#my mind is just rapid fire

[triglycercule]

What do you think the types of drunk would the murder trio be? Im pretty sure ask dusttale already answered this question about dust but i have to ask the mtt expert

see now askdusttale DID answer the question. but they didn't ANSWER the question when asked what dust is like drunk. they just said that dust is the type to drink himself blackout drunk. so that mean i have total freedom on deciding what the mtt are like drunk hehehe (rubs hands together in a villanous way that you would imagine nightmare doing or something idk)

i already have an absolutely hilarious idea for horror and it might just because i'm on the guilt section of his character analysis but i could TOTALLY imagine him being an emotional drunk. like he CRIES. horror sans man known for being incredibly guarded and private with what he feels bawling his eye out. he gets mad he gets sad he does not get happy because horror doesn't have the right to be happy. he is too upset over the fact that he fucking DOOMED all of horrortale because of his selfishness and nothing can stop him from being incredibly vocal about that fact so much so that killer had to tape his mouth shut because he wouldn't stop crying so loud. and then he just silently cries until he passes out from exhaustion. the alcohol has an incredibly strong effect on him because i dont think he would drink regularly plus he definitely hasnt drinken anything in those 7 years of starvation. it hits like a fucking plane crashing into him. or like getting his eye taken out again. either one!

another funny idea i had for killer would be like the alcohol affecting him but he SWEARS that he's still sober. he is very confused when he starts stumbling because wtf he doesnt FEEL drunk??? why is he bumping into walls and tables HELP WHY DOES HE SOUND FUCKING STUPID???? the alcohol is definitely effecting him but he swears he swears he doesn't feel drunk. hes not drunk its just the damn body doing this stupid bullshit!!!! he's still very aware of what's going on and is basically the same as sober but just like. he's wiggly he's wobbly and oh shit he just fell head face first into a tv whoops. he'd also have a high tolerance because just because. he can drink without feeling like shit until he just blacks out mid conversation with someone because his body couldn't take the toll of all the beer or whatever. hilarious idea triglycercule thank you triglycercule i know

dust in the context that we already know that he drinks AND he can fight against the human while like partially drunk.... i feel it would be kinda like a giggly drunk situation. except dust doesn't laugh at anything that's funny he only laughs when someone gets hurt or something. SADISTIC giggly drunk. because i can already imagine a half drunk dust laughing his ass off after killing the human and its a beautiful sight to me.

anyways imagine how it goes when you pair this sadistic giggly drunk with another that wont stop going through the 5 stages of grief and another that keeps on fucking falling over for no reason in his eyes. dream blunt rotation but the blunt is a bottle of vodka. i can already imagine it in my head and its fucking HILARIOUS. horror going on about how he caused the deaths of others and manipulated and tricked papyrus while killer is just trying his best to keep his eyes open because for some reason they won't stop trying to close. he is surprisingly getting frustated. dust has long since lost his voice laughing at this and he's just silent wheezing at everything. also phantom papyrus is only making the laughter worse because he keeps on making rude comments towards horror and killer and only he can hear him and its guffaw inducing. mtt amazing friend group you dont get shit like this anywhere else

[maladaptivedaydreamsx]

Once you get this, you have to say five things you like about yourself, publicly. Then you have to send this to ten of your favourite followers (non-negotiable, positivity is cool~) 🌈 🌈

Just gonna rapid-fire these & send it off into the void, lest I sit here & overthink everything I've ever known-

5 things I like about myself (bc i was held at gunpoint to do this) /j

My sense of humor/quick wit

Very expressive eyes (and face tbh)

Compassion/empathy for others

Honest to a fault (even to my detriment,,)

Intuition (aka my sixth sense or spidey senses lol)

Tysm for the ask bb, sending well wishes & love your way 😘

[mayday-01]

imagine wanting to animate but not being able to no matter how hard you try to encourage yourself to

totally not me (get this dumbass liar. right here officer.)

guess i'll stick to making imaginary edits of my ocs while listening to music

[bagofshinyrocks]

Government name vs Military callsign

Prompt: What scares them worse? Addressing them by their full government name, or addressing them by their military callsign?

Featuring: Task Force 141 (CoD: MW2) - John Price, Simon "Ghost" Riley, Kyle "Gaz" Garrick, Johnny "Soap" MacTavish (separately) x GN!Reader

Word Count: 0.9k

Warnings: none

John Price

Government name.

Calling him Captain or Skipper just ends with him sauntering to where ever you are and ask (in an obnoxiously self-satisfied voice) what you wanted. Like a cat pretending it can’t hear the urgency in your tone when you say to get off the counter.

“If you want me to ‘shake a leg’, call my name, luvie.”

Now if you holler “Jonathan Price”, he’ll drop something. Either the newspaper in his hands, or his heart into his stomach. He sure as hell moves his ass with a purpose, and he’s peering into the room with an apology on his lips.

“Yes, luv? What’s wrong, poppet?”

“Lift the other end of the couch, would you?”

He does, and you shimmy it further back in the room. “Anything else I can do, love o’ my life?” He’s hovering, and gently coaxing you into his arms. Gauging how mad you were at him. You curled into him and kissed his chin. Then stepped away with a pat to his chest.

“No, sweetheart, just wanted you to shake a leg is all.”

When he remembers your previous conversation, he groans and tells you to fuck off.

Simon Riley

Military callsign.

When you two are alone, and he’s already given you permission to call him Simon, don’t call him Ghost. When you say that word, he assumes one of his mates are at the door or on the phone, and goes from Simon to Ghost. Stalks into the room with narrowed eyes, only to find you in the kitchen. By yourself.

“Ghost, you want a sandwich too? Turkey and cheese.”

“Fuck you callin’ me that for?” 

Once he sees you’re alone, he swoops in and wraps around you like a hoodie. A firm kiss to your ear, then your cheek, then spun you around. Back pressed to the counter top. Settles his face right close to yours.

“We playin’ games now?” You didn’t want to upset him, so you pressed a kiss to his nose. His grumpy look faded a bit.

“Sorry, baby.” Arms wrapped carefully around his shoulders. And your fingers scratch his scalp. Another kiss to his nose. “I’m sorry for playing games with you. Simon Riley.”

Hearing his name on your lips finally cracked, and he gave you a smile. A little scar on the upper lip. You gave it a kiss, and then pressed a kiss to his lips. 

A quick surge forward, and you only just had time to shove aside the things behind you before you found yourself on the countertop.

Kyle Garrick

Government name.

He doesn’t mind being called Gaz, and you’ll use Kyle and Gaz interchangeably. Doesn’t even mind if you use “Kyle” or “honey” in front of his squadmates. Though “Kylie” he does have some displeasure with.

“I’ll have you know, Soap is still calling me Kylie, you asshole.”

Call him ‘Garrick’, and he knows that you are pretending to be mad at him. He slinks over and rubs his face against your cheek. He’s too cute for you to stay mad.

If you shout “Kyle Garrick”, he comes running. He could have sworn that he put his clothes in the hamper. And did the dishes. And taken out the recycling. Damn, what was it that he forgot?

“Kyle Ga-”

“Yes, dear!” Shit, he didn’t mean to ‘yes, dear’ you. “Yes, my dear, I’m right here.”

You pause your laundry folding and summon him with a crook of your finger. Once he’s close enough, you tap your lip with the same finger. “I need a kiss.”

He blinked once. Then twice. “God damn you.” He squishes your face in his hands and gave you a quick, firm kiss. “Don’t stress me out like that. Thought you were mad.”

“Give me another kiss, or I will be.”

He rapid fire kissed your mouth, chin, and cheeks, then gave you a smack on the ass before returning to the living room. 

“In my own fucking home,” he muttered.

John MacTavish

Military callsign.

He’s got some thick skin. And he’s had his name shouted angrily many a time. He would all but skip into the room with a big smile on his face. The only people who shouted that name (and wore out the scare-factor on it) were his family members. Shouting “John MacTavish” meant you loved him. You were also mad at him, but you loved him. That was more important. Even with your scowl and the gross pile of garbage he kept forgetting to take out. You loved him.

Now shouting his callsign reminded him of his superior officers.

“SOAP!”

Shit shit shit. He put down his beer and ran from the garage to the backyard. Leg brace over his sweats, low cut muscle shirt that you also wolf-whistle at when he wears. You were only weeding the garden boxes.

“JOHNNY!”

“I’m here, bonnie,” he hollered, rounding the corner. You were sitting in the dirt, a tidy pile of weeds and dead plant bits next to you.

“C’mere, c’mere.”

He leaned down next to you, hand on your shoulder and good knee on the ground. “Wassit?”

You pointed to the leaf in your hand. “A caterpillar, Johnny. An itsy-bitsy caterpillar.”

He sighed heavily and kissed your shoulder. “Bonnie, I thought something was wrong.”

“Hm?” You spared him a glance. “What are you talking about, bubba?”

“You called me Soap.”

“Did I? Didn’t mean to spook you, loverboy.” You gave him an apologetic kiss on the lips. “Just wanted you to see the caterpillar before he wiggled off.”

Posted: 2023 Dec 10

[thestarmaker]

Idk if I can totally contribute it to the mushrooms I took recently but a few nights ago I had a great thought train about my mild megalophobia. Something deeply unnerving about Very Large Objects to me, not to the point where it interfered w anything but I've always been aware of it.

I thought abt it again and questioned why I find Too Big things so unsettling and oh boy did my brain run with that. It's all abt the uncanny valley effect really.

Having depersonalization/derealization disorder makes me awfully sensitive to things that feel impossible or dreamlike, it's not a huge jump for my brain to see something that it feels shouldn't be possible -> oh I'm actually dreaming/this reality is Wrong.

The uncanny valley effect is basically for things that are wrong/impossible/dreamlike. Things that are "off" regardless of whether or not I can put a finger on what's exactly "off" about it. And what's more dreamlike than objects being out of proportion?

I also find that, for myself at least, finding the cause of an "irrational" fear usually takes care of most of that fear. I'm sure the uncanny valley feeling stays around a little (I'm sure it will) but at least I've figured that one out

[sabersandsnipers]

Drabbles: Just One Bed

Featuring: Astarion, Gale, Halsin, Lord Gortash

Inspiration courtesy of @creativepromptsforwriting

Astarion

There’s only one pillow. So you and Astarion have to share. Neither of you want the annoyance of waking up with neck pain. And after arguing for a bit, you realize neither of you is winning.

Despite trying his best to keep distance between you, it’s incredibly difficult while trying to share a pillow. His body cradles yours. His lips nearly touch the back of your neck. For a while he manages to keep his hands to himself, but as his eyes grow heavy, his arm snakes its way around your waist.

Your body feels like its on fire despite his cold skin. You’re worried the rapid beat of your heart will keep him awake.

Somehow sleep eventually finds you. In the middle of the night, you roll over to find a more comfortable position. When you wake up, you find your face buried in Astarion’s chest.

He himself hasn’t slept since you rolled into him. He’s kept his arm slung over you, though, and has listened to your steady breathing all night.

When you attempt to move away from him, his grip around you automatically tightens. You freeze, waiting for him to realize you’re awake, but he doesn’t let go. He doesn’t want to. He can’t remember the last time he felt this relaxed. Your body is warm and soft, and he never wants to leave this bed.

Gale

The bed is roomy, which you’re grateful for. There should be plenty of space for you two. There’s no blanket though, so Gale roots through the closet for one.

Gale clears his throat, and you turn your attention to him holding up a rather small blanket. One that definitely would not cover the whole bed.

“You have it,” he hands it to you. “I’ll be fine.”

You hesitate. “Are you sure?”

“Most definitely,” he replies, already making his way to the bed.

You climb in next to him, pulling the blanket up to your chin. It’s barely big enough to cover your own person. You look to Gale, who’s turned away from you. He looks so exposed, and frankly, uncomfortable.

“Gale?” you say.

“Hm?” he turns to look at you.

