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edgeray · 9 months ago

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“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!

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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.

#arlecchino x reader #arlecchino x you #arlecchino #genshin x reader #genshin x you #genshin impact fanfics #guys I'm so tired it's 2AM rn #i have school tomorrow guys #i chose to finish this tonight despite the shit ton of homework I have to do #arlecchino brain rot does that to you #def worth it #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact x you #genshin impact arlecchino #genshin arlecchino #genshin fics #arlecchino smut #edgeray.writes #edgeray.blog

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dearest-painter · 10 months ago

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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?

#✉️mail arrived✉️#genderfluid enity answers!#yandere #please don’t do this #obession #unhealthy #platonic yandere #yandere platonic #fem reader #female reader #yandere x female reader #yandere hazbin hotel

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shakingparadigm · 4 months ago

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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.

#gonna be honest when vivinos first described hyunwoos personality i was like “huh. okay. i don't see it here but i can imagine”#and i think im starting to see it in the content now which i like #alnst #alien stage #alien stage luka #alien stage hyuna #alien stage hyunwoo #alnst hyuna #alnst luka #alnst hyunwoo #para.musing

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denpa-dere · 11 months ago

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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.

#obey me smut #obey me fanfic #obey me x reader #asmo x reader #asmodeus x reader #x reader

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seventhcallisto · 1 year ago

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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 ♡)

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tirfpikachu · 2 months ago

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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 👋

#lay text #tirf #radblr #words #ponderings

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anti-katsuki-lounge · 7 months ago

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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.

#anti katsuki bakugou #anti bakugo katsuki #anti bakugo #anti bakugou #mha critical #anti bakugou katsuki #bnha critical

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animeyanderelover · 8 days ago

Note

This will be my first request, I am very happy because I LOVE your writing.

Alas aside, Yandere falls in love with a woman older than them who is very maternal for having a child, when he proposes she rejects him because she feels that they should not waste themselves on a woman who already has a child (You can do with the father whatever you want ).It would be with Atsushi, Akutagawa, Daichi Sawamura, Oikawa and if you want to add any more I don't mind

Sorry for my bad english😘😘

Tw: Yandere themes, possessive behavior, obsession, delusional behavior, clinginess, manipulation, stalking, threats, violence

Tags: @shumidehiro @leveyani

You shouldn’t waste your time on me

Sawamura Daichi

🌅Cries of a small child are what guide him through the crowds on that day, his eyes flickering over the people before they finally land on the boy who is standing there all alone. Upon asking him what happened the child tells him that he got distracted and lost his mother. As not only a police officer but also a decent human being Daichi immediately helps, asks the boy where him and his mother were last together and if he knows where his mother planned to go. If worst comes to worst and he won't be able to find the boy's mother he'll just ask the boy where he lives and will bring hm home to wait together with him until his mom returns. Luckily it never comes that far as Daichi is able to find you after half an hour of searching, the boy instantly leaving his side and running to you with tears in his eyes. He's far too humble in your eyes as he is confronted with your gratefulness, tells you that he only did his job and that anyone would have helped a crying child. Still, you make some small talk with him as you ask for his name and both of you start talking for a while with each other. That's how he finds out that you recently moved to the Miyagi prefecture with your child and live close to his neighbourhood.

🌅The fact that he doesn't live far away from you and that he helped your child are major reasons that aid the two of you in getting so close to each other. Also, your son's dream is it to work for the police later on so he obviously views Daichi as his hero, something that flusters the man deep down a lot more than he shows. He visits you once a week when he has a free day, often bombarded with questions from your son about his job until you softly chide your child for his uncontrolled excitement. You admit to him relatively early that you moved here because your husband died and your parents live nearby as you also need to work and need someone to look after your son. Hearing that your husband died strangely enough makes more sense to him than if someone would have divorced you as only an ignorant fool would have let someone like you go. Daichi is not even going to deny his own feelings, he knows that he's extremely attracted to you. You're kind yet not too coddling, you're responsible and patient, you listen to the worries of others and are always willing to help where you can. Watching you raising your son sometimes reminds him of his high school days, a fond look on his face.

