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ninjaturtlemaniac · 3 days

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Headcanons - The Ultimate Combo!

Brozone - drastically changed their looks coz they hate that they used to dress the same.

Brozone - All the brothers definitely hold doors open for the ladies and then close it on John Dory.

Brozone - All of the brothers share habits and mannerisms without even realising. E.g. tapping their chin when they're thinking hard, cracking knuckles when they're about to really get into a project, tapping toes when anxious.

Brozone - they became world famous, argued and left BEFORE the cage went around the Pop Troll Tree. (Canon?)

Brozone - there was a rumoured 'unfinished' Brozone song that was supposed to be released after that tour. John finally finishes it and the brothers offer to sing it for Poppy's bridal entrance song. Poppy immediately faints. In my head the song is 'Helpless When She Smiles' by The Backstreet Boys

Brozone - whatever the Trolls equivalent of the Superbowl is, I feel like Bruce and JD would be very into it. Jerseys and face paint and everything.

Brozone - when the brothers weren't sure how to reconnect, they ended up playing rummy together.

Bruce - one of those dads who would get a new barbeque and show off all the cool features to the other local dads.

Bruce - "No kids, we're not keeping that stray animal, end of story, no way..." - 1 week later and he's giving it kisses and building it an over the top kennel with a heated blanket and a water fountain.

Bruce - (canon?) carried all their eggs, indirect reason why his hair is so big. (Side note - I read somewhere someone called all their kids 'The Bakers Dozen' and I frigging love that)

Bruce - absolutely gets into the trashiest reality TV shows. "If Alejandro doesn't confess his love in this episode I will flip this table"

Bruce - makes Troll cuisine for his kids

Bruce - there aren't any Troll sized clothing stores around so Bruce sometimes has to make his own clothes.

Bruce - has considered getting his kids hug time bracelets

Bruce - the restaurants kitchen is set up like in Ratatouille (ladders, ramps, bridges, pulley systems) for Bruce to navigate.

Bruce - keeps every one of his kids drawings, their refrigerator is absolutely covered in them.

Bruce - his go-to excuse is "I can't, I've got 13 college tuitions to save for."

Bruce - has given 'love coupons' to Brandy before

Bruce - theorizes that his daughter LaBreezy will be the one to take over the restaurant.

Bruce - tries developing and inventing his own recipes, Brandy has to remind him that not everyone can handle as much sugar as a Troll can. He reels it back a bit.

Bruce - makes specific food for different reasons. E.g. makes bread when he's angry so he can take it out on the dough, makes lasagnas so he can use the leftovers as an excuse to visit someone, makes spicy dishes when he wants revenge.

Bruce - cameras make him self-conscious. If he is in a group he can tolerate it but hates being the only one in the photo.

Bruce - has caught his kids trying to do the Brozone dance routines. He tries to stay out of it best he can and let them have their fun but then they ask him to teach them and doesn't he just melt.

Bruce - has a wedding ring but it is Vacationer sized. He keeps it in his hair mostly but will braid it into his hair like an accessory for special occasions.

Bruce - 100% certain Poppy and Branch's first born would be a boy. "We're a family of five brothers! It took Brandy and I thirteen tries to have a daughter. Trust me, I have no doubt your first egg will absolutely be a boy." *They have a girl* Bruce 😑

Bruce - all the kids now request Brozone songs instead of lullabies.

Bruce - opened the restaurant before he met Brandy. Used all the money he had left from Brozone to open it.

Bruce - teaches his kids about body positivity.

Bruce - mortifies his kids by trying to use slang. "That was so very lit!" "Daaaaaaaaaadddddd"

Bruce - just starts being a Dad to everyone without realizing it e.g. cuts food into smaller bites, starts randomly folding people's clothes, licking his finger and wiping food off faces, always having snacks and bandaids in his hair.

Bruce - sleeps wearing a hair bonnet and continues his extensive skincare routine into adulthood.

Bruce - grew a full beard once. Then he had babies. They became obsessed with pulling his beard. No more beard.

Bruce - his kids have buried him in the sand more times than he cares to admit.

Bruce - has attempted to set up John Dory on a date with Brandy's sister.

Bruce - kept having kids because he and Brandy wanted at least one daughter. When they finally had LaBreezy they decided to stop.

Bruce - learned to surf to get Brandy's attention when they first met. Ended up falling in love with surfing before Brandy fell for him. 😁

Bruce - can and will reorganize someone else's kitchen to what he deems is more efficient.

Bruce - always the first to volunteer to babysit other Troll's kids. Not that he doesn't appreciate his own children, he just loves being about to dote on kids he can actually hold on his hip and carry in his hair. Just being able to do the little Troll things he can't do with his own giant kids.

Bruce - noone on the island knew about his 'past life' except for Brandy. (Canon?)

Bruce - has the world's best hangover cure but it's a secret.

Bruce - there have been times when he has muddled up his kids names and he hates himself every time.

Floyd - his hair is naturally pink but JD made him make it redder because 'we're a boyband and pink is a girls colour'

Floyd - absolutely judges you for your star sign

Floyd - knows exactly how to pop away that pain is someones back/shoulder/hips. Grabs JDs shoulder "Relax John. After three. One...two.." CRACK

Floyd - moves back to Pop Village for what JD calls 'early retirement' works in a sort of wellness center that has music therapy and yoga and stuff.

Floyd - in a desperate last resort he once mentioned he was part of Brozone to be noticed by a music producer. It's one of his biggest regrets.

Floyd - has volunteered at homeless shelters and performed at benefit concerts.

Floyd - was 100% sure he was going to die in the bottle. He now has a new outlook on life after being given a second chance.

Floyd - wants a long term relationship but is afraid of getting attached and being used.

Floyd - practices advanced yoga

Floyd - has developed claustrophobia

Floyd - released one solo album, one limited run, it was mentioned he is a former member Brozone on the cover to boost sales. It was a flop. This crushed Floyd.

Floyd - plans to get more body mods in the future.

Floyd - when asked about his past he describes it as 'colourful'. People are yet to find out what he means by this.

Floyd - kept two copies of his own album. He was going to give the other to Grandma Rosiepuff for her collection.

Floyd - when performing solo he does 10 push ups and drinks tea before going on stage. (Apparently Troye Sivan does this and I could see Floyd doing it too 😁)

Floyd - has tried on dresses and corsets before. Prefers overskirts.

Floyd - in a desperate attempt to try and forget V&V, Floyd nearly shaved his head.

Floyd - he actually wrote all of those songs for Velvet and Veneer!

Floyd - after the Mount Rageous incident he gets a little bit reckless without realizing it. He has an "I just survived death so cliff jumping isn't scary anymore' kinda attitude.

Floyd - can read palms and tarot cards.

Floyd - went through the seven stages of grief over his own death.

Floyd - can mix drinks. Messily. Was dating a bartender once and picked up some things from him.

Floyd - used to busk to earn extra cash (based on that one concept art)

Floyd - felt he needed to start a solo career because he wrote a lot of songs that JD didn't pay attention to.

Floyd - did in fact live with the other Troll tribes for a while. Hard Rock Trolls were the last ones he met. This was where he met his manager/mentor.

Floyd - high pain tolerance and godlike levels of patience.

Floyd - has been to rehab for hard candy, is currently 10 years sober. Now advocates for health and wellness in Pop Village.

Floyd - Broke up with several ex's when he found they were all only using him for his fame. 💔

Floyd - can only sleep comfortably near an open window. Sometimes can only sleep sitting up.

Floyd - will randomly stare off into space or mutter to himself.

Floyd - *clears throat* I ship Floom! 💕🏳️‍🌈

Floyd - can't stick to new hobbies for very long, he hyperfixates for a week or two then gets bored. Macrame, candle making, soap making, jewelry making, photography are some examples.

Floyd - did a few red carpet appearances during his solo era, he felt very out of place. @ssippingwaterfalls 💕

John Dory - has embarrassing baby pictures of his brothers as leverage

John Dory - over-exaggerates his retellings of stories "I fought off 30 no no no 40 snakes with one hand behind my back."

John Dory - always casually asking Poppy, Brandy and Viva to marry him, over small things too "Brandy, these pancakes are delicious, marry me."

John Dory - freaky level spice tolerance, looks people in their teary eyes as he bites a raw ghost pepper

John Dory - says "Gotta get home to the missus" when referring to Rhonda

John Dory - narrates himself "Against all odds, the brave and handsome Troll was able to tame the ferocious beast" he says as he's washing a purring Rhonda

John Dory - the Uncle that buys Bruce's kids toys that are either loud or that make a huge mess

John Dory - didn't finish school, made sure his brothers did

John Dory - has not kept track of his age and is in denial when people remind him.

John Dory - met Rhonda when she eats him. He just walks right out the door confused.

John Dory - has been arrested before, he changes the reason everytime someone asks.

John Dory - occasionally uses 'chewing tobacco' (which honestly in the Trolls-verse would be some kinda chewing gum 😂)

John Dory - serial flirt (very bad at it, he thinks he's great at it)

John Dory - does weird stuff because of his isolation e.g. will eat what's left over on the plates when Bruce's customers leave, will ask when the baby's due but they're just overweight, will go into detail about gutting a fish in front of Trollings.

John Dory - can open a wine/champagne bottle with his machete and light a match with his teeth

John Dory - does not own pyjamas, falls asleep in what he wore that day.

John Dory - has a midlife crisis when all the Trollings in Pop village thought he was Branch's dad.

John Dory - has had several concussions and plenty of broken bones. Got very good at applying first aid to himself.

John Dory - makes his own Moonshine

John Dory - sworn off ever having children.

John Dory - pretty scrappy at self defence, can hold his own when boxing.

John Dory - always has some kind of weapon on him at all times.

John Dory - tends to manspread when sitting.

John Dory - has been targeted by Bounty Hunters before, resulting in a gnarly injury on his hand he now covers with his glove.

John Dory - for a time he was convinced that he was the last Pop Troll

John Dory - sometimes refers to himself in the third person. "John Dory doesn't need a map!"

John Dory - doesn't 'get' modern art, pretends he does so people don't think he's dumb.

John Dory - will try to use fancier sounding words in a sentence, thinking it makes sense. It doesn't.

John Dory - when doing outdoor work, his brothers silently bet how long it takes before JD is unnecessarily shirtless.

John Dory - ends up helping with raising and handling the critters kept in the village. E.g rearing orphaned Cuddle Pups, shearing the Puffalos, breaking in the Adorabulls, taming wild flyer bugs.

John Dory - when living on his own, he would only come back to civilization just before the start of winter when it would be harder to forage and hunt food. He would spend a week or so stocking up on supplies, interact with the locals, then disappear again.

John Dory - takes night classes to finally get his highschool diploma. Is too embarrassed to tell anyone until he graduates.

John Dory - doesn't get sick often. But when he does, he keeps going to the point of exhaustion.

John Dory - has indeed crossed paths with Delta Dawn before. Both of them have very different versions of the story. "I serenaded her." "The fool was whining something from the inside of a jail cell."

