#and if anyone complains about the fact that the details are hard to see in this one

[nereidprinc3ss]

hi!!! here for a request. can we have a imagine where reader has a wound from surgery or whatever on like in a rib and she hides to change the bandages but then spencer sees her and he’s like ‘lemme help you’ and…

you do you for the rest!

in which spencer helps BAU fem!reader change her bandages in the bathroom at work. it's intimate, and he's adorable and awkward, and it only fuels her terrible, terrible crush.

warnings/tags: fluff, talk/description of wound, brief talk of being stabbed (does not actually occur in this fic lol), reader wears a bra, spencer undoes said bra but not sexually, lots of suggestive humor and teasing, a TINY sprinkling of angst but not really, idiots in love

a/n: i'm picturing early seasons spencer and it is filling me with so much unbridled joy. I. LOVE. HIM. thank you for the request!! and lets not talk about how inconsistent my formatting for requests is pls and thanks!!

It’s not like you meant to bend down so quickly that your wound reopened—but here you are, suffering the consequences of your actions in the women’s bathroom at Quantico as you try to assess the injury before you re-bandage it. And your shoe is still untied. 

Unfortunately, the fact that you had quite literally been stabbed in the back last week makes it hard to reach said injury—especially when you’re at work and so can’t take off your shirt like you normally would. And all this struggling means it’s taking longer than it should, so now you’re focused on the wound and its scabby, wet edges and all the things it’s secreting rather than hurrying to give another statement of the entire event to Hotch since the first one had apparently been too sparse on the details. 

A knock sounds on the open door. Spencer calls your name. 

“You in there?”

The angle of your neck has your voice slightly strained as you call back, “yeah, what’s up? Is it Hotch?” you pause to hiss as you accidentally scratch at the wound with a nail. You don’t even want to know how much bacteria you just introduced to it. “Tell him I didn’t forget our meeting, I’ll be there in—”

“It’s not Hotch. I just wanted to make sure everything was okay with your back? I know you said you were going to check on it, but you’ve been in there a while.”

You sigh, dropping your sore arm as you continue to hold up your shirt with the other and regarding the reflection of your back in the mirror. 

“Actually—could you come in here?”

There’s a pause. 

“You want me to come into the women’s restroom?”

“Yes, Spencer. It’s fine. There’s nobody else in here. I just… I need some help, I think.”

The last part is admitted quietly, with an air of defeat. To admit to needing help, is, by your standards, the same as failure. Spencer knows this, which is probably the only reason he puts aside his hesitations and shuffles uncertainly into the tiled room. If you’re asking for help, it’s because you really need it. 

“What do you need help with?” he asks, sweeping his gaze suspiciously around the lavatory as if you were lying about there not being any other women present and this whole thing might be a trap of some sort. 

“It’s gross, and you can totally say no.”

He raises his brows expectantly, before spotting the weeping wound on your back. Unconsciously he steps closer, leaning forward. It’s not your fault, and the gore is not specific to you—anyone’s body would react this way to being stabbed. But you still feel embarrassed by the close attention to such an ugly marring, which nobody besides you and your doctors has actually seen up close.

“That doesn’t look good,” he mutters. The expression on his face is irritatingly familiar—the drawn brows, tightened eyes, barely parted lips—but it takes a moment before you realize what it is. 

“Reid,” you complain. He’s still stooped over slightly to examine the wound, and looks up at you through dark lashes with those infuriatingly warm puppydog eyes.

“What?”

“You’re looking at me the way you look at a dead body on the slab.”

His nose scrunches.

Some might say it scrunches adorably. 

“No, I’m not. That’s just my face.”

“Okay, well stop. It’s freaking me out.”

He pouts—actually pouts. Subtle, but bottom lip jutted out and all. It’s ridiculously endearing. 

“My face freaks you out?”

“Wh—no! That’s not what I said! You have—you have a great face! I didn’t mean—” 

You manage to claw yourself out of the hole you’re digging when you see the dopey smile growing on his face. 

Oh. He was fucking with you. 

He never used to do that. It’s unnerving to be the fucked with instead of the fucker for a change. Especially when it’s Spencer. 

“What did you need me for?” Spencer asks by way of peace offering. You close your eyes and sigh, attempting to collect your thoughts without his presence re-scrambling them.  

“Um—I just need you to put this bandage over it. I can’t reach without taking my shirt off.”

And now you’re forced to wonder if he’s thinking about you shirtless as much as you’re thinking about you shirtless.

“Yeah—don’t do that,” he says absentmindedly, stepping again closer to get a better look before turning to the nearest sink.

For some reason, this offends you. 

“Why not?”

Spencer pulls another face as he washes his hands—you love the constant flow of expressions he always seems so unconscious of. Even when they’re not pleasant and directed at you.  

“Are you asking me why shouldn’t you take your shirt off?” he clarifies. 

“I know why I shouldn’t take my shirt off, but I want to know why you think I shouldn’t take my shirt off.”

“Because we’re at work?” he observes astutely. You frown deeply at his completely logical reply. Spencer chuckles as he dries his hands and approaches once more, taking the square of gauze pre-lined with medical tape from your hand. “I mean, I can’t stop you. But it would be kind of a weird choice.”

“Oh, so me shirtless is weird?”

Cool fingers meet the comparatively hot skin of your back—where everything is still sensitive because the wound wreaked havoc on your nerves there. You flinch slightly. 

“Sorry,” he murmurs gently. Though his touch is so incredibly light it doesn’t really hurt—it hurts much less than when you’re tending to the wound, anyway. It’s almost soothing. After a moment he continues, a bit louder. “And that is not what I was saying. But I am completely comfortable asserting that it would be weird for you to be shirtless at work.”

The gentle touches contrast with his teasing words and serve to disorient you as you’re shaken back in to your usual dynamic. Which is markedly more sarcastic. 

“Well—”

Before you have to think of something to say, Spencer interrupts you. 

“Your, um—I think your… brassiere… is in the way.”

As soon as he says it you burst out laughing. It echoes through the room. 

“My brassiere? Are you actually 70 years old?”

His brows knit even tighter and his face gets very pink very quickly. He can’t meet your eyes over your shoulder. 

“That’s what it’s called.”

“Spencer, you may be the first person to use that word since 1952. Say bra.”

“I don’t want to,” he complains. Your laughter only grows as your head tips back. 

“Why? How is brassiere better than bra?”

“It’s—it’s too colloquial! I’m trying to be professional!”

“Call it a bra or I’m going to rub my dirty hands all over my back,” you threaten, adopting a poker face so he knows you mean business. His eyes widen immediately. 

“Oh my god! Bra! Do you want to introduce staph and meningitis and g—do not do that!”

“See? How hard was that?”

“I hate you,” he mumbles, face still flushed and adorable. “And you still have to take it off.”

“Excuse me?” you grin, pretending to be affronted because you know he didn’t mean it like that but it’s fun to pretend he did. Fun for you, of course. Not so much for him. He's utterly flustered by this point.

“Or at least undo it! It’s in the way.”

With a deeply bored sigh, you go to unclasp your bra—but as you go to do it your shirt drops down. You grimace, humor briefly forgotten as the fabric brushes the damaged skin. 

“I can’t—”

“Okay, just—I’ll do it,” Spencer says. “Just move your shirt again.”

So you do, watching his reflection as he works.

And you have not one joke to break the heavy silence with as you feel his knuckles gently pressing into the middle of your back, as he unclasps the bra with his characteristic tenderness and a surprising amount of agility. It’s quiet except for your pulse in your own ears as he carefully pushes it out of his way, holding it down with a hand to your rib cage and fingertips slipping just under the fabric of your shirt—unintentionally and certainly non-sexual, no doubt, but skimming under your heart in a way that still feels so intimate you’re realizing how touch-starved you are. 

“You do that often?” you find yourself asking, because you’re stupid, and you need to cool the tension before it chokes you, and you can’t help yourself even though you don’t actually want to know the answer. 

“I,” he begins, voice quiet as rustling paper, tongue darting over his lip and eyes narrowed. The sentence stalls as he focuses on placing the patch just so. “Do not think that is an appropriate workplace question.”

Something aches in the pit of your stomach. 

Something resembling jealousy. 

It was not the timid evasive linguistic maneuver of someone who is insecure about the thing they’re discussing. It was not the awkward fumbling no but I don’t want to tell you that which you were expecting from Spencer Reid. 

Nor is it an easy yes—an admission between friends. He doesn’t want to tell you. 

You swallow and try to act like yourself. 

“Yet here you are, in the woman’s restroom at our place of employment, undoing my bra. I think we’re past professionalism.”

“When you decontextualize it like that it sounds like something it���s not. This is professional, because I’m helping you with a wound you sustained on the job. I’m being a good colleague.”

Your lips twist into a smile he can’t see. 

“A great colleague would kiss it better.”

“It's almost like you want me to file a sexual harassment complaint with HR," he says through a little smirk as he smooths the bandage over. Before you can snip back, he steamrolls over his own teasing—you’ve both been speaking in almost reverent tones since he started but his voice loses the sarcastic edge from a second before and reverts back to concerned and sweet. “Does that feel okay?”

You rotate your shoulders best you can without letting go of your shirt or flashing the good doctor to check if it feels secure.  

“It’s good. And hey—if I were going to sexually harass you I would do a lot better than that. You think that’s my best material? That’s just the tip of the iceberg. I keep so many inappropriate comments to myself. You’d be shocked by some of the things I have almost said to you.”

He laughs, secures the band of your bra and begins fitting it to the clasp you’d had it on—and at that precise moment Emily walks in. 

“H—woah.”

“It’s—I’m—I was helping her!” Spencer panics, immediately removing his hands from you like his palms are burning and holding them up defensively. 

“Oh, you helped me alright,” you tease, pulling your shirt back into place. 

“Don’t say it like that!” And then, to Emily, “I was changing out her bandage!”

“Changing my bandage,” you emphasize, winking more than is advisable. 

“That’s—this is a hostile work environment! I feel unsafe!” Spencer almost yells, half laughs, as he scampers towards the door. “I’m going to HR!”

“Shut up! You love it!”

His laughter audibly travels farther away for several moments as he presumably goes back down the hallway to do his actual job. 

You have the stupidest grin on your face, but you wipe it off when you notice Emily staring. 

“What?”

“Nothing,” she says, shaking her head and looking away, moving toward a stall. “You’re just… you guys are funny.”

“What do you mean funny?” You demand, standing right outside her stall as she closes it. 

“Wh—I mean funny! Are you going to listen to me pee, you weirdo?”

You frown. 

She makes a good point. 

Unfortunately, giving Hotch a more detailed statement is just as bad as you’d thought it’d be. Despite how cheery you’ve tried to remain about the whole situation, despite the way you insisted that the wound was so shallow you didn’t need more than a few days off work, despite the jokes you make about forgetting it’s even there because it’s on your back—it’s hard not to remember exactly how the glass felt twisting under your skin, how you’d felt suddenly so hot and lightheaded and sick to your stomach and the way Morgan hollered because he didn’t know how deep it had gone after you crumpled quick from shock, when you’re asked to describe it all in excruciating detail. 

It only takes ten minutes, but they seem to drag on and on and by the time you’re leaving Hotch’s office you feel utterly drained. You hurry back to your desk, covertly wiping away moisture that you refuse to allow to become tears. Once seated, and having dodged sympathetic looks and avoided any do you want to talk about its, you allow yourself a few deep breaths with your eyes shut. 

When you open them, you realize there’s a fresh cup of your favorite tea on your desk, in the Snoopy mug the team is always fighting over. Now his little black nose is covered by a square of yellow paper. You’re already smiling as you peel away the sticky note and hold it closer. 

On it is an adorably odd smiley-face, and a note in familiar, messy looping scrawl. 

I would never report you to HR beautiful

That would be a stab in the back!

You snort loudly and clap a hand to your mouth—but you’ve already drawn the attention of almost everyone in the bullpen. 

When you turn to look at Spencer, he’s not looking back. Instead, his eyes are firmly trained on his computer screen. But he’s got his chin propped on his fist over the desk, and his knuckles are doing a poor job of concealing a giant self satisfied grin. He is the only person on the team who knows you well enough to make such a distasteful joke. And he also knows you well enough to know that it would make you feel so much better after your meeting with Hotch than all the well-meaning sincerity in the world ever could.

Funny. 

Maybe that is the right word for what you two are. 

[fastandcarlos]

100% Whipped : ̗̀➛ Lando Norris

summary: lando is happy to do just about anything for you, which the other drivers are more than happy to remind lando about too

Lando looked around in confusion as sniggers came from around the room, his fellow drivers all looked at him in disbelief, many shaking their heads as he spoke once again. 

“There are other things we can talk about,” Max told him, smirking across at Lando opposite him. “We don’t constantly just have to talk about your girlfriend you know.” 

Lando’s brows furrowed in confusion as several others nodded in agreement with Max. It was a habit of his, and one he didn’t realise he had either, but the rest of the boys were all too aware of just how much Lando loved to talk about you, to anyone who listened. 

They couldn’t help but smile at how fondly Lando spoke of you, the way his smile turned up and his eyes got brighter whenever the conversation was about you. As much as they loved knowing that Lando was happy, they didn’t need telling quite as much as they currently were. 

“I don’t just talk about her,” Lando argued, but as the others rolled their eyes, Lando wasn’t quite so confident that he didn’t talk about you as much as they all suggested. 

Although he would never admit just how much he adored you, Lando knew that he had been falling hard for you. He loved to gush about you and make sure that everyone else got to see what he saw in you, how kind, caring and funny you were. 

The rest of the paddock knew that anyway, but Lando liked to make extra sure that was the case with all of his stories about you. 

“Every time she’s not at a race you sit and complain that she’s not there and how much you need her,” Oscar spoke up, “she’s all we talk about on a race weekend.” 

“Or when she is there, you refuse to let her out of your sight because you want to make sure that she’s alright,” George added, smirking across at Lando, “you don’t let her lift a finger.” 

More and more stories came out as the boys all interjected with the moments that they’d experienced with Lando, seeing firsthand just how in love with you he was. 

“I’m just being a good boyfriend,” Lando tried to argue once they eventually fell silent, but even Lando was beginning to realise that he went above and beyond, constantly. 

“I think you know how she’s going to spend her day better than she does,” Daniel responded, unable to hold back his laughter. “You used to tell me every day exactly what she was up to, almost as if you knew where she was minute by minute.” 

“Really?” Lando asked in surprise, not realising quite how much attention to detail he paid when it came to what you were doing. 

“You don’t even realise that you’re doing it half the time.” 

Lando’s stature shrunk, sinking down in his seat. “I promise that I’m not as whipped as you guys all probably think I am, it’s not that bad.” 

“You are,” Carlos stated, sending Lando a knowing look, “but I guess most of the time it is quite sweet.” 

“Aside from the fact that you make the rest of us look like terrible boyfriends,” Charles added. 

Lando struggled to hold back his smile, although it wasn’t a competition, he knew that the two of you were a popular couple around the paddock. He felt like he was the standard, showing the others how to take care of your girlfriend properly and not care about what anyone else had to say about it. 

“I wonder if she realises how whipped you are for her or whether she’s just used to it all by now,” Oscar spoke up, looking pensively across at Lando. 

“I think Y/N is just as whipped for him as Lando is for her,” Daniel very quickly argued, “you should’ve heard some of the conversations we had about him when I was on the team.” 

A smile emerged on Lando’s face as some of the boys nodded in agreement again. They were used to listening to you talk about Lando just as much, talking through how amazing his races were time after time as if they hadn’t been there to experience it themselves. 

“Would you guys like me to stop talking about Y/N so much?” Lando asked them all. 

The group felt quite guilty as Lando stared seriously across at them all. They all knew that he meant it, glancing between themselves as their heads all shook back across at him. 

“We’re only messing with you buddy,” George assured him, tapping against his shoulders, “maybe we just don’t need to know every single last detail about her.” 

Lando nodded, smiling back across at George. “I’m sure I can tone it down a little bit, the last thing I need is you guys all thinking that I’m whipped.” 

“Mate, we all definitely know that you are though.” 

He could try to deny it all he wanted, but the boys all knew what he was like. It was something in him that they were never going to change, but as such a popular member of the team, it meant a lot to all of them to see how happy he was with you. 

“Don’t even try and deny it,” Max called out as Lando went to speak again, “wear it with pride, some people would kill to have the sort of relationship that the two of you have.” 

“Do you really think that?” 

“Of course,” Max smiled back across at him, “you know we’re always going to find something to tease you about, you’re still very much the baby of the grid to all of us.” 

It didn’t matter how old Lando was, the boys were all very protective of him, and as much as they took every chance to make fun of him, they’d never let anyone else say a bad word about him. 

“You just continue to do you,” Carlos smiled as he met Lando’s eyes, “some of these guys are never going to even get a girlfriend, so at least you’ve got that over them at least.” 

“None of you can ever mention this to her,” Lando told them all, “do you know how embarrassed she be knowing that you guys see us as whipped for one another.” 

Just like Lando, you were very aware of how whipped he was for you, but if anyone suggested that you were whipped for him, then you would categorically deny it. You knew how much he’d do for you though, savouring the feeling of Lando willingly doing absolutely anything to support you. 

“We’ll keep it between us,” Oscar promised him, “unless she keeps stealing the chocolate I keep in the garage for once the races are finished. If that carries on, I’m making no promises.” 

“I’ll buy you more,” Lando assured him, “just don’t tell her how whipped I am, or how whipped you guys seem to think that I might be.” 

“Just admit it,” Charles laughed, brushing a hand through his hair. “Admit that you’re whipped for her, it’s not like we don’t already know it already.” 

“Will you leave me alone if I say it?” Lando asked them all. 

“We promise to leave you alone for the rest of the night.” 

“Fine, I am 100% whipped for my girlfriend.” 

