#such a rush of serotonin in my blood

[mrpenguinpants]

i’m so obsessed with ur fake dating hcs, i love them so much

i need a full-fledged 100k slow burn strangers to friends to lovers fic for that alhaitham one 😭😭

You wanna know what my favorite dynamic is? A beautiful Person A who doesn't care for love gets into a fake relationship with trashy Person B who isn't emotionally attracted to them but uses their good looks to commit tax evasion. Then over the course of 100k words, they fall in love. My very specific ship dynamic.

But thank you so much! I have a few "fake dating" hcs in the works so I hope you like them when I eventually post them. You see, this is the part where I got so confused over a part 2. Because originally I was going to make a continuation of the alhaitham, ayato, and kazuha fic. But I think I didn't phrase it correctly because people assumed I would make a part 2 with the same prompt, but using different characters.

I mean, I'm down to do both. I probably will do both, but I'm not sure which one people would like to read first.

[monarchberrysblog]

NOTHING BUT TROUBLE

credit to: @mar_mar0u on Instagram/ @/marmar0u on X and Tumblr!

✭ 🔞 𝐁𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐂𝐚𝐭! 𝐌𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐥 𝐎’𝐇𝐚𝐫𝐚 𝐱 𝐅𝐞𝐦! 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 ✭

✭ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: cat and mouse chase? more like a cat and spider chase…

✭ 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: reader and miguel have an established relationship, suggestive comments? miguel being a complete flirt, the reader being fed-up, make-out session? flirty interactions, soft smut, miguel is uncircumcised, soft dom miguel, reader is a little assertive in bed, dick-grabbing (?), and this is hella cheesy (idc I had fun)

✭ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: >1k words

✭ 𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: my doing 😛 (my indecisive ass CANNOT) this took forever to work on as my ass got too indecisive on how to write it and how to execute it

to my cat owners, tell your cat I said: psst, psst. 🐈‍⬛🩵 (specifically to the cat that lives on my campus)

𝒀𝑶𝑼’𝑹𝑬 𝑳𝑰𝑲𝑬 𝑨 𝑫𝑬𝑽𝑰𝑳 𝑰𝑵 𝑫𝑰𝑺𝑮𝑼𝑰𝑺𝑬

º・🤍 º.▫︎º・

MATURE CONTENT MDNI | MINORS WHO INTERACT WILL BE BLOCKED

𝐁𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐂𝐚𝐭! 𝐌𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐥 who loves to mess with you whenever he has the chance. He would do ridiculous burglaries to get your attention. He is like a cat running to chase a laser point to catch it but fails every time. But when you see him, he always gets away… He would break into a pet store to free the cats, to get your attention.

𝐁𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐂𝐚𝐭! 𝐌𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐥 would find ways to flirt with you, no matter how innocent it sounds or how sexual it is. And do you like it? A little too much. The pickup lines got cleverer every time you ran into him.

“You're the only woman who turns my world upset down.” He sneers, hanging upside down on a lamppost with your webbing around his ankle.

“Uh-huh…” You huffed out, not paying attention to him.

“You got my blood rushing, and I'm not talking about my head. It's going to my dick—”

“Okay, enough.”

𝐁𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐂𝐚𝐭! 𝐌𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐥 is like a stray cat whenever he comes into your apartment. This man would crawl into your apartment and start with his late night “𝑹𝑬𝑵𝑫𝑬𝒁𝑽𝑶𝑼𝑺” with you.

𝐁𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐂𝐚𝐭! 𝐌𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐥 who makes biscuits on your blankets and pillows half-asleep, somehow ripping your blankets. Because of this, he would buy you new blankets every other week, going into different stores to not see the same workers every other week.

He becomes domesticated—

When you're not home, he washes your new blankets with your favorite laundry detergent and always leaves a rose on your bed, no matter what. The thorns are always snipped off. He doesn't want you to cut your pretty fingers :(

(As a bonus, he trims the thorns with his claws.)

𝐁𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐂𝐚𝐭! 𝐌𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐥 make sure that you get home safely. Every night, between 9:30 and 10:15, he stands on the roof of a building across from your apartment, waiting to see your window light up with that familiar warm light.

A sigh of relief escapes his lungs when he sees you enter your apartment after returning from your high-demanding job as a photographer (and New York’s superhero).

Seeing you drop your bags and remove your sweater was a good indicator for him that you were ready to settle for the night. Especially when it's a weekday.

𝐁𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐂𝐚𝐭! 𝐌𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐥 who loves long nights with nothing but intimacy, especially after you had a long night. The sensation of being free from his suit while being bare in bed with you brings serotonin to him, enjoying the soft touches and caresses. The touches slowly evolve into gropes, to the point where he is on top of you, planting soft kisses on your cheeks and temple.

He loves holding you close while slowly stroking his length against your puffy clit, enjoying the hood of skin stroking the vein on his length. The slow rub is enough to pent you up, enough for you to grab his length gently and pull him closer to your entrance. Seeing you tug at it, he chuckles, guiding him closer to your gummy walls.

"Seems like you know what you're doing, sweetheart. Go on, it's yours."

Between the gentle pinch of your thumb and pointer, you gently pinch at his foreskin, pulling it down to see the familiar mauve tip you love to see when he's pent up. You again pull at his length with such vigor, finally inviting the bulbous tip into your soft, warm, gummy walls. "No foreplay?" He quips before he feeds your needy pussy more of his length, slowly and gently. Your fingernails rake down his back like a rake gathering leaves in a yard. When he bottoms out, a breathy moan escapes from deep in his chest cavity, a groan that pleads to be let out from such pent-up stress and frustration.

"Home sweet home," He sighs, grinding his aching tip against your g-spot. You rolled your eyes at the unnecessary commentary, wanting this man to shut up. But the unexpected thrust sent you into heaven and back to earth, grasping onto your bedsheets as if it would anchor you down from the heavenly sensation while a guttural moan escapes.

"Good, good. You're doing so good." He croons while slowly pulling out and thrusting his length back in, grasping onto the fat of your hips, allowing his claws to sink into your soft skin while keeping up the same smooth pace. The sight of your soft breasts rippling against his thrusts awakened something in him, allowing him to eagerly take your nipple in between his teeth, allowing his canines to graze against the sensitive bud every other second.

But he always lets you finish first, no matter how long it takes for you to finish. It could be an hour, and he's not going to stop until he wants you to squirt on his cock, soaking both of y'all and the fitted bedsheets. But it can sometimes get the man pussy whipped, literally.

Groans slowly turn into mewls and resort to sloppy, makeout sessions with you, wanting to block the sounds he was producing. In between kisses, he whispers in between the kisses and breaths soft praises while he gently strokes his cock, yearning to be indulged in your warmth. The usual stoic expression wipes away like a spill off a kitchen counter, changing into a lolled expression, seeing your chest rise and fall rapidly. But the moments while you finish, he accompanies you, holding you close to his chest, muffled groans against his skin.

"Good job, sweetheart. We did it."

𝐁𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐂𝐚𝐭! 𝐌𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐥 who loves to cuddle with you after. This man loves sleeping on your bed while you play with his hair. He groans from the back of his throat, mimicking the sound of a cat purring. The vibrations return to you, creating a funny feel against your skin.

He denies and denies that he purrs, but the vibrations from his groans don't help his case.

He yaps in his sleep, too. He mumbles, barely coherent nonsense.

But you don't mind it as he sleeps like a dog (cat) on the floor.

[toweroftickles]

Hi (:

What do you think about characters of "Inside out 2"? Do we have some lees here?

Ok I somehow didn't experience the original Inside Out until like 2 weeks ago, and then immediately rushed to theaters for the second one, and I have not been able to stop thinking about it since! Of course the first thing I started daydreaming about was the chaos that would ensue in Brain HQ during tickles. So yes, I've definitely got headcanons. XD

EMOTIONAL * RESPONSES

When Riley Gets Tickled

Joy squees, claps, bounces up and down, the usual. "AAAH Tickle time! Awww, our girl is still so adorable..."

Disgust: "Mm-mm. I hate this. Hate it. Majorly messing with my zen."

Sadness: *confused and a little uncomfortable*

Fear: *open-mouthed and deeply uncomfortable*

Envy gasps and hops up to the screen. "Omigosh omigosh they're touching us. That means they like us and think we're cute, right? Right?!"

