#His mouth is on the underside of the mask in this version

[yanban-san]

So I've been asked a few times what I think the eldritch boys look like- Or more specifically, for a visual reference of them- Thing is it's a very... individual thing for what y'all see them as? That said, I'm going to try to put a face to the boys- I'm not a good artist by any means, but I've uh- I've tried! And here's Lord Kudari sdfh I am going to go hide in a hole now

[banal-lotus-eater]

[Image ID: A digital painting split into three parts. The middle portion is an abstracted scene of Arthur and Oscar at a church-like bar and the side portions are of mirrors with painted scenes showing previous and future events inside. The mirror frames are etched with various small details which make reference to the themes found in the fic and in the podcast. The left mirror’s scene makes reference to scene where Noel and Arthur hug in the chapter “The collapse” and the right mirror’s scene is an exaggerated version of end of the chapter “The ritual”. endID]

I participated in the Malevolent Big Bang (check out more works @malevolentbigbang) this year with a bunch of other artists! Here is my piece for @crowfeatherquill's fic Final Miles, a post season 5 fic that sees the return of my boys Oscar and Noel. Its so good and I've been chomping at the bit to post this. Also!! Check out the other artist's pieces for this fic on their tumblrs, @gazebodj and @stokiss

(also also @aetheremin beta'd the fic and i think they should get some extra recognition)

Zoom ins/ Timelapse / ranting under the cut!

Here's the piece cut up into it's thirds with more in-depth image IDs. It has the Mirror sections first then the middle section. Warning, the second mirror has R'lyehian (Cthulhu conlang) text in it.

[Image ID: The left most portion is of an intricately etched and cast oval bronze mirror. The mirror has a section of music etched on it which are the first few measures of Faroe's theme. The inside of the mirror shows a scene of Noel and Arthur in armor hugging each other on a dark forest's floor. Arthur has a pure yellow cape that wraps around him and behind Noel. endID ]

I really liked this one and it was my first pass at drawing the mirrors. I learned a lot on drawing flur de lis and wasn't as focused on making specific design choices for specific references instead of busying up the design for lack of a better term. The left side was my more experimental/first pass side where I did that one first, learned, and then did the right side using the lessons I learned. Now onto the right mirror (again, this has R'yhlien in it)

[Image ID: The rightmost portion is of the other mirror, an equally intricate etched and cast rectangular mirror. The bottom of the mirror has banners with R'lyehian text on them. The sentences are "Y'ahuaah mg n'ghft'drn (Translated: I wear(lit: use) no mask) and "Mg n'ghft'drn?  Mg n'ghft'drn!" (Translated: No mask? No mask!) The scene inside is of Oscar, Arthur, and Noel crouched in a magic circle. They are all wearing fantasy medieval garb with Oscar in a priestly/cleric outfit, Noel in his armor still, and Arthur in a tunic, pants, and yellow cape. The yellow cape wraps around the scene separating the trio from both Hattie behind them and the viewer. Hattie is in a traditionally witchy outfit and is holding a glowing book while pages fly around her. She has an oversized witch hat that has an eye on the underside and the tail of the hat splitting into a monstrous mouth with a bell hooked on to the mouth’s bottom lip. endID]

woo! Thats a huge ID and I'm sorry. I tried to cut it as much as I did but I am not brief. I may do a seperate post breaking down some smaller details on this haha. Lets move onto the middle.

[Image ID: The middle portion has Oscar sat on a stool at the left of the bar with Arthur across from him. Oscar is glaring at Arthur while Arthur is facing away from him. Behind the bar is replaced with a church window that has a painting of angels amongst the clouds. The angels are mostly all looking towards Oscar and there is a group surrounding him that are fretting over him.  The only exceptions are, an angel hovering over Arthur pointing for him to leave, and an angel on the far right side holding a sword and looking towards the angle in the middle. The angel in the middle is the largest one that stares unreadably down at Oscar while pointing one hand up towards god and the other on their chest with a modified gesture of Benediction. endID]

I did this section last and honestly it was like dessert compared to the other two sections. No hate on those, but I loved painting the angles and clouds :).

And here is the timelapse. Its roughly 2 mins because I had to move canvases in the middle since my computer crashed twice in the middle of painting the right mirror's scene.

ID: A timelapse of the previously described pieces, starting from random sketches of angels to sketches of the scene to finalizing details and rendering. endID]

anyway, more malev stuff probably sometime, i have college to work on tho and midterms are coming up.

[beating-beetle-heart]

Writing Practice: X Reader Based - Robot partner

NSFW

I've never really done an explicit work before. I'm trying to get better at it, so I'm going to start doing some one-shots to help grow.

I decided to make this one more short and sweet between the two, which means next one will probably be extremely kinky, to keep the balance ;). Hope you enjoy!!

Minors DNI

     You sat on a bed full of plush pillows and weighted blankets that needed re-distributing. Instead of a nice layer of warmth, the blanket's beads were lumped into two hard corners. Luckily, and quite confidently, you were certain your partner would sort the lumps out by morning. He was adorably sweet like that. Rather everything he did was adorable. You smile, honeyed memories oozing slow, delicious warmth through your chest. Years really do pass quickly when you spend them with care and happiness. You nestle into the bed, velvet smooth, laced with sheer curtains hung up with beads. The walls are a striking bombay mahogany, decorated by pictures of their life framed by gold with white detailing, while several potted plants cradled in rope hang from the ceiling. The room paints a picture of wealth turned comfort. Money used not for unwanted abstract paintings and empty spaces ready for a photo shoot, but for personal taste and awakened dreams. Looking at it all gives you a swell of pride, just as it did when it was first finished. You sigh, content, a smile so big on your face that your cheeks are starting to hurt, but a gentle whoosh interrupts you from your thoughts.

     Heavy footfalls grow gradually closer until they're at the foot of the bed. You turn, still smiling, to greet your partner. "Evening, Fuir."

     He tilts his head and gently shakes his plating, rumbling with his version of a laugh. He stands six and a half feet tall. While that would normally be an issue, your blessed genes had made you six foot yourself, a perfect match. Fuir's plating was a beautiful snow white. His design consisted of an open spine, enticing lights running down its length. Layered plating made his chest, opening to more spacey armor strips nearer his torso, and thick, black duo cables (almost like a gas mask, connecting underneath the plating of where his jawbone would be) ran loosely to his back. Those were fun. Fuir brought his hands up to rub your shoulder. His hands was large, but not disproportionately so. They had long fingers, black on the underside, with black highlights around his palm and joints. They weren't completely smooth, being interrupted by ridges and more spacey armor in a beautiful combination. You feel your breath pick up speed. You blood runs a little faster, faster, and you roll over, propping on an elbow to give him a full look-over. You can picture yourself, eyes narrowed in sharp lust, mouth parted just a little as you reach up to grasp one of the cables. His rumbling stutters and he lets out a delicate sound of surprise. You feel the hand on your shoulder tighten, scraping the fabric across your skin. You nearly whimper when it brushes across your nipple.

     "I didn't realize you'd be merciful enough to give me such a greeting," his voice echos. You smile, knowing full well his kind doesn't feel urges to fuck like humans. They enjoy it, oh how they do enjoy it, but they don't feel a need to chase it if its not offered or in their lives. Fuir hadn't been sex-starved while you slept, but you enjoy how he plays it as such. Especially at times like this, where your body is begging to grind. You stroke the cables, smirking at Fuir's little gasps. His hand comes to stroke your jaw. You lean into it.

"N-not hungry?" he inquires.

"Only for you." You crane your neck, guiding him the rest of the way with little tugs that elicit the familiar whirring of his fans kicking into gear. You snicker. "You're adorable." You nip around the cable's connection points and brush against receptive neck wires. Fuir grasps your back with both hands, sending rolling shivers down your spine. You groan and arch into him, a different, more personal heat comes on, born from the way Fuir holds you, careful to not hurt, from the way he fondly allows you to pull him closer despite being indescribably strong enough to stop it.

"Y/N," Fuir's voice hitches. Static fuzzes the words.

"Come over here," you breathe. Fuir's plating shifts, expanding to allow as much access into his seams as possible. You catch one of his neck cables in your mouth and suck, laving tongue over warmed material, coating your saliva onto it, marking. He whines, high and loud, the sound laced with static. You feel a growing wetness stain your underwear. He's shaking now as he climbs on top of you, messily trying to keep your mouth at his neck. He's careful, but his plating still pinches in a few places. Each time you give a small squeak, breaking apart to share a laugh and quick "sorry". You stare up, heart thrumming as he looms over your soft form. The light catches on him, drawing your eyes to the angles of individual plates. His winter expanse is overtaken by scattered rainbows. He's beautiful. Absolutely beautiful. To be together, each the others, was more than you thought possible, a dream come true.

Your fingers run along the top of his chest. They follow well-known paths and dip into seams that spark roars from his fans. Your teeth nip harder at Fuir's cables. He gasps, body jerking. You let the go cable go, eyes boring into him in amusement. "I know you want to say something, Fuir."

"Hha..." He shivers, plating groaning in its attempt to open wider. "Harder." He pushes his head closer when you don't move. "...Please," he groans.

You'd be lying if you said having Fuir, so much stronger and more resilient than yourself, than any human, beg wasn't a delicious ego boost. "Such a good play-toy," you tease.

"You'll r-regret that."

You close your eyes when he pushes you against the sheets. "I'm counting on it." Baring your neck, you moan and clutch at him when you hear the telltale sounds of tendrils extending from compartments along his upper back. "Show me," you whisper.

Fuir's multitude of thin cables wrap around your legs, heated metal nearly uncomfortable against the already-risen temperature of the room. Beads of sweat begin to run down your thighs, mixing with your wet arousal. Your legs quiver when the tendrils widen them, giving slow, swirling strokes as they inch closer to your groin. You buck against him. Fuir leans down and lets his main coil duo rest against your face.

"Suck," he commands, a deeper reverberation commanding his voice.

