this job amusing.

Not to mention, on earth, this fleeting moment of fondness never crossed your heart. How ironic that you find the most vulnerable part of yourself in the flaming pits of hell filled with sinners alike you.

Maybe that’s why. The fact that you found someone who can keep up the pace with your deliberate chess-piece kind of thinking with no guilt, is a bit of a blessing in disguise.

How a string of your heart happily tugs at his victories.

You won’t let him know that though.

i'm really liking writing out my office work frustrations in these small drabbles ahaha >:) anyway, my request box is open if you wanna drop by :) <3

signing off, gambi 💋

[camilaxmartin]

I’m so glad there is another Lute lover 😭 literally she makes me feral. I was wondering if you could do headcanons for Lute w a super feminine gf (in personality and fashion sense)! If not that’s totally cool and you can ignore this ask!!! Have a great day! :) 💜

her princess

navigation // rules // masterlist

summary: headcanons about lute being in relationship with a high feminine girl and everything that comes with it:)

warnings: soft!lute, a bit suggestive part at the end, adam being a dick in one scene

notes: finally getting to the requests! yay! anyway, LOVED WRITING THIS ONE AS I AM PERSONALLY A VERY FEMININE GIRLIE SKDHDDJ

requests: open!!

★ | let’s start with the fact that you’re literally the purest and most beautiful angel lute has ever seen in her life and in whole heaven. the first time you two meet she literally can’t take her eyes off of you, explaining to herself that she’s just simply admiring how confident you are while being so… girly and the literal opposite of what she has thought her whole life being confident means.

★ | it was nothing special, the first time you two met, just a simple, accidental meeting on the promenade of heaven, lute walking home off-duty when she spots you. if she hadn’t have this much of self control she’d just stop in her tracks and stare at you, but thankfully her mind didn’t let her. she notices the way you’re dressed and how amazingly beautiful your wings present themselves with this whole look and she’s literally speechless. not that she’d utter a word to you if she wasn’t.

★ | it’s obvious you notice her as well, how could you not? an angel like her just walking around the promenade, cmon now, who wouldn’t notice her? you smile softly to her and just turn away, walking your own path, making that dress of yours flatter perfectly. lute’s eyes haven’t left your presence till you literally disappeared from her field of view. and she could’ve sworn her body didn’t have any reaction to you, yet her wings came right in to disobey her. they puffed up ever so slightly, making lute feel the heat going through her back. and since then, you haven’t left her thoughts alone, messing up with her daily schedule and everything she’s known.

★ | adam has picked up on her strange behaviour almost immediately and looked at her suspiciously:

“what’s up your ass this morning, danger-tits?” he asked looking at her with his eyebrows raised. she sighed and rolled her eyes.

“nothing, just…” she stopped mid sentence and huffed. “nothing” she added and flew off, getting ready for her training.

★ | the next time she saw you, she was walking home as well but this time spotted you sitting at the ‘gods-caffe’ eating a donut with sprinkles. she stopped and just simply observed you through the huge window on the wall of the caffe, definitely forgetting about a fact that you can, indeed, see her too. just when you finished your last bite of that donut you instinctively turned your head to the side and noticed her, literally starring at you. at first you were a bit confused but that expression almost immediately turned into a soft smile, as you started to get up from your seat. that action seemed to pull lute out of her state as she immediately started walking away and even flew up just to not let you catch her.

★ | and that simple interaction if you can even call it that, caused another wave of questions from adam to fall over her the next morning:

“okay, you’re quite out of this world, what’s on your mind huh?” he asked smiling like he knew exactly what was going on and put his hands on his hips. lute rolled her eyes and groaned flying away once again, to join the other exterminators in their sparring.

★ | as she finally thought she got over that mystical angel girl that seemed to corrupt her mind, as she was flying around heaven with adam, he bumped into you causing a lot of chaos:

“watch where you’re flying, asshole!” he yelled not even looking at who he’s bumped into. when lute turned her head and noticed you, her eyes immediately went wide and she felt the lump in her throat forming, looking at your another dress fitting you just so perfectly, the colour matching your eyes.

“oh, sorry” you said stroking your cheek where adam’s mask has hit you few second ago. he rolled his eyes and immediately flew off, flying even higher up the clouds. your eyes finally noticed the girl who seemed to be staring at you for a moment now. you smiled to her softly and waved.

“hi” you said with remaining smile, your dress floating in the motion of your wings keeping you in air. lute was immediately pulled out of her thoughts and stared at you even more intensely now.

“uh- hi” she said looking away and her eyes stared following adam who was now waiting above the two of you with confusion forming on his mask.

“i saw you in front of that caffe, and wanted to talk to you but you disappeared” you said with a soft chuckle and lute swore it was the softest sound she’s heard in her life. and then she noticed you were waiting for her response.

