#train crash map

[ponett]

favorite things from Breaking Bad VR But The AI Is Self-Aware, aside from the obvious stuff like the music, the ending, and walt being haunted by the specter of the breaking bad poster:

in general, the stark difference between the people who clearly know the scenes and the actual lines from the show and the people who either don't know or don't care, and the way wayne has to roll with it and constantly shift between both styles

as one of the youtube comments put it, the way walt's agency is downplayed by the railroading of the plot and the way his most heinous acts (letting jane die, poisoning brock, etc.) are largely skipped over make many moments where characters turn on walt and attack him feel comically unprovoked, which makes it feel like the version of the story walt would tell to make himself look better

mining the giant crystal for meth

the fact that they made "drives an el camino" at least 70% of skinny pete's personality

the sudden extreme yellow filter that appears when they cross over the clearly marked mexico border

the bit where they straight up just play the saul goodman commercial from the show on jesse's tv via youtube, but then someone switches it to the "you're not a real lawyer" scene from better call saul and they're all just so caught off guard that they kinda just start watching the scene. and then they just ignore what chuck is saying about his brother and let the quality of the cinematography alone convince them to hire saul

hank suddenly appearing in the car for a split second when walt, jesse, and saul are driving back from the desert, and to avoid completely derailing the plot wayne just looks down and clutches his head and says "cancer did that"

jesse saying he can do anything walt can do better and playing the breakcore breaking bad theme remix and wayne just goes "damn! damn!" and starts dancing

the fact that there's an extra salamanca cousin to make them triplets for no particular reason

the whole jane subplot isn't depicted so the plane crash above walt's house becomes a complete non sequitur

baaulp referencing the spice curls

they skip over the events of fly, but the map references it by having a giant fly in the superlab, which is labeled with an arrow so you can't miss it

jesse's drug-fueled house party having this playing on loop in the background

the homoerotic moment walt has with one of the salamanca triplets at the party in mexico, and also the one he has later with saul

to sidestep the whole neo-nazi thing in their lighthearted gmod stream they instead give uncle jack a gang of clowns and an evil circus (playing off of the vamanos pest fumigation tents, i assume), clearly labeled Uncle Jack's Evil Circus

since they skip the whole train heist they just have drew sharp show up at vamanos pest looking for some tiddlywinks

everything that happens with huell when walt is trying to explain to saul that hank figured everything out

and, of course, saul being chased off by the undead chuck mcgill

[mod2amaryllis]

im just gonna be petty ignore me

are you ever training someone and eventually it gets to a point where you just like

give up on them lol

[pukefactory]

froggy dating hcs?

๋࣭ ⭑⚝ PATH TO WEIRD LOVE ๋࣭ ⭑⚝

𖠊 Summary: A Compilation Of Dating Headcanons Featuring Froggy X Reader

𖠊 Character(s): Froggy (Ena: Dream BBQ)

𖠊 Genre: Headcanons, SFW

𖠊 Warning(s): None - Completely Safe!

𖠊 Image Credits: @JoelG

˗ˏˋ The first time Froggy confessed to you, it was absolutely not romantic. He stormed into the breakroom with a paper cup of suspicious vending machine coffee and yelled, “OKAY, LISTEN! I LIKE YOU. YOU’RE STRANGELY TOLERABLE FOR A BUFFOON. WANNA DATE?!” Then he dropped the cup, burned his foot, and limped away shouting something about horoscopes and intestinal fate. You didn’t even get a chance to answer—he showed up the next day acting like it was already established, calling you his “little work assistant” and pretending he hadn’t cried into a riceball over it.

˗ˏˋ He constantly leaves you absolutely bewildering voice memos. One day it’s “Hey, sweetheart! I dreamed you were a giant shrimp last night. I was a lemon wedge. Romantic, right?” Another day it’s just thirty seconds of him wheezing from running, followed by, “I ran into a wall. I think I cracked my spine. Anyway, lunch?”

˗ˏˋ Froggy has exactly one love language and it is boisterous yelling and panicked devotion. You trip on a stair? He is already screaming at the floor architect. You’re late to lunch? “WHAT IF YOU FELL INTO A DIMENSIONAL PIT?!” You sneeze? He’s throwing three packets of soup at you and demanding you sit still while he incorrectly reads your horoscope and tries to decode which cold remedy works best for “lovesick, elegant types.”

˗ˏˋ He’s not great at physical affection, but he tries. He’ll hold your hand while narrating loudly to passersby: “DON’T LOOK TOO LONG, CITIZENS! THIS IS ROMANCE—A PRIVATE AFFAIR FOR PROFESSIONALS ONLY!” Hugs are brief, full-body crashes that leave you both dazed and covered in lint from his frog suit. Kisses? Rare. But when he does go for it, he misses by like two inches and then yells, “AHH! FORGET YOU SAW THAT. I WAS AIMING FOR YOUR SOUL!”

˗ˏˋ You are his emergency contact. He made it official on a sticky note. It says: My little work assistant: My Most Trusted Beloved Idiot. Relationship: Life Partner (Probably). Special Instructions: If I am dying, give them my frog suit. Tell them I love them. Do NOT let Ena plan the funeral. She’ll make it weird.

˗ˏˋ Every time you talk about breaking up (even jokingly), he becomes unhinged. “OH? OH?? So you’re saying you’d leave behind this? This dazzling specimen of emotional fragility? You’d abandon a man with getas so shiny?!” You have to hug him for a solid five minutes while he fake-sobs and dramatically vows to win you back with “romantic competency training” from suspicious magazines.

˗ˏˋ He gets jealous… but not like a normal person. One time you complimented the Receptionist’s voice, and Froggy showed up an hour later with a kazoo. “Do you like this better?! Am I not velvety enough for you?! I CAN HUM ALL DAY!” He hums so hard he gets dizzy. You have to hold him upright and tell him he’s “the loudest kazoo of your heart” just to calm him down.

˗ˏˋ He absolutely cannot cook. At all. But he insists on making you lunch. You open the box and find: a raw potato, three unwrapped cough drops, a napkin that says “I LOVE YOU (PROFESSIONALLY)” in crayon, and what might be a fried mushroom. “I made it with care. Don’t eat it though. I think it’s poisonous.”

˗ˏˋ When you’re sad, he goes silent. Which, for Froggy, is devastating. You know something’s wrong when he just sits beside you, looking down, fidgeting with his frog hat. Then he blurts out some nonsense like, “If sadness were a boss, I’d punch it for you. Or maybe file a complaint. I love you, okay? You’re allowed to take breaks. Even from happiness.” It never makes perfect sense, but it always makes you feel better.

˗ˏˋ He tries to plan romantic dates like he’s preparing for a boss battle. You’ll arrive to find a hand-drawn map with labeled points like “MAKE THEM LAUGH ZONE” and “FLOWER-FLINGING AREA,” followed by “CONFESSION PIT (DO NOT FALL IN).” The map is terrible. The flower-flinging zone is just a trash can full of petals. But the moment he grabs your hand and nervously says, “Ehh…let’s walk this whole stupid map together,”—You realize you wouldn’t trade this ridiculous, loudmouthed frog-man for anything.

[belleski]

this is one of my favourite scenes in all of Taz and i've wanted to draw something for it for ages now but then this took almost 6 months to finish because i had to keep stopping to figure out character designs aaaaaaaaaa

Indrid Cold my favourite guy of all time

Image description: A two page digital comic depicting a scene from The Adventure Zone – Amnesty where the player characters (Duck, Ned and Aubrey) meet Indrid Cold (the mothman.) The entire comic is drawn in shades of red with yellow highlights. Page 1: A smaller panel shows the interior of a camper van, with Indrid cast in shadows, reaching towards a scrap of paper on the wall. Behind him, Duck, Ned and Aubrey watch in confusion. The next panel is of Indrid from behind, silhouetted against the bright red of the wall holding dozens of pinned sheets over a map of Kepler. He is holding up the now removed scrap of paper in one hand and smiling, the yellow paper and his glasses standing out against the darkness. There is a yellow speech bubble coming from him that says ‘Okay.’ The last panel takes up most of the page and shows Duck, Ned and Aubrey reacting in shock to Indrid’s statement. The speech bubbles continue: ‘The funicular that connects topside and riverside is about to come crashing down the mountain, slamming into town, and destroying the base station.’. Behind the three players, there is a funicular train climbing a mountain – the full scale of which is shown behind it. Page two: Yellow text in the top left and right corners reads: ‘There are three passengers on it right now, they’ll all be killed- With two circular panels depicting three people on the funicular in one, and a man reading a newspaper in the other – his radio discarded on the table in front of him. Below these panels the text continues, first in yellow with: ‘-and an engineer at the base station will be injured as well, but he’ll pull through.’ And then in two red circular speech bubbles: ‘Good news though! You have six minutes this time.’ The two red speech bubbles surround Indrid as he faces the viewer with a grin, his eyes completely obscured by his red circular glasses. In one hand, he holds out the scrap of paper – a drawing of a funicular train falling down a mountain now visible on it, and behind him the wall is covered in scraps of paper that fade into the darkness of the background. [End ID]

[quarterlifekitty]

How the boys convince, coerce and/or deceive reader into slowly (or not so slowly) allowing anal sex--

Uh I mean??? What???? Who said that?????

MUST HAVE BEEN THE WIND 👀

Warning I went a little crazy on König’s in terms of depth but it’s actually a lot more on the tame side lol @machveil come pick up your man from the sleepover he frew up

cw: lotta dubcon, abuse of dynamic kinda stuff, manipulation

Gaz is catching flies with honey here. He likes to spread you open, take a good look, just tell you about everything he appreciates. Doesn’t matter if it’s the first time or the hundredth time. And eventually, it’s not just about your pussy. It’s about your little starfish. How it looks so cute— he can see it clench a little when he plays with your pussy. You laugh about how much he talks about it, but he’s all “no, I’m serious, love! It’s really pretty, y’know? And it looks so tight—“. He’s killing you with kindness about it.