John Dory - has been known to sleep with his eyes open. Freaks people out.

John Dory - will drink milk straight from the carton and put it back in the fridge.

John Dory - teaches Bruce's kids all the swear words and does in fact tell them his rendition of where eggs come from.

John Dory - claims to be holding back grey hairs with sheer will power

John Dory - believes in love at first sight, just not for himself.

John Dory - will wrestle and roughhouse to bond with people.

John Dory - if there was a couple sitting on a couch, JD will sit between them and not even realize what he did!

John Dory - he doesn't let it show but his ears are constantly twitching to check for danger, a side effect of living in the wilderness alone for so long.

Clay - writes long and very detailed critical reviews of restaurants

Clay - has reading glasses. Probably the ones that attach magnetically at the nose ridge.

Clay - labels everything (labelmaker is to Clay as Gary is to Branch)

Clay - very into color coded itineraries and always know everyone's business "Poppy is currently at Smidge's pod doing her hair" "How could you possibly know that?" "I have my sources."

Clay - also a notary and registered marriage celebrant

Clay - hair was always naturally green but JDs hair was already green. JD said he had to be yellow for the band, they needed that color coordinated group vibe.

Clay - has drafts for his own book series

Clay - actually plays golf

Clay - gets clumsy when trying to impress someone he admires (imagine him meeting King Peppy and he just knocks things over)

Clay - competitive af - brothers know better than to verse him at anything - has an over the top victory dance

Clay - receives special recognition alongside Viva for protecting the Putt Putt Trolls. (Knighthood? Trollstopia's official CFO?)

Clay - has a stupidly complicated coffee order

Clay - plans to move the Hole N Fun between Pop Village and Bergen Town. Imagine the business!

Clay - refers to Viva as his 'Work Wife'

Clay - knows how to use a stenograph

Clay - absolutely did not roll around the putt-putt course like the others.

Clay - everything must be neat and organized, after living with four brothers he values cleanliness so I imagine he would haaaaate glitter.

Clay - studied hard at math to set himself apart from his brothers.

Clay - occasionally tutors math to Trollings.

Clay - has a decent sized nest egg

Clay - graduated highschool early

Clay - has business cards stored in his hair

Clay - knows how to tie different knots for neckties.

Clay - can spin a pen around his fingers

Clay - is thinking of getting his own critter transportation

Clay - has no fuss, no fun breakfast. Plain toast or fibre cereal.

Clay - itching to hook Pop Village up with electricity.

Clay - was definitely the problem child. Being the middle child in a house full of teenage boys, coupled with the constant threat of Bergens with a sprinkling of John Dory as an older brother results in an angry little Troll boy.

Clay - his hardcore fans were known as Claydies.

Clay - the Putt-Putt Trolls didn't have a sad book club as they had no books! After the reunion Clay was very excited about the vast new collection of books he could get his hands on!

Clay - finds out that he was Poppy's favourite Brozone member when she was little and doesn't he just boast about it any chance he gets!

Clay - for Clay to finally forgive John Dory, JD agreed to perform for the brothers+Poppy and Viva in ONLY the funderdrawers. "Do you feel like you're having 76% more fun yet John? Cause I am!" *Camera snap*

Clay - bruises like a damn peach.

Clay - Viva made him co-leader after she gave up on the notion of being immediately rescued and realized Clay was already constructing and implementing long term settlement plans.

Clay - like the other Putt-Putt Trolls, he has basically become Nocturnal. Even with this, he pulls 'allnighters' to finish any work he has, so his sleep pattern is very inconsistent.

Clay - has a lot of energy. When he isn't dancing, he fidgets, taps his foot, bounces his knee, drums pens.

Clay - has many, many of the same sweater romper. All of them are different shades of green.

Clay - eventually hires an assistant. The assistant is mentally prepared for Clay to be a dictator of a boss. They are shocked when Clay keeps saying things like "Have you had a break yet?" "I think you need a day for your mental health." "Yes, that's how much I'm paying you. How are you going to save for your own pod if I pay you any less?"

Clay - had to quit being the Fun Boy cold turkey so that the Putt Putt Trolls would trust in his leadership.

Clay - I imagine a running gag that random Trolls keep calling him Viva's boyfriend/husband, and he keeps trying to correct them, but he is always cut off or they immediately forget. At some point a random Troll is like "What, is Viva not good enough for you?" And he is so exhausted from fighting it, he just gives up and rolls with it.

Clay - will stay up to sunrise reading 'just one more chapter'

Clay - his brothers collectively tried to convince him that he was the adopted brother.

Clay - is quite squeamish. The sight of vomit, open wounds and bodily fluids; Clay will absolutely pass out. Snotty babies make him very uncomfortable.

Clay - gets Viva to braid his hair out of his face only when something really serious is happening *cracks neck* "Viva?" "Yah?" "Braid me" "Yes, Sir." Shwoooop

Clay - Found out the Classical Trolls have a library larger the Pop Village. "Viva, they have a whole wing dedicated to tragedies! Tragedies, Viva!"

Clay - okay, so he and Viva have never been a couple, even if he ever considered it, their work came first and he didn't want to jeopardize what they had. Buuuuuuuttt the thought that another Troll could one day be Viva's person, that she would go to them instead of him for comfort or ideas or laughs or safety or hugs... it makes Clay feel... weird.

Clay - at some point is named some kinda Troll magazines most eligible bachelor. Bro was in a boyband, co-runs a society of survivors, runs a business, is close friends with royalty, has been knighted, has a license to practice accounting and was part of the only known Perfect Family Harmony. He's apparently a hot commodity now.

Clay - tells John Dory that some appliances are voice activated when they aren't. Will watch JD yell at the coffee maker. 😈

Clay - gets random nosebleeds.

Clay - is writing an autobiography. It will not be kind.

Clay - can read Latin.

Clay - overachiever. Was good at academics and sports in highschool.

Clay - a gambler, can count cards, good poker face and good at reading people's 'tells'.

Branch - for Pop Trolls - being in a famous singing group is the equivalent of being a recognized expert in your field. So, the fact that Branch is in TWO famous boy bands is like he has several PhDs.

Branch - Kismet formed inside a group home for Trollings

Branch - toying with the idea of building plans for a Pop Village Castle. (Secretly a fortress)

Branch - he is very, VERY aware that by marrying Poppy one day he would become King. In secret he plans. And plans. And plans. Mr. Survivalist Troll handles this new fear the way he usually does; with over-preparedness!

Branch - Kismet were the ones that originally got him hooked on ring pops.

Branch - learns phrases in other languages to build relationships with subgenre tribes of Trolls. E.g the K-Pop and Reggaeton Trolls.

Branch - started building the bunker while he was still living in the group home with other Trollings.

Branch - will hold onto Poppy in his sleep like she'll disappear if he lets go.

Branch - all those times that Branch thought the Bergens were coming? It was actually Creek harshly pranking Branch to make him look like a fool.

Viva - that concept art of tiny Viva is the age she was when they escaped the Troll Tree. So like 15 maybe?

Viva - wants to make up for all the missed holidays/birthdays/parties with Poppy so she is constantly popping out from places with gifts yelling SURPRISE!

Viva - does not knock on doors and absolutely will walk straight in when someone is changing clothes

Viva - snorts when she laughs too hard

Viva - biggest Broppy shipper. Already has their wedding planned in her head.

Viva - adrenaline junkie

Viva - no sense of personal space

Viva - rubs it into Clay's face that the ONE time he leaves is when Bergens show up. Uses it as leverage for the most petty of things. "Oh you want the last cupcake? Remember that time you left and Bergens came?" She's not even mad about it she just wanted the cupcake.

Viva - has made a list of all the things she's wanted to experience with Poppy. Makeup, planning parties, dealing with heartbreaks etc. they may not be the first times they've both done these things, but their excited to try them together. 😊

Viva - she reeeaaalllyyy wants to braid all of Bruce's hair. And Brandy's. And their kids. And oh look how much hair Vacationers have!

Viva - is worried that Clay doesn't need her around anymore.

Viva - wants to have children. Lots of them!

Viva - tries to hide sadder feelings from Poppy. Worried that Poppy won't want to hang out with her if she isn't fun.

Viva - calls the older brothers Mr.Bruce and Mr.JD (Clay told her to)

Viva - blows raspberries on peoples cheeks/arms/stomachs to show affection.

Viva - likes to collect 'things'. (Canon?) Never know when you might need the thing again. It can be reused for a different purpose. Side effect of trying to survive. Borderline hoarder. Clay does it too, he is just more organized about it.

Poppy - wishes that Branch would initiate physical contact more often.

Poppy - When something is wrong and the brothers don't want her to know, she can immediately tell because they call her 'Queen Poppy'.

Poppy - besides giving Clay and Viva their titles, she considers the other brothers unofficially part of her 'court' as well. (She might knight them later on, who knows?)

Poppy - sometimes feels guilty, if things had been different, Viva would have been Queen. Viva tries to reassure Poppy that she is "The right Troll for the role." 👍🏻 Also Viva tries to argue that they both technically get be Queens now anyway.

Poppy - would have many pillows and plushies on her bed.

Brandy - has swaddled Bruce before. By accident or on purpose, she will never tell.

Brandy - after watching Bruce, she now puts little things in her hair. Nothing huge, maybe a pen and a food order pad, a snack and bandaids for the kids. Depends on the day.

Rhonda - you know in Frozen, how Sven really wants to eat Olafs nose the whole movie? Imagine that but Rhonda wants to eat Mr.Dinkles

Rhonda - locks JD outside when she's annoyed with him. "Who needs you, I wanted to sleep on this rock anyway!"

Rhonda - when she was a baby she was more like a big suitcase than a vehicle.

Rhonda - really likes rolling around in mud, especially after she's just been cleaned. JD > 😑

Trolls - in general Trolls are pretty rare outside their usual kingdoms and it's considered good luck to meet one.

Trolls - letting another troll touch your hair is a very huge sign of trust.

Trolls - have their own version of godparents. Museparents.

Trolls - Can you imagine how many shades of foundation a Troll makeup store has to stock?! I mean, they probably don't need foundation but could you imagine?!

Trolls - having an egg on the way is known as an 'Eggnancy" 😂

Trolls - varies amongst the tribes but hair length and thickness is a good indication of their physical strength and health. So long, thick hair means they're healthy and can lift heavy weights. E.g. Smidge, Bruce, Boom. Whereas short, wild or thin hair means they could be older, unhealthy or just not physically strong. E.g. Peppy and Thrash.

Trolls - eventually a hybrid Troll (e.g. Techno/Funk) is born in Trollstopia and the parents name the baby after Poppy.

Trolls - JD and King Peppy do the same pose in some stock images. I like to think it's like a Pop Village salute. (It probably has an actual meaning)

Trolls - Hard Candy = Hard Drugs 🍭

Trolls - King Peppy invented all these bizarre holidays when they were trapped in the Troll tree to keep hope alive and to boost morale.

