#i also do not know what 'blocked' was supposed to mean so I just throw it in there next to all my abandoned fics

[megamindsupremacy]

shoutout to my WIP spreadsheet for being the only thing holding my entire writing process together. I do not know how I functioned in the dark days before I had this thing. Gaze upon my incomprehensible notes and weird names I give my fics before posting them

(and credit to @profoundalpacakitten for making the spreadsheet template! and doing all of the hard work coding this thing!)

[eternalxvenus]

⇢ ˗ˏˋ broken promises pt. 1 ࿐ྂ

summary: Rafe promised to take you out and spend your birthday with you, but you don’t hear from him all day and then suddenly he shows up at your door trying to explain. (angst version to my first birthday girl blurb) (title changed for series — previous title “birthday girl angst version”)

cw (for whole series): 18+, rafe x f!reader, mentions of drug use, angst, eventual smut, violence

wc: 0.6k

notes: honestly i’m thinking about making this particular blurb a series but i’m not sure though

You woke up on your birthday excited to get your day started. Your boyfriend Rafe told you the day before he would pick you up for brunch, and then you would spend the day doing whatever you wanted.

By the time you showered and were ready to go, your stomach was growling, prepared to have some delicious food. You checked your phone and saw the time read 10:45. Rafe said that he'd be here by 11:00.

30 minutes later, you hadn't heard anything from Rafe, so you decided to call him. Each of your calls went straight to voicemail. You were starting to get worried, so you decided to check social media and see if he may have posted anything. You clicked on Kelce's close friend's story and saw a party happening at his house. A few videos later, you saw one of Rafe doing coke off the table in front of him.

Your eyes start to water. He had promised you that he would stop doing drugs when you guys started dating. You knew it made him irritable and hard to be around. It also made him forgetful, which means he was probably high out of his mind somewhere and probably doesn't remember he promised to take you to brunch. Or the fact that it's your birthday.

You wipe the few stray tears off your cheek, careful not to ruin your makeup, before calling Sarah, inviting her and the pogues to have breakfast with you at your place. When you asked her about Rafe, she said she hadn't spoken to him and didn't know where he was.

-

The time was currently 10:22 pm, and you had just gotten home from your birthday dinner with your family. Rafe was supposed to be there too, but you had to lie and say he hadn't been feeling well. You could barely enjoy yourself. You still hadn't gotten so much as a text from him.

You slipped off your heels, but before you could make it up the stairs there was a ring at your doorbell. You opened the door to see Rafe standing there with flowers in hand.

"What do you want, Rafe?" You really didn't want to sit around and listen to his excuses.

"Baby, I'm sorry, really. Just please let me explain."

You scoffed but leaned against your doorframe, prompting him to keep going.

"Okay, so Kelce was throwing this party, and I wasn't going to go, but everyone kept messaging me saying I should at least swing by and everything since they hadn't seen me in a while. I went and it was supposed to be no more than 15 minutes, but things got out of hand..."

"Yeah Rafe, things got out of hand as in you stayed at the party and started doing fucking coke? Out of hand as in you got so high you didn't text me all day, on my birthday, while I'm worried sick about you?"

Rafe's eyes widened, obviously not expecting you to know about that. He outstretched his hand that was holding the flowers to you. "Baby I... I'm sorry. I can take you shopping to make up for-"

You smacked the flowers out of his hand and he flinched. Your voice was shaky as tears pooled in your eyes. "No Rafe! Money isn't going to fix this. Obviously, I'm not important enough for you to keep your promise. Getting high means more to you than being there for your girlfriend."

Before he could speak again, you slammed the door in his face and made your way upstairs even as he started to talk to you through the door before moving on to blowing up your phone. You blocked his number and went to bed, unsure of what was next for your relationship.

part 2

likes, comments, and reblogs are greatly appreciated!

© All Rights Reserved. Do not repost, modify, or claim as yours.

[rsatoru]

bbzzzz bzzzzzztttt...

your phone has been buzzing over the coffee table for two minutes. two minutes and 14 seconds.

sigh

you rise from the table—the very table overflowing with godforsaken paperwork the godforsaken higher-ups have assigned you to finish. you’re trying to focus and get everything finished as soon as possible, but the obnoxiously person trying to call you on the phone wouldn’t let you right now.

͏͏⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀toruru !! ^_^ (ate ur cookies) (do not answer.)

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀ringing . . . ✆ ⠀⠀⠀ 1:27 pm⠀⠀⠀

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀answer ၊ decline

of course, it’s no other than your idiot of a boyfriend

clicking the answer button, cause who are you to resist him anyways? . . . “satoru.” you say unimpressed. “baby!! :D” the cheerful voice on the other side exclaims.

“aren’t you supposed to be on a mission right now?”

“uhuh,” satoru scoffs, “’m on the same mission you forced me to go because you hate me so much!”

“satoru, sigh it’s your job, your responsibility. you can’t just ditch an order from principle yaga because you wanna stay at home cuddling me.” you respond

“can’t a man just have some quality time with his dearest girlfriend in peace?” satoru whines over the phone

“toru, baby,”

“fine.. :(” oh, you were so sure you could almost hear his smile turn into a frown. that being said, “why’d you call?” asking, looking back over at your unfinished paperwork, oh the higher ups might just beat your ass.

dating satoru means also having to deal with his long phone calls. you’re aware you could easily just hang up on him, but unfortunately for you, sometimes you don’t even realize you got too caught up in the moment. you love him too much, too much you can effortlessly handle his obnoxiously long phone calls—and he doesn’t even talk about anything important or necessary! and you think, maybe, you’re just as down bad as he is for you.

“oh yeah! heh, sorry babe, your voice made my mind go blank.” — “you’ll never guess what kind of technique these so called first grade cursed spirits have!” and he asks you to turn your camera on—in which you did-

revealing a bunch of cats spawning and jumping everywhere “look at the kind of domain expansion this guy has!” satoru was in an innate domain with cats just swarming the area. satoru called you to show he was in an innate domain with cats just swarming the area. because he knew.

“oh my gosh.” you say in shock. staring at whatever is happening in your screen. “toru toru! bring me one! maybe that one or or-” the cats were so cute. you absolutely loved cats. you adored them, each and every one you’ve ever seen. whether they were strays on the street or pampered pets, they were all just so adorable.

because he knew you absolutely loved cats.

these cats though, were aggressive. aggressively cute though—trying so hard to scratch your boyfriend which was impossible, all attacks were effortlessly blocked by his infinity.

“uhhh, uhhh.. no can do sweets. just look at these sly pussies trying to scratch my glorious face! i can’t let them do that to your even-more-glorious face. they’re dangerous! can’t let them hurt my baby.” he responses.

“uhm, no. you’re just rambling satoru. they’d love me.” you retort. satoru was more of a dog person—he doesn’t know such shit about cats. he doesn’t like them. but you teach him anyways; how to properly hold them, what kind food you shouldn’t feed them, etc etc,

and he actually listens.

“no baby! anyways, you know that guy over there? yeah, him. he can create pizza with cursed energy and throw it at me! it’s surprisingly strong to be fair.. but y’know they stand no chance against me.” there goes his ego as always.

“anyways—what kind of pizza do you want? tell me which toppings and i gotchu baby.”

“so you’re telling me, you’d rather get me pizza, imbued with cursed energy, which you say is pretty strong, but not cats?” you hiss, raising a brow over the phone.

“uhhhh... yeah? ( ' ⩊ '𖦹)”

this is so dumb tbh but i jst had pizza for dinner i couldn’t not think about my glorious king

[sanguineterrain]

for the dc prompts you reblogged:

can i request jason todd x reader "someone likes being pinned down" + A flirting with B while sparring to throw them off their tracks

where reader is also a vigilante??

thank you so much 🩷

very sexy prompts thank u 😌

jason todd x gn!reader. r and robin!jay were friends, r doesn't know jason is alive/red hood but jason knows r is a vigilante. r's alias is 'nocturne' (if that's already in use oh well lmao). fighting/sparring, jason is mega in love with you as usual!!

all fics at @sanguinelibrary

****

"Still blindly following the Bat, huh?"

You land in a crouch on the rooftop, just like how Nightwing taught you. The Red Hood doesn't look at you, digging through two duffel bags. He doesn't even draw his gun, like you've seen him do with virtually every other vigilante in Gotham.

You wait, ready to spring into action. But Hood doesn't stop what he's doing. Slowly, you rise.

"What... do you mean?" you ask.

"I mean, why are you traipsing around Gotham as a bat-adjacent? Who are you s'posed to be anyway? Goth Bat? Alternative Scene Bat?"

"I'm Nocturne," you say, shoulders rising to your ears. Rude. You thought the chunky boots and star over your suit's eye mask were inspired.

Red Hood lifts a hand. "Don't get me wrong, I dig the threads. I'm just surprised B didn't have an aneurysm over the sequins. Then again, Discowing did do it first..."

Your first two meetings with the infamous Red Hood have been similar in that he's never very concerned about you stopping him (ouch), but he also isn't callous or cruel with you like he is with the other vigilantes.

Case in point: the last person who cornered Hood on a roof was Red Robin. Hood shot him in the shoulder before he could land.

In short, he's perplexing as hell.

Batman's forbidden the rest of the team to confront Hood without backup. And you're technically not supposed to be on patrol tonight. But if you can intercept Hood, that'll be a huge win.

Hood keeps on packing the duffels. You hesitate, then step forward.

"Get away from the bags," you say. "I won't ask twice."

Hood looks at you. "Nocturne's a pretty cool name, I'll admit. And I like the boots. But I still think you oughta call it quits."

He zips up the bags, stands, and kicks them to the corner of the roof.

"Because you're just that unstoppable?" you ask, hands curling into fists.

"Yeah. But mostly 'cause I know you're made for so much more than this, sweetheart."

And that is the third and perhaps most bewildering thing about your encounters with Red Hood: you've gotten the creeping feeling that he... likes you.

Which is ridiculous, and if you ever breathed a word of that to anybody, Batman would probably check you into Arkham.

You take another careful step forward. Hood leans against the railing and folds his arms.

"This the part where you apprehend and hogtie me for innocently packing a duffel bag?" he asks.

You glare. "Innocent? I know you're making a weapons delivery because I know you've been waiting for Batman to be off-planet to make it."

"Clever. Told ya you're too good for this," Hood says. "Should be in college with those smarts, not playing maid for Batman."

"Are you lecturing me?"

"I'm advising you as your friendly neighborhood drug lord. Lecturing makes me sound like a guy who's got too much money and too big of a savior complex to understand that the way he fights injustice is fundamentally flawed."

"Sounds personal."

Hood laughs. "Honey, you have no idea."

You strike.

Hood parries your first attack easily, which you expect. The truth is that whoever trained Hood cut no corners and you're still relatively new at vigilantism. It's only by the grace of God that Hood hasn't left you to bleed out on a roof.

You kick his shin, but Hood turns on the instep and blocks. You go for his shoulder, where his armor separates to give him more movement. But Hood's ready for that too, and he catches your arm.

"Gotta keep that right arm up," he says. "Surprised no one's trained that outta you yet."

You elbow Hood in the throat. He coughs and lets go.

"Like that?" you ask, muscles tense with adrenaline.

Hood makes a sound that might be a laugh, still choked from your hit. "Just like that, honeylove. Good job."

"I don't need feedback," you snap, immediately going back in for another hit.

"Sorry. I'll make this quick then. I do have a delivery."

On the next strike, you advance, using a technique Nightwing drilled into your head for bigger opponents. Hood goes down and you land atop him.

"Oh, that's a Nightwing takedown if I've ever seen one," Hood says beneath you.

You're close enough that you can hear his breathing through the decoder. Pride swells in you at taking him down. Not even Batman has managed such a thing.

Hood is warm and big. His shoulder span alone dwarfs you. When you'd seen him from afar, fighting Batman or Nightwing, you'd been terrified.

But now, perhaps stupidly, you feel comfortable. Annoyed, but safe. Something about him reminds you of home. Makes your stomach flip in a good way.

Which is terrifying.

"You're coming with me," you say, reaching for your cuffs.

"If only. Unfortunately, you've forgotten a teensy weensy detail, dearest."

Hood bucks you off, legs first. Your feet fly into the air, which allows him to flip your positions. You wince, preparing for a concussion upon impact as you go down. But Hood cushions your fall and neatly rolls you over. Your back is pressed into the concrete, hands locked over your head. Hood's weight holds down your hips and legs.

He looms over you, easily holding you down. Your face grows hot.

"How did—" You squirm in his grip. "I had you!"

"Weight distribution, sweets. Tell Al—one of the Bats to add weight to your boots. They keep you light on your feet, but you were depending on them too much to hold me down, and we ain't evenly matched there."

You thrash in his grip. "Hood, I swear to fucking—"

"Easy. Don't sweat it, sweetheart. You haven't been doing this for very long. That was a good takedown, regardless. I'm impressed."

"Screw you."

He hums. You can tell he's smiling under the helmet. "Sorry, I forgot. You don't like feedback."

Hood strokes the inside of your wrist. You aren't sure he's aware he's doing it. His grip is firm but light. He's not trying to hurt you. Your pulse is in your throat.

For a moment, you're both still. Hood seems caught in a trance, like even Superman couldn't tear him away from this moment. From you. And it's not that you're afraid, you're just... you're...

"How do you know so much about me?" you blurt, because it's puzzled the whole team. "You been spying on me?"

"'Course not. Unlike your boss, I respect privacy. No, I did research. I recognized you from when you'd hang around that second Robin. Shrimpy little guy. What'd ya even see in him?"

The grief overtakes you before you can control your mouth.

"You don't know anything about me or him," you spit. "Don't fucking talk about him. He had more skill and goodness in his pinkie than you'll have in a lifetime. And you could learn a thing from him about changing a city. He'd tell you that fear alone never works."

Hood is quiet for a long moment. Then he speaks.

"Where's your distress signal?"

"Why would I tell—"

Hood shifts over you, cutting off your reply. He pulls a ziptie around your wrists. They're not even a little tight. You could probably slip out of them if you had five minutes.

"I know you're not s'posed to be out tonight," he whispers in your ear. "'S not your patrol night. Good thing you're my favorite."

You nearly swallow your tongue. "How do you—I don't—"

"Uh-huh. So you be good from now on, yeah? Wouldn't wanna have to keep tying you up like this."

You lift your chin. "We'll switch positions soon enough."

Hood snorts. "Okay, I know you heard how that soun—"

"I heard it," you say grumpily. "Just get on with it. Jerk."

"As you wish. Distress signal?"