˗ˏˋ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 ! ´ˎ˗

[celestiamour]

‧₊˚✧ ❛[ it's a gift (you keep those) ]❜

ft. logan howlett x f! reader — xmen, marvel

╰₊✧ giving him a plushie that reminded you of him┊1k words

setting: deadpool & wolverine (2024) worst! logan contains: fluff, crushes, probably ooc but he’s so cute & wade is hard to write for, written for dp&w logan so idk if he got gifts in xmen, i forgot about laura, they are in touch and have a wonderful father-daughter relationship, i’m so sorry, edited

➤ author's note: i have so many thoughts but too incompetent to write

logan’s never sure who will appear when he opens the door as wade’s quite the extrovert, either vanessa or one of his many other friends whom he’s now become somewhat acquainted with, but he certainly wasn’t expecting to meet the familiar eyes of the cute neighbor who lived a few doors down. he nervously scratched the back of his head, suddenly becoming aware of his shabby appearance, “uh, are you looking for wade?”

“no, i was actually looking for you!” god, your smile is so bright, it’s blinding. he normally hates perfume of any sort as it’s so overpowering to his heightened senses, but the one that you wore smelled so lovely like always. is that a new shade of lip gloss you’re wearing? it really suits you. (why on earth is he noticing all of these details out of the blue? he needs to snap out of whatever spell you put on him after being introduced when he first showed up and only interacting in passing since then).

“looking for me?” he repeated, in disbelief, trying his best not to allow his surprise to slip into his voice. considering he isn’t from this dimension and not the most agreeable person to be around, he had no friends of his own yet and hasn’t been visited by anyone since he got here. a beat of panic struck him, thinking that he was in trouble for something and you came to complain. he really couldn’t think of any other reason you were here for him even though you were so cheerful.

you were carrying some shopping bags with you, dropping them on the ground before reaching into one and pulling out a large fuzzy plushie of a gray cat hidden under layers of glittery tissue paper, “i saw this cutie when i went shopping with my friends and thought it looked like you!” you held it out for him to take, looking so proud of the stuffed animal.

he hesitated for a second before accepting it, trying to take in the fact that you were reminded of him in your day-to-day life. it made his heart flutter, and he found himself dumbfounded by the feeling. he was frequently teased by his roomate about his little “crush” on you, claiming that it was oh so obvious and that the sooner he accepted it, the better, but he never realized until now how pathetic he was when it came to you. was the wolverine really getting butterflies like a fucking schoolgirl in his old-ass age? thank god no one was home right now to bully him about it, he would never hear the end of it.

“it does not look like me,” he scoffed playfully after a quick examination.

“no, it definitely does! it’s a big, grumpy kitty—” you took a step closer to hold it with him, pointing at all the similarities you observed, although it was clear you were exaggerating for laughs. “see the little frowny face and ears? it could be your identical twin separated from birth! willy mentioned that you act like a cat most of the time, and i think it fits perfectly!”

the smile he didn’t realize was plastered on his face faltered at the last piece of information, grateful that you didn’t notice. that idiot has been talking about him to you? he might as well forget about any chance of getting with you, because knowing how he yaps without a filter and loves to play matchmaker, you probably think he’s a freak of some sort. “only good things, i hope…”

you giggled, the sweetest sound he ever heard. “of course, he’s really fond of you… well, maybe a bit too fond, but you already know about that!” you opened your mouth to continue the conversation or say something else, but your phone started ringing and you excused yourself, looking a little shy as you grabbed up your bags. “i’ll talk to you later!” you sounded so excited about the prospect of it before leaving, your voice and footsteps becoming fainter as you walked back to your place.

“wait, you didn’t take back the cat—”

“it’s a gift! you keep those!”

“oh… right…”

he lingered for a moment, unable to say much in response since you left in such a rush. when was the last time someone gave him a present? staring at this brand new item, he still couldn’t see the resemblance in any way, but knowing that it was a gift from you gave him a rare feeling of happiness which returned every time he looked at it from then on among his few possessions. 

“oh my goodness, what is this adorable thing?!” wade exclaimed when he saw it sitting on the couch where logan slept, picking it up to gawk at before tossing it up in the air and catching it before it hit the floor. “ooh, let me guess, it’s a gift from her, isn’t it?” 

the mutant groaned at his mocking tone. “put it down before you ruin it with your grubby hands,” he commanded, snatching it from his grasp (rough enough to make his point clear, but carefully enough not to tear it apart). his roommate didn’t even bother pretending to be offended like he usually would as he was simply overjoyed that his “ship” was coming true. “it doesn’t mean anything, don’t make it weird.”

“it doesn’t mean anything?! how can you say that when it’s going to be the first gift you give to your first child together—”

“first what??”

“nevermind, what are you gonna name it?”

“i have to name it?”

“have you never owned a stuffed animal before? you have to name it! how heartbroken is she going to be when she asks what you named it and you say that you haven’t done that?! she’s gonna think that you don’t value her gifts!” you would think the world was going to end if he didn’t do so if you heard the way he was speaking.

“fine, i’ll name it…” he looked deeply into the toy’s soulless eyes, noting how soft the outer material was against his calloused hand, “... fluffy…”

“that’s such a shitty name—”

“shut the fuck up, it’s been decided.”

[distantdarlings]

THE SECONDS BEFORE // e. berkshire

RATING: R / 2.2K WORDS

Enzo Berkshire x Reader Insert (no gender-specific details)

+ SUMMARY - Just before the infamous Battle of Hogwarts, Professor McGonagall makes the decision to keep all Slytherin students housed together in the dungeons. The night before the Battle begins, you can’t sleep. You wake a friend to keep your mind occupied. (Romance, Angst if you squint)

+ WARNINGS - Heavy kissing, language, heavy petting, implied sexual material

+ MUSIC (listened to while writing) -

My Love - Sia

-

Your eyes found the ceiling as if waiting for something to happen. Perhaps if you stared long enough, it would burst into swirls of color and light—or maybe it would fold back and reveal the stars that you so desperately wanted to see. You felt like you all had been in the dungeons for years, wasting away. Every time you looked at one of your friends, you felt as if they looked older. Like they'd aged while down here. The odd exhaustion painted bruises beneath their eyes and tore their lips.

You sighed and tapped your fingers on your stomach, attempting to entertain yourself. All of the boys were asleep and there was no way in hell you were going to be joining them anytime soon. Something about this whole situation set your teeth on edge. You weren’t sure if it was the fact that half of the people the castle was currently at extreme odds with were some of your closest friend’s parents and family or that you all weren’t allowed in the dorms, so you hadn’t changed in a day or two, or something else. But you knew you were getting tired of being here. When Professor McGonnagal had suggested using the dungeons to house the Slytherin students until they were sure you all were safe, you thought it sounded smart and would be a good way to keep everyone together and alive for a little while. And it was, it just felt off for a lot of reasons. Nobody but the house elves had been down here in two days. You wanted to know what was going on out there.

You rolled over, tucking your arm beneath your head to remain comfortable. Your eyes found the older boy that slept peacefully beside you. You wondered silently what the boy might be dreaming about and how angry he'd get if you woke him up. There was a pretty large chance considering how the boy felt about sleep, so fifty-fifty?

"Enzo," you whispered gently so as not to startle him. "Enzo, wake up."

When the dark-haired boy did not budge, you resorted to shaking him a bit, hoping the heavy sleeper would wake. You were bored out of your mind and figured that someone should share that boredom with you. If there was one thing anyone knew about Enzo Berkshire, it was that his late-night talks were a world of comfort. His deep, raspy words hit you like a truck, bruising your body. It was an odd feeling with nothing but scratchy phrases and the moon for comfort, but you loved it.

"Enzo!" you hissed, giving him a light slap. At this, the sleeping boy jolted awake. His eyes found yours quickly, giving you a look of disdain. You knew he’d be mad for waking him, but it was too late to go back now.

"Hey, what is it? Are you okay?" Enzo asked under his breath, propping his elbows up behind himself.

You were taken by surprise. You’d honestly more expected Enzo to punch you in the arm rather than ask if you were alright. It wasn't like you were complaining, it was just strange. Something about the domesticated look in his eyes when he was worried about you made your cheeks flush a bit. You’d always had a bit of a thing for Enzo, this much was obvious. Coming to terms with it was the hard part.

"No, I’m fine, Enzo," you whispered, avoiding eye contact. You were a bit embarrassed now. "I just wanted to talk to someone."

"Oh," he exhaled, a tone of relief blowing against your hair. He let his head fall back in a small stretch, his hair tickling the spot between his shoulder blades. You watched the older boy's throat stretch against his flesh and shift as he swallowed a deep breath.

"Did you have a nightmare or something?" he asked, pushing himself into a sitting position and crossing his legs.

"Actually, quite the opposite," you replied, pulling your knees up to your chest and wrapping your arms around them. "I can't sleep."

"Ah, I see," he spoke. "Is there anything you'd like to talk about—I mean, to turn your brain off? Maybe that's what’s keeping you up, your mind's running too much?"

"Maybe," you sighed. You could only bear to glance up at the older boy every once in a while. The way his brown eyes pierced into you and threatened to steal every secret from your brain . . . It was tantalizing. You let out a small huff of air, hoping that Enzo would make better conversation. The silence was deafening and you had nothing to say.

"So . . . do you think Draco and Pansy are fucking?" Enzo asked. You nearly choked.

"What?" you squeaked, your voice sounding prepubescent. Out of all the things he could have said, that was it? "Oh, um, I don't know?"

"Hmm, I didn't mean to spring that on you, I was just wondering what you thought."

"Well, I mean I suppose they could be," you shrugged. You really didn't want to talk about your friends having sex with each other.

"Yeah, I think they are—they're always hanging out with each other, you know?" he said, running a hand through his hair.

"What, friends can't hang out with each other without fucking?" you chuckled lightly.

"That’s not what I’m saying, you know what I mean," he said, pointing at you. "I know you've seen them, they're so touchy-feely with each other."

"So what if they're fucking? There’s nothing wrong with that—"

"I never said there was, I’m simply observing . . . I know what sexual tension looks like," he spoke a bit quieter. You wondered what made him add that little line onto the end. Maybe he was trying to hint at something? Or maybe you were looking too deeply into a casual conversation? It was likely the latter.

More silence ensued, creating even more tension in between you two. It soon became so thick, it was just waiting for one of you to slash it with a knife. You prayed that he would just do something, but you were almost positive he was not interested in you, like you were him. And god knows you weren’t going to make the first move, because what if he truly had no feelings for you? Your friendship would be wrecked and your self-esteem would be down the drain.

"Hey—"

"I like you,” you choked out.

"What?"

You took a deep breath and calmly repeated yourself. "I like you . . . like, a lot, Enzo."

More silence—a different kind that made your head feel all fuzzy. Your eyes were facing the ground so as to avoid him who had been shocked into submission by your words. You wanted to beat your own head in with a broom. What the fuck were you thinking? You had spent your entire life knowing Enzo, swearing you’d never tell him, not unless he said something first. And what did you do? Fucking tell him. Merlin, you were so stupid.

"Every time you sit there and joke around with Theo or Pansy, I feel like I’m suffocating. And I never knew how to tell you that, so I became desperate for your attention, figured that I was too needy, and started ignoring you. I was hoping you'd catch on but you never did, and, Merlin, Enzo, I’ve never wanted someone so fucking badly . . ." you vented, pressing your fingertips into your temples. You had started to feel a bit more confident when the words had started spewing out but now you felt like you were on a stage in front of the world and Enzo’s silence was only making it worse. Why didn't he say something? At least turn you down or punch you or something.

"You want me?" Enzo breathed, his voice cracking under the pressure of a whisper. You glanced up from your lap and looked at the older boy. His eyes were glued to his hands as he seemed to be processing some things.

"Fuck, I need you, En."

His eyes found yours. The dark-haired boy leaned forward, on hands and knees, and crawled ever so slowly over to you. His eyes were trained on yours until they slipped down to your lips. You shuddered as the boy balanced himself on his knees, towering over your small, huddled frame. He slipped his lower body between your legs and pushed the both of you back. He hovered over you, feeling your heavy breaths mix. Your eyes were dilated and half-closed, waiting for the other's touch.

"You need me?" he spoke barely above a whisper, the gravel in his voice sending shivers up the younger's spine. Your head dipped down to let your nose gently bump against his throat. He could feel your breath there, letting it tease his flesh.

"Please," you spoke, the pitch of your voice had an effect on Enzo like no other. He imagined the way his lips would feel on your skin just before he did so. You weren’t sure if the boy above you would live up to the fantasies you’d created in your mind but it seemed impossible for him not to. The boy's inexplicable scent and the way it filled your senses, his gently cracked lips and the way you’d imagine them scratching along your throat and chest. Everything about him made your heart leap into your throat.

He didn't give you a chance to take a breath before trapping your lips with his own. They were skilled and tasted like the orange soda you both had before bed. You closed your eyes at the taste and feeling of the boy over you. He was everything you could have imagined and more. The built arms that balanced on either side of your head and the way his tongue slipped against yours.

"You sure?" he whispered when your lips disconnected for a breather. You nodded, catching his breath with deep exhales.

He reconnected your lips with no regard for your border-line asthmatic symptoms. You placed a hand behind you and pushed yourself into a sitting position, gently backing him onto his knees. He captured your waistband in his hands and tugged you onto your knees as well, loosening the fabric in the process. Nimble fingers tugged on the tie of your sweatpants, lightly brushing against the core of your body. You hissed into his mouth at the feeling, your lips faltering a bit. You could feel him smirking.

He laid the two of you back down, now much more convenient that your pants were loosened. He trapped your lips again, catching the bottom one gently in his teeth. His hand traced your stomach before slipping between your flesh and the waistband of your underwear, slightly rubbing against the most sensitive part of your body. You moaned aloud at the sensation, feeling his free hand slide over your mouth to hush you up. There was a possibility the other boys and students would hear but you didn't care, all you were concerned with was Enzo’s skin moving against yours.

The black-haired boy severed his lips from yours and found comfort with the skin of your throat. The hand stuck beneath your pants and the one on your mouth never once faltered, staying astutely in place. The sounds spilling from your lips and muffled by his hand only tightened his jeans, making it a bit hard to breathe.

He pulled his hand from beneath your waistband. You struggled to catch your breath as his hips lowered down to yours. Your hips bucked up to meet his, his breath hitching in his throat, his lips faltering on your neck. It was your turn now.

You pushed your hands beneath his tee shirt and splayed your fingers against his warm back. The tips of your fingers traced down his spine, your nails catching his skin every once and a while. His lips on your throat never faltered, his tongue brushing against your skin gently.

You traced your hands down the rest of his back and curled them around his hips to the front of his sweatpants. The tips of your fingers trailed lightly over the small growth of hair just beneath the ties. His lips shuddered against your skin as your hand slowly, slowly slid between his pants and skin. His skin was hot and sharp, your fingers cold and soft. Like snow falling gently against his skin, it being like fire and melting it immediately on contact.

“Please, baby,” he begged, his lips brushing the shell of your ear with every pant he took.

The very tip of your finger brushed over his most sensitive area—a whisper of a touch. He choked out a groan into your ear, his hand tightening in your hair, pulling tightly against your scalp.

A shrill scream pierced the pair of your ears. You flinched at the sound, pushing Enzo back as quickly as you could. The two of you stared, wide-eyed and panting.

“The Death-Eaters are here—they’re outside the school grounds!” A young, terrified first-year pushed through the hallway leading into the common-room where everyone slept.

You lept to your feet. Enzo slipped a hand into yours and squeezed tightly.

“Guess we’ll have to finish this later,” he joked, his cheeks and lips still flushed. You rolled your eyes but when he looked at you, you both smiled nervously. It would be okay.

[velvetvexations]

TW for brief mention of abuse in the last paragraph (nothing detailed, just, a mention of stats) I'm dumping this here because I'm scared to have my name attached to it, but I quite firmly believe that you cannot actually be an ally to all trans people while also hating cis men. Obviously there is something to be said about how it harms trans women, but I don't fully understand the experience that comes with that, and I'll mostly be speaking about AFAB transmascs here because I'm AFAB transmasc. I'm also disabled and using my last spoons to understand and type this, so apologies.

I find that people take two routes as to how to approach trans men, when they hold hatred for cis men, in that they either divorce the idea of us from the idea of "man", or they decide that because of our manhood, we are both privileged, and they must hate us too.

When it comes to separating us from manhood, a lot of people will talk about "men" and "trans men" as separate categories, and you see it in things like "not you though, I didn't mean trans men", but you also see it in the way that people have completely different expectations of how trans men and cus men should interact with the world, particularly with women. I don't really have the energy to think about how to put it into words, so if anyone else can pick up what I'm putting down, feel free to add on, or I might come back and elaborate later. But I find that it completely alienates us from the concept of manhood.

I've also had similar from my own mother, who told me that it was hard to see me as a man, because I had such "feminine traits", like, being helpful. Kind. Thoughtful. Things like that, because she found it hard to reconcile the fact that I was apparently all of those things, while also being a man, which is apparently the bad gender. Because evil is stored in the gender, obviously. (/s)

The other way I mentioned is the way that transradfems most often take, in the idea that men always oppress women, and there is no situational factor to it, and therefore trans men are included in that, and are therefore privileged and so it is fine to hate us, because we're men, and therefore it is okay to hate us, and this will never cause us any harm. For example, being denied access to shelters for being men. For many transandrophobes, us complaining about this is us being whiny and privileged, or weaponizing our AGAB, whereas, to myself certainly, I can't speak for others, male victims are more common than most people dare to think, but there is a lack of shelters that provide for men, which is an even bigger problem for trans men, because we have extremely high rates of abuse, but nowhere to turn to without having to detransition.

I also maintain it'll always be a major threat to trans women as well. If you call yourself a trans ally but hate cis men, as far as I'm concerned you're one step away from turning on me because there's no basis on which you can logically claim cis men are categorically worse that doesn't also apply to trans women - like, is it because of how they're raised, how society teaches them to be? Because that sure sounds a lot like you're expressing a belief in male socialization! TERFs are wrong about trans women, but if you accept their worldview you can't take it halfway and expect it to make sense.

[rosenbergamot]

Everyone is Trans???? (REAL NOT CLICKBAIT!!!)

Grian is the only trans person on Hermitcraft.

He knows this as a complete and utter fact. He’s not lying about this, no matter how much he wishes he was-- and goodness, does he wish he was every damn day of his life. It’s lonely to be the only trans person on a server full of your dearest companions. 

It’s not even a horrible thing. He doesn’t trust them any less, doesn’t love them any less, but he sure is peeved about being surrounded by cis people all the time. When he wants to talk about his hips looking too wide today, or his top surgery scars not sitting right enough for him, or the way he’s so happy he can finally grow something of a beard, or how having long hair has gone from something dysphoric to something euphoric for him-- he just can’t! 