Trolls – teenage Pop Trolls wear eachothers hug time bracelets when they're dating. Like wearing their boyfriend's school pin or their jacket.

Trolls- Trollings can't make their hair into a gradient style until they are older. (survival/camouflage situations they can do, but only temporarily)

Putt-Putt Trolls - all delayed having Trollings worrying for their future safety. The very few eggs that hatched are hidden and protected by the whole tribe. (Putt-Putt baby names: Birdie, Par, Ace, Caddie, Fore, Eagle, Divot, Links, Scramble) Clay and Viva were present for every one of them hatching.

Putt Putt Trolls - all of them are wearing the same outfits because they used Bergen sized socks from the golf courses souvenir stand.

Putt Putt Trolls - use the courses tokens as general currency.

Putt-Putt Trolls - that coordinated attack to capture Bridget and Grissle? Clay was the one who planned and trained them.

Yodelers - Hickory and Dickory had a brother named Dock. He was the one that was rumoured to be crushed by an avalanche. He was the one to hunt down John Dory when everyone thought he was the last Pop Troll. While chasing him down a cliff side, he swung an ice pick straight through John Dory's left hand.

Sugar Gals - SPICE GIRLS TROLLS! I absolutely can picture young JD being so frustrated if BroZone was overtaken on the charts by a rival group

Crimp - goes to work for King Gristle and Queen Bridget after TBT.

Guy Diamond - Trolls have eggs when they have powerful feelings of love. Guy Diamond was able to have Tiny because he loves himself so much.

Tiny Diamond - checks on Branch and Poppy's egg daily asking if his new BFFL is here yet.

Tiny Diamond - the best wingman! E.g. He's hanging out with JD and starts playing up the baby image to lure in the ladies. "I wuv you Uncle John. You're my best friend!" And the ladies are like "Aww!" Tiny whispers "You're welcome"

Cloud Guy - gave Branch 101 reasons why he should officiate his and Poppy's wedding.

Queen Barb - messing with the Rock String made Thrash lose his mind and made Barb more aggressive. Notice they both seemed to be more level headed after the strings were destroyed?

Riff - studying to work in Aged Care. His studies are sponsored so that he can look after King Thrash.

Boom - Floyd's solo music helped Boom when he was coming out. 🏳️‍🌈

King Peppy - Didn't tell Poppy about Viva because he was in the early stages of dementia. (Canon?) For a while he thought Poppy WAS Viva. By the time he realised his 'mistake', Poppy was already grown.

Vacay Island - the brothers sometimes help Bruce at his restaurant. They have name tags with funny 'work names'. Flood, Big Fish, Classy, and Big Brunch. Viva and Poppy have done the odd shift as well, as Pinky and Diva. 😝

#dreamworks trolls #trolls #trolls band together #trolls movie #trolls brozone #trolls branch #trolls floyd #character design #trolls clay #trolls john dory #trolls bruce #broppy #trolls poppy #trolls viva

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rush-the-stars · 2 days

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AFFECTION'S EDGE: PART III

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|| alpha!suguru getou x omega!afab reader || E/18+ || wc: 6.8k || ao3 || <- part ii || masterlist ||

minors and ageless blogs do not interact, 18+ only

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“You’ve got it all wrong,” he murmurs, “but what am I to expect from a stray like you? You’ve lived off scraps and abuse your whole life; of course you don’t know what to do now that I’ve given you food and shelter.” Suguru’s fingers ease up towards your neck as he continues, “a warm bed to lie in. Toys to play with. A collar—so you’ll never be lost again. No one’s ever given you this before, hm?”

***

Suguru tries to tame you.

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✧ SPRING FEVER collab ✧

cw: omegaverse, brat taming, mind games, toxic behavior, yandere suguru getou, yandere reader, biting, blood, marking, one slap from the reader to suguru and he sorta likes it, fainting, fainting from lack of food, reader refuses to eat because she doesn't want getou to feed her, getou does not let reader eat unless he feeds them; forced feeding. forced bathing, smut; masturbation, dirty talk, voyeurism, a blurring of boundaries, consent as punishment?

a/n: happy mother's day to alpha suguru getou <3 this is the third and final part of this lil series for @lorelune 's spring fever collab! pls mind the warnings, i added some! i will be honest this part feels like a fever dream to myself lol...,.not beta read..,.i barely read it back bc im terrified of my own smut JFDKLSK enjoy LMAO but on a real note, thank you to everyone who has reached out and been so kind ab this fic! i hope you enjoy this last part! let me know your thoughts <33

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When Suguru first offers you food from his own hand, you push it away. He cooked it for you and you refuse it, turn your nose up at him and shut your mouth resolutely, feel your lips cage your teeth like a muzzle

“I’ll do it myself.” You tell him firmly.

But then he holds the food away from you.

You go nearly a day and a half, feverish and woozy, without eating.

You do not plan on conceding, but end up fainting not long after. Your body is under too much stress; you need sustenance. You need food and water.

So he begins to feed you as your lashes flutter and you are too weak to deny him this time.

It’s easier, when you can hardly keep your eyes open. His hands are impossibly gentle. You feel his fingers against your lips, careful, and loving.

When you’re feeling better, you glower at him.

He is rather pleased, though.

The next time he tries to feed you by hand, you turn and bite his hand, sink your teeth into the meat of it.

He laughs warmly, fondly.

“Feel better to get that out of your system?” He asks, when you finally pull away.

You don’t respond to him.

He grabs your face swiftly then, big hand fitting around your jaw and bearing down. This time, he holds you steady, and brings the slice of orange to your mouth.

You squirm, but he says, “I will not have you fainting again.”

“Let me feed myself then.” You manage to get out, but he holds you tighter, presses at your jaw to get it to unhinge.

The orange pops into your mouth.

“You’re insufferable.” You say around it, cheek puffed with the fruit.

Unfortunately, it’s good. Sweet. A little cool. Refreshing. You do want more.

“This doesn’t have to be so difficult.” He responds evenly, peeling away the next piece of the orange. It looks so small in his hands.

You swallow the piece in your mouth.

“You’re right,” you respond stubbornly, “it doesn’t.” You reach for the next piece but he holds it away from you.

Frustration overcomes you, chokes you like thorny vines strangling out the softer plants around them. Heat hits your face again and you have to wonder if you’ll ever get over it all. If he’ll ever stop making you feel this way.

Tears prick your eyes again.

You turn your face away from him. He sighs.

“It isn’t so bad,” he says softly, “if you’d just give in.”

You sniff. “I could say the same of you.”

“I’m trying to take care of you,” he says, “and at every turn, you are still trying to refuse it.”

“I don’t need—”

“But don’t you want it?” He asks gently, hand reaching out slowly, knuckles first, so they skim your cheek. “It’s okay to want.”

Stubbornly, you remain silent.

“You’ve been so alone, for so long, my little stray. It’s okay to be taken care of.” He consoles softly, voice just a rumble that warms to your ears.

“I’ll not think you any less strong, if you let me feed you now.” He promises, “if you let me care for you this week.”

You don’t know why, but a tear slips down your cheek. There’s a lump in your throat, hard and aching, and threatening your resolve.

He catches your tear with a thumb. “Poor thing, so torn up.”

You sniff hard, trying to hold everything in. It’s trembling and tender, though, your heart. The ache in your chest.

You don’t think you’ll win this one—

Your head is foggy and throbbing. You don’t even know what you’re winning or losing. Or what you’re fighting for, when he puts it that way.

You feel silly for denying him.

Perhaps worse for agreeing.

Finally, in a voice smaller than intended? you ask, “can I have another piece?”

Suguru studies you for a moment.

He lifts the curved bend of the orange up to your lips, testing. Waiting. It's a half moon curve, ripe and tempting.

You give in and part your lips, accept the crescent into your mouth like holding the moon on your tongue for him.

He presses it inside, on your tongue, and you accept the crescent like holding a soft, tangerine moon in your mouth for him. His fingers skim your teeth, placing a world there, on your tongue.

“Good girl,” he says, pleased and warm, when you close around the slice.

And then you obediently swallow it down—worldeater that you are, hungry dog that you are.

Another tear slips free as you chew it slowly. It’s tangy and sweet and lovely. You feel the well of emotions inside you open up, threatening to drag you down into its depths—you think if you start to cry now, you won’t ever stop.

Suguru dutifully peels off another piece of orange, making sure it’s free of rind or unwanted seeds.

When he lifts it to your mouth, you open readily for it now. Close your lips around his fingers gently, around the sweet orange.

With tears in your eyes, you look up at him, through wet lashes.

His scent has darkened, pungent and spicier. It lingers in the back of your mouth. It’s—it makes your head spin.

And there's a strange look in his eyes now.

Almost hungry himself, if you didn’t know better.

A cramp rolls through you, hips and lower back churning, and you whimper, reaching for him.

He takes hold of you easily.

“Hurts?” He muses softly.

You nod, tense and quick.

“Breathe,” he urges, shifting between your knees from where you’re sitting perched on his counter.

Instinctively, you cling to him.

You let yourself pull him closer, fit himself to you—

“Breathe,” he says again gently.

But you can feel him between your legs, you can feel his own desire, and it strikes you like a bolt of lightning. Like crashing to earth.

He’s hard and heat sweeps through you in a whirlwind, so fast it makes you feel dizzy. Your head spins as you sink your nails deep into him, bear down with your strength like a bad dog, like you could get him to stay.

Distantly, you think he’s such a strange, awful man.

Is he so turned on from feeding you? Or from the fight?

“Suguru,” you mewl, clinging to him desperately. And he holds you, keeps you close, until your hips twitch.

You seek friction and he denies you.

Frustratingly, tears spring to your eyes again.

“You’re so—“ you try to get out, “why are you also denying yourself?”

“Because I made you a promise.” Suguru responds evenly. He pauses, eyes flickering over you, a lightning flash of violet, “and, perhaps,” he squeezes your waist, “to teach you a lesson.”

A noise of frustration works its way out of you, a little growl or whine, somewhere in the back of your throat.

“Won’t you do anything to help me?” You get out, pawing at his shoulders, his chest.

“I’m feeding you,” he says, “I’m caring for you.”

And then he draws away, back to the orange, and your fingers grip the edge of the counter until pain presses into them. You have to force air into your lungs, try and make your head stop spinning.

The wooziness and the aching is perhaps the worst part. You feel out of your mind, wish you could crawl out of your body.

When Suguru returns, he has another piece of orange between his fingers.

You glare up at him with glassy eyes.

“Open,” he says, warm and low.

Pleased.

Turned on.

Your lips part and you accept the fruit and his fingers into your mouth. You let yourself close around them, feel his knuckles on the inside of your warm, wet cheek.

You’re slow about it, or maybe he is.

You hold his gaze furiously.

Maybe it was time you taught him a lesson, too. You bite down hard into the orange. It bursts in your mouth.

***

The third day is perhaps the worst.

You’re so hot and somehow both overstimulated and undertouched. Your skin crawls until Suguru touches you. You ache in a way that makes you fear for your own health; several times you start to cry—not just cry, but bawl—from the pain. From the frustration.