You dutifully take one, than the other, into your mouth. The tendrils suddenly slap the inside of your thighs and you have to bite down, lest the electric mix of pain versus pleasure make your mind too groggy to remember your task. A pitiful whimper escapes your mouth. You slide your tongue against the cord's ridges, working on stroking the seams along his back in tandem, your tugging of wires rewarded by Fuir's quivering and fuzzed sounds of pleasure. His tendrils begin to stroke faster, the tips stimulating both of you, winding your heady whimpers with his stammering engine, a mix more lustrous than the best music. Your bodies wound around each other, an orchestra of desire guided by a conductor of love.

Your noises are nearly loud enough to match his fans. Your hips push into Fuir's tendrils, relishing his succulent, desperate noises, his eagerness punctuated by quicker strokes and growls. He digs his helm into your neck and your eyes squeeze shut. A burning heat in your gut roars louder, the brink's edge so close you can hear it, see it, taste it from the coil in your mouth and the heat in the air. "You're beautiful," you gasp at Fuir, having just enough oxygen left for those two words before the two of you are grasping at each other, screaming into the other's void and coming together, two black holes colliding in a storm of fervor. You're still clutching him, and he you, many minutes after, all through the wind down of his systems and the after-sweat of yours. Fuir nuzzles against the soft skin of your neck, allowing you to simply close your eyes and breathe, and be. You bask in the fog shrouding your brain, nearly laughing from its tingling effect, Somehow, in all the world and worlds beyond, you had found someone. You had found someone to love, to cherish, and to trust that the person loves and cherishes you back. You make each other happy, the most anyone can ask for in life.

You snuggle into him, wanting, knowing, that the moment will never end. You will always be together. Happy and safe as the universe intended.

[magical-archives]

Magical Archives - Ortho Shroud

Idia’s “younger brother.” He always moves together with Idia and adores him. In contrast to his gloomy brother, he is cheerful, earnest, and has a strong sense of curiosity. By changing his attachments, he can convert his body to adapt to different situations. For his current body types, there is the “Archetype Gear,” his all-purpose type platform body; “Athletic Gear,” the independent wheeled-type attachment; “Precision Gear,” the attachment for detailed work; the “Burst Gear,” the attachment for outputting high amounts of magical energy, and more. His hair is made to be the same type as the King of the Dead’s and Idia’s. The gas composition can be adjusted with a control program, and it can change into any color.

The data of 100,000 books are inputted into him, and he is fully equipped with many functions, such as the most cutting-edge medical tools and fiber scopes, as well as arms for precise work. He can load up magical energy and fire powerful beams, hack into the school security system and access the surveillance cameras.

He tries to take his brother, who mostly shuts himself inside his room, outside and tries to join events together with him, but he’s never had much luck with that.

Archetype Gear Notes

- Has flame on left chest

- There is a gap between the belt and the flight equipment at his waist

- His flight equipment at his waist can move up and down as well as left and right

- The parts at his back have an axis in the center, and they operate with that in the center

Athletic Gear Notes

- Pretty much the same as the Archetype Gear, but there are less lines at the chest and torso. There are holes in his legs and arms for weight reduction.

- The sun visor adheres to his face part. It’s also possible to raise it up to his forehead in a sunglass shape

- His feet have springs attached. Unlike the other attachments, they touch the ground.

- His calves are made of transparent parts. There are springs built into them

- (referring to the water bottle on his left hip) Water bottle-shaped battery charger

Precision Gear Notes

- In the back there’s an air vent for getting rid of heat

- (referring to the tail-like attachment at the back) A medical camera. It also has a light. It extends and retracts

- The feet are parts that are the same as the school uniform (winter clothes?)

Burst Gear Notes

- The face cover is shiny, like a helmet. Hides his face up to the tip of his nose. There are goggles under the cover. His mouth is visible

- The base body has a different coloring than his normal body (white)

- The coating is almost exactly the same color and pattern as the ceremonial robes.

- Normally, there is a blue flame on his left chest

- The underside lights up

- The light coming from his soles is purple

- (referring to the halo looking thing behind his head) Made of a glass-like material, see-through

- (referring to the panels sticking out from his hips that looks like a skirt) they operate up and down with the joint parts

Ignihyde Gear Notes

- Similar to Idia’s jacket, it has triangle-shaped flat plates sticking together in a row. Material has an ename-like feeling

- (referring to the sleeves) The triangles are big enough for six of them to go from the top line of his shoulder to the under line of his armpit

- Base body has a different coloring than his normal body (white)

- (referring to the wires hanging down from his hips) USB-C shape

- the things jutting out from his belt (?) are skull-shaped

- The light blue parts can all light up

- The ring around his left thigh and the ring around his neck are bands of light that can light up

Expressions (Mask) Notes

- Only has eyeliner under his eyes

- Like his brother Idia, his hair is made of flames. Fundamentally, he doesn’t show his entire face (either the upper or lower part is covered). When he talks, the ring with microphone equipment sticking to his cheeks blinks.

- He smiles a lot, unlike his brother

- For the mask version, only his eyes are expressive, so it might be a bit difficult to see that he’s making a mean face or something like that, so if possible, please make motions like having his shoulders go up and down with a “hee-hee” feel, etc.

Expressions (Visor) Notes

- For the visor version, it might be hard to firmly show his expressions

[matth1w]

Tribulations

Pairing: Michael Langdon x Reader

Summary: Catching the eye of the interviewer, you face trials of temptation and faith.

Associated Verse: Blessed is the one who reads and those who hear the words of the prophecy, and heeds the things which are written in it; for the time is near. Revelation 1:3

Warnings: Death, Violence, Blood, Nightmares, Mental Manipulation, Blasphemy (Michael Langdon and all his fuckery)

Rating: All, but it’s a darkish fic

Word Count: 3,070 Words

Note: I very intentionally did not use his first name

Note 2: I’m not back... just finally finished & edited something for once 😅

Forever Tags: @captainrogerss // @banditthewriter // @fics-not-tragedies // @commander-writergirl // @zodiyack

Tag Lists Are Open / Requests are Closed

D O  N O T  R E P O S T  M Y  W O R K

The crackling embers calmed you and guided your heartbeat to slow to a steady tempo. The warmth that radiated from the fireplace threatened to bring a slew of memories from what felt like a past life.

You knew you should turn to face your interviewer, that you probably seemed rude ignoring him to instead stare longingly into the warming fire but something kept you there.

You felt... safe.

For the first time since the sirens sounded, you felt safe.

That thought brought you peace and you finally sighed in content and smiled as you turned to face the man who claimed to be your savior.

Mr. Langdon simply raised his eyebrows at you, not commenting on your actions of the past few minutes. The only other movement was his fingers slowly stroking the underside of his chin. They seemed to sparkle from the light catching the shining stones and golden metal.

He seemed more at ease as well, like he was able to experience the thoughts of peace and happiness that had been running in your mind. Or maybe the fire brought its own kind of warmth to him as well.

The sound of a log crumbling into ash turned your attention back to the fireplace. Your eyes only rested there for a moment but when you turned back the man in front of you had changed.

No longer a beautiful man leisurely sitting by the fire, Mr. Langdon instead had a furrowed brow with a matching grimace and leaned forward the moment your eyes met his once more.

You found yourself wondering what could have brought this sudden change. Before your thoughts could spiral any deeper into questions, you saw him open his mouth to speak. The low timber and plush lips brought an unwilling blush to your cheeks.

“How are you... enjoying things at the outpost?” Mr. Langdon’s pause and scrutinizing eyes made you nervous. Like he was a seasoned hunter laying a perfectly placed trap and he had no true care for your enjoyment, and instead was hoping you fell for the trick.

Despite the countless warning signs blaring in your mind, for some reason you wanted to tell him the truth. How much you hated Madam Venable for ruining an already depressing situation, how you wanted to scream every time a petty argument broke out over dinner, how many nights you laid awake wondering why you were facing this tribulation. Were you chosen or simply damned?

Oh, many times you wished you could escape this sadistic stone tomb.

Recalling his assurance, rather threat, that he would know if you dared to lie to him, you settled on the truth... just more simple.

“This isn’t how I imagined the apocalypse would go.”

A weighted statement full of multiple meanings but the truth nonetheless.

At that, you saw his lips flick up into a quick smile and his eyes glimmer in the low light dancing around the room.

“Is that so?” Mr. Langdon leaned back in his chair, crossing his legs and clasping his hands over his knee, the simple movement somehow seductive.

A flutter in your heart brought warmth to your body. Maybe it was the fact that you seemed to amuse Mr. Langdon, got him to smile in a way that didn’t seem malicious. Made him turn into the man you had seen just moments before.

You let yourself smile in return. For some reason, your tense body relaxed as if you were two friends casually conversing over a shared humorous experience.

Instead of laying out your reasons, something reckless inside your soul emboldened you to taunt him with a vague truth. Something about his pretentious demeanor intrigued you, especially after Gallant mimicked his line about being able to sense the darkest things about a person. You were desperate to see what he was hiding in the shadows of his own being.

“Yes.”

You looked him in the eyes, watching as he stared back blankly, his mask of aloof superiority now back. You knew it then to be a mask — you could feel his genuine self itching to be shown.

He was genuinely pleased to have someone make him feel something. For a moment, you wanted to continue your thoughts, share every thought and feeling and secret, but you wanted to see how far the game would go.

Your rational side knew it would likely end with you being left to rot in the outpost. It didn’t matter much. You accepted your death long ago and this entertainment finally brought some life back into your veins.

After nearly a minute of a scrutinizing glare, Michael removed his hands from his knee and laid them flat on the arms of the black leather chair.

Your attention was brought to the ringed fingers drumming lightly, as if he was pondering his next words. Something inside you didn’t quite believe him. As if it was an act for show. That he knew exactly was he was going to do next. He was simply... waiting.

Toying with you.

Seeing if you’d crack under the silence. Fill the lack of noise and if so, how you’d do it.

With an apology?

An insecure question?

A babbling attempt to say what you think he wants to hear?

Or something... else?

You thought forcing Michael to speak next would surely annoy him but instead when he opened his mouth, he seemed as if he was amused by your resolute rebellion. His teeth shined from the flickering fire, making him seem like a hungry beast.

The warmth seemed to increase from your side, like the flames were growing, intensifying, as you pressed on. You wondered if your words or his were the fuel.