🌅Daichi is able to stay patient in spite of his obsession, especially if the loss of your husband has been very recent. He gives you time, he allows you to grieve and focuses in the meantime on helping you and your child to integrate into the new city. The thing is that he fills that role of a supportive husband and father so nicely that neighbours and even your own parents and son can't help but support the two of you getting together. When you reject him he is a bit disheartened but he takes it really well because he realises that you didn't do so because you do not love him. You reject him because you feel not good enough but that in itself is still quite hurtful. You're such a wonderful person after all. He doesn't mind the little age gap nor does he think of you less because you have a child. In fact he's grown very fond and protective of your son who you have raised wonderfully. Still, it's wiser to not pressure you so he steps back for now. His confidence remains though, knowing that you didn't deny not being able to see him as a partner. He'll just stay in your life as a pillar of support for now and will slowly make you realise that you are everything but a waste to him.

Oikawa Tooru

👑After a difficult divorce you make the decision to completely change your life and decide to try to reach for a dream you had when you were younger but gave up later on, deciding that you might not make it. It's better to try and fail then to never take the step. After many months of interviews, exchange of mails and documents you receive the news though. You did it. You're one of the managers for your favorite volleyball club, Club Athletico San Juan. You're so joyous, almost feel like a school girl all over again as you read the letter over and over again, kicking your feet and grinning like an idiot. Oikawa is still Oikawa even if he is by now an adult, his charming attitude still there as soon as you're introduced to the team as their new manager. His other teammates just watch with half amusement and half pity as Oikawa's charm ultimately never works. Sure, he manages to charm people quickly but he never manages to hold a relationship and they would hate for their setter and new manager to be on bad terms from the very start. You, with the divorce still freshly on your mind though, put your foot firmly down and clarify it to Oikawa very clearly that you have no intention of dating.

👑Obviously Tooru is miffed about your blunt rejection yet another part of him can't help but respect your determination. You know what you want to focus on and he wants to acknowledge that, especially since he is essentially the same. The keyword here is want because who would have thought that his feelings would slip out of his grasp of control so quickly? You know when to put him and his childish antics in his place, chiding him almost as if he were a child and the experience feels only more realistic when he realises that you're a few years older than he is. The fact that you work so closely with him only enables him to be very overbearing as he dreams up all kinds of minor inconveniences so that he has something to complain about to have your attention on himself. Your daughter is a shocker as you have never talked about your private life before and whilst other players gush over your child he gives her a strange look at first, his mind trying to process what it could mean. He pesters you privately about it, his eyes desperate and his body tense. The tension leaves his body at least partially when you admit with a heavy sigh that you had a rough divorce before you started working here.

👑Oikawa doesn't take the rejection very well, his heart dropping even though it doesn't have to do with the fact that you don't see him that way. Still, it is hard to stay logical with a heart as sensitive as his, especially since he is prone to being delusional. He just doesn't understand. What is it that he could have done better?? He has made it more than obvious that he is deeply in love with you. He's showered you in presents, constantly demands your attention and has even made the effort to get closer to your daughter despite initial caution he held. Is that still not enough?? What do you want him to do?? Please tell him what he as to do in order for you to accept. Honestly, your maternal instincts will come quite in handy as you're confronted with Tooru whilst his feelings threaten to burst out of him. Because it helps him to calm down and gives him the reassurance he so desperately craves from you in that moment. Nevertheless though, he ramps up his affection from a 10 to an 11 after that incident. If the problem is simply that you don't feel good enough he will change your mind. You're forgiven this one time. Do not reject him a second time though or else he might just make your job more difficult.

Nakajima Atsushi

🐅The gentle love of a parent is a notion so foreign to Atsushi that the first encounter he has with you leaves him almost on the edge. Your kind words, the patient look in your eyes, the warmth and comfort you provide him with by simply being in the room threatens to burst his heart right at the seams. After cold deprivation for as long as he can remember your presence feels like being drowned in a bathtub filled with hot water. It's overwhelming almost, scorches his skin yet he gladly submerges himself in the heat and the sensations that come with it. He's almost immediately infatuated with you, finds himself yearning for your affection in his dreams as well as in the real world. The age difference is something that weights on his soul though as he realises how experienced you are and how clumsy he seems to be in comparison. There's a lack of knowledge with certain machines or customs that he hasn't been exposed to due to his time in the orphanage but he is always too ashamed to tell you about it. Adamant to not let himself look like a young fool in front of you, Atsushi simply refuses to ask for help or advice from you. He wants to prove to you as well as himself that he can provide for you.