“Do you want to share?” you ask. You hold up the blanket so he can slide in.

He doesn’t need to be asked twice. He scooches over to you, and you let the blanket drop around you two. You let out a sigh of contentment as the warmth of Gale’s body presses against you. You usually run cold, so you’re grateful he accepted your offer.

He wraps his arms around you, because there’s no other way for you two to get comfortable. In the night, he even drapes a leg over you. You don’t mind, you even find yourself nuzzling into him, seeking every bit of warmth you can.

Halsin

A rainstorm tears your tent in the night. The cold splatter of rain on your face wakes you. Your bedroll is soaked, along with most of your belongings. You groan, getting out of bed so you can seek shelter with a companion. 

Out of all the tents before you, Halsin’s calls to you. You know it’ll be the warmest. Before you can talk yourself out of it, you make your way to his tent. 

You poke your head in. “Halsin?”

He wakes, an alarmed look on his face. “What is it?”

“My tent ripped. Can I stay with you?” A shiver slinks through your body. 

He nods. “Of course.”

He opens his bed roll a bit, and you see he’s naked. Your jaw drops. You hesitate, part of you feeling like you’re crossing a line. 

But then another shiver hits you, and you practically run into his arms. You sigh as you slide into the warmth of his bedroll. 

Halsin groans. “You’re freezing.” 

  “I know.” You don’t hesitate to press up against him, soaking in all his warmth. 

  “You’ll warm up soon,” he says, rubbing your back. Then his voice hits your ear. “You’d warm sooner if you removed your clothes as well.” 

Your stomach drops. You know if you do this, your companionship is going to get a bit complicated. But the thought of his hot skin against yours is too tempting.

He helps you out of your clothes, your heart fluttering the whole time. When you’re fully naked, he pulls you into his chest. Your heart pounds, but you relax against the heat of him. 

He fully cocoons you, wrapping a thick leg around you to pull you even closer. You feel your body start to warm, and the shivers start to cease. You try to ignore how perfectly lined up you are to him. You know sleep will be impossible like this, but it’s worth it to spend the night in his warm embrace.

Gortash

You may have had one drink too many. The wine Enver provided for you was far too good to go to waste. And waste you did not.  The last thing you remember is the soft cushioning of a bed before darkness took you. 

The harsh morning light wakes you. The first sensation that hits you is that of a pounding headache. The next is that of a pair of strong arms encircling you. 

Confusion hits you. You don’t remember going to bed with anyone. You feel your underwear is on, so nothing happened with whoever is in the bed with you. 

You slowly turn your body to see who this mystery person is. You’re met with the strong face of Lord Gortash. Butterflies fill your belly. He simply invited you over for dinner, and here he is letting you sleep in his bed. 

He’s sound asleep, his soft breathing evidence of the relaxed state he’s in. He’s sleeping shirtless, and you tentatively place your palms against his strong chest. You feel the strong muscles rippling under his skin. 

He stirs slightly and you quickly hide your face against his chest. He shifts, his chest hairs tickling your skin. His powerful arms hold you so gently.

With your headache forgotten, and Enver’s body sending waves of warmth through you, sleep finds you again.

[imminent-danger-came]

As the resident "MK will hurt his family and almost destroy the world" truther, I thought I'd throw my hat into the ring!

I think the main thing I want to preface this with is that "valuing family" does NOT equal "never hurting your family". A main point of s4, especially 4x11 "A Lifetime of Mistakes", is that Wukong wanted to "protect the people he cared about", but by taking those actions to get stronger, he hurt them. The very choices he made to protect his loved ones did the exact opposite. In this case, Wukong's "devotion" to his friends isn't wholly good.

It's the same with MK.

I think this is especially highlighted in episodes like 3x03 and 4x08. In "Smartie Kid", MK exchanges his friends for a chance at power (his gold vision), in order to "save his friends". It's backwards logic, but it's the one MK utilizes (and it's pretty much beat for beat Wukong pre-jttw—the Risk MK took was calculated, but man is he bad at math). In "The Brotherhood", MK can't "risk hurting the people [he] cares about, the ones [he] has left" (an obvious parallel to 3x10 "Can't you see you're hurting the people who care about you the most?"), and so he leaves. Through leaving, MK hurts his friends in the exact way Wukong hurts him in 3x10:

This is, dare I say, a character trait consistent from s2, where in trying to protect his friends, MK only hurts them by not revealing the truth about the Lady Bone Demon. MK just "needed to be ready", in the same way that Wukong always needed to be ready, to be strong enough for what ever came his way. Episodes like 2x06 and 2x07 that show MK's obsession with power, and his foil to Wukong, stress this consistent character flaw.

Now, let me list my version of MK's flaws:

Impulsivity (We Agree!)

Selfishness/Insensitivity (Giving away Mei's sword (3x03), Refusing to listen to anyone in favor of his own wants/beliefs (2x03), all of 2x06)

Shortsightedness (Kind of tied to "forgetfulness"; Failing to return the trigram furnace (RoTSQ), Never asking questions like what Wukong's plan for the Samadhi Fire was or what SWK new about his origins, "I try not to think to hard" (3x14))

Idealization (Kinda Blind Devotion, but Idealization is a coping mechanism that: "reduces anxiety by protecting the person from emotional conflicts that might emerge in a relationship. Rather than deal with the fear that the other person isn't perfect or that the relationship might not work out, idealization allows them to keep the fantasy of perfection intact." [---] *cough cough* MK and Wukong *cough cough*)

Self-hatred (Bestie thought his friends just abandoned him in 2x07. MK. He was legitimately BETTER in s2 idk how we got here)

And also his character motivations:

Friends/Family

Being dependable/living up to the version of the "Hero" in his head

Strength

Returning to Normalcy

Sometimes other people/the world when he remembers lol

When it comes to strength for MK, MK's whole motivation to become stronger is for his friends. "Strength" is a means to an end, that end being his family (or you know, being dependable and getting to return to his "normal" life as well). So, I wouldn't necessarily say that he ever puts becoming more powerful above his friends, it's just that it's a way for MK to express his love that is ultimately harmful.

Now, I have a whole SWK V MK tag, and I do sincerely believe that those two will eventually fight, but I also think that MK will eventually doom the world.

I don't feel the need to repeat myself too much, so let me quote my own "SWK V MK" meta of sorts:

MK's feelings of abandonment in s2 were never fully resolved. Of course Wukong finally makes his return in 2x10 and is able to explain himself, but "having a good reason" doesn't undo the hurt you caused. Wukong doesn't apologize for his actions until the end of 3x14, which is an apology MK doesn't actually accept ("I can always get another bowl of noodles" ; "Sometimes I just play dumb to lighten the mood"). I'm not here to argue whether or not MK should or should not have accepted Wukong's apology, or if Wukong has "done enough" to make up for his mistakes (I don't think that's productive), but I am here to point out how the characters themselves feel about the situation. MK, as it stands, completely refuses to even acknowledge or engage with the ways Wukong has hurt him. It's not like he wants to have a problem with Wukong, but because he hasn't let himself heal it's going to become an issue later (and monkey form is all about repression). This is a consistent habit with MK, where he's hurt by someone, then sweeping that emotion under the rug because whatever hurt him was "justified". In 3x10 Mei yells at Wukong on MK's behalf, but we don't actually get to see much of MK's feelings on the situation, which he definitely has: his beloved mentor put his best friend at risk of destroying the world because he couldn't communicate. [...] Throughout s4, MK is haunted by LBD's words that doing the right thing leads to pain—that no matter what action he takes, he's inevitably going to hurt his friends and make everything worse. The curse capitalizes on these fears, functioning as a way to make MK's internal thoughts/beliefs external ("I know about you than you'll even admit, to yourself, or to others." ; "I have been dying to hear us say it, out loud"). And you know what the curse says? How he digs his teeth into MK? "We're just like Wukong, a fraud! A trickster! Destructive! Why would our legacy be any different?"

Here I dip my toes into MK's idealization of Wukong, his "good guy bad guy" mentality, his "But Monkey King is a hero, he wouldn't just-" but he would, MK. He has. MK, deep down, is afraid of being like Wukong—but he also refuses to truly acknowledge those flaws, and represses his feelings.

Two of the things that gets to me the most about the s4 special are:

The fact MK is forced into Monkey Form because his loyalty to Wukong is called into question by Azure. ("After all Sun Wukong has put you through, after how much he's let you down, you would still meet your fate trying to protect him? He doesn't deserve such loyalty, yet you insist on learning the hard way just as I did!")

Sandy's 2x08 parallel to 4x13: "Cause at the end of the day, helping my friends is more important than anything else in the world!" -> "We get it! I'd do anything to help my friends—but at the cost of the world?"

Why include the Sandy parallel at ALL if it wasn't going to lead to a choice the main gang has to make, a choice where it's their friend at the cost of the world? (Which, I could go on and on about lmk's exchange theme, the trade-offs and trolley problems). Why have so many direct MK and Wukong parallels, if it didn't mean that MK wasn't going to hurt his family "just like Wukong"? Why have Monkey form involve MK's repression? Why call MK a "harbinger of chaos", if that wasn't a role we were going to delve into?

I often think about MK's s4 arc in relation to 1x01, which boils down to this:

"Anytime I try to do anything, I just gunk everything up! Somethings wrong." (Hurt his friends because he rushed into battle without a grasp on his powers) -> "No mater what I do, it's going to lead to pain. It's just like the Lady Bone Demon said—it doesn't matter if I want to help or not, everything I do it just- it just makes things worse!" (Hurt his friends because he rushed into battle and that just lead to more problems)

To me, LMK's main theme is all about the fact that the people you love will hurt you, and you will hurt the people you love, and you still stand by each other anyways—something that would be beautifully encapsulated by MK hurting everyone around him with his own power, and those people coming together to save him anyways.

I don't have a way to wrap this up, but ready for s5! *sandy voice* I have some theories!

I saw a post talking about how there’s a deep mischaracterization of Mk in the fandom specifically about his monkey form and I’m here to dissect it. (WIth doodles!)

Tldr: Will Mk end up hurting his family in season 5 due to his new Monkey form? Most likely no, but it is possible that he indirectly hurts them by not understanding the limits of his power.

First things first let’s collect a list of attributes that we know Mk has from past seasons. This will serve as a spine or checklist to see if certain actions are possible. A thing to keep in mind though is the ranking of each attribute as the writers of LMK wrote there are characters as complex and sometimes abandon certain character values if their center value is threatened. 

Mk’s character value list (in my opinion) is as follows: 

-Family 

-Strength 

-Freedom 

-Dependability 

with family and strength being so close to each other, so sometimes strength ends up as Mk’s main concern. Of course, all of these end up mixing at times and in the first seasons we see the mixing of these values gets him in trouble 

Desiring the freedom of choice over listening to Wukong (Pig Pong Panic). Wanting to be dependable but overestimating his strength (Duplication). Wanting to be strong but forgets his family in the process (shadow play). Eventually, he gets his priorities in check and has ended up sticking to this list for most of seasons 3 and 4. 

Now his flaws (in no particular order): 

Impulsivity 

Forgetfulness 

Stubbornness 

Blind devotion 

He’s overcome a lot of these when he was forced to learn them in season 3. His stubbornness to not tell anyone what was happening with the LBD got people hurt. His impulsivity with his actions ended up crashing the ship, and almost sold his family to a goldfish demon.

(Text: Mk's Fault, Good Intentions, Trying mentor)

So he’s had to come up with methods of working around that. Mk’s blind devotion to Wukong almost got Mei killed, and we see how he changes because of it. At the end of season 3, Mk doesn’t explicitly say that he sees Wukong in a new light but he heavily implies it with the metaphor of a bowl of noodles. 

So… Will Mk go crazy and end up hurting his friends? 