“Venable told me you caused quite a ruckus when you got here.”

You grimaced, recalling your punishment of starved time in the cell below.

“Is that a question?”

His eyebrows raised at your snarky retort, his mouth a thin line. He must be getting impatient. You didn’t like this look of him.

“I’m sorry.” You murmured out with a well placed sigh.

“I just... didn’t, and don’t, agree with that rule.”

He hummed noncommittally.

“This outpost has a quite extensive library. So why bother yourself with stealing something as silly as fairytales?”

There was an challenge in his eyes as he continued speaking as he stood.

“Now, at least it wasn’t some cute version, I’ll give you that.”

His steps resounded as he moved to circle behind you. Daring you to follow him with your eyes or a turn of your head but you stayed still.

“How many days did Venable keep you in that cell?”

He placed his hands on the arms of your chair, leaning over to encircle you even further. His presence smothering you as the heat suffocated you even further. You couldn’t tell if it came from him or the fire.

“Hmm? Tell me, was it worth it?”

As his last words left his mouth in a whisper, he leaned in so his mouth was brushing against your hair.

Your breath hitched from his proximity, your skin raised in what felt like a strange mix of fear and anticipation. Your mouth felt dry as you forced yourself to swallow.

“Yes.”

The simple response and all its weight hung heavy in the air as only the sound continued to be the still lively fire to your right. You knew it to be no ordinary thing. Mr. Langdon made no movement, staying torturously close.

After what felt like an eternity, he took in a deep breath through his nose, seeming to breathe you in as much as he was refilling his lungs. You wondered if he even needed to breathe.

You could sense the satisfied smirk and feel the hot air as he leaned in to the shell of your ear.

“Good.”

You were unsure how to respond. Even more unsure if you should.

Mr. Langdon stood upright again, the soft brush of cool air hitting the back of your neck, relieving you as it sent shivers down your spine.

His left hand came into your view and you finally looked up at him, hesitant to instantly take it as much as you wanted to. There was still a part of you that was weary and unsure. Unwilling to not question.

Seeing a polite, disarming smile on his lips, you placed your hand in his, surprisingly warm and soft, and rose from your seat.

He turned your body towards him, the proximity once again sending mixed signals throughout your body. More so excitement now, but still laced with the ever present tendrils of trepidation.

He took his hand from yours but then moved to place it under your chin. Not cupping it in a romantic manner, but like how an adult would do to a pitifully naive child.

Your skin flushed where it met his, like he had the same power as the fireplace before. Something in the back of your mind noted how it had simmered once more. The flames calming as you accepted his extended hand.

Mr. Langdon cocked his head and let his eyes be overrun with clear pity. He even sealed what felt like the overly faux emotion with an empathetic sigh.

“Although life isn’t the fairytale you wished for, try to make the best of it, princess.”

You had to control every muscle in your face to not scrunch your nose at the words that stung like a patronizing slap despite the show of emotions that accompanied them.

Not trusting your tongue, you silently nodded. His fingers dug in for a moment like he was dissatisfied you maintained your composure and was about to lose his. He ripped his hand from your chin with a snarl and turned around to step behind his desk, his eyes roaming the wooden surface as he flexed his fingers, perhaps your touch had pained him.

He pulled out the thin black chair before he paused and looked back up at you, once more a different man than moments before. A Cheshire grin was clear on his face and that same glimmer of mischief back again.

“Oh, one last thing.”

“Yes, Mr. Langdon?” you forced out evenly, trying your best to control the whirlwind of emotions pounding on the door inside your chest to be let out.

“Remember, heed the warning of Snow White. Never trust witches or beautiful apples.”

His sing song voice sounded light like another taunt with his dismissive wave but the look in his eyes turned dark and intense as he lowered himself into his chair. Like he was spurring, no demanding you to remember his words, this moment.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The somber warning that felt like a thinly veiled threat haunted your bones. He made no other comments to you that day or any other, didn’t even bother to look at you when you two were in the same room or hall.

You thought he had forgotten about you. His amusement snuffed out and attention passed to the others... until the night before Halloween. Or simply, what you were told was Halloween.

You opened your bedroom door to find an unfamiliar book lying open on your pillow. Its golden edges shined in the candlelight as you cautiously stepped forward. A Bible - open to the first page of the Book of Revelation.

Blood red words stood out, written in the margins. You leaned over to get a better look, not daring to touch the holy object that felt tainted with darkness.

‘Was this how you imagined it?’

There was no name nor did you recognize the handwriting but you knew for certain this had come from Mr. Langdon. The smallest amount of heat tickled at the back of your neck.

You laid down, unsure how to react, still unwilling to touch or even close the book. Your skin prickling as though it could sense the heavy feeling of dread in the air.

Once you finally succumbed to an uneasy slumber, you dreamt of the bombs.

Sirens wailed from above as you trekked across an endless forest. Calling for help, voice hoarse as none came. The land turned barren with every step, an ashen land of death. Each moment, the sirens twisted more and more into tormented wails. A torrent of winds coming from each direction, bitter and sharp as knives against your skin.

With a pain in your chest that you could only describe as your heart being torn out piece by piece, you finally crumbled - broken and unable to continue. Weak and unwilling to fight any longer. You looked to the sky to beg for mercy when you saw an open door, its glowing insides the halls of the sanctuary promised to you. As you ran with energy anew, the sultry voice you heard was like a holy instrument carrying through the air.

Mr. Langdon came into vision, still blurred around the edges, you were unable to see him wholly. His forehead and golden locks bloodied from the thorns that encircled his head. One hand extended to you, another behind his back, his words coming to you clearly now as the thorns twisted into sharp horns.

Let me save you.

Let me save you.

Let me save you.

As you reached out your hand to his, the light faded from behind him, instead bringing forward his hidden hand that held a beating, bloody heart. Its steady tempo drowning out his plea as you felt a seeping emptiness consume your chest.

You woke with a start, body drenched in sweat as if you had been hugged by the sun itself. Your mind spun, consumed with a single thought - if the dream had progressed, would you hesitate to take his hand, despite what he had turned into before your eyes?

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Your heart was beating so fast you barely heard a word Venable was sprouting, only snippets of sounds came through between the coursing blood that filled your ears.

Your mouth was practically watering at the sweet smell, the feel of the smooth skin in your hands, the taste you knew would be yours if you only took a bite of the shiny red treasure held within the palm of your hand.

But that voice in the back of your mind was screaming at you, back away into the shadows slowly and whatever you do, do NOT eat the forbidden fruit. It will bring no knowledge, only suffering and agony beyond compare.

Something even further hidden away is telling you to run. Run as fast and as far as you can from this evil place and never, ever look back.

You hear Mr. Langdon’s words over and over in your mind. So powerful, you can almost feel his breath tickling your ear once more, his enticing warmth overtaking your body.

‘Remember, heed the warning of Snow White...

Never trust witches or beautiful apples.’

In what felt like the final step of a test, you decided to pause before sinking your teeth into the apple alongside all the other residents and instead slowly backed into the shadows of the hallway toward the kitchen.

The silence hung in the air, and you were a moment away from turning around when you heard a cough, then another and another, the sounds of shared agonized death building in a crescendo confirmed your fears.

It confirmed that Mr. Langdon somehow knew. And if he knew... why didn’t he stop it?

A thought ran through your head, a darker one biting at its heels, so fast you were unsure it was your own.

Why didn’t I?

...Because they deserved it

You desperately shook your head to rid yourself of the thought and suddenly realized the truth with resolute finality. There was no where to go. No where to run. No one to run to. No matter where you fled, it would be a dead end. Even if you escaped this cave, you would only be thrust into another wasteland, wandering the purgatory above.

You found yourself in the kitchen, unaware your feet had even brought you there. In what seemed to be a final act of mercy, or perhaps penance, you spotted a large butcher knife hanging on the wall.

The metal held tightly in your hand felt like an extension of your body from your place in the corner of the darkened pantry. You had locked yourself in, backed yourself into a corner. But where was there to run - truly, to escape to?

A desperate prayer silently fell from your lips. Not for peace nor forgiveness. But for Mr. Langdon’s capsule of pain free salvation.

Nonetheless, you figure even a knife to the heart would be better than suffering the death forced upon the other residents. At the first sound or sign the killers have noticed your absence, you’ll take yourself out. Death was no longer fearful. It was the undeniable ending you had accepted many months ago.

The sounds of steady steps broke through your contemplation. Your hand stilled as you raised the blade above your chest. Your body was unable to move for some unknown reason even though everything inside you begged you to move already.

This was the end.

Accept it.

Instead, all you could focus on are the sounds of the footfalls. Light but purposeful. Steady and strong, unlike Venable’s wavering trio of steps.

Calm, almost casual. As if they were taking a stroll in a park or admiring paintings in a museum. Unlike the rushed, quick steps of an always determined Ms. Mead.

As your mind caught up with what your heart and instincts knew, a smooth voice broke the silence, its undeniable comfort charging your body with its light.

“You can come out now, Princess.”

You looked up, a mixture of wet and dried tears on your cheeks, and saw a magnificent sight.

There was your savior, a circle of candlelight cradled his golden locks and danced around like a halo on fire. Tears sprung from your eyes once more. Not out of fear, but out of pure awe and admiration.

The knife fell with a loud echoing clang in the now empty stone halls. You could only stare on as Mr. Langdon shifted to lower himself to you.

He brought his right hand from behind his back, and extended it to you.

Without hesitation, this time, you accepted it.

You accepted Him.

[undead--ghost]

What a Wonderful World

Summary:  Five’s critically injured in the apocalypse and you’ve done all you can to help. It’s all you can do to fulfil one more request of his.

“Can you sing for me?”

Pairing: Five Hargreeves x Reader (can be platonic or romantic)

Author’s Note (14/06/21): Hello everyone! This is an updated version of the story!! If you’re confused, this story was posted a while ago with a different ending, however, I decided I didn’t like that ending and so I changed it! But nonetheless, enjoy!!