You and Soap send each other porn clips all the time. Sometimes because they’re funny, or they’re gross, or because they turn you on. It’s like baiting a fishing rod sometimes. See what you’ll lure from each other. And he starts sending more and more video with anal… All quite gentle. Makes sure it’s amateur stuff so it doesn’t seem completely fake and full of pornstar moans. So it looks like a real woman is enjoying herself from it. And it’s always followed by him being like “fuck, would love to open you up like this, bonnie” (he doesn’t text in his accent ok).

Ghost is literally praying for the day when you’re too fucked stupid or anxious to stop him. Occasionally, like a shark biting a surfer, he tests you. Sees how far you’ll let him take it before you tell him to stop. He’ll press his tip to your ass, see how long it takes for you to say no, Simon. He might even act like it was a mistake. As if he couldn’t find his way to your cunt from miles away in the dark with no map. He’s just waiting for you to be either too out of your mind in pleasure to speak out, or too afraid of ruining his fun.

Price is doing the classic frog in boiling water (yes I know that’s a myth). He starts by just pressing his thumb there while he’s fucking you from behind… working you up to taking a finger. Keeps doing it until eventually, you ask him to. It feels wrong when he isn’t doing it. And so then he starts to ease you into two, and so it goes until you barely notice when he’s pulled out his cock and has it positioned right where he wants it.

König is pretty painfully fucking awkward about the affair. Saying he wants to fuck your ass is probably something that’s slipped out once or twice in the throes of passion, but he doesn’t speak of it afterward. One day when he’s deployed, he leaves some gifts in places he knows you’ll find them while he’s gone. He usually does this after he’s been on leave for a while— it softens the heartache of the separation for you, when he leaves these little gestures. And usually there’s small things— a very nice chocolate assortment in your bedside table, a few origami figures in the medicine cabinet, a decorated hair pin with fine engravings clipped onto a kitchen towel. And this time, there’s a box with a range of plugs in the bottom drawer where you keep the bedsheets, which you only change every two weeks. It’s planned so you’ll get the other gifts first, and there’s one more expensive than usual thrown in among them to butter you up. There lube, too. A perfect training set in silver. It’s up to you to choose to use them, but he knows how curious and bored you can get on your own for all that time.

Nikolai is going to convince you that it’s what you need. When you’re right on the precipice of a complete collapse— when he knows he’s fucked and coddled you into subspace. Into being suggestible. It’s when you’re on the verge of crashing from it, of dropping, breathing heavy and tears stinging your eyes that he tells you “I know what would make you calm down, malýshka.” When you’re so sensitive and vulnerable and wanting to drop back into that place where he’s everything and you’re nothing but his clay. So of course you nod— you’d have agreed to anything not to have to face your panic outside of his comforting embrace. If Nikolai says it will help, it will help. You have to believe that.

[outofgloom]

REPLACEMENT

The itch had begun an hour ago, somewhere down at the base of her skull. She'd thought nothing of it at first. She was deep in meditative thought, doing what she loved best: postulating graph nodes and arcs, verifying loops and connection-points and—

It wouldn't go away. She tried to maintain focus, but it was no use. At last she stirred, rolled her shoulders and clacked her jaws in discomfort.

The noise awakened two of her brethren who sat in alcoves nearby. Their eyes glowed in the dark of the deep cave, annoyed at the disruption of their own meditations. She bared teeth, and they left her alone. She wished that she could dismiss the itch just as easily.

To her left, down below her own alcove, another of her brethren appeared in a puff of closing vacuum and stepped out onto the vast Amaja which dominated the center of the cave. The flat area was intricately carved with cartographic notations: the accumulated efforts of many thousands of journeys through the pathways of warped space which made up the universe.

She watched as her brother stooped far below to scratch a tiny addition to one of the many offshoots of offshoots of paths that made up the Great Map. Her eyes widened, and a sharp anticipation filled her: Her duty and the duty of all her people, was to maintain this map and to refine it, to keep the fixed points true, and to keep the Void at bay. It had been so long since the last Addition. She would have to study this new feature, trace its contours, commit it to memory, and then—

No, not right now. Right now...the itch! It was a mounting pressure, pushing everything else aside. She slumped against the stone and writhed, trying to shift her body, trying to get away, but she couldn't. Her jaw clenched tight, and she raised clawed hands to her head....

Something changed. She sat bolt upright, and the feelers on her head twitched back and forth. Her jaws click-clacked involuntarily, and the two pairs of eyes glared at her again, but she paid them no heed. A door opened in the back of her mind somewhere, and she was hearing something...seeing...knowing something. It was a path, down by the south margin of the larger whorl of the Map. Had it always been there? She'd never noticed....

Abruptly, her mind was there, though her body was not: Her awareness traced the pathways and alighted upon a desolate island, flanked by crashing waves and jagged rocks. This was new to her...she had never fully projected before—that was an ability reserved only for the elders, wasn't it?

The landscape impressed itself upon her awareness—dull rocks and clinging, silver lichen—and somehow, it was all familiar. How could that be, when she'd never traveled there before? Or maybe...maybe she had forgotten? Impossible.

The itching sensation consumed her again, and her mind was pulled further: Now a decrepit fortress rose in her vision. Once more she found that she knew the path, all the way in, through the walls, into stone.

A blue-armored figure tapped its foot in a gray chamber. Its eyes turned round the room, turned, turned...then fixed on her.

Those eyes were familiar too.

Another rush of closing vacuum, and her body vanished from the alcove in the far away cave. The network of the Great Map opened, and she skipped from junction to junction along the clusters of warp-veins and capillaries. Down a side-path, she felt her awareness fixate for a moment on a small islet, where a crushed corpse lay under the daystars, and she understood....

By the time she appeared before the ancient blue-armored Toa, more memories had solidified. Memories of training, of testing...but were they her memories? They seemed real, but how could she know?

"Botar," the Toa said, frowning a little. "Took you three seconds longer than usual."

"The...the Botar is dead," she replied, her tone flat. The words simply came out of her, like a pre-recorded message.

The Toa's eyes widened imperceptibly. A moment passed.

"Well," the Toa said, "it's not the first time. Do you know me?"

Memories of training, of testing....

"Yes. You are...Toa Helryx."

"Just Helryx. I am no Toa. Do you know yourself?"

"I do."

"And who are you?"

A crushed corpse, under the daystars....

"I am...the Botar."

"And the Botar serves the Great Spirit."

"The Botar serves..." she trailed off.

"...Yes?"

To maintain the map...to keep the fixed points true...to keep the Void at bay.

"The Botar serves the Great Spirit," she said, and again the words seemed like they'd already been said for her. "The Great Spirit has called, and I have come."

"Affirmative," Helryx replied, smiling a little. "Hopefully you weren't in the middle of anything."

Postulating graph nodes and arcs...verifying loops and connection-points....

"No...nothing."

"Good. Then let's get back to work."

[hotwings0203]

Thinking about being the bitchy queen/princess of a small but valuable province, your kingdom miniscule enough to be forgotten on a map but virtually inaccessible from its geographical location. Your land prides itself in its natural resources, and the production of various textiles and sustainable weaponry that comes with the stones etched along the perimeters of your walls.

Tw: noncon

Your subjects love you, love your fierce protectiveness over them as if they were your own flesh and blood, the way you take the time to sincerely listen to the local feudal lords' complaints against the minor skirmishes your occasional militants and them encounter, love the way you stroll through the paved cobblestones among them, ignoring the way your political advisors hiss at you to show some decorum and have some pride in your royal lineage.

You're one of them, yes, but none would be so bold and disrespectful as to think you were weak.

Your back bends to greet children and elderly who can't straighten to bow to you, but you stand tall at the same height as kings and queens whose kingdoms make yours look like a grease stain on the map.

Your pride and confidence in your subjects and kingdom inspire your military to train until callouses replace soft skin, to fight until they bleed from the inside out. The defenses on the perimeter stay low, but alert as to not draw attention to any outsider who wants a taste of the paradise you've created within.

So then why do you tremble against your throne while the walls of this very kingdom come crashing down before you?

Even if half of your land wasn't covered in wildfires set by the foreigners, even if your people didn't scream his name in terror before they were slain in front of their own children, you wouldn't have believed he'd found you.

But he did, decades later, intent on fulfilling a promise he'd uttered when you both bowed to each other in your last time ever meeting.

Until now, it seems.

You lay sprawled on the grand chair in the same position you did when his militia blasted flaming catapault ammunition at your castle walls, knocking you and your advisors backwards. It took near everyone out, if not knocked down on death's doors, but it merely kept you pinned in fear to your throne with a few cuts and burns.

Outside the windows you can see your subjects being slaughtered like animals, more blood than stone splattered on the streets. Women and children scream as the raiders chase after them with glee, their husbands and brothers watching in cuffs as violation after violation occurs before them.

The trees teeming with apples which you always loved to gaze at during particularly boring meetings are now all burnt or on fire, slashed away at for no reason except to ensure that your demise is all the more uneccessary and humiliating.

You sense him before you see him.

It's not the way your blood freezes in your veins, nor the slow sounds of his steps echoing in the corridor gaining proximity to you that screams danger to you.

It's his smile, soft and serene looking at you all the while everything you've ever loved and nurturned falls to ashes at your feet.

But he takes his time with his kill, he's done his worst and now it's time to relish his victory.

You wish you could scramble backwards even further as he leisurely treads one blood and mud-caked boot in front of the other, but the falling stone around you provides more discomfort than safety. All you can do is tremble and tense up as he reaches a few feet from you.