Because they won’t understand! And, sure, of course he can just tell them because they’re his friends and they care about him, but sometimes he doesn’t want to just be cared about. Sometimes he wants to be understood. Sometimes he doesn’t want to have to explain everything, going through the same tiring motions he’s gone over time and time again in his life. 

Can a guy not just want another trans person to complain to? Is it really so hard for that to be his reality? Is it really so much to ask?

He’s having a particularly annoying day today. His stupid jeans aren’t fitting correctly on his hips. Usually he’s not too angry about it. On days where he feels more feminine he likes that he has these hips, revels in the way clothes hug his curves, but right now he’s feeling just about as Man as one possibly could, and it’s making him want to rip apart his clothes because none of them fit right. 

He ends up in a pair of sweatpants that hide enough of himself so that he’s able to leave his base. The day outside is warmer than expected, beautiful and sunny, and he immediately regrets the large sweater and comfy sweatpants he had chosen to wear. The light glints off of the ocean, teasing him with its deep secrets that he will never be able to decipher. 

In the distance he can see the newest addition to Scar’s train-- the big snail that those pesky snails had built. It worries him that they can build things all of a sudden. Still, it’s not like he can do anything about it. You just have to accept that they’re going to do whatever they please and then they’ll tone it down. It seems they like to cause mayhem. He can’t really knock them for that. 

He unhooks Pluto from the post. He runs his hands through his mane, reveling in the coarse feeling. It takes his mind away from his body for a few seconds, lets him be completely and utterly still in a way that he often isn’t. Being so detail oriented and such a perfectionist can be hard on the psyche sometimes, especially when that energy is directed towards your body. 

You might as well roll his boulder and call him Sisyphus because he’s… uh…

He’s having a rough go at it. 

Pluto whinnies as he stops petting him, nudges his hand with his snout. It’s time to go check the shopping district. Maybe do permit things. Ugh. 

The ride is uneventful. He smashes the glass to the permit office with his pickaxe, picks it back up and replaces it so that nobody gets any funny ideas. Don’t want them bothering him or anything of the sorts when he’s here. Having to work is his worst nightmare.

The office is as quiet as it is dark. He sighs so loud it fills up the space. He freshens up the light, makes sure that the sign telling people the door is out of order is in place, and then moves behind the filing cabinets, taking a look at his uniform that sits there.

Usually he likes how it fits. It’s tight, accentuating his flat chest and his curves. He likes it that way. Not today though. 

Today he’ll forgo the outfit. It’s not like anyone is going to come in, anyways.

--

Twenty minutes later and he was very wrong. Someone is digging underneath the building, muttering to themselves, and Grian guesses who it is before he even pops his head in. 

Of course Scar of all people needs help with permits today. He’s always looking for any chance he gets to bother Grian into doing work. He puts down his book, eyes him with an anger that he knows feels inappropriate even for him. Sue him, he’s having a bad day.

“Grian!” Scar’s voice is louder than he remembered. He’s got specks of dirt on his face. 

He shoves his shovel into the dirt, leans on it, falls over a little bit as it teeters, tries to right himself, ends up just knocking the shovel over instead, stands up straight, puts his hands behind his back. Stops. Coughs. Smiles. Continues yapping.

“It’s so lovely to see you here! It’s such a coinkidink that fate would put the both of us here! In the permit office! At the same time! Almost as if we’re destined to meet here and do paperwork together and-- and help me with my permit so that I can actually do something as a zoo keeper…” His voice is quieter at the end. Grian pretends not to hear it. 

“Scar.” He greets flatly. “What do you want?” 

Disregarding his ire, Scar saunters up to him. “Oh, well, nothing too bad, G, nothing at all! I wouldn’t dream of making you work or anything-- um…” He stops suddenly. He opens his mouth. He closes it, looking him up and down. If a visual question mark could appear over a person’s head, it absolutely would in this moment. “You’re not dressed up in your-- your little… office uniform! Your little suit! Where’s your clip-on tie, Grian?”

Ugh. “Office Grian is out of the building today.”

That does not do anything to quell Scar’s confusion. His big ol’ eyes look wet and pathetic as he stares at him. “B-B-B-B-But… how am I supposed to get help with my form if office Grian isn’t here?”

“You’re just gonna have to deal with good ol’ regular Grian today.” 

He loves Scar beyond words-- really, it drains him how much he loves this man-- but today is not the day for him. He can feel his energy departing out of his body already. He was going to try and stick it out for a while today. It looks like plans are changing swiftly.

“Is regular Grian as know-- legible. Knoll… knowledge…” He hums, goes down a different path. “Do you know how to do the form? Because I need some serious help, G.” 

He drags a hand down his face. It’s sweaty. “Office Grian doesn’t even know how to do the form, Scar.” 

“What?!” This is genuine surprise from him. “So you’re tellin’ me that this form is all… all…”

“Bullshit?” He finishes the sentence for him. “Yeah. Pretty much.” His head is starting to hurt. “Ugh. Look, Scar, I’m not feeling good today, so maybe we can leave this for another day?”

The humour drops from Scar’s face. It leaves genuine concern. “Yeah-- I mean, no worries. Of course. Of course! Do you… uh, do you need-- need anything? Want to… talk about it?” 

It’s tentative. An olive branch. Scar is a very kind guy. A genuinely nice person. He thinks he’s perhaps caught him off guard with how open he’s being right now. It leaves him quiet and thoughtful. 

When the smile is off of Scar’s face one can really appreciate the way he looks. It’s not like his smile isn’t beautiful-- because it is, it’s moreso that this stillness is rare for him, moments of calm few and far between his cheesy one-liners and fake grins, and so when one is awarded this sight it feels disarming. 

He often forgets how beautiful Scar is. He thinks about how handsome he is on the daily, a fact which he divulges to nobody but himself, achingly aware of it everytime he sees him. Yet he misses how pretty he is. It makes his heart hurt.  

“Um.” He says as he snaps himself out of his… state. With nothing else to say, he just goes, “okay?” Y’know, like someone who wasn’t just staring deep into their friend’s eyes and remarking on how gorgeous they are. Like a smart and normal person. He grins to try and make it look extra convincing.

Scar’s face immediately screws up into worry. It was not convincing. 

“Ohhhh, god. Who are you and what have you done with Grian? I-I-I-I’m scared! You actually want to talk about it? What kind of sorcery is this?”

The bit of humour grounds him. He snorts. “Scar, don’t make me regret my choice.”

That shocks him into movement. His friend’s head whips around, eyes looking for something. He runs around the office wildly, tripping over his untied shoelaces, ignoring his squawk of “tie your shoes Scar!”, and comes back with two chairs. He sets them down in front of the desk, patting the other one. When Grian doesn’t move he pats it again, more insistent. Finally he acquiesces, leaving the comfort of the desk and sitting across from Scar. 

“So!” His voice is far too cheery. His smile is straining at the edges. He’s out of his element right now, Grian realizes. And it’s because he always has to fight to get these talks out of Grian. It’s like pulling tooth and nail sometimes. And here he is, just ready to… to bare it all. 

Oh, god. He’s going to talk to him. About his problems. And his body. 

He suddenly feels sick.

“I think I may throw up.” 

Scar’s smile falls. “What?” 

He splays his upper body across the desk. His stomach is doing flips. “This. This is going to kill me, Scar. Do you understand?” 

“N-No?” 

“I am going to die a painful death, Scar, and it’s all because you made me talk about my… my feelings!” He makes a throwing up sound. 

“Now you-- you just wait a second, mister!” Scar leans forward so that he can poke him in the shoulder. “I didn’t make you do anything-- in fact you agreed to it! So let me hear it, Gri, or I-I swear I’m gonna… I’m gonna! I’m gonna send those stupid snails back over to you and make them eat your mending book right in front of your eyes!”

He gasps. “You wouldn’t.”

An mhm. A nod. “Ohhh, I would. Don’t you test me now!” 

He’s seen enough fish in the short span they’ve been in this season to know that, in his shock, his mouth is opening and closing like one. It takes all his resolve to not run out of the building and leave this stupid place behind. Sure, Scar may try and follow him, but he’s fast-- surely he can outrun him! It… it wouldn’t be too hard! He can do it!

The energy leaves him in one fell swoop as the silence drags on and Scar only seems to get more worried about him. Finally, he looks away.

“I feel alone…” he bites out. It’s like chewing glass. 

“Oh?” Scar is interested. That’s him telling him to continue. 

The proverbial glass on his tongue and teeth cut up his mouth and bleed the truth out of him. “I have… a particular problem that nobody else on the server can relate to.”

“Is it an avian thing?” He scratches his head. “Y’know, I know that Pearl isn’t exactly an avian herself, but she may be able to help you out. Or-- hey! Jimmy is an avian! We can message him?” 

He’s earnest. So earnest. He grits his teeth. “It’s not. An avian thing.” 

That makes Scar stop. “Is it… is it a them thing?”

Them. Neither of them need to say their names to know. 

“God-- no. No. Thank goodness.” In his stress, he begins to pull at his hair, his wings ruffling. “I just. God. Scar, I can’t believe you don’t know. We’ve spent…” lives together. Lived and died together. Stuck by each other’s sides when no one else would. Hurt each other but mostly just loved each other. “We’ve spent time together.” 

“We sure have! I-- I, uh… I don’t know what you’re talking about, though.” 

“Have you ever looked at me when I’m shirtless?” He just decides to bite the bullet. 

Scar’s jaw drops. His face begins to turn a shade of red he didn’t think was possible. He looks away, fiddling with the brim of his hat. “No, no-- no! No way. Noooo way. Never, G-- never! I would. Never.” 

“Why are you so--? Look, nevermind! Scar, I-I’m different from everyone else and it’s not because of them and it’s not because I’m an avian.”

“You’re gonna have to spell it out for me.” He’s still not looking at him. Did that really embarrass him so much? That… that means many things that he just does not have the brain to dissect right now. 

“I’m not cis.” Is all he can really say. 

It’s so silent you can hear a pin drop. 

“You’re…” Scar’s finger wobbles as he points at him. His jaw is back to being on the fucking floor. 

For a second, Grian thinks he’s just fucked up the entire thing they have going on. Scar is going to leave him. He’s going to hate him and he’s going to tell everyone and it’s going to ruin his life. Poppies and lilacs will mean nothing to them anymore. 

But then Scar starts to smile. He wiggles his fingers, bouncing in his seat. “Ooooh, Grian! Grian, I had no idea! What the heck?” His laugh is a little intense considering the information just given. Dread leaks out of his body and is replaced by confusion. Scar is still laughing. “What the heck?! You mean to tell me we could have been bondin’ even more? How-- how the heck did I not notice that?”

“What…?” His voice cracks. 

Firmly, Scar points at him. “Hold on, how the heck did you not notice this?!” He points to his own chest.

“Scar, what on Earth are you talking about?” 

With little care for much of… anything, really, Scar rips his own shirt open, the buttons flying off and skittering across the floor. He points aggressively at two thick scars underneath his pecs. They pucker at the end, pulling skin taut against his ribs. He’d recognize something like that anywhere. 

It’s Grian’s turn for his jaw to drop. “W-What? You… wait-- what? You… I-- Scar, put your shirt back on!” 

“The shirt is gone, Grian,” he says with faux seriousness. “You’re just gonna have to deal with this right now.”

He’s trying very hard not to stare at Scar’s chest. He is fighting a losing battle. 

“Nevermind that, though-- how the heck did you not notice these scars? They’re gigantic, Grian! Biggest ones I’ve got on my-- my whole… whole area!” He gestures vaguely to his body.

“Your torso?” He sighs. “I don’t know, Scar, I guess I don’t make it a habit to look at your pecs?”

That answer seems to displease him greatly. “Well, I can’t see why not, my pecs are amayzin’.” 

You know what… “Sure, Scar. Sure they are.” 

He beams at him. “You’re welcome to stare at them anytime, Grian!”

His ears are getting warm. Stupid Scar. “It’s nice to know I’m not alone on here.”

To Scar this seems like a joke. He laughs. When Grian doesn’t laugh too, he stops. Stares at him. Squints at him. “You-- you weren’t ever alone, Grian.”

“I didn’t know that you were also trans!” He argues, feeling his back start to rise. 

“No-- no, I mean… jeez, Grian, I don’t think I know a single cis person on this server. In fact, MIster, I thought you were the only one we had-- until now, of course!” 

“What.” 

“Actually I think Skizzy Wizzy is cis! Or-- or maybe he’s not…” He furrows his brows. “Ah, whatever, point is: you’re surrounded by trans people whether you like it or not, mister!”

“Why would I dislike it?” It still doesn’t feel real to him. If he weren’t sitting down he would have to sit down again. As it stands (or sits, he supposes) he just sinks lower into his chair. “I can’t believe this. I’ve been-- I’ve been stewing for years! Wait-- Mumbo?!”

“Yep!” He pops the ‘p’, grinning wildly. It makes Grian start to laugh. That makes Scar start to laugh. In a very sweet moment that turns very sobering very quickly, Scar takes his hand, squeezes it as if he’s squeezing one of those grip testing machines-- ow! “Now you don’t have to hide it, G. Isn’t that amayzin’?” 

The contact makes his head start to spin. “You’re crushing my hand, Scar.”

“Whoops!” He lets go, blushing. “Sorry, sometimes I don’t even know my own strength!” 

“Yeah, yeah… anyways, what was that about you definitely not staring at my chest earlier?”

Scar runs out of the building so fast you would swear he had somewhere to be. 

Which is good enough for Grian, because that means he doesn’t have to put an ounce of work in today! He puts down his ‘Gone Fishin’ sign, repairs the hole left by Scar, and then leaves the building. He feels lighter than he’s ever felt before.

So it turns out he was wrong. He’s never been so glad to be so wrong. 

(read it on ao3 here! <3)

[autisticsupervillain]

My last post about Agent 47 being a Tumblr Icon proved popular, so here's more Tumblr approved 47 facts.

47's wife has technically killed him twice. Both times it was so he could come back to life later and kill his actual target. Diana could walk right into his living room, stab him with a butcher's knife, and he'd just go "well, who are we killing today honey?"

47 once had to get close to his target by disguising himself as a giant flammingo mascot. One of his target's bodyguards, a furry, tries to start a conversation about it. 47 could not end that conversation quick enough.

One time, 47 tried to disguise himself as a realtor to get close to his target. All of his attempts to sell the house to his target involve advice on how to kill someone in those rooms. The target never questions this. Later, both the target and 47 stumble across a month's old crime scene. 47 goes full detective mode and delivers a full paragraph detailing what happened and how the victim died, before remembering he's supposed to be a realtor right now and brushing it off.

One time, in order to get close to a target, 47 got a job interview at a bank. His response to every question involves more or less just flat out admitting that he kills people for a living. They hire him on the spot.

47 has read his universe's version of the Twilight novels. He also killed the author of said Twilight knockoffs, but not before criticizing his writing and complaining about a plot point he didn't like.

47 once infiltrated a secret meeting of international spies, billionaires, and supervillains by walking right past the guards in his regular iconic suit, as everyone took one look at him and assumed he was supposed to be there.

Agent 47 canonically has an aura of death that hangs over him that only psychics can see. When an actually psychic meets him for the first time, he panics and all but pushes 47 out of his establishment.

47's most used alias, Tobias Rieper, as an instagram account. It's filled entirely with travel pictures from places he's visited while killing people.

Agent 47 inexplicably looks identical to one of the most popular fashion models in the world, Helmut Krueger. This doesn't hinder his ability to disguise himself as literally anyone in the world though.

One time, a bunch of nuns in stripper outfits showed up at 47's hotel to blow him the fuck up with a rocket launcher. He was inexplicably completely unharmed by the explosion.

One time, a mad scientist tried to test his mind control device on 47. 47 resisted it so hard that the scientist dropped dead from the psychic backlash.

One of his regular outfits for missions is a clown suit.

47 has a reputation at his agency for killing people in the most ridiculous and over the top ways possible. It got to the point that another assassin tried to imitate 47's style, which backfired so badly that the assassin accidentally killed everyone in the building, including himself, and let the target get away completely unharmed.

47 once manipulated another assassin into killing his targets for him. Unfortunately, said assassin was so bad at his job that 47 had to do everything for him, from adjusting his sniper rifle so he could actually fire it, to getting the targets into his line of sight so the assassin would actually see them.

47 once stopped a depressed person fresh off a bad break up from an abusive relationship from committing suicide by following him around the globe and beating him unconscious every time he tried to kill himself, all without the guy ever actually noticing him. 47 only stopped when the guy decided he must have a guardian angel looking out for him because he keeps falling asleep whenever he considers going through with the deed, deciding he owes that angel an honest attempt to getting his life back on track again.

Agent 47 has a friend in the CIA named Agent Smith, who keeps getting kidnapped and held prisoner at all the locations 47 is doing missions in. 47 keeps having to rescue him because Smith usually has good intel on his targets. Smith considers 47 his best friend, while 47 holds Smith in open contempt.

47 is a millionaire, but he cannot spend any of his money on luxary items due to his life style. His profession means he's constantly moving to new homes and can only live safely in sparce homes with nothing but fast food to tide him over. His suits are his only affordable luxary, as anything more lavish could expose his location and get him arrested or killed. He's a millionaire who has to live like a broke king thanks to his triple digit body count. It's only when Freelancer happens that he finally gets his own home.

47 is a pro at Dance Dance Revolution, but only when he is dressed like a ninja.

And finally, 47 has canonically killed countless fascists, pedophiles, billionaires, and even anti-vaxers who run MLM pyramid schemes. Up to 365 of them and counting, in fact.

[pikahlua]

Thoughts on the official translation of 405?

Yeah, thoughts abound.

1. Is the official translation of the final line in chapter 405 accurate? No.

2. Regardless, some people think it's inaccurate in really blatant ways that it actually is not. For example, some people think the official translation is changing some explicitly used pronouns around. If there's EVER anything about Japanese that isn't completely clear, it's what the pronouns should be--because the vast majority of them are implied.