“oh yeah- i was just passing by” she shrugged simply, trying to erase the fact that she was literally starring at you that day. “you…” she cleared her throat and looked up at adam again. “i have to go” she said quickly and flew off, joining adam high up. you just followed her with your eyes and with a small frown but decided not to chase them not wanting to get into another conversation with that dude.

★ | and after that incident adam was even more sure what was happening. he started annoying lute all day long about that girl she suddenly lost her ability to speak around and that it’s unknown for her to do so. he started joking about how the girl was literally looking like a doll and that was when lute had had enough of him and decided to take a day off, just to gather her thoughts and, let’s be real here, get a break from this dipshit

★ | on her day off, she decided to simply fly around heaven to let her mind wander and finally get rest. after a lot, and i mean, a lot, of thinking and wondering she’s come to conclusion that it’s immaculate that you’re able to be confident as an angel looking that… feminine. which made her mind spiral even deeper making all of her thoughts just about you, about how you look, about your voice and how soft it is and how outrageously sweet your lips must taste… wait-

★ | she’d probably spend her whole day off just on that when she noticed you sitting on a cloud close to when she was actually flying. she took a deep breath and decided to approach you. she flew up to the cloud immediately and just floated right next to you. your head turned immediately and the most beautiful smile she’s ever seen creeped onto your face.

“hi” she said with more confidence this time her wings immediately opening more and puffing up a bit. you obviously noticed that and chuckled, the sound making lute’s wings puff up even more.

“hi” you responded and moved a bit so she could sit down next to you. and she did.

★ | i’d say your attraction to her grew rather quickly same as hers to you. she was still amazed by your delicate personality and the way you dressed and how you managed to pull it off so… effortlessly. and believe me, it added a lot to her liking to you.

★ | after that accidental meeting on that cloud, lute decided to ask you out to that caffe she saw you in, not even realising it sounded like a date and not just a normal meet-up, but the smile on your face assured her that you didn’t mind it being an actual date.

★ | when you two met up for that date, lute was surprised to find out that you had some kind of a sweet tooth and couldn’t imagine a coffee without something sweet to eat with it. she let you pick whatever you wanted and whichever coffee you wanted and smiled seeing you picked out the sweetest one they offered while also ordering a slice of strawberry-chocolate cake with it. she ordered an expresso for herself without anything to eat.

“i see you like sweet things” she chuckled sitting down at one of the tables against huge windows. you giggled taking a sip.

“what can i say? i guess i like to sweeten up my life as much as i can” you chuckled taking a bite from your cake. “in any matter” you added with a small smirk.

she raised her eyebrow at you not fully understanding. “what do you mean?” she asked taking a sip from her cup.

“i choose sweet people to sweeten up my life as well as the sweetest treats i can find” you laughed and lute’s eyes went wide as she looked away from you with a chuckle trying to hide her embarrassment from that little teasingly compliment of yours.

★ | lute was delighted to find out you loved flowers. the first time she’s ever been in your apartment, she noticed straight away how many plants you had and that you always had some kind of flowers on your coffee table in the saloon. she smiled to herself knowing exactly how to surprise you next time.

“hi!” she yelled flying up to your window one day and waking you up. you yawned and walked over to the window opening it and looking at her surprised.

“lute?” you asked surprised, looking at the girl floating behind your window wearing a wide grin.

lute’s smile widened even more as she took out flowers from behind her back and handed them to you. “just a little treat for you” she said more nervously now but still trying to keep her voice calm. your eyes widened and a smile immediately creeped up to your face.

“my god, thank you!” you said taking the flowers and moving away from the window so she can enter your bedroom. you immediately put the flowers onto your desk and walked back to lute locking her in a hug she definitely wasn’t prepared for. “best morning ever” you whispered with a giggle at which she chuckled nervously.

you leaned away a bit when you felt her wings flatter a bit and she looked away awkwardly, feeling her cheeks starting to burn. you chuckled and decided there won’t be a better occasion than this. softly your hands grabbed her cheeks and you moved your lips to hers, connecting them in a soft and quick kiss just showing your gratefulness. lute didn’t kiss you back, but not because she didn’t want to, but because she was too stunned to do so. when you leaned away with a chuckle she immediately moved her face to yours, locking your lips in another kiss, less soft and definitely less stunned.

★ | something she’d need to get used to is how many little stuff you own. lute isn’t really the one to be nostalgic and sentimental about a lot of stuff, but when she saw your collection of random things that just bring joy or any other feeling to you, that you decided to keep, her brain told her she doesn’t own anything sentimental.