Standing over your crumpled body, simply watching you with a cocked head.

You can hear the blood pounding in your head, the tension palpable to be cut with a knife when he finally breaks the excruciating silence.

"Did I not warn you I'd be back for you, princess?" He speaks as soft as his gaze, and you almost can't hear him over the syncophany of buildings crumbling and screams tearing through the dusk.

"Its queen," you surprise yourself equally as much as him with the lack of warble in your voice, but you still don't meet his eyes fully.

Interest piqued at your misplaced rebellion, he crouches down to your eye level and squints at you in mock disbelief.

"That's funny. Last I heard, a queen has a kingdom. And well, this one..." he trails off, biting back a snicker but it's still a stab to the heart.

You bite your lip and will yourself not to cry, but he sees it anyways through the smoke curling around your destroyed throneroom.

"Look at me."

He places a gloved hand under your chin, firm yet gentle, and forces your head up to look up at him.

Covered in soot and ash, hair falling out of its intricate up-do, nose red and twitching in an attempt not to break down, silky robes now cut with rubble.

He's hard, and you blanch at the realization.

"God, you look just as good as you did years back. I wanted to ravage you then too, but your father-"

"Dont you dare talk about him-" Your head snaps up to snarl at him but his voice doesn't even waver as he cooly overrides you.

"-screamed like a pig when he died, yes, but trust I enjoyed pissing over his grave almost as much as I'll enjoy defiling his little girl and making her my cumslut."

Your previous rage is replaced by fear again, because you know if he's come this far, it's not just to taunt.

He chuckles a bit at your gaping mouth, and playfully sticks a finger inside before you gag and swat him away. He doesn't allow you to move farther back though, because he locks his hand behind your head and shakes it a bit for good measure to ensure you're listening.

When he leans in to croon more filth at you, you see his eyes take on a strange glint that wasn't readable before from the smoke coating your vision. His eyes aren't soft anymore, theyre wild with triumph as his lips curl into a salacious grin.

"I watched you for years," he breathes in right next to your ear, and you can't help but whimper and curl in yourself more. "You stayed here, naive and pure only because I let you have your safety. You belonged to me from the start, whether you wanted it or not."

His hand dips to your stomach, and just as fast as you flinch away he snakes it up to grab your tits and knead them like dough.

"These tits," he moans as he begins to lick and bite at your ear, inhaling the cinders along with the perfume of your hair.

"This neck."

His mouth moves down to suck on your unmarred throat, creating blossoms of blue and purple hues on the expanse of your skin. He pays no mind to your shrieks at him to let you go, at his audacity to touch royalty in such a perverse manner-

"This fucking cunt, and all of you belong to me."

And he finally seals the nail in the coffin by shifting his boot until it nudges up against your clothed mound. You gasp and writhe under his iron grip, but it only agitates his adrenaline further and he quells the fire in you by pressing the toe of his show down hard against you.

He sighs as if a great relief has been lifted from his shoulders as he leans back and watches you arch your back under him, breaking finally and letting your choked cries escape you as he slowly grinds his boot in circles over your cunt, enjoying the way you look up at him with nothing but hate and despair all the while you buck under his ministrations.

"I wonder how your peasants would feel if they saw their beloved queen getting fucked on all fours like an animal right on this very throne," He muses conversationally, as if your writhings meant nothing.

"D-don't you dare," you gasp as he moves his boot up so that his heel catches a particularly delicious cruel stimulation of your abused clit. "This has nothing to do with them, you've done enough-"

"On the contrary, my little princess, you're not getting fucked in every hole by the sword handles from the men in my army, so, no, I haven't done nearly enough yet."

You dare to open your eyes to catch his bluff, but your heart drops when his lock on yours and reflect nothing but cool indifference.

He retreats his foot and lets go of your hair, standing up to his full height now.

"Wait!" You squeak desperately, for you know by now his promises mean nothing but the worst for not only you, but everyone in your proximity.

Silence permeates the air again as you quickly try to catch your breath, your doubled form heaving and fingers curling in the gritty floor at the humiliation of your unbecoming.

He allows you a minute or two, but the longer the silence treads the less patience he has to get to what he'd been waiting years for.

"Speak, or you'll be screaming instead."

Where his voice was lilting and dangerously soft before, it now drops to an octave and holds no room for bullshit.

You shake and squint up at him through the tears cascading down the soot on your cheeks.

"P-please tell your men to retreat. My people have done nothing to warrant this."

"P-p-please suck my dick princess and maybe theyll warrant some mercy instead!" He mocks in a perverse high pitched whine, and all pretenses of you treading carefully are dropped.

He can't be serious, you think.

But he anticipates it, and tries to hide back his smile by masking it with the same low tone he used before

"I'm serious."

"Fuck you," you growl, unable to bite your tongue.

"Oh, I plan to. But not until every remiaining subject of yours is watching you get split apart by me. I imagine my army will want some reward for the very fine damage theyve done to your little hovel, but don't worry- I'm sure keeping you drugged will save part of your sanity when everyone's had a turn with you."

He enjoys the stricken look on your face as he bites his lip ever so slightly and adjusts his slacks as they grow tight from his growing erection, and turns on his heel to walk out of the room.

It takes every fiber of you to kill your ego and swallow down your pride at what you must do to appease him before a new level of wrath befalls you and your people. You call his name out one more time with a new tone of hesitation and softness, trying to make up for your bitchy attitude before.

He hums in question, but hes still not surprised when he looks over his shoulder and watches you crawl a few paces over to him with your head down, your jewelry ringing like tiny bells across the stone floor.

You wince when you hear him whistle low at your state, but you keep your head down all the same.

"I'll listen to you," you utter quielty.

"What was that, slut?" Your arms shake a bit more, but you will yourself to continue for the sake of your kingdom.

He places the same boot that had fucked you earlier under your chin and lifts you up to meet his lecherous gaze. Loving, victorious, knowing, and satisfied.

Bile rises to the back of your throat.

"I'll l-listen to you," and your heart settles ever so slightly when you see his eyebrows relax, and his posture soften.

But it does nothing to quell the goosebumps erupting on your skin as he speaks his turn now.

"Damn straight you are. You're gonna bow to me, I'm gonna be your fucking god if you don't want every last one of your subjects to strung up by their intestines, and your land burned so that your little legacy here will be nothing but a myth for centuries to come."

"Do you understand me?"

"Yes," you whisper as the last tears are blinked out of your burning eyes.

"Yes, what?"

you desperatley search his dark, lust-filled hues for a shred of mercy.

But he lifts his chin and you know you won't get off so easy.

"Yes...sir?"

"Yes, my king," he corrects.

"Yes, my king," you parrot back, and your nails bite your palm as you mutter the poisonous words on your tongue.

He finally pulls back and turns around, letting your head fall down to look at the cracked floor and granting you a moment to collect yourself. You furiously wipe away your tears with shaky wrists when he calls over his shoulder,

"Try not to cry too hard like a bitch. Its either king, or master."

[abbotjack]

⠀˖⠀⠀⠀✶⠀⠀⠀JACK ABBOT TATTOO HEADCANON (wc : 1757) ˖ ✦⠀

Jack Abbot has one tattoo.

It covers nearly his entire back — thick black ink pressed deep into the skin, running from the base of his neck down the length of his spine. A gothic cross, built wide across the shoulders and heavy through the middle, the lines rough-edged from the start. Not sloppy — just deliberate. Meant to hold. Meant to last.

Behind it, broad wings stretch low and battered across the blades of his shoulders. No soaring angles. No graceful lift. The wings look like they've been dragged through hell and stayed standing anyway, snapped at the ends where scars have broken the ink, feathers ragged, blackening into the burn-scored skin.

It isn't a decoration.

It isn’t a statement.

It’s a brand.

It’s a map of a man stitched together out of survival and failure and the kind of duty no amount of discharge papers can strip out.

He got the cross first.

Late 2003. Afghanistan.

Jack had just finished his first back-to-back rotation.

He was twenty-seven and already carried himself like someone older — shoulders squared against the weight of shit he didn’t have the time or the luxury to process.

He wasn’t a grunt, not exactly.

Combat medics never are.

His job was to keep people alive long enough to die somewhere cleaner.

Tourniquets. Decompressions. Chest tubes jammed through ribs slick with blood and dirt. Dragging men out of wrecked Humvees with their legs hanging by threads. Holding arteries shut with bare hands. Telling men who knew better that they were going to be alright even when Jack could already see it in their eyes — the knowing.

When they died, Jack made sure the bodies went home right.

Flagged caskets. Dusty salutes on the tarmac. Honor, at least, if nothing else.

But what nobody told you was what stayed behind — the blood that didn’t wash out of the sandbags. The personal effects that never made it onto the inventory lists. The things they never trained you to carry.

He didn’t go out drinking with the others when they got home.

Didn’t crash motorcycles or get in bar fights trying to feel something.

Didn’t call his family, not even once.

Didn’t tell them he was back.

Instead, he drove forty miles outside of Columbus, Georgia in the middle of the night, past the closed gas stations and darkened diners, until he found the place someone in his unit told him about — a concrete block of a tattoo shop, all flickering neon and cracked windows.

The artist was an older guy. Ex-infantry. The kind of man who looked Jack over once and didn’t say anything stupid like, “You sure about this?”

Jack stripped off his jacket. Turned his back to the counter.

Said, flat and unflinching: "Cross. Centered. Big."

That was it.

No explanation.

He sat down in the chair and took the pain without a flinch, the buzz of the machine burning low into his bones.

Three hours.

No breaks.

When it was done, Jack paid cash and walked out without glancing at the mirror.

He didn’t need to see it.

He already knew it was there.

For a while, the cross was enough.