AO3

MASTERLIST

WHAT A WONDERFUL WORLD

The wound was gross, simply put. A deep gash stretched across Five’s stomach from the underside of his left ribs to just above his right hipbone. It was red and irritated. Fresh blood poured out of the wound, mixing with the dried blood that has crusted around the edges of the cut. Pus also seeped out, it’s colour a stark contrast against the crimson that stained his pale skin.

It was ironic, in the movies blood always seemed bright red. It always stood out and forced the viewer to look at it.  But in reality, the blood was dark, allowing it to camouflage into Five’s jacket and for you to not notice it until it was too late and he’d collapsed from the blood loss.

But in the movies, the wound also healed quickly and the character’s moved on with their lives - life wasn’t like a movie.

You had been forced to practically drag him back to your shelter. The malnourishment meant that what muscles you once had were quickly gone in an attempt for your body to energise itself. Your arms were weak and by the time you reached the shelter, you felt like your they were seconds away from dropping off.

Once you’d reached the makeshift shelter you two had made up, you deposited of him onto the only mattress you had. A selfish part of you wanted to place him elsewhere, somewhere where he couldn’t stain and ruin the mattress that had taken you two years to find amongst the rubble. But that thought was quickly shot down as your compassion for him won and you realised he wouldn’t hesitate in doing the same for you.

After a while, he had woken up and you immediately took the chance to berate him for not telling you sooner. You used your anger to mask the deep fear that you felt, it was a trait you’d, unfortunately, picked up from Five. 

It was a few days after he’d collapsed and you hadn’t allowed him to move from the bed. He was currently sitting up while you knelt on the floor next to the mattress. You grimaced as you looked at the wound. You had managed to stitch it up, but the workmanship was sloppy as you lacked both the tools and expertise to be doing it. His wound had gotten worse over the days and no matter what you tried to do to help, nothing was working. 

Not only had the wound gotten worse, but an infection had begun to spread rapidly throughout Five’s body. He’d had a fever for the past two days and more recently he’s been less and less lucid. He’s been sleeping for most of the days but when he’s awake, he pretty much has stopped initiating conversation, only talking when necessary. You were worried.

You shook your head to clear the steadily approaching negative thoughts and got back to the task at hand. You picked up your water bottle and carefully tipped some of your precious water into your cupped hand, quickly bringing it up to Five’s stomach so you could rise the wound. 

Out of the corner of your eye, you could see him wince slightly as you accidentally put too much pressure on it and you eased up, your touch becoming featherlike. After it was as clean as it was going to get, you reached over and picked up one of the last bandages of your supply. He sat up slightly to allow you to reach behind him to wrap the bandage around his stomach. 

You had a limited medical set up, consisting of painkillers, a couple tubes of disinfectant ointment, a handful of bandages as well as a sewing kit that was usually meant for stitching clothes but you had to use for his wound. It had taken the both of you four years to gather all the supplies. Hours of shifting through rubble, desperate to find anything to add to your medical supply in case of an emergency. But in the end, you had managed to burn through it all in a matter of days.

Once you were satisfied with the wrapping, you leaned back on your heels and allowed him to tug his shirt back down.

"How’s it look?" He asked, his voice breaking the silence.

You bit your bottom lip as you wracked your brain for an adequate answer to give him. You didn’t want to lie to him, but you didn’t want to tell him the harsh truth. You refused to look into his eyes as you stuttered out an answer, "I-I’m, uh, not too sure… Ma-Maybe just rest up a bit and we can, um, we can see in the morning?" You said with an uncertain tone.

Five’s eyes narrowed and even in his drowsy state, he knew you were lying. "Don’t bullshit me, Y/N. Just give it to me straight."

You still hesitated, you didn’t even want to think about what was likely to happen, even less say it out loud; because you knew that as soon as you said it out loud, it would make it all too real.

At your hesitation, Five scoffed lightly, leaning back against the crumbling wall that the mattress was pushed up against. "Grow up, Y/N. We’re 17. I’m not a kid so just tell me what’s wrong!" He demanded, his voice gradually getting louder as his temper shortened.

You clenched your jaw and blinked back the rapidly approaching tears, "Fine!" You snapped back. "I don’t know if you’re gonna make it through the night."

A heavy silence fell over the both of you as Five took in the words you said. 

Five’s face flashed through emotions almost too quickly for you to decipher. First anger, then confusion, fear, sadness, before finally landing on resignation. You felt a pang of guilt rise up from your stomach as you watched him. You shouldn’t have said it like that. You shouldn’t have yelled. You should have been more calm, just like your mother used to be. It wasn’t his fault he was dying, but your anger at the world had trumped any other emotion and in the heat of the moment, you had let it slip.

"I’m sorry," you said, your voice nothing more than a whisper. "I-I’ve tried everything I can, but we’re out of medical supplies." You took a deep breath. "There’s nothing I can do," your voice sounded small and you hated yourself for that. You wanted to be strong for Five, but your walls were quickly crumbling like the ruins that surrounded you.

Five didn’t say anything, but he didn’t have to. After years of living in the apocalypse with only each other for company, you had come to recognise each emotion that crossed his face. And you knew that he was having an internal war. You knew the morbid thought that lingered at the back of his mind, that perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad to leave this Earth, you had those thoughts too. But you also knew that he was a protector at heart, and would do anything to keep you safe, and leaving you alone wasn’t the answer. He would be blaming himself, for his recklessness in getting hurt, for not telling you sooner, for toying- even briefly- with the idea of leaving you.

You reached out and placed your hand over his in a weak attempt of reassurance. "It’s not your fault." He opened his mouth to argue but you kept talking. "The only thing you can do now is sleep, and hope that your temperature will go down overnight," you said, your voice shaking as you pushed on your thighs to stand up to your feet.

Five didn’t respond, and you took that as a silent agreement. You helped him shift into a more comfortable position on the bed before picking up the ratty blanket at the end of the mattress and draping it over him, tucking it in at the edges. You knew he didn’t like you fussing over him, but you did it nonetheless, anything to make you feel like you were helping him. And he let you, knowing that it was helping ease your guilt just a bit.

You stood over him after you finished tucking him in, your eyes scanning for anything else you could do. But you sighed as you found nothing that could be done and you realised you should leave him to rest anyway. You didn’t want to leave him at all, but you knew Five and you knew that he liked his alone time, especially during times of vulnerability. 

You turned to go keep watch out by the fire but as you went to step away, a warm hand clasped around your wrist.

You turned back to Five to see him with a pleading look on his face. "Can you stay? Please?" 

He had never been this vulnerable before and you knew that it was hurting him to be so, but you could also see the fear in his face at the thought of dying and you couldn’t say no. 

You silently nodded your head and he quickly shuffled over on the mattress, a silent invitation to sit next to him. 

You gently clambered in next him, resting your back against the wall and stretching your legs out in front of you. Next to you, Five had once again shifted and rested his head onto your lap, his weakened body curling around his stomach. You managed to keep in the surprised noise that had threatened to come out of your mouth, careful not to startle Five. He’d never been one to initiate contact between you two. Even after four years together in the apocalypse, you still found he sometimes struggled to give in to your hugs that you gave him after a particularly rough day.

You didn’t comment on this though and instead began to run your fingers through his hair as he looked up at you with a look of contemplation of his face. His forehead was hot to touch and his body was far too warm pressed against yours, just another worrying sign of his infection.

It was quiet for a few moments as you shifted uncomfortably under his gaze, when finally he spoke, "can you sing for me?"

You felt yourself tense at the question, the fever must really be getting to him at this point. "I’m not a very good singer," you said.

"I don’t care, I hear you singing all the time," Five replied.

It was true, you did have a tendency to sing to yourself. You would sing all the time. When you were scavenging for food and supplies. When you were mending holes in the clothes that you both had been wearing for far too long now. When you were heating that nights dinner of whatever tinned food was available. You weren’t the best singer, but it was one of the things that connected you to home and kept you sane. 

The silence often became too loud for you, and you sang to drown it out.

You dumbly nodded your head and opened your mouth to sing. 

"Somewhere over the rainbow, way up high, There’s a land that I heard of once in a lullaby,"

The first few lines of the song came out raspy as your voice adjusted to the song, but Five showed no displeasure at this as he simply continued to look up at you with a look of content over his face. 

"Someday I'll wish upon a star, Wake up where the clouds are far behind me,"

In your long years of the apocalypse, your memory of songs had faded and you often found yourself forgetting the lyrics. Sometimes you would just skip to the next part, or if you were in a better mood, you would create your own silly lyrics, often pertaining to what you doing at that moment. 

"Where trouble melts like lemon drops, high above the chimney top, That's where you'll find me,"

Five looked at you as if you hung the moon in the sky. His eyes darted around your face as though he was taking note of every detail.

"I see trees of green and red roses too, I’ll watch them bloom for me and you,"

His breathing had slowed significantly and his chest rose and fell so shallowly it was barely noticeable. 

"I see skies of blue and clouds of white, The bright blessed day, the dark sacred night,"

Outside, the wind blew strong gusts of wind that shook the walls of your bunker, the lantern next to the bed flickered dangerously. From what you had seen earlier, a storm was coming soon.

"The colours of the rainbow so pretty in the sky, Are also on the faces of people passing by,"

His blinking had slowed and it seemed as though keeping his eyes open was an effort for him. It would be any moment now that he would fall asleep - possibly never waking up.

Hot tears fell from your eyes and rolled down your cheeks, but you didn’t brush them away. Instead, you shifted one of your hands so that it rested on his shoulder, your thumb brushing a soothing pattern. The other hand remained carding through his hair.

"I see friends shaking hands, saying how do you do,"

Five’s tired eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that momentarily took your breath away. As if he was trying to convey every emotion he had felt that he never got the opportunity to truly express. 

But you felt it. 

It hit you hard. The need he felt to protect you. The respect he gained for you over the years. The deep love and affection that ran through his body. 

It was his goodbye.

"They’re really saying, I, I love you,"

You choked back a sob as Five’s eyes finally slid shut and his face smoothed out as he fell into unconsciousness. You didn’t know if Five would ever open his eyes again.

You gasped for air, but your sobs ripped it right back out of your lungs again. But you had made a promise to Five and you continued to sing, determined to finish the song for him.