I highly doubt it. While I toyed with the idea, Mk is a lot smarter than the fandom usually gives him credit for. He knows Wukong is flawed, and he still trusts in him because he knows Wukong is trying. Mk has faith in Wukong’s strength and the fact that Wukong also heavily values family, even if his isolation makes it a lot harder for him to do so. Just rewatch the ending of season 3 where Wukong apologizes to Mk and watch as Mk comes to the realization that Wukong is trying so hard to make up for his past. (They also drive this point home in season 4 with how disappointed Wukong sounds at himself for not finding Mk in the scroll in the season finale.) 

(Text: He's flawed and trying, Has to accept harsh reality, Dissociating Coping mechanism)

So what about Mk’s impulsivity? I doubt that’d be something that directly harms his friends. He’s worked on his impulsivity by working with others (Redson in season 3 and Mei’s planning in season 4) to help fill in the gaps in his plans. In order for his impulsivity to harm others, you’d have to break that family value first or raise that value of strength and freedom. Most likely this flaw can manifest in Mk overdoing his Monkey form ™  and sending a shockwave that accidentally hurts the people around him.  Probably manifesting either in training or while having fun with Mei (think about how Mk was in the Bad Weather episode). 

Okay, what if Mk is tricked into it like he was in Season 4 (back to the flaw of blind devotion)? Mk has spent every season backstabbed by someone he trusted. We see him snap at Azure after he finds out that he was going to keep Wukong in the scroll. He snaps at Macaque in season 4. It’s safe to say that he’s learned, at least partially, to not trust others so blindly. Mk is also supposed to have gotten the “skill of self-reflection” in “Revenge of the Spider Queen” but his reflecting has mostly just impacted the other flaws. 

(Text: Side note, Monkey Mk doesn't have a nose)

But there is one possibility I toy with, bottled up emotions. Mk has extremely big emotions but hates showing any emotion that can be seen as negative. He loves being happy and he’s not afraid to show it, but as soon as those emotions turn to doubt, anger, or sadness he bottles them up fast. He knows he can rely on his family, but he’s stubborn and thinks that his emotions aren’t worth that hassle. Take the ending of season 3 where Mk states that “he tries not to think too hard” about his own place in the universe, which could be due to a fear of losing the value of freedom if he has a specific role to play in the universe.

(Text: Guys He's so avoidant, forced to think about his identity, 18-early 20's and Identity crisis)

It’s worsened by the fact that every. other. character. avoids. their. emotions. No other characters in this series are open about their emotions except Tang and Sandy. And from season 3 (and a bit of season 4) we know that Mk doesn’t view Tang in an extremely positive light.

Not exactly negative, but his admiration lies more on the rest of the team. Macaque points this out in season 2 stating in “Shadow Play” that Mk should talk out his insecurities, but no one else does that. 

That being said Mk isn’t entirely forgetful either. Macaque was a season 1 villain with his betrayal going through season 3. Mk’s high value of family, and flaw of blind devotion, make him want to give him a chance as Macaque’s past is connected with Wukong’s. HOWEVER, Mk is also stubborn and hasn’t forgiven Macaque’s actions. That’s why he snaps, plus the fact that Macaque is terrible at direct communication. Like I said before, Mk won’t directly hurt anyone he cares about, but if his monkey form is highly connected with his emotions (as most magic tends to be) having those bottled-up insecurities might accidentally cause Mk to unleash more power than he means to.

(Text: Normal, Fed up Meter, rage (on jar))

I have no idea where season 5 is going to go, but I’m so excited about the possibilities. 

(Text: Terrified of his actions hurting his family. UNSTABLE!!!)

[shotmrmiller]

kyle asking price and johnny what's up with simon having his earbuds in and phone in hand the moment they touch foot on base because before last week, he hadn't even known simon had a phone.

how did you think he got in contact with people?

i just figured he didn't.

anyway, price just shrugs and says, "gotta new girl or somethin'." johnny nods absently, lips twisted in thought.

"somethin' like tha'."

sure enough, come dinner time he can hear a higher pitched voice carrying a sense of urgency or excitement, he can't make out which it is, words coming out in a rapid fire manner.

accent is distinct too, colloquialism that hints at a different region or even country, peppered with slang he's only ever read online.

curious but it's nice to know someone's come to get to know the big man past his rough (and he means bloody rough) exterior.

he quickly tunes it out after, of course, not wanting to intrude on personal matters. but then it's a rare moment when simon's without them.

kyle manages to get snippets then.

(hey, love, just making some dinner; your favorite, actually. shrimp pasta alfredo.)

price taps him on the shoulder and he turns away, snapping back to reality. in the back of his mind, he vaguely remembers simon having an aversion to seafood.

he must be remembering wrong.

in the debrief room while they wait for price, he catches another.

(actually just finished unpacking the last of my stuff. you were a real help with this, i would've hated having to pay for movers.)

kyle recalls seeing simon haunting the hallway as per usual. he must've taken a time off.

on the way to the local strip club. why simon's there at all is a choice but his relationship with you is none of his business.

(yeah, uhm, i'm home and i checked the windows and bathroom like you taught me too. i still can't shake that feeling, yknow? i don't mean to worry you.)

since simon isn't talking to them about it, he must be getting rid of that issue soon. good on him. at least one of them gets to go back to a warm home and a soft pair of thighs.

(kyle doesn't question the other male voice in the call. nor does he question why simon isn't saying a word during it. simon's relationship with you is none of his business. he just hopes he'll get an invitation to the wedding.)

[adispit]

Mates (Sweet Thing Pt.2)

Hare! Original character x bunny! Male reader

Warnings: hints of possessiveness, your owner getting his poor eyes destroyed, cream pie, a bit of an exhibitionism kink, pwp, dirty talk

Note: if you’re confused about the anatomy, in the eyes of humans they’re animals but to each other they’re like hybrids (human with animal features), just don’t think too much about it lol and enjoy the story

The sun didn’t let you slumber peacefully after the night of merciless fucking. You could hear the faint sounds of water flowing nearby as you awoke blearily, feeling a little disoriented. “Ow!”A sharp stab of pain shot through your lower half, the ache a reminder of the shameless acts you had committed. A rush of shame left your face burning as you recalled what you had said in your haze of pleasure. Looking down, you noticed your lower half was clean, had Mr Hare cleaned you up?

Before you could ponder more about it, a loud grumble from your stomach interrupted your thoughts. “Hungry?” A low, magnetic voice sounded beside your ear. “Oh, Mr Hare! I…” Your throat felt dry, what could you say?! The embarrassment was too much… Mr Hare must have known from the way you avoided his gaze but he chose to ignore it, offering you an apple. Looking sheepish, he continued, “Listen, sorry about yesterday. I wasn’t really myself and I must have scared you a lot… I’ve just been really pent up and you smelled absolutely amazing.” His ears were red. Oh. Cute. Even Mr Hare had an adorable side to him. “I don’t mean to really impose on you bunny but after all that, I mean I have to know your name at least,” He smiled apologetically.

��It’s (name)!” You offered a toothy grin in return. “Thank you so much for cleaning me up and giving me this apple, I’m so sorry for intruding upon your territory as well…but I don’t regret it though! You’re so nice and handsome too..I mean..”You blabbered out a thanks but it seemed you said too much, you didn’t mean to! He was really good-looking!! You really didn’t dare to look at his face now, wishing you would vanish from the face of this earth. “Well, (name), the pleasure is mine as your mate. I am glad you found me satisfactory.” The corner of his mouth lifted in a gentle chuckle.

Mates?! Yours eyes widened as you tried to grasp the revelation, your initial astonishment at what he said melting into sheer happiness. Forgetting about the ache in your lower half, you bounced next to him in a fit of excitement, “Really? You mean it? You mean it?” The questions rushed out as you couldn’t stop yourself from grinning uncontrollably. Looking at your delighted expression, Mr Hare muttered an agreement, his eyes crinkling. “Well, Mister Hare, since we’re mates now, I have to tell my owner!” Your tail puffed out in eagerly as you grabbed his hands and stared at him with stars in your eyes.

It didn’t take much convincing as it seemed Mr Hare was rather smitten with you and didn’t mind for the latter part, if your owner were to reject you both, he would just whisk you away anyways even if you didn’t want to. As you bounded in the direction of your home from the meadow with Mr Hare in tow, it seemed as if the odds were in your favour, you even remembered the way back! As you arrived at the familiar sight of your house, you could see the frantic and panicked look of your owner through the window, a sense of guilt weighed down on your heart for worrying him because of your greed. Glancing at your worried face, Mr Hare offered some words of comfort, “(Name), it’s alright, I’m sure your owner would understand.” He was right! You could do this! Leaping through the window, you landed at your owners’s feet with Mr Hare behind you.

“(Name)!? Wait, I’ll talk to you later, this rascal just came back after a day of disappearing!!” Your owner spoke in a rapid fire manner at the person in the phone before hanging up. Disappointment apparent in his displeased expression, he scooped you up. “(Name)! Where have you been? I’ve been worried to death and you just disappear on me?? Where did your shorts go? And- Wait. Did you bring a girl home.” Before your owner could finish giving you a rough talking to, he noticed Mr Hare on the ground, who was clearly disgruntled by the fact that your owner had just snatched you up. “(Name), god damn it! I didn’t spay you because you were the only bunny I had at home but you bring home some random female hare?!?” Clearly perturbed, your owner bemoaned at you.

It seemed your owner was too exasperated to even listen to you…he had even assumed Mr Hare was a female! Mr Hare shot you a look that expressed his irritation. Desperate to explain yourself, you jumped from your owner’s embrace beside Mr Hare and he immediately mounted you, showing his dominance. “God what if she’s pregnant- (Name), what are you doing?! Oh- l.”Left speechless, your owner immediately understood. “Okay, so you were the one who got pounded?? My bunny got mounted by some random hare??? I give up…this is the price I get for pampering you so much (name)…let’s at least get this guy checked to see if he has an owner…” Your owner was so exasperated with the situation that he finally threw up my hands and gave up, leaving to call the animal shelter.

As your owner conceded defeat, you knew despite his sharp words, he had accepted that Mr Hare was now part of your family. Excitement coursed through you at the thought of having Mr Hare around and it seemed like he shared the same idea as well! Just when you were about to rave about the future you had already imagined with Mr Hare and your owner together as one big family, he interrupted you. “Bunny, I don’t really like how your owner just grabbed you away like that…” He wore a scowl of displeasure, his grip on you tightening as if to ward off any potential threat. Mr Hare being all possessive over you just because your owner touched you should have put you off but it didn’t, instead you felt yourself hardening shamefully, your hole twitching.

He noticed, wearing a smug smirk on his face as if he clearly relishing his victory over the competition. “W-wait, Mr Hare… my owner is still here…” However, your words were the opposite of your actions as you teasingly rubbed your ass against his already rock hard dick. “Bunny…you’re really tempting me…” He grunted as he pulled you close, your thighs flush against his cock. A faint blush crept up your neck and cheeks as a low pitched squeak left you. The blunt head of his dick repeatedly rubbing against your rim of muscle, precum wetting your awaiting hole. Mr Hare cooed at you patronisingly before he thrusted into your heat, the immediate stretch and burn of his impossibly huge cock filling you.

Almost going slack from the penetration, your body trembled from the stimulation as the excitement from your owner catching you both made you shamelessly clench around his cock repeatedly. “You like your owner just behind the door, bunny? Catching me pumping my seed into his precious pet, huh?” Mr Hare snarled as his hands teased your chest, hands rolling your taut nipples. “Please.” You cried out, unsure of what you even wanted as your vision grew hazy. It felt impossibly good. “God. Your hole is so tight, my dick’s gonna break.” He laughed as his hips snapped against yours at a brutal speed. “Unh- ah!” You moaned, tongue now lolling out and eyes rolling back as the pleasure built up and left you reeling in its wake.

