#mass design group

[fall23iksection]

Prepare for Climate-Driven Immigration

Daylight the Waterways

Transform Vacant Buildings

Celebrate Regional Assets

Create Projects with your Neighbors

_ik

[coltonwbrown]

The Embrace is a 38,000-pound Boston monument capturing a historic hug between Coretta Scott King and the Reverend Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.

By artist Hank Willis Thomas in collaboration with MASS Design Group Photo: Courtesy of MASS Design Group

A Striking New Martin Luther King Jr. Memorial Captures the Feeling of Love

[mossyflowers]

I beat hunter today and I've almost finished spearmaster so I was feeling a bit inspired today

If POM WERE to collapse, I think it'd be pretty. Messy. Specifically due to the Rot specifically constricting around vital parts of her structure to the point of it snapping

On the brightside!! In the case of her collapsing, at least her Rot starts to rot and wither <:)

[revrads]

ok but imagine a au where damien john and paul all team up together to fight all manner of unholy monsters powerpuff girls style. …the powerpuff priests…

holy hell yesss!!!

I imagine both Damien and John would be "Ah Yes, a Normal Tuesday Morning of My Miserable Life" and Paul would actually have an aneurysm at the thought of exorcising real demons

[yonghoonsleftnostril]

Xeed released their lightstick design.

Going to be honest, I get why they went with the simpler design (cost of production, etc) but I'm sad there's no color and no reference to greenys on it.

Like will I still get it if I can get it for a reasonable price? Sure. Just...felt like it could have been more unique. But if I get my hands on one I'll just customize it.

[bcb-and-b-368-lindsay-road-40]

A dishonoured, Massive, Gerhalt, who takes plasmids to gamble at the strip, while navigating Moscow's subway lines.

Pictures from the worksite and my local restaurant. And those f**king birds!

[arolesbianism]

Untold Prosperity first concept has arrived babey. Fun fact, while their actual structures were designed and constructed by different entities, Prosperity and Star’s puppets were designed by the same person!

[alfedena]

People do not realize that when we say Israel is a settler-colonial state, we mean it was literally devised in junction with European imperialism around the turn of the century.

Political Zionism was founded by Theodore Herzl. Originally, Zionists were not specifically interested in the land of Palestine as a colonial project. In fact, Herzl was debating making Argentina the focus of mass Zionist migration, which is quite ironic considering Argentina's colonial and Aryanist past. British-controlled Uganda was also offered as a possibility by Joseph Chamberlain, a Conservative imperialist.

To encourage mass Jewish migration to Palestine, he worked with the British, who had recently drove the Ottoman Empire out of the Levant, and now boasted political dominance in the region, thanks to the Sykes–Picot Agreement between the UK, France, Italy, and Russia which covertly authorized British influence in Palestine, which had become a target of colonial expansion. He specifically wished to collaborate with Cecil Rhodes, a British imperialist who played a lead role in colonizing Zimbabwe and Zambia, and later took inspiration from his time spent extracting wealth from Africa as the founder of mining conglomerate the British South Africa Company.

Herzl’s personal goals for Zionism were colonial. He said in a letter to Rhodes:

“You are being invited to help make history. It doesn’t involve Africa, but a piece of Asia Minor; not Englishmen but Jews […] How, then, do I happen to turn to you since this is an out-of-the-way matter for you? How indeed? Because it is something colonial […] I […] have examined this plan and found it correct and practicable. It is a plan full of culture, excellent for the group of people for whom it is directly designed, and quite good for England, for Greater Britain [...]”

At that time, Palestine was predominately populated with Arab Muslims and Christians, as well as Arab Jews (Old Yishuv) and Druze. Jews made up around 6% of the population. The Ottoman government specifically released a manifesto at the start of Zionist migration condemning the colonization, stating:

“[Jews] among us […] who have been living in our province since before the war; they are as we are, and their loyalties are our own.”

The Balfour Declaration of 1917 on behalf of parliament, officially established the British Mandate of Palestine, sowing the seeds for the modern state of Israel, by means of the UK's ongoing occupation of the region.

Zionism was never about promoting Jewish culture or safety; it has always been tied up in Western (settler-)colonial expansion. !من النهر إلى البحر

[sluttywoozi]

(Boy)Friend Material | Part I of II | csc x f!reader

You'd think that, having matched with Seungcheol on a dating app, you would be, well, dating. You suppose you're lucky, but not that lucky.

Rating: sfw (this part) | WC: ~3k | Pairing: csc x f!reader | Genre: emotional fluff, friends/idiots to lovers

Warnings: suggestive thoughts, down bad reader, implied alcohol drinking, kissing

Matching with Seungcheol on Bumble was a fluke, or maybe a miracle, considering the fact that you re-downloaded the app on a whim and his profile was the first to come up. 

The second you saw him in that blue baseball cap and white tee, his jawline sharp and his bicep thick, you knew there was no point in trying to find anyone better. So you conferred with the group chat to crowdsource a good opening line, something about how his birthday should be a national holiday, and awaited his response with bated breath. 

He replied within minutes, saying that he’d always thought so but was intrigued as to why you did too, and you, ignoring your friends’ advice to play it cool, told him that he was obviously a gift to the masses to get them through these troubling times. He got bashful then, but apparently you didn’t come on too strong in a bad way, because the next thing you knew he was asking for your number and requesting to meet up for some coffee. 

That was four months ago, and though it never went further in a romantic sense, you know you’re lucky to have him as a friend. Unfortunately, the thoughts you have about Seungcheol aren’t the kind you’re supposed to have about a friend. 

You wish you could say you haven’t always wondered what those plush lips would feel like on yours, or if he’d be big enough to stretch you out, or whether he’d take you gently or pin you down and fuck you like he means it, but you’ve wanted Seungcheol ever since you first locked eyes with him, even if it was just through your phone screen.

It would be one thing if you only wanted to sleep with him, but it’s a million times worse because you want to love him too. You want to hold hands, and go on cute dates, and get him little gifts just to see his eyes light up. You want to fall asleep in his arms, and take care of him when he’s sick, and tell anyone who will listen that he’s your boyfriend. 

How could you want anything less when he looks like all of your dreams come to life? When he gazes at you with those big brown eyes, always listening so attentively, as if you’re the only one in his world that matters? When he takes care of you without thinking, like it’s just second nature?

Even at a house party like this, where there are plenty of girls eyeing him and more than a few of his bros wanting to talk to him, he’s by your side. The second your shoulders twitched in a shiver, his jacket was covering them. As soon as your cup was empty, he was accompanying you to the kitchen to refill it. And you know that when you give even a hint of wanting to leave, he’ll be guiding you to his car and taking you home, perfectly sober because he volunteered to be the designated driver tonight just so you could have fun and be safe. 

If only you could tell him to take you back to his place instead of yours. The problem is that he would, and he’d take your makeup off all gently, and give you a big t-shirt to sleep in, and tuck you into his bed before going to sleep on the couch, even though it hurts his back and his feet dangle off the edge. You know because that’s exactly what he did the time you managed to scrape together enough courage to ask if you could stay over after a night out. 

You can’t have a repeat of that, not when you woke up wishing you were his (after dreaming that he’d fucked you into his mattress). You barely kept yourself from begging him to make your dreams a reality that morning, especially when he greeted you with bedhead, a gravelly voice, and your favorite pastries from the bakery down the street. 

It took you weeks to get over it, to be able to look into his eyes without wanting to either confess your love or jump his bones. And still, almost two months later, you’re pushing down both of those desires. Holding your feelings back when you’re with him is a constant struggle, one that’s only made more difficult by his affectionate and protective nature. It’s becoming painful, knowing he likes you but not in the way that you like him, being so close to him but never as close as you want. 

Near Seungcheol is your favorite place to be, but you’re starting to think it’s not somewhere that’s good for you, which is distressing because at this point, he’s one of your best friends. You see him nearly every week for meals and little excursions, and you’d go for every day if you didn’t have to keep him from your other friends lest they give away your secret. You don’t know how you’d cope with not being around him, but you can only assume it wouldn’t be well when he’s so enmeshed in your life, even your landlord knows about him.

God, you cancel one maintenance call after Seungcheol fixes your leaky faucet and Jerry thinks every other repair request is bullshit…

You startle as Seungcheol leans in close to ask you something, though you’re too distracted by the weight of his hand on your waist to process his question. It’s warm even through the cotton of your shirt and the denim of his jacket, and he must think it’s too loud for you to hear him because he uses it to tug you closer as he asks again, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, I think I’m just ready to go,” you respond weakly, forcing a smile that must look as fake as it feels. Knowing you’re not telling the truth about the first part, he frowns reproachfully at you and lets go of your waist to intertwine your fingers with his, pulling you behind him to the front door. There’s a chill in the air though it’s barely September, and he drops your hand to wrap his arm around your shoulders, syncing his steps to yours and holding you tight.

It’s a short walk but the quiet tension makes it feel like eons have passed by the time you arrive at his sedan. He opens the passenger-side door for you and takes your bag so you can climb in unhindered, gently placing it at your feet before patting your knee and shutting you in. You watch as he jogs around the hood and gets in next to you, taking care not to slam his door. You wonder if it’s because the first (and only) time he did on a night like this, you thought he was upset with you for wanting to leave early. 

He was so sweet and concerned when you brought it up, instantly rejecting your offer to uber home so he could go back to the party as if he was offended you even asked, before telling you that there was no point in staying if he didn’t have you with him. That was just one of the many moments that have ruined you for anyone else. 

“What’s on your mind?” Seungcheol asks quietly, turning his body toward you and reaching for your hand. Unsure of what to say, you give it to him silently and fight back a shudder at the feeling of his warm, rough fingers against yours. 

You hate lying to Seungcheol, partially because you always want to be honest with him but mostly because you’re so bad at doing the opposite. He picks up on it immediately, and then he gets this sorrowful, wounded look on his face and goes all quiet, which makes you feel like you’re the worst person on the planet. 

How honest can you be, though?

You could leave out the part about wanting him to fuck your brains out and lead with the non-platonic feelings you hold for him. Or you could leave out the emotional side of things and simply share that you want to ride him into the sunset. Or you could tell him everything, bare your soul and your pussy, and hope for the best. But what if the worst happens? What if he tells you he could never want you like that, that you’re like a sister to him, that he doesn’t want to see you ever again because you’ve ruined this friendship? 

You don’t think you can risk it. 

Still, you’d like to avoid deceiving him and hurting his feelings in the process, so maybe you could just be vague instead. 

“A lot of things, but nothing I want to talk about right now,” you finally answer, avoiding his eyes and pushing down the voice in the back of your mind that screams you’re a coward.

His mouth scrunches to the side and his brows furrow, but after a minute of silence, he accepts it. 

“Okay, just… You know you can tell me anything, right?” He lowers his head to find your gaze, sincerity emanating so brightly from him, it burns. 

Anything but this.

“I know,” you whisper, attempting a smile to appease him, though the way he sighs defeatedly and looks away makes you feel like you’ve just made him worry more. 