At one point, you beg Suguru to take you to the hospital. To help you. To save you.

You babble that you’re going to split apart. You’re going to lose your mind.

Like a colicky baby, you can’t calm down.

And this time, he can’t quite seem to soothe you, either.

You twist and turn and pull at your clothes and your hair. You dig your nails into your own skin and drag them down in vicious, curving marks.

You press and scratch at inflamed, painful scent glands.

Your jaw hurts strangely in the joints.

(You realize you want something in your mouth. Maybe you want it between your teeth.)

Suguru tries to hold your hands away from yourself, tries to keep you from tearing into your own skin, but it only worsens you. It only makes you fight harder and cry harder. You lash out more, using more force with yourself, with him.

When he snaps finally, pinning you roughly and with a flash of his sharper, greater canines, something inside of you howls.

All you can do is beg and plead and cry. Press up against him desperately. Sink your face into his throat and inhale and—

Bite.

Your teeth close around the skin of his throat and bear down harshly.

He inhales sharply, spine going rigid with the pain for a moment.

You taste his blood on your tongue and feel your eyes roll blissfully to the back of your head. Darkness as your lashes flutter shut. You whimper into his throat—

“Is that what you needed?” He hisses, slipping his hand behind you to cradle your head to him, to keep you at his throat, “you just needed to get your teeth into me?”

As if in response, you twine yourself around him, hitching your legs around his waist. Your arms winding around his broad shoulders, as if you could absorb him into your very body, your very soul.

“Too bad it won’t take, hm?” Suguru muses, unmoving, allowing himself to melt into your vice grip on him.

You make a soft noise; one that would be embarrassing if you didn’t—if you weren’t so—

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you? To Mark me properly?” He continues, voice bedroom soft, “you want to scar me with your own teeth?”

As if in response, you try and fasten your mouth down harder, grinder your teeth into his flesh until he groans. The sound reverberates through you, rattles around inside your head until you’re mindless with it.

When you finally manage to unlatch your teeth, he hisses and pulls away to grab your jaw.

“What a little beast,” he sneers at you, “with my blood all over your mouth.”

Something inside of you snaps.

Unintentionally, you shudder into your cursed form—teeth elongating, nails sharpening. Strength rips through your otherwise feeble, heat-laddled body. In a sudden move of power, you shove him hard, and throw him off you.

In an instant, you are back atop him.

This time, when your teeth sink into the juncture of his other shoulder, they are far longer.

He actually cries out in pain.

The sound sparks beneath your skin, roars to life like a sudden fire and when he tries to grab your jaw and pry you off him, your claws sink into his wrist.

You struggle with each other, using your cursed energy, using all the strength you have.

Blood drips down his chest, dampening the collar of his shirt.

He barks out a pained laugh, “you really are a curse.”

And then he is forcing you off of him, wrenching your teeth out of his skin in a brutal drag, shoving you away from him.

You hiss, baring your dripping fangs at him and he growls back. The sound low and primal. Warning bells ping around your head, but you lunge for him again.

This time, he isn’t so ill-prepared.

He grapples with you on the bed, shoving you down into it with his forearm bearing down hard into your chest.

You make a noise of pain but he doesn’t let up.

He’s panting and bleeding, his long hair slipping from its usual half-up appearance.

Something inside of you is quite pleased at the image of him.

Not so pristine.

Perhaps unsure, for once in all the time you’ve known him.

“Calm down.” He says low and soft. Part growl, part purr. “Your aggression is misguided.”

Your teeth are bared in a snarl, “you are my tormentor.”

“I am only respecting your wishes.” Suguru says and there is a horrible, smug lift to the corner of his lips. Maybe it’s more a threat of his teeth, which gleam in the lowlight. “I made you a promise and I’m keeping it.”

“Let me up,” you snap.

“Will you be good?” Suguru asks.

Your fever spikes, tears pricking again at your eyes, and you finally lose your transformation. It melts from you, until you are fangless and drained once more.

So drained, in fact, that your eyes gutter.

Suguru is off you in an instant. Air rushes into your lungs, the pressure from your chest lifting and he lets you heave for breath rough and hard.

You don’t catch him move, but suddenly a glass of water is brought to your lips. When you can breathe, you drink. You let him guide it to your lips. And this time, when you try to pull away, he stops you.

His hand cradles the back of your head, keeping your mouth to the glass.

“More,” he presses, “you’re weaker than you know.”

And for once, you don’t fight him.

You gulp down the rest of it, some of it slipping from your mouth, down your chin, rolling down your working throat. It’s cool but barely a balm to the oppressive heat inside of you.

When you finish, Suguru pulls the glass away. He sets it down and studies you.

He tsks softly, “you’re a mess.”

You take him in, though your eyes are growing heavy, all of that fighting took a lot out of you. It’s catching up with you quickly now.

But your eyes land on the bite marks you’ve littered him with. The one, specifically, that is still ringed and bleeding, dripping down his chest.

“So are you.” You reply, words slurring.

You don’t catch what he says next, muffled, as you fade from consciousness. Darkness sweeps in to cradle you, much the way Suguru is now, and you fall into a restless sleep.

***

Suguru wakes you at some point.

It’s pitch black outside the window; there is very little light in the room at all, which adds to your confusion. Your head is throbbing.

You whimper.

“Sit up for me,” his voice is a hush, “can you do that?”

“Let me sleep,” you reply, pushing weakly at him as he forces you up. Everything swims. Your head lolls like a doll and he catches it so you don’t give yourself whiplash.

“You’re burning up,” he replies, “I need to get the fever down.”

You don’t have the wherewithal to understand this.

For a moment, you hope that he means—

“I’m going to give you a bath.”

You make another noise, this one in disagreement. Fussy.

He tuts softly at you, the way mothers do at bad children, and then he disappears, allowing you to fall back against the bed once more.

You’re not sure for how long, but you doze off again, unable to keep your eyes open. You only awake when Suguru lifts you clear from the bed and into his arms. Again, you make a noise of protest, pushing weakly at him, but he pays you no mind.

You open your eyes and wince against the bathroom light.

The bath is running, filling with water. You frown and squirm in his hold, just as he gently sets you on the floor beside the tub.

“Let’s get you out of these clothes,” he murmurs and you push his hands away.

“No,” you snap, “leave.”

He sighs, “you can hardly sit up right now. I don’t trust you in the bath alone.”

“I’m not a child,” you protest.

“No, but you’re experiencing a compounded Heat, after years of not having one and you don’t have a knot to soothe you.” Suguru’s voice is cool. His eyes are, too.

You level him with the best glare you can manage, “and whose fault is that?”

“I’m only keeping my promise.” He almost sings.

You swat at him but he catches your wrist easily and pulls you up further as you begin to slouch further and further down against the edge of the tub. “Come,” he says, “don’t make this harder than it needs to be.”

This time, when he reaches to remove your shirt, you only grumble in protest. He peels it from you carefully, revealing bare skin. Despite how hot you are, you shiver hard.

You ache.

This is the worst fever you’ve ever had. Perhaps, this is one of the worst you’ve felt ever.

You can hardly move enough to allow Suguru to slip your bottoms off and you feel so miserable that you can’t even find it in yourself to be embarrassed or frustrated or angry.

Tears bead at your eyes again but it’s purely because you are in so much pain.

Suguru lifts you into the bath.

It’s lukewarm. Tufts of bubbles smell like lavender. The water is milky and gentle.

You don’t realize it, but you’ve started to cry again, reaching out for Suguru. You realize he’s cleaned and bandaged his bite mark. He also coos to you, rolling up his sleeves to reach you in the water, stroking at your throat, your cheek.

And then he takes a wash cloth in hand and begins to do the same. He bathes you with a strange gentleness. A gentleness you have not given him. Your tears continue, tracking down your face, which he dutifully washes, too. He wipes away your tears, any sweat and grime, until you feel shining and new.

Eventually, you rest your arms on the lip of the bathtub, folded, and lay your cheek against them. You’re exhausted and still hurting, but at least quiet for now. At least you are cleaned and—

Suguru strokes at your cheek, traces the curve and folds of your ear, gently strokes through your hair.

“Poor thing,” Suguru murmurs, knuckles drawing across your jaw, down your throat. When he passes along your scent gland, you shiver, you wince a little.

“Hurts,” you get out and he coos more to you.

Babying you.

And you don’t have the strength to deny him any longer, so you let yourself be babied. You whimper at him and let him try to soothe you, you let him quiet and pet you.

You’re looking at each other rather frankly, through the haze of your Heat, through all the lust or aggression or fear. In a rare moment of peace, you gaze up at his face and he looks down into yours.

“Do you hate me?” You ask and your voice is rather raw from all the crying, “is that why you’ve led me here?”

A strangely fond smile touches his lips, “on the contrary,” Suguru replies, fingers careful along your cheek, “I adore you.”

“You have such a strange way of showing it.” You tell him.

“I’m only keeping my promise,” he says again and all you have in you is a deep, dejected sigh.

“I’m going to make you pay for this, Suguru.” And though your tone is docile, even sleepy, it is a promise.

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll try.” He agrees, touch growing stronger, bolder, as he pets down your throat, your shoulder. You lean into the touch like a cat, too exhausted to deny it. “And I’ll still be here after—your ire or punishment will not scare me away.”

You look at him for a moment, long and hard, and only find the truth there. Something strangely raw.

After a moment, you say, “I know.”

He hums softly, leaning forward to give your burning forehead a rare and gentle kiss, “do your worst, then.”

You pick your head up barely, tilt your face to his and catch him in a sudden, burning kiss.

You pull away as quickly as you’d done it.

You can tell you’ve surprised him only momentarily, it passes over his features like a bird flickering through the sky, there and gone.

And you say, “no,” soft, and against his lips, “I’ll do my best this time.”

He pulls away, creating carefully controlled distance. “Come,” he says, urging you up and out of the bath, “let’s get you to bed.”

“Carry me?” You ask as he bundles you into a soft towel. “Let me wear your shirt?”

His eyes glint violet, dark and quick, but he says, “of course.” And indulges you.

He even holds you all night and lets you sleep in late.

The fever only worsens.

And you can’t tell if your resolve crumbles or strengthens; but either way, you’re born anew with the sun the next day.

***

Suguru woke up before you. He let you sleep in. But now you're awake and waiting for him. When Suguru returns to wake you in the early afternoon, instead of sleeping, you are half-lidded and sun-warmed, laying in his sheets still. The fever has reached a pitch inside you. You’re sure it’s done irreparable damage to your mind and psyche because of how you find yourself.

Because of how Suguru finds you.

The shirt of his you’d worn to bed is pushed up to your chin, revealing your bare chest, your stomach, flexing and twitching, with your legs spread. Your fingers between them, working messily against yourself, against where you’ve needed since your Heat began.

For once, you have shocked Suguru.

Enough that his lips part.

Just a flash, a ripple of his features, before he smooths them out quickly. Effortlessly. But it is enough to spur you on regardless, to feel just slightly triumphant.

