#never mind me i need to get this out of my system lmao

[pharawee]

Not all of them arguing and checking cctv and blurry video recordings when every car - especially racing cars - have on-board computers where you can check for any kind of tampering. Just read the telemetry, you guys! How do you even win these races? By alpha powers alone??😭😭

[hxnbi]

⸻ ❀°。❝ SHORT STACK ❞

requested by @kuppuru: furin boys + togame with short reader

pairings. hajime umemiya, hayato suo, haruka sakura, ren kaji, kyotaro sugishita, jo togame x gn. reader (separate)

note: tysm for your request! sorry if it took so long to write, i was suffering with exams but im finally free now. this goes to all my fellow short ppl out there 🫡 i also just wanted an excuse to find these goofy photos of my boys lmao

𝄞 ─ HAJIME UMEMIYA ♪♩ ₊⁺ 𐫱

What do you mean by that? You’re his significant other and that's all that matters! If anything, that only makes you even more adorable!

UMEMIYA's natural inclination to be clingy and protective intensifies tenfold when he's around you. As you often find yourself enveloped in his arms, whether it's at home, out for a walk, or even at a crowded event. He towers over you, using his height—and admittedly effective intimidation tactics, thanks to him being the leader of Furin—to shield you from the world’s troubles. 

"Up we go!" he jokes, effortlessly picking you up from out of nowhere and spinning you around like a merry-go-round carousel.

“Ume?!” you yelp in surprise.

Without realizing it, his face lights up like a neon sign, and he lets out a loud, joyful laugh. You’re so sweet! How could he not adore you?

Umemiya goes into press his lips against your cheek and buries his face in your neck. "You’re my perfect little charm." His laughter and love are almost infectious. 

Umemiya’s protectiveness doesn’t just stop at physical proximity, but extends to every aspect of your life. He’s always looking out for you, making sure no one dares to mess with you (not that anyone with a half-functioning nervous system would, anyway). Your height didn’t matter and will never matter to him, not when he sees you as his perfect partner and his other half, just the way you are.

𝄞 ─ HAYATO SUO ♪♩ ₊⁺ 𐫱

Without a doubt in my mind, SUO's a person who's all for teasing you. In fact, he revels in it. Even after calling the relationship official, Suo’s playfulness doesn’t stop. Rather, it only increases with time. Suo is all for teasing you about your height, flaunting his own height difference with that characteristic closed-eye smirk of his.

“Oh dear, do you perhaps need help?” he teases, pointing at something on a high shelf with one hand while the other resting at his back. “Would you like me to get you a ladder?” he asks 'kindly,' making you deadpan.

Suo finds your petite stature irresistibly cute, and he never misses a chance to remind you of it. But, to the surprise of nobody, like everything else in his life, he’s not as shamelessly open about it in public as opposed to in private. Rather, I see Suo bringing your height up when you least expect it, in hopes of getting a reaction from you recorded in his mind.

Though his teasing is always good-natured, Suo knows your boundaries well. He can tell when you're uncomfortable, especially around others. That alone is enough to make Suo's usual mischievous brows furrow, and he stares down whoever dares to cross the line, especially when he's around. His protective instincts kick in without hesitation. That, despite his constant banter, it’s clear that he adores you deeply, his eyes filled with warmth and affection so unlike his public persona that he discloses to the world.

𝄞 ─ HARUKA SAKURA ♪♩ ₊⁺ 𐫱

Okay, and? What about it? Who the fuck cares? He’ll just deal with anyone if they even dare to give you shit about it. SAKURA's nonchalant attitude towards your height is evident. He couldn't care less what others think, and he's ready to put anyone in their place if they dare to give you any trouble about it.

"If anyone has a problem with your height, they’ll have to deal with me," he barked, a protective arm around your shoulders. "And trust me, they won't like it.”

Nirei and Suo could only deadpan in unison seeing this. ‘He’s just a big softie…’ they both thought.

Regardless, his feelings for you don’t change. Sakura has also been through a lot. The people who berated and made fun of him due to things he didn’t have control over—his unconventional appearance—why do they care? Why should someone ever care? He understands how it feels to be judged for superficial reasons and is fiercely protective of you because of it. As for you? You felt warm, knowing he always has your back. 

Your height has nothing to do with who you are as a person, and he’s learning that, step by step. He’s always ready to defend you, ensuring you never have to go through the pain and ridicule he did, and not just because of your height, something you never had a peace or sovereignty over. Perhaps, he sees a bit of himself in you.

𝄞 ─ REN KAJI ♪♩ ₊⁺ 𐫱

Doesn't treat you any differently. And why should he? Is there some kind of top-secret reason that he's unaware of? Why should such a thing as height matter in his relationship? Dude grills his vice-captain Kusumi to get the full story, until he realizes that there is none. Tch, do you think he cares about bullcrap like that? Well suck it up, you shouldn't and never have to worry about such an outrageous thing.

KAJI continues to be his calm and composed self (when he isn’t blasting music until his ears bled), offering you the same level of respect and affection as always. Because, after all, "Why would your height change anything about how I feel?" he scoffed, putting back his headphones and closing the conversation right there, making you crack a smile at how matter-of-fact he was. 

Kaji’s grounded nature makes you feel secure. Height, weight, appearance, all those superficial aspects of a person doesn’t matter to him. It never did, because you never judged him for how he was. All he's doing is returning the favour to the one he one he loves, nothing more.

…So why are you looking at him with those sparkling eyes like he just found a cure for cancer?

𝄞 ─ KYOTARO SUGISHITA ♪♩ ₊⁺ 𐫱

SUGISHITA is in the same boat as Kaji, and, in actuality, it’s even more pronounced, as, while Sugishita doesn’t say a word, he’s quietly observant. Your height is just another characteristic to him that he loves in you, nothing that affects his feelings or how he treats you.

He is but a silent trooper that stands at your side.  Admittedly, it gets funny at times, seeing the difference in height between you and Sugishita, apparently especially when walking side by side. But he doesn’t mind. To him, your height is just another thing that makes you uniquely you. And all with a stoic grunt and a subtle smile that he tries to hide, but the hearts in his eyes don’t disappear with such that. 

“They’re so cute, aren’t they? You just have to show it!!” Umemiya says. And show it, he does.

The way Sugishita pats your head and cheeks, similar to how Umemiya would to the same to him, is his way of expressing affection—all in the most awkward way possible, as Sakura would scoff while the trio of Suo, Nirei, and him would from a distance. 

“...The hell is he doing? Does he treat them like a puppy or something?"

“S-Sakura-san!! Y-You might want to—”

All Sugishita would see was red, and it wasn't just from Suo's hair. "YOU—"

But don’t let that fool you. The end was anything but pleasant, as yet another chair became a victim of Sugishita’s wrath, and was broken that exact day, much to the dismay of Umemiya. 

𝄞 ─ JO TOGAME ♪♩ ₊⁺ 𐫱

TOGAME's initial reaction to your height is one of surprise, with the way he would stare and drill holes into your skull, genuinely amazed at how someone could be so short and yet so oblivious, like you didn’t have a care in the world. But his curious stare quickly transforms into admiration. At first, you really thought that he was judging you, from the way his eyes would stare down at you for seemingly uncomfortable amounts of time, but to Togame, it was nothing more than fascination. You were so petite (to him), to the point of being even adorable… 

Togame ran his fingers through his locks of hair. Shit, if you ever knew.

His best friend Choji is a bit on the shorter side, sure, but you? You were like some kind of tiny sprite. Unbeknownst to you, he finds your petite stature almost endearing in a way. And unintentionally or not, takes it as an opportunity to be even more attentive and caring over you. Togame’s affection is shown through his actions, whether it's reaching for items you can’t, or holding your hand protectively in crowded places. Whether it’s out of a sense of curiosity or if he truly loves you, one thing is clear, he can't help but show his affection in every little gesture.

©hxnbi. comments, reblogs, and likes are always appreciated ♡

[hypnagogics]

currently thinking about edging sub!ellie...so...whoops

"hnnn- fuckfuckfuck baby, please." she'd whine into your ear, clawing wherever she could reach on you, scratching up your shoulder blades, digging into your waist. as soon as you feel the familiar flutters of her pussy around your skillful fingers, you'd pull away with a smirk, watching her gleefully.

you slow your movements until there's only a stationary pad of your finger resting on her pulsing clit. you stare down at her as she's gasping and bordering on tearing up, face all red and hair disheveled. auburn strands a stark contrast from the white pillow she's laid upon.

she'd try to squirm around to make you continue touching her, but you don't comply. frustrated huffs and grunts fall from her lips as her bare chest heaves up and down with desperation.

"hmmm?" you'd coo at her, voice sweet on the surface, but laced with a patronizing taunt.

she'd sigh, muster up her remaining energy and throw a deathly glare at you, sharp enough to kill a man painlessly. unfortunately for her it only amuses you further, and you bite back a sneer.

eyebrows scrunched together with her gaze not leaving yours, she sputters through a clenched jaw, "i'm gonna kill you." you can't help but chuckle at the threat. you know she doesn't mean it, it was always funny when she got feisty.

"oh you don't wanna do that, no one fucks you as good as i do, baby." you finish your rebuttal by re-inserting two fingers into her weeping pussy once more, curling skyward until you hit the spot that breaks her.

within moments her back is arching into you and eyes squeezing shut, a symphony of melodic moans and whimpers flooding the room.

"yeah, that's what you wanted?" you tease, but it's ignored. you'll allow it this time. pumping in and out of her, you can tell she's getting close again, and the thought to rip it away from her yet again crosses your mind, but you've lost count at this point.

she's gripping onto your other arm as if her life depended on it, holding on so hard you swear you'll lose feeling in it.

never letting up your pace her whines increase in volume and frequency, her pussy swallowing up your digits with ease.

you're entranced by her, she's done so well you'll let her cum, finally. she's earned it.

"pleaseplease, yes, ah-" incoherent strings of pleas and delicious begs escape her, you watch as her toned abs flex and cave in as the feeling begins to build for her.

"that's it, c'mon." you mumble a praise, which acts as the gateway for her to let go and succumb to the release enveloping her.

steadily working her through it, thumb rolling over her clit and fingers milking the orgasm out of her until it becomes too much.

she's breathing deeply once it's passed and seems finally at peace after so long, so much denial. you lay on top of her, peppering open-mouthed kisses against the side of her neck, running your hands over her waist.

"you're so mean." she mumbles, her voice taken on a drowsy aura from the exertion.

"i know. but you love it."