The sensation of his cock spearing you open again and again felt so good. The obscene squelch of your hole after every slap of his balls against your skin echoed in the room. It was too much. The tension in your body building up and snapping as you orgasmed. As wave after wave of pleasure crashed into you, your walls pulsed around Mr Hare’s cock rapidly, milking him of what he was worth. Your cock painted your tummy in white as you slurred incoherently, Mr Hare’s grip on you bruisingly tight as his pace stuttered. “Fuck.” Mr Hare moaned. It was not long before hot spurts of cum splashed your insides with his semen. Pulling out his soft cock, a vulgar squelch sounded, followed by his cum dripping out of your swollen hole.

Too exhausted to even feel ashamed about what you did, you lay against Mr Hare as the afterglow left you dazed. Gently cradling in his arms, he kissed your nape in satisfaction. Unfortunately, your sweet moment was interrupted by your owner coming in. “Alright, I’ve confirmed he doesn’t have an owner so we’ll just adopt him and get him vaccinated for some shots… (Name)?! Oh god.”

At least you were both now mates at least…but your owner’s eyes would need some time to recover…

note: I rly need to give this guy a name lol I can’t keep calling him Mr Hare in smut scenes 😭💀 I didn’t beta this so there might be some spelling errors

Reblogs are appreciated! 🙏

[kjupchurch-xx]

Conflicting Feelings

Author's Note: Let me start this by saying I mean absolutely zero disrespect to Hugh's ex wife with this story. I'm just coming up with ideas for chapters and trying to be creative, so please do not hate me for the story. I got this inspiration from a song I'd been listening to, so once again, no disrespect meant for his previous marriage or his ex-wife. This story is pure fiction and just meant to satisfy your need for Hugh Jackman fluff. 

Hugh and I have been friends for many years, despite our age gap of 20+ years. He was married to Debbora Furness and had been for the past 27 years. Our friendship was a platonic one, but we'd always had this strange chemistry. Hugh has been extremely loyal to Deb over the course of their marriage, despite his flirtatious nature. I'd love to tell you that I didn't have a thing for him, but I'd be lying to you. With that being said, I respect his marriage and I know my boundaries, which I'd never cross. 

I was sitting in my hotel room in California, it was coming up on 7pm, the sun starting to slowly sink down producing a beautiful cotton candy sky that could be seen from my suite's balcony that overlooked the city. I was getting ready for a date with a musician, who shall remain unnamed. I heard my phone ring from across the room, walking over and picking it up, expecting it to be my date, I noticed it was Hugh. 

"Hey Hugh, I can't-" I began but was immediately cut off by him sounding frantic, "I really need you right now." He said with a shaky, almost hoarse voice. 

My voice grew concerned, "Is everything okay?"

"Just send me your room number and the name of the hotel. We'll talk there." He said quickly before hanging up. 

What in the actual hell is going on? Did someone die? Is it cancer? I mean what is going on? A thousand thoughts raced through my mind as I quickly typed out my suite number and hotel into a text and sent it to him. Within minutes I heard a knock on my suite door. I ran up, opening the door to see a disheveled looking Hugh Jackman looking frantic. I quickly pulled him inside my room and he pulled me into a hug. I stood before him frozen in place, slowly wrapping my arms around him. 

"What's going on? Are you okay? Are Oscar and Ava okay? Is Deb-" I began to hit him with rapid fire questions trying to understand what's causing this kind of emotion from the man I'd known to always be so happy, go lucky. He cut me off, "She's gone. Deb's gone." He said, his voice trembling. 

I gasped in shock as my eyes widened, "What? What happened?" I asked, rubbing his back, leading him to the tan leather love seat that sat in the living room area of the suite. I'd never seen him this emotional outside of his acting. 

As we sat on the sofa, he continued holding me as if I were his security blanket. I repeated, "What happened?" causing him to look up at me with broken eyes. 

He covered his face, "She told me she wanted a divorce. She's moving her stuff out of the house and wants to be gone before I get back." I bit my bottom lip in disbelief, "Did she say why?" I asked trying to process what I was being told. 

He took a shaky breath before looking at me, "She says we've fallen out of love and are two different people now that 27 years have gone by. She says we want two entirely different things out of life." 

I shrugged, placing my hand on his knee. "Is she wrong?" I asked softly, looking at him, continuing to tremble with each word he spoke. 

He sighed, running his hand through his messy hair, "She's not wrong." 

I blinked, looking at him, taken back by his response, "What do you mean she's not wrong? What did you do?" 

He took a deep breath and began looking down, refusing to look me in the eyes and began shaking his head. I grabbed his hand, caressing it softly, "What happened, babe? You know I won't judge you. You know after years of confiding in me that you can tell me anything." 

He nodded, wiping a tear from his eyes, still shaking his head as if he were trying to process his own thoughts. He was being extremely cautious with his words. The sound of my phone ringing caused me to almost jump out of my skin. It had to be the guy I was supposed to be meeting tonight. I quickly grabbed my phone, silencing the call and put my attention back on the man that was sitting in front of me. 

He finally looked up at me, "Being married for as long as we were is hard work after awhile, especially when your world stops due to a pandemic and you're forced to actually face the problems in your marriage instead of being away for weeks or months at a time and being able to avoid them." I nodded, allowing him to continue, watching nervously grit his teeth, "I fucked up. I let my emotions get the best of me and instead of envisioning her, I began envisioning someone else. I knew it was wrong, so I stopped and began focusing all of my attention on Deb." 

I looked at him, "Okay, well I mean...That happens. You didn't physically do anything, did you?" I asked, furrowing my brows. 

He shook his head, "No, I didn't. But she knew something was up with me. And now, I can't keep running from it. Deb is a great person, she truly is. But this other person, it's like whenever I'm with them, life suddenly just...makes sense again." He said lowly while staring off into space as if actually saying the words caused him too much pain to admit. 

My phone began ringing again, I quickly grabbed it and answered, "Hey, look I'm sorry. I just had an emergency come up and I'm not going to be able to make it. I hope you understand." I said quickly, Hugh gave me a questioning look, and I knew he was curious as to who I was speaking to or who I had plans with. 

My date was disappointed to say the least, but he understood, so I took that as a chance to end the call. Hugh looked at me, "I shouldn't be here bothering you with this. Go on with your plans."  He sniffled, wiping his face with his head and standing up. 

I grabbed his hand, rolling my eyes, pulling him back down on the sofa, "No, it's okay. So things make more sense when you're with this person?" I asked, he looked at me nodding, but not speaking. "Does she feel the same way?" I asked. 

He shrugged, refusing to keep eye contact with me again, "I don't know if she does or doesn't. But I've been in a marriage that's lacked intimacy and has been more of a friendship arrangement for the past two years. This was not something I planned. I would never cheat on Deb, I just couldn't handle the charade anymore and I'm guessing she felt the same way."  

I wasn't exactly sure what to say anymore as I gazed at him allowing him to continue venting, "I just know that whenever I'm with this person, we can be in a room full of people and it's like they're not there. She makes me feel things that I haven't felt in the longest fucking time." 

I threw my hands up, "Go tell her then. If that's how you feel for this person, go talk to her. Hugh, you are an amazing man. What happened is unfortunate but people grow apart sometimes and there's nothing that can be done about it. You need to go tell this person how you feel." I said softly, giving him a small smile. "So who is it anyways? Is it the girl you're on broad way with? The one the rumor was about? Wasn't her name Sarah or something?" 

"Are you referring to Sutton?" He asked, looking at his hands. 

I nodded, "Yeah, that's her name. Sutton. Is it her?" 

He sat silent for a good two minutes, staring at his hands. There had been articles going around for months about him and his Music Man co-star, Sutton Foster having an affair. I honestly wouldn't be surprised at this point. I knew the effect the pandemic had on his marriage. He tells me literally everything and I've always been there as an ear or eyes for his texts regarding the issues he and Deb dealt with. 

After two minutes of complete silence, he spoke, looking at me, "I have something to tell you." 

I looked up at him with soft eyes, his hazel ones piercing through my soul, "It's Sutton, isn't it?" I asked knowingly. 

He slowly shook his head, "It's not Sutton and no, I didn't have an affair with Sutton." He simply said. 

I chuckled, "Okay, so who is it? It's not Zendaya, is it?" I asked, cringing at the thought of he and Zendaya together. Nothing against Zen, we're friends. But she also knows about the crush I have on my dear friend. 

He looked at cringing himself, "What? No. She's like a daughter to me." He said with a chuckle, "It's you." He said lowly. 

I took a deep breath, "It's me?" 

He looked down at the floor again, "Yeah." He was being short, as if he himself were in disbelief.

I furrowed my brows, "Why?" I asked, shaking my head in disbelief of what I was hearing.  

His voice began trembling again as he reached for my hand, interlocking it with his own, "Do you remember when my father died?" He asked, I nodded, "I rang you, and you jumped on a plane to come see me. You spent days going over my lines for The Son with me. That was when I realized it. I rang Deb first. All she could say was that she was sorry. But you, you booked a flight and flew across the world for me. I was in hysterics and you comforted me each time." I took another breath, remembering what had taken place when Hugh's dad passed away on Australia's Father's Day in 2021. 

"I swear to you, I tried. When I got back home, I tried to make those thoughts go away. That's why I distanced myself from you that following year. No matter what I did, no matter what she did, all I could see was you." He spoke honestly, tilting his head slightly, a hitch in his breathing as he continued to look at me, begging me to say anything. 

"I fell in love with you, but I didn't want you to know. I didn't want Deb to know. I didn't want anyone to know, so I tried my fucking bloody damnest to push it out of my head and it only made it more apparent. And I don't know if you feel the same w-" I couldn't take hearing him speak anymore, overwhelmed with emotion, I tightened the grip he had on my hand with my own and sent my lips crashing against his stopping him in his tracks. 

He brought his other hand up, grabbing my chin softly as his brain registered what was happening and began slowly moving his lips against mine. Pulling away, but pressing my forehead against his, as we both kept our eyes shut, I spoke, "I love you." barely above a whisper. I slowly opened my eyes to see his eyes staring into my own, our foreheads still pressed together, "But I didn't want this to happen like this."

I sighed, pulling away, "I don't want to be the reason your marriage ends. I'm not a home wrecker. I've loved you for years, why do you think I flew across the country when your father died and you called me hysterical? But I respect you, I respect Deb and I respect your marriage."

He looked at me, "My marriage ended two years ago. You're not a homewrecker and you did not cause this. Deb and I knew this was coming since the shut down over COVID. We didn't want to divorce for the sake of our children. We've just both gotten to the point where we want different things out of life and have decided for the sake of our happiness to end things. I'm heartbroken because I genuinely do love her as a person, and I did not want things to go the way they have.  But her and I have to find our own happiness and we've realized it wasn't with each other anymore." 

He brushed a strand of hair behind my ear, "It's you. For the last two years, it's been you and you didn't even know it. You did nothing wrong, love."

I sat in silence. I'd worked so hard over the years to keep my feelings to myself and to never cross a boundary. But whenever he called me in tears over his father, I couldn't help myself but to want to be there for support. He needed it and was falling apart at the seams. I don't know why Deb didn't rush to his side. I don't know why all she could say was "Sorry, I'll see you when you get back to New York.". 

His eyes began pleading with me, as he slid off the sofa and onto the floor on his knees in front of me, still holding my hand, now grabbing my other one, "Please say something. Please." 

I swallowed the hard lump in my throat, exhaling the deep breath I had been holding, "Just hold me..." was all I could manage to say. 

He nodded, quickly sliding back to his position on the sofa, pulling my body into his chest, "Yeah?...I can do that." The feeling of his arms tightening around me as I sank my head into his chest. 

Where do we go from here?

[gay-dorito-dust]

(Idk if ur rq are open bc I can't find any indication of it being, but I hope it is and if it isn't km sorry and h can just ignore this until they are!!)

Maybeee bat boys x reader who zones out a lot and tends to make faces according to what she's thinking abt. Like a smile or frown. And sometimes when they ask her what's up she's all secretive and what not.