"Collar."

Hood presses the button under your collar. Your breath hitches as his gloved fingers graze your neck.

"Oh? Does somebody like getting pinned down?"

"In your dreams."

Hood laughs. He zipties your ankles last, then sits you upright against the railing.

"Not too tight, are they?" he asks. "I know you've got a circulation problem."

You squint. "You seem to know a lot about me. Not fair that I don't know much about you, Hood."

"'S just business, honeylove," he says, scooping up his duffel. "Now I don't wanna see you in a suit anymore, comprende?"

"Or you'll what? Shoot me?"

Hood pauses, eerily still. He turns those glowing white eyes upon you. Your heart picks up.

"No," he says, so serious it startles you. "But someone else might. And I don't want you to face the same fate as your good friend Robin."

He vaults over the railing before you can respond. Your head thunks lightly as you lean back and wonder if you're really just business to the Red Hood.

(pt 2)

[izzystizzys]

“ - but have you ever considered, I don’t know, not sucking all the time? Just a thought.”

It takes the combined grips of Nuisance and Hound to keep the wriggling, snarling body beneath Fox from throwing him off its back. With three years’ practice of having to fix his own rickety desk chair over and over again, the movement merely ruffles the proverbial fringe on his helmet.

“And I don’t mean that as an insult, necessarily. Well, I do a little bit. But also I have some amount of empathy for the no doubt immense amounts of trauma that had to go into the creation of something so dysfunctional as you, on a very personal level, so have you considered going to the root of that in a way that’s like… useful? Instead of wasting it all on kriffing Kenobi, I mean. Look at the guy. All he does all day is drink tea and commit warcrimes. I bet he knits for fun. Bit of an embarrassing nemesis, don’t you think?”

“I”, says Kenobi, then pauses. The space between his eyebrows is creased with uncertainty, and he looks deeply torn between continuing rocking the shaking Duchess of Mandalore against his chest from his corner of the throne room and re-activating his lightsaber to continue losing his fight against the Darksider Fox is currently sitting on. “I feel like I should object to some part of that, but I’m not entirely clear on what. Or how this happened, again. Isn’t Mandalore a few star systems from your purview, Commander?”

“Probably the warcrimes”, mutters Nuisance underneath his strained breath.

“About as far from my supposed assignment as yours, General”, says Fox a little louder.

Kenobi twitches. Fox cannot claim to know which of them does it. Both, maybe. Probably.

“I will - taste - your - flesh!”, heaves out Darth Maul, snarling and hissing.

“Oooh, kinky!”, calls Grids, from the corner where she’s got her stun-setting aimed at the other Zabrak, currently passed out cold. Fox sighs deeply. He knew he shouldn’t have taken those three - any combination of Grids, Hound and Nuisance in a room together usually spelled chaos.

Unfortunately, it also spelled competence. The Basic alphabet can be funny that way.

The point being: as of some months into the war, one of Fox’s assigned tasks is the surveillance of all GAR-wide communication. All command-class staff theoretically got that memo, but no one seems to have read the fine print where that includes both professional and personal communication, as well as any and all comm devices registered or suspected to be registered to that person. Especially not one Anakin Skywalker and Padmé Amidala.

The point further being, if that sounds both immensely impractical and sort of terrifying in a democratic supposedly non-surveillance state, you’d be bang on the credits, and to Fox’ eternal chagrin the singular person in this whole useless army who’s spent the second of thinking necessary for that conclusion.

The final point being, when one frantic General’s mad dash across the Galaxy to rescue his teenage sweetheart from the spectre of his supposedly dead nemesis crosses his desk on its way to the Chancellor’s inbox, it doesn’t take much time for him to block any and all trace of it across the digital space of the GAR commboard and take matters into his own hands.

“ - which is why I told Thorn to suck it up and be in charge for a few days, and also why you’re still alive, your Highness, very welcome, was no trouble at all”, he concludes, drily. The Duchess stares the wide-eyed look of someone attempting to reconcile clones with ‘sentience’ or perhaps ‘personality’ in her head, but won’t say it outright.

Or the look of someone who’s just been violently overthrown and nearly murdered, perhaps, Fox allows.

“Um -“, Kenobi hedges, blinking rapidly.

“And the reason you’re still alive, probably. You’re welcome for that too, by the way”, Grids calls from the back of the throne room, cheekily.

“Alright”, says Kenobi, loudly. There’s color back in his deathly-pale cheeks, Fox notes, even if that color is a lot of red. It doesn’t fade very gracefully into his beard. “Opinions on whether or not I had everything under control notwithstanding -“

“You really didn’t”, Hound supplies helpfully.

“ - opinions notwithstanding, I am admittedly still lost on why you’re now sitting on Darth Maul and attempting to, to - jeer at him, Marshall Commander!”

“We’re not jeering, we’re trying to create a safe space and lay the groundwork for more open communication”, Fox says, primly.

Maul screams into the ground, attempting for the umpteenth time to rear up and visit great violence upon Fox, which admittedly has him rattling in his crosslegged seat atop his back.

Kenobi raises a perfectly plucked eyebrow. “Safe space?”

“He’s restrained and not stabbing anyone, I personally feel much safer than before”, Grids muses. “Watch the teeth though, Hound. Little biter.”

Indeed. Fox’s right greave will have to be replaced posthaste.

“And anyways, the point isn’t to jeer at him, it’s to make clear that he’s focusing his energy in the wrong places and could be doing much better things with his admittedly not-great life”, Fox adds, shifting to cast a pointed look down at Maul. The Sith is panting open-mouthed into the durasteel floor, sharp teeth gnashing wildly as his piercing yellow eyes shine with barely restrained rage. “I’m just saying - aim higher. You aren’t seeing the forest for the Kenobis, Maul. Can I call you Maul?”

“I will feed you your own entrails”, yowls Maul.

“See, that’s exactly what I’m talking about. Right now, I’m an easy target to focus all that built-up rage on, but is killing me really going to help you achieve any of your goals? No! Think about it - when it all comes down to it, who sent you on that mission to Naboo in the first place? Who made sure the Jedi and, by extension, Kenobi would be there to kill you? Who used you as a dejarik piece and then cast you aside the second you outlived your usefulness?”

Beneath him, Maul slowly stills in his struggle, still panting heavily. Hound and Nuisance don’t let it deter them in their vigilance, because they’re damn good vod’e and possess an ounce of common sense.

“And, look, I get it. I could spend the rest of my life punching every civilian who spits on me in the streets and it would even be satisfying. I could hit back the Senators who think of clones as easy targets. Or - I can aim my sights at who’s on top. And I think you know who I mean, because you know as well as I do the same damn man has ruined both our lives.”

Kenobi makes an alarmed noise, and Maul an interested one - not that Fox is going to let him walk out of this place awake. Still, he tilts his head in a way he hopes conveys his helmeted grin successfully to non-vod, as well as the bloodlust behind it. “You’re also welcome for the fact that the Chancellor won’t have heard of your spontaneous resurrection yet, by the way. You’ll retain your element of surprise instead of gambling it away on petty revenge on Kenobi.”

“He cut me in half!”

“He killed my master!”

Fox waves their protests away.

“Also, that’s treason!”, Kenobi adds, sputtering. Fox grins. Kenobi purses his lips, and continues. petulantly, “…do you have any proof?”

“So. Much. Proof”, says Nuisance, dreamily. “Like, do you want it alphabetically or by date?”

Which is when the Duchess, of all people, bursts out into barking, crazed laughter.

“You - you’ve certainly given yourself an edge in that fight, Marshall Commander”, she wheezes, brushing tears from her eyes. Fox raises his eyebrows at her, which she somehow seems to be able to tell, because she gestures at the clunky handle dangling from his belt.

“What, this old thing?” He unclasps the black rectangle from its hook, holding it up in the air. Maul stills strangely beneath him, and Kenobi goes ghostly pale again. Fox is starting to get a bad feeling.

“I took it off Viszla and beat him over the head with it. I figured he’d taken it off a Jedi cadet or something. What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

[good-chimes]

THE RULES OF BUTTERCUP CAMP

Rule 1: No friendly fire in the camp.

Rule 1a: NO GRAVEL, NO SAND, NO FALLING BLOCKS

Rule 1b: SCAR THIS MEANS YOU

--- I dont know What you’re talking about

--- You know exactly what I’m talking about!

Rule 1c: Grian is not allowed to make Scar strip down to his underwear on the Perimeter edge to ‘find all the sand’; this makes us look bad in front of Doc.

--- He had it in his SHOE

--- counter-rule!! Actually this makes us look GReat in front of doc. my abs intimidate him.

--- There’s no such thing as a ‘counter rule’ and your abs don’t intimidate anyone

--- mumbo agrees with me!!

--- I. Um. I just think Scar’s abs could be good PR. I’d be impressed if I were Doc.

Rule 2: All Buttercups must remember at all times that Doc is the enemy and we are here to TAKE HIM DOWN.

Rule 3: Goateater is not allowed to eat Mumbo’s pillow.

Rule 3a: we should leave GOateater alone because she’s doing her Best

--- Scar, she’s doing her best to eat my pillow!

--- this is proving resorcefullness and initive like a good Buttercup!

Rule 4: Mumbo’s cooking tastes like a camping mat and he’s not allowed on the cooking rota

Rule 5: grian cant cook us eggs for more than 2 meals in one day

Rule 6: I have to say I agree with Rule 5.

--- Mumbo needs to LEARN HOW RULES WORK

--- and also stop being RUDE about my COOKING

Rule 7: Goateater is not allowed in Mumbo’s bed under any circumstances.

--- mumbo is biased against Goateater!!

--- Then make her sleep in your bed, Scar!

Rule 8: Grian is allowed to push Scar into the Perimeter if he does the sand thing one more time

Rule 9: Grian is allowed to push Scar into the Perimeter if he refuses to put a shirt back on and is being really obnoxious about it

Rule 10: Grian is allowed to push Scar into the Perimeter if he keeps snoring at night

--- Mate, we’re getting some expansion of powers here that I’m not entirely comfortable with.

--- yknow its not tJHAT Bad

--- Okay, so, Scar, listen, just because you’ve never minded doesn’t mean Grian should be able to do what he likes. This is setting a precedent. We need to talk about this.

Rule 11: Grian is allowed to push anyone into the Perimeter for any reason necessary

--- I told you! I TOLD you!

--- Cmon Mumbo a man’s gotta have hobbies

--- Not threats-of-immediate-violence-to-his-two-closest-friends hobbies!

--- WAnt some sand?

--- I CAN LITERALLY SEE WHAT YOU TWO WRITE HERE. SCAR I AM COMING FOR YOU.

--- Good LUck :)

Rule 12: Grian is not allowed to keep stealing Mumbo’s HotGuy poster for his own tent then denying it.

Rule 12a: Grian is encouraged to get his own poster or pay Mumbo 16 diamonds.

Rule 13: Buttercups are reminded to focus their efforts on DOC and how everything is DOC’S FAULT, not SPYING ON THEIR FRIENDS about POSTERS.

Rule 14: Goateater is not allowed in Mumbo’s entire tent.

Rule 15: Goateater is allowed whrever she likes, including in MUmbos tent.

Rule 16: Scar is not allowed to write rules that contradict previous rules.

Rule 17: Mumbo is not allowed to do that either!!

Rule 17a: If Mumbo and Scar don’t stop fighting over the rules board and GET US SOME DRINKING WATER LIKE THEY’RE SUPPOSED TO then Grian gets to throw them both in the Perimeter

--- I thought everything was Doc’s fault.

--- Sometimes it’s your fault, Mumbo!

Rule 18: Look, can we have some sort of punishment here that isn’t ‘Grian pushes people in the perimeter?’ Only he’s not pushing himself in the perimeter, and last night he blew up a firework experiment in the campfire and took half my moustache off.

Rule 18a: That was obviously Doc’s fault.

--- I don’t think it’s Doc’s fault if you did it yourself! In fact, you’re the reason we’re here in the first place. There’s sand in my sleeping bag and I’ve lost half my moustache and Goateater keeps eating my shoes!

--- also I gotta pointout G you never paid me for those fireworks

--- Listen, Buttercups, the rules are very clear about who’s to blame. It’s Doc’s fault.

--- That’s pretty rich coming from you, Grian!

--- also goateater is perfect and hasn’t done anything wrong

--- Shut up, Scar, this is Grian’s fault. I’m making a new rule.

Rule 19: I think we should blame Grian for everything

Rule 20: I secnd this rule

Rule 21: Oh, yeah? Well, I think we should blame SCAR for getting me BAD FIREWORKS

Rule 21a: those were top quality scarland fireworks, Mister!

Rule 22: It was Scar who technically broke the tunnel bore so he’s the reason we’re here

Rule 23: I mean, I guess—Scar, mate, you did do that.

Rule 24: I think we should blame Scar for everything

Rule 25: now wait A MINute

Rule 26: Yes, honestly, it’s mainly Scar’s fault.

Rule 27: Its not!

Rule 28: It’s either you or Grian. I think either way we can all agree I’m the innocent victim here.

Rule 29: What – okay, fine, new plan! I think we should blame MUMBO for everything!

Rule 30: yeah!

NEW RULE: MUMBO IS BANISHED FROM THE BUTTERCUP CAMP

NEW RULE: OH I AM, AM I? WELL THEN, GRIAN IS BANISHED FROM THE BUTTERCUP CAMP!

NEW RULE: OKAY! I GUESS THIS IS MY CAMP NOW! IM MOVING JELLIE INTO YOUR TENTS AND SERVS YOU BOTH RIGHT!

Rule 34: Guys?

Rule 35: …guys?

…

…

…

board suspended :(

…

…

…

Rule 36: fine I’m back

Rule 37: strewing my bed with cherry blossom wasn’t actually necessary

Rule 38: Aw, Scar, you shouldn’t have.

--- i missed you guys

--- I missed you guys too!

--- It’s been TWENTY MINUTES

--- admit it G you missed us

--- Fine I did

--- But I think I have time for a second shot

--- GRIAN

--- joking <3

Rule 39: All previous rules are suspended.

Rule 1: It’s Doc’s fault.

Rule 2: Grian is still allowed to push people into the perimeter.

--- mumbo, wheres Goateater?

--- Special mission, mate, don’t worry about it.

WHY HAS SOMETHING **EATEN** ALL MY ***CROCS***!

YOU WILL PAY FOR THIS, BUTTERCUPS!!