Facing the wheel again, he turns the key in the ignition and carefully reverses just enough to pull forward out of his makeshift parking spot. The music coming through his speakers is soft and low, too quiet to really fill the silence sitting between you and him, silence that isn’t usually there. You don’t know what to say so you don’t say anything at all, your body thrumming with a nervous energy that you’re sure Seungcheol can feel. 

Glancing over, you find his hands tight on the steering wheel and his lip caught in between his teeth. You hate the idea that your anxiety has seeped into him, but he’s always seemed to think your happiness is his personal responsibility, so you suppose it makes sense. 

“Are you taking the long way?” You ask in confusion when you face forward again and watch the on ramp to the highway pass you by. 

“Yeah, I hope that’s okay… Just wanted a bit more time with you,” he murmurs with a melancholy tinge to his voice. 

“Of course that’s okay, I love being with you.” Shit, you wanted to make him feel better but you didn’t mean to sound so-

“Do you?” 

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, you never…” He looks over at you and shakes his head, taking a deep breath before continuing to speak. “I know we’re taking things slow but I feel like you’re always holding part of yourself back from me. You never touch me, I’m always the one touching you. I make the majority of our plans. All my friends know you but I don’t know any of your friends,” he sighs in frustration and pulls over into an empty parking lot, putting the car in park. “And now tonight you don’t feel like you can tell me what’s wrong… I just- If you want to break things off, please just say so.”

When he finishes, he gazes at you, dejection swimming in his eyes like you’re breaking his heart. 

In your mind, you repeat the words that stand out to you as if they’re new arrangements of letters with meanings you’ve never encountered before.

T a k i n g  t h i n g s  s l o w.

B r e a k  t h i n g s  o f f.

What  t h i n g s?

“Seungcheol… Please don’t get upset, but I think we might not be on the same page,” you say slowly. “What are we? Because I was under the impression we were-”

“Friends,” you finish just as he responds, like it should be obvious, “Together.”

“You think we’re just friends?! We met on a dating app,” he bursts in a barely contained explosion. 

“You’re so hot, and sure, we went on that one coffee date, but we never went on any others-” You scramble to explain your reasoning. 

“We’ve gone on at least three dates a month since we met! Did you think we were just hanging out?” 

“...Yes?” 

“I plan them, I dress nicely, I pick you up, I pay,” he lists off on his fingers, clearly growing heated. 

“Okay, so maybe those were dates! But we don’t kiss, or have sleepovers, or talk to each other about our feelings,” you attempt to defend yourself. 

“I was trying to follow your lead,” he grimaces regretfully and pinches the bridge of his nose. “God, could I have been kissing you this whole time?” 

“You could have been doing a lot more than kissing me,” you laugh to yourself, thinking about all the wishes and desires you’ve had since you first laid eyes on him. Then you see his face, and it doesn’t really feel funny anymore. 

He looks equal parts irate and amorous, that strong brow furrowed in displeasure though his gaze is greedy, like he’s had enough of you but at the same time, he could never get enough of you. 

“Alright, since I apparently need to lay it all out, here’s what we’re gonna do,” he turns to face you, bringing a hand up to cup your cheek. You barely resist the urge to lean into it before realizing you don’t have to resist anything anymore when it comes to Seungcheol, your hand coming up to cover his and hold it to your face. 

His eyes soften at that, his thumb brushing your cheekbone as he says, “First, we’re going to talk about our feelings and get on the same page. Then, I’m taking you to your place to pack an overnight bag and to mine for a sleepover, and this time I’m not staying on that goddamn couch. It’ll take a while to make up for four months of not kissing you, but we can start with tonight. Does that all sound good to you?”

“Everything sounds great,” you breathe dreamily, already envisioning being on your back beneath him with those perfect cherry lips on yours. 

“Fuck, don’t look at me like that,” he groans, his head falling sideways against the headrest. “We have to talk first.”

“Are you telling me or yourself?” You ask teasingly, giggling when he squeezes his eyes shut and swears under his breath. 

“Both,” he sighs out before saying nervously, “I’ll start, because I’m a good boyfriend.”

You have to swallow down the squeal that threatens to burst from you just at the thought of Seungcheol being your boyfriend. 

“I’ve been into you since I met you,” he begins. “You make me laugh, you make my heart race, and you make me want you, all the damn time. The past four months have been the best of my life. You’re smart and beautiful and special and I want to be with you for as long as you’ll have me.”

Hearing Seungcheol say these things sends a rush of pure joy through you, followed by a flood of affection. He’s all you’ve wanted for four months, and now you know he likes you. And wants to be with you. It’s almost too much for you to handle… Almost. 

“Seungcheol, as soon as I saw you on that god-forsaken app, I knew I could stop looking. You’re funny and kind and thoughtful and devastatingly good looking, and I liked you so much that I tried to be happy just being your friend, but I always wanted more. I think it’s because I was so blinded by my crush on you that I didn’t realize we were more. We are more. Hopefully, you’re okay being with me for a long time, because I don’t know if I’ll ever want to let you go.”

He gazes at you, his face soft and his eyes earnest, adoring. “That’s fine with me,” he murmurs, leaning in. “Can I kiss you?”

“I literally thought you’d never ask,” you whisper, inching forward and holding your breath until his lips finally meet yours. 

They feel supple, lush, just like you knew they would, and he kisses you with a gentleness you didn’t expect. After four months of waiting, you thought he’d be impatient, rough, but he’s moving like he has all the time in the world, like you’re something worth savoring. He pulls away reluctantly, but you’re not done yet, your chin tilting so you can press your lips to his again. 

He sighs against you and you glide your tongue over his bottom lip, gasping when he opens his mouth to lick into yours. His hand shifts to cup your neck, tilting your head so he can kiss you at a different angle, and that’s when the moan slips out. 

It’s quiet, but obvious in the silence of the car, and you pause self consciously for a second before he brushes his thumb over your jaw and moans back. The sound is so hot that you’re inches away from unbuckling your seatbelt and climbing over the center console into his lap, your mind already wrapped up in thoughts of feeling his thick, sturdy thighs under you. He doesn’t let you get that far, breaking away with a gasp and staring at you heatedly, as if he can hear your thoughts. 

“I want too much from you for our first time to be in my car,” he pants raggedly, fighting to catch his breath after you attempted to steal it from him. 

“I suppose I can’t argue with that,” you acquiesce, watching as he shifts into drive and makes his way out of the parking lot. When he’s on the road again, he rests his palm on your thigh with a glance and a raise of his brow, as if to ask if his placement is okay. You just smile and intertwine your fingers with his, trying to shove down the giddiness bubbling up within you as you get closer and closer to your apartment.

AN: there was a natural separation between scenes so i decided to make this a two parter!! smutty part two will be posted sometime this weekend (hopefully)

please i am begging u to tell me ur thoughts and ur thots i am deep in seungcheol brainrot and i need to commiserate

edited to add: drop a comment to join the taglist!

[tawnfawn]

intoxicated | könig

summary: you get along with everyone on your team, except for könig. you think he hates you, but his perceived distaste for you only makes you want him more. you're able to keep your composure until you're partnered up for a mission, where everything seems to go wrong...

tags: könig x fem!reader smut. cod. pure filthy, shameless smut. sex pollen. proofread. MDNI. 5,000+ words

cw: dubcon (due to sex pollen but there's clear consent before and after). unprotected sex (reader IS on birth control, wrap it before you tap it), p in v, oral m!receiving, fingering, accidental drug use (sex pollen), dom!könig and sub!reader, light humiliation kink, heavy praise, size kink if you squint, overstimulation, mutual pining, violence, killing.

MDNI. NSFW BELOW THE CUT

You crept around the corner of the warehouse with your rifle, watching König’s six as you progressed. The other KorTac members were stationed on site as well, giving quick updates through comms as you progressed. Details were scarce, except that in the warehouse, a Russian terrorist group was producing a bioweapon capable of mass destruction—and anyone inside was KOS.

Of course, the bioweapon in question was…dubious, to say the least. A strong aphrodisiac, the contractor had explained, much to the astonishment of your team. During the briefing, you’d managed to keep a straight face, but not all of your teammates were as courteous.

“So let me get this straight—you want us to risk our lives for…Viagra?” Horangi had questioned, exasperated. Your lips pursed at his crudeness, but it was exactly what you were thinking too.

The scientist’s face flushed. “N-no, this is much different,” he snapped. As one of the architects of the bioweapon, he was clearly offended. “It is much, much stronger. Exposure to just one dose will cause severe arousal: heart palpitations, excessive sweating, overheating. Imagine…” He seemed to be struggling to find the words. “Imagine a brain overload, yes? Rational thinking…disappears. Victims may lose all motor control. Too long without treatment can result in heart failure, aneurysms, seizures, stroke, and sometimes death.”

“So what is the treatment?” you interrupted, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Sex,” the scientist answered, shifting uncomfortably on his heels. “It was designed to be, ah… difficult.”

Your jaw clenched, and your eyes darted to König. He was staring down the scientist, narrowed eyes betraying no emotion. While everyone else struggled to keep their bafflement hidden, his sniper hood obscured any hope of reading him. Just my fucking luck, you thought when you were partnered with him.

It wasn’t that you disliked König; it was just that you found it so much more difficult to talk to him. With the rest of your teammates, you were fine. A natural people reader, you were comfortable with the rest of them, relying on body language and the details they let slip to learn more about them. In fact, you considered yourself to be pretty close with them—unsurprising, given that in your line of work, your life rested in their hands and vice versa. But König was… different. You didn’t distrust him, per say, but outside of the battlefield, he was quiet. Reclusive. No matter how many times you’d tried to get him to open up, he barely interacted with you, despite talking to the others. You’d chalked it down to being the newest on the team at first, but now that you’d served over a year and a half together, you were frustrated. Shouldn’t that be well enough time to open up at least a little bit?

You knew your thinking was illogical. Your job was to hunt targets and invade bases, not deep dive into your coworker’s soul, but you couldn’t help the way it took over your mind. Your need to understand him had become a bit of an obsession. You constantly found yourself looking at him, trying to discern any emotion his eyes betrayed. You listened intently for any of his input in person or on comms, no matter how menial it was. You studied his body language, taken note of any habits or gestures. You’d even memorized the way he reloaded his guns.

It was…embarrassing, to say the least. But could you blame yourself? He was so tall and strong and imposing that even just standing next to him made you, a normally very confident and intimidating woman, feel small. Such was the reason that you pushed yourself extra harder whenever you were paired up with him, making sure he knew you were valuable, a force to be reckoned with. Your excellent performance had made you two quite the duo, often clearing out legions of enemies in mere minutes. And you had to admit, seeing him absolutely obliterate enemy lines made you feel some type of way…

But not like that, of course. You were just…curious. When he finally opened up to you (and not if, but when), your obsession would stop, and everything would be fine. At least, that’s what you told yourself.

Today, however, there were a lot less enemies than you’d expected. Sure, there were quite a few soldiers stationed around the warehouse (which your team had incapacitated quickly), but inside, save for some scientists and the occasional guard, it was eerily empty and quiet.

“It’s fucking cold,” Horangi’s voice rang out from your radio. You sighed and brought the device to your lips.

“It’s fucking Russia,” you stated. “What did you think it’d be? Beachy?”