"i do."

um HELLO the fuck idk what came over me needed to get this outta my system ig LMAO literally typed this in like 10 minutes in the app bye

[sagucpuppet]

painter x reader where they have both known eachother for a long time, reader goes to visit him (but having to obviously go through every door there lmao) and they hang out but for no reason, mid-conversation they lean over and kiss painters screen and continue talking like nothing happened and he's just overheating XD

(i love your painter work to death, please continue writing for him or it'll be my funeral tomorrow, please please please, keep writing it's amazing n beautiful PLEASE)

𓋜⠀⠀⠀i’d always knew i’d find you. <3⠀⠀⠀⠀⨟⠀⠀

ℓ⠀⠀⠀⠀₊⠀⠀⠀⠀extra: painter goes by he/him and reader goes by they/them.⠀⠀⠀⠀

⠀⠀⟢⠀⠀⠀⠀a/n : CAN SOMEONE CHECK ON ANON FOR ME….YOU OKAY BRO.⠀⠀⠀⠀!

𓋜 ; you stumbled room from room, trying to make it to your friend painter. you were honestly SO. tired from hiding from the monsters you hoped to god that you were about to finally make it to heavy containment where painter was, speaking of him! you and painter has been buddies for awhile now! you always stop by to greet him and have a little chat and catch up on how he’s doing. you’re always worried for the guy whenever new expendables come in his room, he’s particularly violent to them most of the time, yelling at them to stay out of his room, you wished he wasn’t THAT…harsh on them though! but he’s particularly nice to you always, and on your runs the turrets never get in your way, not even good people! in honesty you were glad you didn’t have to deal with them..good people can be annoying sometimes..but you immediately snapped out of your thoughts when you realize you almost walked head first into the heavy containment door…wow..you should really pay attention..

𓋜 ; snapping out of your thoughts about hating good people, you searched for the purple keycard which was on a desk right next to you, cheerfully swiping it off the desk you put the card into the keycard reader which opened both to a heavy metal door, the number read “60” , you could’ve swore that last time you checked you were on door 40…well whatever! you quickly threw the purple keycard somewhere in the room having no need for it anymore. you quickly searched each room, but having no luck finding your buddy. you sighed sadly and went on to the next..and the next…ANDDD the next one…ANDDDD…the next one….pinching your nonexistent nose in annoyance since you still have your diving helmet on, you quickly realized and rolled your eyes, but blinked once you saw those server rooms you remembered you went through each run! you cracked a smile before walking over.

𓋜 ; the metal door quickly opened before you, letting you see the contents of the room, and spotting your buddy painter! painter then snap up as soon as he heard the door open, getting ready to say a sassy remark to the next expendable, before he realized it was you! painter’s screen switched to an annoyed face to a happy one! he quickly said “ooohhh!! reader your back again!” painter said cheerfully, you smiled before taking off your diving helmet and setting it down on a nearby desk, you said “hey painter! how have you been doing?” you said gleefully before strolling over to him, painter happily responded talking about his day, you listening carefully and nodding, times like these are the best thing ever, just enjoying each other’s company and talking about anything and everything.

𓋜 ; you asked about his paintings, and he gleefully starting telling you on every piece he was working on, sometimes stumbling over his words for a moment trying to tell you every detail! you don’t mind him rambling at all! it’s almost endearing in a way…you thought of something for a moment, smiling mischievously, “oh and! about that one art piece i was making for— “ you leaned down and kissed his screen, painter stopped talking and it was almost like his screen was lagging, but you started gushing over happily about his paintings and skills, painter looked at you like he was the happiest computer in the world, he could feel his systems overheating quite a lot…by the minute..he only said “whaa…—“ before shutting off, you quickly realized and you spoke “uhh..painter..?” , “PAINTER!” you yelled before running over to him.

A/N : can’t let a fellow painter fan die🔥🔥🔥

[ironladders]

"I circled half the globe searching for him, but he was gone."

Starscream ;_;

RIGHT?? IT'S SO SAD .

and i have sooo many thoughts about this whole situation with skyfire/starscream that's been presented to me, if you dont mind anon im gonna use your ask to ramble a little

(disclaimer im sure nothing i have to say here is particularly new & has been said by those who've been deep into TF longer than myself but i need to get this out my system anyways. and also im still watching through g1 so if im horribly mistaken about anything #oops)

unless i missed something, i don't think it's specified in "fire in the sky" how long starscream looked for skyfire?? but just thinking about that line.... he obviously didn't immediately go back to cybertron, he didn't just give up on skyfire. starscream cared about skyfire enough to look for him, only leaving after (i assume) he realized he didn't have the resources to conduct a proper search for his companion. and i mean can you imagine being starscream in that situation???? your partner just disappears into a storm, and no matter how far and long you look you're unable to find them????????

i get starscream, man. i'd also become awful if that happened to me.

and here's the thing: i stumbled upon this post which posits that the decepticons happening to stumble across skyfire in the ice was no incident, but starscream's own doing, and i LOVE this theory/headcanon so much. when i first watched the episode yesterday i was thinking that it was funny they just happen to be mining right where skyfire was frozen so it's nice to see my suspicions affirmed LMAO

i honestly love that episode so much because as i learn more about starscream and transformers as a whole i think little tidbits like that offer a deeper look into who he is (or was, idk) beyond just megatron's second-in-command. he was a scientist, an explorer, a friend. "was" isn't even the proper word here, because he still is all of those things, he just...... applies them differently, i suppose. which is the real tragedy in who he is as a character.

beyond starscream and his search for skyfire, you wanna know what i've REALLY been thinking about a lot with these two? when skyfire becomes a decepticon (for like a day lol but still), starscream immediately declares that when he overthrows megatron, skyfire will become his second-in-command. not any of the other seekers, not either of the waves, not literally anyone else who's been a decepticon for more than an hour, but skyfire. his long-lost science partner. on starscream's end, virtually nothing about his relationship with skyfire has changed. he still trusts him as much as he did millions of years ago, to the point he'd be willing to have him at his side as leader of the decepticons.

but on skyfire's end... the starscream in front of him is different from the one he knew. war and being a decepticon changed starscream for the worst, something that unveils itself very quickly to skyfire. one of the first things he asks starscream after becoming a decepticon is if starscream is genuinely happy about being a decepticon warrior over the scientist he used to be. skyfire can't believe that the person standing in front of him could be the starscream he once knew before being frozen. still, it's starscream, so skyfire ends up going along with things up until he can't ignore his morals and deny that he's on the wrong side anymore.

that is where the second tragedy happens for starscream: betrayl, by the man he'd waited to get back for so long. he finally got skyfire back, only to lose him all over again.

if skyfire had never crashed that day -- if they'd never gone closer to explore the earth in the first place -- would starscream had gone down such a dark path? would he have taken countless lives, and become the ruthless decepticon he is now? does it eat at skyfire, knowing that in his absence starscream lost who he once was? or perhaps he'd still be the same starscream, but skyfire would be at his side serving the decepticon cause. maybe they both would've been so drastically changed by the years of cybertron's war together.

skyfire is a living, formerly frozen relic of the past before everything went wrong. starscream has aged far beyond that, to the point of no return. as much as they surely both want it, and regardless of what happens to them, their bond can never go back to what it once was.

god i just. i need more!!! i need to watch more transformers and read more of the comics and see more of these two!! i watched tfp + some of the live action movies as a kid but this is my first time learning about skyfire and this thing he's got going on with starscream and it's fascinating to me i can't believe i didn't know about this before!!!!! but it's also so fucked up oh my god!!!!!

ok yeah ive gotten the brainworms out my system. idk how to end this here's screenshots i took that i found funny

[lucysarah-c]

Do you think that Canon Levi (While he is in the scouts, not post-war) would want a serious relationship or even a family? I love reading fanfictions about him falling in love with someone who is also on the scouts and even having a wife or kids, but he canonically is not a huge fan of marriages and Idk, maybe he doesn't like the idea of putting children in such a dangerous world, you know what I mean? What's your opinion? 

Hi, sweetheart! How are you? Ah, first of all, thank you for stopping by my inbox and asking for my opinion. I always get a little giggly when people ask for my thoughts on anything haha. I promise to do my best to reply to everything to the best of my abilities!

I agree with you to a certain degree, especially since you mentioned not "post-war Levi." I think post-war Levi is a completely different story, you know? This man sat down with two kids to tell them about his childhood and mother. Let's remember that Hange didn't even know about Kenny's existence during the Uprising Arc, which leads me to think that Levi didn't speak to anyone about his past before. Now he does? I mean, yes, it's a literary device—using characters completely alien to the idea to present a first-person POV of the character telling their past. I've used it myself in my main fic. But let's say that's not the case, and Levi is opening up like never before. He seems to be redoing his life and living happily after the war. I wouldn't be surprised if he decides to pursue a partner and kids for himself (if he wants, as kids and romantic relationships aren't necessary for happiness).

But Canon Scout Levi? Let me tell you, first of all, I don't think Levi really "believes" in marriage per se. I think he would treat his girlfriend as if she were his wife; he doesn't think of marriage much beyond "a tradition." Now, I do see him getting married if it would enhance the life or rights of his girlfriend. What do I mean by this? Let's say there's "social judgment" if his girlfriend is publicly in a relationship with him and "being with a man outside of wedlock" causes her social scrutiny—he may marry her. He knows firsthand how women are judged based on their "status" by his mother, so if he can step up and do the right thing, he will. For example, if he were to die and his partner couldn't land jobs because people judge that she's unmarried at her age, he would marry her. Or if she could get a pension from being married to a soldier, and every coin counts, Levi wouldn't mind it. That's what I personally think. Levi knows he won't be the one getting the sour end from not making it official, so he sees it as beneficial to make it legally official.

Then about kids, I don't see Levi "seeking" kids while he's in the Scouts. It's rather clear that Levi likes kids across the story, but he probably wants to give his kids the childhood he didn't have. And yeah, "kids only need someone who loves them, etc.," but the truth is kids need time, dedication, and MONEY. Three things that Scout Levi doesn't have lmao. So I don't see him canonically "seeking to become a dad." If there's contraception in Paradis, he's for sure using it. If there isn't, or accidents happen, and his girlfriend ends up pregnant, he would probably state that it's not the best timing for kids (especially if she's a Scout, as I doubt a woman would be allowed to be a soldier and also raise a kid. She would lose her job and stay behind to be a mother, which was usually the case back in the day). But if she decides to carry on, Levi, being an adult doing adult stuff, will take responsibility and be the best father he can given the circumstances.

Finally, about relationships… I'm a firm believer that you don't truly choose to fall in love or not haha. Like when it happens, it happens, like the cat distribution system lol. Once it knocks at your door, it's your time. Once again, I don't picture Levi going out of his way "searching" for romance. But if he slowly gets to know someone and likes them, and that person likes him back, then well… I don't know. Now that I'm rereading the manga, I'm more sure about this. Levi hardly seems "unapproachable," like "I'm so hurt, I don't want to let anyone in." On the contrary, you see he has good relationships with almost all the Scouts, even telling Nifa about Kenny out of nowhere. He's not one to fall easily, but if it happens, it happens.