🐅As shameful as it is, there is an undeniable twinge of jealousy directed against your own child. He envies the little boy for being able to cling to you as often as he does as those are all things Atsushi desperately wishes to do as well. He wants to be held, comforted and loved by you too but he could never admit such things as he stares at your son. What would you think of him after all if he were to confess to you that he feels jealous of your own child? It doesn't stop him from clenching his hands into fists every time he witnesses you giving affection to your son, nails turning into claws as he imagines what it would be like if he were to be the one in your child's position. You and your husband have parted ways a few years ago but you still keep in contact due to the child and that just about kills Atsushi. It takes always more willpower than it should to not outright growl at the man whenever he visits. Atsushi can't even fathom how a man could let someone like you go and occasionally he imagines what it would be like to just tear that man apart whenever his jealousy gets the better of him. Chances aren't exactly zero for Atsushi to confront your ex-lover and accidentally kill him during an argument.

🐅The beast within him tries to tame itself as good as it can for you even if results are mixed. With time he grows closer to your child though he struggles to be a parent for the little boy as he more than once acts just as childish and needy. Still, he does his best to show you that he can protect and provide for you and your child all whilst seeking emotional comfort from you. It has taken him a good chunk of courage to finally confess to you only to be met with a direct blow to his heart. The shock of your rejection numbs him for a few seconds before the weight comes crushing down. He hyperventilates, he cries, he bites his bottom lip bloody and his nails threaten to rip through the skin of his palms. That is only because he does misunderstand your rejection as you telling him that you have no interest in him. Once he has come to understand that you didn't reject him for that reason hopefully he manages to calm down at least a bit. That means that he still has a chance, doesn't he? Still, he feels like it's his fault for not having made it clearer to you just how deeply infatuated he is with you. That has to change now. Hopefully some of his seniors can give him useful tips how to woo you.

Akutagawa Ryunosuke

⬛It is through Gin that Akutagawa finds out about you as his beneath the mask quite shy sister has befriended you and finds herself visiting your small shop once a week. Whilst he is anything but an overbearing brother this piece of information still manages to stick to him. It's the first time he has heard that Gin has made friends with someone outside the Mafia and initially he starts directing hostility against you. Akutagawa isn't an individual to trust easily as he distrusts with far more confidence and this is what he finds himself doing against you. Who are you? Are you really just a regular citizen? His sister assures him that you are not some spy nor does she plan to give you any information about the Port Mafia or her real identity but for Akutagawa actions speak louder than words. He finds himself stalking you occasionally, dark eyes trailing after you. A scoff appears on his face the moment he notices the boy following you, realising that you have a child. How naive you must be, keeping a child whilst involving yourself with a mafioso. If you really are just a normal person you must have no motherly senses at all or else you wouldn't hang out casually with Gin.

⬛Akutagawa never had a mother who raised him as he has grown up in a violent environment from a very young ago. None of his mentor figures have ever given him even an ounce of affection which has led him to believe that love is a weakness. A weakness he has fallen victim to. A part of him itches to use Rashomon to tear you and that little brat apart yet he holds himself back. Partially because his emotions are messy and partially for his sister's sake as she cherishes you. It's Gin he turns to as his curiosity grows and it is through her he finds out most information about you. The most pressing issue for him is who the father of your son is and even if Gin tells him that you have parted with the guy long before your child was born that doesn't stop Akutagawa's urges to rip that man apart for his mere existence. Stalking you becomes quite difficult, his possessive side flaring up the moment you talk to another man and give him a smile. It's the horrified gaze of his sister that holds him back but that is no guarantee that it'll work every single time. Only to his sister is he able to admit his conflicting feelings to you and both of them know that it is only a question of time when you will find out.

⬛Still, even if it comes that far Gin wishes for her brother to not terrorise and hurt you even with his obsession. She cares for Akutagawa but you're still her friend and she likes your child as well. She wants him to attempt to confess to you the normal way at least once and if you reject him she kind of knows that there's little she can do. Unable to live with herself if she wouldn't try though Gin introduces her brother to you who finds himself incredibly awkward as he is completely out of his comfort zone, easily irritated and with little patience, especially when your son is around. Big chance that Gin is lurking around in the distance when Akutagawa tries confessing, already looking like he is glaring at you. He honestly only knows what to do in case you reject him because you don't like him which is instantly doing what he can do best. Inflicting fear upon you whilst using Rashomon. He isn't prepared for you rejecting him because you think he shouldn't bother with you and is left so perplexed with that answer that he just stares at you for a good while. Ultimately this only delays the abduction though because it'll still happen. He's promised Gin to not harm your son though.

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itsabouttimex2 · 7 months ago

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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.

#Platonic Yandere #Yandere Lego Monkie Kid #Yandere LMK #Yandere MK #Yandere Sun Wukong #Yandere Macaque #Monkiefam #All that stuff I said about pet monkeys is 100% real by the way

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