Anger: "Oh, so that's how it's gonna be, huh?! You want a fight, kid?! I'll give ya a fight! Right up your -"

Anxiety: "Wait! There's a million possible variables in what'll happen if we decide to fight back! Accidentally punching them would be devastating to our network!"

Joy's not paying attention, she's too busy laughing and hammering the serotonin injector.

"I-I got it! Scream! Just holler, really loud!"

"GUHH, get out of the wayyyy; stop hogging this thing! We have to run! Come on!"

Ennui: *exists in French*

*Meanwhile Embarrassment is just spread out like a starfish and rolling his entire girth back and forth across the keyboard.*

When Riley's Tickling Someone Else

Joy takes the wheel here. The others know not to disturb a master plying her craft. She's an expert tickler, so she feeds Riley a whole bushel of fun ideas, and Envy is her eager troublemaker minion.

There is in fact a dedicated "Tickle" command button. The plastic is slightly stuck in the slot because it hasn't been used much.

Anger keeps trying to grab his levers and switches, but Joy usually shoves him to the side with her foot.

*tries to wrest control from Joy and rein her in*

*barfing in the corner somewhere*

When a Tickle Scene Pops Up in a Movie

Joy giggles happily and squirms in her seat, then boops the control panel so that Riley follows suit.

Disgust is a tiny bit antsy...she's not influencing Riley yet but she's on standby in case stuff gets weird.

Embarrassment gingerly taps the console at increasing intervals until Sadness pulls his arm away.

Ennui: Probably watching something else. Or doomscrolling.

When Someone Asks Riley if She's Ticklish

*screams like a little girl*

*hides, bangs head on the desk*

"That is NOT funny!"

"Oh no! What do we do; whaddawedo?! Riley's way too ticklish! What if they tickle us and don't stop for the rest of eternity?! What if they think Riley's laugh is weird and we're socially ostracized and forced to get a job in a fish cannery?!"

“Ew ew ew ew no. Lie. We have to lie right now!” *jumps for the controller*

*Joy grabs Disgust's arm* "Whoa whoa whoa, eeeaasy there. Let's just calm down...this is a fun question; we're having fun..."

Envy: "Ooo, what if they're ticklish and they want us to tickle them?" *already wiggling her fingers in the air*

"But if we misread that signal and make them mad at us, then..."

Ennui: *groans and taps her console app*

Riley, being super casual: “Meh…a little. Not really.”

Suddenly Riley's eyes dilate. Her throat hitches and there's the tiniest bit of pink in her cheeks. Everyone turns their heads to look at -

“EMBARRASSMENT!!! *dry heave* WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?!”

"Ohhhh boy. There it is. We're doomed now."

When They Get Tickled Themselves

Come on, we all know that Joy always draws first blood. (Er...first giggle?) She's such a switchy monster. Tickling is her default method of cheering others up. It's canon. Case closed.

As someone whose default setting repels positivity, Sadness is not ticklish at all, and this actually upsets her.

*silently grabs the tickler by the neck and tosses them out the window*

Nobody protests like Disgust. She gets mad. She slaps. She hurls insults. She runs away. Disgust is both extremely ticklish and extremely touch-averse, so this is Code Red for her.

Fear is the type who doesn’t so much “laugh” as “have a shrieking, spastic outburst and breakdance like Sonic the Hedgehog in a malfunctioning taser-testing facility."

At first, Anxiety is overcome by stressful jitters, miserable and whimpering, and her whole body contracts. After a few moments of tickling, though, she starts to let all that tension out and relaxes into nervous vibrato laughter. It becomes sort of a therapeutic stress release, like her special chair.

It's not exactly the physical sensation of tickle torture that Envy craves, it's the attention. The sound she makes when tickled oscillates between wild, snorty cackles and the dulcet hoots of a baby owl trapped in a pinball machine.

Ennui is dead. No reaction. Her body is a neurological cemetery. ...EXCEPT for her heels and the back of her knees. (And if you thought phone loss made her experience Vietnam flashbacks...)

What do you think Embarrassment does? He plops himself down on the floor and pulls his hoodie so tight around his face that no one can tell if he's laughing or sobbing.

Misc.

As Riley's primary protector, Fear is always scouting ahead for any potentially-tickly environmental hazards, and gently nudges her away from catastrophe ("you forgot your shoes! put them back on before you walk on grass;" "don't lift your arms up around Bree and Grace;" "those massage chairs in the mall are actually full of rusty knives and drug dealers sleep on them;" etc.)

When Riley gets tickled, the emotions don't "feel" it, exactly, but they perceive something of a contact buzz.

These are typically how the reactions go, but they're not universal. If Riley's been in a bad mood, Anger might be more proactive in grabbing the handles. Embarrassment may have more or less of his body mass pancaking the buttons, depending on who's tickling her. (Like...a boy?! Or Val?! Or -) Standard variations like that.

Riley

Riley has an extremely ticklish tummy! That's her spot. (Just the vibe I get; IDK.)

Bree and Grace are really ticklish too, but Riley is the weak link... the member of the trio that the other two team up against. Lots of tickle fights and sneak attacks.

She obviously loves to laugh and goof around with her friends, but probably isn't over-enthused by that last part.

Val

The most popular girl in school, the tough athletic one - her adulating devotees wouldn't think it, but beneath that too-cool exterior, Val is very weak to tickling.

All the other Firehawks know, and like to tease Val by poking her.

She's a good sport about it and takes it like a champ - just yelps and laughs and pushes back. They have fun.

Lance Slashblade

Crop top alert. The abs are asking for it. (Just sayin.')

The thought of being tickled is intolerable to him. Even in this...what should be a moment of joyous camaraderie...he is haunted. Forced to laugh like...like some sort of...clown swordsman?! How could he be so weak...so degraded...so unworthy to carry the holy blade of his ancestors, they whose destinies were written in the stars ere these centuries long past? Will he never be a true warrior, with the strength to stem the tide of encroaching night? It is too painful to think about...the icy whips of humiliation, always ravenous and bitter in their lashes, strike! and cast him into the shadows and okay the joke's over now we're getting long-winded and edgelordery big words drama sparkling vampires and junk

(Also, yes, he Morph-Balls himself.)

[hwanchaesong]

omg i got a good idea for an ateez song imagine: like i can -sam smith.

idk who but alive you feel like could match the vibes best. im kinda thinking yunho or seonghwa but they could be so different like shsbvsjsnd ily

a/n: this is SO SO VERY LATE I APOLOGIZE. THIS HAS BEEN ON MY DRAFTS FOR TOO LONG. I HOPE YOU'LL STILL ENJOY IT THO. AGAIN, FORGIVE ME FOR POSTING THIS AFTER SO LONG 😭

also, let's make this a seonghwa x reader x yunho cuz y not

suggestive (kinda smutty) & angst, no fluff here. love triangle, and mentions of other sins are in here so read at your own risk. also mdni!

LIKE I CAN - SAM SMITH

Seonghwa's piercing gaze cuts through the plethora of people in the dance floor of the smoky club, straight onto your figure latched onto his nemesis.

Jeong fucking Yunho.

Out of all the other guys you can mess around with, you really had to go to the person he least expected.

Seems like you know how to play a game of terror.

He scoffs when he sees you giggle at the other man's whispered words, biting your lower lip when his hand drops on your exposed thighs, crawling higher until it had you closing your legs in a failed protest.

Oh, how he hates seeing you like this. Like you weren't chanting his name like a mantra a few days ago. Like you weren't panting for more in his sheets. Like he didn't carved your body to accommodate him and only him.

He smirked when he saw an opportunity to lock you in, watching you saunter towards the restroom, and he stood up himself, boldly following you in there.

You were minding your own business, not until someone rudely barged in, pinning you on the wall with their face dangerously close to yours.

"What the f-"

"Watch your words, babe."

You almost shrieked when the person that you don't wanna have an encounter with shows himself without any warning.

"Seonghwa?" you muttered his name, and the way you called him sent the blood rushing down in his member. He loved it whenever you sounded meek in his presence.

"Let me go. I don't have time for this shit." you said, voice firm and he was shocked at how confident you are.