★ | when you started spending even more time together and lute stayed the night with you, she was surprised but very pleasant to get to know about your love for baths and everything that comes with it. she couldn’t believe her eyes the first time she saw how many bath salts and bombs you had not really expecting you to have so many in so many different colours and shapes. she looked through them curious and picked up a heart-shaped, black one smelling it, her eyes going immediately wide when the scent hit her nose.

“you like it?” you asked with a giggle running a bath for yourself, standing next to her.

“it smells marvellous” she said smelling it once again. you just giggled at her reaction and started to take off all your rings to prepare for the bath.

“you can use it if you want” you said nonchalantly with a smile watching her face turn up into a smile.

“really?” she asked looking at you with literal glimpses in her eyes at what you giggled once again.

“of course” you responded with a smile.

★ | speaking of which, lute was surprised to see your collection of rings. of course she noticed those that you were wearing daily but she didn’t expect you to have a full box of different rings and necklaces. she looked through them fascinated and even put on some of them when she was sure you couldn’t see her. she looked down on her hands and smiled enjoying how they looked on her fingers, making them longer and slimmer. when you came into the room her wings immediately went out hiding her while she tried to desperately take off the rings so you wouldn’t notice she tried them on. you slowly walked over to her with a curious smile, moving one of her wings out of your way and noticing how she tried to put all of them in their places. you chuckled softly.

“you can wear them if you want” you said walking away from her and going to the mirror to brush your hair. lute smiled sheepishly at you and picked out one ring putting it on her finger admiring it once again.

“i didn’t know you liked jewellery so much” she said still being focused on her hand. you chuckled softly and shrugged.

“what can i say? i like to have many options” you smiled looking at her through the mirror. “you can keep it” you added looking at the ring she chose.

“definitely not” she said laughing nervously and taking it off. you rolled your eyes playfully, walking over to her and putting the ring on her finger once again, softly looking into her eyes.

“keep it. please.” you said with a smile and lute couldn’t help but look away trying not to blush, as her wings puffed up without her consent.

★ | the same night she couldn’t believe her eyes when she saw your collection of stuffed animals. she smiled uncontrollably seeing how deeply you talked about every and each of them and couldn’t wait for you birthday to come so she could surprise you with another one of them. or to be fair, she just couldn’t wait to surprise you with it any day, not looking at the occasion.

★ | lute also didn’t expect your pyjamas to be as soft as they actually were. when the two of you got into your bed, lute wearing some old t-shirt with shorts and felt your silk matching set of pyjama on her skin she literally looked down at you with pure surprise in her eyes which you softly laughed at.

“you like my pyjamas?” you asked and she nodded her head, cuddling you tightly, pressing her skin onto yours her wings puffing up uncontrollably.

★ | deeper in the relationship lute would need to get used to a lot of things with you. for example your mood swings. of course she was a bit moody herself but the first time she saw how easily your mood could be changed just because of a small thing she needed a moment to understand it. she loved your personality and everything that came with it so it didn’t really change much, and just the thought of getting to know more of your sides made her heart flutter which she hated herself for, not being used to having that much feelings for someone.

★ | the first time you offered doing a spy night with her she was a bit sceptical but your puppy eyes made her change her mind very quickly. and just like that she ended up with a black care mask on her face, cucumber on her eyes and some kind of pink mask on her lips.

★ | when you asked her if you could paint her nails she didn’t have anything against it, until you said you wanted to paint them pink. she squinted her face and sighed but agreed, telling you she’d wash it off in the morning when she’d leave.

“pink really suits you” you said painting her toe nails and giggling. lute rolled her eyes but smiled looking down at her pink nails both on her toes and hands.

“sure” she said teasingly and laughed as this time you rolled your eyes.

“really, it brings out your lips” you said and she looked away feeling her blush.

“shut up” she said as her wings puffed up a bit, and her eyes stayed on your ceiling. you chuckled.

★ | safe to say, she didn’t wipe it off in the morning no matter how badly she complained before that she’d do it.

(a bit suggestive!!)

★ | another thing lute was surprised but also delighted to find out was the collection of lingerie and matching sets you owned. she didn’t mean to find them at first, but when you told her she could pick out something from your wardrobe to change into she just… happened to find them and beside the huge blush that covered her face she also couldn’t stop her mind from wandering and imagining you in all of those sets in many, and i mean many, different situations.

you walked back into your room noticing lute was just starting at something in your closet, so you softly sneaked up to her peeking at what she was looking and chuckled softly.

“enjoying my collection?” you asked with a giggle feeling your blush coming out. lute immediately looked back at you with a dumb smile and a nod of her head.

“yeah, very” she said looking away from you and her eyes uncontrollably going back to the underwear and then slowly to your body. you giggled seeing her eyes.