You keen softly, arching your back, pushing your fingers gently through silken folds.

“Suguru,” you mewl his name, all soft and broken, arching your hips into your own touch desperately. Beyond your desire for revenge, is simply your desire, the need to feel full, to feel pleasure like this. And you reasoned with yourself, all night, and all morning, that you’d win regardless; either you’d wrestle his tightly held control from his grasp, and get what you so desperately want from him, or you’d still get to touch yourself and find some brief moment of reprieve.

Beyond either of those two things, you could not think. They ran around your mind like wild, starved dogs hunting down the possibility of a rabbit.

(Or are you the rabbit? Running around and around your mind, trying to escape the bite? Or are you looking for it?)

“What do you think you’re doing?” He asks and for a moment, he doesn’t dare step closer to you or the bed.

You push a finger inside yourself, it goes in easy—so slick and easy—that the next pass, you add a second and gasp.

What are you doing? You feel half out of your mind.

“Can’t help it—” you get out, “it hurts so bad. It’s—I’m so—”

You watch a muscle in his jaw feather and tick. His scent is—

It hits you like a blow to the chest, the way he smells. It’s dark and spiced with warmth; tobacco and the oud in his scent has become heavier. You can almost taste it in the air.

“Suguru—“ you mewl again, pleading and cloying. You tilt your hips up towards your hand, towards him. You’re trying to entice him.

You can nearly hear the way his teeth grind together.

“You’re a brat,” he hisses but you can sense the way his control has slipped and thinned. You can nearly feel it fraying in his voice alone.

You practically purr, fingers pushing desperately inside yourself.

“I haven’t done anything wrong,” you simper, “I’ve been so good letting you feed me and bathe me—I’m wearing the shirt you put me in, too.”

For a moment, you watch as his eyes slowly dip down the length of your body, to where your fingers are. You watch his expression flicker, the tilt of his eyebrows, the slight parting of his lips. You whimper, knowing he’s watching, and try to curl your fingers.

But they don’t reach as deep as his might—not thick enough, either, and the ache inside you grows monstrously.

Perhaps only soothed by the way, for once, you’ve rendered Suguru Getou rather speechless. You toss your head back and moan at the thought.

“Suguru—won’t you help me? Even a little?” You arch off the bed and catch his gaze when his eyes fly back up to your face.

“No,” he snaps quickly, “I promised you—“

“Then tell me what to do—talk to me.” You beg, “it hurts so bad, Suguru—“

The muscle in his jaw feathers again. But this time, he wades carefully into the room, stepping closer to the edge of the bed.

The moment he’s there, you adjust so he can see you better, move so your foot is just nearly touching his thigh at the end of the bed. And even that small potential for touch has you crying out again.

“I’m not sure I should, after the way you’ve been acting.” He says and though he’s trying for casualness, you can sense the tension lurking underneath.

“Touch yourself then,” you breathe, your own eyes drifting down to his sweatpants—to the noticeable bulge—

In a bold move, you place your foot on his lower abdomen, looking up at him through your lashes as your fingers gently push in and out, walls fluttering desperately around them.

He catches your ankle before you can move another inch. The way he squeezes you makes a thrill run through you, race up your spine, pool somewhere low and hot in the depths of you.

“Is this your way of trying to make me suffer?” He asks and despite everything, a hint of a smile flickers across your heated, panting face.

“Is it working?” You ask.

All he does is hum, thumb stroking along the bone of your ankle.

Even that is enough for pleasure to skitter and flare beneath your skin.

“Wanna see you,” you get out, breathy and soft, “wanna see what I’m missing.”

Suguru curses and you laugh, delirious and soft.

Pleasure blushes and surges beneath your skin.

“No,” he says again but he has to grind the word out, pull it and wrestle it from his own mouth. “You won’t get the better of me here.”

“Don’t you get tired of your tightly wound control?” You get out, twisting a little so that you might free your ankle from his grasp, but he holds firm.

“I should be asking the same of you—but clearly,” his eyes flicker again, “you do.”

“Need you so bad—“ you get out, almost pouting.

You can nearly hear his teeth grind together. He inhales sharply, as if to try and steady himself, but you can tell it only worsens him. Your scent must be thick in the air, sweetened and cloying.

Your fingers slip messily, desperately, over your clit, down inside of yourself and back out. You whine, a little frustrated, trying again and again to satiate the ache inside of you. But anything you do, isn’t enough.

It almost feels as if it’s made it worse.

“Poor thing,” Suguru finally says and you realize, he’s regained some of his composure, “look what you’ve done to yourself.”

You curse this time.

But you press on, unwilling to give up your win yet, “you’ve also done this—because you wanted the upper hand so bad.” You press inside yourself, hips lifting towards your fingers, “you didn’t have to take the suppressants.”

His brow flickers up, “I did it for you.”

“Did you?” You gasp, adding a second finger.

He swallows, eyes falling to the apex of your thighs, watching, as you fitfully try to pleasure yourself.

“You didn’t have to—you could’ve let me trigger your Rut. Then we both would’ve been like this—” your voice hitches, “then you would’ve gotten what you wanted sooner and you could’ve feigned innocence.”

“You didn’t want that,” he says, watching you carefully, “who's to say you won’t come out of this Heat and resist me again?”

“I won’t,” you breathe, “I did—” you mewl, hips arching and falling, trying so hard, working yourself up so horribly.

You bite off a groan.

Suguru clicks his tongue, makes a soft, disapproving noise. “And now look at you,” his hand slides along your calf, so large, and—

“Don’t even know how to properly touch yourself.”

“Suguru—”

Suddenly, he tugs you gently, so you’re down at the edge of the bed, your legs on either side of his thighs as he stands above you.

He leans down slightly and you sit up, towards him, hoping, desperate—

“Such a terrible, little Omega. Do you need me to teach you this, too? Do you need me to help you?”

You cry out, kitten soft, as needy and tender as a child.

“Please,” you beg, “please, I need you—”

His hand traces up the outside of your calf, up to your thigh and you squirm, hope fluttering, heart racing—

“Don’t move,” he murmurs, “or I won’t help you.”

“Suguru,” you growl in frustration.

“Ah, ah, I thought you were being good?”

Your head spins—you have no idea how he managed to flip it on you so sharply, but suddenly he has, and suddenly you're nearly underneath him, and he’s leaning over you and watching so intensely—so—

You try to go still for him. Your chest is heaving.

“That’s it,” he murmurs and his hand slowly arcs over the bend of your hip, and towards your stomach. Your hips twitch and he stills, “careful—” he warns.

You force yourself to freeze, still panting.

And then he lays the broadness of his hand on your lower stomach, his thumb just barely brushing your mound.

“This is as far as I’ll go,” he says and with the way you almost fall into a frustrated groan, he seizes your chin with his other hand, “I’ll not touch you sexually. This is all I’ll give you—be grateful for even this.”

You sneer at him and he takes his hand away.

Instantly, you miss the warmth, the pressure, the—

“Be good, or I’ll leave the room now and let you suffer even worse than before—see what you’ve done to yourself? Worked yourself up so horribly, and all for what?” Suguru’s voice is soft and smooth and so, horribly in control again. When did he get it back? When did he take it from you?

“My attention? The hopes that I’d give in?” He asks.

When you don’t respond, he squeezes your face, prompting you, “answer me, pet.”

“Yes—I want your attention. I want—” the words break over you like a wave, the realization like a blow. You want.

You desire.

You want him. You want an Alpha and not just any Alpha but Suguru, despite everything, maybe because of everything. Maybe because you made him chase, and he did. Maybe because you have run your whole life from this—this attention and this desire and this intimacy—and you have finally found someone willing to hunt you down like a fox, and in the face of your gnashing teeth and growling and yipping, to treat you gently. Like you’re a beloved house pet and not a snarling, wild beast.

“I want you,” you say honestly and his hold slackens on your cheeks to let you speak, “I hate you and I want you and—there’s no one but you—it’s only you and you’re awful but I am, too, and I need—”

It cracks out of you, voice raw, a half-sob.

Your tears make him smile.

He hushes you gently, “oh, sweet girl,” he soothes, and his other hand slowly returns to its place on your trembling, lower stomach, “you’re so torn up about this. How much grief have you given yourself? Hm? Just for wanting?”

You heave, unable to respond, suddenly reaching with your free hand for him, pulling on his shirt, closer to you.

He gives in and goes, lets you claw at his back and bury your face in his shoulder. He finally lets go of your face, in favor of letting you fall to pieces beneath him. His knee dips on the mattress. But he holds himself above you still.

“I’ll guide you now,” he murmurs and his voice is by your ear. He turns his nose to nudge against your temple, inhaling slowly.

You can feel the rumble of a groan through him that he holds back, a soft growl.

And then, “look at me.”

You sniffle and with a great deal of reluctance, you pull your face away from the safety of his shoulder to find his gaze. Midnight violet. Depthless.

“Hate me all you want,” he says, “but I adore you—no matter how you are. Willing and pliant, or vicious and biting. I’ll always adore you. And I’ll always do what’s best for you.”

Something inside of you cleaves open. Fractures in a way that is irreparable.

You want to say something but you don’t know what, you have something so tremendous and terrifying inside of you, because of him—all you can get out is a soft cry.

“Now,” he continues, eyes flickering over your body, and his thumb gently strokes over your lower stomach. “You feel empty, don’t you?”

A whimper eeks out of you. You nod slowly. Empty and torn apart and open and aching.

“Use three fingers, not two.” He commands gently, “you want something bigger, hm? I’m sure it hurts so badly—you’re so wet.”

Without thinking, you obey him.

You press three fingers carefully inside of you and it’s the first stretch you’ve gotten, the first spark of relief.

You cry out, clinging to him.

“That’s it,” he encourages, “in and out for me.”

You tilt your hips up into his hand, towards your fingers, and he doesn’t scold you. The pressure on your lower stomach makes pleasure bloom and strengthen there. For a moment, it’s just the soft, slick noises of yourself, and it’s so—

Embarrassing. So horrible.

You must look out of your depth, you must look lost or terrified, because he finally speaks again, “curl your fingers for me, darling.”

You do just that and moan the moment you press deeper inside yourself.

“Good girl,” he praises, “does that feel better? Answer me.”

“Yes—yeah.” You get out, crooking your fingers inside yourself. “I still want—”

“More?” He murmurs, pressing his hand gently against your lower stomach, “this time, you have to make do with just this.”

You bite back your whine or complaint, head hazy—fingers moving desperately. But you don’t complain, you don’t fuss.

He smiles when he realizes how you’ve caught yourself, “oh, look at that,” he purrs, “you can be tamed after all.”

And before you can ruin it for yourself, Suguru sweeps his thumb just barely over your mound again, and says, “rock your hips now, gentle.”

The moment you do, the friction against your palm makes you moan, head falling back, baring your throat.

Perhaps without thinking, he dips forward, nose tracing over the cure of your neck, following instinct. You make another soft noise, and in your haze, wish desperately that he would just bite down—

All you get is the brief skim of his warm, soft lips. No teeth and you miss them, achingly.