König’s quiet chuckle sounded from in front of you, and you couldn’t help the pride that swarmed in your heart. Heat burst in your cheeks, but you tried to brush it off.

“Fuck off,” Horangi replied. “East side clear.”

“West unknown,” you said. “Standby.” You tucked the radio back into your pocket, following your teammate.

You both peeked around the corner to the last room. It was filled to the brim with lab equipment—beakers, bunsen burners, flasks, microscopes—all sitting atop of large resin tables. Bright, fluorescent lights bounced off the sterile grey walls and ceiling, creating a dull glare that was almost depressing. Neat racks of tightly sealed vials and test tubes peeked through glass cabinets on the walls, parallel to the large sinks below. Across the room was a row of unfamiliar-looking equipment, and next to that, an enormous whiteboard boasting messily scrawled notes, diagrams, and equations. A bag of what looked like takeout sat on a nearby desk next to a crumpled napkin and a perspiring styrofoam cup. It was almost exactly what you’d imagined a stereotypical laboratory to look like, albeit a bit messier and more lived in. A singular man stood working at one of the tables, frantically scribbling on a notepad with his back facing toward you. König motioned for you to stay put as he crept forward. You complied.

Then the man dropped his pen.

“Xyй,” he cursed and turned around to pick it up. Of course, when he turned around, he saw König’s gigantic form pointing a gun at him, and he screamed. You fired your suppressed pistol, but not before the scientist hurled a glass vial at König. It shattered against his tactical vest as the dead scientist crumpled to the ground, releasing a burst of lavender-colored smoke that curled into the air and quickly dissipated.

König ripped off his tactical vest, coughing violently, but it was too late—the substance had already entered his lungs, likely reaching his bloodstream by now. He stared at you, blue eyes wide with—for the first time you’d ever seen—fear. 

“Oh, fuck,” he muttered, and he staggered to the wall, crashing down to the floor.

“König?” You stared at him, stricken. His eyes were closed, and he was stock still—stiller than you’d ever seen him—and for a long, hard moment, you thought he might be dead. 

Then his eyes snapped open. His pupils were dilated and blown, a sea of black barely tinged by blue irises. He stared at you, unmoving, before letting out a groan and bringing his hand over his face.

“Oh, fuck,” you whispered. You grabbed your radio. “M-man down!” you stammered into it. “König’s been exposed. West side clear. Requesting med evac in thirty minutes. Going dark.” You turned it off, not bothering to listen to any input. The rest of your team knew what this meant. As did you.

In the time you’d been on the radio, König had torn off all of his other gear, leaving himself in just his shirt, pants, and boots. He was panting, his chest heaving with each breath, ungloved hand still hiding his masked face as he cursed in German.

You crossed the room in seconds and kneeled at his side. “Hey, it’s gonna be okay, König, just breathe—”

“No,” he breathed. His voice was deeper, raspier than normal, and the unbridled heat in it sent a shiver down your spine. His hands were clenched into fists, body tensed as he fought the invisible infection. “Go. Now.”

“You know I can’t leave—”

His hand fell to his side, letting his eyes meeting yours for a split second. “Please,” he groaned, starting to tremble as you drew closer. “I—I can’t—”

His gaze strayed lower, and you followed it to the growing bulge in his pants. You gulped, unmoving, and he grabbed your arm. The force of it was enough to make you still.

“Go,” he insisted, his accent even thicker than usual. “I’m not—I cannot control myself.”

“I’m not gonna leave you here!” you argued, swatting his hand away. “You’re my teammate. You could die.”

“I will hurt you,” he retorted. All the muscles in his body were tensed, clearly on overdrive. Even his eyes were watering. “Please, maus. I am not gentle.”

Something inside about his statement made your thighs clench together, but you tried to ignore it. Tentatively, you brought your hand to his chin, pulling his face towards you. His skin was feverish, and your heart twisted in sympathy. “Let me help you,” you pleaded, and he inhaled sharply.

“It feels like I’m burning,” he hissed, and you frowned. His black compression shirt was nearly soaked with sweat, and you grabbed the fabric, pulling it up. He pawed at your arm weakly, but you shushed him.

“You’re overheating. Take it off,” you ordered, and finally, he let you pull it over his head, sagging back against the wall as you threw it to the side.

You’d seen him without a shirt before—it was hard not to with this kind of job, what with donning injuries all the time—but this was different. His head was thrown back as he panted, toned chest heaving with each breath, and you could see all of the muscles in his chiseled abdomen clenched, glistening with a thin sheen of sweat. It was… erotic. Just looking at him made you feel dirty. You felt the thrum of something other than worry in your abdomen, and you swallowed.

“Leave me,” König growled, but it sounded more desperate than commanding. You shook your head at him.

“Not letting you die, König.” You began to rip off your gear, tugging off your tactical vest and discarding your weapons. 

König grabbed your wrist. “What are you…?”

“Wanna help you, okay?” you said softly, trying to catch his eyes as they darted over your face. “Are you gonna let me?”

He took in a deep breath, his other hand in a death grip on his thigh. “I-I don’t want to hurt you,” he repeated, but it was starting to lose its original harshness. He was fading, and fast.

“It’s okay,” you murmured. You placed your hand on his bare chest, feeling the way his heartbeat stuttered and stammered under your touch. He cursed in response, the hand on your wrist twitching, clearly fighting the urge to touch you. In a split-second decision, you swung your right leg over his lap and straddled him, careful not to grind against him, waiting for an answer first. He let out a choked noise and grabbed you by the hips, his tight grip making you gasp. “Yes or no?” you breathed.

“Ahhh, maus.” The low groan he let out was nearly animalistic. “Yes,” he begged, and that was all you needed to hear.

You started grinding on his lap gently, trying to restrain yourself from going further. You wanted to be mindful of his sensitivity, but König simply huffed in annoyance and used his tight grip on your hips to tug you all the way down into his lap—allowing you to feel everything. The imprint of his hard, throbbing cock made you dizzy; you couldn’t resist pressing against it, moaning softly at the delicious friction it granted your clit.

“Scheiße,” König murmured, his thighs twitching underneath you. You felt bad, knowing he was probably dying for some real contact, so you decided to give it to him.

Your heart raced as you reached for his waistband, unbuckling his belt and sliding his pants to his knees. His cock was straining against his briefs, a wet patch forming from precum, and you quickly removed those as well, watching his hardened cock spring up and then fall slightly, its weight making it unable to reach his stomach. Your mouth went dry. Fuck, he was huge. You supposed it made sense: as an exceptionally large man, it was logical to have a proportionally large cock, but the sight of it still shocked you.

“Maus,” he whispered, breaking you out of your trance. He stared at you apprehensively, and you wrapped your much smaller hands around his cock, hearing him suck in a breath. You took a moment to marvel at the sheer size of him—your normally average-sized fingers looked miniature in contrast, unable to even fully wrap around his length. You felt your own arousal seep into your underwear, and you leaned down to kiss his tip.

The moan he let out turned you on even more than before, and you wasted no time teasing him, spitting into your hand and pumping his cock a few times before bringing the tip into your mouth, swirling your tongue over the slit before pushing him further down your throat. His cock was so large that you had to fight not to scrape your teeth against it, flattening your tongue under the base of it.

His hand fisted into your hair, pulling slightly every time you moved your lips up and down his shaft, twisting your hand in tandem. Your other hand gripped onto one of his thick thighs, feeling his leg twitch as he struggled not to buck his hips up into your mouth. Each strained noise and curse you coaxed from him only encouraged you more, your own whimpers muffled against his cock as you did your best to fit him down your throat.

After only a few minutes, you felt him twitching in your hand and sped up your pace, determined to pleasure him as much as possible. Curses fell from his lips as he finished, hot spurts of his release shooting down your throat. You swallowed it quickly, continuing to pump your hand up and down his still rock-hard shaft.

König, however, pulled you off quickly, eyes wide and dark with an almost fearful desperation as he stared at you. “The poison. It’s still…”

You looked back down to see his cock still twitching in your hand. “It’s okay,” you said, starting to lean back down, “I’ll just—”

“No!” He pulled you back up by the neck. You blinked at him in shock, and he stared back, pupils blown wide like black moons. There was a fiery hunger in his eyes as he looked at you, one you’d never seen before. The sheer want in his gaze sent a cold shiver down your spine. No one had ever looked at you like this before—like you were prey.

“König?” you asked nervously.

Instead of answering, he began to unbuckle your belt, and you gasped as his hand reached under your waistband to cup your clothed core, index finger tracing lightly over your clit. You fought back a mewl, chest seizing as you shut your eyes from the pleasure.

“So wet,” he marveled. He pushed your underwear to the side, smearing your arousal over your soaked folds as you whimpered, bucking your hips into his hand. “Just from sucking my cock?”

His switch in demeanor startled you, and you moaned as one of his large fingers pressed into your weeping hole, curling inside you with precision. His hands were so much bigger than yours; the stretch was making your knees weak. He quickly found your G-spot, taking care to press against it as you arched into him. “Oh, oh, fuck, König,” you whimpered, coaxing a dark chuckle from him that made you clench around him.

Your thighs clenched around his hand, but he pried them apart with ease, forcing you to straddle him and rendering you helpless to his ministrations as he slowly dragged another finger in and out of you. With each achingly slow push into your dripping hole, he made sure to curl them just right, long fingers able to reach that sensitive spongy spot inside you effortlessly. His palm laid flat against your clit as he stroked your walls, letting you sloppily grind into his hand as he murmured praise into your ear.

“Does that feel good, liebling?” he asked, drinking in each of your breathy, pleasured noises with satisfaction. “You like making a mess on my fingers, mm?”

You simply whimpered, too embarrassed of your flustered state to form a real response. He seemed to pick up the hint, giving you a cocky smirk through his mask. “Ohh, it’s okay, maus,” he cooed, but his soft words were laced with a smug condescension that made your cheeks burn. “You look so pretty like this, all dumb on my fingers. I wish I could’ve seen it earlier.”

You whined again, desperately grinding down on his palm for more friction. His slow pace was torturous, giving you just enough to feel pleasure but not enough to build it. It was mean. It was twisted. It was agonizing. You were eating it up.

“Please,” you tried, teary eyes boring into his. “Can you—can you please—”

“Can I what, maus?” He cocked his head, darkened eyes twinkling with mirth. “Tell me, or I can’t help you.”

You know what I want, you wanted to shout at him, but you knew that wouldn’t work. “Please,” you begged, “I need more."

“What more do you need, maus?” he asked again. “You have a mouth. Use it.”

“Need you to—” You whimpered pitifully, dropping your head into his shoulder. “Please, need you to go—go harder.” You nearly sobbed out the words, desperation winning out over your embarrassment. You were mortified at your teary, shaking voice, but he seemed to revel in it, squeezing your thigh in appreciation.

“Oh, is that what you wanted?” he teased, and you could hear the smirk in his voice. “You could have just said so.”

He set a steady pace with his fingers, bullying them inside of you hard enough to make you squirm against him. With each thrust, he curled them just right, sending your eyes rolling back and mouth falling open in heavy pants as you mewled into his shoulder. You were grateful to be spared of his intense gaze; you didn’t think you could look at him in the state you were in. It was mortifying just hearing the sounds of his fingers pumping in and out of your gushing cunt.

