#no more coddling bad behavior

[giggle-shade]

Excuse me while I rant for a minute.

If I wasn't single before today I most certainly am now. Breaking up isn't easy no matter how little or how much time you've had together and I am not innocent in the problems our relationship had

But motherfckr you went to MY. BEST. FRIEND. and tried to gaslight HER.

I have never been this kind of angry in my life. I had to lay down to take a shower. I started LAUGHING about how angry I was. Did I just snap?????

I know this shit hurts. I hurt too. But I couldn't keep lying to *us* who the hell is that fair too?????

Oof yall just oof....

Send cooper howard stuff please. I need to ground myself before I do somthin stoopid

[satanfemme]

"no mental disorder makes you a bad person" is very very true and a good statement to promote, but "if someone does something bad, they must've chosen do it, there's never any other possible explanation, and it's especially never b/c of any mental disorders" isn't true?? besides the fact that people can make honest mistakes (even big ones) without realizing what they're doing, or the fact that life circumstances can influence what choices someone even thinks are available to them in the first place, my hot take is that mental disorder can influence you to do bad things sometimes and that should be acknowledged.

that does NOT mean a person with a disorder would be a special extra evil kind of abuser compared to a neurotypical person (ie "narcissist abuse" is still a meaningless and harmful term). it also does not mean that abusers are more likely to have a disorder than to be neurotypical. but disorders are disabling, they cause disorder, it's right in the name, they negatively affect you and your connection to others... why do you think that wouldn't that affect your behavior too sometimes? I know my disorders affect mine. often in negative ways!

besides just "mental disorders are never disabling in ways that make me feel uncomfortable" being ableist, understanding this is important if you believe in prison abolition (which you should). "someone did something bad because they randomly chose to be bad idk" is just as unhelpful as "someone did something bad because they were born bad". but "someone did something bad because of X thing they're struggling with, or their Y need is unmet" is helpful, that's something you can work with and fix. integrate this into your anarchist worldview.

and lastly, tbh it's isolating to have "scary" or "bad" symptoms, and then get told by armchair "mental health advocates" online that you're just choosing to have those symptoms and maybe you could be a better person if you simply chose to stop having mental illness in the first place. so you know, don't be fucking rude lol

[prowerprojects]

Disregarding how it was realized and if it's a good thing at all, at least conceptually it's interesting how over time Tails's main character flaw (insecurity) morphed from the cutesy "awww he doesn't realize his own strengths"/"he just needs to believe in himself uwu", to a more realistic and ugly version of that where he lashes out at people, extremely avoidant of confrontations and consequences, and even acts in ways that makes him seem arrogant.

The ugly portrayals of insecurity aren't exactly uncommon, but it's usually with characters who are kind of presented as jerks and the audience is supposed to point and laugh at them so it's interesting to see it on a character like Tails who is supposed to be "nice" and sympathetic.

[roobylavender]

i think one of the things i want to do over break for funsies is like. rewatch every pak drama of the major contemporary writers nationally hailed as progressive (e.g., umera ahmed, farhat ishtiaq, sameera fazal, etc.) and see how many of the male leads i come out actually still liking. like i want to make an excel spreadsheet cataloguing every red flag that went under my radar as a kid. for science

[spinji]

You know what scene I still think about a lot? The conversation with Garaki and Mic.

Well, it's less of a conversation and more Garaki infodumping to cause as much emotional damage as possible before he gets his ass thrown in jail.

Still, all of the information we ever get surrounding nomu and Kurogiri specifically is so chilling. And if you've read the School Days arc in Vigilantes it's WORSE.

In Vigilantes, Oboro's death is framed by the narrative as an accident, a tragedy that comes as a result of educators and the government being too eager to throw prospective hero students into the world and out of their depth (wow I wonder where I've heard that scenario before). Shirakumo and Aizawa are in a fight they are not equipped to handle, and Shirakumo pays the price by protecting others over himself. He didn't do anything "wrong" for this to happen, but it happened anyway because the world doesn't care if you were in the right or not when it snuffs you out.

This isn't just a tragic backstory for Kurogiri, it frames Aizawa's entire mindset as he grows into an adult. His beliefs and unorthodox teaching methods come as a result of what he took away from thet tragedy. He emphasizes the unfairness of the world on the first day of class. He refuses to coddle his students. He's against the first years taking work studies. He fully intends to expel students who will not take this training or their own well being seriously because if he lets them stay, they're the next Shirakumo.

And then there's Garaki, all too happy to bring up Oboro to Mic as he's dragging his fat ass out of the lab. Because, you know, fun fact, that attack wasn't a coincidence at all. No bad luck, no wrong place wrong time, because that little work study team was All For One's target. He wanted a new quirk in his repertoire. It's just a shame that they got the wrong one. That erasure quirk would've been so useful. But, you gotta work with what life gives you, right?

Not only did that attack fundamentally change Aizawa as a person, but it was meant to kill him in Oboro's stead. And now Mic knows this. He knows that his best friend died in a deliberate attack to kill his other best friend. And with Midnight biting it not long after this, Mic has lost the last person chillingly aware of what happened to Shirakumo. The last person he would ever be able to tell outside of Aizawa himself. Mic has to sit there and mourn his coworker in Aizawa's hospital room, fully aware that Aizawa saw the lifeless body if their best friend because the intentional, avoidable attack killed the wrong person.

There's no way that Mic isn't aware of how Aizawa's behavior changed between becoming a student and becoming a teacher. He knows him too intimately to not see the difference, the callousness that grew from such a brutal life lesson, the hope that died in his eyes when faced with reality. But he can't say a word, not to him. He can't tell Aizawa that Oboro's death and Kurogiri's creation only came about because the target was on Aizawa's head. But he's forced to know that, carrying that forbidden knowledge to his grave in the hope Shouta never finds out.

[edgeray]

“LATE NIGHT DEVIL, PUT YOUR HANDS ON ME

and never never never ever let go”- Teeth, 5 Seconds of Summer

Mafia AU! Arlecchino x Reader Oneshot

Author's Note: It's been a while since I've actually published anything on here. Well, my gay ass is back with another oneshot. This one has been in the works for at least a month. I'm considering making a Part 2, but that will definitely take at least a couple weeks for me to publish (if not months). I wish I was kidding. School literally hates me and my teachers are incessant on killing my GPA. This is also a gift for @megistusdiary because it'll be her birthday when I post this. Please go check out her blog for amazing genshin wlw content (especially Arlecchino content!) Would you guys like this on AO3 as well?

Content Warning/Info: This is a long af oneshot (6.3k words), long af descriptions and kinda long intro, Arlecchino is referred to with they/them pronouns, implied female but no usage of feminine pronouns for Reader, general dark-ish content, pet names, Arlecchino is a lil scary, I've never been to a club so I apologize for the very inaccurate information, nor have I ever been apart of the mafia so also inaccurate, a bit suggestive but otherwise sfw, if I'm missing anything feel free to tell me!

---

Monsters are said to have lied underneath beds–waiting to ensnare an unknowing victim–or stalk hidden among the depths of a closet–awaiting an opportune moment to strike its next prey. Monsters are fabled entities that are used to scare off children from bad behavior and are quickly eased from the mind by coddling parents. The mere notion of a monster shooed away like a pesky fly, swept underneath the subconscious like forgotten specks of dirt. 

You know otherwise. Real monsters don’t lurk on the undersides of mattresses; no, they lurk both in the skies above and the depths below. They do not stalk dark closets because they instead stalk alleys in daylit streets. Monsters are very real, that you know is true since you’ve seen your fair share of them. You’ve met monsters in person–they’ve come to you before. Terrifying is an understatement for them, and each time one has appeared as a client, you’re no less scared shitless.

You’ve learned that even inhumane demons find themselves in need of entertainment; like the sinful creatures they are, they seek self-pleasure. And that is how you found yourself in this particular circle of hell, meant to serve and please demons, devils, and monsters alike. Perhaps it was a revolting job, working at a strip club run by a criminal organization but it paid decent money for being danced on the fingertips of whoever you were unfortunate enough to be assigned to.

If it was a regular strip club, being an exotic dancer would have been fine. It wouldn't be so bad. Lustful and prying eyes can be accustomed to quickly, and so are the flattering compliments and the awkward flirting by middle-aged married men. However, there was a difference between lecherous and predatory gazes. Here, you aren’t even viewed as a person, no, the clients here, those that come in reeking of smoke or blood (though sometimes both), armed with knives and guns on their person, see you as nothing more than a toy or prey for them. Even in the eyes of your employer, you're less than human in their eyes. 

‘You harm our merchandise, you’ll pay for it,’ is the warning given to every guest when they first enter. Merchandise. That's what you are. And that single line of words is the only thing that assures you of your safety among mafia members, gangsters, crooks, and whatnot. You've heard that the organization behind this strip club does well in enforcing that rule according to other dancers, but you personally don't want to see if the statement is true. You've been here for a little over a year, and besides bruising grips and pulled hair you’ve surprisingly yet to be seriously injured in any way. So maybe monsters do have a little humanity in them. 

You're quickly growing to be a fan favorite as of recently, which means more money goes your way, but you're not sure how you feel about all the attention on you. It's most likely because of how often you offer private dances and private rooms to clients. Whatever gets you the most money; the faster you make money the faster you can pay off your debt and be out of here. 

Tonight is supposed to be no different from other nights. You perform on stage, you rile up the crowd, you get showered in tips, and if there is a customer that looks mentally sane enough not to murder you in private, you take them to the back. Except, tonight, you're approached by your boss, who informs you that the entirety of the club was reserved by the Fatui, a well-known mafia more powerful and larger than the one that backs you up, for some celebration. These kinds of occurrences in the club rarely crop up, but when they do, they're often the most opportune time to bag in an abundant amount of money. Big shots like the Fatui pay and tip well, but there's one unsaid risk that comes with this: as a mere dancer like yourself, your life quite literally dangles in the Fatuis’ hands tonight. The organization that owns this establishment can't retaliate against the Fatuis if they so choose to dismiss the warning. They can't even compare to the might of the Fatui.

Simply put, if a Fatui kills you tonight, no one could do more besides bat their eyelashes. You're not at all pleased with this predicament of practically bordering on death, especially when you know one wrong move with one too hot-tempered Fatui could land you at the pearly gates. Keep pleasing the crowd, keep entertaining them, keep racking in the money, you remind yourself as you continue your dance, twirling around the pole sensually, and the customers devour every movement with their eyes. The only comfort you're given is that you've heard the Fatui are quite reasonable and diplomatic most of the time. This is especially true for the Harbingers, you've heard, the twelve most elite members that serve under the Tsaritsa, and the ones that are the most exclusive customers this night. That doesn't mean the Harbingers are any more humane than the average crook. Having worked in a strip club run by the mafia and surrounded by criminal organizations, the more rumored something is, the more dangerous it is. They can be considered devils amongst demons even. That's simply how vile they're supposed to be. 

The most concerning problem about the Harbingers is that you don’t know what they look like, only the occasional whisper has alluded to how to distinguish between the twelve. Perhaps, you can survive through the night if you try not to draw too much attention; let the other dancers shine instead and hope you don’t get requested for a private room or dance. That way, you can ensure you don’t end up dead. 

Your time to go upstage comes sooner than you’re prepared for. Your hands are clammy, and your form trembles in a way that only happened during your first month. Both reactions don’t make for a very good combination when your survival relies on you not fucking up and disappointing criminal customers. As you approach the pole, just like every time you’ve done, you make sure that the crowd’s gazes are in the backdrop of your mind, and instead, fixate on repeating the movements you’ve been taught and have mastered with your experience. Bet your survival on the provocative sway of your hips, the practiced showcase of your legs, and the allure of your dancing form. Beguile the crowd, but not too much, just enough to wow them. From what you can tell by the volume of the crowd, you’re doing a good job pleasing the Fatui enough. Your body stops tremoring after a few minutes on stage, and with one last final push of courage, you focus your eyes on the crowd before you.

Unsurprisingly, the makeup of the Fatui are men, though there are notably quite a few women. Either way, all of their attention is on you. As your eyes scan across a crowd, for one reason or another, you stop at a particular set of eyes near the back of the crowd. Intent, pitch-black abysses stare back, like they were trying to bore into your soul and devour every single motion of yours. They don’t quite hold the same ravenous desire as many of those before you right now, you mentally note with curiosity. It feels like your form is being calculated, in the way a predator would cautiously observe their next prey, a sensation you’ve experienced a few times, but each is no less chilling. The weight of their engrossed gaze causes you to shiver momentarily, and you snap away from their disturbing gaze to prevent any fumbling or faltering while you’re on stage. 

Tonight marks the first time you actively seek out the same viewer while on stage, or even, during your entire time here. For some reason, you feel awfully bold, or curious, whichever two comforts you more, and unlike the meek little rabbit you usually are, you instead search for the viewer’s gaze. You find the pair of eyes with relative ease, as you remember that above their eyes are distinctive snow-white strands with streaks as black as their orbs. You take a moment to study them, and they remind you of a lion–or lioness–among hyenas. The aura they exude varied quite a bit compared to the other Fatui in front of you: not rambunctious, or arrogant; it's apparent they held an aura of indomitable authority just from the way they held themselves. Perfect posture with their clasped hands nested in their lap, with one leg raised over the other. They’re an embodiment of perfected elegance, however, much like a porcelain doll, they’re also expressionless, their appearance unmarred. You don’t examine the Fatui’s form for much longer because their scrutiny on you pricks at your skin irritatedly. 

You don’t look for them again throughout your performance. In fact, you hope you never meet those charcoal pits again. You’re afraid that if you do, you’ll be ensnared by whatever beastly claws or fangs you know that Fatui hides underneath that impenetrable mask. The moment your time on stage ends, you rush back to the changing room to shake off your nerves. You sit down at a nearby chair, taking in deep sighs as you attempt to forget how you were stared down like a you were cornered, defenseless animal. And that is what you are, as much as you hate it. There’s nothing that can protect you from the Fatui. Maybe if you hide, never show your face for the rest of the night, they’ll forget they ever saw you and they’ll target another dancer. Surely, that will work, won’t it? 