– G.O.A.T.

p.s. Also kindly return my hotguy poster, Grian, I know that this was you

[neptunes-sol-angel]

"I'm finna get this sh*t off my chest and lay it to rest". Pick the gif(s) that you're drawn to the most, then scroll for its corresponding message of me dissing your haters! 🐍🤭

Paid Readings | Botanica | Tip Jar

Pile One

Your haters are definitely people that are from your past which could consist of those who you’ve shared a close connection with and a group of individuals that were prominent in your childhood. These people made you discover both the positives and negatives that come with the feeling of being passionate, meaning at some point they made you feel really high about yourself and could have been the reason for one of your moments where you felt really low. You could have had an explosive argument with them or have experienced mounds of anger because they’ve betrayed you in a way that involves using your sensitivities as a way to manipulate you and degrade you. Just a lot of bullying energy here, maybe their goal was to make you feel less significant or capable and alone because of your interests that are considered taboo. They could be dark empaths or people pleasers who aren’t equipped enough to handle conflict without throwing someone, regardless of how close you are with them or how long you’ve known them for, under the bus and could also struggle with finding their own independence and confidence to stand up for those that they were supposed to love or what makes them authentic. I feel like your haters are just sore losers, they don’t know how to accept when they’ve lost. What’s pathetic is that they’ve spent so much time trying to get rid of you because they assumed it would make them superior or elevate them in a social circle. Your haters could show a lot of cowardice in a way that blocks them from being creative or gaining in their career, social network, or reputation.You and your haters could have similar backgrounds but cope very differently. They’re very impatient and could make impulsive and destructive choices for fast rewards that may feel beneficial when they gain them but turn ineffective as fast as when they received it. They’re great at conducting illusions though. At one point you could have seen them as crafty, but they’re a one trick pony. Their method in tearing someone down includes repetitively bringing up the same insults to cover up the fact that they can’t roast or really say anything truly jarring about you so they cling to that one thing to see if it will stick. I don’t even think your words are something that hurts you, it’s the fact that they intend to  stoop low is what hurts you. I see several themes of them trying to utilize shame. Shaming you for your quirks is the most obvious but I see a lot of sexual themes too. Your haters could have tried to make you feel as if you were less of the gender that you identify with or they’ve used slut shaming tactics with you which could have been severely traumatizing if you were really young and in school. They’re the type to not have anything else on you so they start making up stuff to again, see it sticks. I feel like you clapback at this by being who they’re not, which is someone that doesn’t care about what others have to say about them. You don’t answer to gossip or let someone convince you that your likes are what will keep you behind, you acknowledge that your likes are what makes you the shit and it shows in how people are positively drawn to you and want to see and hear more from you without you having to wear a mask for people to “like” you. Your haters can’t relate and that’s why they’re upset. You make them even more mad when you’re empowering and accepting yourself while they’re trying to expose you, even if they do it through lies, you’re like “Ok. This is who I am. Now what?” and this is how the tables turn.

What they did to you was a displacement of their own anger towards people they feel lower than which is a lot of people, including you. They got buck with you because they saw your kindness as a weakness and that was their mistake. What makes this pathetic is that they spent so much energy trying to get rid of you just to come back to see if they can have a seat at your table because they see you’re doing big things, that you’re happier without them, and that it’s no fun throwing away genuine people to impress people who don’t care at all about them. As much as they tried to make it seem like you’re invisible, you’re now in their minds rent free. What your haters don’t see coming, is how they’re about to recognize how extremely wrong in not just their actions towards you, but their judgment in how you weren’t going to be supported. It’s going to be very apparent for people in this pile on how much you guys are actually loved. You’re going to realize that the things that you felt like you missed out on in the past, actually never really mattered. Like for an example, you could have desired to “be like the cool kids” or just “normal,” because of the people that made you feel bad, but you’ll learn that your haters are the type to peak in high school or something that doesn’t really amount to anything in life compared to what you’ve been patiently building for yourself. Maybe you don’t see yourself as patient because you get frustrated, however, I see that it’s because you’ve actually always seen the value in yourself but you’ve dealt with people misunderstanding you which is something you’ve learned is out of your control but your anger is geared towards people who react so negatively to what they can’t be patient on or understand. I’m seeing changes with this that can look like reconciliation with family members who correct their behavior towards you instead of trying to control what you want to do with your life or enabling abusive behavior towards you or you could successfully build a community or a name for yourself where people look up to you or find inspiration from you to instill more confidence and self-love towards yourself but also some form of justice that they’re looking for.

The problem with your haters is they’re lost when it comes to finding their own personality and instead of working on that, they’d rather cling onto other people by shadowing them in some way but they still expect to outshine the source which isn’t at all how it works. They could be grifters or have the tendency to copy others or go after your “hand me downs” so that they can feel like they’re on your level. They’re the type to talk down on what you have but in private try to figure out how they can emulate you. Your name is still on their tongue and embedded in their brains long after you parted ways with them because it’s the only way that they can have relevancy. They’re like salt hating on all the other spices. If they spent more time working on their own flavor instead of trying to tear you down for what makes you stand out, then they would finally find themselves instead of making their bland nature everyone else’s problem. They lack seasoning and it shows in how they treat people. Unfortunately you can’t save them from that, so always remember that you don’t have to get even with them, their misery is already turning them every which way but loose. 

Pile Two

A wise woman named Beauteuss once said “How do you expect me to chase you? Baby, I’m so coquette cunt”. I feel like this is your energy and why you have your haters UPSET with you. You have a superpower that most people are afraid to step into or fail to acquire and control which is to stand on business. This comes so naturally to you that the bare minimum doesn’t even cross your mind when you interact with people. You could have a strong balance of venusian and martian energy, you’re charming and know how to have your way with others without seeming manipulative because you’re an open book. What you see is what you get, you mean what you say, you’re very honest with how you feel about others, and you’re bravely upfront about what you want. People could envy your love life or the attention that you get. They want to know your secret with how you have people wrapped around your finger. They want to know how you’re able to be in situations where you’re taken care of by people while still having authoritative people in a chokehold. In your haters’ mind, they see their connection with you as a wrestling match that they cannot win. Your haters tend to be people who are in your career field or environments both physical or virtual where there’s a competitive atmosphere. They have big personalities that are threatened by your resistance or nonchalant attitude to submit to anyone. It just seems like what you have when it comes to magnetism or magisterial prestige is the real deal that people around you can’t help but respect it even if they initially tried to overpower you. Their dominance is more of a defense mechanism, or like the equivalent of how animals exaggerate their features to scare away bigger predators. They have to create a facade in order to control the situation or others. They aren’t really secure with their accomplishments or faith in themselves because they can’t handle coexisting with people who have strong personalities.

Regardless of your gender, men see you as a threat because they feel like you’re better than them or that you should know your place. You do know your place and that’s the problem. You don’t allow romance to trick you out of your independence or stay in situations that don’t give you what you deserve or what you seek. You are a vibrant seducer, people tend to be engulfed by how you stimulate their self esteem and sexual desires but they mess up by thinking that you’re something to be possessed. Your lovers can turn into your enemies when they realize that they can’t control you or take you away from you wanting your own things. You could have been in multiple jobs where your boss had this mysterious hostility towards you even if you’re doing what you’re supposed to do and don’t really talk as much. It’s because they see that it’s destined for you to be your own boss and outgrow them in terms of professionalism. For people who think that they can’t relate to this energy because it seems exaggerated, it’s because the main thing that your haters fear about you is your potential which is why you attract people in one-sided competitions with you. You destroy your haters by seeing what they see in you. Some things for people are written in the stars, your haters see you as the kind of person who’s able to manifest luck, success, and specific luxuries based on how confident and appealing you are to others and how well life responds to your beliefs. They could be jealous of how what could be delusional or unrealistic for them comes into fruition in your life. They could actually try to believe that you have a big head until they see for themselves that you have physical evidence that back up your confidence and influence on others. Your haters just see you as a reflection of how feeble they are with wanting more for themselves. Your haters could be older people of the same sex as you because you remind them of what they don’t have anymore or regrets over things that they should have pursued in their youth. They could also be jealous of how sensually desirable you are to people both your age and older. They feel like other people see you as someone who can do no wrong. They want your grit, your ability to get things from others, your beauty, your canniness to destroy anyone who does you wrongly, your assertiveness to stand up for yourself, and your reluctance to settle for anything less. What riles your haters is how you don’t have to beg.

You don’t require anyone else’s permission on when and how you can take time for self care. Your colleagues wish they could be like you when it comes to prioritizing yourself or how you think and act like the job needs you more than you need it. You could have a talent for having multiple streams of income. I’m picking up a lot about platforms on social media or you being in an industry where people who may have more than you secretly admire what you bring to the table, but instead of seeing your gifts as something beneficial, they try to hide you or ignore you as a way to stagnate your growth. But I see that it never works because if you’re in a space where people don’t want to give you any credit, you don’t cry over it or invest more of your labor thinking that things will change, you move onto somewhere else and end up still living up to the purpose that people tried to keep you from reaching. This mindset translates itself to many different areas in your life, especially in love. You don’t chase after people withholding their respect for you and it shows your haters that they have a lot of growing to do and evaluation for toying with power dynamics is not serving them in the way that they think it is. You make your haters question if they truly have any finesse or not by making them overthink their position and credibility in life. You make them consider how they’ve been denying themselves from their inner prowess and how they’ve allowed their past failures to consume their competence for optimism and compassion. 

Pile Three

Your haters are obsessed with the fact that you don’t want anything to do with them. These are people who are used to playing back and forth games with other people. They’re so used to always being in drama and chaos or someone chasing after them to continue these same old messy cycles that it completely baffles them when you don’t engage with their toxicity. I’m seeing that you could be really patient with people who keep poking to get a reaction out of you until they go too far. You might cuss them out, but that’s about it. You say what you need to say and feel about this person and then you cut them off and move on with your life. The closure that you give to others is very brief or sharp, people may even consider it as foul, but you don’t do it for anyone’s liking or entertainment, you do it for yourself to release the stress that you’ve been carrying so that it can bring you to a start in your healing journey away from that conflict. Your haters are very lost when it comes to reality and their ego. I see this vision of two people playing a game, one person is constantly cheating throughout it, and when the other person finally decides to walk away, the cheater thinks that they’ve won. They’re proud of themselves until it settles in that they didn’t really win anything, you don’t care anymore, and you’re not coming back to play that game with them any longer and they’re dumbfounded yelling out to you “that’s it? You’re not playing anymore? Wait come back!” and you’re like no thanks, I’m good. I’m actually going to hold your hater’s hand and tell them in the nicest way possible that they need to find a life and that no one is concerned with them since they’ve driven out every single person that’s close to them from their life by being delusional and childish. They want to be the it person so bad by actually thinking that they have haters and that people are obsessed with them when no one cares enough to be. They rely on playing mind games with people to make it seem like they have influence on others and to boost their ego but they have no idea that it’s not the kind that they think. It’s getting to the point where if they’re into spirituality and feel like they’re being evil eyed, then it’s probably 100% true but not because they’re an icon or anything like that. People are wishing for their downfall because this hater does not know when to stop provoking others and will eventually get clocked if they don’t stop.

The universe is special with its timing but humans are faster when they want consequences to be dished out. But this person has a particular obsession with you because you got away unscathed the most from them. Things don’t have to be taken away from them or done to them for them to suffer. The punishment for them that’s going to hurt the most, is them seeing you live your best life, genuinely finding peace and healing away from the hurt that they were going to heavily imprint on your life. They’re going to have to witness you step by step, moving on and finding your groove back with yourself and newer connections with people who will treat you better. This is a teaching moment for them to understand that being toxic is not cute. They will meet their match and it won’t come from a person willing to stoop that low with them. They were mistaken to try their luck with you and now they’ll have no choice but to be haunted with this lingering feeling of you looking down on them forever even when you’re actually looking away (out of sight and out of mind). 

[miaoua3]

Can we please get a Vernon head cannon… I struggle to find them on here but your svt ones are just amazing :))

hi! sure you can, and thank you so much for saying that, hope you enjoy this!

Vernon Boyfriend Headcanons:

•(sfw! hcs):

we all know that he is mostly silent throughout the day, but i truly believe that vernon would NOT be able to shut up with his significant other, he would be talking 24/7 to you, be prepared to hear about his day from the moment he woke up to the moment he came through the door of your apartment

throughout your relationship, you notice that your boyfriend has a problem. a very big and potentially dangerous problem. and that is that he brings all sorts of animals home. it started on one rainy night, he was supposed to be home 20 minutes ago but he was nowhere to be seen or heard. just as you were about to call him for the nth time, he came in through the door, drenched from head to toe from the heavy rain. and with three kittens in his arms. he didn’t even try to make any excuses, he just proceeded to say “i found them behind the dumpster two blocks away.”

we all know that he sleeps like a corpse, so naturally he wouldn’t cuddle you back while he’s asleep, but before that he definitely won’t let you out of his arms. he’s either talking your ear off or is casually scrolling through his phone. to be honest, it doesn’t matter what he’s doing, as long as you are in his arms he considers it time well spent. and just because he doesn’t cuddle you back during his sleep doesn’t mean you can’t do what you will lol, you can lie on him, hug him tightly and throw your leg over his stomach, he won’t care-but he also he won’t reciprocate it either because my man is just like this🧍

constantly shows you something on his phone, doesn’t matter what you are doing, you will just see his hand appear in front of your face before you even hear him say “babe look at this”, be it a meme or a cute cat video, he just wants you to see everything that he does too so you can enjoy it too

speaking off, kinda unpopular opinion but vernon definitely calls you babe or a nickname based on your name, i don’t really see him only calling you bro or dude like most claim he would do, i just don’t think he would go that overboard on cute nicknames either, but something small and cute just to signify both to himself and you, as well as to people around you that you two are together, and at the end of the day that would be a small way of him showing his love and affectionate for you

if you have a niece, count on vernon to ask you every other week with sparkly eyes if you can go and visit them, he just loves your niece so much even though he doesn’t really know how to play with her, he still loves her so much. even if he has to sit on a little pink chair with a tiara on his head while drinking ‘tea’ from a little pink cup, he doesn’t mind, as long as he gets to read her bed time stories when she goes to bed, he’s okay with it all❤️

i feel like everyone has already said this but vernon definitely has a big thing for showing you and sharing to you his love for music and movies. from making you new playlists with new songs he heard (and that remind him of you), to having a dedicated day of the week for movie nights, he just wants to have somebody that he can talk to about his favourite things so pls make sure to pay close attention to what he’s showing you :(