I hope this was a good enough answer <3 Thank you so much for your ask.

Have a lovely day!

Stay safe!

[rush-the-stars]

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. 

[prosciuttoon]

Toshiro/Shuro is overhated

(mirror of my thread on twitter)

ever wanted to talk abt something so bad but u have so many thoughts so u cant even begin to organize a sentence. thats me abt shuro and its why i cant give my thoughts on him. i NEED to get this out of my system bc its takign up so much memory in my brain i need that space for thinking.

so i was really surprised to find so much hate for him even tho he seems pretty normal and rational out of the whole cast. ive deducted that its mostly abt his laios fight and that the ppl who hate him probably had bad experiences w social cues and relationships w neurotypicals bc of that. theres no way to avoid it bc its pretty much Right In Your Face that laios is ND. but thats not the only factor in why their relationship is rocky. its also the culture barrier. u have to understand toshiro was raised as JAPANESE NOBILITY ofc he would be a little conservative

also culture shock. idk if u know this but jp culture is very Mind Your Own Business like a lot of other asian cultures . ofc hes gonna be weirded out by a stranger invading his space. also his names not even Shuro. its just yt ppl not pronouncing his name right and settling for whats easiest.

img src: fan translation by savaralyn2 , i think its from the adventurers bible Complete Edition bc i dont remember it in the old one

ok you get the gist of the culture aspect of it. lets go into the ND/NT clash aspect of it. yes i understand its pretty hurtful to never be told when youre acting inappropriately. i am autistic too lmao. but you have to understand that shiro is one guy and he even does realize that repressing things is one of his fatal flaws. again. asian culture. non confrontational. that sorta thing. but these are genuine frustrations. if i were him id be annoyed too but id speak out about it. set boundaries. bc im blunt. shiros not. he was taught crazy strict manners (hierarchies, respect, politeness, etc).

his problem isnt ableism its a culmination of culture barriers, how he was raised to behave, and terrible lack of communication as thing caused by "all of the above" plus he just generally keeps to himself a lot which means repressing frustrations that will explode leading to a pathetic fistfight while hes starved, exhausted, and dehydrated. also. if he was ableist he would hate laios. he doesnt hate laios. at the end of the day, they are friends. NT and ND ppl can be friends u know. there will be rifts (like their fight) but you just have to communicate misunderstandings. theyre gonna be fine lol

anyways that was my whole spiel abt it. i think i got everything out that i wanted to? my head still feels a little full so i may add more later when i remember something

also i think its a little unfair to rule out the possibility of laios and him just being 2 very different kinds of ND bc its very common for misunderstandings to occur even then. EVERYONE IS DIFFERENT BUT WE NEED TO COMMUNICATE TO UNDERSTAND EACH OTHER! but for the sake of interpreting the Fight as a commentary on NT social rules and ND frustration, ill say toshiros NT. will we ever know? hes so far in the sidelines... youd really have to dig in the extra content to see the intricacies of his character.... please give him a chance

[a-ikuoliver]

w/c: 0.8k tw: uh i don't 100% know what this is or what it will become, this scene was just haunting me as a daydream lmao; i imagined this with bakugou but never wrote his name lmao; f!siren reader, implied yandere

"who is she?" your voice choruses inside his head before the heavy wood has even latched closed, the chorus mostly playful, the teasing curve of your lips clear you didn’t think he’d notice one in the chorus with the mean tone, insecurity and jealousy weaved into its disembodied voice, no matter how you tried to hide it with hundreds of other voices overlapping the others, the same question on repeat.

“how did you get in here?”

“how do you know you haven’t let me in before?” aloud, your voice is even more powerful, his spine straightening minutely despite the exhaustion setting in his bones. even with his muscles fighting his instincts to remain upright, he studies you lazily, his gaze trailing over your hands; holding the book on his coffee table in the same spot he held it, his thumbs in place beneath yours just hours earlier. he wonders if he’ll be able to feel you on the pages after you leave, if your fingerprint will linger like your perfume.

there’s some kind of domesticity to it, he thinks, your hands settling in the same place as his, your comfortable pose on his couch, your insatiable need to know about him, to see inside him, your need for him to engage like a schoolgirl tugging on the sleeve of his shirt. if the schoolgirl was blood thirsty.

“so, who is she?” your tone is even, your jealousy masterfully disguised by a practised playfulness, the twinkle in your eye unmistakable when you search his face for any tells for his supposed lover. you finally stand from his couch, placing the book back in the exact spot he had it, down to the millimetre (had you been here before? would he know?), leaving your jacket on the couch, the sweet scent already seeping into the fabric. you were good at that, ensuring you were always on his mind, with your perfume, with all the criminals dazedly walking into police stations holding their own wanted flyers with his name scribbled on it beside your own. gifts, you’d called them the first time he’d caught you in the act.

“has to be someone special, hm? you’ve never left me waiting before.”

your voice is just a whisper, a tiny worm wiggling its way into his nervous system, forcing his gaze to yours (he has just enough self control to steel his eyes, to keep his face indifferent as his body fought to react, to give in). staring up at him, you carefully examine his features, the way you’re reflected in his pupils that nearly swallow his iris whole, the ring of colour proof of his stubbornness, of his power to resist your compulsion.

“there is no she, i was out cleaning up your mess.”

you raise your hands in a display of innocence you don’t deserve, slinking closer to the light he sought his shelter in.

“my mess? i convinced a criminal you’ve been searching for to walk into your agency. you should be thanking me.” the worm is more the size of a caterpillar, growing evermore with the echoing chorus of your voice, the same you’d have done to the man earlier in the evening; a tauntingly slow build up of your compulsion until it had taken hold.

his voice joined yours in ordering him, his head hurting from the resistance, thank her. thank her. thank her. thank her. squeezing his eyes shut, his lips part involuntarily, his tongue straining to speak, to form the syllables you compelled him say, “i don’t need to thank you for shit.”

his back tenses, shoulder blades pinching together in the effort to resist you, a headache forming behind his eyes the longer you stared at him; pain pulsing with every ignored syllable.

he’d given in once, the first time he saw you, before he knew how to resist. before he knew how relieving it was to give in; the sound of your honeyed voice something he craved every day since, the echo of your command like a warm stream of water rushing down his spine, the weightlessness of pleasing you, every hum of approval like a hit of nicotine.

you pout, “the others are more grateful.”

your perceived inability to break him haunts you, he can tell, you itch to feel him give in, to have a man of his power under your thumb. a toy for your entertainment. he’d give it to you, he’d tell you how he craved the feeling of your hypnosis, if he knew you’d still send him your ‘gifts’, if you’d still sneak into his house just to see the flash of shock on his face, if you’d still obsess, if he knew he wasn’t just a challenge. the unbreakable man, broken.

instead, he tries his best to keep an indifferent, slightly amused, expression firmly on his face, watching you flit about his apartment like you belonged, like you weren’t more tempting than the forbidden fruit, like submitting wasn’t a worse fate than mortality. his body screamed at him the longer you stayed near, blood, muscles bones and nerves begging to rest, to get closer, to run; the need for you prospering in the dark recesses of his mind when he takes one step closer.

“i’m not like the others.”

[phyrestartr]

Those Ghosts We Cannot Burn | Dabi x M!Reader

w/c: 1k cw: past trauma, canon-typical Todoroki family, mentions of child abuse, canon-typical violence, graphic language, difficult relationships #Eventual NSFW, bl, dunno who is top/bottom yet lol, hurt/comfort, angst, drama, reader is yakuza, reader and dabi have history, sorta enemies to lovers?? Notes: AAAAH short little snippet but I wanted to post anyway!! I need to get drafts out of my system or I'll go mad lmao...they're all just clogging up my google docs...it's so bad dude OTL so many WIPs

(ALL tags): @kamote-kuneho @tr4nnie @silvern1006

1. Hello, My Past

The bodies of his victims hissed and burned with a life only fire could leave in the path of destruction. Dabi knew it well–he was made the same way, after all. But they'd go on to simply disappear, their ashes fluttering away with the Autumn breeze while he continued to conquer his fate. 

“Hey, you're the one they call ‘Dabi,’ right?” 

The man in question paused, ears perking at that shitty, monotonous tone. Hah. It pissed him off. It made his heart hum, too. Weird.

“Who's askin'?” He drawled, tucking his hands in his pockets as he turned to face you with languid steps. When he caught sight of you in that alleyway, he almost remembered something, but couldn’t find the will to dwell on it.

“I am, on behalf of Shie Hassaikai,” you said, adjusting the cuffs of your jacket. “You've been torching our men, y’know?”

Dabi smiled. “And? You want an autograph or somethin’?” 

You quirked a brow, looked him up and down, and scoffed. “You got a pen? Or, even know how to write in the first place? Don’t look the type.” 

“Oi–”

“Anyway,” you continued, “You wouldn’t be willing to stop murdering ours while our respective leaders discuss their deal, hey?” 

Dabi clicked his tongue. Annoying. “Their deal's got nothing to do with me.” 

“Guess you're not as high up as they said, then.”

“You're a real pain in the ass, y'know?” 

“It's kinda my job.”

“Maybe someone should relieve you from duty.”

A torrent of blue bloomed and crashed through the alley with the vicious hunger of a tsunami. Sparks exploded and flames lashed against stone and concrete, engulfing sky, earth, and all in-between with his show of firepower–a show he never grew tired of, one that never failed to remind him just what he lived for, what he–wait.

He squinted. What the hell?

A bright silhouette stood in the centre of the violent cleansing, wholly unmoved by the villain's flame. It wavered like a candle tousled by the night breeze, but it did not fade away with the light, nor with the wane of fire. And in the aftermath, once the alley fell quiet and dim once again, there it still stood, staring his way with a light that might rival a god's true form.

“You done?” You asked, voice crackling through a veil of blue. 

Thousands of questions and thoughts rushed through his mind–what the hell was that? Who were you? What was your quirk? Why was your fire blue, too?--but he couldn't settle on one, not long enough to spit it out, anyway. 

“I'll consider that a yes,” you decided. Your form re-materialized with a small flourish embers, and you breathed in deep. 

Dabi tried not to let on how bothered he felt. “What the hell was that quirk?” 

“Does it really matter?” You hummed, smiling. “The only thing you need to know is what you just saw–you can't get rid of me. Not with those flames of yours.”

“Hah. You sure about that, pretty boy?” His fingers twitched, eager to try his hand again. “I could crank the heat up for ya, see just how much you can handle.”

“Maybe another time,” you said, half-distracted as you checked your phone. “For now, remember what I said. Our bosses are trying to work together. Don't make this difficult.”

You turned halfway through your thought, showing Dabi your back without a care in the world. You must've really thought you couldn't be hurt by him. You must have really thought you were better than him. You must have. 