“Oh, maus,” he cooed into your ear as you trembled, keening at the stretch of his fingers. “You’re just so beautiful like this, you know. So fucking desperate and pathetic. I wish I could see you like this all the time.”

Would I like him to finger me like this all the time? Hell yes, you thought to yourself, but you couldn’t find the words to tell him, only able to whine and nod vigorously into his shoulder, lost in the feeling of his fingers inside you. You could feel yourself starting to reach the edge of your climax, grinding harder and harder into his palm and gasping with each spark of pleasure it gave your throbbing clit. You were so wet that you were starting to wonder if you’d been infected, too; each time he hit your g-spot just right, you felt more and more slick dribbling out of you and down your thighs. It was driving you insane.

“K-König!” You managed a cry of his name right before you came, clenching around his fingers as you bucked your hips into his hand. Breathy whines fell from your lips, your thighs shaking and seizing as you squirmed in his hold, feeling an almost overwhelming wave of pleasure wash over your body. The feeling was so intense it was almost painful; you hadn’t had an orgasm in so long, and the effect was palpable. His arms held you tight, keeping you grounded while you shuddered in his grasp, his big fingers determined to prolong your ecstasy.

When you finally came down from your high, you couldn’t look at him, mortified at your messy state. His fingers were still knuckle-deep in your arousal, and you could feel more of your slick dripping down your thighs, wet and uncomfortable. You kept your head buried in his chest shyly while your happy cunt stayed spasming in his hand.

“Okay, schatz?” he asked softly, using his free hand to tilt your head towards him. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

You stared up at him, mouth open. There were practically hearts in your eyes; your adoration was clear to him, and he laughed at your expression, cradling your cheek with his hand. “Aww, schatz.” He clicked his tongue, a smile audible in his voice. “You’re so sweet.”

Your cheeks burned red at the words, and you blinked rapidly, unable to look away. His piercing blue eyes stayed trained on yours, but there was a warmth in them that soothed you. He petted your cheek, lifting his hood to press a kiss to your forehead.

Your mind felt fuzzy. All you could think about was your need to be filled by him, and you pawed at his hard cock, wrapping your fingers around the base of it. A hiss of pleasure escaped him, and you kept your eyes on his, wide and pleading. “Please fuck me,” you whispered, still trembling in his grasp.

König’s eyes darkened, and he tugged off the rest of your bottoms quickly. His strong hands lifted you to hover you over his cock, and you shuddered with anticipation, head spinning. He rubbed the tip through your dripping folds, coaxing out a gasp as it brushed over your swollen clit. You tried to push him inside, squirming, but his tight grip on the bottoms of your thighs kept you in place, and you whined his name, hoping he would take pity on you.

“Bitte, König,” you begged, and he practically growled at the words, mercifully allowing you to sink onto the tip of his cock and drawing out a desperate mewl. Even with how wet you were, he was so, so big that he was practically tearing you in half.

“K-König—”

“Hush, liebling,” he soothed, and you moaned as your core clenched around him, beacons of pleasure ripping through you from just the feel of him. He waited for you to relax and then pushed in farther as you gasped at his length.

“Mmph! König—” You keened as he continued to push himself into you, waiting each time to make sure you were okay. You could feel his hard cock twitch with each thrust, and you knew it must be difficult for him not to go straight into fucking you, that he was holding himself back to be more gentle. The thought only made you moan louder.

Tears slipped down your cheeks when he finally bottomed out, and he wiped them away with his thumb. “I’m sorry, maus,” he groaned, no doubt feeling the way you clenched around him. “You’re just—so tight—”

You wanted to tell him to it was okay, but from your already fucked out mind, all that came out was a dumb whimper of his name. In response, he pulled up his sniper hood to kiss your forehead, to which you whined and chased his lips with your mouth. This made him chuckle, and he guided your lips to his, coaxing out a soft moan as his tongue met yours. He tasted wonderful, and you mewled into his mouth, feeling even more worked up from the way he kissed you: hot and desperate and sweet, like the world was ending and you were the last ones in it.

“Mein maus,” he growled, suddenly thrusting up into you and making your eyes roll back. His hips snapped against yours, setting a pace that sent your thoughts reeling. “Taking me so well, doing so good for me, hm? Du bist mein schatz, ja?”

“Yes, fuck—yes,” you babbled, barely able to understand what he was saying. His unusually rough tone was fogging up your dumbed-out mind, the contrast between his sweet words and punishing pace reducing you to nothing but a crying, creaming mess. You’d never been this wet for someone before. “Yes, yes, yes, I’m yours, please—”

“Good girl,” he moaned, pushing you up and down his cock with dizzying strength. Your legs tightened around his waist as he thrust up into you, high-pitched and pitiful noises falling from your lips at a shameful volume. He was using you like a toy, you thought, and the notion of it made your pleasured cries even louder.

“Mmm, yeah? Mmm?” He mimicked your breathy moans, and you could hear the grin in his voice. Normally, you’d be mortified, likely retorting with some witty insult, but now? Now with the way he was fucking you, all you could do was whine in pitiful response.

“So needy for me,” he groaned, punctuating each word with a deep thrust. The sheer force of him made your eyes roll back, and you felt that tight coil in your belly close to snapping.

“Fuck, König—” You panted heavily, your legs starting to give out. “K-König, oh my God, I’m gonna—”

“I know,” he cooed, pulling you closer to his chest so your clit could find purchase on his toned abs. “Doing so good for me, schatz. Such a good girl, getting off on me like this. Like the way I feel, mm?”

His sweet praise became your tipping point, your orgasm hitting you like a freight train. You cried his name, mouth falling open in shock as your legs kicked out, your cunt weeping and convulsing around him as you keened. You gasped for air as your orgasm rocked through you, the pleasure suddenly becoming all too much as he continued to drill himself into your gushing cunt.

Tears streamed down your cheeks as you sobbed from the overstimulation, but he didn’t let up his pace, pressing chaste kisses to your lips to soothe you. “Wonder how many orgasms I can get from you,” he murmured. You could hear the smile in his voice as he panted. “How many more, mein schatz?”

“I—I don’t know!” you cried as his pelvis dragged against your clit, sending shocks of electricity through you. “I don’t—I can’t—”

He groaned as you trembled in his hold, pretty blue eyes boring into yours. “You can do it for me,” he replied. “I know you can. Isn’t that right, liebling?”

“Ahh—König—” The juxtaposition of his soft kisses and brutal pace was making your head spin. Too overwhelmed to answer, you just clutched onto his shoulders tighter, crying out every time his skin brushed against your puffy, overstimulated clit. It was painful. It was overwhelming. It felt so fucking good.

“Hush, mein schatz,” he coaxed, holding you closer as you clenched around his cock, babbling incoherently as he fucked up into you. “You’re doing so good, I promise.”

The answer was two. Two more earth-shattering orgasms before he finally went soft, coming inside of you twice before either (1), his dick just gave out, or (2), the poison wore off. Either way, by the end of it, you were exhausted and fucked out, still recovering from your cock-drunk state as he cleaned you up.

“I’m sorry, maus,” he apologized, sounding genuinely remorseful as he gently wiped your soaked thighs with a clean cloth he had found in the room. “I’m so sorry, I don’t—I don’t know what came over me.”

“Drugs,” you supplied, staring at the ceiling in exhaustion. “Really bad drugs.”

“Yes, drugs,” he agreed, carefully mopping your folds as you sighed. “But still—I am sorry. I was…overzealous. I hope I did not hurt you too bad.”

“I’ll be a little sore,” you admitted, glancing at the bruises his fingers had left on your waist and hips. “But I’ll be fine, trust me.”

He sighed, somehow managing to look resigned even with the sniper hood. “I should not have been so hard on you. I’m sorry.”

“Honestly?” you murmured, blinking at him sleepily. “That was the best sex I’ve ever had.”

He froze for a moment. “What?” 

“Not that I’ve had a lot of sex,” you said quickly. “But still, that was the best I’ve ever had. Probably will ever have, now that I think about it. You must be very experienced. Oh God, I should not have said that out loud. I am—I am so sorry.”

Even with his sniper hood on, you could tell he was blushing. “Oh, um—it’s okay, maus.” You could hear the shyness in his voice. “I do not consider that to be my best performance, but I will take it as a compliment.”

“Your best performance?” You stared at him, mind running through everything that had just happened. You’d had sex before, but that—that was a whole ass experience. You’d never even dreamed about anything that good. “Christ, what’s your best performance, then?”

“Well,” he replied, sliding your soaked underwear back up your legs for you, “I would have taken you out on a date first, at the very least. That would be the proper way to court you.”

“Court me?” you repeated, sitting up straight. “I didn’t know you were so well-mannered, König.”

He looked away from you, shifting awkwardly from his spot on the floor. “I try to be courteous before sticking my dick in people.”

It took you a moment to realize he was joking, and you laughed—actually really laughed out loud. His awkward humor was charming you, and you felt warmth swell in your chest as you listened to him speak. You grinned at him, his eyes crinkling in a smile back.

König still smiled, but a hint of sadness pervaded his gaze. “Ah, schatz.” He hesitated. “I would have liked to make love to you,” he sighed, “but I did not imagine these would be the circumstances. I was hoping to take you on a date first, get to know you better.”

“You wanted to what?” Your eyes widened, and you blinked in confusion. “But…I thought you didn’t like me.”

König practically jolted in place. It was like you’d electrocuted him. He stared at you. “Why would you ever think that?”

“You talk to everyone but me,” you said softly. “I thought you didn’t trust me. Thought you hated me.”

“Hated—?” He shook his head vigorously. “No, I wanted to speak to you. You just…made me nervous. The others do not.”

“I made you nervous?” The words fell from your lips with shock, your eyebrows furrowing. “How would I—how did I ever make you nervous? You’re like three times the size of me!”

König shrugged, sheepish. “You’re very pretty. And you seemed…kind, and well-connected with the others. I have trouble finding that connection. I didn’t want to say the wrong thing to you and fuck it up.”

“So you said nothing at all.” You were quiet for a moment, turning over the information in your mind. “Wow. I was way off.”

“Yes,” he agreed, “but it is okay. I’m sorry for making you think I disliked you, schatz.”

“It’s okay,” you chuckled, shaking your head in disbelief. You ran a hand through your hair, beyond shocked at everything happening. You couldn’t believe you’d fucked your colleague, the one you’d had a crush on for who knows long, and also discovered that he didn’t, in fact, hate you. “At least I know now.”

“Next time, I will be better,” König vowed, helping you tug on your pants. “More gentle. I will do things right, I promise.”

“Next time?” You hesitated, biting your lip. “There will be a next time?”

“Of course there will,” he answered, adjusting his tactical gloves. “Did you not hear what I said earlier?”

“Um…which one?” He’d said a lot of things earlier.

He helped you to your feet, towering over you as he cupped his large hand under your jaw. Your heart stopped in your chest as you looked up into his eyes, his large frame dwarfing yours beyond comparison. “Du bist mein schatz, ja?” he repeated, gloved thumb tracing over your bottom lip. His very soul seemed to ooze confidence. “That’s what I said, no?’