Is this what that Yunho has been teaching you? After all his hard work in shaping you into his submissive baby girl. Oh, he has to remind you where you stand in here.

"I don't have time for your attitude, princess."

Seonghwa's hands went into your waist, pushing your lower half into his own while he sticks his leg in between your thighs, causing you to let out a small squeak when your clothed pussy rubbed against his jeans.

It sent you down the rabbit hole, back to zero when he's intoxicating you like this again.

How do you even escape from him?

Park Seonghwa, the guy that every girl wanted yet you had him as your trophy after a one night stand during a drunken stupor of his frat's party.

He was once a stranger that you glanced at, maybe once or twice, you couldn't remember but you do know that he made you laugh. He made you happy for a short while before giving you an entirely different kind of serotonin. One that you could acquire when the waves crash you into euphoria.

He showed you a world of situations that sailed on ships made of sands. Thus, it crumbles easily, making you seek a home made out of bricks, a shelter that winds cannot destroy.

Yet here he is, in all his glory, kissing you like there's no tomorrow.

"I thought you were better than this. Care to explain yourself princess, hm?" he mumbles against your bruised lips as he nibbles on it, his hands going over your breast to grope it rather harshly.

"I don't need to explain myself to you." you panted, clenched fists weakly punching his chest, but you both know that no matter what you do, his temptation would be difficult to resist.

You moaned when his mouth slid down to your neck, biting your sweet spot while his hand wandered onto your damp panties, circling your garment-clad clit, it had you thrashing around in his arms.

Seonghwa chuckled darkly, murmuring the exact words that had your knees buckling for him, "Oh my sweet, little princess. I think I have to remind you that no one can show you passion like I do."

---------------------------------------------------

You were quietly sitting on the bed, the television's volume nothing but white noises to you.

Then you slightly jumped on your spot when a splash of cold water dripped on your cheeks, "Ah!"

You glared at the perpetrator, fresh out of the shower.

"Yunho! You scared me!" you whined, making him chuckle at your adorable countenance.

"You are the one scaring me, actually. You're too silent. Is something bothering you?" he asks, concern lacing his voice as he sits beside you, landing a palm on your leg and tenderly massaging it, giving you a sense of solace.

Yunho really is something, you think.

With him, it feels like all your sins will be forgiven. A gentleman that could cleanse your soul, a once in a lifetime chance and you'd be a damn fool if you let him go.

But it does plague your mind, the way you let yourself be consumed by the demon when you already have yourself an honest man.

"It's nothing, it's just-" you began to speak, but you were astounded when he cut you off with a groundbreaking fact that's been eating you inside and out.

"Is it what happened in the party?"

You and that Park shithead Seonghwa, he thinks.

You looked at him, wide eyed and anxious but he only waved you off. Still, there's a mayhem of vibes that surrounds him, and you have no idea of what will happen next.

"Y/N, my love, you must take for an idiot no?" he sniggers, then halts to tilt your chin up and he leans onto you, the tip of his nose brushing yours.

He's another kind of poison, and a pattern seemed to click in your mind on what kind of men you are drawn to.

"Yunho, it's not like that." you tried defending yourself but he shushed you with a peck on the lips, his hands brushing your arms lightly until he reached your shoulders.

Goosebumps trailed on where he touched you, then he abruptly pushed you down the bed, eliciting a surprised gasp from you.

"Darling, it's okay." he reassures, positioning himself on top of you and discarding the towel around his waist. Droplets of water fell on you, soaking your shirt that he hoisted up, revealing your breasts to him, your nipples perking up at being exposed in cold air.

His warm hands explored your smooth skin while he inhaled your scent, smooching on the crook of your neck and his eyes squinted when he saw the remnants of Seonghwa's disgusting mark.

His fingers tickled your stomach, reaching for your tits and playing with your nipples, tugging on it and you felt yourself getting wet with his ministrations.

"Y-Yunho.." you mewled, arms wrapping around his broad shoulders.

He merely hummed before biting the same spot where Seonghwa soiled you, mumbling curses at the thought of that shitty fuck boy.

"It's okay," he repeats what he said a while ago, "because at the end of the day, you'll still come back to me. No one can show you heaven like I can."

He already has you, and in Yunho's perception, you are his. You belong to him, you belong with him.

Dwindling roads and outreached hands are presented to you, so, which one do you choose?

[katnissmellarkkk]

Yall I did it!!! I actually finished the chapter! Okay so now I was thinking seriously of splitting this chapter in two parts but in the end, I couldn’t find a good, satisfying place to break them in half so… here’s a really long chapter! Hopefully you guys don’t mind 🩷🩷🩷🩷

Okay well anyways, God bless all of you and thank you so much for continuing to read my stuff, following my page here, giving me kudos and especially all the really nice, wonderful comments! Those are like instant serotonin to my brain 🤍.

Anyways hope you enjoy!

-

It doesn’t take long for Peeta to arrive home. After our call ended, with me tearfully proclaiming I need you, all I could manage to do was stare at the clock. Stare at it and count the minutes until my husband was here with me and not lingering in town, vulnerable and unaware of the most recent turn of events.

Not lingering in town, where Vulcan could find him and follow through with his threat to take Peeta’s life.

I almost choke as the possibility dawns on me. For some reason, in the hours since I awoke, the prospect of Vulcan the Stalker harming Peeta had yet to even cross my mind.

And my head wound throbs and my side aches something awful as the image fills my mind. The image of the person I love most in the world, lying in a pool of his own blood, slowly dying from a wound inflicted by a monster, who for some deranged reason chose me to be the object of his affection. My chest hurts at the very concept that Peeta could be gravely injured and I would be none the wiser. The mere idea quite literally takes my breath away.

The mere idea that what happened to me could happen to Peeta makes my eyes fill up, and I wonder if I begin to hyperventilate how much it’ll damage the stitches in my side. How much can I move before I damage the seams holding my hip together and keeping me from bleeding out all over the bed.

But — thankfully — I don’t have time to find out. Because before I can have a full meltdown, much like the one I already had upon waking up and finding myself stitched together like one of Prim’s old rag dolls, my husband’s stomp booms as he comes up the stairs, apparently taking them three at a time.

And I’ve never been so grateful for his gait. I’ve never been so grateful that he’s as loud as a bear on a wild chase.

I only wish we could be alone. I wish we could just have a moment to ourselves. But there’s still Enforcers in our hall, conferring quietly among themselves, with no end to their visit in sight. Actually, it’s not just the hall. There is still Enforcers everywhere on our property.

On our lawn, in our kitchen, on the porch, in the living room, the office, the backyard, down the road.

And especially in the spare room where I painted the floor scarlet with my blood. They’ve all been taking turns rotating in and out of that room for as long as I’ve been coherent.

One of the Enforcers — a younger male, who I haven’t had to personally speak to — attempts to stop Peeta as he rushes to get to me, his eyes dark and wild and intense.

“Sir, I’m sorry,” the young lawman says, his tone all business and detached. Like my near death experience is nothing but a bore to him. “This whole house is a crime scene. You can’t be in here-”

“She’s my wife,” Peeta simply states, as if that changes everything.

Because it does. To me and to him.

Because for as long as that handcrafted ring is on my finger, wherever I am, he belongs too. There’s nowhere I could be that Peeta wouldn’t follow. There’s nothing that could keep me away from him.

Read The Rest On AO3

[spidergutz-writes]

Y/n x ghost thoughts/prompt

TW: mention of suic!de. PTSD? Angst if you squint.

imagine being the newbie, your the one of the youngest in the group, ranging from 19-22. But You’ve been there for a good couple of months. Your good friend with Johnny(you called soap johnny once and he didnt correct you. Ever since then, you two have been inseparable. You only call him johnny when it’s just the two of you though.) and gaz.

eventually, johnny gets ghost to…not hate you.

he becomes indifferent towards you. Doesn’t hate you, nor does he like you..yet

he would soon change his mind. But he doesn’t know that.