He presses his hand down just a little more and—

Pleasure bursts beneath your skin with enough force that your back bows off the bed, mouth parted.

You sob.

You feel your walls flutter uselessly around your fingers, feel your body desperate for something you can’t have this time, and fall apart.

Suguru is there to catch you.

He coos to you, soft and easy, and even kisses at your damp, tear-struck cheeks. He lets you arch and twist and chase your pleasure, lets you be wanton and shameless and desperate. He lets you claw him and bite him and cry into his shoulder.

And when you begin to quiet, he suddenly hitches your legs around his waist and lifts you clear from the bed. You lope your arms weakly around his neck and bury your face into his throat.

You don’t protest or fight him, you are grateful and eager for all the places you touch, feeling incredibly fragile in his broad arms.

You don’t bother to look where he’s taking you—can’t find it in yourself to care, if you can feel him against your center, feel where he’s hard and aching himself, even with the suppressants—

But between one breath and the next, you’re in the bathtub again, and the water from the shower blasts on from above.

Ice cold water pours on you.

You shriek and Suguru has the nerve to laugh, which makes you lunge for him, yanking him towards the spray of water.

It soaks his shirt, his hair, as he holds himself over you, before stepping carefully into the tub to join you.

He sits with you, beneath the cold water, and pushes his hair out of his face as you clamber into his lap.

You pull at his wet shirt and he lets you take it off of him, throw it over the side of the tub in a heap.

He reaches to do the same to you, ridding you of the only article of clothing you’d had on.

You grit your teeth, “does it have to be so cold?” You ask, feeling the spray now rain against your back, your shoulders. You lean away from it, into his arms.

“You needed this.” He says fondly. And then, as he strokes your wet hair, “I did, too.”

“You’re an awful man,” you curse him, shivering.

“I know,” he agrees with a soft, fond smile.

You look at him, hair inky and dark, lashes damp against his cheek, and the pleased way he smiles. Like an insufferable, giant cat. You’re aching and furious and freezing and so—so tender.

“I hate you,” you tell him but it sounds more like a confession, soft around the edges.

He kisses your temple, lingers there, and you can feel the curve of his smile. You can hear it color his voice;

“I know.”

***

Something shifts between the two of you after that. And the following day, your Heat finally begins to wane slightly.

You try to touch yourself again and Suguru forbids it this time. You fight and snarl with him, but you let him hold you and lull you to sleep. You let him feed you. And bathe you. You sleep bare against his naked chest and are soothed by it the way a fussy baby is calmed by the bare skin of their mother.

You feel infinitely closer to him.

You lounge with him in bed, in his living room, hanging off him all that you can.

He indulges this behavior, encourages it, even.

And on the eighth day, your Heat finally breaks.

When you wake, still curled on his chest, with his hands stroking tenderly over your bare back, he asks, “how do you feel?”

“Sane, I think.” You murmur it into his chest.

“Your Heat broke in the night.” He says and touches your head, your forehead, like he’s taking your temperature. “You’re still a little warmer, but it’s over now, I think.”

Slowly, you pick yourself up to look at him. To hover over him.

He looks up at you, too, uncertain. Waiting. You’re sure he’s waiting to see if you’ll return to your usual self, if you’ll snap or snarl or chew him out—will you storm out? Or seethe? Will you fight him still, after everything, even as he holds you in his arms now?

“Thank you for respecting my wishes,” you say instead and lean down to suddenly press your lips to his.

You feel his surprise, the way his lips part, the way he freezes and you sink down into it. For a moment, you worry he won’t reciprocate again.

But then, his hand comes up to cradle your face, and he nudges into the kiss. Hungry. Deep.

You give into him, you encourage him, coaxing him with soft tongue and eager mouth.

When you pull away, you grab his face this time, the way he always grabs yours, squeezing his lips into a little pout, “but if you ever make me suffer like that again through a Heat,” your nails dig into his cheek, “I’ll fucking kill you.”

He laughs, canines flashing, and surges forward to kiss you again. Harder. Meaner.

It’s all teeth and heat, a little vicious, the way you are. He wrestles you beneath him, kisses you into the mattress. And when he pulls away, he says;

“If you ever make me suffer like that again, you’ll wish you’d killed me first.”

You feel your own smile against his neck, against one of the ridges of your own bite mark, and with all the satisfaction in the world, you sink your teeth down into it again.

It’s like a key coming up against a lock, fitting snugly to their own indents, and finding their own, well-worn place.

It’s like finally coming home.

#suguru getou x reader #getou x reader #suguru geto x reader #geto x reader #getou suguru x reader #suguru getou x you #getou x you #getou suguru x you #jjk x you #jjk x reader #cw: omegaverse #cielo's writing!#cielo writes!

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lets-try-some-writing · 3 days

Note

Oooh, okay. How about Halley’s Comet (or some other comet out there) is a baby Titan floating around. And when Earth sees them: Earth: Can we keep them!? Moon: Yes darling! Unicron: No! Why would you- Moon: Earth. Gets. What. She. Wants. Comet Titan: Hello! I like to explore!

Hello yes time for more lore.

Titans ceased to be forged shortly after the fall of the Predacons. No one knows why, but some suspect that the reason is simply because Primus decided there were enough of them. Long lived as they are, Titans are not exactly prolific. But they don't need to be. They serve their purpose until they no longer have the ability. They are, in a sense, a temporary thing to give the rest of Primus's children a safe haven until they can stand on their own pedes.

Halley's Comet broke the long agreed upon understanding that Titans were no longer being forged. She was forged with the last generation of sparklings to emerge from the Well. At the time, she was about the size of a warframe. She grew up alone in the remnants of abandoned cities and starports and saw the ravages of war as she grew larger. The lack of energon made her small. Her systems couldn't support more than a few dozen citizens at most. This upset her a degree, but it instilled in her a desire to seek out somewhere she could serve. She was the size of the Arc, and while not a shabby size at all, she did not match up to even little Pluto. She vaguely sensed that she was too small, but to her young mind, that was alright.

When the Exodus occurred, Halley fled with the rest. There was no use hiding any longer, not when those who would make her a tool were no longer present. She did not know what she was, but she was fine with that. She took to the stars eager to understand herself and explore. What base coding she had told her that there were others like her scattered in the void beyond. As such, she was excited to begin her hunt for her as of yet unknown siblings.

She travelled the stars, pausing only to rest and recover in the orbit of passing stars. She passed by worlds where Titans gave their lives to establish Cybertronian colonies. Some were active and greeted Halley with reverence. Others were long dead. Those ones Halley took time to traverse until she found the shell of her deceased brethren. From the dead she took pieces of their plating to graft into her own. She soon became a living memorial to the glories of times long past. She took pride in her work.

Eventually. she found a Cybertronian starship headed in the direction of Earth. She did not know that at the time, but having explored the surrounding sectors, she decided to tail the ship. She followed from a safe distance and only broke away when she spotted Pluto doing his usual patrol. Their interaction went about as well as expected.

Pluto: YOU! STOP RIGHT THERE!

Halley: Oh! Hello brother!

Pluto: Brother? Wait, are you one of us?

Halley: I am not too sure! But you feel like a brother of mine!

Pluto: *Pluto exe is not working* I need to get Mars. Don't go anywhere little Titan.

Mars: *literally just woke up from a nap* WHAT IS IT-!

Halley: Hello! :D

Mars: ...

Mars: I suppose we have a little sister now.

Halley doesn't stay too long. She still likes to travel. But she stops by when she can. She adores Earth, and Earth loves her in turn. Earth may or may not have quietly adopted her, much to Moon's agitation since he doesn't like sharing more attention than necessary. Halley has continually praised Moon for his choice in partners because of her adoration for the green covered world. Moon is warming up to her slowly.

Quietly, he calls her Daughter of my Beloved and Sister of my Spark.

Halley does not know this, but when she needs a place to rest, Moon will gladly offer the dark side of his frame for her to get some much needed recharge.

#transformers #maccadam #transformers prime #unicron and earth au #halley's comet #pluto #mars #earth #moon #fluff #alternate universe #halley is a ball of sunshine and pluto isnt quite sure what to do with her

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chiikasevennn · 1 day

Note

(this has topics of murder and yandere.....and stuff PLS DELETE IF URE NOT COMFY IM SORRY HUHUHU)

haia omg i have no idea if you're still open or no but i really like whenever writers dive into the more darker aspects of a character or how especially when a process of basically ascending to something what you would consider non human (monarch in this case) and how this affects a character like does this make them less humane or posssiblllyy twist their morals??

like as we can see with jinwoo his morals is err well yeah there but we can see times where he is willing to commit crimes if the time calls it (often the system forcing him to it) but like what happens when he finally swallows the system as a whole?? LIKE since now there is no third party to force him to do murder or what not will his way of thinking change too? like i imagine when he first murdered the guys in the cave very early on in the series you think that maybe he thought that it wasn't that bad..??

I can honestly see it more if it was another scenario and we add in the aspect of the reader or I'll call [name] whwhw.. I feel like Jinwoo is the type to actually lose his sense of humanity just for the sake of [name] or keeping them safe like the two probably was close but had to separate in their own ways but when they meet again [name] can barely recognzie Jinwoo and i dont mean physically or what not it's more like he lost his warmth and seems more... unsettling.. like do you know the feeling of watching those analogue horror or watching anything eerie and you get that feeling that somethings off in a scene that seems normal but you know something is OFF. yeah i feel like that's what [name] would feel ✊.

I just wanna hear your opinion on a more screwed up Jinwoo because as muchhh as i love the fluffy cutie jinwoo i also love delving into the topics of jinwoo just going batshit insane 🤯🙏

-🌟🎀

ABSOLUTELY!

Jinwoo x Reader

Your wish is my command, pookie bear.

Warning(s): YANDERE, nothing much, maybe too short? Not a fic or oneshot lol js my crazy thoughts

Also guys ples comment and say something ...

^⁠_⁠^

Jinwoo himself was already prepared to walk through fire just for his family, and that was just platonic love. Imagine how insane he'd be for a significant other that he loves way too deeply.

Hello???? Like I feel his dedication and love for darling would be higher than the heavens especially if they're already there for him during his lowest part in life.

My hunch is he's a chill yandere; he adores you and wouldn't pull any outrageously crazy stunts directly at you. Instead, he might convey lessons through various means, like allowing uncomfortable scenarios to set up, then emerging from the shadows he casted beneath your silhouette to rescue you.

Like a "savior" yandere. Your knight and sole protector.

He'd be more possessive ig if his crazy fans found out about you, particularly if they desire him to be romantically involved with Hae-In in the name of being a power couple. Jinwoo literally and genuinely didn't give a damn when they trash-talked him.

But hey, fans can be krezi

ALSO HELLO LIKE WHAT IF THOSE CRAZY ASSHOLES START HARASSING YOU ON WORK OR IN SOCIAL MEDIA (like leaving you death threats or rudely demanding you to break up w him bc apparently according to them, you don't deserve him)? Lol he'd be willing to do something about them, so good luck reasoning against him if you don't want bloodshed!!!