But the sirens roaring toward the alley ruined his chance at demolishing you. He could take them on, but he'd rather not deal with the headache that'd follow–heaven knows he'd get reemed by some of the other villains for taking the PR crap too far. 

Fucking prick, Dabi seethed silently. He'd have to kill you some other day. 

–

“Touya,” you called, voice quiet.

The boy next to you, the one you squished into that single bed with whenever nightmares found him, stirred. Only your voice seemed to pull him free from the lull of dreams and nightmares, oddly. 

“Yeah?” He whispered, clearing his throat, grimacing again at the scratchy stiffness to it. 

“Once the doc helps you,” you started, sounding too serious for your age, “I think we should leave.” 

“What?” Touya rubbed sleep from his eyes the best he could without tearing stitches and skin grafts apart. “What the hell is–”

Whatever else he had to say died in his throat when he caught a glimpse of you in the filtered moonlight; your calm, passive look of day had shifted come the night. Your face was kinder, exposing flickers of forbidden thoughts for none but one to see and soon forget, come the beckon of sleep. 

“What the hell's your problem?” Touya breathed. 

Your brows furrowed. “I don't want to be here,” you answered. “Have you even considered trying to go to your family? We could–” 

“I did go back. Nothing's changed.” He smiled, bitter. “Those fucking sheep abandoned me already.”

“I won't abandon you,” you promised suddenly. “We can talk to them. Together. Come on, Touya–” 

Touya laughed a pathetic, little sound. “Are you serious? They don't give a shit about me, they're not gonna give a shit about–do you think you're better than me? More special?” 

Your eyes grew round. “Wh–I never said that.” 

“But you think they'd listen to you, and not me,” he hissed, something igniting the hollow paths of his nerves and revving him back to life. “You think I'm not–”

You covered his mouth with a quick hand, and he held your wrist with a weak grip. “Shut up. You don't know what I think, so–so just shut up.”

I know what you think. And he was determined to prove you wrong, one way or another, even if he had to rip himself apart to do it--but you saw through him so easily. You always did; you always knew how to push his buttons then reset the system before he blew up.

And when you leaned in and kissed the back of your hand, the one still clasped over his mouth, he did indeed reset. Completely braindead once again, he was.

“Forget I said anything,” you huffed, turning your back to him and settling back in. 

And Touya tried to forget, even though his mind buzzed and his heart thudded against his ribs. He tried, and he tried, and he tried.

[qqueenofhades]

what gets me is whenever any of these people says not to vote, and you ask them what the alternative is, they usually throw some tantrum about how it shouldn't be their job to fix this country and they're not expected to know (or start calling you a neoliberal or a bootlicker lmao) and i just. i don't get that? not voting, especially in the current climate, is a big deal. i don't think it's unreasonable to ask anyone who advocates for that what the alternative is. i'm not expecting you, online leftist, to magically know how to fix everything. i am expecting something from you if you're gonna tell me not to vote, especially when we both know that helps the gop. like, how dare we ask them to defend this big choice they're telling us to make?

their position boils down to helping trump and the republicans but any time you remind them of that they get upset. what is the alternative? what plan do they have? it would be one thing if there was another option that they'd come up with, but they haven't and don't seem interested in doing so. mutual aid and organizing is only going to take us so far and it'll be a hell of a lot easier to do it with biden in office than trump

The whole "it doesn't matter who's president/in charge of the government because mutual aid and organizing is the only valid way to do community engagement" is the leftist version of the Brexit nutcases who, and I swear I am not making this up, argued that it was fine if the UK left the EU trading sphere/single market/customs union with nothing to replace it, because "Britain is a nation of farmers and can grow food in our back gardens!!!!" Yes, because you're so devoted to your stupid ideology that you think the large-scale collapse of society, a major world power, a western democracy, and everything else will have no effect, and you can just do your little Facebook mutual aid groups and happily shout on Twitter at anyone who disagrees with you. Never mind the fact that this would obviously and immediately harm vulnerable people the most and that nobody, not even the Online Leftists themselves, actually wants to live in the Violent Revolution Total Anarchy World they masturbate to. Maybe this makes me a neoliberal corporate shill, but I'd rather that the world got better, instead of worse. I would actually prefer that myself, my friends, my family, my whole life, the whole country, and the rest of the world wasn't sacrificed on the Great Revolution Altar, but I shouldn't worry. We have mutual aid. At least as long as a) you have never said anything the Online Leftists even slightly disagree with, since they're sure as hell not the kind of people I would trust to have my back in any large-scale societal collapse, and b) I guess they'll all be growing food in their back gardens too, rather than using any of those dirty "government" or "society" things to supply their basic needs. We're saved! No need to worry. Bring on the anarchy.

Aside from the fact that Online Leftists, as I have said before, think that moral action begins and ends with posting the Right Opinions on social media at the correct timeframe and any other action or engagement with a flawed system or basic reality is heresy, they don't like being challenged -- i.e. "if we don't vote, then what do we do?" -- because a) it questions their authority as supreme arbiters of morality, and b) it means that there should actually be an action in place of cutting out something so consequential as voting, which likewise clashes with their "everything will be fixed by Magical Thinking" viewpoint. They don't want to be asked what to do in place of voting, or in anything at all; they want to think their correct thoughts and judge anyone who doesn't, regardless of how logically incoherent these things are or the inevitable outcome of those decisions, because nothing bad is ever their fault, or even the Republicans' fault, or anyone else at all except for the Democrats and/or "the West." I mean, yeah, if they're going around to preach the Don't Vote Because It's Actually Evil gospel, it's the bare fucking minimum to expect that they have something to offer in return besides Ye Olde Bolshevik cosplay fantasies. Since they don't, they get tetchy when you point that out.

Also, while I know it's the social media fashion that everything has to be the worst thing ever and we have plenty of the "Biden is also a genocidal fascist but I guess vote for him or something" utterly-minimum-standard posts going around, I will point out why that rhetoric is a) wrong and b) unhelpful. (Not that I expect it will make a single difference to anyone who has to get their internet cred by yelling about how Biden is a fascist, but still.) No, Biden is not a fascist by any logical definition of the word, you would have to do a lot of work to convince me that he is personally genocidal beyond what is demanded of any post-1948 American president who exists in an extremely complicated international sphere with long-standing alliances (such as, yes, with Israel) and indeed not quite a bit more progressive than literally every one of his predecessors, and it makes those actual words useless. If you claim that "Biden and Trump are both genocidal fascists," you are utterly effacing those categories as any kind of critical or useful distinction. You can't argue for any difference, you can't point out policy essentials or nuances, you can't make the most basic of empirical observances or come to a judgment on whether any part of that statement is true, because language has been deliberately stripped of meaning and used to score Cool Internet Leftist points. How can we explain what fascism or genocide actually are and what to do about them, if it's just what you call everyone as a matter of course whenever they disagree with you? You can't. That's the point.

Once again: I strongly disagree with the idea of just giving Israel/Netanyahu a blank check to keep committing atrocities, but I also need to repeatedly point out that Biden isn't doing that. His initial unconditional support of Israel after October 7 (which at the time was the correct response) has shifted to a much more measured and conditional approach where he has muted the overtly pro-Israel statements and started talking about a two-state solution and the need to protect the lives of civilians and trying to keep a lid on what could become a REALLY bad situation with all kinds of war-hungry powers eager to jump into the Middle East and blow it completely to hell. As I have said in my other posts, Trump will not do this. Trump will do the exact opposite. Which is why Netanyahu, who doesn't like having his hands tied precisely in the way Biden is doing, is trying so hard to get Trump back in. This also extends to the people who think that the West/the U.S. is the source of all evil in the world, but they're somehow the only people that can make actual choices or have real agency. Everyone else is just an American puppet; everyone is being lied to or manipulated by America/the West; nobody ever chose anything of their own free will; America/the West could roll in and put a stop to everything bad if they "really wanted to," but choose not to because etc. etc., Evil. As such, this completely fact-free belief is basically the central starting point for Online Leftism, which as I have also said, is now beyond useless and verging on just as deranged and actively dangerous as the fascists, especially since they are 100% willing to enable far-right fascism however and whenever they can because something something, That Will Show Us.

Anyway. Yes. Whew.

[fuumiku]

They’re really interesting foils in many ways. I’ve always thought that Marcille & Mithrun have underrated dynamic potential. Give me the cringefail dungeon lords. Give me the elves with ears-centric metaphorical self-image issues. Give me the academic elites whose deepest strongest desires will always remain unreachable and the only option is to turn to the corrupt forbidden fruit of a demon pact. I am so so normal about Mithrun and Marcille

I wonder if the resemblance between captain Mithrun and general Hagreus aka Marcille’s fave in Dalclan is intentional… They definitely look very alike. It could represent idealization vs reality? Something something the romanticization of elves and their societal drama in their fiction vs a very real and imperfect product of their military system. The canaries certainly aren’t glamorous next to whatever Hagreus is the general of. I feel like she never had the opportunity to notice the resemblance herself bc within seconds of meeting him he was wrestling her on the ground but. If she had… She would so think he should have been his actor in the tallman stage play of Daltian Clan in that new extra comic hehe. I love the little details like Hagreus’ lips being drawn with extra details because they’re full and pretty while Mithrun’s lips are drawn with extra details because they’re chapped lmao.