————

You all had gotten off a pretty rough mission. Filled with bloodshed as always, but way more than necessary. once you all go through the required paperwork, you all head back to base.

everyone is chilling out in some way or another. Soap is watching tv, gaz is taking a nap, price is taking a shower, and ghost is in his room.

though, you were in the bathroom. You had locked the door, and the others had noticed that you’ve been in there for well over an hour. The only noise is a slight rustling and some quiet sobs.

ghost was walking to the common area to go to the kitchen when he noticed everyone was huddled around the bathroom you had locked yourself in, all of them expressing their worries.

“Ya alright in there?”

“Y/n, you’ve been in there for almost two hours.”

“Stop hogging the bathroom”

Gaz was trying to make light of the situation, while price and Johnny expressed their concern.

ghost walks up to said door, and starts to ask them what’s going on.

you can hear them conversating outside the door, and after a good 10-15 more minutes, you unlock the door.

Ghost is standing in the front, johnny to the right of him, gaz and price to the left.

all of their eyes widen slightly.

You had dyed your hair.

a sigh of relief is heard from ghost and price. While gaz and Johnny berate you for worrying them.

“We thought you were paintin the bathroom with yer blood!!”

“You’d been in there for hours!! Why didn’t you respond??”

Johnny is shaking you by your shoulders, and you chuckle.

“Had earbuds in. I couldn’t hear any of ya. Sorry!”

————

about a couple hours later, your still up. sitting on the couch, with your knees to your chest. Almost all the lights are turned off, except for the little kitchen area, which barely illuminates the area. Your Playing everything through your head. Sure, none of you were badly injured during the mission, but you had seen some stuff. It’s sticking with you, and your trying to process it.

A weight in the couch causes you to jump and look to your left. It’s just ghost.

he’s looking at your hair.

“…do you like it..?”

he stays quiet for a moment. Searching for the right words.

“It’s not bad. It’s a nice color though..”

You don’t hear ghost talk often, but when he does, you either feel fear, or a wave of..calmness..

his voice is gruff, but still has a smooth tone. The deep decidable his voice reaches gives your brain a rush of serotonin. with just the little words, you can feel your eyes growing heavy.

you hadn’t slept in awhile, you had been moving the whole mission, and with the images plaguing your mind, you couldn’t possibly do it yourself.

“…hey…this might sound weird..but..could you possibly talk some more?”

he looks at your eyes questioningly

“Your voice is calming is what I mea- ah…forget it”

ghost grunts

“Never been told that. Usually I’m told my voice is terrifying.”

———-

HSUSBSJSJ that’s all I can manage. I gotta get back to the Otis fic im writing-

[mangoshorthand]

Flesh and Blood- [Five Hargreeves x F Reader]. Ch1 (Hard Feelings Part 3)

SUMMARY: As Christmas approaches, everything between you and Five is perfect...until a destructive temporal anomaly gets in the way. Five is convinced another permutation of himself is to blame. Nothing's simple when you're in a relationship Five Hargreeves: could your loyalties be tested in a way unique to him? Chapter One - Chapter Two - Chapter Three - Chapter Four - Chapter Five - Chapter Six - Chapter Seven - Chapter Eight - Chapter Nine - Chapter Ten - Chapter Eleven - Chapter Twelve - Chapter Thirteen

It's a March Holiday fic. Just what you always wanted, right?

Chapter One: Another Apocalypse

It’s Saturday morning. When you left him, the bedroom window and curtains were cracked so that pale-toned winter sunlight bathed the bed in a slanting shard. The chilly air felt pleasant on your skin and clean in your lungs, warm as you both were between the bedclothes.

He was asleep with his head turned from you, the light and shadow falling on his face. The fine hairs on his neck stood on end with the cold air. He had been snoring very lightly. The rays of light and very slight breeze tangled in his hair, fluttering it occasionally. You might have wanted him to wake, yet you could also watch him sleep for hours; you could be happy here, feeling his warmth. 

But your bladder was no respecter of such sentimentality. It soon became imperative to leave the bed. After relieving yourself and taking a painkiller for a threatening headache, you’d make your way down to the kitchen and put on a pot of coffee.

You try to be quiet as you re-enter the bedroom but he stirs almost immediately.

“Mmm…coffee?” his voice is hazy.

“Yep. Good morning.”

“Morning, dear one. C’mere”

You put down the breakfast tray and rejoin him on the bed. He wraps his arms around you and you lay your head on his chest. He puts his mouth and nose against your hair and inhales. 

It's been a blissful six months since the JUICED scandal. Since you started paying the (largely symbolic) rent to Reginald's estate, you'd felt better; stronger. As a result there's a new feeling between you; you can riff, harmonize and improvise around one another like a string duo- switching who plays the base notes as needed. True, it's not as if he's been seriously tested again since the JUICED scandal but, so far, it's been...nice.

Again, the breeze plays around your entwined bodies. He’s sure he can feel the rush of serotonin as he breaths in your scent…serotonin or love; call it what you want. 

"How are you today?" he asks.

"Another headache."

"Really?" You can hear the worry in his voice.

"I took a painkiller: it's fine." then, to distract him, “How about we go out today?"

He grunts.

“Gonna need at least three coffees.”

You extract yourself from his arms and bring him over a cup. He takes a grateful sip.

“Ahhh. That’s good. Do I smell bagels?”

You hand him one plate and grab your own, sitting back down beside him with your own mug. For a few minutes, you eat and drink in companionable silence. Then, with your breakfast eaten, you turn to him.

“Shall we go Christmas shopping?”

He groans, “I think I'd rather scoop out my own testes with a grapefruit spoon.”

“I could arrange that for you?”

He grumbles. You kneel on the bed and swing one leg over him.

“Watch it!” he puts his coffee cup on the nightstand to avoid you knocking it out of his hands. 

You sit on his knee, facing him.

“Come on,” you wheedle, “we can go and get cocoa and walk in the park and go to the German markets.”

“Kill me,” he groans but he’s smiling too, bringing his hands to your hips.

“You’re the one with the huge family to buy for. Let’s get all our gifts out of the way.”

He sighs, rolling his eyes.

“Fine.”

“Yes!” you say, pumping your fist, “but you have to promise not to be surly. Ooh, and let’s go ice skating!”

“NO ice skating!”

You laugh and kiss him. He responds enthusiastically, laughing a little into your mouth.

“I gotta draw the line at ice skating but I’ll do the rest.” 

Five’s enjoying himself more than he wants to admit. Today, your joy is infectious in a way that makes you radiant. 

His Christmases since arriving home had always been participated in out of obligation. He’d only really bought gifts for his nephew- he and his brothers didn’t often exchange them, although they all got together for a meal. 

Though he’d been with you last year, you were still recovering in hospital from your encounter with Michael Monroe so hadn’t been able to go Christmas crazy...which he's just learning is natural to you.

Despite feeling slightly sick from the glühwein, this is undeniably pleasant. He even found himself fully engaged in picking out a gift for Lila, of all people. He'd even gone so far as to recommend one bracelet over another- and it was the bracelet he thought Lila would like more, too. 

Now he’s standing in a store debating the merits of various gingerbread houses. He's laden with all your shopping bags as well as his own because you keep leaving them on the floor in your excitement to make the next purchase. If he were a less cynical man, he might call this adorable rather than annoying.

While Five valiantly tries to remain cynical, it’s hard. God knows he is not an easily led man, yet he's helplessly borne along in the wake of your excitement.

"It's style over substance,"  he says, indicating the giant gingerbread house you're standing beside, "if it's gonna get eaten then it's the taste that matters. Santi will demolish whatever we buy in five minutes anyway so what's the point?"

When you look at him, you're impassioned to a point that makes him want to laugh.

"Your shitty-ass gingerbread house doesn't even have a second floor. This is a gothic revival gingerbread house. Look at the windows! Look at the little wreath on the door! Look at the roof gables!"

"You're gonna eat it, not move in....and it's ninety dollars!"

"Oh fuck off. I've seen your bank balance, Five Hargreeves. This is Christmas."

He shakes his head at the absurdity of it all.

"You know, for an atheist with criticisms of capitalism, you're pretty into this."

You pout, forcing a smile from him. Despite this, he still tries to dissuade you.

"You know it will have gone stale by Christmas, anyway.

"You think I’m stupid? I'm not saying we get one now. I'm thinking to PRE-ORDER."

You give him a look of impatient, electrified enthusiasm, shining eyes bulging out of your head, eyebrows in your hairline and corners of your mouth turning down. You look entirely mad.