3. Re: the "yeah yeah" line, I can conceive of a delivery of the line that does not sound disrespectful. That doesn't mean that's how the translator meant it, and this translator does have a habit of translating Katsuki's rude language with a certain *VIBE* that I don't always agree with--but that doesn't change the fact that Katsuki does speak very rudely and the translator clearly tries to capture that in the way they seem to think is best.

4. It's quite a leap to claim that this official translation is inaccurate due to deliberate malice, which I see a lot of people doing. From what I can tell, the translator just didn't realize the final line is a callback to chapter 322. Without that context, yeah, I can see how it'd be difficult to fully understand what's being said there, because enough of the words are vague or implied that it'd be confusing what Katsuki's talking about without that realization. Katsuki doesn't say "I (ore)" in the line, he says "kocchi (this/here)," which depending on the context can mean "I, we, us over here on this side (of the line, of the argument)." He also doesn't say "Izuku/Deku/that nerd" specifically, he says "aitsu (that guy over there)" with the kanji reading as "One For All." Without the context of chapter 322, it could easily read like "we'll wipe the floor with you where those One For All guys couldn't."

5. Building off #4, we need to be a little more self-aware as fans. When you are a big fan of something, you're gonna be more likely to remember specific lines and notice callbacks and be keyed into the little details. First of all, not everyone is capable of that, especially with respect to a long 405-chapter-and-counting manga. This line is referencing something that the translator hasn't necessarily seen in over two years. Should the translator have to comb back through the entire manga every week just to be safe? Is that really feasible? Of course I'd love for the official translation to be as accurate as possible, but when you're translating something on a weekly basis that isn't even finished yet, it's just a fact that there will be times you miss things. You don't always have the luxury of time to go back and check for things you've missed that need to be tied together. I've messed up lines in my translations before too. Please keep in mind this is the translator's JOB, not necessarily their PASSION. They're likely translating multiple projects at the same time for a meager paycheck. They've got a lot of stuff to remember from various projects at the same time, and they're gonna miss stuff on occasion. Did the translator "not care" in this case? I think it's far more likely the translator cares enough, but if they're not in the fandom they're not gonna care more than the fans nor should we expect them to.

The proper response is NOT TO ATTACK THE TRANSLATOR'S LIVELIHOOD like I see MANY people doing, holy crap.

Translating is often a thankless job. No one writes Viz telling them how good of a job the translator is doing when they get 99% of the translations right. The most obsessive fans often jump on mistakes as if those mistakes are personal attacks. But we're complaining about 1 or 2 lines out of the whole chapter. The rest was pretty good. That's the case for most chapters. It's hard to justify claiming malice when the translator far more often than not gets it right. But goodness, attacking the translator is not going to endear you to anyone who matters. If the translation is something you truly care about and you want to foster nontoxic fandom spaces and have good relationships between the fandom and the producers, a more proper response would be something like:

"Hey Viz, I think the translator missed this key bit of context which could have helped him with this line's translation. I love Horikoshi's work and want the best for it, and I think the translator cares about doing a good job. Would you please let the translator know about this and have him look into it for the official print tankoban release in English?"

The more you alienate and dogpile the translator, the less they're gonna care about doing a good job.

[kyriethesquishysquid]

Betrayal Never Felt So Good (König/Fem!Reader) Chapter 1

You can find Chapter 2 here, Chapter 3 here, Chapter 4 here, Chapter 5 here, and Chapter 6 here!

Summary: The reader is a military nurse currently employed by Shadow Company. She was sent out with a small team into the middle of nowhere to gain intel on the enemy, her presence only a precaution as it should have been an easy in-and-out mission. Unfortunately for the Shadow team, KorTac had also been working on a lead in the same area. One thing led to another and the reader was forced to watch as her team was slaughtered mercilessly. Rather than kill her as well, she was taken back as a hostage and kept captive by the group's colonel, König.

Word Count: ~8.5K

Rating: Mature (For Smut)

A/N: To preface this story - I’ve never played the storyline of any COD games, nor do I know a damn thing about the military, much less special forces, so there will be inaccuracies galore, but I hope you all enjoy it nonetheless! My take on König is somewhere between the headcanons of him being a ruthless psycho and a shy bean. Also, don’t come at me with complaints of this not being realistic, please. This is fanfic, loves. It doesn’t have to be realistic. Plus, if I was the one captured by this tree of a man and he was interested? Morals and reality be damned. I’m hopping on that train lmfao. Also, I wrote this entire thing in less than 24 hours and was too eager to post it to do a bunch of editing, so please excuse any errors!

Important Details: Occasional use of Y/N. Reader appearance is left vague but is described in little details such as being short (no exact height used), chubby, and with hair at least long enough to be pulled back. This story is essentially porn with plot, so literally over half of this is smut.

TW: Body shaming, violence, and attempted assault from random asshole #1. A few insecurities surrounding weight by the reader. Canon violence toward others by König. Super fast burn, unprotected sex, oral, fingering, Dom/Sub, multiple orgasms, squirting, creampie, suggested Stockholm syndrome (but really reader is just a touch-starved, thirsty bitch for Gentle!Giant König), pet names (in English and German), bad German translations bc I’m a lame monolingual American, no beta we die like the jackass Graves. Crappy Translations:

Ich werde dich mit deinen eigenen Eingeweiden füttern, bevor du diesen Satz beenden kannst! - I will feed you your own intestines before you can finish that sentence!

Maus- Mouse

Süßes mädchen - Sweet girl

Heilige Scheiße/Scheiße - Holy shit/shit

Mein schatz - My darling

Mein Gott - My god

Kleines - Little one

Verdammt, sieh dich an, kleine Maus - Damn, look at you, little mouse.

Oh, du kleine Füchsin! - Oh, you little vixen!

It was probably stupid. Scratch that, you knew it was stupid, but you couldn’t help but enjoy the company of the large Austrian man before you. Despite being the one to kidnap you and keep you tied up in this basement-like room for almost a full day now, the conversation had been flowing between you two like you were good friends. Maybe it was the gentle way he was treating you. Maybe it was the fact he’d kept his promises to you thus far. No matter the reason, you knew it was dangerous, this trust growing between you and him, but you were going to lean into it nonetheless.

“Hey, uh, I- I promise I’m not complaining but… why haven’t you, ya know, hurt me yet?” you asked softly. 

König let out a heavy sigh, his mask fluttering around his face temptingly before he dropped back into his chair. It was hard to see his eyes from across the room but you were certain he was staring at you nonetheless. His gaze was heavy anytime it was on you, palpable in a way that made goosebumps crawl over your skin. 

“You’ve given me no reason to,” he replied after a moment, “And, in all honesty, you weren’t our original target. In fact, it should have been anyone but you.”

You almost asked why, but he was quick to continue his explanation as if he hadn’t even stopped. 

“You’re a nurse, ja? A nurse who does not see combat often, according to the intel we’ve been able to gather about your team, and that means you have little to no information we need.”

A warmth crept up your neck as he casually talked about you as if you were nothing of import, essentially a useless captive. It made your heart sting in an odd way. 

“Ah… I see,” you hummed quietly. 

“So now, we wait until your squadmates come in for the rescue, and then we get what we need from them.” 

You managed a little nod but it stopped short when an embarrassingly loud rumble emanated from your stomach. Eyes widening, you nervously glanced his way to see if he’d caught it, only to find him getting to his feet. 

“My apologies. You’ve been here quite some time with nothing but water. Let me go grab something for you.”

Before you could argue, he was out in the hallway, instructing one of the guards to step inside and keep an eye on you until he returned. The instant the young brunette stepped into the room, something felt off. Why? You weren’t sure. Maybe it’s just because you’d grown used to the “comfort” of your kidnapper. More than likely though, it was the way he was staring at you. 

As you were stewing in your thoughts, trying to figure out your emotions, the man crossed the room and stopped at your feet with a laugh.  

“So, you’re the broad the colonel’s been hiding? Interesting.”

The man’s words were spit with pure vile and reeked of danger. You instinctively leaned away when he reached out for your face and the disobedience was quickly rewarded with a hefty smack, tearing a cry of shock from your lips. While the sting was painful, it was nothing worse than you’d experienced before. Unfortunately, you knew he wasn’t going to stop there, the leer in his eyes enough to make your stomach uneasy as he stalked in circles around you like a predator to its prey.

“A little round for my taste, but I can see it. The colonel must have a thing for soft and small. Probably because he’s a fucking mountain. Opposites attract and all that jazz,” he snickered, “Too bad the bastard is too scared to just take what he wants. But don’t worry sweetheart, I’m not a little bitch like him.”

Hearing him talk about König in such a way did weird things to your body. Anger began to rear its head. What kind of person talked about their commanding officer that way? You may not have been a full-blown soldier in the practical sense but you could never imagine speaking filth like that about your superiors. 

“Just because you lack the self-control to be a decent human like him doesn’t mean everyone does,” you bit out through a glare, “I wouldn’t touch you if you were the last human on earth.” 

He paused, eyebrows flying up in surprise, and, for one silly little moment, you’d thought you’d gotten through to him. Then reality struck hard with his fist across your face. A scream escaped your lips as the pain finally registered through the shock, your cheek aching to the heavens. 

“Now, see, you just had to go and be a smart ass. And here König talked about how compliant you were. Don’t tell me you got a hardon for the colonel, sweetheart,” he touted with a cackle, “And, for your information, it wasn’t a request. Either you can suck it up and make this easy, or I’ll take what I want either way.” 

Before he could do anything more, you tilted your head back and screamed, long and loud, for König. Of course that wasn’t allowed for very long. His second punch cut you off instantly, causing your vision to swim as you cried out again. You could hear him mutter something under his breath and you brought your eyes up only to find him drawing his fist back once more. 

“Fuck!”

You braced for impact, tears slipping down your cheeks through your clenched eyes, but the sound of a door crashing open interrupted his assault. The sound of a solid thud and a scream of pain tore your attention to the sudden group piling into the room, then more specifically to your captor-turned-savior pinning your assailant to the floor by one knee on the smaller man’s back, his arms wrenched behind him in a way that looked horrifying. He was snarling words in a mixture of German and English but you weren’t able to make out a single thing as you watched on in awe while he slammed the man’s face repeatedly into the concrete floor. 

“You are lucky I don’t kill you now!” König thundered, voice echoing through the room. 

“I- I’m sorry, I-”

“Nein! Ich werde dich mit deinen eigenen Eingeweiden füttern, bevor du diesen Satz beenden kannst!”  

Shivers crawled up your spine at the ruthless aggression in König’s voice. It was new, unexpected, and you were suddenly even more grateful not to have been on the receiving end of his anger. 

“Take him to his room and see to it that he does not leave. I will deal with him later,” König hissed, shoving the now bruised and bloody soldier toward the two at the door. 

“Yes, colonel, right away, sir.”

The moment the door closed, he deflated, shoulders slumping as he pinched the bridge of his nose and muttered something under his breath. You watched carefully as he closed the gap between the two of you. 

“I’m sorry, maus, are you hurt?” 

And instantly, it was like that war-hardened soldier had never existed, replaced once again by the gentleman you’d spent the last few hours with. You shook your head slightly and watched him kneel before you. A little smile twitched up the corners of your lips in amusement as you realized he was still taller on his knees than you were sitting in the chair.

“Nothing that I can’t handle anyway,” you replied quietly, voice trailing off as his hands cupped your face gently.

His touch was tender in ways you hadn’t expected as he shifted your head around, taking in the damage with a sigh. Thankfully, other than a sore and swollen cheek, that asshole hadn’t gotten the chance to do anything more before König had returned. 

“Thank you.” 

The giant before you froze, looking as surprised as you felt. Had you really just thanked your captor? Face warming, you watched him watch you. You could have taken it back, but not only would that have been weird, it would have been a lie. Because as far as hostage situations went, this was the best one you could imagine, and he had just saved you from one of his own when he could have turned a blind eye. Instead, you waited patiently for him to react.

“Hurting someone defenseless is cowardly,” he muttered lowly.

So the infamously ruthless König had an honor code. Interesting. That explained a lot, really. If it weren’t for the fact you’d seen him kill multiple of your allied Shadows with a brutality unparalleled, you’d think he wasn’t the revered Operator he really was. The silence grew in leaps and bounds, a strange charge in the air between you, until the moment was interrupted by another untimely growl of your stomach.

“Ah, yes, food!”

He grabbed a brown paper bag from beside the door and brought it over only to pause once he was in front of you once more. 

Confused, you watched on as his eyes darted around you in obvious thought before you finally broke the silence with a soft, “König?”

As if snapped out of a trance, he rushed over and snagged the black folding chair from across the room just to plop it loudly on the floor at your feet. He quickly took a seat and started opening the bag.

“I apologize but I can’t exactly unbind you,” he spoke softly, “Not yet, anyway.”

Your heart began to race at the implication. He was going to feed you. It was hard to decipher how you felt about it, a potent mixture of surprise, adoration, lust, and embarrassment hitting you all at once. 

“O-Oh, okay,” you mumbled.

Eyes lowering, you watched in interest as he carefully peeled an apple and cut it into bite-sized slices with a fancy-looking pocket knife. It was hilarious how tiny his massive hands made the fruit seem. All humor drained from your thoughts when he picked up a piece and slowly brought it your way. 

König’s eyes were wide beneath the sniper hood when you glanced up but you quickly dropped your gaze once more self-consciously as you parted your lips. Before you could stop it, a mortifying moan of delight fled your lips as you crunched into the deliciously sweet fruit, but you couldn’t find enough fucks to care as the hunger in your belly ramped up. When he picked up the next piece, you preemptively opened your mouth in wait. 

This continued on for quite some time in a comfortable silence until you swallowed the last piece and you almost whined at the loss. Thankfully, it seemed he wasn’t done. He snagged a block from the bag next and your mouth watered as you finally realized it was a brick of cheese. Surprising, but delicious and welcomed nonetheless. The cheese passed much quicker as it was a small chunk and you couldn’t help but watch in elation as he grabbed another thing from the bag. It appeared to be the last of the food because he crumbled up the paper sack and tossed it aside before opening up the little red box. 

“Do you like dark chocolate?” he asked suddenly. 

A grin spread across your lips as you nodded a little too eagerly. 

“Of course!”

You couldn’t tell for certain, thanks to the mask, but you were sure he smiled with the way his eyes crinkled at the corners. Why was that cute? That shouldn’t have been cute. 

“These are from Germany,” he explained warmly, “A brand called Schogetten.” 

He broke off one of the small pieces and brought it to your already parted lips. As the sweet morsel melted across your tongue, you went limp in disbelief, a little whine muffled in your closed mouth. You don’t know if it was because you hadn’t eaten in almost a day, or if it was the fact it was different than your usual chocolate back home, but the flavor was unparalleled. If all your dignity hadn’t already gone through the window, you wouldn’t have certainly lost it for that chocolate. 

Piece after piece, he fed you dutifully and silently, until you were too full for more. 

“I’m- I’m glad you enjoyed that.”

His voice was low, huskier than before, and it sent flutters through your heart. 

Feeling much more relaxed and comfortable, you had to smile back in response, carefully nudging your foot against his much larger boot. 

“Thank you for sharing it with me,” you replied.

That familiar weight of his gaze was on you once more but it didn’t take long to figure out why, one hand reaching out and steadying your face while his other thumb came to wipe your bottom lip. 

“You have some chocolate here,” he mumbled.

It was sweet of him to help when you would have had no way of knowing. The feelings of adoration dissolved into something much darker when his hand went beneath his hood and you heard the audible pop of his thumb leaving his mouth. 

OH.

It seemed he realized what he was doing at the same time as you, his posture going rigid as his eyes widened. A soft curse left him as he suddenly jerked his hand back down. 

“I apologize. I don’t know what came over me.” 

Fuck. Was this Stockholm syndrome? Did that set in this quickly? It wasn’t exactly a topic you’d researched much in your nursing classes. If it was… it certainly wasn’t a bad feeling. 

Biting your lower lip, you tried to steady your breath as the flutters in your chest grew stronger. 

“It’s okay,” you assured him.

Another bout of silence filled the space between you both, but this time you were practically vibrating in your seat from the anxious excitement thumping in your veins. As you stared into his half-lidded eyes, your thoughts went wild. 

What was going to happen now? There was a static charge in the air and it made your skin bump up. How long did you have before your team came? Were they coming? Did you even want them to come now? 

Your thoughts were brought to a screeching halt when he lunged forward, hands cradling your face carefully as his mouth smashed painfully hard against yours. It was a delicate juxtaposition and your brain took a few long seconds to register what was happening, but the instant you realized he was kissing you, you melted into it with a moan. The scratch of the hood against your lips was a unique texture but not entirely unpleasant, although you’d much rather have his lips bare. 

The chair creaked with a loud groan as you tipped forward, eager for more of the Austrian and frustrated by the rope keeping you bound. 

A huff of annoyance slipped out as you snapped beneath your breath, “Fucking rope!”

“Süßes mädchen,” König groaned low in his throat.

He pulled away just as suddenly as he’d started and you actually did whine out at that, not caring how pitiful you sounded, until you saw him take out the pocketknife. Fear bubbled acridly in your throat as you swallowed hard, eyes pinned to the blade as he flicked it out. König hadn’t hurt you yet. There was no reason to think he would now… right? 

It became painfully obvious that your intuition was right when he stepped behind you and fingered the ropes. 

“Stay still, maus, I don’t want to hurt you.”

You did as instructed and we were rewarded with the freedom to move as the rope snapped and fell away. With a long, loud, groan, you leaned back and stretched up to the ceiling, a dopey smile painted on your face as you loosened all the stiff muscles. As you relaxed back into the chair, you found König in front of you once more, almost looking nervous in his stiff posture. 

“Thank you,” you said warmly. 

When you stood, you were made acutely aware of just how short you were compared to him. You’d known he was tall but seeing him now, how far you had to crane your neck back to meet his gaze, it was so different. 

“I’m trusting you not to try anything.”

His voice was tight, whether from excitement or worry you weren’t sure, and you immediately knew how you wanted to prove your trustworthiness. Grabbing one of his massive hands in both of yours, you pulled him over to the cot in the back corner of the room. It was almost comical how easily he followed you and allowed you to push him to sit on the bed but, as you stepped between his knees and got face to face, there was no denying who was actually in charge when your eyes met. If his physical presence wasn’t enough to deter you, the power in those beautiful blues was reminder enough. 