With the way he was making you feel right now, you didn’t think it was even possible to say the word no. “Y-yes,” you stammered, adoration clear in your eyes as you gazed up at him.

He chuckled and pressed a kiss to your forehead. “So there will be a next time. Unless, of course, you don’t want to.”

“N-no, no, no, I definitely want!” you said quickly. You stumbled over your words in your eagerness, and your cheeks flushed in embarrassment. “I would like that a lot.”

“Good,” he said, patting the top of your head. Normally, you’d be furious at such an action, but considering his height, it seemed more practical than condescending. “Now come, schatz,” he said, adjusting his vest. “Time to deny everything to the rest of the team.”

Oh, fuck. You sighed. “Yeah…I forgot about that.”

[mo-mode]

Okay but if the Mythomagic cards were so accurate about the Minotaur and his underwear, and Grover used them to “train” Percy, does that mean the satyrs designed and mass produced these cards themselves? Whose idea was it? Did they like have a big meeting about recruitment and go “What do the kids like these days? Pokey-man? Let’s make a Greek myth Pokey-man game. That’ll help,” and they interviewed a ton of campers like, “Hey, I know that time you almost got killed by a Gorgon was super traumatizing, but we just wanna make sure our cute little card design is accurate. Were her snakes green or purple? Also, would you classify her as Class A or B in power?” Did the campers get super into it too? Was it a group effort? Do they have to update the decks regularly based on new information? Which generation of Mythomagic cards did Percy use? Is the OG packaging limited edition? How popular are they in normal life? Do they get covered by the Mist, and people like Rachel think they’re just insane when they see Mythomagic in a shop window, and everyone else thinks it’s a Pokémon deck? Are there satyrs out in the world running game shops, and whenever someone asks about Mythomagic, they’re like “Do you come from a single-parent household, and also do you want to be friends?” How deEP DOES THIS GO??

[thewinchestah]

"PREY" - Alastor x reader fic

Pairing: Alastor x Fem!Reader

Tags: One-Shot, 18+, Smut, NSFW, edging, begging, overstimulation, Alastor does what he wants, there's plot if you squint really hard, alastor in heat, breeding kink, degradation kink, praise kink,

Fandom: Hazbin Hotel

Word Count: i lost count. it's big.

  | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

A/N: Helloooooo!!! I write a lot but i never publish it! My lovely friend and also biggest inspiration for this fic @smallershorteranduncut ordered me to post this and i'm nothing but her loyal servent! I hope you guys enjoy the fruits of me writing 10 google docs pages today while i was enraged. Also english isn't my first language, no beta we die like men here yadayayfayada! enjoy &lt;;3 (UPDATE!) Part 2 is now up!

-

Everything about the Radio Demon seemed to be designed to make you desire him, want him. Many times in ways you weren’t even ready to admit to yourself. You haven’t been in Hell long, that’s true. But ever since you manifested here you felt like someone had picked your brain open to make Alastor the perfect bait to lure you into even more sinful, sinister paths. 

He had an inexplicable magnetism around him, a piercing presence that made your eyes stuck on him when he worked a room. He had you bewitched and you hadn’t share more than polite pleasantries with each other since you became a guest at the hotel.

Today, again, you were transfixed in his gaze. Sitting in the corner of the hotel lobby, trying to make your embarrassing attraction to him go unnoticed while Alastor waltzed across the room explaining more of his wicked plans to Charlie. God, how you wish he had his wicked way with you. 

He seemed more… on edge today. His red eyes  glowed a little brighter, his nostrils flared a bit more, static filling the room more often, he was smiling with almost barred teeth, and everyone seemed to be avoiding him. Even Charlie was trying to politely dismiss him, the general feeling of uneasiness inside the hotel  just growing larger when Angel stationed himself near your little corner of the room. 

“Don’t go near that creepy motherfucker today, he’s about to lose it.”  Angel alerted, almost whispering, a pair of his hands making the “crazy sign” near his head 

“Isn’t he always creepy and about to lose it?” Husk added, staring at the exchange between the radio demon and Charlie.

“I’m telling you toots, I know that guy definitely isn't normal, but today he is borderline a mass extinction event. I swear, he’s just waiting for someone to give him the excuse” Angel replied, confirming your suspicions. Something was off.

“Uh. Well, about that, I think it’s time we rescue Charlie” 

As if on cue Charlie turned to the corner of the room, gesticulating really hard to be taken away from the small commotion her conversation with Alastor was becoming. 

“Hey Charlie, do you remember that thing with the hotel’s… personalized stationery you asked me to help you today? Let’s do it!” Said angel gently guiding Charlie away from the Radio Demon.

“Guess that’s my cue Alastor! Greaaaaat chat! As always! Have a nice day!! Byeee!” Charlie’s overly chirpy tone giving away her uneasiness. 

Suddenly it felt like all the air was taken out of the room. Alastor’s neck turned into an ungodly angle, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. Static grew around the group, almost suffocating. As your vision went blurry from the sheer power that was being evoked, you contemplated if there was another afterlife. Preferably one where you didn’t inherit a death wish from your previous ones.

And as quick as it started, it was over. 

Alastor just said a creepy “hm” turned on his hell, and walked away. 

It almost felt like it was all in your head, but your friends standing perfectly still and dead silent next to you gave the reality of the situation away: everyone just had a near death-death experience. Maybe it would be a good topic for Charlie’s bonding exercises, who knows with this place. 

“I told ya’ll. Mass. Extinction. Event. Stay out the psycho’s way”

Angel’s voice became background noise in your head, your eyes focusing on the spot where Alastor just threatened everybody’s life without saying a word. As the voices dissipated around you and normalcy slowly returned to the hotel, your mind sank deeper and deeper into the mystery that was the Radio Demon. 

-

They were so oblivious, so naive. Thinking he wasn’t listening what they said about him behind his back. Thinking he was unaware of him being the topic of the discussion when he wasn’t looking. He could bathe in the smell of their fear, and he was relishing it. 

Alastor stared at the new pretty little thing that arrived at the hotel. Oh how pathetically sweet and innocent she was, thinking she was being subtle about her infatuation with him. Thinking she could hide her interest in him, when she was nothing but a doe caught in the headlights of his eyes. Oh, she was just the perfect prey for him, wrapped in this lovely red bow she wore on her hair. 

Angel was right, he was just waiting for an excuse, and she just offered him one on a silver platter. And alastor was everything but a coward. 

-

You cursed a little bit louder than you intended when you saw the blood dripping from your finger. “Stop. making. a. spectacle. of. yourself” you mentally screamed. You still could not figure Charlie’s “special stationary stapler” out, so stapling your finger was bound to happen. 

Even though it was not much, the silly little cut was stinging like a bitch, and your best efforts to stop the bleeding were futile, considering the mess on the hem of your skirt. Still high on the adrenaline from earlier, your shaking hands searched for something, anything to put on your finger so you could continue your work without anyone noticing. Everyone already had enough for one day, it was fine. 

“My dear, did you just hurt yourself?” Alastor’s voice invaded your ears. Oh, fuck. That’s it, he was going to murder you for being so incompetent with the damned stapler.

Turning to face him, you meet his piercing gaze, not sure if you should run and scream for help. “Oh no worries alastor, it’s just a small cut, i can manage!” you give him your most confident smile. 

Alastor’s head tilts, eyes burning red as he watches the small droplets of your blood make their way down your index finger.  

“Nonsense, I can't have my staff running around with injuries and bloodied clothes. We are in hell, but we are not savages, dear” He seems transfixed by the blood, and you are too scared to move, too scared to anything other than hold the weight of his gaze and hope for the best. Your lizard brain is screaming for you to run, ask for help. Maybe Charlie isn’t too far away, could you make a run for it? Somehow your survival instincts override your brain, maybe all those hours watching true crime back on earth weren’t in vain, and you decide against running. Let him initiate first. 

He catches your wrist, trapping it inside his deadly claws. His face, towering over you, comes all the way down to inspect the offending finger. You can feel his breathing on your skin. 

Your breathing stops. You swallow an imaginary lump. He’s gonna bite off your fing-

“Would you be a doll and let me take care of it? Blood being unnecessary wasted truly abhors me” 

You must have said yes at some point, you don’t really remember, now you are holding the red handkerchief he handed  you, answering his request to “please follow him”. Trailing behind the Radio Demon, both of you walk through the large corridors. 

This might be the time to scream for help. the voices inside your head warn. With every step of his feet you hear his microphone going tsk tsk tsk where it touches the ground. You are walking the death row, the paintings on the wall chanting “dead woman walking, dead woman walking”. 

“Keep pressuring the wound darling, we are almost there” he gently commands you, too gently… it feels almost… soft, pleading. The way Alastor goes from 0 to 100 is giving you whiplash. 

He slows down, reaching for the door knob of an unknown room. Ever the gentleman, he gestures for you to enter first.

the door locks behind you.

 if i’m being murdered, at least i’m being murdered with class. 

“Don’t be silly, I’m not going to murder you” Alastor says, almost singing the last part of the sentence. 

“Oh fuck, i said that out loud, didn’t I?” you blurted out 

“Yes you did. And yes, I also noticed your lovely doe eyes on me every time i’m in the room” 

Your brain short circuits. That 's it. You are dead. He’s not going to murder you (apparently), but you are going to die of embarrassment. It will feel like murder. He knows, fuck, he knows. He knows about your crush (?) and he’s going to drag you for it. You are going to be so dragged the angels will pity you and bring you to heaven. A creative way to be redeemed, Charlie should know about this. Your thoughts are going downhill as a big snowball, there are too many of them and you can’t follow a single coherent train of thought. You don’t even want to know how you look in the middle of this. You must look pathetic, truly like a doe caught in headlights. And then you hear your name once.

Twice now, in a sing-song voice.

Your eyes fly open towards the sound, breaking from the anxiety induced spell as you realize the Radio Demon had just called you, by name. He knows your name???

“Ah hahah! You’re back.” Alastor says, as he starts to circle you like a predator. Your eyes, as always, follow his across the room.

 “I don’t like to repeat myself, little doe. You heard what I asked?” 

Again, you don’t really remember answering, your brain is going AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA as you watch him pace around you, eyes burning red, demanding your attention. Teeth slightly barred, voice on the edge of something. Was that “X” on his forehead always there?

“I asked if you know what you are doing to me” static fills the room as he finishes speaking. Alastor’s clawed hand trapped your bloodied finger dangerously close to his grinning lips. Your brain is doing flips as he stares deep into your soul, and when your thoughts land you make the connection. Alastor is horny. Alastor is horny for y-

“You see, little doe, I know what your eyes hide when you desperately lower them everytime I come near you. I know how you feel you can hide in plain sight if you stay quiet enough. But I can taste it. Your fear. Your lust. In the air. In your blood.” He has a white knuckled grip on your wrist now, same with his microphone. You lower your guard, eyes going from startled to lustful. “Good thing right now there’s nothing more i want in this godforsaken pit than your lust, pet”

You want this. There’s no point in lying to yourself. You want Alastor to fuck you. You’ve fantasized about the Radio Demon taking you more times than you can count. More times than you would like to admit to yourself. This feels deeply wrong, but you crave it. 