This art is all silly and surface level but in my head mithrille is like so dramatic and I make up daltian clan level big plots with them gbdgd. I made a spotify playlist for mithrun if y’all interested, rn it’s mostly centered around cravings that consume and losing yourself and illusions inspired from his time as dungeon lord but it’s branching out. Varied vibes, levels of intensity and degrees of confusion and await you ✨ I would emotionally rant about Chainsaw Man ost lyrics and how they tie in with Mithrun and the winged lion’s relationship but this post is already a monster

I want more of these two please please please pleaseee just one or two interactions in the new canon content coming up… All they ever did was debate philosophy on desires and human self-fulfillment and try to murder each other, please… I never get to gush about them and I can’t shut up so if you want more thoughts I talk about them more below

To get a girl to peacefully accept arrest follow these simple steps: in private, ominously stand above her and forcefully interrogate her, while in public, tell her you’ve met before (untrue and also not a pickup line) and interrogate her with a thin veneer of decorum. If all else fails, threaten and follow through on said threat. My guy needs more than just physical therapy I’m afraid

Sorry if most of these were Marcille-centric with Mithrun standing there looking cool, if I were doing these more from Mithrun’s pov things would be like "She’s a bit much but I guess I don’t mind hanging around her." or "Oh you’re a half-elf? -insert elven supremacist rethoric-" or "I have to keep her from becoming demon stew." immediately followed by "Did someone say demon? Kill kill kill kill kill" since these are set prior to like really knowing another. Then things would be more like "huh she has bad tastes in novels but her magic research is pretty interesting" and "I’m lonely and don’t understand myself— Oh she loves talking about feelings? Oh shi-" That last one is an aspect of why I like Marcille and Mithrun’s potential dynamic lol. She’s very… Emotionally intelligent alongside being impulsive. You think you have no feelings because the world has beaten them out of you? Think again!! Marcille be upon ye! -In a therapy sort of way but mostly in a connecting with people and your own self through interpersonal relationships and talking kinda way. I just think a lively, upbeat, annoying friend way too interested in your personal life would do him good, the canaries are nice but like if Marcille went to prison and was a sort of extra new bunkmate I think that’d be interesting and fun to read is what I’m saying

Unlike Kabru she wants all the useless messy filler of his backstory, eating chips while listening. Like two chibi sets side by side, "me and my fellow canaries, name name and name-" "Hold on that’s too much info we have to compact this" vs "Then we were to sleep on the third floor of the dungeon, which had the look of a mausoleum, and name and name got into a fight over the campfire placement." while Marcille is like uh-huh what next what next while kicking her feet. She thinks of pre-dungeon pompous Mithrun and is like omg you went through a character arc and became better as a person- and then he opens his mouth and she’s like nevermind let’s keep working on that. She would also go "ew ur hair is greasy" and give him a full hair care treatment. What I’m saying is I need them to be forced to spend time in a dungeon together and become besties through a life or death roadtrip

Marcille is insecure about her ears, long, like an elf’s pride should be, but rounder, inelegant. Seeing Mithrun though, the epitome of beauty, with his half-cut ears make it a sillier thought. Not sure if Mithrun is the best person to reconnect with ur elven culture with but it sure is an option Marcille would so appreciate being around someone both cool headed and kind, I genuinely think they’d get along, like not that Senshi isn’t that too most of the time but I think Mithrun would be in a way that’s more refreshing to her. I’d be so curious about them discussing Dalclan, I doubt he’d have read it but she could make him read it, maybe post-canon with the excuse that they’re trying to find him a new hobby hah. He’d tear into the writing and everything but it’d be a fun time, I like to think that it’d make him a bit less prejudiced. Marcille @ Mithrun "👉👈 Soo maybe you don’t know these books they’re pretty recent having come out 50 years ago but…"

I’ve been in a Mithrun phase I want to make and read Mithrun-centric fics and angst so baaad. I razz him a lot here but he’s literally a traumatized military man that became obsessed with revenge due to bad coping and neglects himself in the process idk not much for him going on and some of it is because he has to work on himself, but hey no one’s perfect it all comes from a place of love and relating though I prommy. He’s the one ungodly angsty squeaky toy blorbo with brain damage rep I have don’t take him from me

[oswildin]

The Good Kind (President Loki x GN!Reader)

Summary: You and Loki are rivals. Then why did he never harm you? Why did he never truly want you dead? Loki is complicated, but underneath it all… Perhaps he was more simple than you expected. (Enemies to Lovers vibe, slow burn, kinda angsty?)

Rating: SFW, All ages

Warnings: Mentions of blood, stab wound

A/N: Okay, this took me far too long to finish. Don’t know if I’m completely satisfied but I just cannot give anymore brain power to this idea lmao. Probably would’ve worked better as a fic series but like I just can’t mentally give that! Hope you enjoy!

Surviving in the void was… Well, how do you think surviving in the void was?

Cruel, harsh, dangerous…

You get the idea.

But it was especially difficult when you had rivals. In a place where everything came to die, still there was time for such things. It all seemed rather futile and pointless… But… Perhaps it made the days go by a little faster - or ‘void days’ anyway. Funnily enough, time moved differently at the end of time.

One of the most common variants found in the Void were Loki’s. Truly, take a walk for a few minutes and eventually you’d come across one. But the problem with encountering a Loki is trying to figure out whether they were the ‘good kind’ or the ‘bad kind’.

Now, of course, that was a generalisation. An easy way to box them in your mind. You weren’t naive, you understood the nuisances of Loki’s, you lived with four of them.

They found you when they were out searching for supplies in the wasteland, and you were thankful they did. If they hadn’t, Alioth would’ve devoured you or worse… Someone else may have found you. Cassandra was someone who most Loki’s - if not all - stayed well away from. They weren’t stupid. In fact, there was a tale that one Loki was brave, or foolish, enough to try and face her… And well… Let’s just say, it wasn’t him who told the tale.

(Dead. He was dead.)

No, Loki’s tended to keep their fighting amongst themselves. It would be comical if you hadn’t witnessed their hostility and attempts at backstabbing first hand. Surely they could see how ridiculous and ironic it was? Even at the end of time, Loki’s were fighting against their greatest enemy…

Themselves.

The group you had been taken in by were just grateful to have someone who wasn’t a Loki variant around. You brought some sense of order to their self-created chaos. The older variant was the most visibly exasperated most of the time, and you could hardly blame him. You felt exasperated too and that was without the factor of constantly arguing with yourself.

Aside from Alioth, pirates and the general savages of the void, your groups biggest rival was another group of Loki’s, lead by the variant who was known as ‘The President’. A title that you always refused to use. Even with the child, you never called him ‘King’ or ‘My Liege’. Although, he didn’t seem to mind so much, knowing you had no interest in acquiring the throne or any interest is the chaotic politics of the void. It all seemed rather pointless in such a place. Or maybe that was the real problem, that unlike the world you came from, trying to implement any form of order or system seemed like a moot point, especially when so many fought over wanting control over the wasteland.

You were currently sat on the edge of the manhole, your boots resting on the ladder. You knew not to go far, and being in such a position allowed you to warn the others of any danger and make your own quick retreat back inside your hideout. You sighed, the breeze brushing your skin as you enjoyed a moment of peace - or at least what you considered ‘peace’ in the void. However, you quickly spotted an approaching figure in the near distance, walking over a grassy mound as your eyes narrowed.

Your hand moved to rest on the hilt of your dagger in your belt, a precaution, ready to defend yourself if need be. However, you relaxed slightly as you realised it was the one who you refused to address as ‘The President’. He was alone, and he hadn’t seen you yet. You pursed your lips, thinking for a moment before shifting, turning your body so you could push yourself to stand on the grass, quietly closing the manhole cover. The last thing you needed was him finding your newest hideout spot after he discovered and recked your last one.

You made the decision to follow him, keeping a safe distance, your curiosity getting the better of you. It was rare you ever saw him without his little gang of followers. And something told you that something was amiss.

After a minute of following the variant, he came to a halt, spinning around as his icy eyes narrowed in on you. Shit. You quickly reached for your dagger, the metal making a slight noise as you removed it from your belt, seeing him conjuring his own dagger as you both began to stalk towards one another.

“Did you really think you could sneak up on me?” President Loki asked lowly, arrogance colouring his tone, that familiar sly glint in his eye.

“I wasn’t sneaking, I was following.” You replied, your own voice steady, your steps slowing as you both came to a stop, a few feet between you.

“Hm, either way-“ Loki raised his dagger, pointing the tip towards you. “You failed. You are rather bad at being inconspicuous.” He quipped, a faint smirk tugging at his lips.

“Why are you out here alone?” You ignored his comment, raising a curious brow. “Where’s your loyal possy?” Loki’s eyes narrowed further, darting around you both briefly to check for any sign of your own group, ensuring this wasn’t an ambush.

“They’re busy.” He simply stated, raising his chin as his gaze fell on you once more. “And what of yours?”

“Also busy.” You shrugged faintly, your fingers twitching around the hilt of your dagger. A tense moment of silence fell between you both before Loki lowered his dagger, satisfied it was safe to do so. Well, safe for now. With a flick of his wrist, the dagger disappeared in a green shimmer, allowing you to relax slightly.

“Do you have a death wish?” He asked, a hint of amusement on his features.

“In this place? Probably.” You said wryly, sheathing your dagger back into your belt as you let out a sigh. “Trouble in Loki paradise?” You asked, raising a brow. Loki’s jaw twitched faintly. “Oh dear, did one of your own try to backstab you?” You continued, voice filled with mock sympathy. “Even you can’t keep yourself in line it seems.”

“Watch your tongue, mortal.” Loki hissed, taking a step closer, his hands moving behind his back. “Or I won’t hesitate to cut it out.”

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes. Maybe it was because of how much of your time you spent surrounded by Loki’s, but any threat given had lost its effect after hearing so many of them. You folded your arms over your chest, tilting your head as you regarded him.

“Have you ever just… tried to talk it out? Instead of threatening your… followers?” You asked, making Loki blink before a breathy, mocking laugh left him.

“Threats invoke fear and fear makes others more… cooperative.” He replied smoothly, his own head tilting faintly. “Kings do not get their thrones by simply ‘talking’.”

“Maybe not, but Kings don’t get to keep their thrones without it.” You countered, the distant rumble of Alioth sounding through the air. Your eyes flickered over to the left, seeing the giant cloud monster lurking, searching for its next meal. Loki’s eyes lingered on your profile, a look of thought passing over his features before his gaze followed yours.

“I suggest you head back.” He muttered lowly, turning on his heel, facing away from you. “Before Alioth decides he fancies a rather defiant-tasting dinner.” You bit your lower lip lightly, knowing he was right. You looked back at him, seeing him beginning to walk away, continuing on his original path.

Good kind or bad kind? You were still figuring him out.

You’d had a few run-ins with him, and never once did he harm you. Never one did he even attempt to take you, use you as bait for the other Loki’s, or at all factor you into his schemes. It was confusing. Why? He had plenty of chances, this being one of them. Perhaps he just didn’t think you were worth his time. You were just a mortal after all, he had bigger fish to fry.

Unbeknownst to you, President Loki did indeed keep you alive for a reason… Probably the same reason as his fellow variants…

You weren’t a Loki.

Spending so long in the void with only himself, literally… Well, having someone who wasn’t him was… a strange comfort. He’d never admit it, of course. You were the potential of a different perspective, a different way of thinking, a different attitude. Even if you were just a mere mortal. But most mortals perished within the first few minutes of their arrival, and you… You survived. That was the only thing about you that was even remotely close to a Loki. Survival.

If he had stumbled across you when you first arrived, he was sure he would’ve killed you, or left you to Alioth. But his other variants had taken pity. But perhaps his way would’ve also been him taking pity, stopping you from being subjected to the harsh reality of the void. Maybe his cruelty would’ve been a kindness.

And maybe, he did hold a… tiny spec of respect for you. Not in the typical sense, but in twisted way. Perhaps he respected you, because you weren’t one of him. He didn’t even fully understand it himself. And he didn’t care to.

“You did what…?”

President Loki’s voice held a dangerous edge, his back straightening as he turned to look at the two fools before him. The two Loki variants shared a look of confusion at their leaders tone, clearly expecting him to be pleased with their actions. Loki took a slow step closer, his golden horns making him look even more intimidating as they glinted in the dim light of their hideout.