He'd convince you to not work anymore if that was in store for you.

"... Woo, you know I can't just quit work like that and have you become the breadwinner for the two of us. You're getting financially better and I'm proud, but I can't jus—"

"Shh," He'd tenderly cup your cheeks with his eyes overflowing with love and concern, every bit of his attention dedicated to you. "Is it so bad for me to want no dangers coming to you?"

"You're also being unintentionally put into unavoidable situations whenever you're in public. Love, you remember what happened last time, right?" He'd add. With a kiss on your forehead, he said, "I'll provide for you, you don't have to work. I can't stand how they're looking at you."

Jinwoo would mumble the final words gently before pulling back. He'd whisper them solely for your ears, aware that you wouldn't interpret that knowledge negatively anymore—it would now simply reflect his worry for your welfare and highlight his character as the tender and loving partner he was.⁠ ♡

#sjw is hot #solo leveling #solo leveling x reader #solo leveling fic #sung jinwoo #sung jinwo #sung jinwoo x reader

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protectingtulpas · 2 days

Text

So I just got sent that pretty iconic "anti-tulpa" document and I think it's pretty damn funny that a lot of those sources, if you actually READ them, are neutral or even supportive lmfao.

Like for this one? This is straight up pro-, and is just explaining that "tulpamancy" isn't the original concept and that it's based on other practices. Congrats, you're making our fucking point for us!

This next one is pretty interesting also. I wanna highlight some stuff from it, from both the op and comments.

Let's talk about my existence in contrast to some of these statements. The first one is "The biggest, most dangerous form of evil in Buddhist thought is "ego" or self-grasping. If ANY mental phenomena increases your self-cherishing attitudes (self importance, grandiosity, jealousness, craving, hatred, self-loathing, self-absorption etc) it's evil. IF a mental phenomena causes greater flexibility, less attachment, more tranquil emotions, less mental chatter/discursive thinking, increased generosity and compassion toward others, higher mental clarity etc.--that's good." And the second one is "If it increases negative emotions, it's not Dharma. If it decreases negative emotions, it's Dharma." So these are great for some people, but that mentality of not allowing "self-cherishing attitudes" can be EXTREMELY HARMFUL FOR SYSTEMS and ANYONE with self worth issues. A lot of this is contradictory for a lot of people. Something can both decrease negative emotions and make you feel connected to yourself. Nobody has the right to make us feel any less like ourselves - normally you can believe whatever you want for yourself, obviously, but pushing it onto other ppls' lives aint cool. The implication that we're straight up DANGEROUS just for existing is insulting to created systems regardless of whether you're using the word tulpa or not.

The reply to that by @/eeveecraft is great, and this part describes how weird that is in the context of headmates' identities here. "Furthermore, really don't like how you downplayed tulpas as property there, buddy. Tulpas are not property, they are people in every sense of the word, and I don't [give a] flying fuck about whatever complications that for your beliefs. My systemmates are people, full stop. I was already able to tell since you refer to your own systemmates as "imaginary friends," which a lot of tulpas aren't okay with being called that because that implies that they're fake. They are NOT lesser because they're not created by ancient monks or whatever.

"Like, seriously: "They would be considered "as real as you and me," with their own likes and dislikes etc," because apparently, modern tulpas don't have likes and dislikes and their hosts just see them as delusions? Say that to my tulpa, Arcanus who adores coffee while the smell makes me nauseous, say that to my systemmates who switch with me and have their own hobbies. Also, tulpas are more than just personalities. They have their own experiences, skills, preferences, dreams, memories, thoughts, a person is more than just their personality, and I thought a "licensed psychotherapist" would know that, especially if they have systemmates of their own." Make sure to read the full comment tho cuz it's a good takedown, it's not just about that it goes thru the entire thing.

SO! If anybody actually wants a well-studied paper outlining everything, check out Tracking the Tulpa: Exploring the "Tibetan" Origins of a Contemporary Paranormal Idea by Natasha L. Mikles and Joseph P. Laycock. It goes into a lot more of an accurate and in-depth history on the subject, and the bibliography ACTUALLY shows where things come from.

All that document showed us was that Buddhists are a wide community with a variety of different people with different skill levels, understandings, and opinions. And that we need to ditch the fantastical, impossible representation of the tulpa in supernatural media because that's ACTIVELY harming people. Which is what we want to show people! So congrats!

#im not linking it cuz its cherry picked as hell #but if youve been here a while you know what it is #if you want the document shoot me a message #that shit needs to stop circulating #syscourse #tulpacourse

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circular-bircular · 18 hours

Text

2 Cents

(Get it? Cause it's all about change? I'm hilarious)

The response to SAS has been stunning, to say the least. Duh, of course you know what I'm talking about -- Woooahhhhh the major anti-endo is pro-endo now!!!

Only, I really don't want to frame it like that. And... I'm so relieved to see so many taking it in stride and not framing it like that.

Me and Dude have been friends for a very, very long while -- or at least it feels like a long time. DID makes it hard and all to really realize how much time passes. But I consider Dude one of my close friends at this time, and I hope people can see why. He's a person who's willing to change, albeit stubbornly, and he works so hard to be kind -- even when the world has been so much less than kind back.

And one thing I've always known is that Dude was anti-endo, but willing to compromise on those opinions and beliefs if it meant furthering the science of it all, and understanding more about all of this. As time went on, it became understanding more about CDDs than ever before, fueled less by frustration and more by genuine curiosity. It's what attracted me to this friendship in the first place.

Seeing Dude repeatedly start to say that he is pro-endo warmed my heart, but not because of the pro-endo part; it was because of the change part. Because so many people struggle with that, with the idea that they can change. Me being one of them.

It's been... so difficult trying to carve out a place in syscourse. In life. I started out pro-endo and manipulated into very nearly thinking I wasn't a DID system at all. I moved to this nebulous area where i was harassed for stepping out of line. I was neutral, I became anti-endo, neutral again -- constantly flip flopping because I didn't have anyone or anything to hold onto. I didn't get to have a community. I didn't get to be anything other than The Bad Guy.

While I was in a CDD server, I at least had that community, but even that wasn't what I wanted. Even that wasn't good for me, even if it was good in other ways. Maybe I'll find the good again someday.

But seeing this outpouring of support... As someone who now no longer uses any syscourse label (Call me what you want, I really don't care), it's a goddamn relief to see someone being accepted with open arms. It's a relief to see people being so kind and generous, both with asks and with comments. I have to be blunt and say how jealous I am, seeing the outcropping of support.

But I'm also relieved to see my experience really is far from the norm... while also acknowledging that I am incredibly braced for impact at the moment due to those experiences.

I'm an incredibly stubborn person, I'm able to admit it. I struggle to change. I'm incredibly set in my ways. But I also do change, rapidly, flipping on a dime when I think it's what the other person wants. (Honestly, part of why I appreciate Dude so much was his insistence on slowing down, getting the facts, and making an educated decision based on that). And recently with syscourse, I've felt as if I have to slam my fist into the table and shout and scream about How Pro-Endo I Am, just in case anyone was lumping me in with those anti-endos -- but then I saw how some pro-endos were acting, and I felt I couldn't say anything about it-- ugh, I'm rambling.

All that is to say, I've felt so... stunningly alone lately, even with the support of my friends. I'm alone in syscourse. I'm alone in recovery. So many of my friends are moving on, healing, growing, and... Here I am, just a silly little circle on their blog, young and stupid and dumb.

So I'm glad people are accepting Dude, not as a pro-endo, but as someone who has grown. It gives me a lot of hope for my future. A lot of hope for finding a community -- not as a pro-endo, or anti-endo, or syscourse anything.

Just as a person.

Does that make sense?

I hope other people out there, stuck in syscourse like me, feeling very alone in a very large world, can see how willing people are to extend a hand. I hope I've extended my own enough. I just... have a lot of hope for the future.

@sysmedsaresexist Thanks for helping give me that right now <3

#syscourse #kitty caught the rabbit

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collectivenothingness · 5 hours

Note

You're a random based stranger but I need to vent real quick. I'm losing my mind, I feel like every day misogyny seeps more into circles I'm in. Queer spaces don't give a fuck and perpetuate it with nice flowery progressive language.

I can't do this anymore, all the conversations about being a woman are taken over or watered down by men, everything had to be about men, men are the most oppressed, men suffer from the patriarchy, it's never men's fault, you're a misandrist, men men men.

I genuinely can't do this it's so sad in queer circles to see this and I hear my friends do this too. I just had a conversation with a friend who is a queer trans woman and who said it's ok for leftist men to be misogynistic against TERFSs, like no!!! This is getting terrifying even if youre not a TERF!!!! I don't want men to have more ground to be misogynistic without questioning themselves. I'm genuinely tired of the whole "white women" "straight women" loops they find.

Just urgh. I feel like I'm surrounded by people who should know better and everytime I point out misogyny I get told that I'm seeing things.

I'm sorry to hear, anon. That is very alienating, yeah :(

The thing is that most progressive people don't really believe in social classes or power dynamics between them or systems of oppression. They believe in ideas and archetypes and good stories instead.

They use the same language but to them misogyny or racism just mean suffering mistreatment because of some characteristics you have, so they are open to misandry and narratives about how men have been neglected and left behind.

You and I might think of the patriarchy as a social structure of oppression directed from one group against another, but they don't. Patriarchy is explained conspiratorially as the work of only a small elite or as an unpersonal gestalt that arises from the system with no individual truly at fault or perhaps it's the fault of men and women equally.

Or they may briefly recognize some talking point they heard to discard the idea of social power dynamics altogether, "gender is fake" after all. They might think in terms of sex-based oppression because it's "based in nature"; all while having TERFs DNI in their bio of course. Bioessentialism is a big one in general and it crops up again and again and again. Everywhere.

Oppression Olympics is a loaded term but a lot of people really do conceptualize your suffering that way. You get scored based on which characteristics you are oppressed on, weighted by their beliefs about which are worse, which is based on their impressions of the vibes they get from discourse. Just being a woman rarely cuts it now, especially because MRAs can just sell them the right talking points and they'll swallow them up because it's all the same to them. Heard vs. Depp. They just want a good story.

And since misogyny is just a targeted aggression, where is the harm in letting a redeemed man use it against an evil woman, right? Isn't that what justice is? lol.

Let's cut it here though. It's tiring stuff.

#ask

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buriedpair · 22 hours

Text

The Sun

Double Down x GN Reader

Felt like writing some DD stuff instead of answering my asks. Sorry gang LOL

Oliver’s hands are freezing. His warm breath does nothing to calm the trembling of his palms. He doesn’t mind so much. He can hardly tell at all. His shaking fingers encircle his arms and he watches the falling snow closely.

The cold is his friend. He’s always liked the snow, as much as he can like anything. An unfeeling machine, and an unhappy reality.

Oliver is unequivocally alone.