It wasn't about God. Jack stopped believing in anything higher than the people bleeding out in front of him years ago.

The cross was a mark. A ledger.

The weight of every body he couldn’t save.

Every face he couldn't scrub out of memory.

Every time he held pressure over a bleeding chest and knew it wouldn’t be enough but stayed there anyway because you don’t let go until someone else makes you.

The cross is the line between standing and falling.

Between duty and despair.

It’s what he chose when he realized coming home didn’t mean coming back clean.

A reminder that there are weights you carry even when nobody else sees them.

He didn't talk about it.

He didn’t show it.

He didn’t even think about it most days — the way you don’t think about breathing when you’ve done it long enough.

It just was.

Then Iraq happened. 2005.

Jack had been attached to a mechanized unit, running convoys through streets that changed loyalty every two hours.

He wasn't supposed to be in the blast radius.

Wasn't supposed to be on that street at all.

But orders change, radios go silent, and Jack went where he always went — where the bleeding was loudest.

The explosion ripped through the front of the convoy, tossing the first Humvee into the air like a kicked can and sending debris raining down onto the asphalt. Jack was moving before the dust even cleared, tourniquets slapping onto stumps, IVs jammed into collapsing veins, adrenaline and muscle memory dragging him forward.

He didn’t make it out clean.

He doesn’t remember the blast that took his leg.

Just waking up in a field hospital in Baghdad, throat raw, leg missing below the knee, an unfamiliar medic looking down at him and saying:

"You're still here."

Like that meant something.

Recovery was hell. Not because of the pain.

Jack could take pain.

It was the slowness that killed him — the waiting, the crawling pace of days stacking up like bodies you couldn’t bury.

Learning how to walk again wasn’t heroic.

It was survival, stripped down to its ugliest parts.

He got his prosthetic.

Did the work.

Moved forward.

Because there was nothing else.

When he was cleared to leave, Jack didn’t go home.

He went back to the shop.

Same cracked concrete. Same flickering neon.

Different guy behind the counter this time — younger, trying too hard to look tough.

Jack didn’t explain anything.

He pulled off his shirt.

Turned his back.

Pointed once at the black cross burned into his spine and said, voice low: "Add wings. Heavy ones."

No more words.

The artist didn’t ask what kind. Didn’t offer designs.

He just nodded, pulled on gloves, and started building them straight into the skin.

The machine buzzed steady over old scar tissue, dragging new lines over broken skin.

Jack sat through the whole thing in silence.

No grimacing.

No posturing.

No fucking catharsis.

Just pain.

Real. Clean. Useful.

They spread low across his shoulders, broken at the ends, snapped where the ink drags over old shrapnel scars.

They aren’t wings built for flight.

They’re built for burden.

Jack never wanted to soar.

Never wanted to be lifted out of the dirt and the blood and the endless fucking work of keeping people alive long enough to break again.

The wings carry weight.

The wings remind him — every time the prosthetic clicks against the tile, every time he feels the stitch of old wounds under new movements — that some things you don’t escape.

Some things you live with, whether you want to or not.

When it was done, Jack pulled his shirt back on and left.

Now, twenty years later, the ink rides over every scar the surgeons couldn’t smooth out.

The cross still holds fast over his spine.

The wings still stretch wide across his back, battered and blackened, torn at the edges by old shrapnel wounds and skin grafts.

He never touched it up.

Never will.

The breaks are the point.

The fact that it held together — not perfectly, but still standing — matters more than any clean line ever could.

Nobody at the Pitt sees it.

Not unless they catch him stripped down in the locker room after a shift gone bad — the kind where blood stains deep into the seams of his scrubs and there’s no pretending you can just walk out without washing it off.

Not unless they’re careless enough, stupid enough, to glance over at the wrong moment — when Jack pulls his top over his head with the sharp economy of a man who doesn't waste movement, exposing the thick black lines burned into the wreck of his back.

Even then, most of them don’t realize what they’re seeing.

They look away fast.

Learn not to ask.

Jack doesn’t invite questions.

He doesn’t offer answers.

He peels the ruined scrub top off, tosses it into the biohazard bin, and steps into the biting rush of the locker room shower — washing off blood that isn’t his, wounds he can’t name, losses too old to mourn.

The water stings where the skin splits open again along old scar lines, where the ink feathers into the broken places, but Jack doesn't flinch.

Pain is familiar.

Pain is simple.

He scrubs until the pink water runs clear.

Pulls on clean black scrubs with his back turned to the rest of the room, working around the ache in his knee, the stubborn old prosthetic that never fits quite right when the humidity climbs high.

The tattoo isn’t about grief.

It isn’t about forgiveness.

It isn’t about the dead.

It’s about what you bear when no one else will.

It’s about standing up when every goddamn inch of you has been telling you to stay down.

It’s about the blood you wash off and the blood that stays under your skin no matter how many times you scrub.

It’s about the debt you can’t ever pay back because there’s no one left to take the payment.

It’s about surviving when surviving means dragging the dead with you — not out of guilt, not out of penance, but because it’s what they deserve.

Because they deserved someone to remember.

And Jack remembers.

He remembers every tourniquet that slipped under his fingers.

Every heartbeat that flatlined under his palms.

Every name he never let himself learn because it was easier to bury strangers than brothers.

He carries them all.

Quiet. Heavy. Without complaint.

The tattoo rides the same way.

Not a badge. Not a wound. Not a plea for understanding. Just a part of him. Fixed in the bone. Written into muscle and scar tissue.

Same as the limp he pretends isn’t there.

Same as the uneven thud of his boot against the tile — a sound no one dares to call out.

Same as the empty silences he leaves between sentences, where everything real still lives.

Jack carries it.

Has carried it for twenty years.

Will carry it for twenty more if that’s what’s asked of him.

Without complaint.

Without prayer.

Without hope.

Because that's what you do when the cost isn’t yours to decide. When you survive and you shouldn’t have.

You carry it.

You stand up.

You move forward.

And you never, ever forget.

Even when the rest of the world does.

[aryaryxoxo]

Almost Died… but Still Flirting #soshiro hoshina x vice captain!reader. ⤷ @drratiosgaybathtub OMG YOU DID THE LAST ONE JUSTICE!! It was so good omg if you have time or want another idea I have another… :3 so Hoshina x defense force officer y/n BUT except they are really flexible but a hard hitter on the battle field and Hoshina finds out by seeing them train one night 🙏

A powerful blast tore through the air like a thunderclap.

The Kaiju that had been terrorizing the city didn’t even have time to react. One second it was roaring, towering over the shattered skyline—and the next, it was split clean down the middle. Its massive body crashed to the ground in two smoldering halves, the earth trembling beneath the weight of its fall.

“Kaiju has been eliminated,” came your voice through Soshiro’s earpiece—steady, clear, and completely unshaken.

But he had already seen it for himself. How you stood tall atop a nearby building, the wind whipping at you. Your arms were still extended forward, gauntlets glowing faintly from the energy discharge, smoke hissing from the vents. The ground where you stood was cracked from the recoil.

That hit—it wasn’t just powerful. It was brutal, precise, and final. The kind of strike that left no room for retaliation.

Soshiro didn’t say anything, but in the silence of his thoughts, he acknowledged it: you didn’t just eliminate the Kaiju. You ended it.

“Alright, let’s wrap it up,” Captain Mina’s voice broke the moment, clear through the earpiece. “Great work, team.”

This mission had been a joint operation between the 3rd and 5th Divisions. “Let’s meet at the base,” the 5th Division’s captain added, already giving further orders.

After coordinating with the remaining Defense Force officers on how to recover and quarantine the Kaiju’s remains, Soshiro made his way to the temporary base—a converted mobile command center in the mall’s parking lot.

As he entered, the smell of gunpowder and ozone still hung in the air. The division captains were already there, discussing post-op reports around a flickering digital map.

And just a few steps away, leaning against a support beam, arms crossed, and still wearing those scorched gauntlets—stood the 5th Division’s vice captain.

You.

The one who hit like a cannon. The one who didn’t just fight Kaiju—flattened them.

“Now that was a showstopper,” Soshiro said as he approached you, his tone laced with impressed amusement.

You turned to him, the faintest smirk tugging at your lips. “Did you like it?”

“I loved it,” he replied without missing a beat, eyes lingering on the still-smoking gauntlets strapped to your arms.

Before either of you could say more, Captain Mina said, “Thank you for coming all the way out here,” to your superior.

“Ah, it’s no biggie,” your captain waved it off casually. “We’ve been chasing that monster for weeks. Still puzzles me, though—why it came all the way out here.”

Soshiro folded his arms, gaze narrowing slightly. “Yeah. That part doesn’t sit right with me either. Kaiju don’t usually wander without a reason.”

“Then maybe it’s time we start asking the right questions,” your captain muttered, eyes scanning the remnants of the battlefield. “We’ll be taking the body to our base by tomorrow. Hopefully the lab techs can make sense of it.”

Before the conversation turned too grim, Soshiro spoke up again. “How about you stay one more day? We’re hosting a dinner tonight—fancy place, decent food.”

Your captain glanced sideways at you, one brow raised in question.

You just shrugged, giving a small grin. “Sure, why not. Let’s give them a treat. They’ve earned it.”

…

Soshiro was supposed to be getting ready for dinner. But his feet carried him somewhere else.

The training room.

He passed a few soldiers along the way—some from the 3rd Division, others from the visiting 5th. The base was packed, but it was quiet enough that he expected the training hall to be empty.

He pushed open the doors without a second thought—and froze.

There you were. In the center of the mat, bathed in the soft light of the overhead panels. Your back arched, arms stretched behind you in a deep bend that looked more like a yoga pose than combat prep. Your body formed a perfect curve, spine bowed like a drawn bowstring, eyes closed in focus.