You’re able to steady your breathing before you can delve into a panic attack. Tonight, you decide, you’re not going to take any customers to any private rooms or take any private dances. You’d be missing out on a lot of money, but your life is more of a priority as of currently; not after the ‘encounter’ with that individual, you don’t want to think about how many more are just like them, hiding in the crowd like they were awaiting an opportunity to pounce on your vulnerable form. 

Unfortunately, it seems like someone else has other plans for you because your manager storms into the room asking for your whereabouts before his eyes narrow on you. You immediately sit up, stiff as a board when he practically marches his way towards you. 

"Someone wants you." 

You sigh and shake your head. You should have known. "Not tonight." 

He clicks his tongue. "You know I can't allow that tonight." 

You bite your lip. "Just pass them to someone else." 

"They're not someone you or I can refuse." 

"Who?" You question with a shuddering breath, your nails digging into your thigh. 

"The fourth one. The Knave. Lord Arlecchino."

Fuck your life. You might as well pull the trigger now. You’ve heard faint whispers of each Harbinger from the customers audacious enough to speak of them. The youngest, the eleventh, charming and boyish. The ninth, money-obsessed but a pretty looker. The eighth, elegant and cold, yet no less alluring. The seventh, as human-like as their robotic creations, which to say isn’t very. The sixth, is hotheaded and mysterious. The fifth, unknown. And the fourth?

Insane. Ruthless. Bloodthirsty. That’s how the fourth is described. You shiver at the horrors that appear on the forefront of your mind when imagining what may come for you. If you're lucky, you'll be alive at the end of the night, more than likely clinging to the edge of living. 

“Well? What are you waiting for? Get ready as soon as you can.” 

And you do. It’s not long until you stand in front of the private room’s door, your guest is already inside more than likely. The Fourth Harbinger is waiting, you remind yourself, fruitlessly trying to swallow down your stress. You can be dead the minute you step inside, this room could be marked as your grave. Whatever he tells you to do, you’ll obey wordlessly to survive. Just nod along, smile, and do whatever it is that he tells you regardless of the demand. You inhale deeply, regaining some ease of mind, before you bring your knuckles to the door, knocking. 

“Come in,” comes a deep, flat voice, slightly muffled by its distance but what surprises you is how feminine the Harbinger sounds. Maybe you got the wrong room. You glance back at the room number plate on the door, and it’s the room you remember your manager mentioning. It’s the right room. Maybe someone else? You don’t have time to wonder, however, as you enter the room, knowing that if it is the Fourth, it wouldn’t be wise to keep him (Her? Them? You’ll just stick with ‘them’ now.) waiting. 

“Lord Arlecchino?” You inquire as you enter the room, closing the door behind you. Sucking in a harsh inhale, you instantly recognize their distinct hair. It’s them. Your sight is immediately greeted by the figure sitting on the couch before you, sitting in exactly the same way you discovered them–crossed-legged and lounging back with unfaltering confidence. The Knave wears a scarlet blazer over a black compressed turtleneck, with a matching set of crimson leggings. Upon closer inspection, you’re able to make out red irises in their jet-black eyes. Despite the blatant and literal red flag, something about their appearance draws you in even when they scream danger. They’re… you’re not quite sure how to describe them. You admire the unblemished and pale skin, their elegant and rugged demeanor is like the perfect balance between femininity and masculinity. Are they beautiful, or are they handsome? You think both. 

Arlecchino stares back at you like they’re considering devouring you then and there. You can’t suppress the shudder that runs down your spine. You’re a sheep before a wolf. There’s something so chilling about them that even with your experience with other clients, none has ever made you feel this way with just their mere gaze alone. This is what separates the average crook from one of the most powerful mafia members you've ever heard of.

You wait for a response but they only continue to observe you. You take the silence as confirmation to your question and that they’re anticipating something from you. Biting back a sigh of resignation, your hands hook underneath the band of your bra top and you lift it just the slightest amount before a cutting voice makes you freeze.

“What are you doing?” the Harbinger demands, their tone chilling and apathetic, making you want to shrink in yourself immediately. Your blood pumps loudly in your ears and your hands tremble a bit. Something about how designing their gaze makes you suddenly self-aware in a way you’ve never felt before another client–you’re practically half-naked in front of them with your skimpy bra top, undergarments, and fishnets and now is the only moment that you've actually considered how little covering is on you. 

Why are they stopping you? Isn’t this what they wanted you to do? Or maybe they just want to do it themselves. Those types of customers always have the most bruising of grips and suffocating of holds. You stiffen at the notion. How are you going to survive this night with a Fatui Harbinger of all things? How many of your limbs are going to be fractured and how many of your bones are going to end up broken? 

“I…I’m undressing,” your meek voice sounds out and you hate the crack in your speech. The Harbinger continues to scrutinize you. You don’t dare continue disrobing yourself. 

There are several beats of wordless response before they then stand up from the couch. 

Oh shit. You’ve fucked up. Are they going to kill you now? Is this your end? 

Every thought is telling you to run in the opposite direction as they stalk up to you, but you're petrified as you realize with a chill that they’re taller than you. You’re not short by any means, a bit above average height, but they tower over you, looking down at you from above and casting judgment on you like a god. Once they stride toward you, you avoid eye contact by looking straight, observing their neck and clavicle that protrudes from underneath the fabric. You tense when they raise a hand, their manicured fingers placing themselves underneath your chin and long, carmine nails dig into the underside of your jaw, making you wince. They forcefully tilt your head, raising your focus onto their face. 

It’s like they plunged their hands down your throat and ripped out the oxygen from your lungs, leaving you unable to breathe. Up close, the first thing you notice is their lips, plump and red from their lipstick. Briefly, you wonder what color their lipstick would look on your skin. Then your eyes travel up, red-crossed eyes gaze back at you and you gape quietly at the distinct shape of their pupils. You swear that their pupils flash red as you finally lock eye contact with them. 

“Did I tell you to?” Their tone is cold compared to the strange softness of their handsome (beautiful?) face. 

Something in your gut coils inwardly and you want to look away, but their firm hold on your chin prevents you. You bite your bottom lip to repress a whimper. You’re delicate glass in their hands, and they can break you so, so easily. 

“No, sir.” Only the numerous times you’ve said this phrase ensures you don’t stumble over your words. They don’t answer promptly, but as they observe your features, their lips quirk up the slightest amount. 

“You know how to address me. Very good,” Arlecchino purrs after several beats of silence, in a low, oh-so-sultry tone, and oh. Oh. 

You’re not sure why, but their last two words make your stomach churn, but not in a discomforting way. In the way that lights a fire underneath your skin and spreads heat to every part of your body. You’ve never quite felt this way with another customer. You couldn’t believe that your body reacts this way just from a single praise but it doesn’t stop the pooling heat in your bowels. The chill down your spine still remains in place, but there’s an off-putting equilibrium of iciness and fervor generated from the client. 

The Fatui’s eyes stay fixated on you wordlessly until the hand on your chin turns your head, finally breaking you free of their intense behold. Their grip slackens so that they can trace their nails gently down your throat, every inch of surface their fingertips brush against ignites a blaze on your skin. A shuddering exhale leaves your lips and it seems like they take notice because from the corner of your eye, the small uptick of their mouth grows. Despite how sensual and probing the Harbinger’s touch feels, there’s nothing lecherous about it–purely just intrigue and fascination. It’s a touch you both have and never experienced before. Cold nails rake against your throat, not enough to mark or scratch, but enough to invoke shivers. 

You’re aware you should be terrified, but for a reason you can’t pin down, you can’t jerk away from their touch. You try to reason with yourself it was only because you’re one upset away from getting yourself killed but that reasoning falls apart when their hand gingerly traces your jawline and you make the softest of groans, a barely audible noise of content. Unfortunately for you, the sound seems to have reached Arlecchino’s ears and their expression softens slightly: their eyes narrow less and their brows aren’t as creased. And that smirk–if you could even call it that from how faint it is–becomes a half-smirk. 

They pull their hand away and your trance is broken, reality returning back to you as you remember that the person before you is still a Fatui Harbinger, no matter how bizarrely melting their touch was. They turn on their heel and walk towards the couch in front of you; the slightest bit of heaviness is placed on your heart. You remain stationary where you are, observing them as they seat themselves gracefully on the couch, and their attention encounters yours again. Their black pits hold expectancy in them. At first, you’re clueless as to what the criminal desires from you, but then their legs spread apart, an inviting gesture that beckons you and every rational thought leaves your easily swayed mind. Your heart skips a beat, and you're sure this time it's not out of trepidation. 

Even if you didn’t command them to, your legs would take you to their seating figure. You stand before them, feeling blatantly disrespectful to look down at Arlecchino, but you await their order. They lean back, lounging laxly against the couch, their posture never lacking their usual self-assurance. It only ties the knot in your gut tighter. You’re aware of what they’re instructing you to do, but the absent confirmation makes you hesitant. It seems like the Knave picks up on this because the room echoes with one definitive spouted word from their lips, authority and dominance ringing through their husky voice. 

“Sit.” 

Your legs buckle underneath you from the one-worded response, the demand only stoking the consuming fire inside you. Eager to please, you perch yourself on their lap, straddling them, your knees pressed into the furniture below you and encasing both of their thighs between your own. 

Oh, you think to yourself as your legs make contact with their thighs. They're firm. And for some reason, that provokes your stomach to churn in itself even more. You're so close to them, enough to feel their breath cascade against your skin. 

As you seat yourself, you nearly clumsily topple over, instinctively grasping onto their shoulders for support. Their shoulders are remarkably broad, you regard, well-muscled as well. Their hands creep up on your hips, steady but gentle hands grasping on each bare side of yours to stabilize you. The heat that radiates from their hands is infectious, regardless of the nails that burrow into your plush waist. For the first time, you flush considerably, a sweltering inferno forming in your cheeks and your head fills with dizziness. Their touch is gentle–something you rarely experience with customers–so, so gentle that you would describe it as heavenly. How can someone so inexplicably vile have heaven on their fingertips?

It's not a position you never found yourself in. In fact, it's far from the first time you've been like this with another client. But here, as you're sat on top of the Fatui Harbinger, and red x-pupils search yours, a foreign feeling passes through you. Placing your finger on it, you dubiously think it's bashfulness, but the heartbeat that sings in your ears and pulses underneath your fingertips tells you otherwise, tells you it's something more. Against that, you remove your grasp on their shoulders and place your palm flat against the couch’s surface behind the Knave. 

You squirm a bit, nervousness in your form as you remain as still as you possibly can, waiting for any more instructions. All you need to do is act like an obedient doll for them in order to survive; compliance is the best way of ensuring survival with people like these. You feel like you're merely eye candy from the way that their attention flits across your body, but you're immobile throughout the entirety of their observance. Being looked at is much better than any physical interaction. Their hands still cup your hips, but slowly, they descend to the side of your thighs, making your skin feel tingly. 

Impulsively, you mumble out a quiet "Sir…" as strange sensations brush against your skin. 

The sound surprises you and you feel on edge as their eyes travel from your lower half to your face. You gulp considerably. From their stare, they expect more of a response, a reason for their addressment, but even you don’t know yourself; it seems like an unconscious calling that just rolled off your tongue. You cow underneath their gaze, even when the two of you are at eye level. When you linger in quietude, their hand releases one of your thighs and lifts to your face, supporting your chin while their thumb rests on your bottom lip, unfurling it just the slightest amount to implore an answer from your now parted lips. Gleaming scarlet pupils grip your regard sternly, piercing into you and instilling you to spew something out. Except, you still can’t, now too entranced and lost in the crimson. 

“Doll.” 

Despite the pet name, it's devoid of any affection or warmth. It's a word that drips of command, a reminder of your place: simply a toy that they can play with however they want, a manipulated and decorated plaything for their amusement. That means you answer to them, and so when they request a response, you're under the obligation to please them. Your survival is in their palms anyway, if they wanted you to dance, you would just so they wouldn’t strangle the life out of you. 

However, its implication doesn’t prevent the tingling shudders that wrack your body nor the involuntary clenching of your thighs around theirs. Was it the gravelly voice that aroused your behavior? Your cheeks flare at the knowledge that Harbinger sensed the physical reaction. It shouldn't be possible. It shouldn't be possible, your thoughts repeat, but then they're interrupted by: 

"Oh?" Arlecchino inquires to themselves, a stark amusement in their speech. Their red glare illuminates slightly, replacing the lost darkening with a faint glow in their pupils, and the corner of their mouth curls up. It is only then that you discover something entirely new: that monsters can be sinfully, cataclysmically, terrifyingly beautiful and the sight before you is the most exquisite example. A devil has you wrapped in its claws and its fangs readied for devouring but it’s disguised as an ethereal angel; blinded by their perilous allure, you mistake their snow-white hair, their lustrous piercing rubies, their flawless porcelain skin, and their burning, fleeting touches as traits of a seraph. From a measly smirk, you forget the atrocities lying underneath their fingertips and dismiss the hazard their presence holds. 

The hand on your thigh rakes its fingers up, red nails trailing across the surface of your fishnet, wrenching out a breathy gasp from you as they travel inwards. Tingling pleasure injects into your veins as you subconsciously lean in, imploring for further sensual contact. A plea sits on your tongue and nests in your eyes as you beg them through your pitiful expression. They drink in your desperation with a slow swipe of their tongue over their lips, and that single action is debauched enough to elicit a soft groan from your throat.

“Well, aren’t you an amusing toy?” They drawl out with a preposing rasp and dark abysses glint with an insatiable hunger. 

They smirk enticingly, their thumb running across your bottom lip and smearing your lipstick on their thumb pad. Their grip on your chin tightens a bit, pulling you even closer to them before a shadow casts over you when their face nears. Before you can even fathom their intentions, they descend upon you, closing the distance between the two of you. Your lips are greeted with something pillowy soft and fervently warm, and you sharply inhale from the sensation. Every one of your nerves sings frenziedly, your muscles tense all over, and your heartbeat drums deafeningly in your ears–all of this as your body is engulfed in a fervid tornado of heat that makes you lightheaded with pleasure. It takes you several beats to realize the reason for this is that Lord Arlecchino, the Fourth Harbinger, the Knave is kissing–no, kissing is far too intimate, devouring–you voraciously like they're trying to rob you of any air, trying to imprint themselves on your mouth. Their mouth dominates yours, pushing against them with a deep fervor and famished urgency, eager to swallow every bit of shocked noise you make. 