Thank you!!

I dunno if I did this right but here ya go!

Dick makes a game out of it and tries to guess what you were thinking about.

Even if you don’t tell him why you’re smiling or making a face of thought, he is surprisingly good at being able to figure it out regardless, but for every expression he gets wrong you’d have to give him double the kisses for the ones he gets right to make up for it.

He loves watching your face contort like a ventriloquist through a rapid fire of emotions depending on what your mind has decided to remind you of, and today it was the memory of Hayley in her Halloween costume of Nightwing, just to match with Dick in his Nightwing suit as he prepared to enter the bloodhaven annual Nightwing contest.

Basically a contest where people deduce if anyone had a similar ass shape to Nightwing himself, a contest you find ridiculous but the imagine of Hayley in her Halloween costume was the sweetest thing you’ve ever laid your eyes on, that you couldn’t help but smile widely at.

You had albums full of Hayley in her Halloween costume with Dick photobombing in the background.

‘What’s on that pretty little mind of yours sweetheart?’ Dick would often ask.

‘Something silly.’ You’d reply with on the odd occasion as to keep him guessing, finding his attempts fun and only giving him pity kisses when he got a majority of them wrong. He had only got a handful right before but on all the other occasions he’s fails spectacularly.

‘Something silly like the time I lost the nightwing contest to Jason that one time?’ He answers wrongly but you couldn’t help but give him a pity kiss for being somewhat right but wrong simultaneously.

‘Sure darling.’ You’d say as you went back to zoning out on Hayley in her Halloween costume while dick burrows his face into your neck, murmuring about how of all people did Jason won the contest when they look nothing alike before going on about how Jason was a brick shit house in comparison to his muscular yet flexible body.

You’ll have to give him more pity kisses to ease his bruised ego by saying he wins all the Nightwing contests in your eyes. When in reality Hayley wins them all just for the fact of being adorable.

Damian found it weird at first for your face to be expressive, believing that it would make you an easy target for others to take advantage of.

Now however he finds it to be a way of expressing how you actually felt in comparison to the words that escape your mouth. He often discouraged zoning out as it would lead to unfavourable outcomes, but when you zone out and your face becomes soft Damian couldn’t help but find himself looking at you with a soft expression of his own.

‘What are you think about my beloved?’ He’d ask you as he hugs you from behind, resting his head upon your shoulder.

‘Nothing that you would find investing my love.’ You replied softly as the fond smile on your face grew the more you thought about the one time Damian chased Titus throughout the mansion because the Great Dane has somehow stole his robin suit and wouldn’t let go.

Damian kisses your shoulder. ‘Are you sure it’s not something I should be concerned about?’ He’d then ask.

You smile softly. ‘Not at all dami, just a funny thought is all.’ You told him while moving your head to kiss his forehead as though to calm his own thoughts. He hums, not believing you for a second from the mischievous glint in your eyes but was more than willing to give you the benefit of the doubt, just because he adored you so much.

‘As you wish my treasure.’ Your thoughts were your thoughts and Damian wouldn’t pry into them unless you wanted him to, so he just watched your expression carefully and deduced what you were feeling and link it to whatever memory would gain an happy, fond expression and leave it at that.

Jason loves your expressive face, he really does and will playfully pester you about what you were asking a face at while softly pinching your sides as you giggled.

Jason loved watching you as you zone out, perhaps reminiscing about a recent memory or other, and watching your face show how you felt about that particular moment.

‘Whatcha thinking about chipmunk?’ He’d ask from his place on the kitchen counter that he chose to admire you from. ‘Was it about little old me?’ He’d then ask cheekily as you playfully groan, shoving a hand to his face and pushing him away.

‘As if.’ You’d reply before walking away but Jason will continue to pester you about what you were thinking for the rest of the day. He’s just a little shit that you’ve come to love more then anything. Your thoughts were more than not occupied by how comfortable he had gotten with you over the course of your relationship and how happy you were for him.

Though you’d never say such a thing in front of him as he’ll use it against you however he could while giving you the softest, most beloved look upon his gorgeous face. Jason was your weakness and the only thing that you always thought about whether it be his autopsy scars, his white ruff of hair that you found immensely adorable and his plush lips that you want to kiss constantly.

Jason is more then content in just watching your face, but don’t be surprised that he kisses your furrowed brow when he sees your face become troubled, he wants his sweetheart to be happy not troubled because that’s what you deserve. You don’t need words to describe how happy you were for Jason to be able to read the emotion crossing your face, and Jason was more than happy to be of reassurance for when you needed it.

Bruce is amused whenever you made a face at something, or nothing in particular.

Like Damian he views it as a way of expressing your inner most feelings towards something or someone without having to vocalise it. It intrigues him as it’s not often that he comes across someone who wears their emotions across their face like you, after all Gotham if filled with some of the most guarded people to ever exist, him included.

It’s fascinating but even he got a little curious when you were smiling a little too widely one day, silently chuckling to yourself as you tried to get ready for bed.

‘What is making you laugh my dear.’ Bruce would ask as he sets aside his novel, moving to his side to look at you while the hand at your waist drew soothing patterns into your skin.

‘Nothing.’ You said as you chuckled.

‘Are you sure it’s nothing? Seems like you might be reminiscing of the time at the iceberg lounge where I mistakenly striped down to my boxers and tabletop danced.’ Bruce replied and all you could do is look at him with a somewhat shocked expression, you knew he was good but you kept forgetting just how good he was at deducting it always caught you off guard.

‘How-‘ you began.

‘Detective remember.’ Bruce chuckled slightly as he kissed your forehead.

‘But that was too specific of a memory for you to guess correctly.’ You rebutted, wanting to know how he knew about that particular memory.

‘It’s not too difficult for me to differentiate between the facial expressions you have towards each and every time you zone out my dear, so while it maybe impossible to believe but to me it’s as easy as breathing.’ Bruce replied as he brought you into his chest. He really did take the time out of his day to memories and learn the smallest of differences between your facial expressions, so much to the point where could tell whether the thing you were zoning out on was a good memory or not.

‘I’m not sure whether to be flattered or not.’ You murmured to yourself as you rested again his strong chest, tracing the many, many scars it possessed with featherlight touches and affection in the form of small kisses pepper against them.

Bruce only tightens his hold on you and kisses the top of your head as he hums. ‘Flattered preferably as the expression you make is sweet and warm.’ He tells you with his voice heavy with sleep.

‘Flattery it is.’ You said sluggishly as you cuddled yourself into his chest, clinging onto him for dear life as he kept you close, presenting the door his back out of his need to keep you safe and secure.

[luvsupa]

004 | WAS IT REAL?

tags: trueform!sukuna x fem!reader, ANGST, mind games, fluff (kinda), they’re both in love with each other but sukuna is stubborn, still don’t know what else to add

w.c: about 2k (sorry its lowkey short)

a/n: THANK U GUYS FOR SUPPORTING MEEE IM SO THANKFULLLL 🫶🏽🫶🏽 just finished my assignments so I had to post this (sorry it’s late)🙂‍↕️

+ likes and reblogs are appreciated !!

the room is filled with a suffocating silence as you lie propped against the intricately carved headboard, your legs sprawled across the bed. toji is between your thighs, hiding your lower body from sukuna’s intense gaze as he stands in the doorway. your body is on fire, not just from sukuna’s sudden appearance but from the intense orgasm you itching to release but now cruelly interrupted.

sukuna’s patience seems to be wearing thin. each beat of your heart echoes in the quiet room, a reminder that today might be the end for both you and toji. after a long pause, toji decided to pay attention to sukuna as he huffs at the fact he had to cut his time short with you. he couldn’t eat you out without you pleading another man’s name. toji rises from between your thighs, his expression a mix of defiance and amusement as he kneels, leaving you breathless and wide-eyed.

does he really want to have sex in front of sukuna? has he lost his mind?

toji’s chuckle is almost as unsettling as sukuna’s silence. he begins to undress, his black haori slipping off his shoulders to reveal a finely sculpted torso, gleaming under the dim light. the sweat on his muscles makes his physique even more enticing.

“calm y’erself,” toji coos, draping his haori over you as a shield against sukuna’s piercing gaze. “we wouldn’t want our fearsome king to see what’s mine, would we?”

sukuna still remains eerily quiet, his stillness more frightening than any of his previous outbursts. your heart swells at toji’s protective gesture, though the dread of sukuna’s silence weighs heavily on you. you and toji now lie side by side, leaning against the headboard, facing the imposing figure of sukuna.

“if you wanted to join us, ryo, you could’ve just asked,” toji teases, his tone light but laced with mockery. sukuna crosses all four of his arms, his biceps straining against his custom made kimono. his face remains a mask of indifference, amplifying the fear that his silence breeds.

the room falls back into an oppressive quiet, broken only by your rapid, uneven breathing. sukuna’s calm demeanour is far scarier than any display of anger could be. you long for him to shout or act out—absolutely anything but his silence.

then, unexpectedly, sukuna bursts into… laughter? the sound is a dark, guttural roar that shatters the silence, his mirthless humour echoing through the room. you exchange confused glances with toji, both of you bewildered by this bizarre reaction. sukuna’s laughter continues as he clutches the wooden frame of the bed for support, hysterically laughing as your heart beats faster.

his four arms clapping in a mocking applause. his cruel amusement makes you feel small, as if you’re the butt of a cruel joke that’s neither funny nor forgivable.

“ah, you truly are naive; it’s fascinating,” sukuna purrs, his voice dripping with venom as he approaches you. the unsettling praise only deepens your confusion. as you try to seek solace from toji, sukuna’s grip on your chin forces you to meet his gaze. he crouches to your level, his four red glowing eyes boring into yours as he lightly pets your head, playing with your hair in a disturbingly tender way.

“k-kuna, i’m sorry,” you stammer, your voice trembling with fear. the way he addresses you, with an almost soft expression, sends shivers down your spine. “how can a single mortal be so weak and foolish that i find myself feeling sorry for you?” he says, his words cutting deep. tears start to form, blurring your vision.

as you struggle to process his words, you realize the room’s silence grew louder. you glance to the space beside you and find that toji has vanished. panic surges through you, your breath quickening as sukuna’s dark chuckle echoes with your growing horror.

wait.

in that moment it feels as though you’ve plunged into the abyss, your entire being sinking deeper and deeper, your soul being wrenched away by an unseen force.

you open your eyes, gasping for air, and look around. the dinner?

confusion grips you as you see everyone absorbed in their meals, lost in conversation. you glance at your hands, pinching yourself and wincing at the sting, painfully aware that this is no dream.

was i daydreaming about toji? 

did sukuna ever speak to me in his room? 

your mind spins, unable to distinguish between dream and reality. you look up from where you were standing, behind toji, and meet sukuna’s gaze. his smirk is predatory, and you feel as if you’re being consumed by a dark, suffocating force.

there’s no way.

no.

sukuna’s smile stretches wider as he nods, a knowing, almost sadistic gleam in his eyes. your blood runs cold.

he’s the mastermind. he planted every disturbing thought in your head—the moments with toji, the intimate scenes, the claims of possession—all illusions, all his cruel manipulation.

he wanted to break you, to see how easily he could worm his way into your psyche, how far he could push you before you shattered, and he’s just getting started. his amusement at your torment was his twisted pleasure during dinner, with no one else to entertain him. not even yorozu, seated beside him, could distract him. but watching you, standing behind toji, your gaze almost eye fucking toji was all it took for sukuna to unleash his dark games.

you feel the heat rising in your body, and the clothes you’re wearing suddenly feel stifling. overwhelmed by embarrassment, you storm out of the dining hall, desperately trying to steady your breath as you walk down the hallway.

tears well up in your eyes as you grapple with the realization that you’re nothing more than a pawn in his twisted game, his mind games manipulating you at will.

you truly are naive it’s fascinating,

his words echo in your mind, a haunting that drives you mad. as you turn a corner, you use your hands to dab at your eyes, trying to keep the tears at bay. suddenly, you freeze when you spot sukuna standing right in the middle of the hallway, his presence making you jump.