“I think I owe you, for being so kind and for saving me,” you whispered, hands cupping his jaw to mimic the hold he’d had on you, “If that’s okay, sir.” 

When he didn’t stop you, you took the chance to kiss him again. It was even better the second time around. The groan he let out against your lips was pornographic and you found your knees weakening as his arms wrapped around your thighs, hands resting right below your ass. It didn’t take long for your desire to overwhelm your thoughts and you broke the kiss with a gasp of air, carefully lowering to your knees between his legs. What you weren’t expecting was the absolute mind fuck it was to see such a big man looming above you, nor the way seeing his thick thighs on either side of your head would make your pussy throb. 

“Well, süßes mädchen?” he teased, leaning back onto his hands. 

What a sight that was; Black shirt pulled so tight across his body that every ridge of his muscles bumped through, dark green cargo pants now sporting a growing bulge, the intensity of his gaze staring you down with something akin to amusement and delight. 

You could feel your hands shaking as you reached up. What little confidence you had previously was beginning to wane at the realization that you were going to actually be allowed to touch this adonis of a man. Taking a deep breath, you steeled your nerves and got on with it. To his credit, König didn’t push you to speed it up. In fact, he praised you softly with each touch. By the time you were pulling on his boxers to get his cock out, you were beyond soaked and arousal hummed like a bee through your body. The way it slapped against his stomach once free didn’t help your predicament one single bit. 

“Holy shit.”

You weren’t a virgin by any means but the size of him made you pause in shock. Of course. A giant man would have a giant cock. What else did you expect? It was surprisingly beautiful too; surrounded by trimmed blonde hair, thick, long, and curved, flushed tip leaking and just begging to be sucked. 

Swallowing hard, you let your fingers wrap around him and moaned when your fingers didn’t meet. If you were lucky enough to do more than suck him off, you were going to be sore… blissfully, happily, sore. 

“Ah, scheiße, ja. That’s it, maus,” he purred, cock twitching in your hand. 

Your face warmed under the praise. Leaning forward on your knees, you braced your hand against one of his thick thighs before bringing your lips to the tip of his cock, pressing a gentle kiss to the sensitive skin. The hiss he drew in was delightfully guttural. You needed to hear more of him, needed to earn that praise and pay him back for his unprovoked kindness. Slowly, you moved down his cock, planting kiss after kiss until you came to the base. He was nearly vibrating with need when you finally poked your tongue out, tracing up the veins branching along the underside. 

With the way his body tensed, you’d almost thought you’d done something wrong but then his hand was in your hair, pulling it back as he guided your mouth to his head again. 

“Stop teasing or I’ll bend you across my lap, Y/N,” he commanded gruffly. 

The way your name sounded coming from his lips was deadlier than any poison. You wanted to hear it again and again, whispered in your ears and against your skin. Fuck. 

Oh, and the mental images. How did you tell him that you wouldn’t mind him spanking you at all? Hmm, an option for later, maybe? Pushing the thoughts aside, you finally gave in to your temptations and licked up the precum around his head before taking him into your mouth. 

“Heilige Scheiße!” 

His moan was heavenly in the most sinful ways, only rivaled by the little breathless whimpers he let out as you hollowed out your cheeks and slowly sucked him down. You knew there was no way you’d be able to fit the entirety of him, your jaw already aching from the stretch, but you were going to fit as much as humanly possible. Inch by difficult inch, you took him until he was pressing dangerously hard against your throat. Unfortunately, you couldn’t get your body to relax enough to take him in- your body’s self-preservation too strong- but you quickly thought of a loophole. 

Pulling back suddenly, you gasped out, “Push me down.”

“Huh?”

Giving him a coy smile, you said, “I know I can’t push past my body’s limits, but you can fix that. I want you in my throat so, please, just… push me down?”

His entire being shuddered and he took in a sharp breath as if he were going to argue, but finally, he relented with a nod. Flashing him a wink, you wrapped your lips around him once more.

“Take a breath,” he instructed softly. 

You barely got a lungful in before he arched into your face. Tears welled up in your eyes as he thrust in deep, saliva pooling in your mouth as you gagged around him, but you were able to relax just enough for him to push through. Mortification clawed at your brain as both tears and drool spilled out the instant he began to fuck your mouth, but worse was the embarrassing noises that escaped your throat. Thankfully he didn’t seem as perturbed by them, possibly even enjoying them if his groans were any indication. 

Blinking away the tears, you looked up at him and were rewarded with a pained moan.

“Scheiße, kleines maus, you look so perfect like this,” he groaned, “That pretty little mouth feels so- ah- so good.”

When he let you up, you inhaled a quick breath before going back down. Now feeling more comfortable with the sensations, you brought your hands back into play, one pumping the base of his cock while the other wiggled beneath his boxers to stroke his balls. It wasn’t long before you could hear little frantic whimper leaving his lips. The way his breath hitched and his fingers tightened painfully in your hair told you all you needed. You quickened your pace and played into the sucking noises that he seemed to relish. 

“A-Ah, fuck, I’m going to cum. B-Bitte. Bitte, bitte, bitte. Don’t stop!”

A flush of heat rushed through your core and you couldn’t help but moan around him. Something about hearing such a powerful man reduced to a pleasured mess was both arousing and flattering. His strangled gasp was the only warning you got before he slammed you down, hips arching into your face as his cock throbbed in your throat. 

Eyes burning and throat aching, you managed to pull up just enough to breathe and used your saliva to pump his cock faster. 

“Come for me, König, please,” you begged him weakly before taking him in your mouth again, your tongue laving his head lovingly. 

Almost instantly, he broke, rope after rope of cum filling your mouth as he groaned your name. As you looked up at him, you wished you could see his face, see more than just the squint of his eyes as you sucked him dry. Unfortunately, you knew you couldn’t ask that of him… yet. Maybe if you were lucky enough to be around him more, eventually you could earn that trust. 

It wasn’t until he was shuddering and tugging on your hair that you finally pulled back, content that he’d ridden out that wave as long as he could. A satisfied smile curled up your lips as you leaned your head against his thigh and watched him intently. The heavy rise and fall of his chest was enrapturing. What would it feel like to curl up against him and use those muscles as a pillow? 

You were torn from your daydreams when he patted his other thigh. 

“Up, now,” he demanded. 

Lifting your brows in shock, you let him guide you up onto the cot and sat on his thighs as commanded. 

“Yes, sir?” you asked curiously. 

König didn’t answer. Instead, a hand came to the back of your skull and jerked you forward while he sat up, a squeal of shock escaping as you fell against him hard. Before you could question him, a mouth was over yours. A decidedly bare mouth. No hood to impede it. Realization sent a shiver through your body and you couldn’t help but reach up and hold his jaw. Prickles of a shadow beard tickled your palms and fingers with each caress. There was no denying his jaw was strong, angular almost, as you soaked in the sensations. God you wanted to see him even more now. Your exploration was cut short when you felt the breach of a tongue between your lips and a hand between your thighs simultaneously. 

“König,” you gasped out softly against his mouth.

The chuckle he let out caused your core to clench in need.

“You didn’t think that I was done with you, did you, maus?”

He didn’t give you the chance to respond, tongue filling your mouth with vigor as you melted into him. You were suddenly very thankful that you’d been captured in your pajamas when his hand slipped easily beneath the elastic waist of your silky shorts. He let out a hungry groan when his fingers came into direct contact with your skin. 

“No panties?” he asked, amusement and lust heavy in his voice, “How lucky for me.” 

His words made you blush but the embarrassment was easily forgotten when one long finger ran down your cunt, tracing your slit in teasing strokes. 

“You’re already so wet, mein schatz.”

A broken snicker fled your lips as he tenderly slid two fingers between your lips and you whimpered out, “It’s not my fault you’re- fuck!” 

“I’m what?” he teased.

He made it impossible to respond, the calloused pad of his fingers making little swirls around your nub, just on the right side of not enough. 

“You-You’re, fuck, you’re- Ugh, you’re making it hard to talk!” you squeaked out. 

König let out a long rumbling laugh that felt way too nice against your chest. 

“Try, maus, tell me what you’re thinking.”

“Fuck, you’re so sweet, and you’re big, and your eyes are beautiful, and- and-” a pitiful squeal interrupted your train of thought when he slowly slipped a single finger into your cunt. 

“Annnd?” he purred. 

“I love your voice, fuck, I could listen to you read a dictionary!” you groaned.

“Mmm, good girl.”

Your knees went weak and your cunt clenched around his finger as your eyes flew open to meet his in surprise. 

“Ah, you like that, hmm? You like to hear what a good girl you’re being for me?” he asked, not-so-subtly grinding up against you with an already hardening bulge, “You’re being absolutely perfect, mein schatz. This little cunt gripping so tight. Almost as tight as your throat was on my cock. I’m almost afraid to take you.”

“No, please, please do, please! I can take it!” 

“Oooh, I know you can, süßes mädchen, don’t worry,” he hummed, quickening his finger as he twisted his palm to rest against your clit. 

Your forehead fell against his shoulder in utter defeat as you lost all inhibitions, grinding down against his palm with each thrust he gave. It was ridiculous how close you already felt with so little stimulation but there was no denying the ways your walls were flutter around him. Pleasure swirled through your core, growing tighter and tighter, until all you could think about was how fucking good he felt and how you wanted his cock in you, now.

A needy whimper fell from your lips when he suddenly pulled his hand away and you jerked back in his lap to stare at him in disbelief. 

“Wha-” 

Your voice went silent as you watched the way his tongue cleaned up his glistening fingers with a moan. Fuck. That was it. You were good and ruined. 

“I want to make sure you are good and ready, mein schatz, so lay down for me.”

Before you could even move, he picked you up as if you were nothing and dumped you onto the cot. It took a second for your brain to catch up, too shocked by the show of strength, and by then he was lying on the comically small bed on his stomach, mouth pressing hungry kisses to the insides of your soft thighs. 

“Mein Gott, you are so beautiful,” he groaned quietly, “So soft. So sweet.”

Instinctively, you slapped your hands over your face and let out a whine. No way was this beast of a man not only going down on you, but he was going to kill you with compliments while he did it. 

Almost instantly, your hands were thrown aside and you gaped at him in confusion, only to see his full lips curved up into a smirk, mask tucked behind his ears to expose even more of his beautiful features.

“None of that now. You will not hide from me. I want to see that pretty face when I make you scream.” 

Yep. You were dead. Dead and gone to heaven. When they raided the camp, you had just been killed with all your allies and this was some fucked up kind of reward for all your good deeds. 

All existential thoughts were wiped clean from your mind when you felt him tugging your shorts down. You quickly helped him, unable to stop the giggle that escaped when he tossed them aside with a curse. And then you were bare before him. He looked like a man starved and you were given no warning before he dived in. 

“Oh, fuck!” you gasped. 

Big hands wrapped around your thighs and tugged you closer, throwing your legs over his shoulders before moving to part your lips for his tongue. Before you could get used to the sensation, he thrust two fingers in your cunt, punching all the air from your lungs. 

“Scheiße kleines,” he groaned against your skin, “You taste so good. I could live between these thighs.” 

It was all too much. The swirl of his tongue on your clit, the girth of his fingers pressing oh-so-perfectly against that sweet spot only your toys could reach, the feel of his facial hair scraping against your sensitive skin. And then he added a third finger into the mix. 

“Ho-Holy fuck! König, ohmygodfuck!” 

You nearly collapsed in around him but he was quick to catch your legs, holding them apart with a hand and elbow on either side, his forearm pressing deliciously against your lower belly. That pressure alone sent you rocketing to the edge. Instinctively you reached down to grab his hair, only to come into contact with the fabric, and you couldn’t help but whine in frustration. You really wanted to touch him more. 

As if understanding your plight, he slowed until only his fingers were pumping in and out and lifted slightly. Something was brewing in his beautiful blues when they met your gaze. 

“I can’t take off the mask, mein schatz, I’m sorry,” he sighed. 

“It-It’s okay!” you assured him quickly, “I understand!” 

Despite your words, he kept staring at you, the sounds of his fingers sliding through your arousal the only noise in the room. 

“Here, close your eyes for a moment.”

You did as told, swallowing hard in anticipation, and then his hand grabbed yours. Your heart felt like it was trying to escape your chest as he guided your fingers below the hood into his short hair. It was a bit longer than you expected, having thought he would have a regulation military fade cut, and softer. 

“Thank you,” you whispered, tears invading your closed eyes. 

“Of course, maus.”

How in the actual fuck was this stranger- a literal mass killer- you’d met a day ago more in tune with your needs and willing to compromise than literally any other man you’d been with? 

A gasp tore from your throat, harsh and raw, when he immediately returned to his previous act. Somehow it was even more intense after the brief break; frantic, almost painful. 

“König, pl-please. Don’t stop!” 

His moan was the only response you got. Rather than take your words as an invitation to go harder or faster like most did, he listened and listened well, keeping the same even pace, building you steadily higher and higher. Words and thoughts became impossible, incoherent pleading and wanton moans the only sounds you could make as you began to shake around him. Your fingers snarled in his locks in a way that was probably painful but you couldn’t find the wherewithal to stop. 

“Ja, that’s it, maus,” he demanded, “Be a good girl and come for me.” 

Within seconds, that ever-tightening knot in your gut broke. You tried to scream but the pleasure left you mute, lips parted in a silent cry of his name as wave after wave of ecstasy rolled through your being. When your breath finally came, so did the tears. 

“Fuckfuckfuckfuck, so- mm!- so good!” 

Just as it became too much, he lifted from your pussy with a heady groan. 

“Verdammt, sieh dich an, kleine Maus.” 

The moment the orgasm haze started to clear, you reached down and snagged his shirt, tugging on it to get him over you. He relented with a little chuckle when you whined his name. 

“Are you okay?” he asked softly, clean fingers gently tracing along your jawline. 

“Okay? The fuck you think? I’m absolutely dead in the best way,” you giggle, finally opening your eyes to meet his, “But… I still want you.” 

Wrapping your legs around his hips, you reached up at the same time and carefully pushed the hood back up, just enough to reveal his lips, your own curving up into a gleeful smile as you saw them. 

“Can I?” you asked hesitantly.

His answer came as the brutal crush of his lips on yours, pulling a moan from deep in your chest. As his tongue dominated yours, you took the initiative to reach between your bodies and palmed his cock, delighting in the way he whined. 

“Please, please fuck me,” you begged against his mouth.

“Couldn’t refuse you even if I wanted to,” he hummed back. 

You helped guide him as he lowered his hips to yours, unable to stop the gasp that escaped when you felt his fat head against your entrance. 

“You’re sure?” he asked suddenly. 

Brows furrowing, you dug your nails into his neck lightly and pulled him into another hungry kiss. 

“If you don’t fuck me, I might die.” 

That earned a warm laugh, a laugh that made your insides light up too bright, and a swift smack to the ass. 

“Well, we wouldn't want that, now would we?” 

When he began to push in, you tried so hard to keep your eyes open, wanting to see the expression in his, but it was too overwhelming. Despite his thorough prep, it’d been quite a dry spell for hookups due to work and it didn’t help that he was absolutely massive. It was a stretch, to say the least, but it hurt in all the best ways. 

“Oh mein gott,” König hissed into your mouth, “You are so tight, Y/N.” 

You couldn’t help but laugh.

“I’m pretty sure you’re just hung, big guy,” you teased through shaky breaths, “It’s- It’s good though.” 

“So fucking good.”

The metallic tang of blood filled your mouth when he suddenly caught your lips again, this time with too much teeth and force, but it only made you moan. The pain of a split lip was nothing compared to the delight of his cock stretching your walls. It felt like forever until his hips were against yours, but once they finally were, you were already needing more. You tried to rock your hips into him only for him to stop you with a bruising grip and a dark growl. His eyes were predatory when you found them and it lit another kind of fire in your belly. 

“Dont. Do. That,” he bit out gruffly, “Don’t move. Give me a second, mein schatz, or it’s going to be over far too soon.”

Pride fluttered to life in your chest at his admission and you couldn’t help but grin, earning another cheeky smack. 

“You’re enjoying this? My pain?” he teased warmly. 

You pouted slightly but couldn’t maintain the look, too enraptured by his pretty blues. 

“I have to admit that it feels good to know you’re as affected as me,” you whispered. 

He groaned, forehead falling against yours, and muttered, “You have no idea, my love. You feel- Gott, I can’t even describe it. I’ve never felt someone who fit me so perfectly.” 

Lips quirking up into a teasing smile, you replied, “I guess you’ll have to keep me around then, hmm? Because I can promise you, you’ve ruined all other men for me at this point.” 

König groaned and his hips rutted eagerly at your words. 

“Don’t tempt me, süßes mädchen,” he moaned, “I would love nothing more than to steal you and keep you here, all mine, to have whenever I wanted.” 

As he spoke, you fell more and more in love with the idea. And why shouldn’t you? This was the most romance you’d experienced in years, all your previous conquests being quick flings with soldiers who barely qualified as friends. König was the first one to truly see you in years. 

“Oh, don’t look at me like that, maus, you’re making this hard.” 

Biting your lower lip, you tested a little wiggle against his hips and were elated when he allowed it. 

“I’m already here, König, who says you have to let me go?” you whispered, “For all they know, I’m just another casualty.”

Logically you knew you shouldn’t feed into the delusion plaguing you both right now, but fuck did you want it. Something about the idea of being at his beck and call, being allowed to please him whenever either of you wanted, was a deliciously dangerous option. 

Suddenly, he drew out his hips and slammed back in with a strangled grunt. 

“You want that, hmm? Want to be my personal little whore, maus?”

The way you clenched around him made you both whimper and you instantly wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him down into a heated kiss. 

“Yes, yes, please! Wanna be allowed to have you whenever,” you whined, “Want you to use me.” 

Your nails found his shoulders and dug into the firm muscles there as the sound of your bodies meeting clouded the room. But you needed more, needed to feel more of him. Logically you knew you both needed to stay as clothed as possible, considering you could be interrupted any moment, but you couldn’t resist the urge to touch him. Slipping your hands under the hem of his shirt, you slid your nails up the length of his back, dragging the material with you until it gathered at his shoulders and you were granted the absolutely stunning visual of his abdomen clenching with each thrust of his hips. 