You close your eyes and allow yourself to indulge. 

You first taste lipstick with a waxy flavor hitting your tastebuds. It’s cold against your lips, yet warm at the same time. But the physical texture and flavor of their lips are irrelevant; there’s only one true manner you would distinguish their taste: 

They taste like sin. 

The type of sin that’s chocolate coated and sprinkled with colorful toppings; depravity so sweet and charming it makes you reconsider the bounds of right and wrong. Degeneracy is far, far tastier than anything you’ve indulged in before. How can something so evil be so heavenly? Cushiony soft, placidly warm, flatteringly zealous, it’s like having a dance with a devil; so unequivocally immoral but no less gratifying. You question if they really belong to the Fatui because how can something like this come from such? You want to engrave the texture of their mouth onto your memory, feel this faux intimacy even when you’ve long parted. The Fourth Harbinger, you surmise as you surrend your will to them, is decadent–the only word that can be defined as both wicked and delectable at once–the perfect word to describe them. 

The last remaining bit of reasoning comes to the backdrop of your thoughts and begs you to not be swept away in the heavenly embrace. You discount it in favor of accepting this godsent gift by leaning further with a weak imitation of their ravishing lips and pressing back. It’s a feeble attempt to match their insatiate nature, far too domineering and forceful than you can manage but they display a token of appreciation when they squeeze your thigh, indenting your skin shallowly with the burrowing of their nails. The action exposes just how sensitive you’ve gone underneath their touch and you reward them with the sweetest of sounds. 

“Arlecchino,” you mumble with half-lidded dazed eyes in between ravenous exchanges and it evokes a depraved throaty growl from the Fatui, like provoking a call from a starving beast. They lean deeper to indulge in your taste. The gruff sound reaches your ears and it’s like a psalm–you shudder from its musical melody. 

Their clutch on your jaw releases and their fingers outline your jawline before snaking to the back of your head. Well-manicured digits entangle themselves in your hair, and there’s a gentle shove against your skull that forces you deeper into the kiss. Your hands clutch onto the couch underneath you as tight as you physically can for any sense of grounding and your knees attempt to close in even more to feel more of their body against yours. The hand on your leg, in turn, caresses the length of your thigh. 

Every graceful touch, stroke, and brush exudes an unyielding and infectious warmth that only adds to the stoking fire in your gut, and you’re bathed in so much swelter from the ecstasy that you feel dizzy. Yet, you never want it to end, you grow more addicted and drunk with each encounter of their lips. That, paired with your strained breathing, prompts your stamina to falter much sooner than the Harbinger’s. You let out a soft whine to signal your depleting oxygen, and their mouth unlatch with yours, pulling away despite your ache for more. With the separation comes a small string of saliva attached between the two of you, evidence of the shared intimacy that’s snapped when they lick their lips. The hand behind your head detangles from your hair and you silently mourn over the loss of contact. 

You heave for air, your chest rising and falling rapidly. You’re a little perturbed when you notice that they’re not even out of breath, a small but firm reminder that they’re as inhuman as humans can be. That knocks a sense of reality back into you. Customer, mafia, Fatui, Harbinger, it comes back to you like a train. Here you are swapping spit with them while in the lap of potentially the most dangerous criminal you could ever meet, but fuck were they a good kisser–you’ve never experienced anything that came close to this in your lifetime.

Any foolish doubtful contemplation of the morality of this interaction is swept away just like that when you hear:

“Greedy little thing that you are,” they regard with the most cunning and handsome of smiles, discrete amusement dripping from their words. Their dark pits behold you entirely, the same way they have always done when it seems like they were contemplating what part of you to savor the most. Only this time, you’re not so disturbed by the notion. If anything, the swirling heat in between your legs suggests the opposite.  

Greedy wasn't a word often associated with you, yet you couldn't more correctly describe yourself in that moment. Greedy. Greedy for a Fatui Harbinger no less. As ashamed as you should be, there's no use denying that you crave for their touch, for their gaze, for anything and everything they're willing to give you. You want everything and more. The more you contemplate, the more it seems obvious why you wouldn’t. Are they a devil disguised as an angel, or are they an angel that fell from grace? Regardless, they bring nirvana to you. An incessant desire bubbles inside you, your throat swelling up with an urgent request on the tip of your tongue. Would they allow such a thing if you plead? Would they be offended by your impudence? Would they punish you for such? But the necessity outweighs any reconsideration of your insolence and the supplicant beg tumbles out of your loose lips. 

“Can I… touch you please, my Lord?” You croak out, wincing at just how wretched it comes out. The response from them is not immediate as the two of you stew in silence, a building sense of dejection inside of you. The expression on their face noticeably contorts, smile lessening, their brows furrowing, and their red x’s glinting dimly. Their free hand raises to near your neck and you suck in a harsh breath as their fingers enclose around your throat. The mere action sends a stinging reminder to your lust-dazed thoughts about their position, and a chill pierces you. 

Mafia, Fatui, Harbinger, the Fourth Harbinger, the Knave–the labels cycle through your thoughts. Though their grip is lax, not exactly suffocating and giving ample space to breathe, their fingertips does acutely jab into your skin, a display of their impressive grip strength. You have no doubt that they can suffocate you with one hand alone, snap your neck, or, as your mind ventures into more harrowing territories, crush your skull. Those thoughts alone has you breathless with anticipation. A heavy weight suddenly appears in your gut, so heavy that you feel like you can’t move so much as a muscle. 

Did you just go too far? Was that too much to ask? Was this how you were going to die?

The reflex to gag and inhale combat each other in your throat, a discomforting sensation that crawls up your spine while you tremble. You’re almost certain that the nails have penetrated the layer of skin, drawing beads of blood that’ll trail down your mark. You whimper at the prickly pain. Yet, in all your unease, the most masochistic thought arrives briefly at the forefront, and you can’t help but consider: this position is just as intimate as all the other interactions. You’re already so vulnerable in their lap, does the hand around your neck change your peril in any way? No, you’ve been a defenseless lamb to a slaughter the moment you’ve stepped into the domain of a menacing wolf. 

Ah. Even now, you can’t dismiss the warmth of their fingertips. 

“Do you still want to touch me when I do this?” They demand callously, their voice harsh and reverberating through the room. Their grasp closes more around, and you feel your supply of oxygen inhibited. Tears begin to brim your eyes, but you’re undeterred. Unlike Arlecchino’s, your answer is instant and breathless. Your eyes intently lock on theirs, the hardened expression enough to satisfy their question. There’s no need for contemplation. Danger, you determine, is addicting. 

“Yes.”

The previously small smile stretches across their lips considerably. Content, or dare you say it, thrill writes itself over their face and the boulder previously pressed against your shoulders is lifted. Your throat is freed from their hold, but their touch doesn’t halt there. Instead, they rotate your head for you to face to the left, exposing your side profile to them. From the corner of your eyes, you watch as their face draws closer to your skin, hot breath cascading across the small dents her nails created. The one on your thigh finally leaves, moving to one of your hips, tender strokes across your flushed surface. They lean forward, and moist, plush skin meets yours. Lips traverse over the length of your neck, teeth scraping against, making you weakly groan. It takes all of your will to still your body, only allowing for the Harbinger to do whatever they desire to your form. Their touches are burning, burning, burning–so hot that you wonder if you’re experiencing a heat wave. Peppered kisses follow the edge of your jawbone, all the way up to your earlobe. A wet kiss graces your ear and then the most sinful of statements dignifies your eardrums, like a devil whispering hymns directly into your ear. 

“I think I’ll keep you to myself after this.”

A short hum follows afterward. 

“If you want to touch me, you’ll have to work for it. You’re only mine for tonight, aren't you? Entertain me. Give me a private dance, doll. After all, you have me for all night.” 

---

Link to M-Alexa's amazing art and how I imagine Arlecchino to look like in this oneshot.

[dearest-painter]

imagine if Valentino had a young daughter, probably like 7 or 8 and basically he didn’t even care enough about her to teach her how to use her wings and was overall just a bad dad, but at one point Angel Dust just sees her on the street and is just like “you’re coming home with me” and basically just adopts her. But she looks a lot like her dad so he kinda knows she’s his daughter but at the same time she’s a sweet kid and can’t imagine her being related to him, but at one point Val comes to get her and he hits her in the process so Angel just gets ready to murder him.

idk, I just had that idea for a while and was hoping you could write something like that? If not it’s okay.

love your writing 💕

CAN WE PLEASE HAVE MORE OF THIS ANON!? I LOVE YHIS IDEA! Also, Husk and Nifty is in this because why not? I made this Yandere but if you didn’t want it then I can fix it! I want more of Valentino’s daughter!reader so much!

TW/CW:Yandere behavior, unhealthy behavior, unhealthy relationship,abusive behavior,abusive relationship, Valentino’s bitch ass, Valentino, Valentino about to get jumped by the whole hazbin hotel, tell me if I need to add more

Summary: Angel Dust doesn’t take kindly to those trying to hurt his family

Angel Dust was on his break, Husk and Nifty had came with him as they wanted to spend time. Angel Dust smiled as you walked around him happily babbling about something random, for being the daughter of his boss you were a sweetheart. You’ve been living with him at the Hazbin hotel for a while and have been calling him mama and husk dad which was a surprise but hey, he doesn’t mind.

You were babbling about new ideas for Nifty’s roach show. Angel Dust smiled as he held your hand as you all walked. You all sat down at a table, you and Nifty got coloring books as if you two didn’t get separate one’s chaos would ensue. “Mama! ‘M be back! Gonna use the restroom!” You announcement to Angel dust. “Okay sweetheart, do you remember where it is?” You nodded your head as you and Nifty left.

You two were inseparable. Angel Dust and Husk talked but the two of them immediately started looking around as you two were gone for a bit longer. Angel Dust stopped as he saw Valentino yelling at you, but once he raised his hand Angel Dust ran and tackled him. Nifty then started to bite Valentino while Husk held you as you cried.

You all left. Valentino stared in surprise as Angel Dust coddled you, Nifty was going manic as she kept shouting she was going to avenge her best friend while Husk was whispering to you. They took his daughter yet you don’t care. Angel Dust actually harmed him to the point he almost coughed up blood. Valentino was speechless…what just happened?

[shakingparadigm]

I'm glad to see more of Hyunwoo being revealed, especially now that his personality is really shining through.

Hyunwoo was a very just child with a strong and righteous personality, which can be seen in his interactions with Luka. Whenever Luka did something "wrong", Hyunwoo was quick to scold him. When Luka hurt him, Hyunwoo returned the favor. He wanted things to be right or fair, and was rather firm on Luka's "bad" behavior. This isn't to say that he was rude to Luka/at odds with him, I know Hyunwoo was the whole reason for the trio's friendship. I think Hyunwoo saw Luka as a friend that he needed to look after and guide to the right direction. It's just so interesting to see these particular traits of his play into his dynamics with the other two.

Hyuna, meanwhile, seemed much more lenient with Luka, which may have led to him favoring her over Hyunwoo. She doesn't seem phased at all by Luka's strangeness and brushes it off (a little too) easily, seemingly endeared by his antics.

( Luka tells her "your life is mine" and she responds with "that's cute! do you really like me that much?" oh girl you have no idea )

In most of the comics so far, she's seen taking Luka's side, messing with Hyunwoo instead. The act of wiping Luka's saliva on Hyunwoo like a playful communication of "oh come on, it's fine!". She seems to coddle him despite knowing that he's older.

She clearly didn't view Luka as any kind of threat back then. I wonder how she feels when she looks back on those memories now.

[denpa-dere]

house arrest 4

afab!mc x asmo description: NSFW, you are confined to your room for your own protection. But how long will that last when the only thing standing between you and your housemates is a door and some willpower? Asmo knows you need a break.

warnings: breeding kink with talk scents/scenting, afab reader with she/her pronouns. dubcon warning!!! This one turned out sounding kind of sketch in places, but actions depicted are intended to be consensual. spoilers: aphrodisiac used.

|| Intro || Mammon || Asmo (mini) || Levi || Satan (mini) || Beel || Lucifer (mini) || Asmo || Belphie (mini) || Belphie || Barbatos (mini) || Satan || Diavolo (mini) ||

Asmo:

Asmo: I heard what happened. 

Asmo: If you need a little something for those love bites, come see me. It's incredible what Devildom cosmetics can do. 

Asmo:

You puffed a little laugh watching the messages roll in. Leave it to Asmo to be so sweet under such ridiculous circumstances. 

Turning your phone face down on the pillow beside you, you folded your hands over your chest, staring up at the ceiling and taking inventory of the situation at hand. In the motion, your hands briefly brushed against a stray bite mark, sending a jolt of pleasure-pain throughout your body.

You had, by your estimation, about three more days under the microscope. The halfway point had snuck up on you amidst a flurry of seemingly nonstop activity. Until now, you hadn't had a chance to breathe, let alone strategize. 

Responding to those messages meant walking straight into a trap, of that much you could be certain. Truthfully, his distance thus far had surprised you. Asmo was something of a dark horse; an unpredictability bubbled just under his surface. Surrounded by his sin, comfortable and in his element, there was no way of knowing how his behavior would manifest. 

Well, there was one way. 

___

“Aww, muffin! You came!” Asmo cheered, swinging the door open before you could even knock. He flung his arms around your neck and pulled you into a tight hug. 

He paused to take a good look at you, lightly chiding: “You're a mess, you poor thing! Come on, let's get you fixed up.”

Linking his arm in yours, Asmo led you inside where he left you waiting at the edge of his bed while he broke away to dig through a readily prepared stash of bottles and assorted sundries.

“Brutes, all of them,” He clucked his tongue, “You’ll have to tell me all about it, obviously.”

You laughed, settling back amongst the pillows, “They’re not so bad. They’re trying.”