“did you enjoy that dirty little fantasy?” he purrs, his tone dripping with amusement as he grips your arm, forcing you to listen to his taunting. “quite nasty of you to have those thoughts during dinner,” he teases, his face twisting into a mock-disgusted expression.

“are you in love with me?” you blurt out shakily, avoiding his gaze as you try to hold back your tears. sukuna looks taken aback by your blunt question, his eyes widening in surprise.

“how dare you ask me such a foolish question. have you bumped your head on the way here?” he retorts, his tone a mix of aggression and confusion. you wince slightly as he tightens his grip on your arm.

“you’re with yorozu, but you’ve got me on your mind. you’re afraid of love, so you’re content to love me from a distance,” you assert, watching as sukuna’s face goes from offended to intrigued. he loosens his grip on your arm, a slow smile spreading across his face.

“I see what this is about,” he says, stepping closer and backing you against the wall, his enormous frame towering over you. the sheer height and intensity of his presence are overwhelming, and as he presses you against the wall as one of his large hand grips your jaw, you can barely breathe.

“you’re jealous that I’m with her and not you, aren’t you? do you wish you were in her place?”

“you’re avoiding my question—you plant these thoughts in my head so I can never be with anyone else but you,” you accuse, noticing the twitch of one of his lower eyes as both your breathings become shallow. sukuna’s face inches closer to yours, his intense eye contact and touch almost making you whimper. his lips are so close that you can feel the warmth of his breath against your face.

you tentatively reach up, running your fingers through his soft, pink hair. as you do, sukuna’s eyes flutter closed, a deep purr escaping his lips. he leans into your touch, his face drawing ever closer to yours, almost as if he’s going to kiss you. the sensation of his hair beneath your fingers and the closeness of his face send shivers through you, and for a moment, you realize that the king of curses is wrapped around your finger, caught in a vulnerable moment of your doing.

but then, sukuna snaps back to reality. his red eyes narrow with fury as he realizes how close he came to fully surrendering to your touch. his anger flares, and he pins both your hands above your head, slamming them against the wall with such force that you’re acutely aware of how tall and imposing he is.

“I could replace you with a snap of my fingers—you mean nothing to me,” he growls, his words slicing through you like a dagger.

“then do it,” you challenge, meeting his fiery eyes with your own defiant glare. sukuna’s eyes glint with a mix of surprise and admiration at your boldness.

“tsk, what happened to your timid behaviour?” he taunts, his grip on your arms tightening with each word. you remain silent, questioning your own sudden courage. sukuna’s grip begins to loosen as you drop your gaze in defeat, and with a frustrated storming off, he leaves you standing there, feeling both defeated.

⨯. ⁺ ✦ ⊹ . *

night falls as you and the other servants finish cleaning up the dishes and sweeping the kitchen after the guests have left. having completed your duties, you inform everyone you’re done for the day, and they bid you goodnight. as you walk down the familiar hallway, you glance up to see one of the balcony doors upstairs standing wide open. concerned that one of the servants or maids might have left it open, you quickly take a detour in the direction of the servant quarters and towards the staircase.

when you reach the balcony doors, you peek through and see a tall figure standing outside, enjoying the cool breeze and gazing up at the stars.

“toj’?” you call out, and he turns to look at you, a hint of confusion crossing his face at the nickname you’ve used.

“did you call me toj’ because the thoughts he placed in your head” he asks with a smirk, clearly having overheard your earlier conversation with sukuna. realizing that you and toji had never interacted before, you stammer an apology. he chuckles, reassuring you that it’s okay.

“how much did you hear?” you ask, closing the balcony doors behind you to give you both some privacy as you step further onto the balcony.

“everything.”

oh.

“well—”

“do you love him?” he asks bluntly, his gaze still on the stars as the question hangs between you. his sudden honesty makes you pause, staring at the night sky with him, the moonlight casting a serene glow over the garden below.

“w-when i first met him, i did. he even wanted me for himself,” you admit, watching as toji nods. “but now he tortures me—playing mind games and flaunting that other woman.”

a silence falls between you as you both take in the peaceful night. the stars twinkle brightly, and the moon hangs low, its light reflecting softly off the surrounding trees. you and toji stand there for a while, breathing in the fresh air, letting the moment stretch out, a quiet respite from the chaos of your thoughts.

“i’ve heard enough—how about you serve me and my clan?” toji finally says, breaking the silence. his bluntness catches you off guard, and you turn to him, wide-eyed.

“do you really think he’d let me leave to serve another clan—”

“when my stay is over, come with me. we’ll take you in as part of our family and treat you properly,” he offers, and the idea sounds tempting. you fidget with your fingers, considering his proposal.

“but if you prefer to stay in this hellhole, that’s up to you—”

“i’ll come with you,” you say decisively. toji’s smile widens, his scar stretching as he looks at you approvingly.

“don’t worry y’er pretty head about how you’re getting with me, I already know a plan.” 

[merrygay]

Bound and broken

Qimir x reader (enemies to lovers)

Warning : Jealous Qimir, Yandere themes, Possessive Qimir, afab reader, Enemies to lovers. English is not my first language.

Synopsis : Qimir could never forget you, you consumed his every thought, haunting his senses. It’s been years since he last saw you… until now.

 “you”

Your voice cracked, you felt as if your legs were going to leave, your gaze traveled around his features, eyes widening in both horror and in a desperate plea for not to be true, as realization settled in, each breathing became rapid as if a hand was over your mouth smothering you. You lowered your lightsaber, putting your other hand over your chest, you tried to breathe but you couldn’t, tears frightening to trickle down your eyes as you were looking around you, dead bodies, after dead bodies, almost all the jedis that came with you were dead. 

The Jedi killer in front of you was standing still, in contrast to your emotional distress, his eyes lit on fire, he was ready to fight, ready about what’s going to come, his red lightsaber standing proud while yours was frightening to fall down in your own hand. 

“Hello old friend” He spoke with a nostalgic tone, his voice tinged with a wistful longing for the past, yet a faint smirk played on his lips, hinting at a mixture of amusement and irony.

That day you begged the maker like you never had before. You implored not to be true, it can’t be him… please. You begged a painful truth to be washed, to be erased from this planet, from the entire galaxy. My old friend wouldn't do this ! You tried to deny, please he wouldn't, I swear it ! You tried to promise. Lies, lies and lies…

You opened your mouth but no words came out, your lips, slightly parted, caught in a whisper of pain, trembled ever so slightly. The curve of your mouth was tinged with despair, a silent testament to the heartbreak you were enduring.

No attachment the Jedi order said, and you followed that rule dearly, but only one person could shatter this rule into pieces, and that one person was Qimir, your old friend.

He at least let you digest the unbearable truth, once a dead friend now a dark sider. He was patiently waiting for your next move, his eyes traveled around your features, you never really changed, he noted, after all these years, except for your demeanor you weren’t a hopeful person anymore, once a lighthouse, your smile was a beacon of warmth and hope in the stormy seas of his once padawan life. Now, the light has dimmed a long time ago, leaving the horizon dark and forlorn, your joy hidden behind clouds of silence. 

Was it because of him? He asked himself, clinging to the hope that it was. He longed for the thought of him to consume your days, your nights, and every fleeting moment in between. He wished to invade your dreams and nightmares alike, until your mind was clouded with nothing but him. Just as you had enveloped his every thought, all these years being apart from you. 

You tried to collect yourself, tightening your grip around your lightsaber, your gaze never wavering from the Jedi-killer you once called “friend”. With a deliberate motion, you unfastened the clasp of your cloak. The fabric, once draped around you like a shadow, fell away to reveal your form beneath. Your Jedi apparel was one of black, showing your never ceasing grieve after learning about his supposed death. You summoned the Force, drawing another lightsaber from the ground near a cold, lifeless body that was once brimming with hope. 

You got into a fighting stance. Eyes Locked in yours, Qimir angled his body and started moving to the right. You instantly mirrored him, the both of you circled each other with calculated steps. 

“You really didn’t know i was alive” He declared, disappointed. Was our bond throughout the force not strong enough for you to not know whether he was alive or not ? He asks himself. Is it because of the pitiful jedis that surrounded you and clouded your mind ?

He clenched his jaw, jealousy surged through him, consuming his every sense. He had felt the unique connection you shared with those two Jedis. Master Sol and the dead one, Yord was it ? It didn’t matter anymore. 

Without any warning Qimir wielded his lightsaber, clashing it against yours in a brutal force, getting rid of the distance between you two rather quickly, your face was now just inches apart from him.

Finally he spoke again, almost a whisper. A fragile blend of desperation, anger, and jealousy lacing his words. “Not even deep down ?”. 

With a determined growl, you pushed forward, using his lightsaber to drive him back. The brilliant glow of your blades illuminates the strain on both your faces, creating stark contrasts against the inky blackness of the forest. And it continued that way for a while, lightsabers clashing against each other while your movements wove together in a violent rhythm, a tragic dance. Qimir's fighting style was different, brutal, violent, he did not follow any rule, any principles. Eat or be eaten, peace was never an option.   

“Retreat now, this fight serves you no purpose ! Your life will be more doomed than it already is ! ” you urged, preparing yourself for another strike.

“My life as a jedi was already doomed the moment I laid eyes on you” he stated.

You frowned deeply, lowering your lightsaber with obvious confusion in your face “What are you talking about ?” you demanded. 

Before you could process any answer he jumped on you again, this time his leg kicked you right on your stomach making you curse yourself from getting distracted. The intensity of his action made your jump backwards, your back landed on a tree making you yelp in pain. 

"Fark!" you cursed under your breath as you struggled to get back on your feet. But it was no use, the distance between you and your lightsabers was too great. Desperation surged through you as you reached out with the Force, trying to summon at least one of the hilts back to your grasp. It began to stir, but before it could reach you, Qimir’s dark presence intervened. With a flick of his hand, he halted your attempt, his eyes fixed on you with a menacing gleam as he advanced, each step deliberate and threatening.

"How ironic that the very rule and lessons you Jedi swore to uphold have led to your defeat."

He lowered himself to get even closer to you, before you could make any sudden movement he pressed his red lightsaber against your shoulder. The intense heat of the lightsaber seared through your shoulder, causing a sharp, biting pain that radiated outward.

“I will die happily as one too”, you stammered painfully, your head felt dizzy as the agony surged through every part of your body.

He titled his head at your response, visibly a bit impressed at your stubbornness or did he find you rather stupid ? you couldn't really tell. He was getting dangerously close to your face, looking at your features carefully which was contorted with pain, every muscle tensed in a grimace of distress even after he stopped his lightsaber from harming you.

“I will kill the entire galaxy before I even kill you”, he whispered in your ear, making sure you heard each word clearly, before you felt yourself slipping away into unconsciousness as he used the Force to make you faint.

He looked at your passed out state. Carefully he slipped one arm under your shoulders and the other beneath your knees, lifting you from the cold ground, he could feel the faint, uneven breaths brushing against his neck as he started walking deeper into the forest before any other jedis came to your rescue.

————————————————————————————

Chat how do we feel about this, I might write a part 2

[bagofshinyrocks]

Who's the worst ass slapper?

Prompt: Who's the worst ass slapper? Who's going to heaven, and who's going to ass-slapper hell?

Featuring: TF141 - John Price, Simon "Ghost" Riley, Kyle "Gaz" Garrick, Johnny "Soap" MacTavish x GN!Reader

Word Count: 0.2k

Warnings: none

John Price

He’s a gentle one. Proud about something you did? Gives you a good job pat on the ass. Worms his hand into the back pocket of your pants while waiting around in line. Maybe pokes or squeezes it if you’re up on a step stool or a ladder.

Simon Riley

Rarely touches your ass. If you go absolutely ham and play the bongos on his cheeks, he’ll just stand there and let you. Prefers to mess with your face.