•(nsfw! hcs):

vernon strikes me as a man who wouldn’t have that high of a sex drive, but when he’s in a mood, count on the fact that you will be doing it for hours to no end and that you won’t be able to walk the next day. he will bend you in positions you didn’t even know you could be bent into, he will try out all the paces until he finds one that you enjoy the most that night. sex with vernon would never feel like chore but rather like a brand new and beautiful experience every single time

he actually gets really nervous before going on stage, so he always drags you into the nearest corner for a quickie or to eat you out or to have you suck his dick, for him it’s a great way to get all that pent up energy out (plus seeing you on your knees, with teary eyes as you struggle to wrap your mouth around his thick cock is something he can think about while on stage as a way to pass the time-)

if you ever thought that this man had a stone face and that he’s expressionless most of the time, that would change the very first time he fucked you-his eyebrows furrowed in pleasure, his mouth opened as moans keep on spilling from his mouth, droplets of sweat sliding down his temple, a few landing onto you due to him hovering above you-yeah, let’s just say that he makes the prettiest faces and noises ever

prefers it when you ride him, especially after a hard day at work, there’s nothing he loves more than leaning on the backrest of the couch and letting you take care of him, as well as letting your wet pussy swallow him whole, he would just lay there with his eyes closed and let you do whatever you think he would enjoy-sucking on his neck, scratching his chest with your nails, whispering sweet and encouraging words in his ears- let’s just say that this is top 3 best feelings he could ever feel

has a thing for both biting and being bitten, just something about the sensation you feel when you’re being bitten is so hot to him-imagine feeling so good and so much pleasure that the only thing to stop from screaming and letting the whole world know how good you’re feeling is to bite his shoulder, it makes his brain go ckslcnsnqjqh

for some reason finds himself always fucking you in the most unusual places-on top of the kitchen counter, in the bathtub, behind some restaurant that is secluded enough but also not enough, on dino’s couch??? when he wasn’t even in his apartment??? he just…fucks you when he gets in the mood, no matter the time, place or the occasion

you can’t even dare to say to me that he doesn’t have a thing for cream pies, just the sight of his cum dripping from inside you, your pussy clenching around nothing before he pushes his cock back inside along with the cum that was just about to drip out-let’s just say every thought from his head (if he had any left due to the feeling of your pussy clenching around his dick) evaporates, only thing he can focus on is you and how good his cum looks like coating your lower lips i- i need him i fear

[daisyvisions]

I Wanna Be Your Dog - (k.yh)

➺ Pairing: Rockstar!Younghoon x Assistant!Reader

➺ Summary: Your job as an assistant to the band is simple: handle their schedule, and do what they ask you to do. But how far are you willing to help one member out with a certain ask if it means keeping your job?

➺ Word Count: 3.8k

➺ Warnings: Smut (18+, minors DNI), fem!reader, unprotected sex, creampies, edging, male masturbation, guided masturbation, handjobs, slight fingering, riding, lots of making out, groping, sexual fantasies, mutual pining (?), younghoon is down bad for reader (sub!younghoon if you squint), marking, mentions of hookups, pet name used (baby)

➺ A/N: Finally, my birthday fic for Younghoon is up! I had planned to write for rockstar younghoon ever since this tiktok edit came out last year. This was not the original story I had in mind but I hated how the outline was going and decided to save it for another member and use this plot instead. Title is inspired from the song of the same name by Joan Jett & the Blackhearts because the lyrics fit so well with one particular scene of the fic (iykyk). Proofread once, enjoy 😉

➺ Network & Tag: @deoboyznet @snowflakewhispers @winterchimez @aimeecarreros (thank you for introducing me to the song 😈)

For as long as you could remember, you've always wanted to work in the music industry. There was something about that chaotic world that you thought was magical. You were so determined to become a part of that universe you didn't care where you would end up.

And that is how you became the assistant to one of the hottest acts to ever grace the stage.

At first, you were way too excited to be involved in the day-to-day of the band's schedule; you didn't even care if you had to run many blocks just to get the specific brand of coffee they wanted.

But soon enough, the rose-colored lenses you had on would crack. Not only did you have to take care of the band's schedule and be at their beck and call, but you were also in charge of cleaning up their mess.

Which is the reason you ended up sitting through a one-hour phone call with the band's manager as he practically yaps your ear off about the band's lead guitarist.

"Do you know how many NDAs I had to sign just so these groupies would keep their mouths shut about Younghoon?" Jacob exclaims.

"I know, I'm the one who prints and mails those documents for you." You sigh heavily.

"The board is getting pissed off. It's getting too much! He has a sex addiction at this point!"

"Well, it's not like we can make him wear a chastity belt or a purity ring to stop him! You know how he gets." You reply, trying to hold in your frustration from how long this call has been going.

"They are in the process of promoting their next album and going on tour. If Younghoon keeps this up and the press finally catches on, it will not be a good look for us all." Jacob takes a deep breath and pauses for a moment.

"I need you to keep him in line," Jacob says to you with a stern voice.

"What?! How the hell am I supposed to do that?"

"I don't know, you're the assistant. It's your job to take care of those guys. Do something about it or you can say goodbye to your job."

Jacob puts the phone down immediately without even waiting for your reply. You throw your phone to the side, your heart racing as you feel the frustration consuming you, and it's not even eight in the morning.

You can't afford to lose your job. Not after you've worked so hard to get where you are already. And you will definitely not lose your job just because Younghoon can't keep it in his goddamn pants.

No, you're going to do something about this no matter what it takes.

As you insert the spare key in the lock of Younghoon's apartment, you're instantly startled as a figure appears before you. Her disheveled appearance already tells you who or rather, why she's in his apartment. Great, another day of running into a groupie.

"Oh, Lin, isn't it?" You try to give her a smile. You introduce yourself as the band's assistant.

"Oh—hi," she responds, but her eyes were looking elsewhere. "Excuse me, I gotta go, late for… an appointment," she mumbles.

"Of course, it was nice meeting you!" You put on that people-pleasing voice. Lin nods in return before stumbling out the door. You make a mental note to track her address and send her an NDA later in the day.

You walk further into Younghoon's apartment, already listing out in your head the mess you have to clean up later as you quickly scan different areas of the living room. You find him still dead asleep in his bed, probably unaware that his latest conquest has left the building as you walk closer to sit on the edge of the bed.

"Younghoon? You awake?" You gently shake his shoulder. As you continue to wake him up, you're caught by surprise as he grabs your arm and pulls you into his embrace.

"Hey baby, up so early?" His deep morning voice rings in your ear as his face buries into your neck.

You try to keep yourself composed as you wriggle yourself free, but your eyes widen at the sudden realization that doing so was a mistake as you feel something hard digging between your ass.

"Younghoon, I—"

"So eager for round two, huh? Don't worry, baby, I'll let you take the lead this time." He kisses a sensitive spot between your neck and shoulder as his hands start drifting near your hips. Before anything escalates, you pull his hands away and reach behind to flick him in the forehead.

"Younghoon, it's me!" You shout, sitting upright once more and shaking off that fluttering feeling growing inside your stomach.

"Ow. What the— oh. Oh hey!" He smiles at you. "Where's—"

"Already left. Witnessed her walk of shame just as I was going in," you smirk. "I brought you breakfast; better see you outside in ten minutes, alright?" You slap his shoulder to wake him up.

"Alright, alright, I'll get up," he groans as he turns to his side.

"Aw, all this for me? You shouldn't have." Younghoon slings his arm over your shoulder as he watches you set all the food on the counter.

"Just sit down and eat. We need to talk about something." You shrug his arm off.

"To talk… What did I do this time?" He sarcastically replies as he sits across from you.

"It's not what you did this time; it's what you keep on doing, Younghoon." You grab his plate and fill it up with the food on the table.

"Look, Jacob called me this morning, and he's not happy with your—" You pause, trying to come up with a proper way to address the problem.

"With my… what?" Younghoon takes a big bite from his plate, his eyes trained on yours as he waits for you to finish.

"Your sex addiction." You decide to get straight to the point. "You fuck nearly every girl that bats her pretty eyelashes at you or even gives you a decent amount of attention."

"Hey, I can't help myself, you know? This is the rockstar's life, after all." He shrugs as he takes a sip from his glass.

"Yeah, well, if you don't get that controlled and continue thinking with your dick, it's not gonna look good for the press," you reply.

"Since when have we cared about what the press thought?" Younghoon asks with slight irritation in his voice.

"Please, Younghoon, I need you to keep it together just until promotions and the tour are over. My job is on the line here." Your voice starts quivering. Younghoon sees your eyebrows scrunching and the tiny tear forming at the corner of your eye.

Oh, how he wishes he could kiss those worries away right now and keep you close to him. Seeing you like this whenever you're frustrated or upset makes his heart ache with a feeling he can't explain. It's probably because he has a soft spot for you, ever since you started working for them. And if he's the reason that you end up losing your job, he doesn't know how he'll be able to sleep at night.

"Please?" Your tiny voice calls him back to reality as your soft hands hold one of his. And how could he ever say no to you?

"Alright," Younghoon sighs out. "I'll do it. But it's not gonna look pretty." You chuckle at his response.

"I promise you can go back to doing whatever after the promotions. Deal?" You gently squeeze his hand for reassurance. Younghoon places his other hand on top of yours and squeezes in return.

"You got it, boss."

Much to your surprise, Younghoon does a fairly good job at keeping his word. At first, it was a bit difficult, but he somehow managed to pull through.

He couldn't forget that one time he was almost about to fuck the girl lying on his bed until he suddenly remembered your face and how upset you would've been if you found out what he was doing. He couldn't bear the thought of disappointing you, so he just came up with a lousy excuse for the groupie to leave and fisted himself later in the night until he was satisfied enough.

And since then, that's what he had been doing to get by. He was either fucking his hand or fleshlight while imagining all the different one-night stands he had in the past. But as the days went by, it was getting harder for him to reach that sweet release. Not even watching porn would get him off the way it did before.

He needed to touch and be touched, a pair of lips kissing him everywhere, and moans of pleasure ringing in his ear… he couldn't wait till the tour was over until he could finally ravish someone and forget their name the next day. Sounds like a shitty way to live but hey, this is the kind of life he chose for himself.

Just two more months, Younghoon, what's the worst that can happen?

Sweat starts to form on Younghoon's forehead as he vigorously pumps his throbbing length. He had been trying to get off for a while now, but it seems nothing has been working. This was the worst case of blue balls he has ever had, and if he doesn't cum any second now, he might go insane.

Younghoon starts to dig deep into his memories of past hookups to see if there was one moment he can use to get himself off. There was one memory that seemed to pop into his mind, but not any of the hookups he had remembered. No, it was a memory of you. The day you came into the apartment to talk to him about his problem.

He recalls the smell of your perfume when he buried his face into your neck, the way your ass rubbed against his morning wood accidentally, and how soft your hands were when you held his hand during breakfast.

His cock throbbed in his hand remembering those small moments, playing an imaginary scenario in his mind wherein you didn't stop his hands from traveling to your hips. How he would've pressed himself into you further and continued kissing your neck. How his hands would’ve groped your breasts tenderly as he whispered filth into your ear and you would’ve moan his name in response.

"So pretty…" he murmurs to himself as he bucks his hips up, thinking how beautiful and kind you've always been to him even if he tends to be an asshole at times.

He moans at the thought of how soft your lips would feel against his own, remembering the time you drunkenly kissed him on the cheek during that one after-party a few days ago. He had to quickly turn away from you to hide his cheeks turning pink.

God, he knows his abstinence from sex has gotten so bad to the point that even the smallest gestures from you are enough to send the blood in his veins right down to his cock. He's never been this hard in his life, and he can't tell anymore if it's because he's blue-balled or because he's thinking about you.

Either way, Younghoon was all up in his head that he didn't even hear his front door being unlocked as you let yourself in.

Your visit to Younghoon's tonight was unplanned. He had forgotten his lucky leather jacket in the studio a week ago, and you took it upon yourself to get it dry-cleaned for him.

As soon as you got the call from the dry cleaners, you thought it would be nice to drop by his place and surprise him with his newly cleaned jacket and bring his favorite food for a late night snack. After all, you wanted to show him how grateful you were for keeping his word.

"Younghoon?" You call out his name. You knew he was home after spotting his keys and wallet on the console table. You try to call his name again but still no response. He must be asleep. I should go check on him, you think to yourself.

Younghoon? He hears your sweet voice ringing in his ear. God, he must be down so bad if he can start hearing you call out his name, as if you're right close by. He can already feel himself closer to the edge as he hears his name once again, pumping himself to the point of no return until his door suddenly swings open.

"Younghoon, I— Oh my god!"

"Shit!"

You both catch each other by surprise.

You tried to look elsewhere, but the image of Younghoon jerking himself off is now burned into your memory, and you don't know what to do. Younghoon, on the other hand, whimpers from the loss of his orgasm.

Had you been delayed by a second or two, he would've released his load onto his stomach, relieving himself of stress. But now, he's on the verge of crying as he feels himself getting incredibly pent up.

"I'm so sorry, I'll just go—" You turn around quickly.

"No, wait!" Younghoon's voice stops you from closing the door. You couldn't help but turn around and face him once more. He looked like he was in pain, his eyes becoming watery as he deeply breathes in and out.

"Help me…" He cries out to you.

"W-what?" Your eyes widen. He can't be serious, right?

"Please! I can't— been trying. I can't do it." A tear falls down his pale cheek.

"Please, it hurts so bad…" He whimpers once again.

"Younghoon, I can't—"

"Please! Just this once. We'll never speak of it again—" He pleads like his life depends on it. And with the way he's looking at you like you're the only one that can help him get out of this sticky situation, how could you say no to him?

"A-alright." Your feet move towards him even before you replied, your body already deciding for you on what you need to do next.

You sit beside him, placing your hand on his thigh as you glance over his hand gripping his cock. You feel your core pulsate at his pink tip peeking out from his fist. But you try your best to completely ignore whatever intrusive thought you have and place your hand on top of his, gently holding it as you look into his eyes.

"Just this once, okay?" You hover above his cock enough for your spit to fall onto the tip and move his hand slowly up and down as you guide him through his orgasm.

This wouldn't be the first time you've seen his cock. The first two times were by pure accident and from afar too. But nothing could've prepared you from seeing his member up close.

The way the veins are protruding from how rock hard he is at the moment, wondering what it must feel like to fill you up to the hilt. You try to think of anything deemed unsexy as you stare at his manhood, but that ends up failing as you start to feel your underwear slowly getting wet by the second.