“Please. You coddle them,” The demon teased, rolling his eyes at you, “Meanwhile, you look like a chew toy.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“No need to worry, Asmo-chan is here!” He sing-songed, joining you on the bed with an armful of products, “And I’ve got just the thing- I brought my most powerful arsenal.”

This seemed… normal? Too normal, you thought. Asmo chattered on happily, laying out his choices one-by-one and explaining the benefits of each. All else aside, it felt like any other spa day. Perhaps you shouldn’t have been surprised that The Avatar of Lust remained unfazed in the face of something that may very well be considered a mundane part of his domain. After all, Asmo had been the one to keep a cool head back when…

“Sounds good?” He chirped, holding up a jar in the shape of a deep purple crystal, eyes glittering with excitement.

“S-sure!” You nodded, hoping your eagerness covered up the fact you had entirely zoned out during his presentation.

“Yay~” He unscrewed the lid, “Then we can start with ones on your neck.”

You tried to relax, craning your head to one side. Asmo gathered some of the lightly-scented balm between his fingers and you sighed when he softly traced the sensitive marks.

“This stuff works quickly,” He assured you, extending the motion down to your collarbone, “I didn’t think Beel would be so bitey. On second thought, I guess it does make sense…”

With a practiced familiarity, you reached to pull your shirt overhead, “I think he got me on my back, too.”

“Ooh, lemme see!”

You rolled onto your stomach and buried your face into one of about a thousand silk pillows. Asmo gasped. Chuckling to himself, he wasted no time getting to work on your shoulders, and although you jumped at his touch at first, you soon found yourself sinking into its warmth.

You were feeling pretty warm. 

“They're fading already,” Asmo said, sounding impressed with himself. He positioned himself over you, straddling your hips for purchase, ministrations straying closer to a massage than a cosmetic treatment. 

“Is that why I'm so warm?” You asked, groaning in appreciation as he helpfully teased out a knot between your shoulder blades. 

“That's probably the magdalena extract,” He giggled, breath tickling  the shell of your ear, “Like I said, this stuff works fast.”

You rolled the name over in your mind, trying to remember where you had heard it before. A fog was encroaching on your thoughts, swaddling your head in a thick haze reminiscent of being wine-drunk. 

“Do you like it?” The fifth-born's voice stayed soft and playful as his hands glided down the small of your back. You set your remaining thoughts aside and sighed again, feeling yourself become putty in his hands. 

“Good,” He cooed, nuzzling your neck and nipping gently at your ear, “Then, do you want to turn over so I can get the rest of you?”

You hummed in agreement, turning underneath him when he rose up on his knees enough for you to move. Once situated on your back, Asmo lowered down to sit on you, again; his lithe frame light enough to not cause any discomfort, but heavy enough to keep you in place. You studied him through lowered lashes– he truly was beautiful.

“Ah, there you are,” He said as if seeing you for the first time. He tucked a lock of hair behind your ear, tangerine gaze raking over your flushed body.

Magdalena extract. 

The name continued to echo somewhere in the back of your mind. 

Asmo collected a generous amount of the salve, warming it between his hands before tenderly cupping your abused chest. His tongue poked out cutely between his lips in concentration, perfectly manicured fingers trailing feather-light over fading teeth imprints and rapidly stiffening nipple peaks. 

It's an aphrodisiac. An alarm bell sounded somewhere in the distance. You were too far away to pay it any attention. 

“I swear, these boys have no idea how it's done,” He murmured, more to himself than to you, and leaned in to take one of your nipples into his mouth. He lapped around the sensitive bud, sending you reeling. Your eyes rolled back as your body exploded in sensation, arching off the mattress. 

What the fuck was that? You wouldn't have time to think too hard about it. 

“Shh,” He lovingly shushed you, stuffing two fingers in your mouth, “You don't want to get us caught, do you~?”

You whimpered around the digits’ probing–  even their intrusion was starting to feel good. Asmo turned his attention back to your body. He trailed his free hand down your side, tracing the hem of your waistband. 

“Can I?” He looked up at you with a hopeful smile. You nodded, eager to shed the remaining clothes covering your feverish skin. Asmo removed his fingers from your mouth to help shimmy you out of your bottoms. 

“You know,” The demon said, parting your legs to sit between them, “Your scent has been driving me crazy for almost a week now.” He pouted, “It's pretty rude.”

Goosebumps cropped up along your thighs, following the path of his hands applying more healing balm. You lifted your hips for him, allowing space for him to slip his hands under your ass.

“Besides, everyone's been paying attention to you,” Asmo huffed, kissing each of your hip bones. Your eyes watered. “That doesn't seem fair.”

“ -‘m sorry,” You managed to whine, rolling your hips against your will. You ached for more. 

He giggled again, placing a few more kisses along your stomach, “Aww, that's okay. We'll have plenty of time for you to give me attention. Lucifer thinks I left the house hours ago.”

The words hardly registered. Asmo offered you two of his fingers again, which you readily accepted into your mouth. You twisted your tongue around them and sucked, and he looked at you like you hung the stars. 

He was right. There was plenty of time 

to be spent lavishing one another with affection– and what more perfect place to start, he thought, than playing with your adorable puffy clit until you cried that you loved him. 

You had all night, after all. 

[seventhcallisto]

Chapter 1 — "why didn't you answer my call?"

—Deep Down.

Toc/cw; read prologue or you'll be v confused!! Touching. Nothing much except world building. Language. Heats are the omega equivalent for periods(without the bl00d). I said what I said. Heat suppressants work, they just sedate the need for a knot(#worldbuilding). Angst at the end, lots of it throughout(it gets better I swear.)

It's not a surprise when the majority of unanswered texts come from mingi. You left without warning, and to think; he thinks he was the one who sent you to the hospital. All because he simply bumped into you. You feel bad. You feel terrible. Yet you're so scared you're gonna say something and reveal what really is going on.

Your hip, ankle, shoulder, and elbow ache. Your hips for two reasons. You scratch at the bandage on your elbow.

"You want me to lie?" You mumbled into the speaker. On the other side is your manager, no, not jongsik, but the overly obsessive and pushy manager that takes care of most of the groups publicity and what can and will be said. "I don't want to lie to them, they'll figure it out" you continue, growing more upset.

"Just until your next uhm. Cycle. Then the company can break the news publicly and personally to them." Song Pilyoung. Mr. Pil. Answers, as if expecting you to say that.

It hasn't even been a day since your last heat. You're supposed to keep up with your lies and completely change demeanor and body back to your old self for a month? When you know your obvious behavior will be to coddle and preen at any affections from the alphas you so desperately missed during your heat.

Seonghwa, who knows when the slightest thing is off with you. Who can tell when you're sick based on how you act and watches you so intensely under his pretty keen eyes, even when he bites you, ever so gently, you think, compared to the aggressive chomps he does to the rest of the guys.

Yeosang, who genuinely likes to be near anything that smells like you or makes him think of you, which he shyly admitted, who ever so gently leans his head on your shoulder when he has a stressful day. Yeosang who you constantly are seen next to, brushing arms gently with.

Mingi who continously hugs and drags his long limbs across you, because you're the only member who won't complain and will put up with him, who shares his food with you, but only you because he likes the way you follow him without questioning what it is you're being fed. but it's indulgent. You like how he casts himself on you and the way he grabs your chin when he wants you to try a piece of food.

Yunho who can't help but hold your hand whenever he's next to you, because an alpha and beta can have that public privacy without being seen as dating, yet you hope he doesn't feel the quickening pulse vibrating your fingers, yunho who defends your name and includes you in any type of conversation if you're nearby.

San who, for some reason, always flirts with you the hardest, only for you to plainly respond or brush him off because you're a beta, and you tell him so - not because you know he doesn't mean what he says, right?. San who sits side by side with you and makes sure the blanket covers you when you sit at award shows, even going as far as to take his own suit jacket off and maybe cover you from prying eyes.

Wooyoung, who gatekeeps you too much when he gets the chance, who stands behind you to make sure you get up the stairs safely, and so no one peeks up at you. Who always tells you about the drama with other alphas cause he knows you don't gossip, wooyoung whos smile makes you smile, whos lips make yours want to gravitate towards them.

Jongho, who you baby yourself - but always steps up to take anything on your shoulders that seems too heavy. Even during any type of game, he'll give you the answer and never regret it. He who will share his jacket and shuffle closer when he sees you shivering. When his eyes meet yours across the room just because you assumed he was searching for something, he holds the contact until you pull away. he warms you more than the jacket he lends you whenever it seems the slightest bit cold.

Hongjoong, who lets you sleep in his bed when you have a nightmare, who people say favorites you the most. how his calming scent always drags you under and sparks fireworks within you, how you never indulged yourself to scoot closer and be wrapped up in his arms anywhere at any time whenever he looks at you. He who leaves his clothing in your room, who silents everyone immediately when he knows you have something to say.

When did you realize you felt like this? For a while, actually, you would never say that, though. Feelings are feelings, yet you'll be with these guys the rest of your life, and you don't want to ruin anything. Plus, you're just another pack member. You're genuinely sure all of those moments can be because they're protective. You highly doubt they feel the same.

"I can't promise anything" you sigh as you tell Mr. Pil. "Great, I've got a driver on his way to you already, he's picked up everything you'll need for the month."

Perfect.

You see yourself out of the idle apartment. "Bye, gorgeous!" Yuqi and shuhua wave down the hallway. Miyeon is the one to walk you down, making sure you make it out safely.

You've washed yourself of their scent as much as you can. A bag of fresh, unworn and recently bought clothes are given to you provided by miyeon after your shower. You've got to undo ever being there, so you scrub yourself free of every scent of them. A new bottle of shampoo, conditioner, body soap, and perfume is given to you. Each of the members have an assortment of things they don't use or didn't want anymore. Which is very convenient for you.

From the pile, they each pick out things beta-you would have liked. Current omega-you doesn't have the same nose beta-you had. So you have to rely on your best friends' scents and recollection to give you things you would have liked. Which is how you smell as close to as you did before. You just tweaked a bit because you gotta like at least some of your smell. The girls give in. Your new permanent scent. A smell; omega-you indulges in which you didn't before. A lingering scent of sweets and tropicals you try not to get used to under the chaotic neutral tone your old scent gave off, a love-hate feeling.

You pull the hoodie snug. Miyeons pants are a bit tight, considering she doesn't work out as much as you do. A plain black and white track suit. "This is me," you sigh as the sleek black car pulls up. Miyeon is silent, yet you wait for her to speak anyway. "You're always welcomed here, you know that, right?" She nudges your shoulder with her hand.

"I know."

"And if you need anything. Anything. you call or text." She adds. "I know." "You know we love you, new sex and all" she smiles, you laugh. "That's very reassuring, thanks, love you too." You want to hug her, but you'll know it'll undo the scent process you just spent all morning working on.

"If anyone gives you problems, tell em idles' got your back." she grins, pressing a single digit finger to your forehead. "Bye cutie pie," she ushers you off the sidewalk and towards the car.

The ride back is full of anxiety. How are you supposed to explain the reason you haven't responded to the number of messages they left? Maybe cause you were actually too busy going through a terrible, disgusting, uncomfortable heat by yourself with no relief for days on end.

You can't say that though.

"Mr. Chen, are the guys at the apartment?" You speak to the driver. He's an older omega man, one you've come to know personally. The man in the passenger seat, an alpha, doesn't seem to care when you talk to him. "No miss, they're at the stadium filming." Chen glances at you through the rear-view mirror. "Filming?" You repeat. "Yes ma'am, filming for the music video starts today.."

Right. Of course. How could you forget? You've memorized everything down to the tiniest detail in the span of two weeks before your sudden omega sex came and distracted you. But you doubt you'll be picture perfect. At least in your own eyes.

The car passes the turn to your apartment. You can see the building in the distance. "Mr Chen, are we not going to the apartment?" The man in the passenger seat sits up and turns around to look at you. His eyes hold irritation. "Listen, beta, we're going to the filming site. Yeah? Got it? Be patient. Sit back."

If you were childish enough, you would have kicked his seat. You scoff. Falling back, letting the disrespect go. You gotta let it go. Don't fist fight a random alpha with a superiority complex.

Don't do it.

As soon as chen comes to a stop at the designated location, the alpha pops open his car door. You wait for him to get between your door and his. Boom. You slam your door open on his tush.

He pulls back, glancing between you and the door. There's a flare to his nostrils. One, you know only a pissed person would showcase. And god, is it satisfying to slam the door behind you and smile like the petty person you are.

"Woops," you simply say. His pissed face urks you to stand your ground. He doesn't hesitate to walk up to you, a crazed look in his eyes. "You-"

Your name is called in the distance, and you know exactly who's calling it. Your head whips, and your heart skips a beat. Running straight towards you are the guys, emerging straight from the field to your right. They look unreal, like they popped out of a commercial.

Mingi is the first to slam into you.

"Hey, ow!" You laugh, pulling him in tighter. The alpha, whose energy dissipates, turns away as if he wasn't about to go off on you.

Mingis arms are a welcoming feeling. He twirls you around, taking on your weight like it's his own. There's a certain desperation in his tight hold. You feed into it, pulling him just as tightly by the shoulders.

"Are you okay? Why didn't you answer my calls?" He pulls away only enough to scan your face. Maybe you really shouldn't, but mingis face is picture perfect. Whatever the makeup artists have done to make him look this good, it surely is based on hard work and years of perfection. Or maybe it's just mingi.

You stutter to answer, "I'm sorry, I wasn't.. really allowed to" it's half the truth. His hands fall to your hips, silent as he takes you in. "I'm sorry," he says, pulling his lip under his teeth. He genuinely looks sorry. Your eyebrows shoot up in surprise. "Mingi! No, I'm fine, completely." You pull his hands off you, missing the smell of sea salt and jasmine. You spin around. "Fine! See? Mingi.. i-"

Another pair of arms scoop you up. Silencing whatever you were saying, it's yunho this time, smiling ear to ear. And immediately after, waiting patiently next to mingi is San, his eyes flicker behind you, but as soon as you look his way, he catches your face. "Hey," he says so simply, with that sneaky grin he always has, yet you can tell he wants to say more.