“Speak!” Loki’s voice barked, command lacing the simple word as one of the variants obeyed.

“W-we caught the mortal.” The woman Loki variant spoke, her blue eyes darting to her accomplice. “They were split from the others, and we saw an opportunity…” She paused. “For you, my liege.” She quickly added, brows furrowing faintly. Loki exhaled a deep breath, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment as his hand moved to pinch to bridge of his nose. “We can use them to lure the others, ambush them!”

Another Loki variant walked past, holding an old chalice of wine in his hand as the President whirled around, smacking it from his hand, the cup clattering to the ground. He didn’t pay the innocent variants offence any mind, his hands moving to his hips, pushing back the hem of his blazer as they settled there.

“You beef-witted… Oafs!” Loki insulted them, irritation clear on his face as he whirled back around to face them. “You were sent to survey them! Not capture one of them!”

“We saw an opportunity for the upper hand and took it!” The other variant finally spoke, stepping forwards. “Which is more than you have been doing as of late.” As soon as the words left his mouth, he knew he had made a mistake. But it was too late for apologies, Loki had summoned his dagger in a heartbeat, advancing on his idiotic variant, grabbing him by his makeshift armour. His dagger moved to press against the variants throat, his followers all pausing their chatter in the decrepit room as they watched with half amusement and half caution.

“You undermine me?” Loki growled, a snarl curling at his lip. “Your fierce leader? Your future King? The superior Loki?” He pressed the blade of the dagger closer to his variants neck, making his variant try and move his head further back, trying to put space between him and the cold metal.

Loki knew there had been whispers amongst his ranks, doubts about his leadership, his resolve for the throne… And he knew it wouldn’t be long before those whispers turned into action, a rebellion… And he couldn’t have that. No. He worked too hard to get here.

With a low sound of frustration, Loki pushed the variant back, the dagger disappearing in a flash of green. The variant took a breath, composing himself as he glared at his leader.

“If I hear any more treacherous words, any more doubt about my ability to lead us to victory…” Loki turned slowly, eyeing all of his followers, ensuring each one felt the gravity of his words. “And I’ll make sure Alioth is well fed.” He threatened, tense silence following. Satisfied he had made his point, he turned on his heel, stalking off towards the stock kept further inside the hideout, leaving his variants to stew over his warning.

Pushing aside the tatty curtain, Loki’s eyes fell upon you. You were sat on a crate, wrists and ankles bound with rope and tape over your mouth and you were… glaring at him. He could hardly blame you.

“Shoddy workmanship.” Loki remarked, raising a brow as he nodded towards the ropes, a hint of a smirk on his lips despite the lingering irritation. “I personally would’ve used magic, but some of my variants lack… finesse.” He added, letting out a short sigh before stepping through the curtain into the small room. It was filled with random scraps of metal and wood, cans of food and other items that could be useful to their survival.

Quite frankly, you were pissed.

Loki summoned his dagger once more, twirling casually between his fingers, his eyes narrowing. You eyed the dagger, feeling a hint of uncertainty creeping in. You had heard part of the disagreement that had just taken place, and couldn’t help but worry that… perhaps he would use this to his advantage now. He may as well, right? You were right there. Maybe he would use you to lure out the others or maybe he would just kill you, just to make a point to his doubters that he was still as fierce as he once was.

Silently, he stepped closer, your breaths quickening as you felt your heartbeat pound in your chest. He held your gaze, an unreadable expression on his face. He lifted the dagger, moving it towards you, making you squeeze your eyes shut, waiting for the harm to befall you.

But instead…

You heard the sound of rope being sliced through, the slight tug of your wrists before they fell free. Your brows creased, confused as your eyes reopened, looking down to see the rope in your lap. Your wrists were in fact now free.

“I assume you’re capable of untying your ankles yourself.” Loki commented casually, as if he hadn’t just toyed with you, once again sending his dagger back into his pocket dimension. “I don’t want to get my trousers dirty.” He added wryly, gesturing towards the stone floor, well aware that his trousers were already rather tatty.

He was… letting you free? Or at least, free from your restraints?

You felt suspicion and skepticism rise as you reached up to remove the tape from your lips, pulling at it as the sound filled the small space before a ‘fuck’ left your lips at the sting of it pulling at your skin. You took a breath, throwing the tape aside with distain before leaning forwards to eagerly untie your ankles.

“Think of this as a… I scratch your back, you scratch mine situation.” Loki continued, stepping back to give you some space, his eyes flickering around the stock.

Of course, there was an angle. There always was with a Loki.

“I’d rather you just killed me.” You muttered with a huff, making Loki’s lips tug into a brief smile - one that was toothy and sly.

“You see… Not everything I do involves a threat.” He mused, leaning against a nearby rickety shelving unit. “It’s a fair bargain, is it not? Your freedom for a favour. A favour which I can call upon at any time.”

You kicked the rope from your boots, pushing yourself to stand, an ache in your muscles from the fight you’d tried to put up against his two lackeys. “And by favour you mean betrayal.” You said lowly, narrowing your eyes. “Let me guess… I rat out my group, help you scheme your way to the boys throne?” Loki averted his gaze for a second, giving you your answer. Scoffing, you shake your head in disbelief, beginning to move towards the tatty curtain, giving him your own answer.

Smirking, Loki pushed off of the rickety shelving unit, watching as you shoved the curtain aside, features frowning. “I take that as a ‘we have a deal’?” Loki called after you in amusement, hands moving to clasp behind his back. He swore he heard you mutter a ‘asshole’ under your breath as you disappeared from view, and it only made his smirk widen. After a second, he followed you out, heading back into the din of his followers, seeing them all watching you stride confidently away, unfazed by their eyes all watching you. Loki’s gaze flickered over his group, a scowl forming on his face.

“Let them go.” He ordered lowly, sending one last warning glance before turning on his heel and venturing further into the hideout, away from prying eyes. As soon as he disappeared, a few members of the group shared glances with one another, seemingly skeptical of their leaders decision to let you walk free… Only adding to their suspicions that, perhaps, their leader wasn’t as ruthless as he made them believe.

Loki lounged on his makeshift throne, his mind elsewhere as his variants chatted amongst themselves. He really did grow tired of his own company. It was the same routine over and over - bickering, fights, backstabbing… Maybe his brother had a point to be irritated by his antics. He was disrupted from his thoughts by three of his followers rushing into the hideout, the three he had sent to do a perimeter check. Loki straightened in his throne, eyes narrowing. Something was wrong.

“My Liege-“ One of them began, a little breathless. “We spotted a group of Cassandra’s ruffians.” They informed him, making Loki’s grip on the arms of his seat tighten, irritation flaring. How dare they trespass on his land? But what another one of them said next, only heightened his attention.

“The mortal was there.”

Loki didn’t need a name, he knew exactly who they were referring to… And much to his own surprise, his blood ran cold. You were capable, yes, you had survived this long in the void… But Cassandra’s lot… They were a whole other level of savage.

Loki pushed himself to his feet, the variants that were sat instantly following suit, awaiting orders. He took a sharp breath, trying to remain calm despite the tug of concern that nagged at him in his chest, still clinging to that composure and strength he knew his followers needed to see from him.

“Gather your weapons and secure the perimeter.” Loki ordered, his voice steady and commanding. “Ensure they do not find our hideout.” Loki stepped down the few steps, his shoes clicking on the stone floor as his followers did as he commanded, adjusting the cuff of his suit jacket - a habit he had when he was on edge or anxious. “If any of those savages get close, you strike.”

As his variants moved about the hideout, Loki strode towards the three who had brought the news, a determined look in his eye. Stopping before one of them, he leaned in, eyes boring into theirs. “Where was the mortal?” He asked lowly, his tone holding no room for arguments or questions. The female variant raised her chin slightly, glancing at the other two before meeting his gaze again.

Leaving his variants to secure their hideout, Loki traipsed through the wasteland of the void, determination sharpening his features. Why did he care? Why was he so determined to ensure you were unharmed? He let out a sound of frustration, irritated at his own mind for stirring such thoughts. Caring was a weakness, especially in a place like this, in his position. Yet, something about you stirred memories of a simpler time. A time before everything went… to shit. Memories of connection… Connection to his mother, his brother… His father. Everything in Loki’s life had been complicated, at least to him, but something about you was… simple. And even that managed to stir such complex emotions he hadn’t felt in… centuries.

“Useless.” Loki muttered under his breath, shaking his head faintly. “Mortals. Weak and feeble.” He tried to remind himself, yet his eyes continued to scan the land around him for any sign of you. Maybe letting you go to the chaos of the void would be a kindness… Even as that thought went through his mind, his heart - something rather dusty - tugged in discontent.

He couldn’t.

Movement caught the corner of his eye, his head snapping towards it as he prepared to summon his seidr, to protect his territory from the enemy. But his posture relaxed as he recognised the figure.

You.

And you were wounded.

His feet moved quicker than his head as he strode towards you, his brows creased. As he neared, he saw your hand clutching your side, seeing the scrapes and cuts on your face. You had survived. That familiar flicker of respect appeared in his chest at that fact.

“You’re resilient.” Loki called steadily. “I’ll give you that.” Your gaze lifted, eyes meeting his when he stopped a few feet away. You watched as his gaze drifted over you, clearly assessing your current state. You were hunched faintly, clearly in pain, and Loki mentally cursed himself before he drew closer, stopping right next to you. “Why do you insist on wandering alone?” He sighed, shaking his head.

“Why do you?” You quipped back, voice strained. Loki let out a sharp breath, pursing his lips. Of course, the answer was peace. A bit of solace from the chaos you both found yourselves surrounded by - Loki variants. Clicking his tongue, Loki’s slender fingers reached towards your hand at your side, prying it away so he could take a better look. His jaw tensed as he took in the damage, feeling a wave of anger at Cassandra’s savages for harming you.

“You’re losing blood.” He stated lowly, making you scoff. Loki sent a warning glare, but you missed it, busy trying to remain on your feet. “Come.” His hand fell from yours, allowing you to once again grip your side as he began to head in the opposite direction to his hideout. Your brows furrowed in confusion. Where was he going? “Hurry up.” Loki snapped. “Unless you truly do have a death wish.”

With a sigh, you began to follow, Loki making no move to slow down. Perhaps this was it. Perhaps he was going to lure you away, out of sight and finally finish you off. You stumbled slightly, wincing at the jolting action of your body, making Loki halt and whip round to look back at you. He saw the way your face scrunched in pain, noticing the exhaustion in your breaths. With a deep breath of his own, he headed back towards you.

Without saying a word, he moved to your side, an arm wrapping around your shoulders before he bent his knees, his other arm slipping behind your knees. You barely had time to register what was happening as he lifted you easily, holding you in his arms. Your eyes widened faintly, looking up at his face. He refused to meet your eyes, keeping his own ahead.