While you're too caught up in your own thoughts, Younghoon couldn't help but stare at the way you looked at his cock, all slack-jawed and dreamy-eyed. It was like you wanted to do more than guide him, like you were ready to devour him any moment from now. As if a dark cloud of lust is slowly taking over you right before his very own eyes. And that was turning him on a lot.

He subconsciously reaches out for you with his free hand, his fingers holding onto the back of your neck as he pulls you in for a kiss. Your lips are even sweeter than he had imagined, making his heart beat so fast from how soft they feel on his own. Younghoon knows this moment won't last forever, so he decides to just enjoy it while it lasts.

You instantly moan from the feeling of his lips on yours, holding his wrist as you lean forward to press yourself against him. You pull his hand away from his cock and replace it with yours instead, the softness of your palm wrapped around his length making him hiss in pleasure. You start to grip him harder, controlling the pace of your hand jerking him off.

Younghoon groans into your mouth as he slips his tongue inside. His hands grabbing onto your hips before pulling you closer to him to straddle his lap. You continue to jerk him off as his hands start caressing the sides of your body.

"Please…" he whines into your mouth.

"Tell me what you need, Younghoon—" You kiss his cheek before moving down to his neck.

"Wanna touch you— fuck— Can I touch you? Please let me touch you." His eyebrows knit in pleasure as your lips suck a particularly sensitive part of his throat.

Too busy with lightly sucking on his skin, you grab one of his hands and guide him to the front button of your pants, signaling him to remove the article of clothing from you for better access. He wastes no time helping you out of your jeans and having you back on his lap.

His fingers slowly sliding beneath your underwear, groaning at the sensation of how wet your folds are. He's honestly amazed at how you're able to get this wet without being touched; it motivates him to slide his fingers between before finally circling around your sensitive bud.

You let out a soft whine as you feel your knees turn into jelly. All you could think about right now is to sink yourself down onto his member and ride him into the sunset. Somehow it was like he could read your mind as you feel his hand pull your underwear to the side and the other pull you by the hip to align your entrance right above his tip.

"This okay?" You look down at him.

"Y-yeah, more than okay." He stutters.

"C'mere." You lean down to kiss him, slowly letting yourself sink down to the base of his cock.

Both of you let out a breath you didn't know you were holding until you finally sat on his lap. The feeling of Younghoon being fully sheathed inside you already has you seeing stars, and you haven't even moved yet. He swallows your moans as he starts bucking his hips up, holding you in a tight embrace as he fucks himself into your tight hole.

"You're beautiful, you know that?" He mumbles as he pulls his lips away from yours to get a good look at your face.

The way he looked at you as if you had a halo around you was making the butterflies in your stomach flutter like crazy. You knew the effect he had on you, especially when he would randomly flirt with you. But for some reason, the effect of his words felt different.

It was like he was confessing something he had locked up inside of him for a long time, making you blush like an idiot. Your eyebrows knit in pleasure as his thrusts start to become faster. Your walls are gripping him like a vice; he knows he's bound to reach his peak anytime soon.

"Let go for me, Younghoon, you can do it." You whisper in his ear.

As soon as you say these words, a sudden burst of warmth blooms inside you. His hips relax onto the mattress as he comes down from his high, but his hands guide your hips up and down his cock, helping you reach your own release.

He must've been so pent up, you think to yourself as you feel him still incredibly hard inside you. The tip of his manhood nudges that sweet spot deep inside you so good you feel yourself nearly falling over the edge.

"K-keep going, baby—" He breathes out. "Use me."

You take control of your own movement and bounce on him like there's no tomorrow. Your fingernails raking the sensitive skin on his chest as you chase your own high. Younghoon can feel himself reaching his own high too the more you keep this pace up.

Everything about this moment was making him absolutely dizzy. Your walls practically choke holding his dick, his first load already dripping out of you and coating his balls, and the way the squelching sounds echo in the room as you use him for your own pleasure?

He will never look at you the same way ever again. You've officially ruined him for anyone else after this.

"Younghoon, I'm gonna—"

"C'mon baby, cum on me. Fuck— make me yours." He mumbles as he feels close to the edge with you.

After a few more bounces, the rope inside you finally snaps, making you cum so hard you feel like you're going to faint. Younghoon's second release follows right after yours, but this time his load is more than the first. You both know for sure that as soon as he pulls out, a waterfall of your mixed juices is bound to rush out of your hole. So you just decide to keep him close longer as you both try to catch your breath.

You lay your head on his chest, listening to the sound of his breathing pattern slowly regulating as he rubs his hand up and down your back. You both bask in the silence a little longer, secretly savoring the moment before you have to part ways.

"Younghoon?" You lift your head to look up at him. He hums in response.

"If— if ever you need help with this at a different time…" You pause for a moment. "I'd be happy to volunteer." You feel your cheeks burn up at the thought of doing this with Younghoon again.

"Yeah? You wanna help me out?" His eyes widen, his heart beating faster again knowing this wouldn't be the last intimate moment with you.

"Yeah, just as long as you sign an NDA about it." You jokingly reply. He chuckles and kisses your forehead.

"Well, get ready to print a lot of those—" He grabs your ass and gives it a good slap, making you yelp in surprise.

"—because you have a lot of catching up to do."

[7ndipity]

Now that the requests are open again 🥳🥳🥳🥳🥳

I would die for a reaction of perilla leaf situation playing out in real.

🤍much love

The Perilla Leaf Debate

Ot7 x Reader

Warnings: swearing,

A/N: I knew this would come up sooner or later. Ok, *deep breath* here we go.(This is really just me throwing the maknae line under the bus for being over dramatic, lol.) Also, if you don’t know what this is about, just search ‘ bts perilla leaf debate’ on youtube and it’ll make sense soon enough.

Masterlist

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•

Jin: Just blocks your chopsticks with his own, matter-of-factly like “Don’t do that, they’ll think you’re flirting.” leaving you sitting there like “what!?”, but he’s already gone back to eating like nbd. He doesn’t care, but he knows other people read into it, and he doesn’t want to hear it.

Yoongi: Does not give a single fuck, just like he said during the debate. If anything, he might actually appreciate your attentiveness and willingness to help others with even the little things like this.

Hobi: I genuinely don’t think he’d care, unless you’re being like really weird/flirty about it. If anything, he’s gonna make jokes about it like “Ooh, does that mean you’re a thing now?” “Is the part where I’m supposed to get jealous?”

Namjoon: Doesn’t care at first, until maybe later on when he remembers the other’s arguments about it and starts overthinking a lil bit, but he’s so unsubtle, straight up asking you about it like “Do you find ‘friend name’ attractive?” “What?!” “Nevermind, wanna makeout?” (he’s v confusing, I pray for you)

Jimin: Doesn’t really care, unless it’s someone like Tae or Jungkook, who he knows will read into the action and likely make a sly remark later on. In that case, he will make sure to help them before you even have a chance, nearly lunging across the table in his haste to avoid any drama.

Taehyung: It really depends on his mood. For the most part, I don’t think he would really care, so long as you also do the same for him, but he can be a petty bitch sometimes, so he might try to pick a fight over it with you if you’re not careful.

Jungkook: Throws himself across the table to stop you jsdgvihshvbfjvs. No but seriously, I think he might not actually realize until it’s too late, and then he’s just sat there like 0-0”ohmygodno” the rest of the evening. Would be soo sulky abt it till you ask him what’s wrong. Just tell him it didn’t mean anything and give him kisses and he’ll be okay.

Taglist: @sopebubbles-replies @btsw1fe @this-must-be-my-tardis @whitefoxgirl @bethanysnow @coffeedepressionsoup @main-bangtansmauyeondan @captainorangegoose @k4ngelz

[sunonyoreface]

He Knows - Simon "Ghost" Riley Pt. 20

An: Not sure how to start this haha. Hi. It's been over a year but here we are. If you're an old reader, thank you for your patience and for deciding to come back.

Word count: 2410

As the shadow’s grip tightens around my wrist, it feels like a match is struck within me and lit alight with fear. It burns hot within my chest, searing the flesh attached to my bones, causing my entire body to tense. Yet the fear and the pain don’t cause me to shut down. Something has fundamentally changed in me throughout these last strange and inconceivable weeks.

When he leans over me, it’s like the match has lit up his mask, allowing me to see every movement and intention in complete darkness. My fear no longer shuts me down. I feel more awake than ever. More infuriated than ever.

But I’ll be damned if he finds out.  

“Miss me?” his voice is just as vile as it was last time.

I bite my tongue. Speaking now would only give him more reason to do harm.

“Probably not as much as you miss Suds though,” His strong grip yanks me upward into a sitting position. The tightness of his fingers twisting around my wrist painfully pinches my skin. I don’t dare utter a single sound. “Hey? Cause you haven’t been with him all week. Which begs the question: What the hell have you gotten up to, Birdie?”

“Nothing,” I mutter through bared teeth. “When I’m not in Captain Price’s office, the Lieutenant locks me in here.

“So Ghost babysits when Suds is gone. Eh? What’s he like?”

Bennet’s question throws me off guard. What’s he like? Of all the things to talk about, this is what he wants to focus on? Not the trade-off or Price’s supposed secret plans or the Ultranationalists or their impending betrayal. Just Ghost.

There has to be more to his words.

“Quiet,” you can smell the uneasiness on my breath. It carries my words and hangs pungent in the damp air.

“Wanna know something about Ghost?” he asks. My stomach turns. Of course, I do. But he’s counting on that. He wants to know just how interested I am in the Lieutenant. I also know that whatever he’s about to tell me probably isn’t true. He wants to drive a bigger wedge between myself and 141 so my loyalty remains with my father. Except I’ll never be loyal to my father.

I shrug my shoulders in response. I don’t know if he sees or if he cares, but I do know he wants to scare me.

“He tried to kidnap your mother before settling for you,” Bennet’s words taste like the bile rising up the back of my throat. Sour and acidic. Like expired milk. “Do you really think they would stop with you? They’ll never stop. Not until your family – our family is torn to shreds.”

I should have known. I want to feel shocked, but there’s a mental block in my brain stopping me. I. Should. Have. Known.

“Our family?” my voice wavers.

“Yes,” he hisses. “Our family. What? Do you think Ultranationalism is just a movement? It is so much more than that. We are so much more.”

“How come they didn’t get her?” I dare to ask him the question buzzing around in my mind. The hidden bug slips my mind. Our ears are far from the only ones present. Ghost at the very least will be listening. Maybe Soap. Maybe Price. Maybe some higher-up that I’ve never heard of. Nothing in this room is a secret.

Who’s to say it’s true anyway?

Yet, who’s to say it’s not? Sure, the Ultranationalists are liars. So is 141. So is Ghost. Of all the people here, he has kept the most from me.

Truth out here has a different meaning. Every single one of their moral compasses has been skewed by war’s magnetism. Even the men who are objectively fighting for peace and democracy are not on the moral high ground they believe themselves to be. None of their hands are clean. Especially Ghost.

“Our team intercepted last minute. Captured their crew. By the time we discovered their plan to take you too, we were already too late. Little Bird, this was never about you. Your father wants you to know that,” his grip on my wrist releases as he leans back, off the bed.

“Does he forgive me?” my throat tightens as the question barely escapes as a whisper.

“He’s working on it, the shadow’s words are swallowed by the darkness. “But he needs your help. We need to know what angle Price will take,”

“I’m not allowed in the room when they discuss that stuff. They don’t trust me.”

“You must’ve picked up on something,” he urges.

I pause for a moment and think. Of all the different conversations I’ve witnessed, surely something must stand out. Something that is safe to share and won’t hurt 141.

“I mean I don’t think they actually intend on going through with the exchange,” I start. However, this isn’t new to him. Neither side plans on cooperating with the other. It’s a recipe for disaster. “They don’t want my father dead. They need him alive for intel on my uncles. But I also think they might be moving on. Price and Ghost discussed intercepting other families. I think the same way they did with me,” it’s better if he thinks I’m clueless. So much has changed since that conversation. They aren’t moving on any time soon. Not when they’re so close.

“Do you believe them?” his question isn’t inherently strange. It’s the fact that he’s asking my opinion that catches me off guard. Does he genuinely want my input? Does this mean I’ve gained his trust? Not likely.

“I don’t know,” my chest is tight. “Well,” I change my answer. “No, I don’t think so.”

“You shouldn’t,” he starts to slowly pace the room. His mind is racing. There’s so much that needs to be done in so little time. If only I had just an inch of the rope, they’re tying my noose with. Then at least I’d know what tree they planning on hanging me from. “You’re expendable to them,” Bennet turns toward the bed again.  

“And not to you?”

“To me?” his tone quickly turns to something akin to amusement. “No, you’re quite expendable to me. But your father? He sees you as part of our cause.”

“He never brought it up before,” the curious part of me always wins. I have to know. Something. Anything. Even if it's completely fabricated.

“After everything, do you think he’d still lie to you?” the shadow stills and his eyes turn to slits.

“I- no,” we both know it’s a trick question.

“He said your wings will take you far and high, little bird,” for a moment, I almost hear the words in his voice. They sound like something he’d say when I was young. Like stories from lost times.

“But if it was up to you, I’d be dead already,” I shift back to our previous topic.

“Of course,” he says like it is obvious. “But if you stick with 141, they’ll do it for me. You’re useless to them after the exchange. Nothing more than collateral. Even you, are smart enough to know that,” am I though? Hasn’t some hopeful part of me genuinely believed I might actually survive this mess?

“It’s crossed my mind,” my sullen voice lags with a false sense of exhaustion. Yet, I feel more alert than ever.

“Well let it cross again. Into our territory. With your family,” a deep, raspy sigh escapes his chest as he takes a step back from the bed. In the silence of the night, I can hear his scarred lungs rattle like an old pickup on its last leg. But he’s got ‘miles to go and promises to keep’. This shadow isn’t the kind of man to go back on his word. There’s a reason he’s made it to where he is today. “Think about it,” he says as his hand silently wraps around the metal handle.

The door opens and shuts without a sound. When he slips into the darkness, I know this will be the last of our witching-hour meetings. His words haunt me like the last wishes of a lost soul. There’s more truth to them than I’m brave enough to admit.

I almost mistake the soft raps against the door as one of those spirits. Haunted? Maybe. Spirits? Only of the men who’ve died at his hands. Only in the sense that his name brushes across soldiers’ lips like a curse: If you see him, you’re dead.

The knock was just a courtesy. A warning. Ghost enters the room with a large hunting knife in hand. The matt carbon blade is almost impossible to spot in the night. It’s the way his sleeved arm is held at his chest – ready to strike – that gives him away.

Just as one shadow leaves, another appears. Dressed in all black and moving as silent as an unspoken thought. The intensity of his eyes burns as they bore into holes through the darkness.