For half a second, Soshiro genuinely thought you were meditating.

Then—snap—your body coiled like a spring, faster than his eyes could track. In a single fluid motion, your heel kicked off the ground, twisting you midair as you reached behind your back and pulled—a gleam of silver flashing in your hand.

A blade flew.

It cut through the air with deadly precision and whistled past Soshiro’s cheek—close enough that he felt the sting of displaced wind against his skin. The blade embedded itself into the wall behind him with a solid, final thunk.

He didn’t even flinch. Just stared.

You landed in a crouch, one hand braced on the mat, the other raised slightly in balance. Breathing steady. Eyes finally opening to meet his.

“…I thought this room would be empty,” you said, voice casual, but there was the faintest hint of a smirk tugging at your lips.

Soshiro blinked, still processing what he just saw. “Were you doing… yoga? Or trying to kill me?”

You stood and rolled your shoulder like it was nothing. “Stretching. And also practicing. Can't waste flexibility like this.”

Soshiro looked from you, to the blade stuck in the wall, then back to you. “Remind me never to spar with you on an empty stomach.”

You gave a little bow. “Noted. But no promises.”

You grabbed your water bottle from the corner and made your way toward him, footsteps light and casual despite what just happened.

“But that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t spar with you,” Soshiro replied, arms crossed, a small smirk tugging at his lips.

You raised a brow, playful. “Is that a threat, Vice Captain?”

“More like an invitation.”

You blinked—then grinned. “So… a date, then?”

“If it involves you teaching me how to bend like that,” he said, gesturing vaguely toward where you’d twisted your body like it had no bones, “then yes. I’d love to ask you on a date.”

You gave him a look. “Vice Captain Soshiro’s idea of a date is sparring. Why am I not surprised?”

He tilted his head slightly. “Well, if you’re good enough to almost kill me in a training room, I think you’re good enough to keep up with me over dinner.”

You laughed softly, shaking your head as you brushed past him toward the door. “Careful, Soshiro. Keep talking like that and I might just fall for you.”

“Then I’ll keep talking,” he said, following after you.

...

A/N: IM SO SORRY FOR THE LATE REPLY IM SO SORRY AJKSDNJADA SO MANY SHIT IS GOING AJSDNJADS FANFIC CURSE IS REAL!??!?!? and also new layout hihi

[blingblong55]

New bodies- John Price// Alex Keller NSFW

Based on a request: Ok hear me out… this girl has been absolutely fighting for prices attention for years and Price being stubborn gives it to her in fleeting moments. He thinks she’s just gonna wait forever for this old man to finally settle down. He’s always making her think she has a chance, only for price to always choose some random chick from the bar. The rest of 141 convinced her to just give up and she slowly does because the rejection makes her stomach sick. Well unfortunately for price Alex Keller is absolutely smitten with her. And Alex noticed that price is clearly not going to fuck this poor girl like she deserves. So being the absolute gentleman Alex is he makes a makeshift date out of some MREs and a sunset. They don’t even realize price is watching them as things get heated. I mean Alex is making a mess of this poor thing, hickeys all over her neck, soaked from her squirting. Alex is going to absolutely destroy her and price is there is the shadows, hard as a rock, barely quiet as he strokes himself. ---- F!Reader, MDNI, smut, 18+, P-in-V, unprotected!sex, unestablished!relationship, voyeurism, unrequited!love ----

There is no I love you. There are just fleeting moments, moments where all you can feel is butterflies when he smiles at you. It's dumb, it's quite stupid but it's him. Were you a fool to believe that one day you'd be more than a body to him? Maybe you were but love makes us all blind and surely your silent prayers would be answered and he'd come knocking on your door and say, "You were right, I do love you." 

He would never say those words. 

There were days he'd tell you sweet nothings. Hope...fucking false hope. Was there a day you just wanted to wake up to him? Yes. Did he tell you specifically he wanted you? No. But there was hope. Hope in the way he looked into your eyes and smiled. Laughed at your silly jokes. Listened intently to your words, fucking active listeners. And for a moment then, you saw a future. 

A kitchen with a window so you could look out and watch him chase around the dog. Giggles surrounding the home. Dinners where he could hold your hand under the table and then bring it to his lips.

What a vision for the idiots who believe. 

You turn around, watching as he walks into the pub. Your eyes meet and while your heart races, his doesn't. There's no real feeling for him there. But for you there is. Your heart races and the world stops as you look at him. Your eyes are soft and full of hope, full of everything in this world but his love. Why must you be such a fool?

Damn Elvis song. 

Slowly as Price makes sure you know there is no hope for you and him. He brings in random women or rather meets random women at the pub. He makes sure you see it. Make sure you know he won't love you. You won't be the one to be held in his big arms as he watches the game with the lads. No Sunday dinners, no family dog and no giggles as he runs around with the kids. 

There's no him and you. 

Four months ago, Alex was brought in for a special mission. Well, missions take time, training and making of plans. In his downtime, he took his precious time getting to know you. To know every crevice and all those things that make you tick. 

Well, soon enough you're in his arms. On his bed and in between kisses, you shiver as Alex's lips trail fiery kisses along the column of your neck, his stubble deliciously rough against my sensitive skin. Strong hands roam your curves, mapping out every dip and swell, leaving goosebumps in their wake. You can feel the heat of his gaze, intense and hungry, devouring you like a starving man presented with a feast.

"Fuck, you're breathtaking," Alex growls, voice dripping with lust. His fingers tangle in your hair, tugging lightly as he crashes his mouth against yours in a bruising kiss. You moan into it, melting under his touch, surrendering yourself completely to the inferno he's ignited within you.

Alex breaks the kiss, only to blaze a scorching path down to your neck, licking and nipping at the tender flesh. He sucks hard, marking you, claiming you, as his hands grip your ass, pulling you flush against him. You can feel his hard length pressing insistently against your core, separated only by the flimsy fabric of your panties.

"So fucking perfect," he rasps, voice strained with desire. His fingers dance along the waistband of your panties, teasingly dipping beneath the lace. "Fuck, baby, you're dripping already," Alex groans, fingers slipping beneath the drenched lace, stroking your slick folds. "I can feel how much you want this, how badly you need my cock."

His thumb finds your clit, circling the sensitive nub, as two long digits plunge deep into your core. You cry out, back arching off the ground, hips bucking to meet his hand. Alex works you mercilessly, fucking you with his fingers, curling them just right to hit that perfect spot inside you.

"I'm going to ruin you," he promises darkly, voices rough with lust. "Wreck this pretty little pussy on my dick until you're fucking ruined for anyone else. No one will ever make you feel as good as I can."

He seals his filthy words with a brutal kiss, swallowing your moans, as he tears your panties off, baring you completely to his hungry gaze. The cool air kisses your heated skin, your dripping slit on a lewd display, as Alex looms over you, eyes wild with primal desire.

"So fucking gorgeous," he rasps, free hand palming his rigid cock through his pants, giving it a firm squeeze. Alex settles himselfq between your thighs, the thick line of his erection pressing hot and heavy against your weeping core. He grinds against you, coating his length on your slick arousal, the rough denim of his pants deliciously abrasive against your sensitive folds. You whimper and writhe beneath him, desperate for more, craving the feel of his bare skin against yours.

"Patience, baby," Alex chuckles darkly, amused by your desperation, "I will give you exactly what you need. Gonna fuck this greedy little cunt so hard, you'll be feeling me for days."

He sits back on his haunches, hands gripping your hips as he holds you still, preventing you from chasing his touch. With a wicked grin, he reaches for his belt, unbuckling it slowly, drawing out the anticipation. The clink of metal against metal fills the air, followed by the whispered rasp of his zipper as he lowers it, inch by torturous inch.

Finally, blessedly, his cock springs free, long and thick and perfect, the swollen head already glistening with beads of moisture. You lick your lips, mouth watering at the sight, hungry to taste him. With a grunt, Alex sheathes himself inside you, hitting his thick length in one powerful thrust. You scream, back bowing off the ground, your nails raking down his muscular back as he stretches you wide around his girth. He's so big and he's in so deep, you can feel him in your throat, your lungs. 

"Fuck, so goddamn tight," Alex snarls, hips rolling in a slow grind, stirring his cock inside your fluttering walls. He pulls nearly out, before slamming back in, setting a brutal pace, the wet slap of skin against skin echoing obscenely in the still night air.

You're lost in sensation, drowning in the pleasure radiating from where we're joined, your body clenching greedily around him, trying to hold him deep. Alex leans down, capturing your mouth in a filthy kiss, tongue delving deep, swallowing your screams of rapture. His stubble scrapes your jaw as he devours you, drinking down your ecstasy, revelling in the sounds of your pleasure.

"Take it, you perfect little slut," Alex growls against your lips, one hand fisting in your hair. Alex pistons his hips, fucking into you with deep, powerful strokes, his heavy balls slapping against your ass with each brutal thrust. The obscene sound of skin slapping against skin fills the air, mingling with your wanton cries and Alex's guttural grunts of exertion. Your trembling, writhing beneath him, your body shaking apart from the force of his fucking.

"Fuck, I can feel you squeezing me," Alex rasps, voice strained with pleasure, "Gonna make me fucking bust so hard in this tight little cunt." His words send a bolt of electricity through you, your core clenching hard around his pistoning length.

Unbeknownst to you both, a dark silhouette shifts in the shadows, John Price standing motionless, eyes glued to the debauched scene before him. The wet slap of flesh against flesh and our coupled moans reach his ears, his cock straining against the confines of his pants, an obvious tent forming in the fabric.