“Do try not to bleed on my suit.” He muttered lowly, continuing to walk once again.

This was a strange way to lead someone to their death…

Loki kicked open the rickety shack’s door, the wood creaking as he did so, stirring you from your half lulled state. He hadn’t taken you far, but it was definitely not his hideout you were at. Lifting your head from his shoulder, he walked you both inside, heading towards a tatty cot in the corner of the room as he set you down - a lot gentler than you had expected. Your brows furrowed, watching him as he straightened, still not meeting your gaze. He turned away from you, striding gracefully towards the other side of the room, giving you a chance to take in your new surroundings.

It was dimly lit, a shattered window being the only light source, dusty books were littered on the rickety furnishings along with a few odd trinkets and such. It was only when you noticed the familiar splash of emerald green of a blanket at the end of the cot that you realised…

This was his space. His own personal hideout… Away from prying eyes.

“Yes.” Loki finally spoke, breaking the silence. “This is my… personal haven.” He added wryly over his shoulder, finally turning to look at you. When your eyes finally landed on him again, you noticed the lack of his signature horns that usually sat upon his head, now set aside on the old, small writing desk. Without it, he looked less… sharp. His features weren’t accentuated by the shadows from his horns, now looking much softer. In his hands were medical supplies, bandages and gauze.

He was… offering help?

“Don’t look so surprised.” Loki quipped, a hint of a smirk playing at his lips. “Even I need a break from myself from time to time.” He mused, raising a brow. Purposefully, he approached, his shoes making the wood beneath his feet creak with each step, before he placed the supplies on the cot beside you, elegantly lowering himself to kneel on one knee before you. You had yet to say a word, still taking in the situation you found yourself in.

“No one else knows about this place.” Loki continued, his voice calm. “And I’d like to keep it that way.” His eyes held yours for a moment, searching yours - it was almost a silent plea. Reaching for the gauze, he gestured for you to lift your leathers slightly, a hint of tentativeness in the request. He wasn’t used to patching up others. This was… new for him. Shifting on the cot, you twisted yourself slightly so he could access your side easier, your bloodied fingers slowly peeling the leather up, revealing the stab wound you have received. Thankfully, you had managed to angle yourself defensively during the scuffle, making the attacker miss anything vital, but leaving a rather nasty gash. Loki’s azure eyes flickered to the wound, his jaw tensing again, and you swore you saw a flicker of anger go through his gaze.

“It could be worse.” He uttered through gritted teeth, moving to carefully press the gauze against your wound, making you hiss, body tensing. Loki felt a flair of regret, but he knew it was necessary. “Bear in mind… I’m not a healer.” He murmured. Being this close to Loki, you could see every detail of his face - the faint scars, the flecks of green in his eyes, the lines around his brows and mouth. He looked… human. It was as if Loki could sense you staring, his eyes snapping up from his hands to meet yours. “Hasn’t anyone ever told you it’s rude to stare?”

“Sorry.” You found yourself muttering, finally speaking again, averting your gaze quickly. Loki’s lips tugged upwards briefly, eyes dropping back to his hands. After a few moments of silence, he spoke again.

“I didn’t say stop.”

You couldn’t help but let out a huff of amusement, which shifted into a wince. “Asshole.” You shook your head, missing the way Loki’s smirk widened into a quick grin. Within these walls, Loki could let his guard down - if only a little. This was his safe space, a place where he could hang up the role of fierce leader and trickster, just for a short while.

Gently, he pulled away the gauze, the material having soaked up some of the blood so he could see the wound clearer. “You’ll live.” He told you quietly, discarding the bloodied gauze to reach for another. “For now.” With a quiet sigh, he once again pressed the new gauze against your side.

“That sounds like a threat.” You murmured wryly, glancing at him. Loki met your gaze, letting your words hang in the air for a moment. It felt like there was a shift between you both, the underlying tension that had always been present bubbling to the surface. Ever so slightly, your breath hitched, suddenly feeling nervous - but not in the usual way the void elicited.

“No.” The word came from Loki’s lips, barely above a whisper, his head ever so faintly shaking. A pause. “It’s a promise.”

The statement was spoken with a softness that you hadn’t seen from Loki before, a level of acceptance. Loki was complicated, yet in these moments he felt… simple. No matter how reluctant he tried to appear, or how aloof and cold… Beneath it all, he did care… In his own way. And it showed, in his own way too. It wasn’t an outright confession, but it was as close as you would get… That he did have a reason for keeping you alive, for not harming you, for not wanting harm to befall you…

Finally, Loki tore his gaze away, feeling the weight of the moment in his chest. It became a little too much, a little too intense. But… it didn’t feel wrong. Delicately, he once again removed the gauze, reaching for a new one so he could finally wrap your wound.

“When you get back to your group, it will need properly cleaning.” Loki cleared his throat, voice clear once more. “And try to avoid any more sharp objects.” He added wryly, raising a brow and giving a pointed look. “It would be… a shame if my rival were to perish from such a boring form of death.” And just like that, your usual dynamic clicked back into place, making your lips curl into a faint smirk.

“I shall aim for something more adventurous next time.” You quipped, a softer edge to your voice.

The good kind.

He was definitely the good kind.

[firemenenthusiast]

okay so uh hiii, first off I just wanna say you're writing is top tier, I consider you one of the best writers for Archie's characters, keep up the good work 🩷 ! second off all, the jann fic where he calls the reader mama has plagued my mind for DAYS, like literal brain rot I swear (in a good way tho lol). like I even went on character.ai and got him to call me mama on there like I'm truly down atrocious for subby jann because of you, you must've unlocked something in my brain or something 😭😭.

i don't know exactly if I'm doing this right so if I'm not just let me know and ill try to redo it but i was wondering I could make a request for you to write a few drabbles (if that's the right term, probably not) about casual dominance with subby jann please 👉🏾👈🏾, like not all of them have to be sexual, but best believe I'll have no issue with that lmao. again, I've never done this before so if it's like shitty, all over the place, and makes no sense I apologize 😭. I know you have a couple fics and stuff queued up and other things keeping you busy so no rush or anything.

domestic sub!jann

he’s a subby man, even casually. here’s some domestic headcannons of my little whiskers meow meow jann mardenborough (gt movie)

a/n: thank you anon for your kind words and request ! SORRY FOR TAKING SO LONG 😭🙏🏻 i hope this is what you imagined when writing the ask :] also jann calling reader mama was stuck in my head until i actually wrote it. and i WILL do it again

- let’s start off by agreeing on the fact that jann is the clingy one in your relationship

- he’s a busy man, especially at the height of his career so whenever he’s home, he just wants to rest his head on your lap in front of the tv

- he NEEDS you to run your fingers through his hair, or gently caressing the back of his head or he’ll take matters into his own hands

- and by that i mean he will grab your hand and place them in his hair himself, but sometimes you just want to tease him. you would constantly pull your hand away each time he’d grab it and he would whine until you give up

- jann’s a snuggler cuddler. he would snuggle himself in your chest whenever you guys cuddle eventho he’s so much bigger than you. he doesn’t care, he just needs to be wrapped snuggly by your arms in your embrace

- jann does silly things at home with you, including opening his mouth at you whenever you eat together, asking you to feed him. then when you actually do he’ll chew his food with a smile that squints his eyes

- other silly things he does is INSISTING on brushing your teeth together after waking up. you’d be getting out of the bed when he’s still chilling around and he would SCRAMBLE out of the duvets to follow your back, like a puppy

- while on the topic, he really acts closely to a puppy around you

- you getting up to go get something from the fridge ? he’ll go: “where are you going ?”

- you pulling his head off your lap to go to the toilet for a moment ? he’ll go: “where are you going ?”

- if you’re slipping on your coat with the trash in your hand at the door ? he’ll go: “im coming with you”

- he knows that you’ll just make him go himself if he offers to carry it so he wouldn’t take the trash off your hand until AFTER you’ve reached the end of the hallway, before the elevator. just so he could go on that little walk with you

- you’ve never felt annoyed or irritated with him, you’ve grown accustomed to his clinginess. if anything you’re happy that he is the way he is cuz it’s not often that he’s home because his busy schedule

- he SO would beg you to play GT with him. he even bought you your own racing wheel and display, and built your whole set up in your favourite colour just so you could play with him

- you guys have your own racing room just sophisticatedly equipped with both of your set ups, a frickin fridge and a crazy sound system.

- he actually uses the sim a lot to practise, and would follow you around the house, watching you do stuffs that you told him you’re going to be busy for that you wont be able to race with him, until you’re done. THEN only he would be willing to practise happily

- if he’s feeling extra clingy ? he’d ask you to sit on his lap, facing him, just clinging onto him like a koala bear while he races

- you’re his first ever serious girlfriend, so he really cherishes you every second he could. scenario of you breaking up with him flashes before his eyes whenever you’re upset

- ego ? dont know her. he’s willing to kneel and kiss at your knees, begging for forgiveness while you sit on the couch, clearly upset with something he’d done

- most of the time it’s just you being jealous of him entertaining his fangirls, him taking selfies with them, sometimes they’re pressed up too close to him

- you love that he’s nice to them, and that he’s loved by many, but you couldn’t help but feeling jealous

- he knows you’d be, so right after the crowd dissipates he’s quick to go to you, pulling at your folded arms.

- “are you mad at me ?” “no”

- then he would rest his head at the crook of your shoulder until you give in

- jann’s also really sulky. he doesn’t really show it, but you’ll know. he’s not the type of person to be giving you the silent treatment when he’s sulking but you’ll notice he’s distracted. he would still do things with you or for you, just quietly

- sulking jann would include avoiding eye contact. jann is generally quite shy with other people, but with you he’ll make eye contact all the time. he would smile and just look into your eyes until you blush, then he’d chuckle. so when he’s struggling to maintain eye contact with you, you know something’s upsetting him

- you know how i mentioned he follows you everywhere ? so that also applies to when you go shopping for clothes. he’s your personal hype-men, a functional one at that too

- he’s not that type of boyfriend that just waits outside the store, just waiting for you to be done. if anything he’s more excited to walk into your favourite stores than you 😭 cuz he knows there’d be new clothing line that you’d want to try on

- he gives legit opinions too, he knows what type of clothes you like, the materials, the cuttings, you would be hearing him say things like: “that looks pretty but are you comfortable?” cuz he notices it’s made with material that you don’t like

- when it’s his turn to buy clothes he lives for your eyes, and your eyes only. you have a vision in mind for the clothes or outfits that you think would make him look cute, so you’d assemble an outfit at the store for him to try on. he’s not picky, he’ll get anything that you say makes him look handsome.