"I hear babies cry and I watch them grow,  They’ll learn much more than, we’ll ever know,"

You struggled to sing as sobs wracked your body. Your voice kept breaking on each word and it was an effort to get the words out past the lump in your throat. Five was now limp in your arms and you cradled him to your chest, tears falling into his hair and your heaving breaths rattling throughout your body.

"And I think to myself, what a wonderful world,"

The wind had picked up around you, but it was nothing compared to the hurricane that was forming in your mind. The wall behind you cracked just a bit more and dust particles fell and landed around you. The sky above was a smokey grey colour and clouds of ash flew overhead. The lingering smell of decaying bodies hit and you cried harder at the thought of Five soon joining them. 

Your sobs mixed with the never-ending silence of the apocalypse, echoing off the crumbling walls of the shelter around you. 

"And I think to myself, what a wonderful world." You muttered, finally ending your song.

You laid Five carefully down on the mattress and rested your head on his chest, the song of his drawn-out heartbeat filling your ears, until is slowed to nothing but silence.

[plush-rabbit]

Playmate

Warnings: Smut

Word Count: 3.2K

A/N: First time writing Twice so,,, sorry

The day Jin got to measure you was probably the best day of his life. He can measure people fairly fast, get all their measurement in a quick moment, but with you- he wanted it to last long, wanted to make sure that he took advantage of the time he got to spend with. He took his time with you, letting his fingers trace down your arm up to each individual finger, letting his hands slip and curve around your waist, putting his hand on the small of your back to straighten you up, his hand leaving phantom traces as they slide up your leg and faded away when they reached mid-thigh. It was the only day he got to be so close to you, able to smell the pomegranate shampoo that you used, the matching body wash that lingered on your skin; he was able to take his time and let his hands roam throughout your body, the claim of it being needed for his quirk to be accurate was the excuse and while you hummed at the mention of it, you didn’t jerk away from his touch, only the traces of raising hairs and goose bumps gave away that his touch was doing something to you. And there was an added benefit- he got to listen to your voice, make conversation with him that wasn’t forced and dealt with the mission of the group, hear you laugh at his jokes and vice versa, and afterwards, you had even invited him to go and grab a quick dinner. You spent the day with him and wow- it felt really good and later that night, he fell asleep with a smile and a faint blush of his face.

He knows that the clones he makes have their own free-will, they have the memories and it’s like they are them- an exact copy. When he fights alongside your clone it hits different- he’s hyper vigilant that you don’t sustain any serious injuries but when you inevitability melt, he’s shock, he can feel all breath leave his lungs and he holds the goo substance in his hands, cradling it as if you had just died. When he sees you again, he’s holding you tight to his chest, arms threatening to crack your ribs until you soothe over his worries and tell him that he did a good job while affectionately rubbing his head, feeling the soft hair that resides under his mask. Your words and touches hold him together even as he spits insults and sweet words in the same breath, your touch on him never falters and never becomes anything more than rough.

Jin knows that you don’t feel the same for him that he does to you. How could you ever? You’re perfect in his eyes- caring, beautiful, and charming, a smile that makes him ache with want and it’s all too painful for him; painful for him to sit in the same room with unreturned feelings. So he does the next best thing. It’s shameful, but it pacifies him, quells the ache and want in him for just a moment. He creates a clone of you and you’re there smiling and cheerful and you listen to him when he tells you to keep your voice down, a confused smile on your face but you listen to him nonetheless. It’s innocent at first, cuddles and shared kisses, his hands interlocking with yours, nuzzling his face into your chest and pecks full of love given to him without resistance and sometimes he forgets that it’s not really you there, just a version that he made. But like all things in his life, reality begins to blur and he slips. After a meeting, he gives you a kiss on the cheek, and he goes rigid- you laugh it off, holding your face tenderly and telling him you didn’t mind while he stumbles over his words and he walks away, going to his room and locking the door, going into your arms to seek comfort. He’s in a vulnerable state, and naturally, you comfort him, and sweet, innocent kisses of love turn to something more passionate dripped in lust and clothes are peeled and he has to sink his teeth into you to prevent from screaming. He spends the next couple of hours in your grasp while you purr under him, letting your hands roam his body and lips against his, while he pumps himself inside of you, wondering if the real you is just as soft and giving in bed.

He swears that he never wanted to do anything shameful to your clone, never wanted to see what you held under your clothing, only made another one of you to just dull the pain but it twisted into something else, something primal and raw where he couldn’t get enough once he heard you gasp and mutter his name in a sinful tone that makes his hips shudder and cock leak in you.

It’s a secret that he guards with his life, making sure that you disappear right afterwards so all evidence is lost. If he has to leave the base for a few days to get rid of all the urges that he has, so be it. He’s always back. He always comes back to the real version of you who may not love him but still smiles when you see him, jumping out of your seat and wrapping your arms around him, pulling him down to sit with you while you talk about the things he missed.

It’s nice. It feels almost domestic.

-

He’s hidden away. Went to the confines of his own place, found himself a nice little hidden place and he’s made it a home- or rather a place where he can live out his fantasies with you- with your clone. He gets to indulge himself in you. Gets to act as if you are here with him and maybe it’s sleazy, but you would never do this with him. You would never like him like how he likes you. You’re you, perfect in every single way and he’s him- literally coming undone by the stitches and one too many voices that are too loud- only silencing and in agreement when you’re involved.

He’s on his bed, clothes off and sporting an erection that is buried in the clone’s mouth. Your- The clone’s mouth is as close to heaven that he can get to- something sweet and welcoming. He has a hand fisted into your hair- he’s never rough with you, can’t bring himself to hurt you and not even a clone- he just holds it there to guide you, to steady himself on you. It’s a lazy dragging of your mouth on him, tongue flat on his underside and his breathing is deep and ragged, too focused on you to hear the squeaky door of the room open.

“You know,” Jin feels his muscles tense and his eyes go wide, “I have to say seeing me with a dick in my mouth is pretty freaky, but it’s also kind of hot.” He hears a low giggle and the door closes shut. There’s soft clicking of your shoes as you move towards the bed and next to him the bed dips under your weight. “Come on Jin,” your hand weave through his hair, smoothing out stray strands and curving your hand to the back of his head, holding him up, “keep going. It’s hot.”

He shakes his head no, swallowing tightly, apple bobbing in his throat and he thinks he’s going to die. “I can’t,” he whispers, voice tight and choked up.

“Why not?” Your tone takes on something gentler, and your other hands places itself on his chest, feeling the rapid beating of his heart. He makes a pained noise and shuts his eyes. “Why not Jin? Are you not enjoying it?”

“I am,” he hisses.

“Then? Do you not want me here? I can go—”

“No,” his voice croaks and he reaches for the hand on his chest, gripping it firmly and holding it closer to him. “No,” he says in a softer voice, “stay.”

“Do you want me to replace-” your eyes glance to the you who sits there patiently- “me?” You nuzzle into the side of his face and he can feel your smile stretched wide, teeth exposed and the hands on him, curling and fist his hair and scratch lightly at his skin. “Do you want both of us? Tell me what you want Jin,” you kiss his jaw, “and I’ll do it,” you give a kitten lick on his neck, “I promise,” you blow on his neck and he feels shivers run through his body. When you look up at him, your eyes hold no disgust, only clouded by lust with a coquettish smile.

“Fuck,” he curses, eyes darting to your lips and with a sudden burst of courage, he lets go of the hand that was knotted in your- in the clone’s hair and bringing it to your face, pulling you close to him, lips molding into each other’s while the clone version of you resumes its bobbing. He moans into your mouth and deepens the kiss when you part your lips.

A clear strand connecting and breaking apart when you pull away makes him lean closer to you, lips shining and parting. He lets out a whine and his brows furrow. You smile at him and tilt your head and he wants nothing more than return to your lips. Even as the clone version of you isn’t enough, an exact copy, perfect in every single way from the way your mouth feels and your voice, but even then it doesn’t compare to the real thing, doesn’t leave him wanting and whimpering like you do.

“What do you want me to do?” Your hands cup his face and he’s twitching into your touch, breathing ragged as the clone version of you continues to move their head on him.

“Can you ride my face?” His mouth pulls into a line. “Please.”

“Well,” you push lightly on his chest and he falls with a larger force than was given to him, plopping onto the bed with a light thump, and star-stricken face, “lay down.” You tilt your head and he turns his head to watch you strip, watching the clothes slip off your skin and it’s a much better view than watching your clone. Same body, but different tactics- your clone is always eager, but you there’s a bit of jump in your step, a bit of slower movements where your fingers hook onto your clothing and let it fall into a heap on the floor.

You sex is above his face and he tilts himself towards you, and the clone of you, gagging around him as the tip of his length hits farther down their throat, and he hisses in pleasure, mouth parted open and you lower your face onto him, muffling a moan with your hand when his tongue flashes out and swipes your slit.

He takes it all back- you on his mouth and his mouth on you is the literal heaven. He’s been on your clone before, mimicked and tasted you but it doesn’t come close to the real thing. You’re much sweeter, softer and warmer on him, and his lips latch on quickly to your clits, the hands on his side, resting on your bare waist and his pressing you down on him. He moans in you, the vibrations shocking your clit and you jerk your hips, he repeats the sound, softer but more intense as his teeth graze you, hearing your desperate whines above him. Barely even touched and you’re pulsating, leaking onto his face while your hands cover your breasts, nipples pinched in between fingers. Your hips move and forth above him, a hand hooking in front and a calloused thumb pressed against your twitching clit, rubbing harsh circles on it while his tongue plunges into your soft walls, tracing the entrance with the tip of his tongue, moving deeper and tasting the sweet nectar that resides in you and slips into his mouth in syrupy strands.

On his shaft, you’re eager, suckling him deeper in your mouth, tears shining in your eyes when he hits a bit too deep in your throat, your muscles constricting and threatening to tighten as you take him deeper- always so eager to please and swallow his load. He twitches in your mouth and the mental image of you on his face and his cock is bringing him close. His hips jerk, thrusting upwards and hearing the sweet cry of your choke, makes his muscles tighten. Your mouth lowers, taking all of him inside, bits of drool sliding past your lips and onto his package. A hand fumbles and grabs at him, massaging and rolling him around in your palms, while you nurse on his cock, lips sliding off and giving kitten licks to his slit, peppering kisses down his thickness and swallowing him again.