Price reaches down, palming himself through his pants, biting back a groan as his hand closes around his rigid flesh. He watches Alex pound into the woman with increasingly rough, animalistic thrusts, grunting and cursing. Price unzips his pants with fumbling hands, freeing his aching cock. He wraps a calloused hand around the throbbing shaft, giving it a firm squeeze, biting his lip to stifle a groan. His thumb swipes over the swollen crown, smearing the bead of moisture that's leaked from the tip.

He strokes himself in time with Alex's brutal thrusts, tight fist-pumping along his thick length, revelling in the filthy scene. Price's heavy sac draws up, balls churning with pent-up release, as he watches Alex rail you into oblivion, your body shaking like a rag doll.

Alex snarls a litany of curses, hips slamming forward one last time, burying himself to the hilt as his orgasm crashes over him. "Fuck!" he roars, voice echoing through the night, as he explodes deep inside you, flooding your spasming cunt with jet after jet of hot seed.

You scream, back arching like a bow, as your peak slams into you, vision whitening at the edges. You milk Alex for every last drop, greedy cunt rippling and squeezing, trying to wring out his release.

Maybe Price could use you some time... maybe this was something he did want with you.

A/N: this was written between my best friend and I, so if you notice a change in words, that’s why.

Tags: @liyanahelena @johfaam0 @goldenmclaren @ghostslillady @moonsua1 @Krinoid24 @frazie99 @spicypicklesoh @viomast @vampsquerade @alxexhearts @tiredmetalenthusiast @luvecarson @nellsbobells @ikohniik @nobodys-coffee @strawberrychita @Llelannie @Macnches2 @talooolaaloolla @honestlyhiswife @konigssultwithghost @lovelyvqer @a-goose-with-a-knife @foxface013 @thegreyjoyed @marshiely @noodlezz-bedo @azkza @mariededenie

[stilessflannel]

idk if you write for luke but imagine sneaking into mr ds office and getting comfy because you like the idea of getting caught 👀

this has been going around my head ever since i received it and i finally did something about it 😗 also i got asked for a percy jackson smut and to do whatever i want with it (yk who you are sweet anon) so does this count? muah xx

sneaking into mr d’s office with luke castellan was something you thought you’d never do. but your boyfriend had a tendency to ignore or try break unspoken rules, and that led to luke interrupting your cabin’s lava wall training, promising them their counsellor would be back soon as he dragged you away.

“are you out of your mind?” you hiss at him, checking behind you every five seconds, “we’re going to get caught by mr d or chiron!”

luke only offered the signature grin all hermes kids owned and continued until he had locked the door behind you. there wasn't much to take in - big wooden desk, a map of half-blood hill on a wall, a dusty bookshelf, and the faint smell of diet coke. while you were taking in your surroundings, luke gained a keen interest in the desk with locked drawers down each side. it only took a few seconds before he had them unlocked and he pulled up a bag full of drachmas.

normally you'd never go around to the other side of the desk to try pry a drawer open for yourself. the idea wouldn't even cross your mind to stuff as many bags of gold into your pockets as you possibly could; but it was mr d and drachmas he wouldn't be spending anytime soon seeing as he was confined to the camps boundaries, anyone would do the same.

once you were finished luke's arms wrap around your waist and hoist you onto the surface of the desk, as warm lips attack your neck and big hands work their way up and under your orange shirt. a sigh escapes your lips and your fingers wrap into his raven hair. "hey there"

"hey" he mumbles back, muffled against your neck as he presses a last kiss behind your ear and pressing his forehead against yours. "twenty minutes 'till lunch."

"yeah... wanna go back to mine?" you offer your cabin, playing with the beads on his camp necklace. an unsure hum from him makes you look up at him. you can see the lightbulb light up behind his blue irises. he picks you up so your legs wrap around his hips and sits back into the padded desk chair

"i think we'll be just fine here, yeah?" he said, pressing a kiss into the side of your mouth and working his way back down your neck to make the marks he left earlier brighter. you try your hardest to focus on luke and the heavenly way his mouth feels on your skin, but your mind kept jumping to mr d and chiron finding their two best counsellors in this state. the thought of either of them terrified you to your wits end, but also sent a surge of thrill through your veins.

luke brings you back by digging his teeth into your collarbone and eliciting a groan from you, effectively shutting off your care for who could catch you. you grab his jaw and force him to look at you and you fold - his lovesick face with pupils blown wide from lust makes you crash your lips against his. its messy and rough and perfect for you two as hands explore each others bodies. you pull away to tug your shirt off your head and he follows suit, then you're back on each other again.

the sound fills with small moans, sighs, and gasps from both of you. you're too far gone to hear the footsteps approach the door, too caught up in the feeling of grinding against luke and hearing his faint groans to notice the voices behind the door and the rattling of the handle being twisted. it isn't until the door squeaks on its hinges that you turn to look over your shoulder and see mr d, his face as red as the wine he invented.

you could argue the two weeks wash up duty was worth it.

taglist: @izzieluvsdelusion @azure-drag0ness @vivi-anasan @percyssunlithope @amandareids @raysmayhem-72 // join the taglist here

[cookiescribble]

Flufftober Day 13: Attic, Cellar, Hidden Rooms

A/N: I took a bit of creative liberties here and decided that the batcave is close enough to a cellar and/or hidden room and the clocktower is close enough to an attic 😅 - mod angel