And then he’s impelled to take action by something stronger than his reason.

“You want to meet me on the square in an hour?” he asks

“Why?”

He tilts his head noncommittally. 

“Maybe I’ve got…stuff to buy.”

“Hmm. Ok,” you say, grabbing him by the front of his coat, “maybe I got stuff to buy too.”

Then, you kiss him briefly on the lips.

And there's your smell, your soft lips, your smile….

He doesn’t consciously know where his feet are taking him until he’s there and staring in the window. How the hell has he come to this?

He’s not an easy man to buy for. His birthday back in October was tricky enough. He’s been experimenting more recently with clothing beyond suits...but you don’t just want to buy him a shirt or something: he's not your Dad. You find yourself in an antique bookstore with creaky floorboards. It smells strongly of furniture polish and beeswax. The mahogany counter and bookshelves shine with them.

 It’s one of those places where the salespeople don’t fully trust you unless you look like a fellow collector. The tweed-suited man eyes you with benign suspicion as you enter. He takes his feet off his desk and stands to assist rather than letting you browse and potentially damage his stock.

“Good afternoon Ma'am."

"Hi," you smile.

"Are you looking for something in particular?”

“Uh- just a Christmas gift for my partner.”

The guy retains his polite smile, but you think you see something die behind his eyes nevertheless.

“Do you have anything in mind?”

You were overjoyed with your purchase.  It had set you back a pretty penny, but it was more than worth it when you imagined his face. By the end of the encounter, the salesman had become much more unctuous. 

One of the advantages of living all but rent-free in the family compound of an eccentric dead billionaire was being able to save pretty much your whole paycheck.This was aided by the fact that said paycheck had increased significantly a couple of months ago. 

You'd finally achieved the promotion you privately thought you'd deserved for eighteen months. You'd like to think that the higher-ups simply noticed all your hard work but this would be optimism to the point of stupidity. You'd become a bit of an office celebrity since the JUICED scandal.

The domino mask you'd worn at the press-conference did not shield your identity from those who already knew you. You knew the news footage had been widely shared between whispering co-workers. For weeks afterwards, you'd catch people looking from you to their computers and back again. In addition, Neil from HR told a pretty convincing story about how he'd seen you meet and be driven away by 'that Hargreeves boy from the papers' in a reconditioned Corvette Stingray. 

The book you'd bought for Five was a rare find and couldn’t be more perfect for him - it was beautiful, meaningful and came with that old-book smell that you’ve come to associate with him. 

He collects voraciously, spending hours re-stitching broken bindings and restoring or replacing worn endsheets. Having lived most of his life in a ruined library where most of the books had been completely destroyed, he hoarded books on almost any subject. The older they were, the more he valued them. He's never confirmed this, but you think that perhaps his love of these aging survivors is a deeply personal identification. 

Another headache has been threatening for the last quarter of an hour, so you sit down on a bench to wait for him. Shoppers pass with the bustle of human activity. You let your head lean forward a little and close your eyes.

And then, a rushing sound and whip-like crack.

You feel a ripple like electrical wind pass through your skin. Your stomach flips as if you’ve just missed a step walking downstairs. You and many of the people around you let out little exclamations of surprise- as you look sharply up, you see people's hair and shopping bags rustle as the almost-invisible force, (whatever it is), passes. A man standing a few feet away begins to scream. His body is caught in what looks like a film of blue light into which energy courses with a thrumming that hurts your already aching head. As he yells, fights and flails to free himself, it warps and flexes with his movements. Sparks fly with a rumbling sound like thunder. 

You only have time to gasp in horror before Five blinks into being, still holding shopping bags. He raises his arms in an instinctive protective gesture, one over his own head and the other holding you back and behind him. You both watch as, in under a second, the void consumes the shrieking man and collapses in on itself with a buzz and flumping sound. Dropping the bags, Five’s hand smacks against his forehead.

“SHIT.”

People around you scream, the man who had been beside the void’s victim panics and yells:

“Kevin! KEVIN?”

Five ignores him and looks wildly around. He scans the sky, the ground, surrounding buildings and then the crowd. His body language has taken on that frenetic energy that comes over him when on the job. He pats down his own body, searching urgently.

“Pen. I need a pen. Anything.”

You pat your pockets uselessly, knowing there’s nothing there either.

“Why don’t I carry pens?”, his hand flies back to his forehead he looks around desperately, before yelling, “SHIT!” again.

“What is it?”

“I don’t…it can’t be…wait- is this stage one? No…because then I wouldn’t have asked that. Or is that what I want me to think?” he scratches his neck distractedly, his face lined with mistrust.

“Five?”

He begins to pace.

“It was me. I felt it.”

“What?”

His wild eyes find yours. He hesitates for a fraction of a second and then tells you:

“That was my power. I know the feeling. I felt it from across the street. That-” he points at the yelling man, “-was me. That was one of my temporal portals. What the hell do I think I’m doing?"

His hands come out to feel the air in front of him in the direction of the vanished portal. He draws in breath through his nose as if searching for a scent.

"It feels...like nonsense." His eyebrows contract even tighter. Again, his eyes rove your surroundings and then, finding nothing, he yells with frustration. 

“WHERE ARE YOU, ASSHOLE?” he screams into the crowded street. After a few more moments of pacing, he snatches up the bags and grabs your hand.

“Come on, if he’s going to go anywhere, it'll be the Academy.”

Back at home, you sit downstairs in the living room. Five’s rapidly filling a notebook with scribbled calculations and mutters to himself compulsively. He’s been like this all the way home, speaking in random disconnected phrases that don’t mean anything and don’t seem to answer your questions: "Doesn't work with the fifth principle" or "Is this a Dallas permutation?"

“Five"

He jerks his head as if displacing an irksome fly.

"Can you explain this more?”

He holds up a finger imperiously and continues scribbling for a few seconds before looking up at you, his pen poised above the paper as if it’s taking all his self-control to pause its track across the page.  

“I will. I promise. Just give me a few minutes. Get them all here- all of my brothers. Now. We need a meeting,” he holds your eyes for a second, clearly seeking affirmation that this satisfies you for now. 

You nod your acceptance; your appreciation of this consideration. 

Five took a lot of persuading to join the Hargreeves family group chat, but since giving in, he’s been a solid contributor. Now, as you message the group, your message appears right below one from this morning in which he joked that he used Lila’s lost razor to shave his balls. 

You: Emergency meeting asap. Five says apocalypse-level shit. @all

Diego: Fuck.

Sloane: With you in 30 minutes

Viktor: Coming. 30 minutes too.

You: @Klaus??

Lila: Try the 3rd floor bathroom.

It took you having to nearly knock the door off its hinges to get Klaus to respond . He’d been listening to headphones and seemed mildly surprised when he popped his head around the door to find you looking exasperated. When, with a towel wrapped around his waist, you and he re-enter the living room, Lila and Diego are attempting to question an impatient Five, still scribbling incomprehensible math.

“Shut UP. I’m nearly done.”

Lila matches his exasperated tone.

“The hurry the fuck up!" 

Finally, he throws the book down and stands.

“Okay: I’ll explain it to the others when they get here. We all need to be on the lookout for another me.”

Klaus and Diego let out sighs of frustrated weariness as Lila says:

“Oh great. Younger or older?”

“Your guess is as good as mine. All I know is, there’s a version of me running around making real shitty time portals to suck up Christmas shoppers."

“Why would you do that?” Diego asks, as if stung at Five’s behavior.

“I. don’t. know." the toes of one foot begin to tap, "I just know it was my power and the math on the relativity vector is nonsense.”

He runs his fingers through his hair, sweeping it out of his eyes.

 “Time travel’s a crapshoot at the best of times but this…I’d barely even call this time travel. I doubt if that guy it caught even exists anymore. He’s probably in a thousand pieces all over the twelfth and thirteenth centuries.”

He turns to you, looking at you intensely.

“You were right there. Did you see where it came from? Did you see me?”

“No,” you say, “I felt it though. I felt it ripple.”

“Are you absolutely sure? Maybe a kid in the shorts, like in the painting? Or older, with a mustache, probably in a suit?”

You cast your mind back, “No, I didn’t see you. All I saw was the guy.”