“wait for the day you see me in them” you smiled and kissed her forehead leaving a lip stain there.

“can’t wait” she chuckled and looked at you, grabbing your waist softly and pulling you in for a deep kiss, her wings puffing up immediately, when her lips only touched yours.

@lizbizbae <3

[franabz]

★ Task Force 141 Band AU

(my asks are open for whoever has questions or is interested in the concept!! feel free to slide in)

Soap would be the drummer, and a damn wild one at that. He was never really good at singing and has a tendency to hide away in his garage to slam away on his drum set like the gates of hell were opening up. He usually performs without a shirt due to how sweaty and overheated he gets while performing, simply personal preference. Like Price, he is also a massive enjoyer of mosh pits and sometimes begins playing even harder as he watches the crowd dance around and head-bang like a pile of fish. He loved it.

Gaz would be the bassist/background vocalist, always keeping on rhythm and adding that extra flair to each song that it just needed. He has a very nice singing voice, but is way too stage shy to be the lead vocalist, though many fans wonder how he could be so scared with the sultry voice of a godsend. Despite his shy demeanor on stage he is very upbeat and enthusiastic with each note played, whether it be head bobbing or full on hopping around stage like a lunatic when he is in the zone.

Price would be the manager and rhythm guitarist, easily the most experienced of the bunch. He is the one that organized the idea of a band and gets the group gigs and whatnot. On stage he is pretty laid back and reserved, though he does get very into the music. He also isn't very good of a singer due to constant voice cracks or flat notes because of his smoker lungs, something he refuses to quit despite best efforts. Despite his reserved demeanor, he absolutely loves it when mosh pits start, often tossing guitar picks into the crowd and watching the audience roar in shouting and cheers.

Ghost would be the lead guitarist and vocalist, though not very interactive with the fans. He has a deep and gruff baritone voice, one that makes the ladies swoon at just the mere thought, though he quickly learned to not pay any mind to it. When in the zone, he's an absolute beast. Fingers flying across the fretboard like it was the last song on earth, sometimes so hard his fingers would start bleeding all over his guitar; though he doesn't seem to care. Nobody had ever seen his face, which furthermore adds to the mystery of the masked guitarist.

The group was going through a dry spot in their gigs and decided it was time to find a new addition to the band; you.

Price decided to take the band to a local bar that was currently hosting a bands night, the perfect opportunity to find potential candidates to fill the secondary background vocals position. Everyone was on board with the idea of a new member, being enthusiastic about it if anything. But not Ghost.

"They'll all be shite." He'd repeat like a broken record, as if that would do anything to change Price's mind.

Now here they are, seated in a secluded part of the bar and scoping out the crowds like hawks, the soft intermission instrumentals and the dimmed yellow lights mixed with the lingering scent of alcohol and cigarettes filling the musky air.

Soap came back from the bar with four shots, setting the glasses onto the sticky wooden table and sliding into the booth beside Ghost, a small smirk across his lips.

"Figured ye needed some liquid courage b'fore tae bands c'me out." The Scotsman chuckled over the overlapping noise of crowded patrons, raising a hand to give Ghost a firm pat on the shoulder, one of which caused him to grumble something inaudible under his balaclava.

"Ts' all useless." Ghost grunted, raising the edge of his balaclava briefly to take a sip of his lukewarm bourbon, curling his lip in disgust. "You ever stop complainin', Si?" Price huffed, placing a cigar between his lips and lighting the other end with a cheep lighter, the thick smoke pooling from his lips and wafting into the air. "Jus' being realistic." He jeered, watching as the lights of the pub began to dim and the stage-lights brightened, illuminating the stage. A stage manager emerged from behind the wings and gently tapped the top of the microphone before clearing his throat and addressing the audience.

"Good 'fternoon everyone! I hope you are all havin' a good night!" The man spoke, his voice quickly followed by an uproar of applause and cheering. Gaz laughed lightly at the enthusiasm; mainly from the piss drunk bar patrons. "To start off this night, let's all give a warm welcome to the first band of the night, Woodland!" As he added that final segment, the audience roared even louder as the stage manager handed off the microphone to the lead vocalist of the band, a girl by the stage name Vixen.

As the band started loading on stage, Price was vigilantly scanning each member for potential candidates, already mentally rehearsing what he would say as a proposition to whoever he deemed fit for an invite. Ghost sat in his booth with a quiet scowl across his face, though it was mostly hidden by his balaclava. Everyone seemed the same as the rest; too cocky for their own damn good. He scoffed and leaned back in his seat, folding strong arms over his broad chest and reached for his shot glass, before pausing briefly, a flicker of interest crossing over his gaze as one member in specific crossed the stage and grabbed their microphone; you.

This was about to get interesting.