Kyle Garrick

Usually nice. Gentle, rapid-fire pats while you’re cooking or otherwise unaware of what he’s doing. Will scoop the globes of your cheeks and just hold them until you turn around and ask what he wants. When mopping or sweeping, he’ll sneakily reach out and poke you with the tip of the handle. Just teases.

Johnny MacTavish

Going to special ass-slapper hell. Serial, unashamed ass-slapper. Drive-bys where you’re minding your own business and then boom. What feels like thirty seconds of machine gun spray of butt smacks with all the force of his beefy arms. When he got that eager glint in his eye, you’d start running backwards. Hands protectively over your rear end. Backing into walls and furniture and begging for mercy. But it’s alright. You’ll get him back. Some day.

Enjoy reading this? Here's a link to my other works! Thanks for reading :-)

Posted: 2024 January 8

[wqnwoos]

“i seriously don’t know how to tell you this,” your friend says, somehow looking anything but serious. “it’s about vernon.”

you glance between seungkwan, who’s sat himself directly in front of where you’re playing with vernon’s carpet, and vernon himself, who’s just gotten up to make popcorn. “alright,” you reply, mirroring seungkwan’s hushed tone. “what’s up? is everything okay?”

“well, no, actually.” seungkwan has a flair for dramatics. “it isn’t my place to say this, but i’m going to say it, because it’s been literally almost two years, and neither of you are saying it. and so by this time, it’s like, my moral duty. like, i owe it. to society.”

“kwan,” you say, wrinkling your nose, “i love you very much, but what the fuck are you talking about?”

“you’re in love with him. vernon.”

the statement in itself doesn’t shock you. seungkwan is smart; you’d honestly be more surprised if he hadn’t known your deep, dark secret. what’s surprising is that he’s bringing it up, when vernon is literally just a few feet away, bopping his head to some invisible tune or the hum of the microwave.

“no comment,” you whisper, finally, adding in a hiss: “and also shut up. he’s right there!”

“___, please,” seungkwan begs. and there is madness in those eyes; he looks borderline frantic. “i can’t be the third wheel for any longer. like i physically can’t take it.”

you reach for his knee to pat it soothingly, eyeing him with a wary expression. “i still don’t know what you’re talking about. but it’ll be okay, kwannie. i believe in you!”

he groans, miserably, but continues, still speaking in rapid-fire whispers. “i’m saying vernon has feelings for you. like, more than friends.”

“…you mean, like… best friends?”

seungkwan collapses. throws himself backwards onto the carpeted floor with a long, drawn-out groan — you’re used to seungkwan’s dramatics, but this is top tier for him. you’re honestly kind of impressed with how long he keeps the groan going. it’s injected with very emotive frustration, and you can respect that.

seungkwan sits up with abrupt suddenness, grabbing you by the cheeks. his eyes meet yours with ferocious intensity; yours meet his with a confused blink. “you,” your friend says, very seriously, “are fucking stupid.”

you don’t even get the chance to muster a response, simply sitting dumbfounded on the carpet as seungkwan gets up. “i’m leaving,” he announces loudly over the beeping of the microwave. “jeonghan hyung called. i have to feed doljjongie.”

vernon sticks his head out the kitchen, brows furrowed. “you mean the rock?”

“yes.” and with that, seungkwan points at you, mouthing a verocious say something, before turning on his heel and marching straight out the apartment.

“yo,” vernon says, glancing at the front door with bemusement as he rejoins you, armed with a bowl of warm, buttery popcorn. “what happened to him?”

your mind is still reeling from two minutes ago (“vernon has feelings for you. like, more than friends.”) and so when vernon squishes against you, as he always does, you choke up. can’t answer his question, determinedly staring at the screen in front of you both.

you only offer a lame little shrug in response to his question, sneaking glances at vernon from the corner of your eye. you’re stupidly in love with him: the way he always eats three pieces of popcorn at a time, knocks you on the side of your knee with his when he wants your attention, brushes his overgrown hair out of his eyes with the back of his hand.

you used to think it felt like the world was coloured rose when you looked at him. a swooping, butterfly-inducing, fluttery feeling — but now, you’ve realised that’s not it. with vernon, you see the world exactly as it is, bright and grim, but maybe a little softer round the edges. a little less daunting, because he’s always on your side.

even from a distance, seungkwan is the one to buzz you out of your reverie. your phone vibrates and lights up with a text from him —

[9:36pm] seungkwan: say something!!!!!!

you let out the smallest sigh, and vernon catches it, eyes flicking to your phone and back to your expression. he nods, once, eyebrows raised, “everything good?”

“just seungkwan,” you say. and without any build-up, you blurt out, “vernon, do you ever think about dating?”

his brows furrow and his lips twist in their characteristic vernon way. “dating?” he pauses, meeting your eyes. “that’s a random question. do you think about it?”

all the time. “do you?”

“i mean. yeah, i guess so,” he answers slowly, uncertainly. “sometimes.”

again, without warning, you’re changing the subject, speaking rapidly before you can think it through. “seungkwan didn’t leave to feed doljjongie.”

the movie is long forgotten by now, vernon shifting more to face you. “i mean, i figured,” he starts, half-amused, half-concerned. “it’s a rock. you’re acting weird. are you okay?”

“seungkwan left because he didn’t want to be a third wheel.”

you watch as bafflement appears on vernon’s face. “third wheel? but — we’re not — we aren’t dating.”

you swallow, suddenly wondering how you’ve found yourself in this situation. “yeah, well. i guess he thinks we should be.”

there’s a heavy silence that settles in the room, then. vernon doesn’t move away, his eyes falling to your twisting hands, watching as you start picking mercilessly at your nails.

“don’t do that,” he says quietly, taking your hands in his, separating them. he squeezes, ever so gently, just enough to make you look at him — when your eyes meet, his grip tightens ever so slightly, and you watch his throat bob as he swallows.

“what do you think?” he asks, after a moment that feels like forever.

you blink at him. “what?”

“seungkwan thinks we should date.” he hesitates. “i think we should date. what do you think?”

when you breathe out this time, you’re smiling, unable to bite it back. “i think i have to agree with the majority.”

the smile you get in return is practically divine.

an / one day i will figure out how to write another trope for vernon. today is not that day. neither is tomorrow.

also my taglist is currently not working and i have no idea why 😭 will try and tag in the replies but if i miss anyone i’m so sorry! (edit - taglist is not working at all!! sorry <3)

edit #3 I THINK I GOT IT

perm taglist: @n4mj00nvq @eoieopda @som1ig @glowunderthemoon @wondering-out-loud @graybaeismytae @hannyoontify @sahazzy @dokyeomin @icyminghao @smilehui @nicholasluvbot @lvlystars @immabecreepin @hanniehaee @kokoiinuts @astrozuya @doublasting @yepimthatonequirkyteenager @qaramu @weird-bookworm @phenomenalgirl9 @lightnjng @strnsvt @onlyyjeonghan @athanasiasakura

[after-witch]

The Glass House [Yandere Mahito x Reader]

Title: The Glass House [Yandere Mahito x Reader]

Synopsis: You get your period and Mahito wants to run a few tests.

Word count: 3465

notes: yandere, consensual relationship, reader is on their period, mentions of other people's torture and death, humiliation relating to period, Mahito being Mahito is his own warning

It’s not often that Mahito bothers with your bathroom. Only, in the past, when you’ve been in it--naked and wet and usually mid-shower, as he apparently finds it entertaining to see what noises you make each time he surprises you. 

(Once, after comparing him to the killer in Psycho, he’d demanded to then watch the film. ‘But I didn’t stab you and you didn’t bleed chocolate syrup,’ he’d said, simply, after the scene in question.)

Today, though, he’s decided that there must be something interesting in there, because he’s spent the better part of 5 minutes rummaging--you can hear the sound of items being moved--in the closet and, judging by the sound of rustling, he’s now fiddling with the trash can.

“Hey,” he says, finally sauntering out of the bathroom. When you turn to greet him, a sarcastic remark about having fun digging through the trash on your lips, your heart stutters. 

In return, Mahito simply blinks at you.

“What’s this?” He asks, dangling one of your used pads from his hand.

The smear of dried blood in the center of the white pad feels accusatory, out of its proper context in the trash can. A bit of toilet paper sticks to the end of it, remnants of the ball you created to cover up your mess. 

“Oh fuck,” you say, reflexively. “Put that down! That’s--it’s--”

“It’s blood,” he says, giving the pad a sniff. “Smells funny though. Why’s it in your bathroom? Why’s it on this thing? When did you get hurt? Why were you hiding it in the trash?” The questions come simply, nearly rapid-fire. He probably says them as he thinks them.

Your cheeks burn something awful by the end of his questions, and your answer comes out half-stuttered. “It’s--I didn’t get hurt. I’m on my period.” 

One of his fingers is stuck to the bottom of the pad, and he peels it off deftly, holding it closer as you wish you could snatch it from his hands and forget this ever happened.

“Oh,” is what he says, eventually, with a quiet hint of curiosity. “I guess I’m lucky then. I’ve been wanting to study human menstruation for a while now.”

The word study sticks to your chest, but you aren’t able to peel it away so easily. You don’t want him to study you; don’t want to be under his scrutiny in such an obvious way. It’s easier to pretend he knows about people, about humanity, when you’re firmly playing at something closer to a normal relationship.

As if anything about this was normal. 

“Can’t you study one of your… experiments?” 

Experiments. Oh, what a simple, inoffensive word for what they really are--you shake that thought away as easily as a mosquito, though it never truly leaves the room. 

At this, Mahito’s eyebrows raise, and the edge of a smile tickles his lips. 

“Oh,” he coos. “That’s awfully selfish to say, even for you.”

He closes the distance between the two of you now, and you don’t bother resisting when he gives your chest a poke--thankfully with the hand not currently holding your used pad--and encourages you to sit back down on the sofa.

“I want to see.” Simple and clear, like most of the things he says to you. His directness with you is something that does make him stand apart from most people. If he wanted attention, he told you so; if he wanted to be left alone, the same. There weren’t mind games with him or--or hell, if there were mind games, you were too stupid to notice them and that was just fine with you, because the alternatives of your past relationships had been far worse. 

“Why?” You ask, if only to delay the inevitable.

Mahito shakes the pad on his hand, smiling a little at the way it sticks, before he peels it off and sets it on the coffee table. He sighs. “Movies never show it. They always show the woman eating ice cream or screaming at her boyfriend or cuddling with pillows, but they never show what’s actually happening down there.”

You squirm without moving.

“It’s just blood.” Your tone stays flat, uninterested. If he thinks it’s boring, he might move on. “Nothing special about that.”

Mahito’s smile reminds you of an eel. 

“Then show me.” 

It’s not a request that you can parry off, so you don’t bother; instead, you spread your legs, pulling up your skirt so that Mahito won’t do it himself. You might just lose the garment entirely, if it was left up to him.

Mahito claps, then crouches down in front of you, getting far too close to your pad-clad underwear for comfort. He takes a sniff and you’d like to die on the spot.

He gives the pad a poke. 

“Why do you put this in there? What’s it called again?”

You close your legs a little--instinct--and he holds them open for you. It’s easier that way, you think. Easier when he takes control and you don’t have to fight your instincts. 

“It’s a pad,” you force out. “I put it there to absorb the blood.”

He tilts his head. “Why?”

Your nose wrinkles at the question. “So it doesn’t get on my clothes or everything I sit on.” A ghost of a memory pushes through your brain--blood stains on school bus seats and church pews--and you force it down.

Mahito tilts his head, and you think he’s about to ask what you’re thinking about, but instead he sighs and rests his head against the edge of your thigh.

“Humans are so squeamish.” His fingers reach up and climb up your leg, dancing on your inner thighs, towards the pad. You twitch--it tickles--and he smiles. “Does everyone use pads?” 