"Hi," you say simply back, pulling both Yunho and San into a tighter hug. "How was it?" San asks, his voice is so sultry, something you missed, your mind goes haywire. "What?" Your face falls. "How was being away for so long? You missed us, right?" San laughs.

"Missed you? Never," you joke, pushing them both away when you catch Jongho and Yeosang jogging over. Jongho scoops you up next. His arms are tough, obviously, from working out so much lately. You take a well needed whiff of him. Fresh florals, mahogany, charred sandalwood, and laundry invade your nostrils. His head falls over yours, pulling back to let yeosang get a hug. Yeosangs arms are lean, but his hug is soft when he pulls you close, breathing you in.

Wooyoung and Seonghwa are last. Which you find surprising. Seonghwa, who usually pulls you into a half hug- full-on, brings you in. He smells like leather, dark coffee, and vanilla cream. There's so much more, but you're pulling away before you can smell him some more. Wooyoung locks you in, tilting you on your heels back and forth. He's the smiliest of the bunch. He sets his face on your shoulder, and his hands squeeze your sides comfortably. San scoots past the two of you, popping open the trunk.

The trunk, where your bag is. Full of assortments of scent blockers, heat suppressants, and the many smells the girls gave you so you can get by for the month smelling like your old self. Panic sets in, yet you try to seem as casual as you can when you twist in wooyoungs hands. "San, I got it!" You somewhat shout. San looks up, confused, pulling the shoulder strap over his shoulder. Wooyoung still has you in the tightest embrace around your waist.

"You really want to carry your own bags?" Yunho scoffs at the idea, mingi takes the other bag next to san. One you don't even remember throwing in. "I'm a big girl. I can take my own bags," you mumble. Wooyoung laughs from just over your shoulder. His lean body presses directly into your back. He's so very warm. You try not to think about it, opting to continue struggling.

"Woo, c'mon," you slump, you're not getting to that bag. It's no use, you're too exhausted to fight against him. He laughs. "It's just one bag beta, I'm sure your big girl attitude can be put aside for now," Woo loosens his hold around your waist, patting your hip with his large palm.

Seonghwa continues for him, a certain upset tone in his voice. "You just got out of the hospital. I don't know why you're here instead of resting at home."

You gulp when San slings the backpack around. "What did the hospital give you anyways?" He chuckles. You count heads, realizing hongjoong isn't here. "Where's -" the door behind you slams.

The alpha from before storms around the driver side. Everyone stops to stare. San shares a look with seonghwa. "What's his problem?" Wooyoung whispers to you, his breath fanning your ear. You scoff silently. "Egocentric alpha." You grumble.

"Got it," he laughs, he's missed you. Pulling you away. The guys all fall behind you two.

The cold of spring is fading away. It no longer nips at your nose. Soon, summer will roll around, and filming will get exhausting more than it already is. Your clothes whip around at the slight gusts of wind. Your makeup isn't caked on for once. Thankfully, you have a new makeup artist this time. Your scent still lingers. You'd have to reapply scent blockers soon. The bottle shifts between your fingertips, twisting and pulling at the lid. You subtly rub it around your scent glands. The chatter of the guys behind you cast in the background of your attention. Hongjoong is just a little bit away. You haven't seen him since you got there. Makeup and clothing took at least an hour or two.

Even though he's right there, you miss him. Hongjoong stands by the filming aquitment, speaking with the crew. You take your time walking up, having just now realized hongjoongs hair is back to the pretty brown you know suits him.

"Joong," you call, a blanket shrugged over your exposed shoulders. His shoulder straightened at your voice; his head whipped around. "Hey!" He calls, a genuine smile lighting up his features.

Hongjoongs figure is still so welcoming. The pack leader has always had that effect on you. It takes everything in you to pull away from the hug. "We missed you," he says earnestly, his hand resting on your neck where your scent gland is. "How are you feeling?"

You sigh, "I'm feeling good," it's somewhat true, although genuinely exhausted from the entire week of being poked and provoked by doctors and annoying alphas. what really got you was your first heat.

"You should be at home, not working." He huffs, reaching up to pull the blanket over you further. "I want to work," you nod, confirming it to yourself. He chuckles. "Yeah, right"

"Take it easy, kay?" You smile. "No promises"

It's the next day when the sun begins to set. You realize you're your biggest enemy. You will never be satisfied with how you contort your body to follow steps. 4,5,6. You repeat. 4,5,6. You stare as you watch yourself perform on the monitor.

There's a tension in the air, the staff can feel it, and the guys can feel it. Everyone moves around freely around you, the guys getting ready to perform the next sequence of steps. Yet you don't care if you're the one giving that tense energy off, your feet stand firm. "One more time, please," you ask the tech crew to repeat the video. A hand falls on your shoulder. Yunho calls your name softly. "Yeah?" You respond, not paying attention to what he says.

4. 5. 6. 4.5.6.

You watch as your lines loosen. This solo shot of you is cursed. Why can't you keep your movements sharp? "Beta," yunho calls firmly. You lift your head, catching his brown eyes with your own. "You're perfect." he guides your chin when you want to turn your attention back to the monitor. "No- look, my arms -" you go to point.

Yunho roughly turns you fully towards the monitor, and his hands fall by your waist. His chest presses against your back as he bends over you, and his head leans over your shoulder. "Look," he takes the word from your mouth. Pointing at your arms as you dance around on screen. "Your arms are fine." His silver hair brushes against your cheek. "There's nothing wrong with your shot. It's perfect."

And it's not because the alpha uses his firm voice to make you listen. It's the way yunho so passionately stares at you, like he believes what he says wholeheartedly. His eyes never slip from over your shoulder, even when yours keep falling back to the monitor.

"Okay," you listen. Yunhos hands fall off you, stepping away. You miss his warmth.

You're a week into the month when suspicion arises. Seonghwa is the one that finds your unopened bottle of scent blockers. "Hey," he says, twiddling the bottle in his nimble fingers. Your eyes shoot up from your phone, watching him stand in your doorway. "Are these yours? None of us had to get a refill." it's such a normal question because seonghwa doesn't think about it. All of the guys use scent blockers to perform for concerts or events.

But you're honestly choking. "I uh- I got a new bottle last week," you gulp. Quick, excuse. Excuse!. "Oh" His eyebrows furrowed. You haven't performed in about a month since the comeback is soon. "Yeah, i - that smell thing I had going on? That's what those are for." You loosely point.

"They're supposed to help," you gulp. Please take the hook. Seonghwas eyes scan you over once again, then back at the bottle. "Are they working?" He finally says. You blank.

"I don't know, can't really tell," you mumble. "Can you?" You sit up, scooting further down your bed. Seonghwa walks into your room. His scent mixes in with the smell you've had to endure all week. "Yeah, I suppose." You can see the gears behind his eyes moving.

"You suppose?" Your eyebrows furrowed. He bites on his lip, pulling at his earring. "Mm, you smell like you usually do.. but.." he thinks about it, scanning your room. His eyes finally fall on your face, urging him to continue. "Never mind."

Seonghwa exits your room without another word. You're in silence by yourself. The suspicion makes your anxiety skyrocket. He left his shirt behind on your bed.

You take it. Why not?

Hongjoong is late coming back again from the studio. He smells stressed beyond belief, even from where you sit across the apartment. He hangs his jacket up in the hallway. And you hear the slow pattern of his feet when he walks down the hallway. Your head falls on the arm of the couch, eyes focused on the TV. Hongjoong calls your name in a whisper. You look up at his tired eyes.

"Why aren't you sleeping?" He questions you. You have half the energy to laugh quietly. "Says the one in the studio at.." You check your phone. A picture of you and the girls on the lock screen. "4 am.. why aren't you?" You set your phone back down, pulling your feet up so he can take a seat on the couch without you hogging the whole thing.

He gladly takes it with a heavy sigh. His hand falls to your ankle poking out of the blanket, and you shiver slightly at the chill of his rings. "How are you feeling?" You scoot to sit up, leaning on your hand. "It always gets hectic before a comeback," he huffs a smile, turning towards you. "How are you?" His finger brushes up your calf. "I asked first," you glance back.

He smiles, a tired one, one he always has for you. "Why were you still up?" He changes the question. You take the hint. Laying back down on your pillow that's propped up against the couch. "I wanted to wait for you," you whisper.

The silence is comfortable. Hongjoongs fingers rubbing circles on your ankle. You reach down to grasp his hand, his tired eyes blink back at you. "Lay with me?" You ask, perhaps you shouldn't. But in your sleepy state, you're bold enough to ask, scooting over to make room for him. He doesn't answer but scoots up enough to take the spot next to you. Face to face. "Nightmare?" He asks, as if giving you an excuse, his eyes bore down on yours.

He's so pretty, you think. His eyes are so soft under the darkness. You question if he's one of the prettiest guys you've ever seen, an uncommon trait for alphas. You hum, taking the lie. "Yea"

Your eyelids slink as does his, the rhythmic breathing between you two casts over like a lullaby. Eventually, his arm falls over your hip. Alice In Wonderland playing in the distance, a sound you've gotten used to as you fall into the solitude of sleep.

The next morning, the comfort of the couch is something that you want to fall back into. You want your beauty rest, but the sun keeps beating on your eyelids. You turn in the grasp of the blanket, it has a tight hold, you wiggle to get comfortable.

The fan of someone's breath hits the shell of your ear. Your eye pops up, blinking at the sun coming down on you from the window. You turn to feel the body pressed against your back. Slowly turning so you don't wake them up.

Hongjoongs face is mere centimeters away. His hair falls over his face in waves. You want to reach out and push it away, kiss his eyelids, and touch his face ever so delicately. Your head lays on his arm. Hoongjoongs hoodie rid up his forearm, the scent gland on the bend of his elbow directly in front of you. Hongjoong smells.. like a ripe pear, tahitian vanilla, the heat from the sun, and sweet spices. You nuzzle deeper into his warmth, sighing gently into his chest.

Still foggy from sleep, every second that passes, you fall further into a dream state. Hongjoongs soft and quiet breathing echos in your mind.

Pictures pass in your vision, memories you haven't yet explore dance beyond the border of your sight. You dance silently, following where you lead yourself. Through doors that open without a sound and a floor that is void, your feet patter and swirl like raindrops on water. A distant noise echos. Hands reach out for yours, an assortment of them sticking out from the void and invisible walls that surround you. But you don't reach back. Your movements flow in a rhythm. When you stop to breathe, you sink into the floor. And fall continously. Echos of your struggles and inner thoughts consume you.

You wake up with a shudder, sitting up abruptly. You pat around you, you're in your bed. Hongjoong isn't here. You hope it's not because of what you said. You hope it's not because you made things awkward. You fall back into your comforters, sighing heavily. You stare at the crack in your bedroom door, watching figures pass and go. They block out the sun. The first to stop in the twenty minutes of you staring is Jongho. He pushes your door open softly. Two solid knocks hit your door.

"Want to get some breakfast?" He leans in, jongho is already dressed and ready. You hope he was waiting for you to wake up and ask you to tag along. You smile. "Yes"

The walk is brisk, just down the street to the coffee shop you visit most often in the morning. Jongho holds the door open for you, and you thank him. The smell of coffee hits you straight on. A pleasant surprise that makes your stomach grumble. Your mask stays put on your face, as does jonghos. Your arm wraps around his, a subconscious thing on your part. He doesn't pull away.

The line isn't long. A few stand around, picking and choosing their order. Many of the seats are taken. Chatter echoes in the large shop. "The usual?" Jongho nudges you, pulling your attention from the crowded strangers. He takes the lead compared to when you always do, you don't fight him about ordering like you usually would. "You know it," you smile, although you know the mask will block it. His eyes pull up, and you can tell he's smiling back.

You're compliant to the way he orders everyone's breakfast and drinks, something jongho finds strange for your behavior but boosts his ego a bit. You tell him the rest of the orders he forgets, leaning up to whisper it in his ear. He leans down and meets you halfway, so you aren't straining your still healing ankle. His hand falls to your mid back, steadying you.

"That's it, Thank you."

You lean up against the free space in the waiting area. Propping yourself up against the cold stone wall. This area is just as busy. You know the order will be a while. Jongho takes the spot next to you. Bumping shoulders. "How's your elbow?" He touches your arm gently.

You look down at it, a distant memory compared to the week you've had. "It's fine, it wasn't that bad." You shrug it off.

"If it wasn't, why were you in the hospital for a week?"

A lump forms in your throat. You advert your eyes to anything else. "I.. they wanted to run tests." That catches him off guard. "Tests? What for?" He leans on his shoulder to face you.

"Because i.." swallow the lump, don't word vomit. Please don't word vomit.

"Because I'm a -" ding! "order for Mr. Choi Jong!" Saved by the bell. God, it's so perfectly timed. Jongho stares at you for a second longer, his eyes scan you for answers. Like he's hoping you'll continue. Your mouth is glued. When he adverts his eyes, the emotion that crosses his features is like you did something terrible. He leaves to get the order when you don't look back up at him.

What are you doing? Are you crazy? Your hand falls to your forehead, rubbing the tension away. Jongho is silent the entire walk back. He takes the load of drinks and bags by himself, a few strides ahead. When you offer to help, he pulls away. "It's fine." he simply says. You flinch at his tone.

Just two more weeks.

The second week starts rocky. You haven't talked to yunho since the monitor incident. As well as jongho still being upset at you, hongjoong, avoiding you like the plague, and seonghwa not even giving you the time of day. You don't know what you did.

Your bed feels empty, as does your heart. You toss and turn all night long. Barely able to get any sleep for hours. A knock breaks you out of your tossing and turning habit. "Come in" you turn towards the door.

Mingi stands with his pillow tightly wrapped in his arms. Although childish, you find him cute. "Hey," you push yourself to sit up. He looks shy when he shifts on his feet, rolling his palm over your doorknob. "Can I sleep in here tonight?" He asks, it's mumbled, but you make out what he's asking.

Your lips poke up into a smile. You don't answer, just scooting over to the empty spot you were just upset about. You give him your warm spot instead. He giddily falls atop your spot, snuggly placing his pillow under his head.