He knows Bennet is gone. That doesn’t stop him from clearing the room anyway. He reaches under the desk, pulls out the bug, and twists it apart, rendering it dysfunctional. The tiny pieces are slipped into his pocket.

No one can know he’s here.

The words he’s about to speak should never meet the air.

I haven’t had any time to process what just happened and now he’s appeared within moments to remedy an undiagnosed illness.

It feels pre-emptive. Like he knew this was going to come up. Like he’s planned for it.

“Are you okay?” His thick English accent slowly fills the space.

I’m not interested in small talk. I need to know the legitimacy behind the shadow’s words.

“How much did you hear?” I ask. The adrenaline is running low in my veins. I feel the shakes approaching behind me like an unwanted guest at a house party. Creeping and on the verge of cutting into our conversation.

“All of it,” Ghost crosses the room to my bed. He hovers at the edge with his fists clenched at his sides. His trigger finger twitches, expecting confrontation. I stand from my seated position, but he still towers over me.

“Is it true? Did you try to take my mom?” this conversation feels borderline repetitive of everything that went down in the cabin. Every time I think all the details are out in the open and he’s finally being honest with me, I’m proven wrong.

And every time, the Ultranationalists pick at my healing scabs, causing streaks of blood to smear across my fragile skin. It’s an ugly look. One that lacks patience and self-control.

“Affirmative,” the resignation in his voice is concrete. Ghost doesn’t even try to hide it. What else is he leaving out?

“You’re a fucking asshole,” the bitter words fire in his direction. I feel stupid. I feel played. As though they’re all still treating me like a child.

“Y/N,” he quietly warns. His voice refuses to move above a whisper. Who knows what ears are listening outside that door.

“No. Fuck you,” I point at him with a quivering hand. “You’ve had days – no – weeks to tell me this. Why didn’t you say anything, Simon?”

“It was classified,” he automatically responds.

“You’re so full of it,” I cross my arms and fist my hands. I’d be smart to shut my mouth for the rest of my time here. I’d be smart to do a lot of things differently than I have. Yet that’s not an option. “What else are you keeping from me?”

A deep sigh pushes through the black ski mask. One that’s no longer worried, but hinting at frustration. The pause before he speaks is long and filled with words that’ll never see the light of day. “You know I can’t answer that.”

“You can,” I urge.

“I can’t. That’s the nature of my job – of my life, y/n,” I can feel the heat of his chest as he steps closer. “There will always be secrets. The things I know are worth killing over.”

“But if it’s about me, I deserve to know,” I push harder. Surely, he has to understand where I’m coming from.

“Just drop it,” the coldness to his voice is usually reserved for lower-ranking soldiers. I feel it nip at my skin and travel through my bones in an unnerving kind of way. Yet I can’t drop it. Not when it’s my life at stake.

“You can’t come here and expect me to ‘just drop it’ Simon. You came here. I didn’t ask for help,” the annoyance is audible in my voice. “I deserve to know. What is it? Do they really plan on killing me?”

“Of course not,” he scoffs. Ok. So that much is the truth. At least to him.

“What, then?” my brows furrow as my chest impatiently heaves. Why did he bother showing up if all he’s going to do is shut me out?

Simon reaches for a strand of hair, but I duck away from his grasp. The gloved hand falters, before falling back at his side. I know I’ve struck a nerve when his shoulders stiffen and the heel of his boot shifts half an inch back.

“I wanted to make sure you were safe,” the rejection turns his voice stoic. “Goodnight y/n.”

As Ghost turns and heads for the door, he tightly grasps the knife at his side. I consider biting my tongue, but that’s never something I’ve excelled at. “Leaving me in the dark is far from keeping me safe.”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” Simon looks back as he grasps the handle. There’s a glint so faint it’s almost hard to spot behind his eyes. For a moment he almost doesn’t look real. “You’re safer hidden in the shadows. There’s no going back once you’re exposed to the light.”

He doesn’t wait for my response. I don’t have one to give.

As Ghost leaves the room, I’m left with a sinking feeling in my stomach.

It fades for a while as the hours drag and I drift into a strange type of sleep. Yet, the feeling returns when my door opens in the morning. When I see his face I know today is the day. They can’t afford to wait any longer. The Ultranationalists are ready. 141 is ready.

It isn’t Soap or Ghost or some other foot soldier who’s come to retrieve me: it’s Captain Price.

[sigmasoyboy]

Surely nothing in the world ever felt better than [THIS]

Was suggested on instagram to write from Gage's POV and thinking about how I would ever write from someone who's been essentially dog lobotomized actually got me thinking so hard I started writing. The formatting of this one is a reading nightmare but the never ending run-on sentence tightly packed into one block of text feels the most appropriate to a dog's inner thoughts so… You have to suffer for the sake of art™️

cw: ableist and misogynistic language, PTSD, panic attack, murder, vomit, loss of humanity through being genetically spliced with a dog

Right now there is only [RUNNING] and [PANTING] and the wind whipping your face and twigs digging into your paw pads and snapping under your weight and the sweat tickling the inside of your thigh as it rolls down the expanse of your (ever) hairless leg. You almost want to throw your hands down into the decaying grass and leaves to propel your body further but (something) keeps you anchored to your bipedal ways, your body knows it was never made for sprinting on all four but your body was also bent once and could probably be bent further all the way to the other side transhumanised so far the evolutionary path to break all knowns nomenclature and classification and leap from (human) to [DOG] just as you do out of the shrubbery as soon as your hear [YOUR NAME], toes skidding into the overgrown lawn as you halt, tongue hanging out dumbly trying as you might to bring moisture back into your bone dry mouth. The useless instincts you (forcefully) have inherited work against you but thankfully [HE!!!] turns on the garden hose [HE!!] uses to bath you with and fresh water springs out, splattering everywhere against your open mouth. There used to be a better way to drink but you (forgot) how so you chew at the air trying to catch this pesky pesky water into your mouth while getting drenched, you were hot anyway, running so so hot from all the excess dopamine secreted by your happy happy dumb brain, so easily pleased.

Surely nothing in the world ever felt better than [THIS]; it’s the 100th time you thought this exact thing today not with words or inner monologue only pure unadulterated stabs at your mesocorticolimbic circuit, things are only [GOOD] or [BAD] not in terms of the morals (you lacked) but in terms of [PLEASURE] and [PAIN], so simple and so good like quenching your thirst and moving your limbs and eating and shitting and nerve endings being stimulated by a [GOOD SCRATCH] just like [HE] is doing right now immediately replacing the serotonin from the water [HE] just shut off, not having a care in the world for how greasy your (hair) feels or the way you wildly shake off to dry yourself or the fact that you are (not) a dog at all. You wouldn’t get any of it anyway because all you understand now is [ANGRY] and [SOFT] tone so as long as [HE] coos at (you) softly [HE] can say anything and (you) would happily (giggle) and [RUB YOUR HEAD] against his big calloused hands even if he was (talking shit). You were liberated against your (will) and you are too dumb to realize it, of course you are why would you ever stop and try to think when you can just march alongside [HIM] like [HE TAUGHT] [YOU]] like a good stupid fuckass (dog) getting all [EXCITED] because you realize [HE] is walking towards the [KITCHEN] which can only mean any and all (doubt) or [FEAR] that’s desperately trying to join each others can be [SILENCED] by a motherfucking spoonfull of [PEANUT BUTTER HOLY SHIT] sticky and salty and obstructing your airway momentarily but thank goodness you still know how to breath through your (nose) while you smack your (lips) desperately trying to (get away from the [DELICIOUS TREAT] clawing at the leathery cushion with your splitting nails nerve endings stimulated by [HURT HURT HURT FUCK what did you do why were you bad why is this happening to you this wasn’t supposed to happen you weren’t supposed to get caught in the first place but the [BITC H] squealed and slipped through your fingers and now you’re the one being [GUD LA DET SLUTTE VÆR SÅ SNILL] you should’ve made a bigger hole and (fucked it) so [BAD] no one will ever be able to identify your whore bitch corpse you r eally fucked up this time you can barely breathe through any hole now in out in out in out head heavy with the weight of ([HUMAN CONSCIOUSNESS]) getting really really light so much so you don’t feel your (claws) slicing until the victim became unrecognizable aggravated [MASSACRE] of your (ultimate reality) now there’s only [DROOL] and a little bit of [VOMIT] and your clammy skin against the (cold old tiles) of the kitchen floor and [HIS] form above you [WARM] palm encircling almost your entire still trembling arm and (garbled speech) you can never [UNDERSTAND] again, it’s so [WARM] and (nice) your [TAIL] slaps the kitchen floor, beginning to unknot [HIS] brow as you can feel yourself (smiling) dumbly at [HIM]. And now there is only [PETTING] and [ROLLING ON THE FLOOR] with the sweet-acrid aroma of [PEANUT BUTTER] and [VOMIT] [HE] stops you from [LAPPING] just before your tongue touches it.

Surely nothing in the world ever felt better than [THIS].

[strangersteddierthings]

Gut Instinct: Chapter 4 - Saturday

[Art] [Ao3] [Prologue] [Chapter One] [Chapter Two] [Interlude] [Chapter Three] [Chapter Four]

Steve hasn’t told anyone but Robin that his parents are never returning, but here, in his car, one hand on the wheel, the other still on the gear shift after having put it in drive with Dustin and Max in the backseat, Robin in the passenger, and Eddie fucking Munson in his rear view mirror, he’s reminded of it. Steve is well aware of the giant empty house he’s going to go back to. Is suddenly and intimately reminded of how it felt to have to spend nights alone so many times because his parents were never there.

Steve was alone after that first experience with the Upside Down but at least alone in a house. Not some shitty boathouse in the outskirts of town, with nothing but a tarp to use as a blanket.

A wave of protectiveness, that starts from his gut, washes through him as he watches the shadow of Munson slink back into the boathouse. Steve was alone, but Munson doesn’t have to be. Steve didn’t have anyone, but he’s gonna make fucking sure Munson does.

Steve throws the car back into park. “We can’t just leave him alone after what he’s seen.”

“Where are we supposed to take him?” Max asks but he is already climbing out of the car.

Munson pops his head back out of the boathouse, presumably having heard Steve approaching or to check why the car hasn’t pulled away yet. “Harrington?”

“You can’t stay in a boathouse,” Steve says, “look at how easily we found you. You want the cops to come calling next? This is less a polite request and more of a demand. Let's go. Me or the cops?”

Munson looks at him with bewilderment. “Dude, no way are your parents going to let me in the front door.”

“We’ll use the back door,” Steve says, then looks around the boathouse and goes for a different tactic. Bribery. "Come on, my house is a hell of a lot more comfortable than this, and I got plenty of ways to distract you from the horrors.”

Munson looks stunned for a moment, eyebrows hidden behind his bangs before his face darkens, like he wants to argue. He doesn't, though. He follows Steve back to his car, all skittish and high strung like an abandoned house cat. 

Steve opens the back driver side door and tells Robin to pull her seat as far forward as she can and for the kids to lift their legs. Munson’s coming to his house.

The look Dustin gives him is warm and open and says thank you almost too loudly. Steve looks away, stares out towards the boathouse as Munson wiggles his way on to the floor of the Bimmer. Dustin is so open with his emotions and Steve is so proud of him for that, but it always leaves him feeling a bit out of his depth. Also, leaves him little bit in love with Dustin’s mom for never doing anything to discourage Dustin from feeling his feelings.

Once everyone squishes into the back, Steve shuts the door and climbs back into the driver’s seat. He can’t pull his seat as far forward as he’d like but he does his best to give Munson more room on the floor.

The drive is mostly silent until Steve is about two blocks from the trailer park.

“Stop! Stop stop!” Max yells from the backseat, causing Steve to slam on the breaks. Thankful the streets seem to be deserted so no one rear-ends him. Munson curses from the floor, though, a little thrown around. “Sorry. Sorry. You can’t pull into the park. The police…”

She trails off but Steve understands. Thinks they all do.

“Alright,” Robin says, nodding to herself as she speaks, “We’ll get a little closer and Steve can park on the side of the road. I’ll walk you home.”

“Dustin, go with,” Steve knows it sounds like an order, but he doesn’t mean it that way. He finds Dustin’s eyes in the rear view and Dustin nods. He understands. Steve inches forward as much as he dares and pulls off the side of the road to park.

Once they’ve existed the car and start up the road, there’s shuffling behind him and Steve pries his eyes away from watching Robin, Max, and Dustin walk down the road to look over his shoulder. Munson has sat up awkwardly, lifting himself just enough to be able to watch as well, an expression on his face that Steve understands. Like Munson doesn’t know what he’s getting himself into and he’s not sure whether he wants to commit.

Steve understands that. He remembers running from Nancy’s house, so long ago now it seems. He made a choice then. Keeps making it.

He also remembers how alone he felt afterwards. He won’t let Munson feel the same way. He didn’t have anyone to turn to about the nightmares, the constant terror, the bone deep fear that never left. He didn’t have anyone to talk to then, at least, not someone who was also just a traumatized child. He’s got Robin now.

Steve turns to stare out the windshield again. Neither of them says anything while they wait but they do let out identical sighs of relief when Robin and Dustin come back into view. The car rocks a bit as Munson settles back onto the floor.

Robin stops at her door, looking around, not getting into the car until after Dustin climbs in the back seat, sitting sideways to keep his feet out of Munson’s space.

“Good thing Max was thinking clearly,” Robin slides into the car, twisting herself to look at Dustin but it’s clear she’s speaking to Munson when she says, “Your home’s got a police car parked in front. But, uh, Max said she’d check in on Wayne if she sees him. See how he’s coping, y’know?” She slips a hand between the seats to pat Munson twice on his leg before seat belting in. Munson makes a soft noise in response. They all pretend it didn’t sound like a sob.

Dustin is next. He won’t leave the car until Munson sits up and allows Dustin to give him an awkward hug where Dustin bends in what seems a painful way to smoosh Munson’s skull in his arms, as good a hug as they can do at the awkward angle. Steve feels a wave of jealousy and shoves that down. He will not be jealous that Dustin cares for Munson. He should feel glad that Dustin just gets to have more people who care about him in his life. Everyone in the car watches Dustin disappear into his house.

Steve parks in front of Robin’s house but Robin doesn’t make a move to take her seat belt off right away. Instead, she sits with her hands balled into fists in her lap. “Steve-“

He reaches over and cups one of Robin’s hands in his own. “Don’t worry, Robbie. I got a good feeling about this.”