“God you’re beautiful,” you gasped out subconsciously. 

The noise König let out was unholy, deep and keening, as his fingers tightened on your hips once more. Even through the haze of bliss, you could see the way his cheeks lit bright red. It would be cute if he weren’t currently fucking you silly.  

“That’s-That’s my line, maus,” he chuckled breathlessly. 

Eyes trailing back up to his, you couldn’t resist leaning up as you pulled him down against you once more, your lips finding his ear with a little moan. 

“Then we’re both beautiful, König, because- fuck!” 

His pace grew brutal without warning as he shifted and suddenly it felt like he was slamming right against your cervix, the sharp pinch of pain making you yelp in surprise. It was clear the praise was doing something, a fact you stored away in your memory for later. Then he hit your cervix again. You almost tried to pull back until his hand left your hip, coming between your bodies to rub gentle circles across your clit. Fuck and that made the pain more than worth it. 

“Kö-König, close, please, just-” 

He groaned lowly and grunted out, “I know, I know. I’ve got you, mein schatz. Just relax and let go for me.” 

You finally released your hold on his back only to cup his jaw and draw him into a frantic kiss, panting out half-mumbled half-screamed moans as he tongued at your mouth. It was all too much. It was the best thing you’d ever experienced. When your climax finally hit, it felt like the world turned up on end. Collapsing back on the bed, you slapped a hand over your mouth to somewhat muffle the scream that escaped, but König had none of that. One big hand collected both of yours and pinned them to the bed by your wrists. 

“No! Let me hear what I do to you,” he snarled, “I want to hear every pretty little sound!”.

Looking up through wet eyelashes, you couldn’t stop the enamored smile that crossed your lips even as you whimpered for him. He looked so fucking good over you. What you wouldn’t give to see that sight every damn day. 

“Why are you so smiley?” he asked, amusement lacing his tone as he slowed his pace. 

“Just really fucking happy,” you giggled softly, “You feel so damn good and look just as amazing.” 

König’s lips twitched into a half smile before he shifted in place, keeping your hands pinned while he carefully lifted one leg up over his shoulder. Before he even moved, you could tell your body was going to resist the change in depth. Not that you would stop him. He could demand you attempt a headstand while he fucked you and you’d do it.  

“Oh FUCK!”

Your shriek earned a broken moan from the man above you but it didn’t stop him for even a moment, hips slamming into you with purpose. Fingers curling tight, you dug your nails into his hand and bit your lip hard to keep a hold of your senses, though it was for naught. The way his fat cock buried into your tight walls over and over was more than you could handle. You wanted to beg him to stop and to keep going until you died. 

“So tight for me, süßes mädchen,” he groaned huskily as his free hand came back to your clit, “One more.” 

“Eh!?” you gasped in disbelief. 

He grunted out a laugh and said, “Come for me, one more time. I want to feel you coming again before this is over.” 

You shook your head violently and retorted, “I can’t.” 

Even as you said it, he was easily proving your words wrong with his gentle stroking contrasting with the way he pounded your swollen cunt. His fingers tightened until it felt like your wrists would break under the force and yet you couldn’t find it in you to care, all self-preservation long gone. 

“You can and you will, mein schatz. I am nothing but a patient man.”

A pathetic whimper tumbled from your parted lips as you panted for breath beneath the exhaustion of it all. Suddenly though, he slows, releasing your hands and letting your leg fall aside. 

“König, wh-”

He silences you as he falls completely over you once more, the heavy feeling of his body against yours making you sigh happily. It only takes a moment to realize his reasoning, hands pushing your hair away while plush lips begin kissing along your neck. 

“Mmmm,” you hummed softly, fingers slipping up the back of his hood to find his hair again, “That feels incredible.” 

“You taste incredible,” he replied through a mouthful of your flesh, “Though, I must admit, my intentions aren’t so pure.”

Before you could ask what he meant, he bit down hard, hard enough that you reflexively yanked on his hair and screeched. The pain dulled to a low throb when he started licking and sucking over the wound, and you clenched hard around him when he rolled his hips into yours. 

“You’re gonna kill me,” you whined breathlessly. 

“Only with pleasure, maus,” he said with a chuckle, “Would never hurt a hair on this pretty little head.” 

Your heart fluttered traitorously at that. Deciding to return the favor, you moved aside his hood enough to reveal his thick, pale, neck and started kissing along the warm flesh. 

“Ah, s-scheiße.”

Poking your tongue out, you traced a line up to his ear and moaned at the taste of salt and skin. Even his sweat was driving you crazy. What was this man doing to you?  

The slow motions quickly turned into something much more primal when you wrapped your legs around his waist and sunk your teeth into his throat. 

“Oh, du kleine Füchsin!”

Groaning, you released his neck and whispered, “Fuck, I love hearing you talk.” 

“Then I shall talk to you,” he grunted through moans, “What should I say? Should I tell you how good you feel, how perfect you grip me? That I never want to leave this tight little cunt? How divine you look when you’re drunk on my cock?”

Despite your earlier protests, you could feel another orgasm brewing fast under his words and you let him know. 

“Ja, you going to come for me, aren’t you, schatz?”

“Oh god yeah, yes, please, keep- keep-” 

You pulled his hair taut as your limbs drew him in close, silently demanding to feel every inch of his body against yours, and his name spilled from your lips like a mantra. This one came up just as fast but much calmer, creeping up silently and taking you by surprise with its voracity. Something deep inside you snapped and you could feel your arousal gush down your cunt, coating your cheeks and the cloth beneath you. 

“Fuck, mein schatz, where- mein Gott, where do you want it?” he gasped out as you clenched around him. 

You didn’t even give it a second thought, locking your legs and pulling him into a ravenous kiss. 

“In me, please, I’m- I’m on birth control. I need to feel it in me,” you whined weakly into his mouth. 

His curses were muffled by your lips but their intensity wasn’t lost on you, the mumbled praises only adding to the flush on your skin. You bit his lower lip gently and suckled all while your nails scraped against his scalp and shoulders, doing your best to pull him under with you. 

“Oh, that’s my girl. My good girl,” he snarled, “Mine. All mine!” 

Stars burst behind your eyes as he buried his cock as far as possible in your walls, the throbbing sending little pulses of ecstasy through your veins as you tried hard to focus on working him through it. You only hoped you could return even a fraction of the bliss he put you through. 

A long, loud groan reverberated through the now silent walls as he went limp- though stubbornly keeping all his weight from pressing on you- and you had to smile to yourself, fingers now playing through his soft strands gently, in a silent apology for nearly ripping them out. 

“I’m going to move, hold onto me,” he instructed you quietly. 

You did as asked but the way he flipped your bodies over was still a shock. You instinctively tried to lift off of him only to be jerked back down, massive arms locking around you and holding you to his chest. 

“You are not going to hurt me, Y/N,” he murmured, “Rest. Relax.”

“O-Okay,” you whispered.

Face red, you fought all those negative inner thoughts away and gave in, earning a content little sigh from the big man. 

“You know, I never thought I’d have the best sex of my life while being a captive,” you joked easily, turning your head to rest your chin on your forearm, allowing you to observe him closely, “Where have you been all my life?” 

Your head bobbled like a boat on the ocean with each hearty laugh that left him and your heart clenched in delight at the pure joy in his eyes. 

“Waiting for you apparently, maus, took you long enough to get here.”

There was something strange in the way he looked at you, the tenderness in his touch as he held your face and stroked your lips, but your cockdrunk, touch-hungry, brain decided it couldn’t care less. All that mattered was how it made you feel, and God did it ever make you feel perfect.

[darkhymns-fic]

This Dark Heart of Yours

“And isn’t that what they say? That your drunk self is your real self?” The hand by Husk’s head finally moved–only to place itself against his cheek. Nails ran through his fur. “You’re just so starved for affection. It makes you forget your place.”

When Husk drinks too much, he makes mistakes. It will never be the last time.

Fandom: Hazbin Hotel Characters: Alastor/Husk Rating: M Word Count: 5416 Mirror: AO3 Notes: Hey! So there's more unhealthy dynamics, implied past abuse, forced alcohol abuse, horror?? and other potentially triggering content in this fic. More tags are at AO3, stay safe thanks.

--

He had drunk too much. Again.

But it wasn’t like anyone was going to complain that the hotel bartender was getting wasted anyway. Not Miss Sunshine Princess who was always greeting Husk every morning, all smiles, pointedly ignoring his half-empty bottle of whiskey in his hand. Not Niffty, who was so eager to take away said empty bottles to keep like it was her own personal collection, staring too hard at the warped glass and most likely thinking of breaking them into tiny pieces. And definitely not the annoying porn star who frequented his bar too often, venting about some garbage flick of his instead of anything worthwhile.

And not his boss. In fact, Alastor seemed to always push another glass into Husk’s hand when he wasn’t looking. “Enjoy yourself! How grand it must look to everyone, to see the help partaking in their own little vices.”

Teasing. Condescending. Husk didn’t care. Another shot gulped down, and the buzz made the day just a bit more bearable.

But maybe. Just maybe, he had overdone it this time.

Husk couldn’t even remember why he was sitting in the lobby. Another morale booster by Charlie? Husk had learned to tune them out. Redemption was not in his cards, and with more than just what he had done when he was alive. He’d been clutching another bottle, half-laying on the couch. But, with enough sense to stay on his side. Just his side. To his right, it was like electricity, one that made his fur stand. But Alastor always sat wherever he fucking wanted.

He found himself waking up to static.

The revelation was slow. It’s what alcohol did; making him sluggish, wobbly, and too out of sorts. He could usually hold his own well enough, but he really went hard on the bottle this time. Old vintage. Probably from one of Alastor’s own personal stocks. The Radio Demon would sometimes just give what he had. Anything to amuse him, to make Husk ruin himself just a little more, piece by piece.

The warmth should have been surprising, and it was. It was like curling up against a fireplace, like pressing into something alive and malleable. He had fallen down at some point, letting his body drift off. One of his wings stretched out, reaching down to the floor. His hands pressed, and grabbed, and he buried his face to hide away. Hard to find something like it nowadays. So he had to hold on tight, for dear life, of whatever sort of life he even had left. His other wing furled around him and–

Him and–

The static fizzled and popped. And, just briefly, it keened like feedback. Still, it took him too long to move.

Husk opened his eyes to find himself half-laying across Alastor’s lap. His elbow was lodged within the crook of the demon’s leg. His claws were kneading against a torso, close enough to see a button’s details, down to the subtle engraving of antlers within its center. A head looked down. A shadow slithered within the darkness of the room. It was dark. The lobby was empty. It was just them both. Eyes lacking anything but sparks and fire.

No.

“Fuck! Sorry. I just–” Husk scrambled out of the way, as much as he could. He fell off the couch, hard on his shoulder. Red searchlights fell over his fur, his loose suspenders, no matter how much he tried to get away. “I didn't know that– It was you! I didn't know.”

Alastor remained seated. He held the long handle of his mic in both hands.

The man with a silver tongue was unusually silent.

And there really was no one else left in the lobby. The lights were dimmed, with only the sickly green walls of the bar showing anything bright left. How late was it? Husk could only imagine the scene from before; big dumbass cat falling asleep because he was drunk out of his mind, and he fell asleep over someone’s lap, which just happened to be Alastor’s lap. Some stupid cute image, all while Alastor just stayed still and didn’t move.

Fuck. It wasn’t supposed to be this way.

Husk had never felt so sober, so quickly, drowned out by confusion and worry and why the hell was Alastor just staring at him? Why didn’t he fucking say anything?

The silence was near-torturous, only interrupted by those bursts of static, not even a small melody playing or a laugh track to cover Husk in derision. Nothing but that one noise, endless as an ocean.

“How long was I…?” His mind briefly explored that line of questioning, stopped and turned away from any possibilities. Minutes were too long. An hour was too long. “You know what, never mind. I’m… going to bed.”

The shadows shifted. The eyes flickered, catching him in their sights.

“I said I was sorry… alright?” Husk walked backwards, trying to head for the stairs, a hand reaching out to feel for the banister. “Just… Let’s forget it. I’ll wake up early to work tomorrow to make up for it.”

He didn’t want to think about how he had reached out for Alastor’s touch. He didn’t want to think about it. He didn’t want to.

He wouldn’t have done that if he was sober. That was all there was to it.

Alastor said nothing still, continued to say nothing even as Husk got further away. And he didn’t move. He stayed perched on the couch, eyes fixated on a prey that slowly headed for escape without notice.

Husk hated the feeling, like he had somehow stumbled into forbidden territory. No, he had always been careful before. He just wanted to get out of here, and when the back of his foot finally hit the bottom step of the stairs–

The thing about the shadows though is sometimes Husk can’t fucking see shit through them. Not through Alastor’s. He thought those shadows were far away, lurking in the distance like trees with overhanging branches, with a pair of eyes peeking through, too impossibly far. But the colors melded, and Husk’s head was still spinning from his hangover–and then it was like those shadows transplanted right next to his feet. The hollow antlers stretched up to grasp the ceiling, the arms, crooked as they were, bent just so to grasp at him.

And the eyes were now only inches away, disembodied things, bright and piercing and latching onto him. They had always been there. To Alastor, the distance did nothing but give his next prey a false sense of safety. He had told Husk plenty of times before, how the terror was always a little added seasoning to his meal.

So Husk remained still, blinked–and then he was right next to his bar, back pressed against those green walls, matching with the swamps Alastor had once called home.

And with the shadows still lurking around him, a hand, seemingly so regular compared to everything else, slammed into that venomous wall right by his ear.

Husk was frozen. Don't move. Don't make a sound.

The creature before him continued to stare. The shadows of his boss’ face, framed by ever-growing antlers that seemed to grin within the green backlight.

Then that same face blinked. Then it leaned forward. The face of a monster dissipated, leaving him with Alastor as he knew him. Not much difference.

“You were clingy.”

Husk swallowed. His claws embedded deeply in the walls behind him.

“Now. Why is that?” There was a furnace inside Alastor's chest, the way it breathed out such heat and made Husk sweat beneath his fur. “Are you asking me for something?”

It was a question that demanded an answer. Husk overcame the fear, just enough, finding the old rage inside. 

“You know I don't ask you for anything,” Husk finally said. “I was drunk. That's it.”

“Oh, I see.” The static grew louder. It garbled with small high-pitched notes before Alastor’s words pushed through. “Then you must be so needy .”

Alastor stretched out the word like torture. The sound of it dragged nails inside Husk’s ribcage. It was a knife that carved into his back, searching for nerves. 

He didn't need…He didn't want… him .

If Husk thought about it any further, he knew he’d spiral. It took all he had to calm himself down, still hanging tight to the wall, keeping his eyes on Alastor for anything sudden, terrifying, unspeakable.

“I said I was drunk. You hard of hearing now?” Husk snapped, trying to regain ground. His wings stretched out, almost daring to take flight then. “Everyone acts a little stupid when they had too much. Even you fucking do.”

And this was one of the stupidest things he’d ever done. His list of mistakes and regrets was already miles long, and it was agony to have this be part of it, especially when he wasn’t sure if he’d even live to get past it.

Alastor wouldn’t give him any fucking room to leave. The static kept doing a number on his head, making Husk want to drown it out with more whiskey. Never mind that was why he was in this mess in the first place.

“What more do you want from me?” he had to ask. Alastor was now his only reality. The awful antlers and shifting shadows were no longer as pronounced, but that smile hadn’t wavered, and the radio feedback just kept rising and falling in its awful airwaves. Husk shuddered, gritting his teeth. “If…you’re going to kill me for falling asleep on you, then just hurry it up!”

He had said it out of frustration, despite remembering awful screams through the radio, despite wondering, dismally, miserably, if those voices just kept living to be tormented again. Sometimes he heard repeat performances, though he was never sure.

And then, Alastor’s eyes lost their brightness. The static abruptly stopped. He laughed, leaning up slightly to let Husk finally take in a deeper breath.

“Oh Husker, you misunderstand me! I’m not mad at you!” A quick shake of his head, his shoulders still shaking from a chuckle. “I am simply fascinated.”

This failed to make Husk feel any better. “What…?”

He noted how the hand next to his head hadn’t moved an inch.

“It’s simple, really. I’ve seen you be such a pathetic drunk so many times, I’ve lost count! Amusing, but it’s usually the same. You’re always just such a grumpy kitty, but… this time it was different.”

Husk’s throat was dry. Claws very slightly gouged deeper in the wood. “Different,” he echoed.

“Yes, there's so much truth revealed when inhibitions are lowered. I suppose it takes certain spirits, or maybe even certain situations, to really unravel a person.” Alastor slowly, methodically, placed the head of the mic under Husk’s chin, pushing it up just slightly. “The kind that makes your body betray you at every moment.”

The way Alastor spoke, softly and with such intense focus, and for a moment, letting fall the radio filter so that Husk could only hear him and only him …

Husk felt himself slip against the wall, a right wing flapping to try and keep himself up. His head angled further, held by that mic. 

Fuck.

He was still drunk.

Alastor’s eyes widened. The red was piercing again. There was a sound behind him, like boughs creaking from the night’s breeze.

“And isn’t that what they say? That your drunk self is your real self?” The hand by Husk’s head finally moved–only to place itself against his cheek. Nails ran through his fur. “You’re just so starved for affection. It makes you forget your place.”

In Alastor’s words, there were always sharp teeth and flowing poison. Husk felt it sift through his head, keeping him on high alert all while the whiskey still ran through his blood. It made him nauseous, made him want to find an escape. But the hand kept him in place, and the warmth there was hard to deny.

Husk nearly slipped again. The hand clutched the back of his head–then raised him up. The back of his heels no longer touched the floor.

The soft feeling of panic was small, distant. It drifted away so slowly with the heat. Still, he kept his claws in the walls, felt them carve through the wood.

Alastor didn’t seem to mind, only watching his every motion. Husk couldn’t take it.

“How is it fair?” He then asked quietly, keeping himself rooted. He hated it, how Alastor could pull out his weakness like drawing back a string. “You can do whatever to me, yet I'm…”

No. Husk was not allowed to want.

To be free. To be away. To stop repeating this cycle, again and again. To feel like he wasn’t just something to be kept around as a toy and nothing else.