"I sleep better in your room," he laughs, his eyes turn into cresents, and you stare at the way his face squishes into the pillow. You gently wiggle off the glasses from his nose, setting them aside on your side table. "It's because my room isn't messy," you snicker lightly.

Mingis whispering voice is just his normal voice, just less loud. You don't mind, though. You give him space. He hardly fits in your bed, yet he says he's the most comfortable in it. You can't tell if he's saying it to make you happy.

Mingi calls your name softly in the dark. "Yeah, mingi?" You whisper back, tucking your arm under your pillow. There's a few seconds of silence. It's uncommon when mingi is around. "I'm sorry again," he says so softly. You sigh. "it wasn't you mingi, you didn't do anything to hurt me that bad.." You close your eyes, excuse.

Excuse.

"...I had to get checked out because of my weird scent change thing going on." It's not true. You're feeling sick from lying so much. He hums. "So I didn't hurt you?" You laugh lightly. "No, min, you didn't hurt me." Your eyelids close. "I would never hurt you on purpose," he slurs in tired words. Your eyebrows furrow.

"I know.." You hear him shuffle closer. He reaches to grab your hand from under the pillow. His grip is soft. Your eyes stay closed.

Is this real?

"I'm here if you ever need anything." his thumb catches yours, intertwining your fingers. You sigh softly.

The amount of lying all week weighs heavy on your shoulders, mingi, who genuinely says what he means, twists your heart between his words. You try to breathe through the sudden sting of tears welling up in your eyes.

"I know." You answer with a shaky breath. You slip your hand out of his, and your world feels as if it's crumbling. Turning on your side away from him.

Just half a week. Half.

It's getting repetitive. Filming for another episode of a variety show you don't care for currently. You just miss your bed. You miss your boys. You miss being normal. You miss not having to hide. You miss being a beta.

"Your turn!" A finger points in your direction. You blink for a few seconds, gathering your wit. "i.. what am I supposed to do?" You laugh to cover the fact you weren't paying attention. The camera shines just out of view.

To keep up with performances, the majority of the boys all yell out the instructions. You get it, just a bit. San and Yeosang are at the top of the tower, having climbed all the way up with their gear.

You have to climb the tower. "Do I have to?" You bounce on your feet anxiously, looking towards the camera. Staff buckle you into your gear, the chatter getting lost whilst you get stuck in your head. You're not a big fan of heights.

You're really not a big fan of heights. You start noticing that when you shuffle across the platform to collect a red scarf. The premise of the game is to collect your color accessories, whilst also not allowed to go back if you miss any. Whatever team gets the most accessories wins. You're on Yeosang and Sans team. Paired in three.

Your rope is tied to san, whose rope is tied to yeosang. You don't think you got the strength in your arms to keep going. You power on anyway. Slipping your hand between spray painted fake rocks and clawing your way up.

Your helmet keeps slipping down your face. Surely, it's unfair that you got a helmet that doesn't even fit you. And dangerous. But mostly unfair.

"You got this!" Sans yell encourages you. You're in a particularly tough spot. You have to reach sideways to grab a pair of red sunglasses. It's the last thing you have to grab to win.

To your left, the blue team, which consists of wooyoung, yunho, and hongjoong, yells to each other. You try to drown it out and focus on your own team.

You just gotta reach over. You wedge yourself as close as you can.

Just reach. You can hear the game hosts encouraging you on, shouts of surprise.

Your fingertips just barely scrape it, almost knocking it off the ledge it's on. You shuffle, your single hand holding onto a rock is getting sweaty. You breath cautiously, reaching out again.

It's so close.

And then you grab it.

Shouts from San and yeosang make you smile. You're proud of yourself. You go to turn back, slipping from your left foot. Oh no. You're slipping, trying to get a solid hold on the rock. You slip the sunglasses on your head, hoping to be able to get your right hand free to grab the ledge.

San and yeosang are only a few feet up, not close enough for you to reach for. You've got to maneuver yourself out of the spot you're in. You don't know if you can. You wiggle and twist your waist, stretching your right arm above you.

Your fingers wiggle to get a good grip on the jagged red rock you grabbed. You're not as muscular as you thought as you try to use your right arm to pull your full body weight further up.

You strain it so, to the point where when you finally get yourself up. You have to shake off the hurt. Just two more rocks. Two more big reaches.

Two seems to appear a lot lately.

Distant shouting of all the teams catch your attention. Wooyoung is gaining speed. He's on his last accessory, a few feet behind you. When he sees you staring, he smirks like a predator, gaining speed.

Your movements are calculated but rushed. You keep pushing the helmet back on your head. The sunglasses slip down over your eyes, somewhat blocking your view. You're sweating bullets at this point.

Yeosangs hand is a saving grace. He pulls you up by your right wrist whilst san pulls your left arm. As soon as you get up, you book it to the table you have to put the accessories on.

Your team wins. Confetti cascades around you. You cheer happily, jumping around and laughing out of breath.

How it feels to be victorious.

You look to yeosang and San. They stare, shocked.

You wipe the sweat off your brow. The sweet scent hitting your nostrils.

Oh no.

You swipe the sweat away as quickly as you can, pulling the roll on bottle out of your pocket. Hurry. You try to twist the top off. Rolling the scent onto your scent glands and over your forehead as much as you can.

It's no doubt in your mind. They smelt your real scent. They know. You don't turn to look. You don't even want to know what they're thinking. Your breathing turns shallow.

Fuck.

Your world is crashing.

This time for real.

You take the emergency stairs. Ignoring the calls of yeosang and san. Stripping the gear off of you as you go. You don't care if you're ruining the victory shot. You just gotta get out of here.

You're wondering the hallways when wooyoung finds you. Hot tears stream down your face. Why are you even crying? You don't know. Maybe you're scared this will change everything. Maybe you're scared you messed up again and ruined it.

Wooyoungs hand is a soft pull to your wrist. You yank yourself out of his grip. Pain flashes his features. He says your name gently. You continue to sob. "What? What now" you huff. Wiping your tears harshly.

"Tell me what's wrong -" "Nothing!" You painfully shout, stepping away from his distressed smell. "Nothing is wrong. Nothing is ever wrong." You laugh at your situation. Wooyoungs hand clenches in the air. His hair falls over his eyes messily. He's still in the outfit he was wearing for the game, minus the gear. It's as if he came looking straight for you.

Just for you.

Wooyoungs mouth falls open and close. You dont think about whether or not he has something to say. You don't want to even look. "Just go away, please"

Wooyoung face is painted in pain. You know he doesn't know what to do. Doesn't know how to react. "Omega, please." he whispers.

Your sobs stop. Your tear stained face whips around, and your shocked face is evidence you weren't expecting that.

His tongue pokes the inside of his cheek. "We need to talk," he sighs, allowing him to walk up. He takes your wrists in his hands gently. His thumb rubs soothing circles on your wrists.

Silently, tears stream. You don't have the energy to pull away.

You ruined everything. They know.

A/n; cliff hanger bc my phone is glitching out BAD. IM SORRY! hopefully, the two chapts will make up for it. Thanks for all the support ♡.

Taglist: @lelaleleb @bratty-tingz @0325tiny @smilefordongil @atinytinaa @unripeapple7 @ja3hwa @stopeatread (thanks for your support ♡)

[tirfpikachu]

when someone says that women weren't allowed to do xyz until a certain date mainstream tras might give a side look like hmm :/ this isn't inclusive of trans folks... but otherwise leave it alone.

but if you say that specifically cis/bio women and transmasc ppl weren't allowed to open their own bank account until 1974, suddenly you're making the transfems feel a bit too privileged and it causes a riot bc you're pointing out that amab/male folks used to have an INSANE amount of privilege on the basis of being born "amab" and even if they were super gnc, they still had that privilege from birth. to this day, cis/bio men and transfems do NOT go thru many specific struggles that cis/bio women and transmascs experience. but that's somehow controversial as FUCK to say in most tra spaces. why?

fr why is that? why?? why are transfems so fucking oversensitive to anyone pointing out that they're not oppressed on every single axis of oppression? meanwhile transmascs are bending over backwards being super fucking supportive of transfem rights and having so much nuance about things without much knee-jerk defensiveness at all. could it be that perhaps... hmm... "amab" upbringing does not teach amab/male folks what it's like to face misogyny, so they often do not enter feminist spaces, and now that they enter leftist spaces they don't know that we're all about intersectionality and nuance and acknowledging the ways one might be privileged in some ways and disprivileged in other ways? instead of showing allyship to cis/bio women and transmascs, transfems and their more extreme allies instead sit on their thrones and get offended whenever anyone implies that they might need to be good allies too. why is that?? why are cis/bio women and transmascs enabling that behavior so much?

hmmm it's almost like how afab/female folks are conditioned to excuse inappropriate behavior from amab/male people from a very young age... almost like the stereotypical One Of The Boys (in this case Males) trope, trying to be a Cool Girl (or Cool Trans Boy) to be validated by the ones in charge, the amabs, who are just poor sweet misunderstood cinnamon rolls uwu. i think mainstream tras really idolize transfems. which comes from a sweet place, and might feel good, but also means you're infantilizing them like precious perfect little princesses who can do no wrong. that might be validating for transfems ─ who doesn't like being coddled every now and then? ─ but also means not holding them accountable the way we're supposed to hold EVERYBODY accountable in leftist spaces. or at least that's what we generally pride ourselves in, right? isn't that supposed to be a leftist thing? intersectionality and all that?

and this is why so many cis/bio women and transmascs are joining radblr. this is why even some transfems are saying okay, this is too much now, and actually seek out female/afab voices and hear their povs and apologize for how they're treated by tras. the tables are starting to turn. people are too fed up with this shit. we are getting muzzled for talking about the most basic feminist stuff ever, things that back in the day oldschool trans folks were WAAYYYY more likely to see as common sense and feminism 101. systems of oppression are complex. you can talk about how hard transmisogyny is, and you'll get sympathy from most of us, but you gotta listen to how hard anti-female/afab misogyny is and how we're uniquely persecuted in specific ways you aren't. and you gotta work hard to learn how to be a good ally to us, you gotta research, you gotta learn. so many transfems have no fucking clue how to do that. so many cis/bio women and transmascs are acting like their loud guard dogs too, coddling them, speaking for them, enabling them. it's leading to really bad shit to happen. it's enabling transfems-on-female/afab abuse and bigotry... and you just sweep it all under the rug, say it was just a "terf" roleplaying, it must be a troll, it doesn't matter. it's just one or two victims, why should we even care about them? why make any changes to prevent further victims? that's such a classic male apologist mindset!!! this shit is not okay. we will never accept that bs.

you need to clean up all the misogyny and homophobia in your spaces or the only sane folks will come to radfems and find actual nuanced discussions about oppression, and you'll be left with crazies. if y'all are gonna act like oversensitive toddlers then radblr is gonna be where it's at for real leftist activism. enjoy your little tra circus ig 👋

[anti-katsuki-lounge]

Character Flaws vs Writing Flaws:

While catching up on some of the stuff people have commented/sent to me, I noticed someone mention how Katsuki being a bully is a flaw of his and that not every character needs to be a good person.

First of all, when did I ever say that a character has to be morally correct to be a good character? Some of my favorite characters are villains who’ve done worse things than Katsuki.

So what’s the difference between them and Katsuki?

Well, the villains have a reason for existing. Joker is meant to serve as a parallel to Batman, challenging his morals while also showing what an unhinged Batman could look like.

On a much lesser scale, despite his extremely limited screen time, Moonfish’s bloodlust, lack of sanity, and cannibalism serve two purposes in MHA: to showcase Fumikage’s power and to give the readers an example of what the heroes of this world have to deal with.

Katsuki’s flaws are meant to show the flaws of a world that values raw power over morals, but he fails at this. The reason why? His flaws are never allowed to be flaws.

Katsuki’s aggressive and hostile nature should have him struggling to make friends, yet he has the two pillars of 1-A, that being Ejiro and Denkias described by Hori, immediately befriend him with no issues. His inability to empathize with others should have people wanting to steer away from him, but his instead 1-A loves him, Eri loves him despite being the last person who would, and anyone who doesn’t love him is seen as being in the wrong.

Katsuki is meant to be a big fish in a little pond, someone whose ego isn’t challenged until a certain point, and the Battle Trials were meant to show this. While yes, Katsuki has a mini-breakdown over the fact that he’s no longer in a class of people with weaker quirks, he has no issue claiming a spot as a Top Dog and he still continues to demean the people around him.

Katsuki’s aggressiveness is meant to be both a flaw and an asset. His aggressive nature is what motivates him to defeat the villain, but it’s supposed to cause him to have a one track mind when it comes to hero work. Rescue, teamwork, all of that is ignored by him to fight the big bad. His ego caused everyone to have a tougher time during the USJ, but is that ever touched upon? Nope. It’s just ignored. When Katsuki saved Kyouka, there was no buildup to it. It just happens. We never see him struggle with teamwork because everyone else follows him like a lost puppy.

Meanwhile, Izuku is meant to be Katsuki’s parallel in this department. He’s meant to showcase why too much selflessness isn’t good while also showing that a hero is more than just their raw power. Problem is, Izuku gets completely shat on no matter what he does. He goes after a villain to protect U.A? Gets criticized. Does his best to work with Katsuki? Gets blamed despite it solely being an issue on Katsuki’s end. Does everything perfectly? Nope, still not enough. Compared to Izuku, who always seems to be in the wrong, Katsuki’s placed as this paragon of heroic virtues despite the fact both characters are supposed to be two halves of a whole. They’re supposed to learn from one another. Problem is, Katsuki’s flaws are always ignored while Izuku’s positive traits are demeaned.

Finally, Katsuki being a bully is supposed to serve as a starting point for his character. He’s meant to grow and develop as a human being. Again, he doesn’t, or at least he doesn’t do so in an organic way. He never suffers consequences for his behavior, he’s constantly propped up and coddled instead of criticized, and he’s given some heroic moments despite there being no buildup to them. In the span of a month he goes from nearly killing Izuku to risking his life for him. Where the hell did that come from? Honestly, I wouldn’t care if Katsuki being a bully is his sole purpose for existing, but he’s meant to be more than that. This is supposed to be a well developed and fully fleshed out character who grows from his selfishness and is meant to show that anyone can be a hero, no matter their starting point. But when the development is crap and he hardly changes outside of some OOC moments, then his flaws cease to be flaws that he’s meant to overcome. Instead MHA treats it as him being quirky and misunderstood.