Fuck it, you are in hell, there’s nothing to lose. Alastor is still watching you, impatiently. For the first time today you realize you actually forgot to say something. He’s waiting. Alastor is waiting for your permission. 

“Take my breath away, Alastor” 

Your permission might have been really loud, it felt like you were screaming the words. But you can’t be sure, it might have been a whisper. Either way he didn’t miss it, what happens next is fast, angry and delicious. 

Alastor pounces and licks the blood on your finger, something clicks inside him as he tastes the red liquid, because he lets go of his microphone instantly and his arms grab your waist aggressively, so forceful you wouldn’t be surprised if it breaks skin. You shouldn’t be so turned on by this, by the sight of a psychopathic demon drinking your blood. But you are, and there’s no going back. 

“Strip” he orders. You want to say to him that you can’t take your clothes off your person with him holding you like this. He must have realized the conundrum: if he wants you naked, he has to let go of you. To Alastor, letting go of you right now is simply unthinkable. So he doesn’t: you feel his claws cut the bodice of your dress open, sending the most delicious shivers down your spine. Another claw rips your skirt apart, and you are almost fully naked in the Radio Demon’s arms, pressing your body hard on his still impeccable dressed body.

It’s humiliating, it’s dangerous, it’s hot, it is delicious, to be at his complete mercy, just how you always wanted.

Somehow both of you made your way close to the enormous bed in the middle of the room. Alastor cornered you, so the only way you could escape was walking backwards towards the bed. The brilliant bastard. 

You feel your calves hitting the edge of the bed, and Alastor breaks away.

 Pity, your mind complains. Get him back to touching you again. right. now,.

“Now now, we should establish some rules for this, pet” Alastor’s hands might have stopped touching you, but his piercing eyes never did. He knocks you on top of the bed, you lay there sprawled open just for him. His hands move up to do a quick work of his bowtie

“Rule one: you will take what I give you. Nothing more, nothing less. What I give you is enough. You might feel like you can’t take anymore, but you can. You will take it, I will make you take it” He takes his tailcoat off, his frame towering over you, even with your body completely flat on the mattress and his in front of it. 

“ Rule two: every ounce of your pleasure is mine and mine only. Mine to give, mine to take. And you will give me everything. I want to hear every sound, to feel every touch, to know every nasty thought that runs inside that pretty little head of yours. You will not suppress anything, I wanna hear your moans when you make a mess of yourself as I take everything I desire from your delicious body. I will relish on your desperate screams of pleasure.Nothing outside these walls matter” He is climbing on the bed now. You hold the weight of his gaze, underneath your demonic lover’s eyes your skin burns.

“Rule three: don’t you dare cum without my permission, good girls earn their orgasms and you will be a good girl. Or else…” static starts to pick up around the room, you are seeing the blackest black that ever was, his shadows enveloping you both. Nothing outside these walls matter. “Understood?” Alastor says as he pins your hands on top of your head, against the fancy headboard. His hand cups one of your boobs and he is worrying your nipple between his sharp claws. finally finally, your mind sings. You feel a surge of magic binding your wrists in green chains, attached to the headboard. It’s overbearing, it’s ridiculous. His magic feels like him, another part of him for you to take.

He pinches your nipple particularly hard and you moan softly, pleasure and pain consuming any other sensation. You forgot to answer him, you realize. You’ve barely started and you are already being bad. “yes alastor, yes.. but please don’t stop” the soft whimper leaves your lips.

“lovely.” he replies, and with that his mouth is on your nipple, sucking it while he administers his wicked ministrations to your other one. His sharp teeth prickling on the edge of breaking skin, and you already feel like you won’t be able to take all of him. 

His hand trails down to aggressively grip your thighs, his tongue sucking the neglected nipple his fingers left. Your moans become frequent and messy, if he’s already making you go insane with the beginnings of foreplay... You might pass out and die when he starts fucking you, but you don’t care. Let him show you the true meaning of la petite mort.

“My my, what do we have here” his hand leaves your thigh to trace the wetness of your panties. A clawed finger rips it apart, the last barrier between you and total consumption by the Radio Demon. He takes the finger between your glistening lips, not entering, just teasing 

“I don’t think i will get enough of this pretty little body of ours anytime soon, pet” he says as his finger finally enters your sex, He moves his digit with an expertise you didn’t really know he had in him,  making you whimper his name, ooohs and aaaahs, your hips start threshing from the pleasure. If you continue at this pace, you will be  begging for permission to cum too soon. Pathetic. you think to yourself. Because you know how hard this building orgasm will be,you don’t know if he will grant you more than one orgasm. And will you murder you yourself if you don’t feel his cock inside you tonight. You take a deep breath in between your moans and will your hips to stay in place, your nerves to calm down. 

Alastor adds another finger, and it takes all of your willpower not to become a puddle of wetness right there. You bite your lip so hard you taste blood. 

“you do make a mess of yourself, don’t you? you just can’t help it” he says as he curls his digits inside you. Your hips start thrashing hard again, and you sink them deeper into the bed. The chains on your wrists shake with the effort to hold back. As if alastor wasn’t going to notice. “no no no what did I say?” he snaps angrily, he’s eyes flash red at you and he takes his fingers out with a wet “pop”, you feel like crying at the emptiness. “please please alastor, don’t stop” you plead. His hands leave you entirely, you are left with just his piercing gaze, the one that makes your skin burn. “did I say you could hold back? don’t pretend like you aren’t a common whore for me, that you love how pathetic it feels that you are creaming yourself and we haven’t even really started” 

his condescending tone just makes everything even more sublime. It’s so wrong how good being told you are nothing more than a common whore by the Radio Demon feels. But you never felt anything close to this. “please Alastor” you beg again, nothing but a small whisper

“I would love to taste this pussy, so red already for me, but since you broke one of the rules… i’m afraid I will make you understand that are nothing but my pretty cockslut the hard way” 

Punishment? His punishment sounds ever better than his praise right now. You moan at his voice. He laughs. 

His knees cage you, as he lifts his upper body from you and starts undoing his zipper. He is taking his cock out. Oh fuck, he’s gonna fuck you without anymore foreplay. And he’s not going to be gentle about it either. You shiver. 

Alastor pumps himself a few times, his cock is big, thick, and an angry red shade, flush red like that, because of you, just for you. He’s gonna make you pay: pay for holding back from him, pay for making him feel like an animal and almost losing his hard constructed control. 

The look on his face says it all, he’s gonna take it out on you and you can’t do nothing about it.

You don’t have much time to think about the repercussions, in one swift motion his tip is already inside you, stretching you deliciously. Your brain short circuits again, the feeling of his cock inside you is everything you imagine and more. Depraved, heavenly, delicious. You struggle in your binds again, you want desperately to touch him. To feel his skin beneath your finger, to scratch him, mark him. But oh well, he’s the Radio Demon, he’s the one in charge and you are his prey.

Alastor starts to slowly enter you, he’s trying his best to hold back. He knows if he does this too fast it will hurt in a way he doesn’t want you to feel. And by the look on his face going slow is as torturous for him as it is for you. tantalizing inch after tantalizing inch he spreads the walls of your cunt apart. You understand now why this is punishment, it hurts in a perfect way, it hurts even more that he is doing it slowly, and not just thrusting like you imagined  he would, if he had more time to work on you. 

You become a mess of moans and incoherent words. His cock is halfway inside you now “HoLY FUCK ALASTOR” you scream. It’s already too much. 

“There’s nothing holy about this my dear. I’m going to breed you. I’m going to break you” and with that he buries himself to the hilt inside you. Now you truly scream in pleasure and pain “you won’t be able to walk straight for days, you will feel me in every step, and you will thank me for it”. His thrusts pick up at breakneck speed, the bed shakes from the sheer force that Alastor is using to fuck you. Every snap of his hips you moan more and more. 

The sound you make when he takes everything out and enters you at once is so obscene that it would make Angel Dust blush. He’s growling now, his antlers growing bigger as he fucks you like his life dependend on it. As he fucks you like he hates you. 

Alastor pushes your hips higher, and suddenly he’s even deeper. His other hand holding your waist in a bruising grip. The strain on your pinned hands will bruise too. His lips graze the skin of your collarbone, he looks so feral you are scared he will maul, the thrill of not knowing adding to your fucked up sense of pleasure. 

He seems to pick up on your fear, and bites down on your collarbone, hauling as he tastes your blood and buries himself inside you again and again. Moans turned into screams, and the only thing coming out of your lips is his name, spoken like a profane prayer. You would give everything you have to Alastor, and he doesn’t even have to ask.

Your orgasm has been building for a while now, the coil on your belly becoming tighter and tighter, like a supernova about to be born. “Alastor, please please let me come” you beg. His unfocused eyes stare down at you, as he takes a moment from feasting on your sweet blood to address your desperate, sweet pleas.

“Don’t. You. Dare” he says, punctuating every word with a sharp thrust. As much as you want, you are not sure you will be able to hold any longer. “I beg you alastor, please let me cum, i will let you do anything you want. but i need it so badly, please please”

You sounded so desperate when you begged, so beautiful.

“Don’t strike deals you don’t know you can fulfill, pet” his voice is low, a warning. You ignore it. “I promise Alastor, anything”. Alastor laughs.

 his finger touches your clit as he finally allows your sweet relief “you may come now, sweet doe” and that’s it, you are off, you are dead. You see stars, you see the entire universe as you scream out and climax. Walls tightening around Alastor’s monster cock, eyes rowling, his name a scream on your lips. You ride out your wave slowly, but Alastor is not slowing down.

Instead he is picking up his pace, maneuvering your hips even higher, your chains are stretched to the limit. You can feel them start piercing your skin. Thrust after thrust the sensation becomes too much, you are too overstimulated to go through all of this again.

“i can’t take it, i can’t take it!”

Alastor doesn’t care. “I told you not to make deals if you can’t hold them, didn’t I?” You don’t answer, you can’t. you can’t to anything but let him fuck you as hard and as much as he want. “but you are such a little cockslut for me that you can’t help it. What a shame” 

He is gripping your hips so hard it breaks skin, tiny trails of blood on his claws. “you will take it. You better take it, or I will make you take it” static picks up as he threatens the last words. You know you are spent, you know how bad it hurts, you know how bad his words sound, but the lines between pleasure and pain are so blurred that you can’t think coherently. Even this  pain of being broken feels good. 

Still, tears fill your eyes and you start crying, from pleasure, from pain, you don’t know anymore. What Alastor is doing to you has no precedent. No one can do this like he does. He knows torture too well, and he is tortouring you in the most decadent, delicious ways possible. “alastor i want to, i want to so bad but i just can’t” the tears sting your eyes and stain your face. 

Alastor sees it. He slows down just a bit, his voice softening “oh my dear doe, but you can. Just this once more, just for me. One more” his voice is so maddening soft it acts like fuel to your tears. Your skin tingles and you feel giddy, somehow your throbbing hot, wet cunt seems to find the right amount of relief, and you can feel only pleasure again.