Alastor raised an eyebrow, then chuckled once more. His voice fizzled, gaining back its filter like a veil. “Oh, I apologize, Husker. How silly of me to forget.” The shadows rippled beneath them both, and then Husk heard the familiar clink of glass, saw how the green light shone through amber. “You still need a little help.”

It was a small bottle, the neck of it long but its body bulbous and filled with whiskey. Husk could already imagine the taste on his tongue, the rush of it in his throat. He eyed it, but dug his claws even deeper into the walls.

“No, I don’t…want that.” Husk tried to shake his head, and couldn’t. The hand held him tighter.

Alastor’s head tilted to the right, slightly. “You’ve never refused before.”

The statement struck something so deeply inside Husk that he wished he could just vanish and never exist in the first place. He shook. His wings raised but they felt heavy, lethargic, barely a part of him.

“I’m fucking done. I don’t want it now.” A swallow, and his voice cracked. “You can’t just keep forcing me to be like this!”

God, his mouth felt so, so dry.

Alastor’s smile didn’t waver, as it rarely did. But he saw it tighten, and how the demon’s eyes narrowed in turn. The mic underneath his chin quickly vanished, leaving Alastor with a free hand, while the other still held Husk.

It unnerved him again when Alastor said nothing. No static. No bursts of sound. Only the shifting tendrils that formed around him like arms, one of them dangling the whiskey bottle by the neck, popping open the cap which fell to the floor.

Husk’s ears flicked at the sound. What was this game now? Nothing Alastor did made much sense to him anymore, and even less when he was hardly sober.

Then, the tendril upended the bottle by a fraction, and the whiskey was poured straight to the floor.

It was instinct.

“Wait. Wait, what are you–Stop that!” Husk lunged forward, unearthed his claws from the wood to reach for the bottle. The tendrils pulled it back just out of reach. “Fuck, don’t just waste it! Hey!”

Another lunge. The tendril swayed again. The alcohol poured slowly, seeping into the carpet. Husk tried to move more, but the hand on his head was like iron, locking him in its grip.

“You didn’t want it,” Alastor said. “So, I was simply getting rid of it.”

“You piece of shit, you can’t just…” He could barely finish, watching in despair as the whiskey was being drained right before his eyes.

“So, there’s this side of you I know all too well. Desperate. Whiny. Anything to get more of your booze. If I let you go, will you just grab what’s left of it on the floor?”

Alastor’s voice was so low that it sent shivers down Husk’s spine. Still, he couldn’t even find it in himself to deny anything. Even knowing there would never be any lack of cheap beer or vodka or whiskey or anything at all, he couldn’t stifle the fear away.

“But I can be kind. Because it’s not just this–” He waved the bottle again, now half-empty, the downpour of whiskey thinning down to a trickle. “That you ache for, isn’t it?”

He didn’t want to answer. He was just so thirsty. It was hard to even speak.

Alastor’s free hand reached out. Husk thought he would touch him, grab hold of his chin as he so often did. Instead, the tendril moved near, and poured the whiskey over Alastor’s open palm.

Husk watched the liquid trail down in rivulets, droplets falling in between fingers, winking in the green light. He watched it all, his throat getting drier with each lost drop.

“No,” Husk whispered, trying to turn away, failing utterly. 

He didn’t know what pathetic sound he made when he spoke, but it was enough to make Alastor lean closer, enough to bring his hand, coated in alcohol, near Husk’s mouth. 

The palm was just against his lips, giving him what little drops remained, like water in a desert. He should have bitten down on that hand, ripped those fingers off. The indignity should have left him with nothing but rage, but he suddenly felt so desperate and aching and aching. 

Husk's tongue glided across the black gloved palm, searching, searching, wanting.

He wanted so badly.

Alastor watched him, all throughout, but Husk could only focus on the taste that was on his tongue. Still not enough. More drops from those fingers, even with their wickedly sharp points. He wanted and needed. The taste of it, and the warmth that held it.

Husk wrapped his mouth around one of those fingers, sucking the burn of it. It slid down his throat. Down, down.

He felt the heat of Alastor’s eyes on him, felt the curve of a finger just against the roof of his mouth. Dangerous, but it didn’t stop Husk from running his tongue along the skin and catch any whiskey that was left.

“My, you’re easy , aren’t you?”

If Husk was sober, maybe he’d react. And maybe, there was some part of him that burned at the accusation. But the other part was stronger, just wanting the drink to drown him. Just wanting to drown.

Eventually, the bottle was emptied. The last of the liquor slid across Alastor’s hand like branching rivers, some of it to flow into Husk’s waiting mouth, the rest to fall away to the floor. Husk took all he could, his body shaking all the while.

In his need, his hands reached out to grasp Alastor’s own. He couldn’t speak, but with everything else, he was begging.

He was getting more drunk. He wanted to get drunk. And he wanted–

Alastor.

If there was fear and revulsion at that, it drowned away in the seas of all that he ingested. Even as little whispers ran through his skull (No, I can’t do this again.) his mouth lingered on Alastor’s hand.

Tendrils moved again, small undulations that he could barely make sense of. And Alastor’s other hand no longer clutched his head as tightly, patting down his fur and caressing at the skin beneath. 

Then, in a low tone. “Keep begging.”

A small shock, a brief intake of air to make him realize the horror–only to drown once again, Husk still clinging onto Alastor’s touch. His throat was dry again. “Please…”

“Oh, you can do better, Husker.” Another bottle floated within the shadows, its green glass melding with the dim light. “Or I’ll just have to keep you wanting.”

Husk shook his head. (Enough. That’s enough). But he watched Alastor open the cap of the gin, imagining all of it draining away. “Please, Al… I need…this…”

A small blip of static. Alastor tuning in to further find the root of Husk’s debasement. “What do you need?”

Agony. All Alastor ever gave him was agony.

And still, he kept clinging to his hand.

Husk couldn’t even remember saying more, but Alastor showed some mercy. He upended the bottle at Husk’s face, purposely missing his mouth. The alcohol stung his eyes, went up his nostrils, burning. But all Husk did was move towards the downpour, letting it scald his throat.

Drunker. The holes in his memory were growing bigger, no longer able to connect between moments. Because at some point, he had been moved to stand behind the bar. He felt the ache of his waist hitting the counter, of Alastor pushing him into it. Hard.

The gin bottle was only slightly empty. He needed more. Alastor’s hand moved down to grasp at his neck, hooking fingers beneath the strap of the bow tie and pulling at the hidden manacle that Husk always felt, always wore.

“Is it fair that you get to have all this?” Alastor said, or Husk thought he said. Words were muffled the further he sank into the depths. “But you’ve always been a greedy little kitty.”

Husk struggled, but his back kept being pushed into the wood grain of the bar. He watched in dismay as Alastor took a sip of the gin, wanting it. Wanting it. His hands reached out, grasping the front of Alastor’s coat to pull him near.

What happened next was hazy, dark, confusing. Moments of sanity interspersed with poison.

Husk had watched the alcohol pour down between them both, how it half-pooled on Alastor’s tongue. And Husk had leaned forward, taking Alastor's mouth, taking the demon's tongue for every taste. There it was. The familiar burn, the sting on his gums. Anything to fall. To keep falling. 

Hands slammed into the bar next to him. Tendrils snaked out to writhe and hold onto limbs. Something pushed at his right knee, another pinned his wrists above his head until he felt they would snap. But Alastor didn’t stop the kiss. He pushed further, sliding his tongue around Husk’s, the alcohol pouring in-between them, still. The strong scent of it, the way it nearly cut off Husk’s breath, but still he seeked out the mouth coated in alcohol and blood and heat.

“So this is you…” Alastor spoke, making Husk whine when he moved his mouth away. But not far, still so close for Husk to feel his laughter rumbling against his skin. “How good to see you again, dear friend.”

His lungs were too filled to cry out. His skull was too filled to process anything of what was being said. There was only his mouth that wanted to find another. His head was the only part of him allowed to move, so he kissed Alastor harder, leaning in until sharp teeth clashed against his own, getting drunk off the taste of gin and whiskey, off the taste of Alastor’s tongue that made him choke.

It was warm, and wet, and hot, and scalding, and overwhelming and he wasn’t going to survive but he had always fallen so hard until there would be nothing but pieces of him left. Pieces that Alastor would leave on the ground to cut him open afterwards, but it was worth it all just to get ecstasy now. Just to feel something other than complete hollowness, even with a blade held to his throat.

If there were more touches that fell across him, more sounds that were pulled out of his throat, more names spilled out of him, again and again, he didn’t know. He just fell into warmth that was pitch-black, robbing him of all senses all at once. It was like being buried alive.

--

When Husk woke up the next morning in his bed, tucked inside blankets with his head on a soft pillow, the first thing he did was vomit all over the floor.

It had taken him ages to wobble to the bathroom, to expel whatever was left inside his stomach so that the fire inside him would stop. He knelt on the floor, hands shaking against the tiles, watching fur and feathers scatter from his shivering. Then he moved towards the sink, running the faucet over his head, hoping the cold water would douse the fever overtaking him. 

He remembered too much. The fear that froze him in place, the monster shapeshifting in front of him, the alcohol pouring, the touch on his cheek, and the kiss that left him panting for more.

Then completely nothing after that.

Somehow, that just made it worse.

Husk raised his head to the mirror, dreading what he’d see, whatever would be left of him. But all he saw was unkempt fur, matted down from water, bags underneath his eyes, and a dry tongue. 

Ordinary, because he would always drink before bed. Bottles of whiskey, vodka, gin and more were scattered all over his bedside table, or hidden in drawers. There was nothing different, and it fucking terrified him.

He ran his hand over his chest, swallowing hard. But even as his claws sifted through the fur, he couldn’t feel anything different. Everything in place. No marks of any kind. The only pain was the hangover doing a number on his stomach and his head all at once.

Nothing. But Alastor had always been good at covering his tracks.

And that very thought sent Husk’s mind reeling. He could’ve done anything with me. He could’ve made me do anything. He gagged, but there was nothing more to retch up except drips of saliva. His wings covered his shoulders on instinct, feeling cold in his bareness. But he always went to bed without clothes, so that wasn’t anything new either.

Hangovers were normal. Feeling like complete shit was normal.

He was going to shatter if he kept thinking about it.

Despite it all, Husk got to his feet, pushing everything away to just move. Went by routine. Gotta get ready. Gotta get to work. After all, he was the fucking front desk slash bartender for some goddamn reason.

Washed his face again. Half drunk the mouthwash. Did his business. Took a shower. Sat in the bathtub for ten minutes too long. He laid his wings flat on their sides. His claws kept kneading into his own legs. Finding nothing. Just nothing.

He left the bathroom. Went to the clothes closet that was half-open. Nice collared shirts, half-made ties, and jackets that hung around to gather dust, nearly falling off their hangers. He never bothered fixing them. He looked down, and saw the usual suspenders folded neatly on the bottom of the closet, his hat perched on top, right in the center.

Perfectly made. All set out for him. Husk stumbled into the closet, hung onto the side to keep upright. He breathed hard, harder, before he could finally calm himself down.

The bastard.

And still, he took the clothes, put them on. Clean and pressed, as if it had just been retrieved from the laundry. 

Cover all the tracks.

--

It almost felt unreal to see Alastor just out in the hallways, like it was nothing.

The demon wasn’t even looking at him. Husk had turned a corner and found Alastor walking forward, occasionally drifting a gaze or two to a hotel room door. Inspection? Just a stroll? If he was going to the lobby to meet up with Charlie, he would have just teleported like always.

Watching him, Husk felt  every old anger, every nauseous thought, every despair inside him. 

Instead of half a hallway down, Husk found himself only inches away, enough to see the patterns in Alastor’s coat. He reached out and grabbed a wrist.

Alastor halted immediately, turning sharply with a raised eyebrow. “Starting early today?”

The words sunk into him. Husk shuddered and let go, but still kept his eyes on the demon. “What the fuck happened before? What did you do?”

Alastor turned to face him. “Oh, so typical of you to pin the blame on me. And all just for a little nightcap.”

There was so much he expected to hear and so much he didn't. But what Alastor said made him feel he was losing his grasp on what little sanity he had left. The simple casualness of it, like Husk had only stubbed his toe instead of feeling like absolute garbage, inside and out. “Enough with your bullshit! What. Happened.”

Alastor tapped his fingers against the mic, creating a faint feedback from the motion. His grin widened. “Only a lovely evening shared between old friends.”

Something hot over his neck. His throat burning as he became undone. And bright eyes peeling through his chest, straight through meat and bone and–

Husk shook his head, tried to control his breathing. Alastor stood still, with not a flicker of change over his face. 

“I blacked out and that’s all you fucking say to me,” Husk said through gritted teeth. “You don’t care how much you ruin me. Or just…what I have to deal with afterwards.”

“Don’t be so ungrateful now. And after I made sure you would have a good night’s sleep.” He twirled the mic cane in one hand, the hum of it making Husk’s tail twitch in reflex. “Even rolled you on your side! Just in case, well, you know. You really should be more careful. One of these days you might not even wake up!”

Was that a threat? Husk couldn’t parse it, the words said so glibly from Alastor as if he was ordering a small cup of coffee. He breathed faster, his heart feeling like it would jump right out of his throat.

He just wanted to know what happened. He just wanted to know what Alastor did to him when he removed that block of memory from his head, shoving it away and only leaving him with invisible scars inside him. Ones he may never know about, or ones he would only find out when Alastor would reach for his hand out of nowhere.

And he just had to keep living like this.

Alastor leaned forward, towering over Husk, his shadow stretching out to cover him whole. Still, a certain distance was kept. One that could be broken at any moment. “I could see how much you truly missed it, you know,” Alastor said with a chuckle, pointing a finger right at Husk’s chest. “You told me so yourself.”

He didn't remember at all. Not a thing about that. No, he only remembered how Alastor had told him to beg and how he obeyed and how desperate he had been to get any drop left and he could only think how it must have gotten worse after that. It only ever got worse. His tongue felt like ash.

Something made his teeth rattle violently.

Husk blinked. Alastor was closer, but his boss hadn’t moved. The cane was held just before the demon’s face, blocking the claws that had reached out. Husk felt electricity run from his claws and up his arm.

He had aimed for it. For Alastor’s face. For his eyes. The undeniable urge to tear them out for what they must have seen.

There was always something that kept drawing him to Alastor. Teeth, claws, blood, hatred, fists, heat, despair, love, greed, everything, everything that was his. He didn’t know where it ever ended.

The grin widened. A red gleam that coated the hallway. “Husker. You have no idea how kind I am to you.”

He thought the chains would manifest, bring him to his knees and make him sink further and further into Alastor’s very being. Instead he was shoved. He was thrown away like disgusting trash and he couldn’t tell what were his thoughts or Alastor’s many whispers that sometimes trailed inside his head. Husk’s back hit the wall. He heard the cracks made in the plaster.

The only marks made. Easily fixed. But Alastor left the damage there for all to see, walking away as Husk struggled to breathe.

“Please do join us when you’re ready to be civil. The front desk can’t be unmanned for too long now.”

Husk waited and waited and waited. He didn’t know what for. His wings shuddered, and the pain in his chest finally felt so close to bursting open. Even though it wouldn’t. He knew it wouldn’t, ever since he first fell and couldn’t find a way to escape the pit he found himself in.

And if, for a second, he remembered being held within heat, a touch handling him as if he was fragile instead of worthless, precious instead of disposable, it didn’t really matter. Because he was still here, lying on the floor, waiting for something to change, knowing it never would. 

[evelynsgarden]

Stop and read please ❤️

Lmfao first post on this account (deleted the one I used to post fics on so nobody better come at me with “you don’t post you shouldn’t have an opinion) I’ve been here for 2 years now (I’m about to be 19 and wasn’t always reading smut for context) and I just have a few opinions I wanna share

The way yall treat TLOU fanfic writers (specifically Abby and Ellie writers) is so disgusting 💀

People are allowed to write smut or any other form of fanfiction without being labeled a porn “addict” and having insults thrown at them. You people label anything you slightly dislike as wrong and it’s so weird. YOU ARE WEIRD.

You people seriously wouldn’t last a on Ao3.

I definitely don’t disagree in regards to the fact that there’s a lot of smut on both tags HOWEVER SCROLL. I’m saying this as someone who breathes for angst.

You all seriously need to get a grip. People go around here with MDNI and “18+”

On their accounts and then act like CHILDREN.

On another note if an author doesn’t make a y/n look like you then don’t read it, or replace details in your head as you read. I’m coming to you as a mixed poc who’s goth. I promise you I’ve been there and I’ve learned to just change the details, it isn’t hard.

Nobody owes anyone inclusivity in fanfics. If you want something you write it, you don’t complain like an entitled child.

You need to grow up. Bullying authors on here is so painfully fucked- I’ve seen the annons and the comments you people leave, it’s genuinely disgusting.

People will ALWAYS miss the point of a character and sexualize them- but you scroll!

I’ve seen countless amazing writers get bullied off this app and given that it’s been two years of this- I’m exhausted.

If anyone has a bone to pick then comment, but I’m seriously so sick of seeing grown people act like children in these tags holyyyyyy-

-An ex writer

❤️

[lovethetasteofnothing]

good parenting, bad timing | ghostsoap

silly feverish brain writes silly fluffy scenarios..

part 1 | part 2

singleparent!soap who's bringing his daughter on her first day at a new school. she clearly isn't happy with the fact that she had to move again and she's complaining about how much she doesn't like ("hate is a very strong word my wee angel, yee should use it wise-like") her daddy's job. a sweet frown on her face as he tries to coax her into going into the school by herself because he's already running late.

but he can't help giving in when he sees the tears filling up her big puppy eyes, his arms wrapping around her and squeezing her as if to remind her he'll always be there for her. she was so different, yet so similar to him in so many ways, but the way she was so shy to warm up to people and make new friends was really the biggest discrepancy between the two of them.

so that's how singleparent!soap ended up late for work, choosing to be a good dad and help his little girl navigate the school until she reached her class. he knew how hard it was for her to constantly adapt to the change in environment, moving around or being left in someone's care while he went away, no promise was made that he'd return to her. and to be honest, it hurt his soul to see her suffering so deeply while he served for something he believed in.

and it broke his ego a little when he noticed his new team just staring at him when he showed up 10 minutes late, a specifically loud scoff accompanied by bitter words throwing him off for the rest of the day.