She gives one stiff nod before taking a deep breath in, then out. She flips her hand over in his grasp and links their fingers. “Alright, dingus. You call if you need anything. Otherwise, I’ll see you later. Tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow,” he agrees. “I love you.”

“Gross. Love you, too,” she grins at him, gives his hand one squeeze before releasing him and soon he watches her vanish behind her front door.

Munson is deathly silent the entire ride back to Steve’s house.

Steve never uses the garage, probably out of habit since his parents used to be the ones using it. He pulls his car in it tonight. Waits for the garage door to lower then says, “Alright Munson, no one can see you. And don’t worry, my parents won’t be showing up anytime soon.”

Munson pops up with a soft grunt, crawling out of the backseat and all but spilling onto the floor of the garage. Steve waits for Munson to stand up before rounding the car and heading into the door that leads into the house. 

He turns to wait for Munson and really sees him for the first time under the dim light of the garage. Back at the boathouse, Munson was wound tight, pressing a broken bottle to Steve’s neck. His hand was shaking, though, through the bravado. Steve felt it quaking at his neck.

And Steve knows. He recognizes the look in Munson’s eyes. Can see that Munson’s trying so hard to hold it together right now. Pretending to be okay. Because Steve did, does, it too when faced with strangers. But his shoulders aren’t as tense right now as they were at the boathouse. If anything, he seems a little relieved. Probably because he’s got confirmation he’s not crazy. 

Munson follows him into the house and shuts the garage door behind him.

Steve feels like he’s being followed by a ghost as he leads Munson through his house, as silent and distant as Munson seems to be. He flicks on lights as he goes, mostly so Munson won’t be bouncing off the doorways or furniture in the dark. No need to add physical injuries to his trauma.

He wonders if Munson’s going to be okay sleeping alone. He’s got no idea if Munson slept in that boathouse, or if he was up all night freaking out. Steve doesn’t want to be alone, he realizes. He could offer that they sleep in the rec room on the couches. Might not be as comfortable as a bed but… Yeah. He’ll offer the guest room, if Munson wants to be alone, and the rec room if he doesn’t. Munson can pick what he prefers.

They go upstairs and Steve turns to Munson and what comes out of his mouth is, “I usually sleep with someone after things like this happen. Occupy the mind, you know? Would you mind if we slept together?”

Steve doesn’t even register how fucking weird that is to ask someone who isn’t Robin until Munson rears back like Steve gut-punched him and shoots him that same bewildered look from before, eyes wider than ever and looking wild. “Fucking hell Harrington! At least treat a man to dinner before propositioning him.”

Steve can’t help the laugh that leaves him like a bark before he quickly shoves it down and all but shouts, “That was- I’m so used to Robin just....” Steve feels his face heat up in a blush, trailing off because Munson doesn't even look like he's breathing he's so still.

They stand at the top of the stairs, just staring at each other.

Munson is silent so long that Steve feels the need to fill the silence. “You, uh, think on that. I’m gonna go scrounge up some food for us.” He points to various doors around the upstairs as he adds, “That room’s the guest room. The door at the end of the hall is my room, door between them is a bathroom.”

“Bathroom?” Those words seem to perk Munson up a bit, “Can I… shower?”

“Yeah, man,” Steve walks down the hall to the linen closet, glad to be able to put some distance between them now that he’s gone and made it awkward. More awkward? Hell, he doesn’t know what Munson thinks about him, so it could be making him wish he’d stayed at the boathouse.

He pulls out two towels from the closet and then heads to the bathroom. He can hear Munson’s footsteps behind him as he opens the door and goes to set the towels on the sink counter, belatedly realizing what an absolute disaster the bathroom is. There’s no room on the counter with all the things Steve has set out, mostly his shit but also things Robin uses when she stays the night. Dirty clothes litter the floor and Steve does his best to kick them into a pile near the door.

It's Munson’s turn to laugh, “This is the only room that looks lived in, dude.”

Steve can’t argue that. He sweeps all the stuff spread across the sink counter into the sink itself until there’s enough room for the towels and sets them down. “Let me go grab you something to change into after.”

He tears his dresser apart looking for something that Munson won’t feel out of place in. He finds a pair of faded black sweats and plain grey Henley. It’s not Munson’s style but at least it’s not a polo shirt. That would just look downright wrong on Munson. He hesitates a moment before diving into his sock and underwear drawer. He finds the coziest socks he owns and the best-looking pair of briefs. He doesn’t know if it would be awkward to offer underwear, but also, is it more awkward if he doesn’t? He decides he’ll not mention them, and Munson can make his own choice when he sees them.

Returning to the bathroom he finds that Munson has removed all his clothes but his boxers. He’s leaning back against the sink but doesn’t look relaxed at all. He’s almost taller than he was before even though he’s leaning against something, like he’s trying to stand as straight and tall as he can while faking a casual lean? It makes no sense to Steve.

Munson’s inspecting a bottle of conditioner, brow scrunched as he reads the back of it. He doesn’t seem to notice that Steve’s returned, so he finds himself cataloguing Munson. He lingers on his scrunched face, fascinated by how soft and adorable it makes him look. Then, Steve’s eye catches all the black on Munson’s arms. He’s got more tattoos than Steve thought, with the ones that had been hidden by his Hellfire shirt. Steve’s eyes jump from the spider on his chest to the dark hair on a soft looking tummy leading down... He needs to derail any thoughts on how hot Eddie Munson is right now. The dude just witnessed someone else die, for fuck’s sake. Steve’s not about to take advantage of Munson right now. Unsure of what else to do, Steve blurts out, “Hey!”

“Fucking hell!” Munson yelps, whipping his head up to look at him like he might be an axe murderer, arm drawing back like he’s going to lob the conditioner at Steve in self-defense. He catches himself from actually throwing the bottle though, so a win for Steve.

“I brought some clean clothes. Just come to the kitchen when you’re done. Use anything in the shower. It’s good shampoo and conditioner, I promise. Bring down your clothes with you and we’ll put them in the wash.” Steve is trying so hard to be normal right now, but he mostly feels like he’s being a creep.

Munson nods, eyes drifting back to the conditioner in his hand. Steve drops the clothes onto the toilet seat lid and leaves, closing the door behind him. He stands outside the door until he hears the shower turn on.

He really will be a creep if he just stands there and listens to Munson shower. Off to make dinner.

[inkblot22]

Truss

Woohoo Malleus woohoo! I'm making the trigger list a bit bigger because I keep thinking about how people will totally skip reading it if it's too small and then blame the writer for their own mistake. That shit is clown behavior but I don't want to be held responsible for someone else's case of stupid, so sorry to those of you who think this looks clunky. Line divider found here: @/cafekitsune. This is also a fic that is wildly self-indulgent, in that I mean that while writing I visualized my own physical form and quirks.

That being said, this fic is written with afab (assigned female at birth) readers in mind. No pronouns other than you are used for the reader, but the reader does possess a womb. Reader's chest is not described in the least, just the lower bits, and even then it's not at length. Malleus also refers to the reader as "beauty," but masculine people can be beautiful too so idk but here's a warning anyways.

This fic is DEAD DOVE, DO NOT EAT. TW for noncon, fae interaction rules used for said noncon, slight bullying if you squint, one (1) mention of blood (I'm beginning to think I have a problem.) Stay safe while reading. Possible OOC Malleus, I haven't read any of book 7 and if you spoil it I'll block you temporarily.

This is absolutely not your fault, and you don’t know what the fuck you’re doing. It’s awful. Crewel was for sure his namesake, because this whole thing was a steaming pile of-

Alright, from the top, just to organize your thoughts: you are the only non-magic student in a school of mages. The teachers are mages. Your best friend/roommate/monster friend is a mage. The plants here can do magic, but you? No. Thanks homeworld. Love the gift of nothing.

Thus, the faculty have seemingly created a game of “how to piss off and challenge the magicless student,” in which they give you various tasks to just make you lose sleep. Vargas had you running laps until your legs felt like jelly, doing pushups until your shoulders started sounding like glowsticks. Trein had you learning completely off the wall trivia, such as what type of fabric the Queen of Heart’s favorite bathrobe was made of and why it made her more powerful. That’s nothing, it’s easy because you apparently have so much free time in their eyes. But Crewel? Fuck that man. 

When you got the assignment, it sounded fun and exciting. He gave you seeds for a fast-growing rose thing. Honestly you weren’t paying attention to the name of it, but you retained what you needed to know. The plant only grew in moonlight, so you needed to cover it before you went inside at night. It needed a minimum of two hours of moonlight to grow per night. If the basket was overturned and it was exposed to the sun, then the plants would die. Moderate watering, no fertilizer, the usual.

Once the plants bloomed, you were supposed to take the flowers and make some kind of glamour potion, so here you are, failing at doing so. You only had four flowers, and you’re down to the last one. You wasted three tries and you still have no idea what the hell you’re doing wrong and it’s due next alchemy class and you’re breaking curfew on top of all of it. You glare into your cauldron with your latest failed attempt and hunker down to shoulder against the side so you can dump it out and try again. 

“Oh, it’s you.”

The voice makes you jump out of your skin. You turn around and you almost want to cry tears of joy, because if anyone can help you, it’s him.

“When I saw a little head duck down, I thought that something strange was happening. A crime, perhaps.” Malleus smiles, and it’s not a kind smile, but you’ll take anything remotely positive at this point, “What are you doing on the floor, child of man?”

“Oh, I have to empty the cauldron.” You puff out, still trying to throw your weight to push the cauldron. You did it twice earlier, so this must be the effects of mental and physical fatigue.

“Oh, that’s right. Allow me.” Rather than waving a hand or anything, Malleus strolls on over and uncrosses his arms, taking one hand and pressing his fingertips against the lip of the cauldron. The whole damn thing tips, the failed mixture pouring out into the nearby drain. With the same ease, he tilts it back and turns to you.

When he looks at you, it’s… weird. You know he’s lizard-like, as dragons evidently are, but even Sebek’s eyes aren’t this jarring. They aren’t soulless or cold or unfeeling, but it feels like he is looking through you. His emotions don’t reflect in his eyes properly. That’s what it feels like. They reflect, but it’s wrong. Fractured. His lips quirk into a smile and you blink.

“Uh… wait, what are you doing out here, Tsunotaro?” You ask, turning to gather more materials, following the transcript of your recording from class.

His smile grows, “Just on a walk. Will you tell me what you’re trying to make?”

“Uh, yeah. This glamour potion? I don’t know. Remember how I was growing those flowers?”

“Of course. And what happened to the rest?”

“I… uh… I messed up the other potions. I don’t know what I’m doing wrong here.”

“No?”

“No. Do… do you think you could maybe… help me?”

“Of course.” Malleus plucks the flower up, twirling it thoughtfully, “Why don’t you gather the other ingredients?”

That was simple enough. Petals from your tediously grown blooms, some kind of floral oil with tiny white flowers inked on the label, a ball of clay no bigger than a pea, something that really resembled a severed finger, something that was hopefully just someone’s baby tooth, a handful of crystals in a rainbow of colors, and water. Lots of water. Malleus watches as you put all your ingredients on the nearby table and hums thoughtfully before dimming the lights and turning back to you.

“And where did you hear that you needed these things?” He asks. It’s not something that he says with any indication that you’re right or wrong. The tone is bland but the words say enough. 

He has essentially told you before that he believes you inept, a babe in the woods when it comes to this sort of thing, but it doesn’t stop you from looking as hurt as you feel, “The headmage visited class and gave me some pointers?”

“You personally or the entire class? I don’t personally recall concocting anything like this when I was in your grade.” He says.

You suppose you’re grateful that he’s so blunt, but his flat tone makes the sting of your failure that much sharper. You thought he’d be nicer, since you two are sort of friends, and Lilia has told you that Malleus is fond of you, but it also makes just as much sense for him to refrain from easing up in his flatness because he supposedly thinks so much of you. He thinks you’re an idiot, but he’s not willing to treat you as such.

“The whole class. And no one else in my grade is doing this.” You mutter, staring at your assortment of items on the table.

He approaches the table and plucks up the beaker of water, twisting it in his hand, “Did you distill this?”

“What?”

“Tap water often has various minerals in it. If you haven’t been using distilled water, you’ve been adding an extra ingredient. Typically, most potions are much more forgiving and you can use tap water with little issue, but this particular potion is known to be disagreeable.” He murmurs, crossing the room with your beaker of water and setting it up to distill with a practiced ease. “That’s why it’s typically saved for fourth year students’ aptitude testing.”

The revelation hit you like a ton of bricks. You’d like to protest but it unfortunately makes sense. Malleus looks over at you, somewhat blandly, then turns around to face you, looking half concerned.

You answer his question before he can ask, “I didn’t… know that. I guess it’s my fault for being from a different world…”

His lips twitch into a smile, and for a moment you can see amusement in his eyes, fractured with the underlying coldness, “Oh, it isn’t. It may be your fault for failing to ask questions, but having someone who is unused to this type of work take on an advanced project is cruel.”

“You think so?” You ask, voice lilting with hope.

“Of course I do. Why you’re expected to make a potion of this caliber is beyond me.” Malleus states blankly.

“Uh, yeah. I- I don’t know either. But thank you for helping me!”

His expression flinches. It lasts for less than a second before it smooths into an odd grin. You’re not quite sure what that means, but you’re too happy to stop and think about it. The water finishes distilling and you carefully begin crafting, using the tips Malleus occasionally mumbles towards you. Don’t put that ingredient in yet, stir clockwise, you need to grind that up with the oil, don’t rush you have time, et cetera, et cetera, and then you have a gorgeous violet mixture, glimmering with a pearlescent golden sheen.

Your jaw drops. Somehow the few ingredients you threw together is enough to fill several bottles. Malleus is making a smug face as you rush to the shelves of empty bottles and choose several fluted bottles, quickly using a ladle to deposit the final, successful potion into the bottles. You’re so giddy with your success that you hardly notice as Malleus walks towards the door and locks it. But only hardly.

“What was that for?” You ask, not actually caring. You’re too happy to be worried.

“Oh, we’ll need privacy.” He responds.

That part confuses you enough into caring. You turn around from where you’ve safely wrapped the bottles and slipped them into your bag and shoot Malleus a frown, “Privacy? For what?”

Malleus doesn’t say anything. He walks over to the table and you feel your body stand up, void of your control, and stagger over to stand in front of him. If you were concerned before, you’re frightened now. Malleus looks down at you with his strange gaze and folds his arms.

“Wh-what’s happening?! Why can’t I move?”