In conclusion, you just can’t present something as a character flaw and expect it to serve as an excuse as to why a character exhibits said flaw. You have to think of the following: what purpose does this flaw serve? Is it meant to be used to teach a lesson? Does it set something in motion, whether it be the development of this character, another character, or does the flaw cause the character’s downfall? The only thing Katsuki’s flaws does right is that they set up Izuku’s story, which again would be fine if that’s Katsuki’s purpose, but it’s not. Him being a bully isn’t something that he overcomes in a natural way. His redemption story is the equivalent of filling things out of a checklist without being fleshed out. Every time he screws up, it’s never treated as a screw-up. Oh he failed the hero license exam? Well so did Shoto so he’s not unique there, and the proctors still suck his dick even while he’s “failing”. Him being the reason for 13’s injuries? Never brought up.

Katsuki’s flaws don’t piss me off because they are flaws, but because the writing of his character IS so deeply flawed despite being a centralized character in the story.

Oh, and as always, someone can dislike a character for whatever reason they might have. If people don’t like Katsuki because he’s a bully, then they have every right to. What I wrote is a response as to why I think Katsuki’s a shit character and how it’s not because of his flaws themselves, but how Hori goes about writing these flaws.

[itsabouttimex2]

Y’know how reader is stuck as a monkey in the Yan monkiefam posts, what if reader somehow sneaks off the mountain and stumbles upon macaque. Macaque gets a specific vibe from the mysterious monkey, so he takes it as his own. Monkey reader is trying to communicate to macaque on how to transform back, but either due to lack of understanding or macaque not wanting reader to turn back, reader is still a monkey much to their dismay. Meanwhile Monkiefam is panicking and looking everywhere for reader. This could be seen as a part 3 to the Yan monkiefam posts with an added platonic Yan macaque.

How would you write this scenario? Sorry if it’s long, I started rambling a bit lol. I really like your writing and was hoping you would write something similar to this, I love platonic Yan and you stuff really caters to me. Thank you🩷🩷

Monkiefam: Part Three

Sable Savior

(Part Zero) (Part One) (Part Two) (Part Three)

(💜💜Post one-hundred, huh? Feels good to have gotten here! My ask box has been wiped, and is open again! Character x character requests are now allowed! 💜💜)

Monkeys don’t make for good pets. They’re cute, sure. They’re funny and interesting creatures that are worthy of study. But it’s impossible to raise them properly.

And it’s impossible to obtain one ethically.

Either the mothers are shot to death in the wild and the babies are ripped from their still bodies, or they’re kept in horrid conditions and forcibly bred again and again, having their babies torn from them after only a few days or weeks.

All for a cute pet that will be dumped in a few years. Monkeys don’t stay cute, after all. They grow out of the clothes you put them in, grow out of the training you put them through, grow from cute “living dolls” and into wild, fanged animals all their own.

Once they’ve shed their youthful looks and compliant behaviors, the fate of every ‘pet’ monkey is the same- death.

Whether shot or euthanized or dumped far from home and left to starve, monkeys kept in captivity almost always have unhappy endings.

You could be easily mistaken for one of those unfortunate creatures, stuck in a simian form and curled up near the roots of a looming tree.

Even after two full weeks, the transformation you had accidentally locked yourself into remained strong, showing no signs of faltering.

What at first seemed like a potential method of escape had quickly because the thickest chain in your shackle.

Not only was your newfound ‘family’ thrilled to have you as a cuddly little monkey, they seemed even more intent on coddling you.

MK especially adored having a ‘little sibling’ who couldn’t escape his grip. Day in and day out, every minute spent by your side, tending to your needs as a form of stress relief. Whether it was wrestling you into the bathtub or carving up fruit to spoon-feed you, the hero had quickly become a constant smothering presence. He was a fine caretaker, but you would much prefer that he used those skills on anyone else but yourself.

Just barely had he talked himself out of dressing you up, reasoning that you might find fabric uncomfortable over your fluffy white fur.

Not that he allowed you to remove the silk ribbons that his mentor had tied. Those were staying, and MK made sure of it. Every single time you had managed to squirm one free from your body, he just snatched it off the ground and tied it back on.

And, speaking of his mentor-

For all the doting you faced at the hands of MK, Sun Wukong was twice as bad.

Having been the caretaker for thousands of monkeys through the passing of centuries, it seemed that the Great Sage had a knack for pampering the furry darlings- and that translated quite easily to a human being who had accidentally trapped themselves in the form of a cub.

Already you had spent hours upon hours upon his lap, feeling Wukong’s deft fingers comb through your fur in search of debris to remove. Given that you weren’t allowed outside, he rarely found anything more than dust. Still, his intention was more to bond than it was to clean.

For him, the best part was when you'd get so bored that you'd start stroking his fur in turn, picking through it just to pass the time. Even though your heart wasn't really in the action, he was absolutely thrilled to have you acting like a real monkey in some small manner.

The Great Sage was so thrilled, in fact, that he'd barely allow you even a minute alone. And though some of this was justified by your inability to properly function in this new form, it went far beyond the realm of understandable when the king started taking you to bed with him- all under the guise of 'keeping you safe'. You'd rest all through the night tucked into his arms, listening to a powerful beating within the Monkey King’s muscular chest.

Against MK, you were lulled to sleep by a slow throb, finding some gentleness in the steady and low thrum.

Against Wukong, you were cascaded by the furious white-hot pounding of a heart blessed by power almost beyond comprehension.

You’d be lying if you said neither was at least a little comforting to hear as you drifted to a deep, dreamless sleep.

But here and now, there wasn’t an ounce of warmth to be found.

You had finally managed to slip from the clutches of your ‘family’, mustering just enough motor control to clamber up the couch and jump to a window left cracked, slipping under the peering pane and crawling to ‘freedom’.

On unfamiliar and furry legs you had fled, away from a gilded cage and into the beckoning wilderness. Maybe a part of you now longed for the forests, driving you to escape and run free. Perhaps some newfound simian instinct craved a life free from unchanging scenery and sturdy walls.

So away you went, chirping and chittering and calling out to the rising moon as the night grew darker and darker.

And as you raced into those darkening woods, throwing caution to the wind, you also drew further and further away from any semblance of safety.

It hadn’t taken you even twenty minutes to find trouble on the supposedly idyllic mountain.

And now you were here, stuck in a simian form and curled up near the roots of a looming tree.

Not alone, of course.

A troop of monkeys surrounds your quivering form, hissing and snarling at such a strange outsider. The count is easily fifteen to twenty, each one bearing sharp fangs and hunched down in aggressive stances.

You hunker away, pressed to the cold bark with eyes pointed downwards. You don’t dare move or make a sound.

It’s not enough to save you.

The largest member of the pack snarls for just a second, rearing back with his teeth bared. Before you can even flinch, the simian lurches towards you with a splitting howl, powerful jaws snagging the skin of your neck.

The scent of blood fills the air.

As it shrieks through a mouthful of your flesh, the monkey violently slings you back and forth. It beats at your face and neck, hammering your diminutive form with all the strength it can muster. When you dare to try and strike back it throws you to the ground, beating ruthlessly down on your stomach.

It hollers.

The rest of the pack jump into the fray, beating and biting and tearing at fur. Where one shoves, another pulls. Any spot left untouched by one is promptly assaulted by another. Not an inch of you is spared the violent assault, nor is mercy given in regards to your youthful form.

And right as darkness swells in the corners of your vision, the troop freezes.

A barbed lash of black strikes the alpha across the face, leaving a deep and stinging cut where it lands. He howls and shrieks and falls back, shooting off into the jungle and disappearing from sight. From only the trail of blood left in his wake, his troop follows, fearful but still loyal.

“Someone’s had a rough go of it,” says a voice that would be insufferably smug if it hadn’t just saved you from probable death.

Two cold hands wrap around your prone form, prying you from the ground.

The white of your fur has almost entirely disappeared behind a mixture of wet soil and stinking blood, filthy and pungent. The ribbon around your neck has been torn free and left on the ground, lying in tatters.

“You‘re still a little too young to be without your mother, fuzzball. She’s the one who’s supposed to teach you ‘the ways of the wild’, yeah? Where’d she get off to?”

Macaque cradles you close in one of his arms, lightly stroking the underside of your chin with a sharp nail. His touch is surprisingly gentle, far more than you’d expect for a demon. His voice takes a turn for the soft.

“Nah, that’s not it. If you’re this close to another pack without her, then she’s… not around anymore. You probably weren’t raised by her at all, actually.”

His thumb presses against your ragged silk ribbon, toying with the red fabric.

“Must’ve been dumped by some mortal who got sick of taking care of you, huh? Bastards.”

You chitter desperately for his help, hoping that this one might understand even a word you say. But he only gives you a pitying smile, untying the ribbon from your tail and letting it flutter slowly to the ground.

“You never even learned to speak, furball? They must’ve taken you young. Humans always do. Keep you for a few years and dress you up like babies, then throw you out once you’re not cute enough for them anymore.”

Your vocalizations grow more desperate and wild, becoming outright hysterical.

“I know, I know. Hungry, right? Never learned to forage for yourself, or pick for bugs. C’mon, let’s find something to eat- bet I can scrounge us up some peaches, at least. After all…”

Macaque pulls free his tattered scarf, then holds one end of it against your stomach. You can’t so much as chitter before he wraps you head to toe, swaddling your fluffy form tightly. It’s warm, at least, if a bit restrictive.

“Shouldn’t we outcasts stick together?”

And off he goes into the night, far from home and far from safety.

It’s not quite freedom, but you’ll take it.

[muffinsin]

not sure if I already requested, can you do a reader that has two younger siblings an knows how to keep the sisters in line (Bela and them are a duo 🔥)

also is the mountain anon 🏔️ free? :)

Absolutely :) the anon name’s all yours, hon!🙌 :)

Let’s get into it!

Masterlists

Enjoying a high rank among the staff means one thing: management

And yes, to some lucky souls this means managing the budget of cloths and cleaning supplies, blankets, pillows and pillowcases, candles, tablecloths, silverware, all kinds of things and wares

Or perhaps managing the staff

Ensuring all are working efficiently, all have a task to do

All losses are replaced to keep up the efficient work that is demanded at the castle

You, however, have to do a different kind of managing

One that Alcina Dimitrescu herself has entrusted you with, one she respects you for, even

Your task is to manage the three sisters, daughters and heiresses, huntresses and seductresses living at the castle

The eldest, Bela, makes your job look almost easy

In fact, she even helps you with it

Perfectly disciplined, there’s little you have to help Bela with

You certainly don’t need to keep her in line

Instead, you support her, and she supports you in your shared task; handling her younger sisters

A demanding one, certainly, that can quite drain one’s strenght

As such, you’re often seen following Bela into her chambers at the end of a long day, where you like to reward the eldest for her impeccable behavior by massaging her tense shoulders, drawing her a bath using her favorite oils and soaps, and coddling her as much as she grants it before she finally receives some well earned rest

No, Bela is certainly not who makes your task so demanding

So very much so, no other staff member would dare even think of swapping positions with you

There’s Daniela, the youngest

Where she goes, trouble usually follows

Whether that is because she’s careless or clumsy, it makes your job very difficult

Probably your work wouldn’t be so hard around her if she wasn’t attracted to you, whether slightly or a lot, you don’t know

What you know though, is that she constantly causes trouble, giggling along happily so

It seems there’s nothing more fun to her than causing you more work and trouble

Why?

You aren’t quite sure. You can only assume this is her trying to constantly get your attention

The only upside to it is that she likes to stick to where you see her, sure that your eyes are set on her because she’s seducing you, rather than to keep her out of trouble

You know of her delusions, know she’s convinced you must love her, or must be seduced by her

You’re happy to give her something to do

At least her endless pursuit of you means less defiled and beheaded maidens in the castle, something you’ve come to learn is especially bad for business, and what happens to be Daniela’s specialty, as she seems to effortlessly lure in most

It seems though that even with the auburn haired woman in your sights, she still causes trouble

Such as today, when she sat at lunch with her sisters

Having sensed bickering would begin should Cassandra be allowed to sit next to her, you made sure Bela sat in the middle of the two, separating the two younger women

And for a while, that worked

Until the two troublemakers began to fight even across Bela, flinging their hands at each other, claw-like nails bared

When one nearly nipped the eldest, you stepped in fast

Stepping between them, you promptly took a seat between Bela and Daniela, ensuring the two couldn’t reach across any longer

Of course, this meant Daniela’s hand slipping into yours for the entirety of lunch

And even so, all it took was a simple mistake from a maid for things to escalate

Having accidentally spilled a little of the wine, Daniela immediately jumped up with her sickle raised

Thankfully, having her hand held in yours allowed you to yank her back down

You know of the rules their mother has set: no killing maidens recklessly during winter or harvesting season. There’s not enough of them as is

And while Daniela was finally somewhat restrained, too happy to have felt you squeeze her hand to care about the reckless maid, Cassandra was an entirely different case

Like her sister, she jumped up immediately, snarling at the poor girl with her teeth bared

Clearly, this one would have been her afternoon snack, had Bela not intervened

“Bela!”, the brunette screeched angrily, lifted by the back of her dress’ hood by her older, taller sister

Your eyes were hint enough for the maid to leave and- hopefully- take lessons and take notes on how to not anger the castle’s residents

And with the maiden’s disappearance, even Cassandra eventually calmed, growling and pouting at her sister

Cassandra, yes

The second complication to your tasks

Keeping her in check is certainly a lot more difficult than Daniela

This is mostly down to the fact that unlike her younger sister, Cassandra does not care for staying close to you or within your sights

In time, you’ve learned where to look for her

And she still often surprises you

A second complication worth noting is that like her sister, Cassandra is prone to making messes

Whether intentional or not, she doesn’t care enough to think about the mess she creates and the consequences of it

Usually, this means waiting for her to return from a hunt

You know if you don’t greet her at the door and order her to carry her prey in the bag you provide her, she’ll get the entire castle messed by the trail of blood, dirt, leaves and guts she leaves behind

And, like Daniela, she so very enjoys a spontaneous snack

You’ve gotten better at telling when she’s about to strike, thankfully, but even then there’s not much you can do

Because unlike Daniela and Bela, Cassandra is hardly tempted to listen to you

She respects you, yes, of course. Alcina respects you, after all

But this doesn’t mean she’s going to listen to you

No, while Daniela can be bribed with affection, Cassandra is a shining example of a troublemaker

When you tell her not to attack a maid, she does so and drains their necks while staring you in the eye

When you tell her to sit, she stands tall- or better yet, she hovers just above the seat, grinning at you

When she’s told to listen, she turns her head away

When told to clean up her weapons from the floor, she sticks them into the furniture or staff members

She wants your attention, and the brat certainly gets it

You learn quickly; there’s rarely reasoning with Cassandra

She’s stubborn and playful and will rarely do something you tell her if she sees no reason behind it. Only Alcina’s orders are followed, no matter what

Bribing, or explaining tasks to her is the way to go

Only does she not care for the worries of the staff

So you can explain to her that bloodying the castle will make the staff’s work harder all you want, and perhaps she’ll mess the floors even more

And still, sometimes you can cross your arms and send her a look you’ve perfected over the years

A challenging one is returned to you, before she groans and does what you’ve asked of her

You’re still aiming to do better, especially at keeping track of where she is, but you’re getting there

[yanderes-galore]

Yandere rise Leo and rise Raph (separate if possible ) hcs with his obsession, during a mission with the team, got bit by mutant bug and became a mutant rabbit/bunny please .