Hearing your cute little moans is music to Jin’s ears. He never once thought that you’d actually be into him and- he stops. He taps your thighs and you look down at him with a flushed face and he makes a motion to get off of his face. You scurry off, sitting on the empty side next to him, sex exposed and mixed with his spit and your arousal. Even the mouth around him stops and pulls away, watching the scene with careful eyes.

“You okay?” You breathe out, licking your lips and you nervously cross your arms over your chest.

“Is this a joke to you?” He asks, eyes narrowing and chests rising and falling in deep breaths.

“A joke? I- What do you mean?” You pull your knees up to your chest and your eyes dart to the meet your eyes who only shrugs in response.

“Why the fuck are you doing this?”

Your eyes soften and you let your hand rest on the bed, palm upturned. “Jin, I came here because you kept disappearing after you would talk to me. I found out why- I think- and I wanted to join in. That’s—”

“Why would you even want to?” His voice is tight and eyes start to twitch, tears burning in the corners of them.

“Jin,” you say his name softly and when you crawl towards him he flinches, you stop in your movements and hold your hands up in mock surrender. “You might find it hard to believe but I like you. You’re fun, you’re really nice and I don’t know, you’re cute too.” When he remains silent you continue. “Jin can I touch you? Would that be okay?” His eyes meet yours for a brief second and he gives you a curt nod. He recoils when you hold his face in your hands and melts at how soft you feel against him and his stubble. Your thumbs rub at his cheeks and the pads of your fingers press gently on him. “I like you Jin. I think you’re great. And if all you have is- er- sexual feelings toward me, that’s okay. I wanted to join in because I wanted to.”

“You like me,” he repeats under his breath.

“Yeah, I do.” You peck his lips and your tongue peeks out to swipe at the residue left. “Do you like me?”

He nods tightly. “A lot. You’re just- You’re really nice and pretty. Like smokin’,” he says, leaning further into your touch.

You laugh and it’s rich and makes him break into a smile. “Not to ruin the moment but,” your eyes flicker to your sex and he nods.

“Come sit down baby- we can talk feelings after I taste you.”

You grin wickedly and sit on him with eagerness, leaning over to grab his hair in your hands and you moan sweet words to him. “Fuck Jin, you feel so good. You’re so good, so- fuck!” You squeeze your eyes shut and take a deep breath. “Like that Jin- again, please.” Your hands knot in his hair and the other you continues to move on his mouth, urging him to spill down their throat. Your hips jerk and you stutter on his hips, more of your arousal leaking onto him, your breasts swinging gently with every rocking motion, eager to find your high.

He mumbles into your sex and the vibrations make your back arch and hands fist tighter. Your walls tighten around his pink muscle and he growls at the act, wondering how it would feel to be buried in your sweet cunt, to feel how tightly you’d wrap around him and cry, your nails digging into his back and leaving bright, red lines in their wake. He’s fucked you clone, held them in positions that made everything feel so much deeper, felt the tight clench of you on him, filled you with his seed until his spilling blanks. All he wants to do right now is fill you up, make you feel full and watch his cum drip out of your leaking, aching cunt.

He eats you feverishly, mouth clicking and your sex leaking onto him, he’s greedy, finally has you- the actual you- on him, willing and moaning, writhing and twitching above, begging for him to continue,  rocking your hips on him.

You reach your high first. You gasp and his name is chanted like a mantra on your tongue, whispered and moaned, broken and full of vigor while your orgasm washes over you, sending your body rigid and clenching around his tongue. He holds you down, mouth unrelenting while he makes your toes curl and tummy feel tight. The fistfuls of hair you have on him are let go and you tell him how handsome he is, legs shaking while your sensitivity makes you tingle as his suckles gently on your twitching clit.

You sit on him, chest heaving, and the other you, gags around him. You slip off of him and he clicks his tongue, hands falling from your hips and you come to cuck gently on his neck, hand running to his chest and rubbing a pert nipple between your fingers. It’s the final push he needed as his legs go still and tense, dick twitching in your mouth, and his ejaculate spilling down your throat. You work him through his orgasm, pressing kisses across his neck, leaving bits of skin red and bitten, soothed over with cool breath while his chest is pinched between your fingers.

When he comes down from his high and sees you watching him with a soft grin, he thinks he might cry.

“That was fun,” you smile cheekily.

He nods. “Yeah- no, it was really- best one if I’m being honest,” he says in a jumbled mess of words, mind silent and clear.

“We’re going to do that again right? I’m fine if you want to add the clone, but uh, I’d like a try at your cock next time.” You brush back his hair and twirl a short strand around your finger.

“Trust me, there’s going to be a next time, baby.” He grins at you and you press a kiss near his scar, it’s quick and leaves his skin prickling. It’s a nice feeling.

You pull away from him and he frowns slightly. “So, uh,” your voice is hesitant and he turns to look at you, “how do we get rid of clone me?” You point a finger at the clone who simply tilts their head and sends a nervous wave.

[minimitchell]

🎃🎃🎃 ooooh, spooky halloween smut 🎃🎃🎃 (based on a prompt by anon)

“This seat taken?”

Callum looks up from his drink and into clear, blue eyes, surrounded by the dark silk of the man’s mask. There’s some fake blood dripping from the corner of his mouth and he’s wearing a cape over a black dress shirt and dark pants. He’s obviously supposed to be a vampire, albeit a kind of low-budget one. 

Granted, it’s not like Callum himself can talk; his costume consists of his old work suit and a painted-on moustache in a sad bid to look like Gomez Addams. It was a sort of last minute decision to go to this year’s Halloween party in the Vic, which explains why the only mask he was able to find is a black, glittery one, that completely messes with the rest of his outfit.

It’s the theme for the party tonight - everyone has to wear a mask. It’s a fun idea; even if you can still kind of tell who’s who, there’s a little element of mystery to it all.

The guy in front of him definitely wears the mystery well though. There’s some fire in his eyes, the interest clear as day, and Callum is very much on board with this. He nods and gestures to the seat next to him at the far-end of the bar, watching the man as he sinks into it and immediately turns towards him.

“All alone tonight?”

“Seems like it.”

Flirting isn’t really his strong suit; he’s more of a romance and rose petals kind of guy. It doesn’t deter the guy though, on the contrary, he tilts his head to the other and there’s a devastating smirk crawling onto his face at the confirmation that Callum is here alone.

“Let me buy you another drink then.”

He’s already motioning for the barman before Callum can even agree to his proposition and it doesn’t take that long for another beer to appear in front of him, the guy handing over some notes to pay for both of their drinks. He goes to clink their pints together but Callum moves his glass back towards him before they have the chance to meet.

“I don’t even know your name. Bad luck, innit.”

It’s a complete lie; just a pretense to find out the guy’s name, to tease him a little bit. By the looks of it, it’s working well, if the way his eyes darken that little bit is anything to go by.

“Ben.”

He holds his pint forward again, rim tilted towards Callum, his tongue running along his bottom lip. Callum is transfixed by it; has to follow it with rapt attention. He lets Ben wait for another moment, almost enough for him to pull his glass back again, before he finally clinks their glasses together.

“I’m Callum.”

They hold each other’s gaze while taking a long pull from their beers and just this simple act is so full of sexual tension that Callum can barely swallow the alcohol in his throat. He’s about to suggest that they get out of here and go back to his house when one of Ben’s hands finds its way onto his thigh, effectively cutting off any possible remark in his brain. It slides further towards the inseam of his suit pants and then slowly inches upwards, closer and closer to his groin. There’s a wicked smile on Ben’s face, the rich blue of his eyes slowly being swallowed more and more by the black of his pupils.

“You know, Callum, I live just ‘round here.”

Callum gets what he’s implying, of course he does, but he hesitates to take him up on his offer. He wants him and it’s more than obvious that Ben wants him as well, but for some reason, he doesn’t really want to be taken home by him right now. There’s fire licking up his spine, anticipation making every extremity tingle and burn, and he doesn’t want to waste those precious minutes it’ll take for them to make their way to Ben’s home. Not when he knows that there’s somewhere a lot closer they can go - the thrill of it technically being in public only adding to the fire in his veins.

“Me too. Can’t really wait that long though.”

His words make Ben bite his bottom lip in response, eyes travelling over the expanse of Callum’s body. He regards him for a couple of moments, almost so long that Callum thinks he’s about to decline the offer, before he gets up from his seat and threads their hands together, pulling Callum with him.

“Come on then.”

It seems like Ben has the same idea Callum had, because he pulls them both through the heavy, wooden doors into the backroom of the Vic and then into the toilets, checking to make sure they’re the only ones in there before he finally seals their mouths together in a fiery kiss.

The kiss is heated and hurried, but so so good. Their tongues brush together briefly but it’s enough to make want spread throughout Callum’s entire body, his hands coming up to squeeze Ben’s waist before they’re making their way to the man’s neck, settling just under his jaw. Ben makes these little noises whenever one of them dives back in for another kiss and it’s intoxicating to say the least.

When they both come up for air next, Ben uses the moment to walk them backwards and into one of the stalls along the back, pressing Callum against the now closed door of it. He dips his head to mouth along the sharp edge of Callum’s jawline, darting his tongue out to run along the skin afterwards.

“Are we really gonna do this here?”

The question makes Ben kiss up his neck and lips again, pulling back to catch Callum’s eyes.

“Don’t tell me you’ve never thought about it. Besides, this was your idea, Cal. You wanted to do a little ‘roleplay’.”

He’s right, of course he is, how could he not think about dragging his boyfriend in here to have his way with him whenever they’re sat around a table and Ben is laughing, is looking, like he does. He’s pretty much irresistible to Callum and they aren’t exactly shy or conservative when it comes to sex. And Callum isn’t afraid to bring up things he wants to try anymore, completely confident that Ben will agree to try pretty much anything as long as Callum is into it.