Alastor continues to fuck you, your moans returning to normal, you are being so loud now, making a mess of yourself, just like he said, and a big hand comes to cover your mouth. 

“Oh we can’t have you being this loud can we?” his voice goes to that delicious mocking tone. His thrusts are slower now, but as deep as they can go. “what would you friends say if they found out that you moan like a common whore for their feared radio demon.. hum,.?”

You start to feel the pit of your belly tightening again, and alastor doesn’t stop humiliating you. The degradation feels just the right amount of perfection. You are exactly what he says you are. A common whore when it comes to him. “weren’t you ashamed just a few moments ago? trying to hold back the sinful sounds you make when I touch you? I already gave you one orgasm. I’ve been way too generous for my liking. I should stop right now since you feel so conscious about this”  Alator’s breathing is becoming erratic, his thrusts sharp, hard, and out of the breakneck rhythm he was torturing you before.You start moaning even louder through his hand. “ungrateful little pet. You are just so greedy for one more orgasm, you don’t even care that everyone downstairs can hear you hm??”

You can’t think straight. you feel on the edge of glory, this orgasm threatening to be harder than your previous one, as if it is possible. “alastor i’m so sorry, i know i don’t deserve it” you muffle behind his hand, he hears you speaking and takes if off “but can you please let me cum? just this once? just for you. Please Al” his thrusts are truly erratic now. He’s close too, even though you are too wrapped up on your own sensations to notice 

“please” you beg, nothing more than a whisper. Already making peace with the fact that you are going to come without his permission and he will probably never fuck you again

“Good girl, you can come now”

instantly as you are granted his permissions your world explodes, blinding hot pleasure takes over your body, the waves of pleasure making your heart beat so fast you feel like it’s going to stop. The petit mort is coming, and her sweet embrace envelops you, specially now that you feel Alastor’s cock twitching and spilling his seed inside you. You scream his name. Maybe you hear him screaming yours too. You don’t know anymore, your nerves are singing from pleasure unheard of back  when you were alive. Pleasure so great it could only be found in hell. The most heavily, depraved way of torture. 

You come down from your high, still dizzy, your body going limp. You are not dead, but you are positively spent. You give in into the warm and fuzziness of sleep. 

The last thing you remember is the softness of a blanket, a gentle kiss on your cheek.

“Oh my dear, I knew you had one more on you,spending yourself this way just for me! What a truly precious thing, doe”

You might be dreaming now.

-

You weren’t dreaming. Alastor praises you, knowing his words will be the last thing you hear before a night of peaceful, deep dreamless slumber. He makes sure to put the softest velvet blanket he owns on your body, not to make the damage you gladly allowed your body to take for him an inconvenience. Tomorrow you will wake up to fancy letters of praise and sweet chocolate covered strawberries. And no one will know how Alastor found the perfect doe to breed as he pleases during the height of his mating season.

[metalmachination]

push that stupid bot off a cliff. details abt dog beneath the cut

holy shit watch out for the words

"dog" is a later model of the DCA, part of a group that was mass-produced for a short period. he uses the same base code & design, but he's lost the majority of his original characteristics from repeated rebuilds and heavy modding. he's a heel for a bot fighting ring.

once made for much lighter showbiz, dog uses his loud announcer's voice to hype up fights and taunt the audience. his job is to make them hate him, it's all part of the show.

outside of the ring, all that put-on energy and bravado vanishes. sirius avoids talking and direct eye-contact, his pupils always looking up and away in any direction other than the person who's addressing him. it tends to give him a sneering, sarcastic look, even if the rest of his face is entirely immobile. his passive-aggressive remarks and constant deflections don't help.

he's an antagonist(*?) in a fic im working on, but its not in any kind of presentable state yet. i'll be honest. its dca/reader. my bad

as a bonus for reading this far: here's a part of (another) dca design. he's in the same universe

[girasois]

words for users !

ideias de palavras aleatórias para ajudar você a criar seu próprio user;

random ideas of words to help you to create your own user.

core -> aesthetic core

vlog -> daily videos

logs -> daily facts

mp3 -> audio file format

m4p -> apple audio file format

mp4 -> video file format

txt -> text format

jpeg -> image file format

jpg -> image file format

png -> image file format

gif -> animated file format

raw -> uncompressed file format

zip -> compressed archive file format

rar -> compressed archive file format

web -> internet file format

doc -> document file

pdf -> document file

vinyl -> phonograph record

film -> motion picture; photography

user -> person who utilizes a computer or network service

i2 -> "keeping it real"

self -> a person's essential being

itself -> a person's essential being

priv -> private

luv -> love's short form

tale -> a fictitious or true narrative or story

archive -> to place or store (something) in an archive

list -> connected items

tier -> a type of hierarchy

talk -> speak in order to express something

chat -> to have a conversation

post -> to announce or publish something

zone -> a subject to particular restrictions

vie -> life in french

tie -> to form a knot or bow in

on/online -> connected to a network

byte -> a group of binary digits 

bits -> a small piece, part, or quantity of something

ram -> hardware in a computing device

8bit -> computer term used to designate either color depth

pixel -> a minute area of illumination on a display screen

data -> things known or assumed as facts

series -> a number of things, events, or people of a similar kind

village -> a self-contained community within a town or city

lab -> a laboratory

lady -> a woman

miss -> a form of address to a woman

mister -> a form of address to a man

error -> something not found

art -> the various branches of creative activity

petit -> small in french

poet -> a person possessing special powers of imagination or expression

thing -> an object without a specific name

stuff -> a vague reference to additional things

vogue -> the prevailing fashion or style at a particular time

tv -> taylor's version and/or television as a system or form of media

media -> the main means of mass communication

topia -> an imagined place or state of things in which everything is perfect

saur -> forming names of extinct reptiles such as dinosaurs

tune -> a melody, one that characterizes a particular piece of music

deun -> melody in deutsch

off/offline -> disconnected from the Internet

gloss -> shine or luster on a smooth surface

fae -> a fairy, in modern fantasy fiction

[noiriarti]

The Winner Takes it All: Anakin Skywalker x Reader (Enemies-to-Lovers Modern AU)

NSFW! Minors DNI!!! Summary: The moment the thesis competition was announced, you knew your biggest threat. Anakin Skywalker, golden boy of the engineering department. He's the only other person smart enough to beat you, and the only other person insane enough to stay in the lab until midnight every night. He's also an asshole, but you're starting to think maybe he's not as bad as you thought he was... Pairing: Anakin Skywalker x Fem!Reader CW: mentions of masturbation WC: 3.4k AN: hello darlings!! another anakin x reader longer fic coming your way!! lmk what you think, and asks/requests are always open!

[Ch. 1], Ch. 2, Ch. 3, Ch. 4, Ch. 5, Ch. 6

Chapter 1: Soldering

The moment the competition was announced, you knew your biggest threat. Anakin Skywalker, golden boy of the department. As soon as he heard about it at the thesis info session of your senior year, his eyes found you in the crowd, because he knew you're his biggest rival, and you're coming for him. He was surprised to find you were looking at him, based on the way his eyes widened, and you found a shocking amount of satisfaction in it. The top prize was 10k and a job at Boeing, after all. The more you surprised him, the more likely you were to catch him off-guard. Not that you would sabotage his work, that was just unseemly conduct for a senior at Coruscant U, but you'd encourage his sloppiness.

The instant after the presentation finished, you rushed to the lab. The thesis lab adjoined the regular makerspace in a continuation of the glass walls and sleek design of the rest of the engineering building. You'd spent the end of your junior year there, when you'd had to submit your thesis proposal (A Novel Method for Glaucoma Detection Utilizing Machine Learning and Mass-Producible Hardware). Anakin was always there too, which made the space just a little more annoying, with the loud music blasting out of his headphones and the hair-raising racket of the band saw.

Last year, you'd decided to admit to yourself, despite your best efforts since you had met him, that okay, Anakin Skywalker was hot. Like, horrendously hot. He was a looker no matter what he did, with those blue puppy dog eyes, full lips, and his gorgeous chestnut hair, which looked so soft that you had wondered on multiple occasions what it would be like to touch it. And, being captain of the university taekwondo team, he was muscular as all get-out. You'd catch a peek at his calves and ass on hot days when he wore shorts, and his biceps and shoulders were almost always flexed in the lab when he was sawing something or bent over the soldering station. One time, he wore grey sweatpants, and you had to literally tear your eyes away. But it wasn't just those features that made him hot. It was, unfortunately, him as a person. The confidence with which he sauntered through the building. His mischievous smile that he'd cast you in group projects, or the clench of his jaw as he wired something finicky. Your roommate, Ahsoka, a junior and also his vice-captain, told you that, oh yeah, he was also really good with younger team members. That he taught kids in the nearby school once a week, too, even though he had such a busy schedule. Wasn't that just sweet.

He wasn't that kind to you. Another thing that made him hot, unfortunately, was his brain, and his wit. He was kind of smart, okay, very smart, and that might make him the one thing standing in your way this year. Anakin also never shied away from a biting comment at you, usually about how if you had done it correctly, you wouldn't have an issue with some wiring. Unfortunately, he was usually right, but you wouldn't give him the satisfaction of telling him that.

Your rivalry started in freshman year, when your physics professor would choose the best student's homework and post it to the class as an example. You were sure you'd be chosen--your first homework was perfect--but then you saw his name. Anakin Skywalker. The next week, you beat him, but then he came out on top immediately after. And so it went. Always fighting for the top spot, to see who could outdo the other. Now, the department was just paying you to do it.

You were in the lab right after the "Senior Thesis Information Session" presentation, using the few minutes you had before your thermodynamics class to tinker with the 3D print that had just finished. Then, the door slid open with the beep of an ID card. You didn't have to turn around to know it was Anakin. Only he would be insane enough to work on day 1 of the semester. Him, and you.

"So you're seriously competing for this, huh?" He asked, watching you sand off some rough edges off the plastic. His tone was playful, but there was an undercurrent of seriousness. He was sizing up the competition.

"Yup. And I'm gonna blow you out of the water," you said self-assuredly. Your project was too good not to win. Anakin barked out a laugh.

"Sure. Right. We'll see about that," he remarked. His voice was dripping with smugness, just like usual with you. You just rolled your eyes. It wasn't worth it to waste time verbally sparring with him, you had better things to do. Like thermo. So you pushed out of your chair, leaving the print on the shelf that had your name laser cut into wood (a gift you had made yourself after your junior thesis proposal got an A), and heading to Lecture Hall 3.56B. Anakin was, of course, heading there too. You were in lockstep, as always. However, he refused to walk there with you, so he waited precisely enough for you to close the door before he left too.

And so, the first three months of the semester passed in relative peace between the two of you. There was only a handful of people who used the thesis room, and you were the only ones there consistently. It helped because safety regulations meant you had to have a buddy in the room to use any of the really useful machines, so you sometimes found yourself pleased to see him. It meant you could get work done. At night, the engineering building was fifteen minutes away from the dorms where you both lived--in the same building, which vexed you to no end when you saw him in the dining hall--so you both had to make the walk home late at night through the city. Oftentimes, you ended up walking home at the same time. It would be wrong to call it walking together, because that would imply you were near each other, or in each other's company, which would be plain wrong. You were always as far as possible on the sidewalk, and oftentimes you two would end up speedwalking home, not allowing the other person to be faster. Was it childish? Maybe. Did you feel a rush of joy every single time you hit the door to your building before him? Definitely.