Sure! I wrote Raphael first so I hope you enjoy this :)

Yandere! Rise! Raphael + Leonardo with Rabbit Mutant! Darling

Pairing: Romantic/Platonic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Clingy behavior, Manipulation, Smothering behavior, Isolation, Overprotective behavior, Delusional behavior, Forced companionship/relationship.

Raphael

Raphael, being as overprotective as he is, wouldn't want anything bad to happen to you.

You and April are the best human friends he has.

You may even be a crush if you want to go that route.

Yet, Raphael has always been careful around you as you weren't a Mutant like him.

In fact, he planned to keep you that way until this one specific mission.

Now, of course, when you're bitten and the mutation begins... Raphael would PANIC.

Even his brothers are concerned as they know how much you matter to Raphael.

Before all this happened, Raphael was careful.

He was smothering yet always careful and attentive.

He wanted to protect you like he's always protected those he loves.

Yet seeing you mutate?

He's freaking out.

He's scared you're in pain, that he's failed you...

By the time he sees your mutant form, he's so concerned.

You're a rabbit, agile yet skittish, and you're clearly scared.

I imagine Raphael would either put on a brave face to help you out... or start crying while he holds you, babbling about if you're okay or not.

Mutation is, of course, unpleasant at first for any creature.

You certainly aren't used to the advanced speed, agility, or fur of your mutation.

Plus, you no doubt will miss human life...

Yet being a rabbit is actually not too bad for missions.

It takes you months to get used to your mutation...

Even then, you aren't used to it.

Raphael would, at first, feel so guilty and worried about you.

If you never went on the mission... You'd still be human!

Although... as time goes on... I imagine he'd get used to it.

Plus, something I feel Raphael and Leonardo share in common is this...

They adore cute things.

Once the initial shock wears off... both you and Raphael would try to get used to your mutation.

Over time I can actually see him liking it.

Based on his character, you just KNOW he adores cute things.

He's playful, gentle, and loving....

He probably adores a rabbit Mutant.

You're just as fluffy as a real rabbit!

You even have a twitchy nose and tail!

Raphael already got some cuteness aggression with his obsession.

Now you're a rabbit, with the big long ears and all the soft fur?

You're going to be even more smothered.

In his eyes, smothering you with affection shows it's okay you're a Mutant!

Now you're like him!

Plus, you're adorable.

Raphael would definitely pet you and cuddle you in this state.

As usual he has to be careful with his hugs.

But he can't help it!

You're so CUTE!

Raphael doesn't want you to go on missions after this.

He knows you're better suited for missions now, yet he's scared you'll get hurt.

Really... You should just stay at the hideout!

You're much safer there.

He doesn't even want you training anymore.

It's a bit dehumanizing for him to pet you and cuddle you like a rabbit.

He means well...

But now you feel insecure.

Raphael doesn't seem to notice, however.

He's too focused on your protection and coddling you.

You're like a stuffed animal at times with him.

He just wants to hold and cuddle you....

Raphael probably likes you even more than before as a mutant.

Now you two can relate even more.

Unfortunately for you, Raphael has no idea he's being dehumanizing at times...

He's too busy giving you his love and cooing over you to the point it's painful...

You'd just be a big cuddly rabbit to him.

Leonardo

Leonardo is similar to Raph when it comes to wanting to protect you.

Except I feel Leonardo would somehow accidentally mutate his obsession during the mission.

He'd be so caught up in trying to impress you that he'd accidentally have you get bitten.

He's probably being silly, showing you some trick...

Only to fail, hitting a Mutant bug into you and making you get bit.

He feels horrible afterwards.

He's making an awkward laugh as he sees it happen... Only to feel guilt creep in when he sees you mutate.

It's an uncomfortable process, by the end of it you're confused.

After all, your genetics have changed so much you aren't sure how to move.

You have so much power in your legs now and it feels so strange.

You'd immediately be brought back to the hideout to rehabilitate.

Leonardo's unsure how to approach you... This is his fault, after all.

He scolds himself for doing this, now having to watch his friend (or crush) stumble around unsure of themselves.

To make up for it I imagine Leo tries to help.

He knows he can't make you not a Mutant...

But he'll help you get used to it!

Unlike Raph, I can see Leo letting you on missions for a bit longer.

Yet now he's making sure to pay attention while you get used to your new form.

Leonardo volunteers to help you train, still wanting to make things up to you and prove himself.

It allows him to get more attention from you and also show you he's sorry.

You're both quite agile so I imagine Leo would have a blast showing you cool new tricks.

Similar to Raphael, he finds your mutation adorable eventually.

You're just as agile as him and not only that... you're soft!

If you thought Leo was clingy normally...

He's even worse now.

He always wants hugs, always wants to hang out...

When you're not training or doing missions, he insists on petting your fur.

He claims it's to soothe your nerves and calm you down...

You don't entirely believe it.

He's less dehumanizing than Raph... yet is still quite teasing.

I can see Leo calling you bunny related nicknames, like Easter Bunny or Honey Bunny, or something like that.

Just to see you look all flustered.

He thinks he likes you more as a bunny.

You're adorable, fast, soft... Perfect.

He doesn't quite treat you like a stuffed animal...

However, he is very teasing and demanding of attention.

He feels bad he made you a rabbit.

But... Don't you think this is so much better for you?

He may be teasing yet he's also trying to convince you your new form is a good thing.

It's better for missions!

Yet soon, like any yandere, he doesn't let you go on missions for the fear of something happening....

Your fate is similar to the Raph one.

Your new form is adorable and cuddly... Just let him hold you and never let go....

Soon you'll realize staying beside him like this is better, right?

[animeyanderelover]

May I request Chuuya, Dazai, Kageyama, Tendou, Yuuji(jjk), and Urie with an s/o who has social anxiety. Happy new year 🎉

Tags: @naeho @flaming-vulpix @shumidehiro @leveyani

Tw: Yandere themes, unhealthy mindset, unhealthy relationship, possessive behavior, obsession, delusion, protective behavior, clinginess, isolation, manipulation, threats, co-dependence

S/o has social anxiety

Kuki Urie

🖤He knows that it’s very much wrong to feel this way but Urie can’t stop himself from enjoying your social anxiety at times. He’s someone who wants to be useful to you, mainly by protecting you and making you feel safe and that is what ends up happening due to your fear of interacting with others. You tend to stick close to his side since he’s your boyfriend, let him do most of the talking when someone approaches you two and are very skittish when you’re left alone, terrified that someone might try to talk to you since your nervousness shows. This gives him a lot of control and power in the relationship, something that isn’t healthy, yet even if Urie knows that, at times it just gets to his head. The problem is that even if he tries to encourage you to be socially active, you often just run back to him when you’re too scared.

🖤The way you clutch his hand in your own sweaty palm and hide behind him always shatters his rational side telling him to have you adapt a bit better. How couldn’t he when he sees you shaken to your core? Slowly he starts resigning himself to the new role he has to take as your boyfriend and soon he starts liking it. Sure, it’s unhealthy and your borderline co-dependence on him is toxic but you seem so much happier and at ease with the way things are right now. You’re feeling good and protected when he’s with you and that’s all Urie really wants. He reacts slightly aggressive when his own Squad points out that your relationship isn’t really healthy even if a part of him silently agrees with them.

Tobio Kageyama

🌧️Poor boy is a bit overwhelmed with his darling but he really only wants the best for them. Unfortunately his good intentions can come across as very overbearing most of the time. He’s just very protective of you due to your fear to speak with other people and the fact that you come running to him so often since you’re more comfortable around him, Kageyama also ends up getting the wrong idea. He’s not really letting you leave that much without him because what would happen if you’d end up needing his help with something? Worst is that you would rather prefer being with him.

🌧️You feel so much more comfortable when he’s with you since he can just take over the socializing part for you. It becomes such a routine for him that at one point he low-key normalizes it without fully acknowledging that you should require some help. Even if his friends tell him that he should help you with your problem instead of coddling you by doing what you want to avoid, he just can’t deny you the moment you become anxious in public. He’s too protective to see you struggling like this. No, instead he starts turning angry when someone starts making you uncomfortable, even if they had no bad intentions at all.

Satori Tendou

❤️Tendou finds himself stuck in a bit of a moral dilemma when it comes to his darling. On the one hand he also feels a very sick enjoyment by having you rely on him so much but he also understands that your social anxiety is a hindrance since social interaction is unavoidable, no matter how hard you may try. It isn’t really healthy. Obviously he helps you when you struggle which oftentimes just ends with him doing everything in the end as you end up feeling too embarrassed and nervous, hiding behind his tall form. It’s very hard forcing you into something when you’re shaking, have clammy hands and keep on looking at him for reassurance. Honestly, at times he just scares some people away with his creepy looks when they make you very visibly anxious and don’t seem to have plans to leave anytime soon.

❤️Satori is still doing what he can to help somehow since he knows that you yourself are sometimes frustrated because you just can’t hold a normal conversation and ask for help. To not push you into cold water right away though, he starts by having you around Ushijima and the other volleyball players in his team. They’re quite a chaotic bunch so he deems that if you’ve gotten used to them, being around others should be easier. He’s also trying to take you out more, although he never leaves your side once. All his good intentions aside though, sometimes Tendou feels insecure about himself too. When that happens, your clingy behavior and reliance on him is reassuring and he’ll even encourage it to feel better about himself.

Dazai Osamu

🤎I don’t think that you’d be much surprised to find out that Dazai would love this a little bit too much. You’ve just given him the golden ticket to enable him to do what he wants. It isn’t hard to notice that you struggle enormously with social interactions and this gives the man a great idea on how to manipulate you and make you dependent on him. All he has to do is get close to you and then worsen your already anxious condition to have you fully rely on him. As soon as you have opened your heart for him, he starts spreading his poison. Always taking over in public, something you tend to let him do very gladly. After all it spares you all the potential embarrassment and struggles to speak up.

🤎Just like that he coaxes you into letting him handle everything which worsens your social skills and makes you all the more bashful and nervous when he isn’t with you. You find yourself unwilling to leave the house much if Dazai can’t be with you since you’ve grown too accustomed with him being the one in charge. Your avoidance of social events leads you to spend a lot of time with Dazai at home and he mostly doesn’t mind. Sometimes though he craves to see you all anxious and nervous, struggling to speak to strangers and ultimately hiding behind him. It’s adorable~

Nakahara Chuuya

🟠Little, aggressive man here only grows easier irritable with someone like his s/o. Chuuya is a very protective man so he can not bear to see you as scared and nervous as you often are. Technically he knows that the other person mostly isn’t at fault, he’s aware of your social anxiety. He just can’t keep his temper though, especially if you look at him with those frightened and pleading eyes which make his heart burst. Your social anxiety and his easily trigger-happy temper make for a very bad combo in public so Chuuya spends a lot of his time with you inside his house where he knows that you feel far more comfortable.

🟠He feels great seeing you far more happy and comfortable, so much more loving now that you aren’t a nervous mess. A part of him still knows that this isn’t healthy and that he probably should help you. He does try at times, takes you outside and encourages you to interact with the people on the cash register or with the waiter/waitress ready to take your order. Such attempts often end up with him doing everything in the end though. He’s initially always a bit disappointed, clear by the small sigh he gives, but it’s all forgotten when you break out of your shell and shower him with affection at home.

Itadori Yuji

🩷Yuji is a supportive boyfriend so he’d definitely take it upon himself to help you with your social anxiety. Sure, sometimes it’s cute when you squirm nervously behind him but he knows that social interaction is important. He himself is socially very active and loves to take you outside for dates as well and whilst he doesn’t mind staying at times home with you, he eventually grows bored. Now, Yuji doesn’t expect you to be the ultimate social butterfly but he wants to reduce your anxiety of talking to strangers and your refusal to ask questions when you need help. If you’re too uncomfortable starting with total strangers, he just asks his friends and his sensei to help you a bit out of your shell. Nobara says that she thinks it’s a bit ridiculous but ends up being the one most supportive out of his teammates anyways.

🩷Mainly because she thinks that Megumi is too gloomy to be much of a help and Gojo…well, is Gojo. He visits the same shops and places with you so you grow accustomed to the staff and the people working there, encourages you to speak up for yourself. The pink-haired boy never leaves you alone though so you always have a feeling of reassurance by having him next to you. It’s really sweet, he praises you and compliments you when you do manage to speak up for yourself and showers you in little kisses but also isn’t disappointed if you can’t do something. He’s celebrating even the small steps you take but don’t worry, if it’s too much he’s there to take over for you.