- guys im genuinely tweaking i need him to be my boyfriend

- both of you have your own careers so sometimes his racing schedule clashes with your work, but it doesn’t happen often

- when you actually have a very important thing to attend for your work, and he has a race on the same day, he’ll get really sad that you’re not gonna be cheering him on, or that you’re not gonna be there when he’s done

- you try to finish your work as soon as possible when he has a race, to come to his racing venue. you mostly work remotely, so you’d just finish your work in the hotel room before going to see him. you’re his emotional support, and he’d be really happy if you get to watch him on the track.

- one time he’d been informed that you wouldn’t be there because of work, and he was really sad, pouting his lips, shoulders dropped and all (he’s dramatic like that) but he’s understanding of your work, so he went and raced the best he could so he would get to tell you all about it after you got home

- unbeknownst of him, you finished early that day and were able to catch him on the track. when he got out of the car he noticed your face on the track displays, watching him from the vip viewing area, cheering him on.

- he was quick to take out all his comms wires to go see you, meeting you halfways as you were also running to go see him

- he’s a whole golden retriever puppy boyfriend, who becomes really subby in bed, whining and whimpering underneath you <3

[sockatoothewafflebird]

regarding my previous post abt caitlyn.

"multiple times she's shoved into a seat she doesn't know how to fill, while mentally unfit to fill it. and she accepts it because the eyes of the world are upon her. she's a kiramman, she will take the crown even if it won't stick to her head. even if the crown has bloodstains on it. even if those bloodstains are an oddly familiar shade of pink that she wishes she could run her fingers through..."

that's what my prev post said. and i'd like to add to this. super long analysis warning lmao sorryyy

we've got a lot on caitlyn's plate. she has to fill the shoes of her mother, who DIED, and she isn't given a moment to breathe. she's faced with a hole she'll never be able to fill and she's forced to focus on getting rid of the problem rather than focusing on herself for a while. ambessa doesn't help bringing together the nobles of piltover and saying to basically the whole fucking city "caitlyn kiramman is your leader."

she's trying to run a city while under the influence of emotions she's yet to unpack. it can't be good for her. topped with her having forgotten what she's shooting for.

caitlyn has a heart of gold, only tainted by the corrupt system piltover has in place. i'm still on the fence regarding whether her saying "i thought you were different" was her just saying things in a blind rage not really meaning it, or her saying it because she's still fundamentally prejudiced. leaning towards the latter but we'll just have to see.

in the beginning caitlyn was shooting because she wanted to help people and she wanted to incite change. in a way, that is what she's doing now, but her anger, grief, stress and fear are mutilating her original intent. now she's shooting because she wants revenge, whether she recognizes that or not.

the city needs healing, that's what she was shooting for. she's lost sight of that in her clouded mind; she's suffocated by her responsibilities, drowned by her feelings, and she's forced to push through despite it all.

back to the point. caitlyn has a lot on her plate. a dead mother, an undercity in chaos, a topside in fear, a love interest that she's either making out with or butting head with (no in-between), and the responsibility of controlling all of it. she cannot reasonably do that. there's no fucking way.

i think she's going to hold it all up beautifully at the start. just like normal she seems like an effortless lifter, but she will feel the snapping of her shoulders, breaking of her bones beneath the weight. she can't carry all of that alone, and i think that's what will bring her back to vi, to the undercity.

i can imagine it now...

"i can't do this alone, vi. i should have realized that a long time ago. never should've taken you for granted, never should've doubted you, never should've hit you, god that was so pathetic of me-"

"hey, we'll talk later, cupcake. right now we're kind of about to fucking die so like get your gun please"

thanks for coming to my ted talk. i'll be curled up in my corner with a corkboard covered in pictures and documents connected by thumbtacks and red string, all relating to caitlyn kiramman and/or the world she lives in

[kolyubov]

MR KRAAAAAABS I HAVE AN IDEAAA 🗣️🗣️🗣️🗣️😇😇😇 plspls may i request a part 2 of reader faking her emotions, that reader x nikolai one shot yk 🦍🦍 bit unfortunately we get the bad ending ☹️☹️ she just snaps one day, grabs a rope and 😭 (i have a cinematic trauma since most of my favorite characters hanged themselves) (ily sayori<3)

Feel completely free to ignore this 🙏 and if ur accepting it take your time 😇🙏

tw suicide attempt. please, do not keep reading if this kind of content triggers you.

Nikolai with a reader who archives his goals. (p2? bad ending lmao)

✧ pairing: Nikolai Gogol x Fem!Reader

✧ word count: 1.3k

✧ contents: sfw, angst?, obsessive and controlling Nikolai, slight manipulation, reader is referred to as "princess" once. (if I missed anything, please tell me)

✧ author's note: idk if this is as good as the first one :(( spoiler: I didn't write the reader dying, close, but no,,, hope u still enjoy it either way<3 btw, you mean sayori from dokidoki, right? I never played dokidoki, but I like Monika…….🧎‍♀️ sayori seems nice though! she's cute 🫶

Nikolai has been very clingy after what happened— He was always near you, touching you; holding your hand, having an arm around your waist, wrapping his hand around the back of your neck and rubbing circles on your skin, or hugging you from behind.

His hands needed to be on you, afraid that the second he's not watching, you'll disappear from his life.

When he's not physically there, your phone vibrates almost every five minutes with a message from him asking how are you doing, what class are in you right now, if you have eaten— Stuff like that.

There wasn't any second you could be alone, and it was becoming more and more overwhelming.

Of course, you understand that he's worried and that he doesn't want to lose you; but this is borderline obsessive, and as much as a part of you likes being taken care of, another part of you is afraid that this might get even worse.

He was trying to tie you with him; sinking you deeper into the darkness of the cage that was holding you back. The cage of your emotions.

You didn't know it, but he even has a location tracker that shows him on his phone exactly where you are— It eases his mind because what if, after knowing that there wasn’t a way out, you try to be free by other methods?

Nikolai knows you won't dare to kill him like he is was planning to do with Fyodor; There was no possible scenario in which you would stab him to death or poison his food. Plus, he could easily see through your intentions and it won't be easy to kill someone like him.

But you could hurt yourself.

If it wasn't him, then the only way to be free was by shutting down your whole system. By ending your life.

Of course, he was not going to let it happen. He's going to be watching your every move until he's sure you won't do something risky like that.

For now, he is taking good care of you.

“Whatcha doing? I'm about to go home. I want to make a quick stop to buy you snacks.”

You giggle on the other side of the phone and that's enough to make Nikolai excited. He wanted to be in your arms, smooching your face, feeling your warmth, hearing you laugh. God, his heart is beating too fast right now.

“I'm just… doing nothing.” You walk around the apartment as you speak with him, trying to sound excited.

“I miss you, baby. Can't wait to cuddle with you today…”

Ah, you hated how inevitably you felt warm and fuzzy inside.

“You love me, right, dove?”

Yes, you do. You love him so much that it's suffocating you. Nikolai is suffocating you. But you can't help but need more of him, his attention, his love, his touch. All of that awakens a bunch of emotions that you wish to get rid of so badly.

“Mhm… I do.” You whisper, and you can hear him giggle through the speaker.

“Wait for me, love.” He smooches the screen of his phone before ending the call, then, you throw your phone to the couch.

It seems like Nikolai didn't notice.

Suddenly, Tears rolled down your cheeks. You place your hand over your mouth to muffle your sobs as the crying intensifies to the point where your chest hurts and your knees buckle, making you fall to the floor. You curse under your breath for being so fragile.

God. Why this fucking feelings don't stop even before your last breath? Why do they only get worse? Love, anger, sadness, disgust. It's all so overwhelming that you're starting to feel dizzy and nauseous.

Slowly, you stand up, still trembling and with small steps you walk to your room, finding the rope you placed on the bed a few minutes ago before Nikolai called. A small breathy chuckle leaves your lips, but it sounds more like a broken whimper.

You stand before the bed, grabbing the rope with trembling hands, caressing the material— The image of Nikolai's face after he comes home, opening the door of the room to meet with your lifeless body, is stuck in your mind.

How his eyes would widen, how he would desperately pull you out of the rope and hold you in his arms, close to his chest as he cries and curses himself for not being able to do something to stop you. His knuckles would caress your cheeks while his tears fell to your face.

The thought of it hurts your heart.

A part of you wants to stay, to keep enjoying your time with him, however, the pit in your stomach was becoming unbearable.

You felt pity for Nikolai.

But you'll finally enjoy that freedom you wished so much, you'll finally get rid of these emotions that consume your very soul, you—

“Think you can escape me, huh?”

A deep voice tickles your ear, and the second you turn around you find Nikolai smiling, as if the sight in front of him was amusing. You instinctively take a step back, letting out a yelp as you fall to the bed.

“Darling, you know that is not the way to cope with your temporary problems.”

How did he get here so quickly when a few minutes ago you were on a call with him?

Right. Nikolai has his coat. Probably he ended up noticing your fake excitement and decided to go home to check on you first instead of going to a supermarket and buying you snacks.

He crawls to the bed, taking the rope from your hands and throwing it away.

“I told you, didn't I? You won't leave me.”

Nikolai's voice gets deeper as he speaks. He seizes your jaw a bit too harshly. Glaring down at you with a serious expression only to lean down and kiss your lips, then the tip of your nose, and finally your forehead.

“It hurts me… that you want to leave me so badly…” He snorts, looking away from you and biting his lower lip, holding back from something that you weren't exactly sure.

You look away as well, feeling ashamed, among many other emotions that curse your body right now.

What if Nikolai hates you now?

That was even worse— If the only human being that cares about you hates you, you wouldn't bear the pain that'll come along with that.

As your brain keeps creating possible scenarios that might happen after this incident, tears spill from your eyes down your cheeks and you hide your face with your hands; palms muffling the small sobs that escape your lips like before.

Suddenly, you feel a weight on top of you.

You peek through the gap of your fingers and meet with Nikolai’s face nuzzling against your chest; his nose tickling your collarbone. Large and strong arms that had carried you like a princess before, are now wrapped tightly around your waist.

“Don't leave me… I love you so much, please…” He whines against your skin, almost as if he wants to sink inside you and be enveloped in your embrace. “Please, dove, pleasepleaseplease…”

Another sob leaves your mouth— Nikolai's fingers clutch around your ribs, nails almost digging desperately into you.

Slowly, you slide your hands to his back, rubbing it in small circles as you keep crying against the top of his head, his white locks feel soft against your cheek.

Instead of comforting you, he was the one being comforted.

“You're not going anywhere, are you?” He looks up at you. It didn’t sound like a threat, but you knew it actually was.

You shook your head; it's not like you have an alternative.

Nikolai sighs, nuzzling back against you and closing his eyes. After noticing you stopped caressing his back, he nudges your side as an indication to keep doing it.

“…Dove, you’re mine… If anything, I should be the one to take your life away from you…” He mumbles, giggling as your breath hitches at his words.

You can't escape him anymore.

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