“You really don’t know?” He asks. Something about his tone sounds mocking, but you’re certain he doesn’t mean it to be. It’s his version of sarcasm, he’s spoken to you like this before.

Your body hops up on the table, taking a seat, and Malleus turns to stand before you, looking down at you with a soft smile. You shift your hips- what the fuck is going on- and Malleus very gently hooks his hands in the pants of your dorm uniform.

Your dorm uniform is legit whatever the hell you want it to be, so it would change on the daily. Today it was a pair of jeans and a hooded jacket. He kneels to remove your shoes and stands back up, leaning close as he tilts your chin up. His breath fans over your lips.

“You didn’t tell me that you were so lovely beneath your clothes.” His hand on your chin shifted to your cheek, and his other hand laid flat on the table. “And… your smell is much stronger. Are you aroused?”

“You can’t just ask me that! I don’t know what you did but you’ve got to let me go.”

“I didn’t do anything. This is your doing.” He retorts, pecking your lips very chastely. 

“What are you talking about?” When he didn’t respond, instead pressing the tips of his hand that was on the table against your exposed sex, your heart jumps but your body doesn’t move. You can’t, “Don’t do that!”

“Lilia informed me that making someone climax is similar to binding someone to you.” He mumbles, kissing you again as his fingers slowly slip inside. “It makes them fall in love with you. Isn’t that the most binding contract of all?”

You don’t know why he isn’t listening, but even less than that, you don’t know why he thought you could handle two fingers, much larger than your own, penetrating you. You squeal, but your body is incapable of tensing. Malleus pulls back, looking at you in a soft confusion.

“What’s the matter with you?”

“With me? What’s wrong with you? That’s too many- it’s uncomfortable!”

He blinks at you and withdraws a finger, which feels much better. You sigh. If you’re going to be forced to do this, you may as well not get hurt in the process. You close your eyes and Malleus hums.

“Is this better? You’ll have to forgive me. I haven’t had a dalliance with a human before.”

“I- I don’t think I’ll be able to… to forgive you for this.”

“No?” You can hear his smirk and the squelching noise as he pumps his finger gets louder. He slips the second finger in again and the burn isn’t so bad as last time, “Well, maybe you can decide that for certain after the wedding.”

“The wedd-” You have to bite your tongue to keep from moaning. Your body leans back, laying on the table, and your gentle assailant curls his fingers, leaning forward to mouth at your neck, “There’s not gonna be a motherfucking wedding. You’re-”

You can hear his horn scraping against the table, “Hmm. I didn’t think you were so entitled. You’re squeezing around my fingers. Are you close?”

“No!” You’re a liar. A ragged gasp leaves your throat and you feel the drop in the pit of your stomach, the burst of euphoria traveling up your spine as his thumb presses against your clit.

Malleus laughs, then leans up off of you. The sound of clothing hitting the ground is the first and only warning you get, but you can’t move, so it might as well have been silent. You feel something on your stomach, coming up about a half inch below your belly button. It’s… almost cool to the touch. You would think it would be warmer, but it’s not. Your eyes round as you stare at the ceiling, and Malleus’s face leans into view, his eyes boring into yours as though he’s reading your thoughts.

“You’re very warm. I’ve always thought this. You must be boiling inside.”

“I- what?”

He doesn’t respond, leaning back up. You feel the velvety head of his cock press against your entrance and as much as you want to jolt away, you can’t move your body. You can’t even look down to see what he’s doing. Your lashes flutter as the stretch sets in, the pressure worse than his two fingers. It burns, especially along the bottom, where his weight lays heavy thanks to gravity. You’re capable of wincing and letting out a whine, but nothing else.

“H-hey, that- that hurts.” You babble.

“Does it? You are squeezing me like a vice. I’ll stay still for a moment so you can relax some. Let me know when it stops hurting.” It’s very peculiar. Although he speaks with an animated tone, his voice is often detached. You would think he’d have more emotion since he’s inside of you.

You blink rapidly and decide that now is as good a time as any to ask, “What the hell is happening?”

“Must you tease me so?” He responds, his voice tense.

“What? I’m not teasing you. I can’t move!”

“Of course you can’t. You only just bound yourself to my will.”

“I what?” You shout.

“What, did you think I enslaved you? I could have, when we first met. You’re too free, giving people your name, thanking them, taking gifts freely… it drives me mad.” You feel a flash of heat, something warm rolling against your skin, like standing too close to a gas stove, “And now I find that you didn’t even know? I didn’t think you were such a fool.”

“That’s just called being polite!” You protest. “Oh my god-”

“I suppose I can’t blame you, really. Relax, lest I harm you.” He murmurs, rolling his hips further as though he can slide in deeper. 

You squeak, “N-no, that’s-”

“Too much, yes. Tell me, in your world, do faefolk exist?”

“I- I mean, if they do, most people don’t believe in them.” The oddity of the situation felt like a blanket. Having a semi-conversation while your friend- not after this- used you as a dick holster. It was almost comforting. “I don’t- I don’t understand.”

His voice was deeper than normal, an underlying rasp to his voice, as though it was coming from somewhere deep in his throat, “I will explain. I’ll tell you anything you’d like to know. But after I explain, I will begin to move.”

“H-hey, no-”

His voice sounded choked, half strangled as he stifled a groan, “I apologize for not being clear earlier. Among the fae, verbal contracts are common and binding. You do not give someone your name. You wonder why I never directly gave you mine? It is a way to bind someone to your will. You do not accept gifts. Invitations are fine, but a gift is a sign that you owe someone something. My help- a boon- is a gift. Typically it is repaid with another kind turn. And, most importantly, you do not thank someone without the sufficient power to break their hold.” 

You felt him draw back, that wave of heat rolling over you again, and then he slammed forward. The slick noise and dull smack were muffled by your squeal, his cockhead punching your cervix like it stole from him.

“Foolish little thing. I suppose it makes you cute.” He sneers, and your body sits up, arms wrapping around his shoulders.

The angle makes his motion a bit less painful. He’s no longer bumping against your cervix, thank the Seven, but the stretch remains. Your eyes flinch shut and Malleus tilts your chin up to kiss you again.

“St-stop- stop!” You whimper, “You’re hurting me!”

“If you would relax, beauty, that would not be a problem.” His chuckle is dark, the squelching from your coupling making a wicked duet that makes you feel dizzy, “And you said it to me so easily as well. Thank me again.”

“Wh-” One of his hands slipped under your hips, holding your bottom just under the split in your cheeks, and nipped your neck as a flat thumping echoed from where your bodies met, your legs bouncing with the motion. His member had gone back to bullying your cervix, and you wailed in the hopes that he would stop, “Thank you!”

“Heh… it escapes your lips so freely. Tell me, beauty-” He cut himself off with a grunt, panting against the column of your throat. “Tell me, what is it that you’d like? I would give you the world on a platter, should you want it.”

“I- ow! Y-you’re hurting me!”

There was a possibility that he was getting off on the pain he was causing you, just as much as there was a possibility of him not understanding that he was hurting you. With every motion of his hips against yours, despite the wicked pain, you felt that ever evil tug in your gut, like a stone growing heavier and heavier. 

You tried again, because if this had to happen, if you were under his control now, you may as well not get injured. You would not be pissing blood if you could help it, “It’s too deep!”

He listened. It was odd, but he listened, his voice warming as he slid back a bit and continued ramming into you, but no longer beating the hell out of your internal organs.

“I didn’t realize. Is that better?” His voice sounded warmer, echoey against your shoulder. His teeth grazed over your skin again when you didn’t respond. He choked out your name and you sort of came back to yourself.

“U-uh- I guess?”

“Wonderful.” He mumbled, his free hand reaching between your bodies and slicked with your sweat, to tweak your clit.

It should be embarrassing, how quickly you reached your height. Whoever he had been with in the past couldn’t have been so sensitive, since you felt his body jerk against you, an uncontrolled undercurrent to his motions. You let out a quiet, squealing moan and barely even felt the break when Malleus bit you to muffle his own groan. You didn’t feel him climaxing inside of you. You felt the control return to your body and flopped backward onto the table, your hoodie damp with sweat. Malleus took a step back, then carefully redressed you, then himself. You looked up at him and saw nothing but adoration in his eyes, not the fractured appearance of such. It was like he was actually looking at you.

When he spoke to you, leaning forward to cup your cheek, his voice was warm, warmer than ever, “Now, let’s start planning for the wedding, my beauty.”

[rebouks]

Brodie Sampson was a foreboding man, but he somewhat reminded Robin of his father; tough and weathered on the outside, with a soft, gooey centre reserved for those who knew him closely. His voice was gruff when he finally decided to speak.

“I thought I told you not to wander off-.. and who is this?”

Alex rolled her eyes, resenting the way her father constantly scolded her for leaving the watchtower, despite the fact that he left for hours and hours every day.

“I was bored, and this is Robin-.. but he can’t talk.”

Brodie scoffed, “That’s convenient.”

“He’s fun and nice, don’t stress over it-.. please?” Alex asked, or rather, demanded, throwing a dusty notepad and a pencil in front of Robin. He’d promised to write his address down for her so she could write to him, they were going to be pen-pals!

Brodie grumbled, immediately dropping any misgivings, just as Alex had asked. “What do you want from the store?”

“Gummy worms!” Alex shouted.

“You’ll have no teeth left…” Brodie tutted, grabbing his coat.

“They’ll grow back.” Alex shoved a finger in her mouth, prodding the exposed gum where her front teeth used to be.

“Hm-.. you better get yourself gone soon, son. I’m sure your parents are wondering where you are.” Brodie squinted at Alex as he headed out, as if to warn her against convincing Robin to stay any longer; she stuck her tongue out at him.

Robin nodded as Brodie left, hastily scrawling down the rest of his address. He wondered if he ought to write anything else, an apology perhaps? He felt bad that he hadn’t managed to speak to Alex yet, but he was going home soon, so the opportunity had already passed. Maybe he didn’t have anything interesting to say, anyway.

“He’s nice really, he’s just-.. moody, or whatever.”

Robin forced a smile as she continued.

“It’s so not fair, having to stay cooped up in here all day-.. what does he expect?”

Robin supposed he expected his daughter to listen to him, though he also supposed it wasn’t fair that she had to stay here alone every day either. Did she go to school? Were they on some kind of permanent vacation? He’d have to remember to ask her when they wrote to one another, they’d have more chance of getting to know each other that way-.. especially since he still seemed unable to talk like a normal human being.

Alex hovered at the top of the staircase, blocking Robin’s path.

“I don’t want you to go-.. home, I mean.” She clarified.

For some reason, Robin found it hard to read Alex, but he could sense enough to know that she was lonely. She seemed much more present than anyone else he knew; often avoiding thinking about the past or the future, or ruminating on her thoughts for too long, instead acting on contagious, frivolous impulsiveness.

He couldn’t decide whether it was refreshing or frustrating. He’d gotten used to knowing what went on in people’s minds, and whether he liked it or not, Alex was an enigma. Robin would’ve done anything to avoid going home-.. and back to school, but since he couldn’t say so out loud, he did the next best thing.

“Ough!” Alex squeaked with surprise as Robin yanked her off her feet, wrapping his arms around her in a vice like bear hug.

Since he was so awkward with his words-.. or lack thereof, she’d wrongly assumed he’d be weirded out by physical affection too. Giggling slightly, she decided it was quite nice to be wrong. Her father wasn’t exactly a hugger, and it wasn’t as though she had anyone else she could randomly accost with her need for affection, people would think she was odd or clingy.

“I guess you don’t want to go either?” She asked, almost rhetorically.

Robin shook his head vigorously, tilting backwards precariously until Alex squealed again.

“Okay, okay, you can put me down now.. I promise I’ll write!”

Previous // Next

[azu1as]

au where cm goes undercover in a brothel/tavern as a courtesan.

It initially started out as chung myung wanting to help setup an information network for mount hua. This way, they wouldn't have to rely on the beggar's sect alone, meaning they can never get double-crossed. Let's just see you try, Hongdaekwang 💢

surprisingly, chung myung ends up enjoying his trips to the tavern because of the way the sisters there supply him with endless sweets and the nice oils and scents they use on him.

The scent of one of the hair oils reminds him of Tang Bo. It's…nice.

Of course, this is all a plus to the crazy dirt and tea that the sisters and tavern-goers provide him.

Inside the tavern where the night turns hazy as warmth and alcohol loosens lips and tongues in more ways than one, chung myung finds that people there are more willing to divulge secrets and information that would normally cost a fortune (read: several threats) if he turned to the beggar's sect.

Chung Myung also finds out that people open their wallets more frequently with a simple swish of a robe and basic swordless dances.

He can already see Chung Mun's appalled and exasperated face heaven if he knew Chung Myung discovered another way to scam people.

A little plum blossom step here and he has clients throwing wads of cash and coins at him, begging for another show.

'Suckers.' Chung Myung hides his wildly gleeful smile. 'AHEM, I mean my generous clients.'

Not only was he getting blackmail material on several notable figures, but he was also learning about smaller movements from major families thanks to their visiting associates.

He was also earning a lot of money. Can't forget about that.

Unbeknownst to him, however, he becomes a very well-known courtesan for his dances (chung myung's just going through basic sword forms, but shhh nobody needs to know) and supposed beauty.

Rumors say that his moves are so graceful and elegant that flowers bloom with every step and that heaven, if it could, would stop to watch.

And as for the rumored beauty...

It's all because of the mystery and allure that his thick, gauzy mask brings. People say that the courtesan's beauty is simply too much for the mortal man. so much so that he had to hide his beauty lest people go crazy.

The rumors inflate—as they often do—as they're passed around to the point where a large majority would agree that this courtesan is the type of generational beauty that would start wars.

This ends up as a major concern for Mount Hua since the tavern falls under their sect's jurisdiction.

So the Sect Leader sends some of the Swords to check up on the tavern to ensure that their security is sound while Chung Myung was 'away'.

Maybe even offer additional protection, just in case, what with the increased number of visitors from different villages and even sects due to the ongoing festival and a rumored dance performance from the tavern with the blooming courtesan at the center.

And when the courtesan takes center stage that night, each swordless step brings a plum blossom petal fluttering into the evening air, bringing with it a sweet scent and coloring the dark blue sky with a warm pink.

It's a homage to Mount Hua. That much is clear.

The courtesan does one final pose, an empty swordhand outstretched towards the sky.

Baek Cheon knows he isn't the only one who falls a little in love.

»—————————–✄

I'm currently trying to breakthrough my writer's block so other on-going fics/asks in my inbox have been going, but very slowly HAHAHA

Here's the link to the twitter post that spurned this word vomit <3