He accepts this.

“All in all- this is not good. I know things are more flexible at the Commission now but Herb’s gotta be pissed about whatever I’m doing.”

He paces again, looking down at the last few pages of his notebook.

“This could be another apocalypse, people.”

“Really,” opines Klaus, “when I just got my hair nice?”

Again, Five sits behind his father’s desk across from Herb, whiskey poured for them both. He arrived within a second after Five used his personal pneumatic pipeline to contact him. 

“I have to tell you Number Five, so far, we’re as clueless as you on this. The switchboard gave us the alert about the temporal anomaly but that’s as much as we know.”

He sips his drink, looking troubled. “Can you give me any insight on why a version of you might be running these ‘experiments’?”

“Wish I could Herb. The equations as far as I can detect them make no sense. I would have told you that I’d never try it...if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes.”

He pushes his notebook across the desk to Herb. He scrutinizes a few pages of calculations, face the picture of confused concern. When he's seen enough, he looks back up at Five. 

“You know we may have to take action on this.”

Five meets Herb’s eyes. It’s not a threat, not aggressive; he simply says it as an uncomfortable fact. 

“Well it’s not me me. It’s different timeline me. I can promise you I don’t intend to start spitting out nonsense woodchipper time portals,"

Five placed his glass down on the desk, leaned back and sighed.

"He’s just likely to give you a lot of trouble.”

Herb just drinks his scotch, not meeting Five's eyes.

You lie in bed together that night.

“I need you to be vigilant,” says his voice, out of the dark, “the other versions of me…part of my power means we can exist almost independently of each other across different timestreams if we do the right math. At least...theoretically. I can’t answer for my motivations under different circumstances.”

“What do you mean? Vigilant?”

He sighs, “It might be a version of me that wouldn’t care if he hurt you.”

You stay silent.

“Maybe from before I met you. Or it could just be a me who’s traveled back. So you need to keep your eyes open.”

“Ok.”

“I need you to watch me closely too. If the other me gets too close, I’m going to develop paradox psychosis. I thought I felt a bit of it today- it’s what made me sure I was nearby. Problem is, the first stage of the psychosis is denial, so I won’t be much help when the time comes."

"Huh?

"You shouldn't really be around your doppelgangers. It's not good for you. There are seven stages you need to be on the look out for." He holds up his hands and counts them off on his fingers. "We have denial, itching, extreme thirst and urination, excessive gas, acute paranoia, uncontrolled perspiration and then homicidal rage."

You laugh nervously, "Sounds like your average Saturday night."

"Very funny." he says, though unamused, "If you see any of the warning signs, we’ll know I’m around. Then we can assess the situation and do what has to be done. I'll need you to keep a close eye on me. I might get...unmanageable but if I'll listen to anyone, I'll listen to you. ”

You lie there silently. Your overtaxed mind races. Homicidal rage? Versions of Five that could hurt you? He rolls over and turns to you, you feel his breath on your cheek.

“I know this is a lot to get your head around. I haven’t myself. But we’ll manage. Whatever it takes.”

Under the sheets, his hand strokes your hip.

Tag list: (please comment to be added or removed.) @dilfjohhny , @sunsunhe, @w4stedtr4sh, @nevbrooke-555, @theredvelvetbitch, @td-miley01, @five-hxrgreeves

Masterpost

Alternatively, join me on A03.  Here is a link to the whole series

[depravitycentral]

i love that you don't shy away from yandere themes that are considered gross! Period blood for example and invading reader's privacy in the bathroom. (Thankfully there's no sc*t 😅) A lot of your posts are 10k+ so I was wondering about your writing process

Do you write it all in one sitting? How long does it take you? If you get a block in the middle, do you just give up on it or force yourself to finish it? What's your favorite thing you've written?

Aww thank you for the reassurance! I'm never totally sure how things like that will be received - my goal when I write yandere works is to tap into the more creepy and gross side of the yandere, and I think that can turn a lot of people off from reading my stuff. Thank you for being a trooper and dealing with it, though; you have my heart <3

(Also please don't worry, scat will NEVER make an appearance on my blog. Other icky, nasty body fluids? Sure, but I have to draw the line somewhere and that's where I've chosen.)

As far as my writing process goes, I kind of go in spurts! This weekend I've been feeling weirdly productive and I had a lot of free time (a rare commodity), so I was able to sit down and pound out some of those profiles. I tend to get inspiration for a character and write like 60-75% of their profile in one sitting, then suddenly lose all motivation and want to stop to take like a snack break or do something else for a while. A lot of times when I'm that close to being done I just force myself to finish it, which sometimes has better results than others. (The Nobunaga nsfw profile, for example, was completed about 65% of the way done when I suddenly crashed on it, but I banged it out from start to finish in one sitting, so if there are lulls in the writing that's probably why.) If I leave something halfway done, there's all kinds of little notes and bullet points written down on the document with ideas I was working with, but sometimes I wait so long to return back to that specific work that I totally forget/don't understand what the bullet points are saying, which sucks.

For time, I would say it takes me somewhere around 3-4 hours to write each profile if I'm really focused, but the total time (including brainstorming) is probably averaged more around 5-6 hours. The nsfw ones have less content so they take less time, but the general ones are the ones I have to really think about and analyze, which often tends to require watching a few more episodes with that character in it just to get a good feel for them as I head into writing. (Unfortunately, haikyuu has become virtually impossible to find for free nowadays, so for all my haikyuu works I'm mostly just working off memory. I'm a little worried they aren't super accurate to the characters, but the show must go on.)

I don't really have a favorite thing I've written! Occasionally I'll look through my blog and see something I posted and go oh really? Was that me? Did I post that? I don't remember most of the details of things I post, so it's actually kind of a treat for me to go back and reread my work because it's like I'm reading a brand new fic. (Aside from all the grammar errors I suddenly find. Ugh.) I will say that all the Feitan stuff came much easier than I thought it would - I was kind of dreading writing for him because he's so popular among the fans and is kind of difficult for me to grasp, but once I started it just kind of kept coming. So if I had to choose, maybe his profiles!

Thank you for all the questions - self reflection is always a good thing! And thank you for sending in this ask - the little rush of serotonin I get whenever I see a notification that something new is in my inbox is crazy.

[be-u-tiful-basketcase]

I feel it all, so intensely, like my skin is burning on fire with emotion.

I could build cities with the millions of thoughts that consume my every waking moment.

I whip you with my words, so powerful and full of hatred. But seconds later sadness overflows like the ocean drowning me yet again.

Happiness, boy do we like her. It feels like I'm the queen and everything is beautiful and nothing can take me off my pedestal. I feel like a goddess, and the rush of serotonin makes me feel like I just did the hugest line of meth. I'm floating, I'm flying, I'm weightless.

However, just like my dear drug of choice, there's always a comedown.

One that pushes me into such a deep depression that I don't remember what the sun feels like, or how beautiful my kids are or how amazing my wife's kisses are. It's so dark, and painful that I beg for anesthesia or more so wish for amnesia. The burden of sadness drains me to my core. But it doesn't last forever.

Numbness is a frequent flyer. No words to be spoken. Thinking too much about everything and thinking everything about nothing and I'm lost in it. Searching for a feeling. But just as strongly as I feel, is as strongly as I don't. Cuts to my skin, for little blood bubbles, but there's no pain. Only a nagging numbness begging to be put out of its misery.

And then we have our friend anger. Powerful like a knight, beaming like a fire, making itself known in the loudest fashion. Hatred spewing from my tongue like daggers. A little girl once lost, now devours her prey and leaves no room for anything other than fury.

Love, that's my favorite one. But only for a while because it's too strong sometimes. Sometimes my love for things drives them insane or just away. Sometimes my love is mistaken for hate because my fears only allow me to think it's always temporary. Even when logic knows better...

You see, I'm a borderline. As beautiful as color is, for me it's easier to see black and white. Wrong and right. Because there's never an in-between. It's all or nothing. It's everything and it's nothing. It's everything and it's nothing. It's everything and it's nothing. But I don't wanna be this. This disorder. This malfunction of society. This trauma filled Ball of emotion. I wanna feel things they way they were intended. But that's just wishful thinking....