"so we're taking anyone in now, is it?" more of a mock than a remark. singleparent!ghost knew he was being a prick right now but after sleeping for barely a few hours last night he could care less if the new sergeant felt welcome or not.

besides the draining insomnia and the terrifying nightmares he suffered if he managed to sleep, he also had a little scoundrel to take care of. she resembled her pop, of course she did, but he knew deep down that she was so much more of a people-person than he was and would ever be. so when he woke up startled by his daughter's hand gently shaking him awake, he knew he had his fill of sleep for the night.

he had to pull her up and sit her down on his bed, wiping away crocodile tears from her blue eyes as she started talking about her nightmare and then drifted away to easy conversation about her day at school, the details she missed and whatever else she had found interesting that day. Simon couldn't complain, knowing that his daughter trusted, even loved him enough to share all of these things with him.

singleparent!ghost who wrapped her in a comfortable embrace, stroking her hair and nodding along to her story as he felt her drifting off to sleep. he knew he was too awake now to get any more winks of rest so he just spent the rest of the night holding his precious daughter, making sure she wouldn't get another nightmare like her daddy did.

he had promised himself to offer her a (great) childhood, something he had been robbed of and would never experience again. a thorn in his side whenever he thought about his life.

so when her mom left two years ago and simon was faced with the cold hard fact that he had to do everything by himself from now on, he felt like the world was falling apart. besides losing a lover he had put so much trust in, he had lost an important piece of his kid's life. for weeks he'd blame himself and think about the worst case scenario ,about his little princess growing up despising him for making her mom leave.

he had recovered, partially at least. he still blamed himself for the entirety of the fiasco. maybe he should have been a better boyfriend, proposed sooner, asked to be serious after they had had a kid. but he knew commitment meant inevitably losing someone and he wasn't ready to put it down on a piece of paper. to him it felt like signing a contract with the devil, knowing that the end goal was your own personal suffering.

but now he didn't have time to think about home or his ex, not when there was so much to do and so little time before he had to run and pick up his girl, bring her home and continue his tasks.

"get a clock next time, Sergeant. nobody likes a tardy soldier" he didn't know what had gotten into him... he was being oddly rude even for his usual self. Simon blamed it on the two hours of sleep.

even though the day went well and nobody had managed to piss him off except for the unhappy Sgt, he found himself constantly pestering the new man, a few snarky comments unintentionally leaving his mouth throughout the day. there was something about him that unsettled simon.

singleparent!ghost didn't have time for this though as he went to pick up his girl. the happiest man on earth when she ran and jumped in his arms. he wasn't wearing that scary mask anymore, his daughter and her friends didn't like it; or the balaclava because his girl always complained that she couldn't see any of daddy's face and it made her sad.

so he had to compromise and wear a simple black mask instead, still keeping part of his identity concealed.

but today she wasn't alone, no. it wasn't unusual for her to bring a friend over and ask if they could hang out but he wasn't familiar with the girl from today, he hadn't seen her before.

"daddy! daddy! can Blair come and play with me this week? please daddy, please?" his daughter always spoke so quickly, so enthusiastic about the topic at hand that it was hard to understand her sometimes. it was moments like these when he remembered that she was only partially like him, the chaotic and sweet side of her behavior coming from her now absent mother.

"we'll need to talk to her parents, won't we, princess?" he agreed with her softly, kneeling down and introducing himself to the new little girl. she seemed shy to say the least, her demeanor was neutral, almost a frown, even though her tone was so gentle and she had attempted to give him an awkward smile while talking. how come his daughter always found a new type of personality to attach her own to?

"Blair, pet, ah told ye to wait by the front gate. Ye got me all worried-" Soap was trying so hard not to let the shock show through on his face.

he hadn't recognized him at first, not when he saw just part of his face covered by a black mask, but his uniform was a dead giveaway, there was no way he could mistake him. did that fucking lieutenant have to show up here too?

"late again, Sergeant?"

this is the fanart that inspired the brainrot <3

creds divider: @/cafekitsune

[cairavende]

Worm Arc 11 thoughts (pre-interludes):

Taylor's dad sees his daughter for the first time since she ran away. Since the fucking Endbringer attack! And literally says the line "“I need to go handle this" about a fucking work thing. No Danny. You do not NEED TO HANDLE THIS. God damn. It is fucking hard to be a co-parent for Taylor when I'm the only one doing any parenting!

Speaking of parenting - Taylor, you really should get some therapy. That was a pretty detailed level of fucked up nightmare you had. I love you and just want you to take care of yourself.

Skitter just like "all right, for day 1 I'm going to gain complete fucking control over my territory and establish myself as an unkillable bug goddess". And then she worries if she is doing enough!

Seriously though, letting that guy stab her and counting on her costume to block the knife? Fucking baller move. Also stupidly risky. So pretty much on point for my wonderful but stress inducing bug daughter.

And then she just sits in her chair drinking tea while she destroys two groups of Merchants? Doesn't just beat them, but absolutely terrorizes them. Lights one of them on fire with their own matches! WITH BUGS! I love her so much.

She also gained two minions as a side bonus to controlling her territory. And ensured their loyalty and dedication to her.

For real. Sierra would take a bullet. She'd die for Taylor. But Charlotte? Charlotte would kill for Taylor.

The speech Taylor gave Charlotte when giving her the options "leave town" or "work for me" was so well done! Came across as incredibly fair so Charlotte couldn't complain, but also just tied her in a little bundle all nice and neat. Set her up to want to work for you. Very nicely done. Taylor clearly has been learning from Lisa.

We're just pretty much giving up on that whole secret identity thing huh? It just started cascading out of control quite quickly. I don't expect Taylor and Skitter to be different people for much longer.

Lisa and Taylor went to a party together! A shitty villain party that was dangerous and almost killed them. But villain prom is villain prom. GAAAAAAYYYYYYYYYYYYY!!!

Just a number of good Chatterbug (Smugbug) moments here.

Lisa has a MURDER WALL! AAAHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!! I love her so fucking much and I will just sit in there with her working on the murder wall for hours. (She isn't trying to solve a murder so I know it isn't technically a murder wall, but it's a murder wall cause that's the best name.)

Fucking Bryce. Sure went through a lot of trouble for that asshole.

Skidmark just doing a thunderdome up in here. Some people use their powers for cool things and others build a fence.

Also really not seeming to do great for loyalty. Like ya you get a cape or two out of it but it left everyone in your gang not trusting anyone else.

I love everyone in Faultline's crew. Newter was my favorite but Shamrock may have beaten him out. I always loved Domino and Shamrock gives the same vibe.

Newter got a few good Nightcrawler like moments here too which was fun (grabbing things with his tail, talking to people from weird perches).

God DAMN Labyrinth is powerful. Like I knew she was but getting to see it. Holy shit. That was so fucking cool. Literal goddess of reality right here.

I'm really excited to learn more about Cauldron and the superhero in a can stuff. Very Weapon X with the memory wiping and such. (I'm just really on an X-men comparison thought process right now I guess)

Taylor "I'm not a skilled combatant" Hebert over here as she dual wields knives and successfully fights off multiple people, most bigger than her, while specifically using non-lethal attacks on them. Taylor that isn't what "not skilled" means!

PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF GOD CHILD, STOP GETTING HIT IN THE HEAD! I WORRY!

Seeing the trigger event thing was really cool. I don't think the fact that any cape near a trigger event appears to almost pass out has been mentioned before. Obviously in universe know one would know anything beyond them appearing to stumble, but still. And we got to see more of the higher dimension beings. We in Flatland now.

Oh god there is so much more I think I'm missing huge amounts. AHHH!!!

Oh, this is important. While describing Mush Taylor says "He bore a resemblance to a particular pink skinned, scrawny goblin of a creature from those fantasy movies." That open endedness of that context made me decide she must be talking about The Goblin King in Labyrinth. David Bowie. But to keep things simple, since it might seem like she is talking about Gollum, I decided that on Earth Bet David Bowie played Gollum in the Lord of the Rings movies. This is canon as far as I am concerned.

That does also mean Mush looks at least a little bit like David Bowie.

[letteredlettered]

congrats on ur final day on the job! Hope ur moving on toward some great rest, or something exciting :)) Anything u think itd be useful for someone unionized or pro union to know?

Actually, before I worked my firing-people-HR-job I worked in Labor Relations. On, you know, the evil side. So I know a lot about unions--at least, unions in the USA. The company I worked for was huge and had at least a dozen union contracts with at least eight different unions, and unions in our state are pretty strong, despite the way that unions have been gutted in this country over the last few decades. If folks have more union questions, hit me.

If you are in a union, here are my useful tips:

Know your contract (aka collective bargaining agreement or CBA). Your reps are supposed to know your contract, and they try, but they have a lot going on and it's easy to feel like you know it and forget a lot of minor details. It's helpful for all employees to know their rights.

The strongest tool that a union employee has is grievance. You can file a grievance when the contract has been violated. As such, you're going to have a hard time using your union tools if certain things aren't in your contract. Things like harassment are covered by US law (though I would recommend getting it in your contract anyway) but things like workplace bullying are not. Advocate to your union to get things into the contract, even if they seem like common sense or your company already does them, so that you can use grievance if there's a problem.

Union reps have a lot going on and may not remember to follow all the steps like filing or advancing your grievance in a timely fashion etc. Don't be afraid to be a squeaky wheel with your union and demand fair treatment. They're trying their best but just like anyone, they need reminders.

Conversely, with management, it's more useful to use the tools and power unions have to their fullest potential than it is to complain or be aggressive. As a human being, you should be able to voice complaints or display some anger, if that's what you're feeling, but I think we all know by now that companies don't really want human beings; they want cogs in a wheel. I'm not trying to advise anyone not to be human, but I am trying to say that just because you're backed by your union (sometimes, especially because you're backed by your union) doesn't mean management won't have a grudge against you if they think you're a pain, and you don't want management to have a grudge because your union can't protect you from everything. In fact, if aggression or vociferous complaint seem like the best ways to win an argument, let your union rep (the one who works for the union--supposing that your union is a larger entity and not just the employees of your company) be the bulldog. They should be the ones that fight nasty for you so that you can maintain a polite relationship with your boss and leadership.

If you are not in a union but are pro-union:

If there are unions at your company but you're not in them, stand in solidarity with them. Go to their rallies, protests, and union actions when you can. You won't have the right to skip work to do this, so don't do that, but see if they are doing anything before or after work or on your days off. Encourage others you know to do the same.

If there are not unions at your work, consider looking into how to unionize. If you think unions don't make sense for your workplace, reconsider; they're not just for police and teachers and coal miners. That said, union busting is a real thing that is happening right now all over the place. It's important to be aware of that and do what you can to protect yourself.

Support legislation that supports unions.

[meekmedea]

hi medea! i was thinking about how movie!clemmie never reappears after the snakes and how it implies she died - how do you think clemensia dying might play out in the book ‘verse?

maybe she still has the confrontation with coriolanus post-bombing, but that’s the last time anyone sees of her. maybe those scales spreading turned out to be lethal. maybe a couple people asking after her once the interviews pass by and the games near, and coriolanus rebuffs a few people saying he’s “heard she’s sick” - except clemensia doesn’t make a reappearance.

at what point would endymion/aelia start demanding answers for their daughter’s whereabouts? at what point do the mentors start to actually question where their popular classmate/friend has gone (especially in the whirlwind of dealing with their own tributes and the upcoming games)?

Ooh this is an interesting one to think about. Confrontation-wise, are we considering it as when she shows up in his hospital room, or when she makes her first public appearance where she lashes out at Coriolanus in front of others?

Because I think the outcome might vary slightly.

Regardless, her death has to be announced to her parents since there's probably no way they can cover it up indefinitely.

Scenario 1: After that hospital room confrontation, she dies.

This one hurts her parents A LOT, given they still haven't seen her once. I wonder how the doctors would disguise the fact that Clemmie has scales on her. Maybe cremate her and say it's for preventing the illness from catching?

Nevertheless, this hits hard, because all Endymion + Aelia know is their daughter was so sick, they couldn't visit. Then next thing they know, she's dead and all they have is her ashes. It's suspicious.

By now, other mentors have died, with grand funerals of their own. Maybe the Ravinstill administration is attempting to go that route too for her, but Endymion is PISSED. Like this feels like a cover up. (It sort of is)

It comes as a shock, I think, to all her classmates. Especially since she'd just disappeared and was told she was sick. Like isn't the Capitol advanced enough??

Her parents probably talk to other parents and by extension, this information about Endymion and Aelia being concerned about Clemmie's death spreads to the other mentors. Someone probably let's slip about the assignment that Clemmie and Coriolanus were assigned. This makes Coriolanus the last person to have seen her.

Endymion and Aelia probably ask him for details, and it puts Coriolanus in an awkward position. Does he lie? Does he tell the truth?

I don't think he'd tell the entire truth - but whatever he does say, it's so vague that her parents know something is up.

Clemmie's situation feels like it was spun as an accident in the book to everyone else. Like accidentally coming into contact with something. And it's probably too late for Gaul to come out and say the truth, because even if she does, it seems like an excuse.

Endymion probably talks complains. Aelia does too. Hard to tell where the rumours are coming from, but suddenly there's a lot of scrutiny and blame cast Gaul's way.

Maybe this isn't enough to force her into an early retirement, but it's putting pressure on her and President Ravinstill.

Maybe Gaius' death is the final push to get Gaul out of being involved the games. Like you recruited our children into this and sent so many to their deaths. How do you answer for this?

Scenario 2: After lashing out publically at Coriolanus, that's the last time the mentors see her alive

The other mentors are probably a bit more affected here. Because at first, she's sick and yeah, maybe there's concern. But when she comes back for a day, they're like, okay, well she's fine now. That's good.

But now that she's dead? This probably gets them talking, even if the games are coming up. And they likely all remember Clemmie's outburst with Coriolanus. How it was so out of character for her? Maybe they're now wondering: ok, what happened that day? Why was Clemmie acting like that?

There's more questions directed to Coriolanus than he's comfortable with. And based on how he's not really able to answer, his classmates are a bit suspicious. Was Coriolanus at fault? Hmmm... Nobody outright accuses him (yet) but there are rumours and theories flying around.

Extra points if her parents found her dead in her room. And in their freak out, they find out about the scales and are like: WTF? I was told it was a flu, but you performed human experimentation on my daughter?

Pres. Ravinstill now has to deal with two more grieving/furious parents (it really isn't a good look with how many mentors that died before the games even started). The Dovecotes want answers.

Unfortunately those answers were most likely unsatisfactory.

If Endymion caught whiff of those rumours that maybe it's Coriolanus' fault, I don't think it's looking good for Coriolanus if Endymion approaches him for answers.

I'd say the games continue and events follow TBOSAS where Coriolanus' cheating gets revealed and he's sent off to 12. Except this time, his chances of coming back to the Capitol are really low. And if he does make it somehow, Sejanus' death probably doesn't help his reputation.

Endymion's character is more similar to Cleopatra - death is very much on the table.

A guarantee that the Snows keep falling into misfortune. Of course, there's nothing that ties back to the Dovecotes.

People might whisper that it's some sort of karmic retribution though, given how it's implied that Coriolanus' ambition led to Clemmie's death. How true that rumour is, is another story. But it's a good story that people enjoy spreading.

[piracytheorist]

A few things about young [redacted]

The manga has only "teased" his appearance, up to the point that the anime has gotten, with no clear pictures of his face.

It's either not fully shown, or shown from too far of a distance to make for a "clear" picture. Maybe this last one could fit, but it's definitely no HD stuff, and that's deliberate.

Instead, the anime went like "we took these to forensics and told them ENHANCE"

the contrast between those two pictures, my god

Like, look. I'm sure there was a deliberate choice behind not showing him clearly at this point in the manga. But... I don't know if it would have hit harder in the anime if the first show we got of him was with half his face hidden.

Manga uses different techniques. You're meant to look at each panel for a few seconds, especially one as heavy as this. There's other details that catch your attention and make you realize the gravity of the situation - mainly, the dirt and the blood on this small child, with the sleeve of his shirt torn and an injury peeking underneath - that you don't need to fully see his devastated face to get the message. In fact, hiding his eyes is like it's leaving it to us to imagine how hard he's crying - and with the way it's presented, no-one is going to imagine anything mild.

Instead, anime uses other techniques, and seems to have toned down the violence (censorship issues, I guess?). There is no clear show of blood on him, though his shirt is torn in the exact same place. The smudges on his face match the ones on his shirt, and with the destroyed buildings around him you're more likely to think it's dirt and dust rather than bruises and blood. To make up for that, it uses animation to show this poor kid bawling and shaking with sobs in the middle of ruins, all on his own, while his hands keep hopelessly grasping and letting go of his shirt. Hiding his face would only confuse the audience, making us question why, what's the narrative importance behind us not seeing his eyes?

Now as to the second (and timeline-wise, earlier) flashback, I think it's very important that the anime tried to hit for the contrast; little [redacted] sleeping soundly in his mother's lap, then Twilight waking up in Yor's lap and freaking the fuck out.

Warm colours in the flashback to cold colours in the present. Flushed cheeks to a face half-dipped in shadow. Leaning on someone to jerking away from someone. Safety and trust to alert and distrust.

Idk man I just think that anime has the disadvantage over manga when it comes to how long you see something. In manga you can look at a panel for however long you like; in anime you may not have the option to pause, and even if you do anime is not supposed to be watched by you pausing every few seconds. And this contrast up there is important; it cannot be blink and you miss it, you need to see it clearly, you need to understand how the little boy that felt safety in his mother's arms became a man that doesn't feel safe closing his eyes next to someone even for a few minutes.

Even when it's clearly depicted that this someone reminds him of the safety he felt back then.

Sometimes, anime has to be in-your-face. There are times it cannot afford subtleties and vagueness.

So instead of doing what the manga did - showing his young self from afar and with very few details in order to communicate how detached Twilight is from that boy - the anime went HD on his face to point out the contrast between who he was and who the circumstances of his life forced him to become.

(And honestly, I don't think anyone complained)

(Anime-only fan here (idk if that's what you'd call me when I've clearly read the manga up the point the anime has gotten but that's what I call myself), don't spoil me for the (rest of the) manga)