Pairing: Jason Todd x GN!Reader

Summary: You’re helping Oracle with patrol watch until you need to comfort a mildly injured vigilante.

~~~

You never thought you’d be able to see vigilantes in action like this. But, considering you were already aware of everyone’s identities at this point, and with how close you had become with everyone, you were invited to help watch over everyone on patrol. 

Barbara had invited you to the clocktower one day, saying she could use an extra pair of eyes while everyone was out on patrol. Really, she probably just overheard you say how much you wished you could see everyone in action. 

The first thing you noticed when you entered the room was all the monitors. Various tracking maps, security cameras, databases… all on huge screens that towered over you. 

“Whoa…” you breathed, awestruck. 

Barbara turned her head towards you, smiling. “Welcome to my utopia,” she announced with a flourish of her hands. 

You walked over to her desk, really getting a feel for all the technology in the room. You ran your fingers over the table, feeling the smooth wood under your skin. All that was on the desk was a keyboard. There was no need for paper with all those monitors, you guessed. 

“Impressive,” you muttered, transfixed by watching all the movement on the screens. “What happens if the power goes out?”

“Very powerful generators,” she replied, gesturing to one that was sitting under the desk. “We have quite the budget.”

“Right,” you laughed lightly, crouching down next to the desk. “So, what am I looking at?”

She started pointing out each part of the monitors: the locations, which of the moving dots corresponded to which person, the cases that were currently being worked on…

“Oracle,” you suddenly heard a familiar voice coming from Barbara’s comm link. “I need sights on a group of robbers near Gotham National Bank. I’m in pursuit, trying to keep myself out of their sight, and I need to know where I can cut them off.”

“I’ll get right on that, Hood,” she replied, sounding very professional as she started clacking away at her keyboard. 

“Hood?” You asked her quietly, looking at the dot on the map she said was Jason moving very quickly away from the bank. She nodded without breaking her concentration. 

Almost without thinking, you started shouting, “Hi Ja-“ you cut yourself off, suddenly remembering the circumstances you were in when Barbara gave you a stern look. “Hi Red Hood!” You shouted, fixing yourself. 

“Huh?” You heard him reply, confused. “Is that- AH!” 

Suddenly, you heard a loud crash! and saw the dot on the map stop abruptly. You widened your eyes and covered your mouth in shock.

“… Hood?” Barbara asked as you looked at each other, her eyebrows raised. 

“Shit,” he groaned, and you could hear the clanking of metal from around him. “Uh… yeah, I don’t think I’m catching those robbers,” he sighed. “Is anyone else around? I’m going back to the Batcave.”

There was various chatter over the comms, from what you could hear over Barbara’s laughing, before one of the other dots on the map started moving towards where Jason was. 

“You wanna go meet him there?” Barbara asked, covering her comm for a second. 

“Do I wanna…?” You repeated quietly, your eyes widening. “Uhh, am I allowed in the Batcave?”

She shrugged. “Batman’s not there. What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.” She started clacking on her keyboard again. “I can give you access. I trust you.”

“O… okay…” you muttered, standing up. “I guess I’ll just… go there, then…” You never thought you’d be allowed in the Batcave. It was kind of exciting. 

You followed the directions Barbara gave you, eventually going through some secret tunnels and emerging in a huge, yet oddly well-kept cave. Computers, training equipment, and various vehicles were in their designated places. The place was basically devoid of people, except for…

“Fuck,” you heard a familiar groan, making you stifle a laugh. His steps echoed throughout the quiet cave, sounding like they were coming closer to you. 

You popped out of where you had been standing behind a car, making Jason drop his helmet. That made you really start laughing. 

“Jesus, why are you surprising me so much today?” He asked as you moved closer to him. He looked like he was holding back a smile. “Are you even allowed to be here?”

You shrugged, tucking yourself into his side. “Oracle let me in.”

“Of course she did,” he replied, wrapping his arm around your waist. “Nothing is sacred to that girl.”

As you got a better look at his face, you frowned. Bruises were starting to form on his cheek. “What happened, by the way?” You asked, pointing to them. 

He grit his teeth, looking at you pointedly. “I was chasing people when someone distracted me, and I…” He sighed, rubbing the back of his head. “I ran into a bunch of trash cans.”

You covered your mouth, trying not to laugh hysterically, but absolutely failing.

“Hey, don’t laugh,” he rolled his eyes, a slight grin on his face. “It’s your fault.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you shook your head, gently tracing the bruises. “It’s alright, I can make it better.” You stood up on your tiptoes to press a little kiss to his cheek. 

He scoffed, looking like he was blushing a bit as he looked away from you. “I’m not five, that’s not going to work.” He ruffled your hair, making you giggle. “I’ll be fine, no major damage. I’ve been through a lot worse,” he sneered. 

You rolled your eyes. “Not everything has to be about your death,” you poked him in the side, making him laugh. “C’mon, let’s go see Alfred for some first aid.”

[iheartmapi]

Mapi angst? Pls🥹

Answer: This is my first time writing angst but I hope you’ll like it 😭

What I dreaded the most

Summary: You’re Barça’s youngest player, which makes your teammates call you the “kid” of the team. The team is supposed to play a match but you’re nowhere to be seen, which causes Mapi to be anxious and worried. She later learns that there was a good reason for your absence.

TW: mention of a dislocated shoulder, car crash, hospital, brief mentions of pain and wounds

Angst with happy ending.

Word count: 2,261

Y/n Y/l/n was Barça’s youngest player, her teammates were quick to jump in on calling her the team’s “kid”, upon her first time hearing her being called that she couldn’t help but feel as if it was meant to be a subtle punch in the gut, like “kid” was something derogatory, perhaps it was a bit childish but slowly over time she started feeling warm whenever one of the girls called her that, even if it was a simple “hey kid” or maybe even “kiddo”, there were many variants, but all became a familiar and nice nickname.

Out of the entire time you’ve grown the closest to Mapi, the girl’s eccentric and often times unpredictable personality absolutely charmed you, the two of you enjoyed joking with each other, frequently talking with each other during breaks at training

Today, was the day of a match for Barça, Mapi was in the locker room, sitting down on a bench whilst talking with Ingrid and Aitana. There were only a few minutes left before they’d have to go out, yet you haven’t arrived yet, this weirded out Mapi as well as Ingrid and Aitana when they brought it up, you weren’t one to be late to anything (Mapi liked that trait of yours) so what the hell happened? Mapi couldn’t help but shift anxiously in her seat, her mind thinking of the worst outcomes; something must’ve happened to you, or perhaps someone? You were her close friend, she always had this natural worry in the back of her mind when it came to you, maybe because you were so young…She looked around the locker room, hoping that you’d finally appear somewhere and explain that something came up or something. “Did she tell you guys anything?” Mapi looked up at her teammates, concern written all over her face, “Nah, listen Mapi…you have to calm down” Ingrid assured her, patting her shoulder “You should listen to Ingrid, Maps, I mean maybe Y/n caught something? You know how it is” Aitana agreed with Ingrid, Mapi appreciated that they were trying to get her to calm down but nonetheless it didn’t help her, she sighed and lowered her head. “We can always try and call her” Aitana proposed and immediately retrieved her phone, Ingrid nodded and did the same.

And so the girls started calling Y/n’s number, but to no avail, it seemed like her phone was either turned off or hadn’t been charged, this only made Mapi‘s panic worse, other teammates tried to call her as well but no one got an answer.

“Something must’ve happened, she’d never pull something like this” Mapi frowned “I have to talk to the coach” she added and stood up from the bench she was sitting on, Aitana and Ingrid wanted to tell her to give it up since she was completely off contact, so what could the coach do? But they let her go anyway, Mapi marched to find the coach, and when she did she didn’t save any of her concerns from the coach, she needed to search for you since this was incredibly weird, but in the end all she got was a “We can’t do anything about it María, you have to focus the match is about to start, Y/n will probably come over in some time anyway”.

Mapi came back to the locker room with her head held low, Aitana and Ingrid were still on their phones trying to call you up, as well as Keira, Patricia and even Alexia…it was clear they were feeling irritated at this whole situation, some more than the others. They had to break it to Mapi that they couldn’t just keep on trying to call you for hours on end since they had a match to play, Mapi was feeling terrible at this point, but they were right, even if she wanted to she couldn’t just run out of the stadium to go looking for you right now.

She sat back down on her bench, taking a sip of water to try and do anything that could calm her down even a minimal precent, Alexia came up to Mapi, sitting down next to her on the bench, “You shouldn’t be worrying so much, I’m sure Y/n’s fine, wherever she is…” the blonde tried to comfort her teammate, Mapi looked over at her friend smiling slightly “Yeah I guess you’re right Alexia…we’ve gotta focus on the game” Mapi’s smile falterd after she said that, she could feel it’d be hard for her to concentrate on anything else other than you right now, she wished she could listen to all the things her teammates were saying to her, but they couldn’t help her at all.

There was no more asking or calling now, they had to go out and play at this moment. As Mapi stood there on the green pitch she felt as if she was doing this for the first time, like she was a stranger among her teammates, it was as if her own feet were misleading her, she could see Ingrid, Aitana, Alexia and the rest looking at her with confused looks, as she was barely managing with her defense. Mapi’s concern for you overtook all her senses, and in result as the first half neared its end, it was no shock that Mapi was taken off the field for someone else to replace her.

Weirdly shaken up and distressed she made her way back to the locker room. She sighed, she sat back down on that same bench she was sitting earlier in a much calmer state than now, Mapi held her phone in her hands, she still had a hope that as her screen light up she would see a notification from you, wherever it was a message, call or anything else. She blinked and there it was, as if what she was hoping for came true, there it was, clear in a simple black coloured font

Y/n:

It’s bad Mapi

Attached to your message was your localisation, Mapi’s eyes widened, in that moment she knew that she had to drop everything to see where in God’s name you were all this time, her levels of worry were going through multiple roofs, she grabbed her bag and sprinted out of the stadium, she had to go to that localisation at this exact moment.

The setting was only a little bit off from the city, the countless buildings were clearly seen in the distance, she neared the localisation that you sent her, it wasn’t hard to miss the absolute train wreck of what seemed to be a car crash ahead of her, Mapi pulled up, close to the scene. She got out of her car, running towards the collision, red and blue lights flashed, two cars were crashed against each other, it looked like one of them quite literally rammed into the other one, there was an ambulance, where he could see a couple of paramedics rushing here and there, and finally there was a cop car, one cop was speaking with a civilian who was leaning against the ambulance, they had some bandages on them, but it seemed like they were the less hurt party in all of this.

Even if it sounded bad taken out of context Mapi couldn’t care less about them or anything else than finding you right now, she ran up to one of the paramedics, asking all about you, if they knew anything, “There’s a woman inside the ambulance-“ the paramedic told her, Mapi didn’t even want to listen to them finishing their sentence, she hurried to look inside the ambulance. Surely there was a woman inside…but it wasn’t you. It wasn’t possible for you not to be here, where the hell were you?! Her hands were shaking, were you dead? You couldn’t be, she walked further…then she felt as if a massive rock was taken off her heart, she was you sitting on the roadside, your head in your hands, you were patched up, some bandages on your legs, but what made Mapi feel at ease was the fact that you seemed to be doing alright, she ran up to you, gripping your shoulders with her hands, you looked up at her clearly startled but your gaze softens slightly as you realized it was Mapi.

Mapi looked you up, searching for any wounds, cuts or anything of that kind, she was glad to see that you were still pretty much in tact. “Jesus Christ Y/n! I- I was so goddamn scared!” She exclaimed barely catching her breath, “What happened..please I’m begging you tell me!” Tears started rolling down your cheeks, covering the dried tracks of the small droplets from before you saw Mapi, “I’m..I’m not sure Mapi It- It was all so sudden” your voice broke as you tried to come up with anything that had sense to tell her. Mapi cradled your face in her hands, her thumbs wiping away the salty tears “Alright- Alright- listen please just tell me if everything’s alright Y/n, I was so scared…I knew something went wrong I just wasn’t…expecting all of this, please tell me you’re fine!” You sniffed, quickly nodding your head in a “yes” motion. “Dios mío…” Mapi muttered to herself