In November, as the biting cold chilled the air, you found yourself done before him. All your current tasks were done, and you had to wait for a print to finish before you could keep going, plus he wasn't using any machines that needed a buddy, according to lab rules. It had been a long day, and you'd barely dragged your bones into the lab, let alone through all that work.

"Hang on," his voice called from across the space. He was at the soldering station in his safety glasses, bent over some chip.

"What?" Why couldn't you just go home? To your beautiful bed?

"I don't feel good about you walking home alone, so can you just wait for, like, three more seconds?" He wasn't even looking at you as he said it, instead he was pressing the soldering iron to some metal. You scoffed. Like you were so frail you couldn't walk fifteen minutes on your own.

"Are you serious? Do you think I'm vulnerable because, what, I have a vagina? I've taken self-defense classes, thank you very much." Your tone was poisonous, and you tried to infuse every drop of venom you had in you at his stupid idea. Anakin finally looked up from the bench, turning the iron off and cleaning it in the steel wool, catching your eyes with an angry glare.

"No, dumbass. You're just less likely to get robbed in this part of town if you're not alone. But do what you want, I guess. Have fun getting all your valuables taken!" He shrugged sardonically and turned off the vent fan above him. Anakin was right, it killed you to admit. You didn't exactly feel safe walking home at 3am through this part of town. There were enough reports of students getting hurt. So you planted yourself in your chair and waited. When he saw you, a smug smile grew on his face. Asshole.

"C'mon, let's go home," he said nonchalantly once he'd shut down and locked the woodworking room and the laser cutters. As you walked home, this time at a comfortable pace and with his headphones off, you realized it was almost nice, peaceful to be with him like this. The night was still, not a single thing moving in the dark of the night. You passed the corner store, its graffiti-covered grate down at night, then the Vietnamese restaurant you loved, dark and empty. There was no one on the planet but the two of you at that moment. Much to your chagrin, you didn't mind it at that moment. Anakin looked even more ethereal in the moonlight, lighting up the light parts of his hair a silvery white and casting shadows all over his face. He really was handsome, you admitted reluctantly. When you got home, he wished you a good night, which he had never gone. You found the word escaping your lips out of habit. After that, your walking home at the same time turned into walking home together. On November the 8th, he asked you how you were doing. You told him you were good, your tone clipped. He echoed good into the quiet street, then you lapsed into silence. On the 10th, he asked if Ahsoka was feeling better. She had sprained her ankle at practice the previous day. You told him she was, and he said good again. On the 11th, he asked how your project was going, and, in a fit of weakness, you told him it wasn't great. That you were nervous about your first real test of the finished product, the one that would tell you if the past three months had been wasted or not. He told you that if anyone could do it, it would be you, and you spend the rest of the walk wondering where the insult buried inside the statement was hiding. Later that night, once you had tucked into bed, you realized there wasn't any insult at all, just genuine encouragement. For the next week, your walks were filled with slightly guarded conversation, sometimes about upcoming homework assignments, but sometimes about how the taekwondo team was doing, or if you thought Professor Yoda's ear hairs were a countable or uncountable infinity. But he was still an asshole.

About a week later, you were alone with Anakin in the lab around midnight, working on a piece of the lens, trying to get the refraction just right before the test run, when your phone buzzed. Midterm Grade Posted for PHYS 485: Thermodynamics. Your heart stopped. You had been hoping and praying that the number of hours you'd poured into your thesis wouldn't come back to bite you in terms of classwork, but now was the moment of truth. You opened the notification, then to the Canvas page, where you saw your grade. 38/100. Everything in the world stopped. How could you have fucked up that badly? Your eyes scanned over instructor comments. Average class grade: 40/100. Maximum grade: 49/100. Okay, okay. It would be curved up, and you'd probably get a B, but you were below average for the first time in your life. Fuck. Fuck. How could this happen? You glared at Anakin, who was screwing in a bolt to the metal scaffolding of his project. That motherfucker was probably the one who got 49. The thought made you so angry you bolted out of your chair and went to go grab the materials for your test. That motherfucker got everything. It wasn't fair.

You lined up the small device you made, plugged it into the port of your phone, and opened the corresponding software. Through the external lens, you scanned the two printed-out pictures of eyes, one with glaucoma and one without. You held your breath throughout the loading screen. Please, just let one thing go right. Please. Please. The little loading circle stopped. Both eyes were cleared of glaucoma. A false negative. Motherfucker. Three months of work, and for what? You'd never get the prize at this rate. You'd have to start from scratch. You slammed your fist onto the table in anger.

"Hey, there's hammers for that," Anakin called, teasing from the other side of the room. He looked up at you, mouth open to snark something else out, when he saw your eyes welling with tears.

"Woah, are you okay? What's wrong? Did you hurt yourself?" His voice was soft, warm. Anakin dropped the wrench he was holding on the table and half-jogged over to you, putting his hand on your shoulder. You jumped at the contact, but it wasn't entirely unwelcome. It was kind of comforting, actually, but you were too upset to notice that.

"It's just, it's not working, and I've spent so much time and--" you trailed off.

"Don't cry, it's okay, we can fix it," he said with a shrug and a smile. Why was he smiling? God, was he actually pleased right now? Suddenly, your tears turned to anger, not at yourself or the system or the difficulty of your project, but at him.

"Like you're not happy about this. I bet you sabotaged it yourself," you spat out and shrugged his hand off your shoulder. He balked.

"Sabotage? Are you serious? I'd never do that." You stood up, incensed, and pointed a finger into his chest.

"Really? It sounds exactly like something you would do--remember in sophomore year when Barriss's robot mysteriously stopped working?" He half laughed, half scoffed, mouth dropping open, then snapped back with his voice raised.

"You've got to be kidding! Maybe if you paid two seconds of attention to your classmates or anyone around you, you'd know it was her wiring! The connections were bad!"

"Sure," your voice dripped with sarcasm as you scoffed at his insult, "And when you told her it served her right? You were so smug!" Your voice was rising. He ran a hand through his hair and bit out another laugh as he retorted.

"And if I was? Like you're not the queen of being smug in this department. 'Oh, my robot's better, Anakin. I got an A, Anakin.'" He raised his voice high, mocking you. His eyes were wild, furious.

"Me? Smug? Look in the mirror, asshole! Pretend all you want, but I know who you are. You can pretend to be oh-so-nice to everyone else, but I see you for what you really are. Just. A. Fucking. Asshole." You emphasized each word with a jab of your finger, getting closer to him each time. The tension between you was turning somehow--were you losing the argument? You couldn't tell.

"Oh yeah? You don't know a single thing about me," he gritted out, right up in your face, jaw flexing. His intense eyes bored into yours, flicking back and forth, and then they dropped down to glance at your lips.

You weren't sure which one of you moved first, but all you felt was his lips against yours and your hands fisting in his hair, which it turned out was as perfectly soft as you had imagined. Bastard. Anakin's kisses were hot, insistent against your mouth as you sloppily made out in the middle of the lab. His arms, warm and firm, circled your waist and pulled you to him while you tilted your heads this way and that to get closer. Your tongue swiped his lower lip, and he treated you to a surprised, low moan that you wanted to hear again and again until your ears bled. He got your hint, though, and started teasing your lips with his tongue until you opened your mouth just enough to touch your tongue to his. His arms tightened and pulled you against him so that you could feel his warmth from chest to thigh. The two of you were frantic, like if you got close enough, deep enough in each others' mouths, you'd figure out why you were doing this and why it felt so goddamn good. Your heart was pounding when his hands slipped lower and grabbed you under your ass.

"Jump," he whispered huskily after he reluctantly separated his mouth from yours. You hopped, and he used the hands under your thighs to lift you up and sit you on the lab table. Dutifully, you wrapped your legs around his hips, interlocking your ankles around his unfairly attractive ass, and kept your hands buried in his hair. Anakin was back on your lips immediately. He was sloppy and excited until you shifted your hips against him, and then he became electric against you, even hungrier than before. You were definitely feeling something underneath your hips, a lump. It hit you that he was hard, and that sent a bolt of lightning between your legs. You'd stared a little bit more than you cared to admit that time he'd worn gray sweatpants, and what you'd seen was now pressed against you. You drew in a shaky breath at that idea, and you realized that God, he smelled like metal from his soldering earlier and, underneath that, sandalwood and vanilla.

Sometime around the time his hips tilted forward into yours, a beep echoed through the empty lab. You both jumped apart, leaving you sitting on the table, and the noise continued. Beep beep beep. The insistent noise came from one of the 3D printers in the corner. Anakin's print was done.

The silence of the lab felt deafening as you both panted. What had you done? Making out with your enemy was completely against lab safety guidelines, for one, and your morals, for another. Your heart was still pounding in your chest, despite your misgivings, but you willed those wisps of excitement deep down into some mental box. This couldn't happen. If there was a single person on this campus you couldn't fuck, it was Anakin. Not only was he rude, but if you got too close, how would you navigate it when only one of you won? Most importantly, though, you had hated him for four years. And for good reason. (Though you couldn't remember exactly what it was, or think critically at all, in that moment.)

"We shouldn't do that again, Anakin." Your voice was small in the empty space. For a second, his face fell, but he pressed his lips into a thin line to disguise it.

"Definitely not. I--Sorry." And that was that.

You walked home in complete silence, stealing glances at one another in the dark night. When you got to the door of your dorm, you opened your mouth to say something, but then closed it. Better not. So why, once you separated, did you feel so sad? Why did you want to see him again, to feel that silky hair under your fingers in your bed? You laid awake until the early hours of the night, and told yourself that your fingers slipping inside the waistband of your pajamas wasn't about Anakin, you just hadn't gotten some in way too long. It wasn't about Anakin. Even though it was his mouth and chest and arms you thought about when you came on your fingers, it wasn't about him.

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[felassan]

Text reads (shinobi602 tweet):

" - First official 15 minute gameplay premiere on June 11 - 7 unique companions with "deep and compelling storylines" - New title better reflects the story's group of companions; Solas (ie. Dreadwolf) still plays a big role - Players will take on the role of an original protagonist, similar to The Warden, Hawke, and The Inquisitor - You and your companions make up the Veilguard, protecting the Veil and taking down a "new evil threat unleashed upon Thedas" - Player agency is very important, created a story where you can impact the world and companions around you - Each companion intended to represent different factions in the game; have their own arcs with "stories of love and loss, each with meaningful choices and emotional moments" - Players will visit more regions of Thedas "across a deeper variety of biomes than any Dragon Age before it" - Tease another villain beyond Solas: "I don’t want to get too deep into spoiler territory but I can say that the Dread Wolf is not the only god players need to be worried about" - Combat was a "big focus" for the team, will feature an ability wheel that you can use to pause, designed to give players more direct control over their characters - Players can bring two companions along (similar to Mass Effect)"

[source, two]