[ochrebones]

If there was a different source of income as to what could keep my artificial core pumping, I would change in a heartbeat to keep the labored breathing of my loved ones going for another second. The lifeblood coursing through the wired veins of autonomous dolls controlled and tormented could just as easily be ripped apart along with the fabrics of reality between fingers of steel, kin to that of bread broken by the fingertips of what isn't faux. Maybe If I could keep my heart Beating for another Second longer, would I have Had the chance to extend an arm to save Those around me. I would go to unfathomable extents to be able to bring back was was lost to the encodement of fate, but the fruitless attempts have left me broken and battered and bruised, desperate and clawing, reaching out for the slightest grip on even a thread of what's left of my sanity. To be lost in the building blocks of the void that I ever so desperately crave would sound like bliss to the on viewing bystander, but even then it would be a hell deeper than the ninth circle to have everything ripped away when it was all once so close just a moment's notice before.

And yet here I sit. Enduring the pain of which the depths of haven't been seen by anyone other than myself. Wallowing in my own misery, alone yet so close to those who would give anything just to help. You could call it poetry if you liked, but poetry is supposed to be a beautiful rose bloomed from the expression of emotion so unfathomable that it could only be put into words with the most careful and cautious of thoughts, not a wilted daisy of what they used to be. The white, ‘pureness’ of the daisy is truly evil, just as devoid of color as the richest, most absorbent black, wilted and crumbled flower. The deep, oddly inviting velvet red reaches out an arm to envelope spidery arms around a corpse, punctured and wounded by the thorns of a million of the before-spoken roses. The pain is warm, brings comfort. But the warmth and comfort is truly what brings your end. As the warmth trickled down your spine, you realized how you'd been fooled. What was once an inviting embrace, you can see now was a wolf in sheep's clothing if one had ever been seen. The warmth, the hot blood trickling down wretched, mangled vertebrae, the deep color so much like the blossom you never should have trusted.

An author could write for days and days to only bring forth a page of this pain, dog eared by a reader who would never be able to forget the words. Years of work to be consumed in a matter of minutes by the licking, curling and blazing eyes of a reader so eager to know what happens next. A reader who shall never write their own story, so they seek out to rip and tear into the meaty fruit of the creations of others. Living to consume, to feed, to choke on the thick harmonies of words sought out by the mind's eye. The work and energy expended to feed the giant flaming pit set ablaze by a writing heart could never be truly understood even by someone who appreciated the craft more than anyone else on any plane of existence. If it were, there would be no beauty in any of it. No one knows why, or how, so to be content with that ignorance is the true bliss that should be sought after. Only searching for answers would leave a painful acid getting under the skin and rubs under the very embodiment of existence. It would be better to just leave it be. To stop asking questions, to stop looking for all the answers of the universe. But human curiosity is the true killer of the world, not the cat's. As it were, the cat could try again until blessed with the satisfaction that humanity could never achieve.

Adrenaline coursing through the veins of the hope that once was in the hearts of all, slowing down and easing the rushes of serotonin and dopamine that once kept me going into a sheer nothingness, an empty void of which some could try to achieve, if not for the want and need of ripping the metallic, sparkling rubber skin off of the metal bones of the foundation you could build yourself up from. A foundation that was once so strong, crumbling and falling at the slightest kick of a steel-toed boot that you never could have prepared for. Spurring the side of the horse until the blood dripped from a gaping wound that even you couldn't fix with the whole of your being. To watch as your own body, one you could have considered your friend, the only one that had been there since the very beginning, never able to come back. To move on would be the hardest thing you would ever do. Fighting and clawing and grasping for those threads to twist and knot into a rope to pull down the moon from the sky and shape your own reality around it, to morph it into something of your own creation. Just looking for something to trust in, to have and hold as close to you as a sweet summer child born of the sun and everything you'd ever cared about.

But to use the sun as the basis of reality would burn, would eat at the flesh of the metallic bones, the inside which housed a marrow so thin that it would run like the oil coursing through the wired veins spiraling around the once-hollow bone. The moon burns just as brightly, but you could easily be blinded by it as it never lit up the sky like the sun. The moon, easier on the eyes, a beacon of light and an anchor to rely and hold onto without the fear of being burned, only to feel fear as the basis of your reality withered and burned into yet another wretched, smoking and burning husk rotting under the heated magma of the core of the hearts of warriors who never reached a true place of happiness.

[sanguinaryrot]

the thing about saw is that I get so excited to watch it that I have to pause it intermittently so I don’t get a blood clot from how much serotonin is rushing into my brain. I know it’s everyone here’s favorite movie but like, it’s sooo My Movie that I have to tell myself to settle down like a dog

[viscera-vital]

also like. MORE BLOOD/KNIFE TALK BUT

its so. lame living with other people cuz? AS I HAVE MADE ABUNDANTLY CLEAR i love the thrill and the feeling of cutting when im jerking off but?? no ones gonna???

theyll see the scars and assume the WORST, i havent cut for those reasons in a long long time its been purely sexual the last few times 😭😭 BUT YOU CANT EXPLAIN IT THAT WAY EITHER 💀

its just/?? its on the same level as choking to me, bro.. choking yrself while you jerk it/?? god tier its soo good that shit has me giggling it feels so good man. the pressure when you squeeze, the burn when yr going for too long and the relief /rushing of the air when you finally let go, so much serotonin bro!!! got my brain all fuzzy i love it

i think its? IDK i feel like cutting during sex is more taboo?? but i just dont understand why, its like whipping someone but less. you feel me? IDK i never really share this interest except with my close friends cuz they get it but its so good??? I COULD TALK FOREVER ABOUT THE RUSH MANN love bleeding, love making someone else bleed. red is my favorite color for several reasons my brain just sees red and associates it instantly with being horny and angry and in love its great

[pallweople]

RANDOM SELF CARE NUGGET!!!

physical activity automatically stimulates your body to produce dopamine and serotonin. meaning that, unless you're in physical pain for other reasons, moving around, jumping, doing a pushup, running, or training in general will automatically help improve your mood at least a bit! doesn't even need to take too long! one minute of intense effort or five minutes of medium high are already enough to kick start your metabolism and feel more alive!

ALSO, since it replenishes dopamine reserves, it's the ultimate break for studying with adhd. before you reach the point at which you want to bash your head in a wall, stop studying, stretch for a second and do something physically taxing for a little bit. like, try to hover over your seat by leaning your weight on your harms (this one of my faves cuz doesn't require too much space or to stand up and disrupt the lessons). if you can stand up, do it and do literally anything, jumping jacks, stand on the tips of your feet, some good stretching, some pushups, squats, planche, heck, if you're able even a handstand.

the important thing is that it gets your heart beating and blood flowing.

afterwards you're good to go and enjoy your dopamine rush!

:DDD

[blissfulanguish]

The smaller let's out an indignant huff as they force the other to sit, half sitting on the other to keep him pinned and inspect the wounds. Clear frustration is painted across their face as they finally look up to the male. A faint buzzing can be heard emanating from the being, and they speak firmly. "Humans are fragile - you should not be doing these. They could get infected like this... Sit back. This will take us a while." Angery swarm is angry

He's never quite seen eye to eye with their resident Beast and is expecting some manner of ridicule or disgust for his... enthusiastic ritual worship of His Holiness. The lashes on his forearms and chest were nothing compared to the latticework of scars upon scars that made up his back- Ravines of hypertrophic scar tissue mapping out years of perfecting his technique for flaying skin with little more than a braided leather strop with a tapered end.

Pain was a fuzzy afterthought in lieu of the serotonin rush that accompanied each strike, twisting what would normally be torturous into a near holy experience. He didn't expect other people to understand what it meant- To him. To his God.

Legato exhales a rasp of a laugh, gesturing to the blood smeared against dusky skin and black lines of inkwork tracing patterns in the peaks and valleys of scourged flesh.

"I've been attending to these for quite some time on my own, Beast. Normally, I would have the good doctor Conrad help with the dressings, but I suppose I can't refuse such a generous offer."

Curious, the collective seemed irritated by something... If the steady drone of low buzzing was anything to go by, which Legato did not profess to be an expert on such behaviors in insects. Even insects that could possess one massive consciousness and bear the name of the very planet's whims.