“Hey, are you cold? Come back inside.” A voice calls from behind him. The warm, dulcet blanket that is his mother’s voice. He takes a calm breath, feeling the icy winds enter his lungs a final time before he turns and enters his home.

Oliver knew what warmth was supposed to feel like. He knew what it was like to be with another person. He knew all too well.

Yet…

The first time his hands felt warmth was when you held them. Your radiance struck all the nerves in his system. He shut down the second your hands embraced his.

His breath shudders as your lips part to speak, anticipating your next words with short pants falling from his own lips.

“...Can I have my pen back?”

Your eyes shone like marbles against the sunlight you seemed to emit. No, you cannot have your pen back. It’s his now, and he doesn’t want to give it back. He holds it in a tight fist against his chest, not speaking a single word.

You give up after a while, eyebrows furrowed as you awkwardly step away.

It’s cold again.

He sees you in the hallways, on occasion. He can’t stand to look at you, head down as he scurries past every time. He doesn’t deserve you. Not after all the people before you.

Graduation came and went. He left broken hearts in his wake, and you left nothing but light. He’s never felt so cold after that day. Frostbite nips at his fingertips the second you make your escape, leaving him alone for the last time.

Over the next few years, Oliver can hardly get out of bed. He stares at the ceiling, gripping his pillow and wishing it were you. He’s barely got enough money to sustain himself for the next month from his inheritance, but he couldn’t care less.

Gambit finds him alone at the bar of his casino one night.

“You look like someone with nothing to lose.” Gambit leans his head against the palm of his hand as he glances at Oliver from the corner of his eye. His smile is kind.

“Join us.”

For once, he felt powerful. With a Scythe in hand, Oliver was the first to die. All that’s left is a cold-blooded player and executioner, Double Down.

Until you appeared at the casino one day. He could feel the ice in his heart thawing as he made eye contact. Surely you don’t recognize him, but he knows it’s you. He knows that warmth.

You didn’t stay for long. He didn’t either. He left without alerting anyone, just to get a taste of your warmth once again.

Your home wasn’t far from his. How could he have missed that? He’s sure he’s had a few flings in your area. He shudders. Now’s not the time to think of them.

You’re alone. Alone in an empty house. Alone like he has been, all of these years without you.

He doesn’t hesitate to break the lock, even knowing you can probably hear it shattering under the weight of his Scythe. He doesn’t care about that now, not when you’re so close.

He’s panting as he stands in your living room, his eyes dilated as he stares at you. You, perfect and divine. You, who is light and the sun and all things holy. You, who saved him. So, then… Why do you look so scared?

“Oliver?” The name feels foreign on your tongue. This isn’t the kid you knew, who shyly avoided you in the hallways and scribbled your name in hearts in his notebook.

For a moment, he really is Oliver again. Oliver, who loved you.

But he isn't. He’s Double Down, the mysterious murderer.

You take a nervous step back at his lack of response, and he takes a panicked one toward you.

“N-no! You don’t understand! You don’t know me, but I know you.” He takes several steps closer, trapping you between him and the wall.

“Please… Please, just touch me again. One more time.” He murmurs, his eyes never leaving yours.

When you don’t move, he grits his teeth and snatches up your hand, placing it to his heart.

“Do you feel it? My heart’s racing. I can’t stand it anymore.”

He smiles widely, trembling as he keeps your hand against him in his tight grip.

“Please don’t leave me. Stay with me. Don’t go away again.” His smile never drops as tears fall down his flushed cheeks.

“It’s so cold…” He whimpers, resting his forehead against your shoulder. His arms slowly encircle your waist and he pulls you right up against him.

It’s a perfect moment. You, squirming in his arms, his and his alone.

Billions of years from now, the sun will die and take everything with it. But you, the radiant warmth Double Down has never felt before, will always be within his grasp. From this day forward, the sun will never burn out.

#yandere oc #yandere #yandere boy #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere x darling #yandere boyfriend #yandere scenarios #bpdoubledown

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sinner-sunflower · 2 days

Text

P.2 HH Lucifer-centric AU 20/?

STORY 1, PART 1, PART 2, PART 3, PART 4, PART 5, PART 6, PART 7, PART 8, PART 9, PART 10, PART 11, PART 12, PART 13, PART 14, PART 14.5, PART 15, PART 16, PART 17, PART 18, PART 19

Surprise! Early update teehee

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Lucifer was roused from unconsciousness by murmurs—some panicked, others with anger, and a few laced with authority.

A sudden wet sensation against his face jolted him awake, causing him to flinch and startle the person beside him.

Lucifer: C-Charlie?

Charlie: Oh dad, thank goodness you're awake!

He lets out an 'oof' when he suddenly got an armful of his little girl. Not that he's complaining.

Lucifer: Uhm, did I pass out?

Charlie: Yeah. I don't blame you, though! I can't even begin to understand what you were feeling after witnessing that. Vaggie still hasn't woken up. She's up in our room; Cherri's watching her. Sorry we couldn't take you to yours. You put up wards there too.

Lucifer: That... what?

Charlie: What do you remember, Dad?

Lucifer: I remember being in the palace with Adam organizing my files and then Nifty came and said- Shit! Heaven!

His abrupt attempt to rise left him lightheaded, causing him to sway unsteadily before collapsing back onto the couch where he had been lying.

Charlie: Careful!

Lucifer: I can't believe I passed out. Again!

Angel: Yous should really stop doing that, shorty. Makin' all o' us worry for ya.

Angel appears out of thin air and handed him a bottle of water, expression filled with concern. He gives the actor a 'Thank you', accepting the offering.

Lucifer: But what's going on now? What happened to the ang- body? Did anyone else see it?

He doesn't like the look Charlie and Angel gave each other. Not at all.

Charlie: Dad... it wasn't just one body.

Angel: The fallin' shit we was seeing before? Those were angels too. As far as we can tell, they are littered all over the Ring.

Charlie: Rosie and the cannibals are more than willing to help with collecting them but there's too many bodies to round up even with their numbers.

Lucifer: They're still falling?

Charlie: Alastor and some of the magic-using sinners have put up a temporary barrier since you were out for the count. There's still a few bodies coming down but not as much.

Angel: The city looks fucked as hell. No pun intended.

Lucifer: Alright. Tell Rosie to take the bodies to the Embassy. I'll set it on hellfire to dispose of the corpses. Wait-

Lucifer's eyes scanned the surroundings, searching intently for a bunch of someones. Frustration etched lines on his forehead as he realized that they were nowhere to be found amidst the chaos.

Lucifer: Are the Sins here? What about Adam? Oh Father, I left him back there with Nifty!

Charlie: That's another problem-

She gestures quickly and wildly hearing what she just said.

Charlie: - But it's not Adam! He's still back at the palace, don't worry, I checked. In one piece-

Angel: Tch. Unfortunately.

Charlie: I think he's pretty shaken up by the whole thing too. He's refusing to leave the palace.

Lucifer: O-okay. That's fine. I can work with that. What about the Sins?

Charlie purses her lips.

Charlie: ...The impact of some of the fallen bodies damaged our communication systems.

Angel: Yous fancy elevators are also not working.

Charlie: Yes. I've opened the hotel for Hellborns that got stuck here that wanted to. But with the elevator down and having most of the demons here that aren't sinners being imps who do not have access to strong magic....

His daughter's words trailed off, conveying a sense of concern that Lucifer could keenly empathize with. Most of Hell's forces resided in the lower Rings, but with their current inability to even contact them by their usual means only makes their position more dangerous.

Determined to find a solution, Lucifer attempts to conjure a portal, his brows furrowing in concentration. However, to his mounting frustration, it proved futile. So he tries again. Nothing. And again and again and again.

Lucifer: What the hell?

With a flick of his hand, an apple materialized out of nothing. He briefly transforms into various forms—a snake, a bird, before returning to his normal form. A sense of unease is gnawing at him.

Everything seems to be fine so he tries to make a portal again. Fucking nothing.

Lucifer: W-why isn't it working?!

Angel: Hey hey. Maybe you're just having performance issues. Calm down.

Lucifer: I can't calm down! Why can't I make a portal?! I-I need to see them. I need the Sins!

Charlie: Dad!

But he can't. He's panicking and he feels himself beginning to spiral again until something struck him hard across the face, causing his head to swivel to the side.

He slowly looks back and realizes that Angel Dust just slapped him. A sinner dare to slap him. Him! The fucking King of Hell!

Anger begins to boil inside him until he really looks Angel in the eye. The porn star is looking back at him with eyes full of worry and concern.

It seems the other realizes what he's just done too because his eyes widened and he scrambled forward, multiple hands cupping Lucifer's face gently as he softly patted the spot he had just struck.

Angel: I'm sososososososo sorry, baby-uhm uh Your Majesty! Oh my god- I mean- gosh-sorry, am I allowed to say God? Ack! I did it again. But I'm so sorry, I don't know why I did that. I mean- I know why. You were about to have a panic attack and I really shouldn't have slapped you though. I totally could've just kissed you and you'll snap out of it all da same but we can kiss oh wait the strawberry pimp might actually murder me. I'm really really so-

He was cut off by Lucifer giving him a hug to which Angel all but melts into.

Lucifer: Thanks, Angel. I needed that. Don't make it a habit though.

However, their brief moment was shattered by a flash of light outside, followed by a shockwave that reverberated through the ground, sending tremors rippling through the hotel. A chorus of screams followed.

Lucifer: What was that?

Lucifer sounds like a broken record. He really needs to stop fainting and missing stuff or Katie Killjoy will call him a weak ass bitch in her next news segment.

Angel: It's the same light show we witnessed a few weeks back.

Lucifer: Michael?

Charlie: It's not aimed at us, Dad.

Angel: Pfft. Yeah, for now.

Charlie: But it's been going off so much. Whatever's going on up there... it's bad.

Angel: It's probably that, ain't it?

They don't have to say it out loud to know that the 3rd Heavenly War is happening. It had only been short of a month since he met with Michael and now things have escalated to the point that Michael is wrecking havoc upon his own people.

A weak part of him feels bad for his brother for being put in that position.

Lucifer shudders. When Roo told him of his death, he was in disbelief. When Michael showed him his Fate, he was not afraid. But now that the war is actually here, he only feels dread at the thought of what is bound to happen next. He can almost hear Roo's laugh.

With no way to get the Sins, all they have are sinners and some imps to defend themselves. It's only a matter of time before the mess in Heaven reaches them and cuts his thread.

Lucifer: Okay. For now, our strongest players are me, you, and the overlords. So, call them here. I need to speak with them.

Charlie: What are we going to do, Dad?

Angel: What's the plan, boss man?

For someone who kept wishing for death for over ten thousand years, he never wanted to live to see tomorrow more than now.

Lucifer: We're going to defend our home.

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Appledust is like a guilty pleasure ship. There's something about 2 broken souls finding togehter that gets me.

They are platonic in this fic tho. Radioapple is my life

I also promise that Lucifer is only gonna pass out one more time. for the last time

oops

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