“No,” you say, as he grips the top of your underwear and begins to slide them down. You do move, now, but not to oppose him. It would be pointless. Instead you hike yourself up a little, so that your bare privates aren’t touching the couch. “Some people use tampons,” you finish, as if you’re not sitting here, hunched on your sofa, while a curse pulls down your underwear to get a look at what’s underneath.

Mahito glances up at you. He wants you to elaborate.

“A tampon is like a cotton stick, I guess? You put it up--there--and it absorbs like a pad. But from the inside.”

“Oh!” The edge of Mahito’s fingers play with the pad on your underwear. “I guess some of my experiments have been on their period, then. I wondered what those were.” He pouts, just a bit. “Maybe that’s why some of my experiments haven’t been working out right. I wasn’t taking menstruation into account.”

The thought has your stomach roiling. But you don’t want to talk about it. Don’t want to think about it--what Mahito does, when he’s not here, and how what he does is just as much a part of him as the moments when he’s snuggling with you in your apartment or fucking you into your mattress.

When you look back at him, he’s grinning.

“You’re squeamish, too. About my work.” He presses a kiss to the inside of your knee. “Don’t worry. It’s cute on you.”

With that, he gives up all pretense, and peels the pad away from your underwear in one swift motion.

“What are you doing?” You ask, even though you know the answer.

“Keeping it.” He sets it next to the already used pad. In contrast, the pad he’s just peeled away still has mostly brighter red blood on it, rather than the dull, brown old blood from the bathroom trash can. “I want to see how long it takes for you to bleed through your underwear. And some more things,” he adds, casually.

Oh, you think. This is too far, too weird. It’s puncturing the bubble you’ve created around you and Mahito in a way you don’t like.

“Mahito, I am not--”

In an instant, his eyes are on you. It’s a look that says, “You are,” and your lips feel like they clamp shut without hesitation. Something low climbs into your stomach and takes root there. When your shoulders slump, defeated, he pats your knee in appreciation.

“We’ll have a slumber party this week,” he tells you, voice getting more giddy as he goes on. “For three days? Four? However long you bleed.” He stands up and begins to survey your apartment, but for what you don’t yet know. “I can get a lot of experiments done in four days.” 

You don’t have the heart--or the stomach--to deny him.

--

When you were thirteen, you once got your period in the middle of class. You didn’t know it until you leaned forward in your desk to get a closer look at what the teacher wrote on the blackboard--your needed glasses at the time, and didn’t yet know it--and one of the boys behind you let out a distinct tween boy guffaw, snickering just loud enough for everyone to hear: “Dude, that’s fucking nasty.”

And then you’d felt it--wetness clinging to the inside of your black pants. And you’d scooted back, looked between your legs, and there it was: a smear of red on the dull grey chair. 

You were too embarrassed to do anything but sit back down, cheeks so hot that you began to sweat, and listened as everyone behind you began murmuring about your period. You had wanted to die for almost two weeks, and for the rest of your school career, you wore a sweater around your waist just in case you started without warning. 

That incident, as life-defining as it had been, was not as embarrassing as what you’re going through right now.

“Mahito,” you mumble, voice thick from your tightened throat. “Is this really necessary?”

Mahito, seated at a folding table he’s hauled into the living room, glances up at you. You, naked as the day you were born and perched awkwardly on top of a porcelain bowl that Mahito had shoved underneath you.

“Which part? The bowl or you being naked?”

“Both,” you blurt helplessly.

Mahito smiles. It’s such a pretty, awful little smile. “The bowl is,” he admits. His eyes leer over your body, awkward as it must look right now. “I just like to look at you.”

God help you, you feel flattered; the warm flush in your skin tingles with the new emotion. Mahito’s praises never failed to make you feel like that, even in the midst of something like this.

Mahito abandons the table and squats in front of the sofa, peering in between your spread thighs at the bowl underneath. You squirm, and he smacks the inside of your thigh sharply. You stop moving.

“I thought it would come out faster.” His tone is soft, low. Detached to everything but mild curiosity. Like a child studying an insect in a chair. “But it’s more… oozing than anything.”

“Don’t call it oozing,” you say. 

Before he can answer, a timer resting on the folding table dings delightfully. Mahito doesn’t waste time and yanks the bowl out from underneath you, leaving you to land flat on the sofa with your bare ass.

“’Hito!” You whine. “It’ll stain!” Thoughts of having to get the smeary blood out of your couch override the desire to keep your whining to a minimum, lest Mahito get annoyed with you. But, you think, it doesn’t matter much now. He’s not even paying attention.

Instead, he whisks the bowl over to the table and places it on the scale to weigh.

He sighs out something like disappointment. “It’s not that much blood at all, really. I don’t know why women complain about it so much in movies.”

He wasn’t paying attention to your whining earlier, but he does hear your incredulous intake of breath at his words. He glances back at you, confusion written on his face.

“What? It really isn’t. Now, when someone loses a limb, that’s real blood loss. And it spurts out, instead of oozing.” He nods, affirming his thoughts to himself. “That would be something to complain about.” 

“It’s not just the blood,” you say, half absent. Your mind drifts to when and where and how Mahito might see someone lose an arm. Did he cut it off? Or another curse? Did the blood droplets spray over his face? Did the person die right away or--

While you were lost in thought, Mahito left his post at the table and returned to crouch in front of you, now sitting flat on the sofa despite the inevitable stains. 

“Go on,” he says simply, all the while pushing your thighs apart with his hands. There’s a bit of blood smeared on the inside of your thighs and he leans forward to give it a lick. The awful feeling nesting in your stomach bristles. 

“Don’t.” 

Mahito blinks up at you. “I want to,” is all he says, before he does it again. 

The look he gives you--Will you try to stop me?--is met with you dropping your chin, just in time to see him smile. He gives another lick. “Tell me what else makes you complain when you’re on your period.”

You think about the sneering boys behind you at school, the way one of them tapped you on your shoulder and said, voice full of glorified condescension, “Aren’t you even wearing a pad? That’s nasty.” 

Instead, you rest your hands on your naked stomach and murmur out the answers Mahito wants to hear.

“Cramps.” You swallow, forcing yourself to taste the ghost of your milkshake from lunch this afternoon and not the bile that wants to come up. “From the um, uterus contracting. It can hurt really bad.” 

One of the girls in the class discretely handed you a pad, but your embarrassment had been so awful that you pretended not to see her, even when she waved it in front of you. “What a bitch,” she’d murmured to a friend afterward. 

“Back pain,” you continue, voice cracking. “And you can get tired. You want to eat but can’t… or you don’t want to eat at all, sometimes. It’s just… a lot of stuff.”

Your body jolts when Mahito puts his hands on your stomach--he wouldn’t transfigure you, he’s said that, and you remember his words well. But it doesn’t stop you from imagining.

“Is that why women get angry when they menstruate?” The mild glare you give him is met with the most innocent of expressions. “What? It’s what all the movies say. Though the man usually gets hit with something after he says it.” He smiles, as if daring you to hit him. You don’t.

Instead, you keep talking. Maybe it’s a way to ground yourself. Maybe you just want to talk to fill the space where dead, disfigured women, corpses created at Mahito’s whim, exist.

“Your hormones can fluctuate.” You smile a little at the forced nostalgia. “Sometimes I get really upset over dumb things. Especially when I was younger. One time, I sobbed because my mom said she was going to get fast food for dinner and she changed her mind.”

Mahito rests his elbows on your thighs, digging into them harshly. His hair tickles your skin, and you wonder, idly, if he’ll get your blood on the silver strands.

“Do you want to cry now?” He asks, almost sweetly. “I wouldn’t mind.”

Do you want to cry? No. You might, though, if things keep going the way they are. So you dig your teeth into your lip and shake your head.

“No. This is just… embarrassing, I guess.” To be naked. To be bleeding. To have Mahito sitting there, your blood on his tongue.

Mahito quirks his head, then scoots back to pry your thighs farther apart so he can get a better view of your bleeding privates.

“I don’t see why humans get so embarrassed about their bodies. It seems silly.” He rests his chin on his elbow for a moment, hums, then hoists himself up and returns to the table where he’s got a few used pads and the bowl still lined up. 

“Mahito?” You ask, while he’s tinkering with his findings. “Can I put my clothes on now. And a pad?”

“No,” he answers, voice light, without even looking behind him. “I need to put this inside you first.”

You do move to get up off the couch now, a pang of fear shooting through your stomach, but you stop when he turns around with a wrapped tampon held aloft. Where did he get it--the thought flickers, and turns into something more pressing: Why does he have it?

But you know the answer, don’t you?

“I don’t use tampons.” A useless thing to say, but you say it anyway.

He simply blinks at you, and crouches back down in front of you, parting your thighs like air.

“They’re uncomfortable,” you try, louder.

This time, he stops moving, and a little bit of hope flickers through you just long enough for him to furrow his eyebrows.

“But when I make my penis, it’s much bigger than this, and you don’t say it’s uncomfortable.”

Your mouth opens to answer, and your tongue sticks to the inside. It’s stupid to argue with him when he’s got his mind set on something. So you don’t.

When you don’t continue to complain, he nods, then unwraps the tampon and skims the back of the wrapper. At least he’s reading the damn instructions, you think, in the instant before he awkwardly shoves the tampon inside you--too rough and hard, and you whimper as it pinches  in an entirely awful way.

Mahito’s lips quirk. He checks the back of the wrapper again, tsks at himself, and pulls it out. This time, the insertion is less chaotic. It’s still sore, but no longer painful. Just… uncomfortable. 

“Aw.” He pats your thigh. “You did great. Let me start the timer!” He jumps up, hair swinging as he rushes to begin the timer for whatever phase of the experiment he’s on.

“Can I put some clothes on now?” Though you’re no longer hoping to avoid staining your sofa, it wouldn’t be awful to be a little less vulnerable in the moment.

Mahito taps his chin with his thumb, considering. Then he shakes his head. “I want you naked. But we can cuddle on your bed for this part, so you don’t get crabby!” 

There’s no time to voice a complaint or offense; he hoists you up, some of the blood that had smeared against your bottom rubbing off on his arm as he carries you into the bedroom. He doesn’t seem to mind; he simply plops you on the bed--fuck, your comforter--and hops on to wrap himself around you.

Silence stretches around you, even as he wraps his arms tighter and presses his nose against your neck.

“Are… we done after this?” You venture to ask, quiet and tired.

Mahito talks into your neck, cold breath--is it even breath?--ghosting your skin. “Oh, no. I have lots of things I’d like to find out this week.” You can feel his smile pressing into you. “You’re being very helpful, you know.”

“I am?”

Mahito hums against you, and sniffs your hair. His answer is so light and sweet, the contrast makes you feel a bit sick.

“Earlier, I’d considered just grabbing someone to experiment on instead, but since you’re being so sweet about everything, I figured I’d just use you instead.”

The dread in your stomach puffs up, its sodden hairs standing on end. 

“So you saved me from having to find at least one woman to test my questions on. Maybe two,” he adds, voice still light. “Doesn’t that feel nice?”

“Nice?” You ask, voice hollow.

Mahito presses a smooch to your neck. “Don’t most people feel nice when they do a good deed?”

A good deed, to stand in for women who might have otherwise died horribly. For women who would have spent their time not thinking about humiliating childhood period experiences but their families--their partners, their children, if they had them. 

A good deed to snuggle with Mahito, while miles away, someone was begging for death from underneath a mass of twisted flesh.

“I guess.” Your voice cracks, but it doesn’t bother him. You suppose a lot of things don’t bother Mahito and so often, you try not to let them bother you. 

He sighs against you, and presses his hands lightly where you’d laid them earlier to indicate your cramps. His fingers dully stroke against the spot, and you wonder what it would feel like for his fingers on you not to bring mild comfort and the growing tingle of affection--but terror and pain and fear.

You wonder, too, if Mahito ever thinks the same thing.