And he did agree when Callum brought up the idea of pretending they don’t know each other at this party and feign that they’re just two strangers meeting and having some fun with one another. It feels good, right even, that they can be spontaneous and open like that. That they can try things and have a partner that’s not judging, but always willing to go along with their wishes.

“Yeah, you’re right, come on.”

They immediately get back into the swing of things, mouths and tongues sliding together and hands roaming each other’s bodies, unbuckling belts and prying open each other’s pants. Ben reattaches his mouth to Callum’s neck, sucking on the skin over his pulse point until Callum is panting into his ear. He runs his mouth along Callum’s neck until he reaches the side of his face, his mouth now right below his ear, breath fanning out over the shell of it.

“Did you like it? Some stranger chatting you up, buying you drinks, wanting to take you home with them?”

There’s no real jealousy in his voice. They both know for certain they only want each other; that they’ve only ever wanted the other since becoming serious. They don’t like to share, don’t want to, but he wants Callum to know that he’s desirable even if they were just pretending to be strangers. He would choose Callum in every version of his life, whether they knew each other or not. He’s sure of that.

“Only ‘cause it’s you.”

His last words are strangled, cut-off by a groan forcing its way out of his throat when Ben wraps his hand around his rapidly hardening cock. There’s some fake blood on Callum’s chin now, obviously caked from Ben’s face onto his while they were kissing and his little drawn-on moustache is smeared beyond recognition. He looks thoroughly debauched already and Ben absolutely loves it.

Ben drops to his knees in front of him, pulling his pants and boxers down just enough to get Callum’s dick free, trailing his tongue from the base all the way to the head. Callum lets out a groan at the action, tangling his hands into Ben’s hair.

The best thing about being together for almost a year now ist that Ben knows exactly what makes Callum tick; what makes him lose his mind. He knows to press his tongue just to the underside of the head, knows to tongue the slit on the upstroke and knows to keep as much eye contact as possible, because that really gets Callum going.

He hollows out his cheeks and runs his mouth up and down a few times, tongue darting out and tracing the thick vein in-between. Callum has to break the eye contact between them before he’s coming just from the sight of Ben on his knees in front of him and his head thumps backwards against the door, eyes squeezed shut.

It doesn’t really help, not seeing anything, because it only intensifies the feeling of pleasure Ben’s bringing to him with his talented mouth. What’s ultimately his undoing is Ben trailing one finger down to his rim, just pressing against his entrance, coupled with Ben humming around his dick. The vibrations send shockwaves through his whole body and before he can even warn his boyfriend, he’s coming down his throat with sharp pants and grunts.

Ben swallows him down completely, making sure that no drop escapes and stains the dark material of his suit pants, before he’s making his way up his body again until he reaches his mouth, making Callum taste himself on his tongue. They’re still trading kisses when Callum reaches down to Ben’s pants, lowering the zipper and getting Ben’s dick out of its confines.

He’s running his hand over it in a steady rhythm, running his thumb over the slit on every other upstroke. It makes Ben keen, his head falling forward into Callum’s neck, where he takes the skin back into his mouth, sucking on it and running his teeth along it.

Ben is well on his way to climax, can feel the white-hot pleasure of his orgasm approaching from how turned on he’s been practically since Callum had suggested this little charade, when they both hear the door to the toilets open and feet shuffle in. They catch each other’s eyes for a second, Callum stopping his movements on Ben’s dick. It’s like they’re silently communicating whether to try and keep going or wait it out, even if the idea of listening to some guy relieving himself isn’t the most arousing right now.

There’s a glint in Callum’s eyes suddenly and before Ben can question it, he continues tugging on Ben’s cock, harder and faster than before, letting the wet slap of skin against skin fill the little room. Ben can’t stop the loud moan from spilling out of his mouth and Callum's smile is nothing short of devastating at hearing it. It’s the first time he’s even remotely let on that there’s some small exhibitionism kink hiding in him and the revelation does nothing but fuel Ben’s budding orgasm.

They barely register the embarrassed cough and the door opening and falling close again, too caught up in getting Ben to tip over the edge. It doesn’t take more than a couple more tugs from Callum’s hand, turning his wrist on the last stroke, before Ben is coming as well, coating Callum’s skin with cum.

Callum cards his hands through Ben’s hair and down his face until his breathing returns to normal and his heartbeat normalizes. He presses another deep kiss onto Ben’s lips, but it’s less heated now; slow and full of love this time.

He loves this about them; that they can be passionate and wild one minute and then soft and gentle the next. It’s been that way since the first time they collided with each other, like some sort of weird yin and yang, and it still remains the same today.

“That was something new.”

“I just hope it wasn’t someone we know.”

Ben’s pressing his forehead against Callum’s, laughter spilling out of his mouth that Callum joins in on immediately. Eventually, Ben pulls away and starts tucking them both back in, making them look as presentable as they can be. Callum’s gelled back hair is a mess, as is his face, caked in fake blood and smeared eyeliner. There’s glitter falling from his mask onto his cheekbones and the whole picture is equally funny and hot to Ben.

“God, your costume is shit.”

“Hey, Lexi did her best okay.”

They’re sharing another small smile with each other, Ben finally reaching up to take off Callum’s mask and Callum doing the same for him in return. They come together in another gentle kiss before carefully opening the stall door, making sure that they’re still alone in here.

“Come on, let’s go home. Callum, was it?”

Callum darts his hand out to swipe at Ben, but all he does is capture Callum’s hand in his, using it to wrap it around his body so their bodies come close again, Callum’s arms around him; chest against back. Someone yells at them when they go through the doors into the pub again, Callum not deciphering whether it’s because they’re not wearing their masks or because they just got off in the toilets, but he doesn’t even care. 

He’s happy and fucked-out and so in love and the best thing is, it’s all real and his forever.

[imaginedcreaderinsert]

Not sure if this is go this works so I’m really sorry if this is wrong you can just ignore this but could you do 66 and 5 from the prompt list with Jason Todd

Here it comes! Everything was done correctly, don’t worry sweetie. I enjoyed so much doing this! Thanks for being patient and I just wished I could have been quicker about it. I HOPE IT’S WHAT YOU EXPECTED and not too OOC.

Summary: It follows the promtps 5 and 66, which are: “Instead of staring you could join” and “exhibitionism” as kink. Jason and Reader don’t get to give each other their names, so it’s always Red Hood and Vigilate name, until the end, kinda.

Word Count: 2980.

TW: Smut, but that was given since it was taken from THAT list.

Nerve —  Red Hood x Reader

The hunt had been going for some months now. You had not formally met him, but from what you knew, his actions were quite justified. You had nothing against Bruce; he took you in as one of his own, and you were in good terms with the Wayne’s, but you couldn’t agree with some of his late actions or could follow his thought of train. Your complaints had been kept at a minimum, but they Dick and Tim were quite aware on your opinion on vengeance. Unfortunately, it was your first motivation when it came to avenge certain people in Gotham, or when some secret mission was decided where Bruce required your help. Out of everyone, you knew he thought of you as the most unstable of all – he couldn’t quite control, and that’s why Red Hood liked you.

           You met each other because he had left you in charge of Gotham for three days. They had to serve some secret mission you had zero idea on; and honestly, you couldn’t care less. You received having the house for yourself quite well, and you liked solitude, as much as you loved your night conversations with Tim, whom you had felt a little crush on since forever. He just wasn’t very assertive and that bugged you off. You liked sarcastic, witty, quick-on-the-feet people, and he was quite that, but at the same time, not entirely it. He knew he was intelligent, but his self-esteem wasn’t very high – not enough to see at least how you were a lot of days flirting with him. You were quite giving up and decided having him away might help. You didn’t know then how right you were

           .The breeze was light, and summer was around the corner, practically; the skin-tight suit was becoming more and more of a burden as of lately, and even if the material was light and flexible, it was just a relief to take it off every time you came home. And you knew it was risky, inherently wrong, but when they were off into their mission, you took it on and off now and again when you needed to cool down: it became unbearable after moving so fast here and there – you just wished you could just keep the mask off and have a summer version of the bodysuit.

           You started with your little transgression the first day, and in the second, your suit started coming off. The zipper was in the front part, where the start of your neck began, thus letting your shoulders and cleavage breath: nothing wrong with giving yourself a rest, which you didn’t know then you were spied on. You didn’t quite notice him until your third building, your third stop; it was near four AM and you were near the end of your patrol. Maybe you could have waited, maybe you could have avoided it, but luck was not on your side when you, daringly, decided to zip it down a bit more: and it was then that he appeared, from the shadows, as if almost stopping you from continuing where your thoughts were, unfortunately going.

           It had been long since-

           “Whatchu’ doing here all alone? And in such an indecent attire, if I may say so myself”. His tone was teasing, unknown. And had it not been because of the characteristic red, you would not have recognized him, No one thought it would do you both any good to meet each other, and until then, your interest had been close to zero. You had other things to care about.

           But suddenly his strong thighs, his massive chest, his incredible arms were all you could think about: the only word that could come into your mind was “gorgeous”, and for some reason, the only animal you could compare him to was a rhinoceros – huge, strong, somehow virile, powerful. Dick seemed so small in comparison, Damian terribly young, you wondered, who was he? Before actually, of course, coming into the light. The distinctive scarlet hood, his mask covering almost all of his face, the way he moved, like he owned everything he touched – Red Hood, the one and only.

           Your first instinct is to lower your head and step back; you forget about your attire, more worried with your identity and his presence, which seems to corner yours up against a wall. He does not press, but there’s only two steps from his and your position.

           “If you really want to, you can put it on, but I’ve seen it all. You have gorgeous eyes, by the way. Mesmerizing.” He turns around, almost as if giving you an opportunity, which you quickly take to put the mask, rearrange your hair: your heart beats fast against your chest, your legs slightly trembling and yours arms and fingers pressed against the wall like a scared cat. When he hears you are not moving, he turns around again. You can practically hear his grin when he speaks. “As entertaining and seductive as it is seeing you all on your own, where are Bruce and the others?”