[smokyink]

self harm to heal

Treating life like a social ladder, where each milestone rewards you with fake satisfaction, is a never-ending journey. You never truly reach the end, do you? That's because, until the day you die, you're stuck in a vicious loop of pleasing others and receiving nothing in return. This article delves into my personal experiences with attention-seeking behaviors, BPD, and self-harming tendencies. Ever heard of someone mutilating themselves for fun or attention? Probably not, but people like that do exist, and I am one of them.

In a study conducted by Parker (2007), it was stated that individuals with BPD, who have a fear of abandonment, find a sense of relief in the sight of blood. This is true for me. I enjoy harming myself because the pain offers relief and a sense of safety. It may sound strange, but the oozing of blood from my skin brings me comfort. Skin is the largest organ in the body, and in my mind, my body is my canvas, where I can carve wherever I want.

While others may see self-harm as a form of suicidal ideation, I view it as a way of expressing myself, which is, in a sense, an art form. This is a controversial opinion, but it's one I stand by. I'm open to others' opinions, but I firmly believe in this. Every time I self-harm, I feel nothing at first. But once I see the skin burst and the blood flowing, I get a rush of serotonin.

Attention-seeking behaviors often go hand in hand with self-harm. When someone doesn’t receive the attention, love, and security from their primary emotional attachment figure, they tend to spiral into darker behaviors—self-harm, drug use, isolation, nicotine addiction, to name a few. The root of this lies in emotional neglect, starting from childhood. As a result, individuals are more prone to harm themselves and those around them as they grow older.

Speaking from personal experience, I’ve struggled with my identity since middle school, that awkward age when some kids hit puberty while others don't. I don't want to go too deep into my past, but to give some context, I was a shy girl who often withdrew into isolation, followed by emotional outbursts. It was a confusing and rough childhood, to say the least.

Now, where I stand, I’ve found a way to understand myself through writing. Writing has been the best thing that’s ever happened to me. It allows me to express what I struggle to say out loud. I often have so much to share, but verbal expression is hard for me, and writing has become my outlet.

Now that I’m back home, I finally had a serious conversation with my parents. After years of avoiding it, I decided to face it head-on. With trembling hands and a racing mind, wondering if this was the right thing to do, I blurted everything out. To my surprise, they were understanding and encouraged me to do whatever helps me feel better, but in a healthier way. I’ve always been wary of medication, fearing dependency and the monotony it might bring to my emotions.

I’m still not sure how I’ll navigate this journey, but I know I have people around me I can trust and lean on. That realization came after a long period of self-doubt and isolation. Recovery will be tough, but it’s not impossible.

[casspurrjoybell-32]

*Warning Adult Content*

DON'T FUCK WITH ME - Chapter 21

Part 2 - Naylan

"You're not fucking with me, are you?" I asked, moving to take off my boxers.

I wasn't sure how I felt about how Mavis' gaze flickered from my torso to my face and just below my face.

He remained quick as if stunned by my sudden energetic words.

I marched up to the shower, slipping inside the cubicle with him.

We stared at each other, both breathing heavily before I leaned in, making the first move... I kissed him.

Deep and long and naively hoping that this would be enough for him to pour his heart out to me.

He took a hold of my arms, moaning into the kiss as our skins touched.

His skin was wet and warm from the hot water and mine was cold and dry, shivering from the contact.

I don't know when we finally broke apart to breathe but when we did, Mavis turned the shower on again before reaching out to me again.

I wasn't sure how much I was allowed to do, so I experimented, letting my weight push Mavis against the glass wall before letting my fingers linger over his waist, before dipping downwards to touch him.

He let out a low sigh, hugging me to himself as low moans escaped him.

I kept touching him... stroking him, feeling my hardness thicken and graze his thigh as my stomach twisted and my mind fogged with the pheromones.

'Holy shit.'

It was becoming hard to breathe and keep myself under control.

I ground against him, growling a little and being a little surprised at how he slacked in my arms and whimpered like he was needy.

He was enjoying this and it was doing a lot more for my sled confidence than I would have liked to admit.

I wasn't sure what Mavis liked... what he would do or wouldn't do.

"Would you let me top you?" the question escaped my lips before common sense could take control.

My blood ran cold and I thought I had ruined everything until I heard a low...

"Yes," come from Mavis. "Y-yeah," he repeated, quivering under the shower.

"Later," he clarified before turning.

Now my hardness was pressed against his bum.

His shoulders flexed and he turned his head a little to look at me.

"My thighs work okay for now, right?"

I swallowed, nodding instead of talking because I didn't trust myself not to blubber nonsense.

I let my hands touch his waist and I let my forehead rest in his nest of curly hair... as I pushed against his pressed thighs, almost blacking out from the rush of serotonin.

'It's just his fucking legs and I'm already a mess,' I gulped, taking it slow.

My hardness touched his length anytime I slipped between his thighs and the quick gasp I earned from him with each thrust, was driving me crazy.

I had never imagined Mavis to be the type to whimper but here he was whimpering and sighing, moaning and panting.

We had so much chemistry. I could feel it... he could feel it.

So why? Why wouldn't he accept it... accept me?

The small bout of anger made me thrust a little harder to be a little rougher.

Mavis seemed distressed at first, by the change of pace but he got used to it and when it dawned on me that he had released, the mental idea of it made me reach my peak too.

We stayed like that for a bit, with Mavis resting against the glass, with me pressed up against his back.

Mavis turned, meeting my eyes directly for the first time in a while.

"Hey," he mumbled, as I stroked his back. "That was nice."

"Nice?" I asked, hoping that he would expand on that but he simply nodded.

"Yeah, nice."

We then took a shower, helping each other with soaping and water.

We were quiet for most of it but I felt something had changed... something about the atmosphere... it felt almost sensual.

I wasn't sure if it was my pheromones, Mavis and mine both,but it was there and it was calming while simultaneously being frustrating.

When we were done, we dressed in the guest bedroom before heading down to the kitchen just in time for breakfast.

Leigh and Adyen smiled at us and I noticed the weird look Georgiou gave us.

'He can smell us,' I realized, feeling my cheeks warm up.

"Mavis stayed over yesterday. He wanted to know about the hyenas," Leigh said, dropping a plate of food in front of Georgiou that made him finally look away from us.

"Ah," he said, looking over at him. "We found the hyenas. They're just a bunch of kids. So, we'll be catching them soon. We just have to contact some jackals to talk to them. They don't seem like they can speak English. I'm also worried that some might be in the woods or camping out at that warehouse Naylan keeps his bike."

"Okay, can I notify Elijah?" Mavis asked. "To help with the hyenas in the woods."

Georgiou brought his hand to his chin.

"That's actually a good idea. Maybe get Naylan to give him my number?"

"Sure, I can do that," I said and Georgiou nodded.

"So..." the blonde man said. "Is there something you want to tell us?" he asked, looking from me to Mavis.

My face warmed up... he wasn't going to forget about the smell.

Damn it.

"We're mates."

I blinked... I was a bit shocked that Mavis had just said it like it was nothing.

Of course, Adyen and Leigh didn't look shocked because I had already told them but Georgiou looked genuinely taken aback.

"Oh." he said, scratching his forehead a bit. "Oh, okay. That's great."

Mavis relaxed a little and I wondered what he was thinking.

He looked a little stressed out and I didn't blame him.

I felt like all the light was on us with the looks the three were giving on.

"You look good together," Adyen said, making Mavis look over at him. "Pity we won't get to talk much. I have to meet up with Len today."

"Oh, say hi to him for me," Leigh said, joining the conversation.

She was sitting by the kitchen island with a cup of coffee in her hands.

"Are you leaving today Naylan? What about you Mavis?"

"Back to the pack? I wasn't planning to leave until Monday morning," I said and Leigh nodded her head before looking over at Mavis.

"What about you?"

"I'll leave tomorrow with Naylan," he said and I swallowed my shock, feeling a bit jittering.

"That works," Leigh said, nodding her head. "You're always welcome here."

"She's right," Georgiou said, pointing to his wife. "Feel free to drop by whenever you want."

And just like that, it felt like Mavis had been welcomed into my family.

Leigh and Georgiou did feel like my substitute parents in Toronto, after all.