“Y/n I’m glad, seriously I’m glad, I don’t know what the hell I’d do if something was wrong..” Mapi revealed, a single tear running down her cheek, “Come here you big dummy…” she sniffed as she finally smiled, Mapi’s arms lowered slightly resting lower back on your back, she pulled you against her, wanting to hold you tight as if to ensure that some imaginary hurricane wouldn’t just come and snatch you away, she was tired from worrying the entire day.

The second she pulled you against her you suddenly felt a piercing pain go through your body like an arrow. You winced loudly in pain, Mapi’s heart started beating abnormally again, she looked at you, her eyes wide like cherry pies. “Y/n? Y/n?! What was that? What happened?” She started blabbering any word that came to mind as she tried searching for any way to do something, you started sobbing, tears falling like rain, staining your shirt that was already slightly dirty from the car crash.

The first logical step was to take you to the goddamn hospital, Mapi had to pick you up, lead you there- do anything to get you there without accidentally hurting you more. “Where does it hurt? I have to take you to my car, we HAVE to go to the hospital Y/n” Mapi asked, you managed to choke out a “My shoulder…” through tears, Mapi wrapped her arm around your waist, making sure your “safe” side could lean on her. “It’ll be alright, ok? I promise you Y/n, everything is going to be fine, you’ll be fine” with that she helped you somehow make your way to her car, Mapi supported you with each step the two of you took, finally the two of you got into her car, she wasted no time in immediately speeding off towards the closest hospital, the only thought keeping her going was getting you help. As Mapi was driving with you wincing and still crying from the pain next to her on the passengers seat she suddenly heard her phone buzzing, she guessed it must’ve been someone from Barça, the coach, Alexia maybe someone else…but there were too many things going on right now for her to be able to pick it up, she’d call later.

The white walls and typical sterile scent wasn’t comforting at all, Mapi was sitting in a chair outside of your hospital room…you had to get a scan right now, the doctors concluded that a dislocated joint could’ve been the cause of your sudden pain, then Mapi remembered she was supposed to check who was calling her earlier…she took out the sleek device from her pocket and checked missed calls, surely it was one of her teammates; Keira, Mapi pressed the contact to call her back, Keira answered quite quickly .

“Maps! What’s going on? We’re all worried over here!” She heard Keira’s voice on the other end, Mapi took a deep breath before beginning to tell her what just happened.

“Yeah…they said it’s possibly a joint, the doctor assured me that she should be fine though” Mapi said with a hint of disdain for the possibility that her friend’s state could be worse, Keira sighed. “We have to trust them Mapi…alright I don’t want to keep you up so long, we’ll talk later, yeah?” Mapi answered simply “Yeah…later” before hanging up. Just then she saw you being escorted back into the room, Mapi’s heart dropped, she hated seeing you like this, hurt and helpless, “Can I come in? That’s my friend” She asked on of the nurses, the woman nodded, and so she waited as the nurses put you back onto your bed and left the room.

“Did they tell you anything, Y/n?” Mapi immediately asked as she pulled up a stool for herself to sit on, you nooded, “Yep…” you turned your head to look at Mapi “Dislocated shoulder, I should be fine though, already got all the necessary things scheduled…I definitely feel better tho- thanks to you Mapi” you added and smiled weakly, Mapi laughed gently, she carefully tucked a stray strand of your hair behind your ear.

“I was so worried, everyone thought I was going to lose it…” she chuckled

“I’m already imagining that…” you laughed with her as well “But there’s no need to worry anymore Mapi.”

[planchettewrites]

Erik Lehnsherr (Magneto)/AFAB!Reader

DESCRIPTION: On a stormy night, your husband helps you chase your high.

CONTENT: Smut, Wife!Reader, Erik being a good husband(TM), mentions the reader being younger than Erik.

A/N: Well folks, I have returned! To be honest with you, I started work recently and I haven't been able to write. I managed to churn this out in thirty minutes or so. As much as I'm on the Gambit train, the Magneto train has been calling me. Please join me in thirsting for this old man. Also, Erik speaking German. Awooga.

709 words | MDNI!

Being Erik Lehnsherr’s wife had many perks. He’d make you metal flowers just about every day; all your needs came first, he was very protective over you, and he was a passionate man. The latter may have been an understatement. Erik Lehnsherr, or as the rest of the world knew him, Magneto, was fervent in all he did. Whether it was mutant activism, his battles, or his love for you, his fervency carried. 

Never did you doubt Erik’s love for you. You may have been many years his junior, but not once did you doubt the older man’s love or his dedication. The ring he made and engraved for you was a symbol of that. The matching meteorite wedding bands you both wore were symbols of your eternal love—and nothing could ever change that. 

Another manner in which your husband was passionate was during intimacy. 

Erik, being older, you expected his sex drive to diminish. You were very incorrect in that notion. Your body and mind lit a fire in him that neither you nor he ever expected. You lit an inferno in his soul that could never be extinguished—something that burned inside his chest like nothing he’d ever known. At least once a week, in the private quarters that you shared, Erik’s hands managed to find their way to your beautiful body. Hands running up and down your sides, Erik would press kisses into the sensitive spots on your neck, causing you to melt into his touch. 

Tonight was another night you found yourself at the mercy of Erik’s touch, magnetic as ever. As the rain poured and the clouds thundered outside, your candlelit room illumined the image of you straddling one of your husband’s large and muscular thighs, your arms around his neck. 

Erik smiled at you, bouncing his leg intermittently as you found yourself chasing another orgasm. As you rode his thigh, you could feel his hands exploring every inch of you—territory he’d already mapped out perfectly for years. From your breasts to your waist to your arms to your hips, Erik found every inch of your body enchanting. He almost couldn’t help himself; your womanly curves were inviting, and your body was his sanctuary. You brought him peace in a world that offered him no such thing. 

Your hips bucked at a steady pace, the fabric of your panties providing a delightful sensation on your clit. His thighs provided a strong base for you to thrust against, the strong muscle grounding you and inadvertently guiding you toward another orgasm. 

“Meine Schönste,” Erik’s deep baritone spoke, “how are you feeling?”

“Heavenly.” you mewled. Your head fell back as you continued to roll your hips. 

Erik began to bounce his leg at a steadier pace, which, in turn, caused you to meet his pace. You let out a moan as each roll of your hip met the bouncing of his leg. 

“You look so beautiful, Liebling. You’re doing so well.” He smiled, pressing a kiss to your lips. 

As you deepened the kiss, you felt the impending wave of an orgasm begin to hit you. The tightening of the coil in your stomach began to feel overwhelming. One of the hands that was settled on your waist found its way to your hair, pulling it back, the other finding its way to your clit, now rubbing tight little circles. 

With a crash of thunder outside, your orgasm came similarly: with a loud bang. You let out a loud moan as a strong wave of pleasure hit you. Your husband helped you ride out your high, as although your hips stopped moving, his fingers did not. Continuing their ministrations, you almost screamed as you slowly began to come down from your high. 

After what felt like an eternity of pleasure, Erik’s fingers started to slow, and eventually, his hands went back to your hips, now effortlessly picking you up and placing you sideways on his lap. 

“Oh, mein frau, you did so well for me.” he shushed, your breathing slowly beginning to even out. 

Your hands began to run through his hair, and you pressed a feather-light kiss to his lips, a content smile growing on your face. “I love you, Erik.” 

“I love you too, my dear.” 

TRANSLATIONS:

Meine Schönste = My most beautiful

Liebling = Darling

Mein Frau = My wife

[dewdropdinosaur]

Down Bad

Summary: Husk is a little drunk, but he will never admit that. But he is certainly drunk enough to walk into the wrong room and walk in on you... Warnings: Voyeurism, hard-ons, drinking, watching someone while they get off, etc. MDNI, 18+

Inspired by a reblog train from @irkimatsu and @hazbinshusk. Fair warning I wrote this in 15-20 mins so don't judge. Also, my request box is gonna be closed for the next month due to some ongoing health issues but I will accept ideas for smaller headcanon fics like this in comments!

If asked, Husk wasn’t that drunk. Okay, maybe he was. But it wasn’t his fault the bar had been dead tonight, leaving him with nothing to do but to drown himself with whiskey and the vague ramblings of his radio boss that had him nearly mind numb.  He was just trying to make it to his room, really. The hallway looked mostly the same, all the doors blurring together under the dim hotel lights. The new re-model after the battle with Heaven had his mental map all askew. His ears twitched as he hiccuped, one clawed hand bracing against the wall while the other fumbled with the doorknob. It turned easily, which meant this was his room, right?  

Wrong.  

The sound of running water filled the air, steam curling from the bathroom doorway. A soft humming, the occasional…grunt drifted from inside, the kind that made something warm twist in his chest. His heart damn near stopped when he realized where he was.  

This wasn’t his room.  It was hers.  

And just as that horrifying yet tantalizing realization hit, his eyes drifted towards the bathroom door. Open…with a near-perfect view of Y/N, fingers deep into her weeping cunt, softly moaning his name as hot water and steam poured over her body. He couldn’t tear his gaze away, the sight was perfection in his eyes. Sinful heaven laid out on display all for him. The two of you had been flirty, sure, but never would he have guessed you got off to the thought of him. The drunk old bartender couldn’t even walk into the right room. 

Then the dream crashed as he stepped forward enough for Y/N to see him. 

“What the hell, Husk?!” Y/N’s voice rang out, sharp with surprise.  

The force of a bar of soap headed at his face knocked him back a step, his wings flaring slightly as he wobbled. He blinked, the scent of lavender suds lingering as it slid down his face.  

“Oh—uh—shit.” He scrambled to turn around, nearly tripping over his own feet. “I—uh—wrong room,” he muttered, pants straining so hard against his very prevalent problem as he stumbled back to land on Y/N’s bed. Y/N stood in the bathroom doorway, wrapped in a fluffy towel, her hair damp from the steam. The sight made his brain short-circuit in ways he really didn’t need right now. It’s not like he hadn’t just seen more but the sight of her, now right before him, was certainly not helping his situation. Her expression softened after a moment, the initial panic fading into something bordering amusement. “You’re drunk.”  

“Not that drunk,” he lied, his tail swishing behind him.  

Y/N crossed her arms, raising a brow. “You walked into the wrong room.”  

“…A little drunk,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck.  

“You didn’t see anything right?”

He should leave. He should 

But her eyes were warm, and she wasn’t shoving him out the door—hell, she was smiling at him. It made his chest ache in a way that had nothing to do with alcohol.  

“No and umm—I—I think I should go..”

Y/N smirked. “Try not to walk into any more wrong rooms, huh?”  

“Yeah, yeah,” Husk grumbled, but his tail flicked, betraying the way her words made him feel.  

As he finally stumbled out and into the correct hallway, he let out a long breath, ears still burning.  Damn. He definitely had it bad.

[silliam-billiam]

Imagine you’re working this shitty retail job for an unbearable amount of hours with no other coworkers. Suddenly, a cop throws in two guys who he says are gonna work with you. They say no, they’re actually supposed to see the president. You show them the break room and they dismantle your microwave because apparently it has like, the map to the city of gold or something. So you help them stowaway on a train going directly into the depths of the Amazon rainforest. You crash, you get lost, see weird animals n shit, and then suddenly meet like. King Arthur. And this Arthur guy tells you that your wagie job is ACTUALLY a secret ploy by the president who allied with Conquistadors from 500 years ago and you’re supposed to have superpowers but your president stole them from you to invent classism.

So you get kidnapped but that’s the least of you worries rn because The President just found you, and you go back to your stupid wagie city, one of your new coworkers is suddenly talking about killing the bourgeois, blows your other new coworker to smithereens, which is okay because he then comes back to life as the new president (which is pretty good because the old one got publicly executed thirty seconds earlier) and now you’re in the secret service.

It has been two days. You’re not even sure if you got fired.

And your hands can turn into knives.