           You explain, as concisely as you can (without actually giving too much information) the situation; not being sure about how much you can give in it’s the real problem. He knows Bruce’s secret identity, but can he be trusted with topics of the such? Of that you are not yet sure, but you won’t stand and be a gaping fish in front of him. Even when all you really want him to do is press himself up closer-

           “Is that all?”. He snickers, and you arch an eyebrow, daringly. He stands both of his hands up, as if in peace. “Well then, go, I have much to patrol. They won’t be back until probably tomorrow night.”

           Is all for nothing, really, all of your brave front, since all he has to do is come closer to make you go red, up against the wall like you are prepared for him opening your legs just the smallest amount: and all he does to leave you hot and bothered is zip you up, his thumb caressing briefly your chin. You are sure, of course you are, that he must do that every now and then to all the girls he meets: it’s irresistible, and he is the only thing you think about until your last day of patrolling. Your hormones are all around the wall, bouncing and repressed: you’ve taken two cold baths and you get almost wet from remembering his index briefly caressing your chest as he zipped you up. There are shivers all on your back as you get up from your first stop of the night. It’s still quite early, and things seem to be quite calm: that is until you hear some screaming and ruffling of furniture – your instinct come almost immediately, making you run towards the railing of the rooftop, and immediately, making you stop as you look to the building in front of you, the flat before the top one: two people having furious sex almost against the window, her eyes desperately clutching onto a wooden cabinet and him ramming into her again and again-

           “Jealous much?”. He makes you shriek, obviously catching you off guard. You hit his chest as you step back, instinctively searching for a solid wall which you find, only much warmer and just slightly punchy. “Didn’t take you for a voyeur. Do you have one of those kinks?”

           And is probably the night talking as you zip down your suit and you press yourself against him: he hears it, and you feel his shoulders tensing against your smaller figure. Almost as if not convinced, doubting where to put his hands over your waist, you bend over the rail, the underside of your boobs cold, semi naked as you strip it off until your waist. But he can’t see anything, not really, when you push him with your boot in his chest, making him almost fall over his ass: he clearly didn’t see it coming, and you chuckle as you cover your nipples with your arms, still not giving in and only showing him some back. Naked back. The chest plates made up for the lack of bra, and it was more comfortable that way.

           Red Hood, as you turn your head around, looks mesmerized and in shock. His arms still linger in the air, like he hasn’t really decided yet where to put them. Your butt is tentatively covered, tight and leaving nothing to his imagination, explicit: it’s all he can look at before he pierces your back… You need him to move. Now.

           “Instead of staring you could join”. You dare him, smirking.

           And then, suddenly, he moves onto you like a beast prepared to rave someone up.

           There has been always something exciting about making out with a stranger, letting someone else defile you without actually knowing much about them. There are no expectations or pressure upon the other, just two people letting themselves be swept by the heat of the moment. He grabs, roughly, your breasts, shoving your own arms out of the way; his mouth starts nibbling on your neck and he ruts almost desperately against you, his hard-on clear as he almost tentatively pushes himself against your ass. You moan, offering more of your neck to him and he eats it like he’s hungry, leaving bites and marks behind. But just as he has suddenly started, he stops in his tracks, making you whimper – to which he immediately kisses your neck, but you can feel a question up the trail he’s making, to your chain.

           “What are you to Bruce?”

           You stop rutting against him, maybe too in shock to react to the question. You look at him, with an arched brow, and almost offended. He says “sorry” with his gorgeous eyes, but he does not take it back.

           “I’m not his daughter if that’s what you are interested in.” That’s what he’s really asking, really, you imagine.

           “Are you close to him?”. He almost inquires, biting your chin and getting up to your lips. Your back is a mess of shivers as his left hand abandons your breast and starts caressing the small of your back. Such a weakness, how did he know?

           “No. Not as much as he would like to, I think.” Is he trying to get information out of you, or is it a kink of his? You don’t know which one is sicker. “He can’t tame me.”

           He groans, incredibly hard against your ass and starting to move himself against your hips, this time, trying to lower down your suit so that he can see what’s under it. He grabs your ass, almost all in a full cup with his big hands, in such a way that he makes you feel desired and wanted. It’s been long since someone has made you feel that way, and to him, you are just saying all the right things with the perfect body.

           “Can I please try?”. He murmurs, into your mouth before tasting it. It’s heaven, it’s brute – soft underneath when he licks your lips, almost erotically, making you moan into it as if he can make you imagine how would his sweet tongue feel down there. As if on cue, he presses his middle finger into your core, spreading your wetness in your panties. “Can I please please please try?”. You didn’t know you were into begging, but he makes it sound hot; like he can’t have you even when he’s kissing you like that, asking for consent even when you are hot under his touch, ready to be entered almost. “Stop giving me fucking hell, woman.”

           You laugh and he snickers, hiding into your neck, kissing it back again.

           “Yes”, you murmur, and that’s all he needs before digging in, completely throwing your suit down your legs and lowering his pants down.

           His cock is hot and hard against your clothed core, wet and full of desire: you want him in, but you relish the torture of the slow-burn. Being one step from falling into utter lust is pleasurable to say the least, and you can feel he likes it too because of how he moves into your pussy. Red Hood feels the lubricant against his own, the material too drenched to actually protect you anymore. You desperately start to whimper against him, hips moving and trying to get more, as he gets his own cock wet because of your need of him. You want him. You want him in, you want him opening you, taking you by your neck and leaving you breathless as he fills you in and-

           “Neck, now. Press.” You gasp, almost too out of words as his hand slows himself down your torso, caressing the wetness before actually moving the material aside. It’s hot, it’s incredibly hot and Red Hood can feel it as he gets his hardened member close, rubbing it directly for first time against you. You both moan, his hand going to your throat and pressing himself in, almost slightly, tentatively. Your hand wraps itself against it, pressing in a bit more, which he does confidently. Then he gets in and your world goes black.

           You bend over the railing, hands securely grasping the material, eyes closed and expression full of bliss as he presses himself in perfectly, still, maybe waiting for your permission to continue. He rubs your clit, as if you needed it, but you stop him: your own hand hitting his lightly, hissing as you moves your hips against his.

           “I don’t want to cum so soon”. You murmur, and you can feel he relaxes; did he fear he would break you, damage you? He’s in for a ride. “Now just fucking move, Red, or my virginity is going to-“

           He thrusts in, almost hammering your stomach into the rail and making you moan; his pace is brutal, fast, deep – and if it’s even possible, he makes you put up one of your legs so he can deepen up even more, which feels incredible. It’s amazing. He fills you, and you fear that when he leaves you will feel empty all over again. No man has ever made you feel this safe in such a compromising position, with such a view underneath your toes, traffic lights and other people walking down the streets without knowing what a show it’s going on over their heads.

           You cum, too needy, too sensitive, after the first few minutes, and clamp down on him. He has to stop, kiss your nape up and down so he doesn’t cum immediately as well. You like it, you like it so much you think he might make you purr, moaning and trembling due to his mouth.

           “Eat me out some time, please”.

           “Next time. I know an excellent place.”

           He resumes slowly his pace, and you try to relax, close your eyes and let him make himself home into you. You don’t resist this time and he gets as deep as before, you occasionally trembling and eventually shouting out, babbling out, incoherent curses and all that you know of his name, Red.

           The closer he gets, the more his free hand gets to lower down on your clit, the other grabbing a handful of chest still, playing and pinching your hardened nipple. He plays with it as if making sure you get to come a second time, and you feel grateful for it, because your body is demanding it as he gets there. You wouldn’t be able to let him go without cumming a second time.

           “Please please kiss me”. You almost demand, and he complies. You are out of breath, in a similar state to his, but still, you moan into his mouth, forehead sweating and tired. Just as much as him. “Red, Red, I’m going to-I have to-!”

           “Jason, Jay. Anything for you, babe”. He quickly says, and you nod, desperate to reach it, claw his name out in his arms as he grabs you closer to him.

           “Jason, Jason, Jason!”. Like a chant, the only God you know as he cums inside and you tremble, his hand moving frenetic on your clitoris and making your shiver as you press yourself into him, hoping you don’t fall.

           But he grabs you like its nothing, making you sit into his lap, almost, his own legs supporting you both. Naked and tired, you feel like dying. And on top of that, “they” were coming home that same night. You didn’t want to explain a thing, you didn’t want to see them yet. Was it wrong of you to want more out of this stranger?

           “Can I crash in yours today?”. You boldly ask, making his eyes widen. He finally takes the mask that covers his mouth off, which didn’t hide his voice much; but he must have figured out that it’s pretty much useless now with you.

           “We’ve just met. You sure you want to trust me that soon?”

           “We’ve just fucked.” You say, plainly, making him laugh. One of his hands wraps itself across your chest, the other along your waist; as if he were protecting you, your body, from the world. “I just don’t want to go back to that Manor today. They are coming home and-“

           “Shit, what time is it? They’ve probably already landed and-fuck, fuck, move. They are going to catch us otherwise.”

           It feels like a slap in the face until he makes himself clear, kissing your neck.

           “I don’t want them to see you naked. Or with his dearest brother’s cock still very much out and interested in you.”

           You laugh, and concede, starting to get dressed, zipping up and getting as close to prepared as you can be after that incredible fuck.

           “So is that a yes to-?”

           “Just follow me loser. Try not to walk like a new born fawn, or I’ll leave you behind”

           “Jackass!”

[bjy-on-ao3]

Kinktober Day 11

(As before, you can find a link to the AO3 version of this and the rest of my Kinktober 2020 prompts on the ‘Masterlist’ section of the blog.)

Initially, when I wrote this I thought it might not appeal to a lot of other Izaya fans because, while it involves full-body licking and that might sound lewd, this also mixes in body worship and Izaya’s need to be ‘adored’. So the tone of this might be more vulnerable/soft than expected. But I’ve since seen that some other folks also seem to enjoy this (Besides the one who wrote the other idea that made me want to make this along with a show line). Though I’m still a little nervous about it.

Kinktober Day 11: Licking (Izaya Orihara | Durarara!!)

For all the time you had known Izaya Orihara, infamous information broker - and to many a shameless, irritating bastard they could do without being around - there were very few times you saw what was hidden underneath all his pomp and sass. You had seen him at work, lounging and watching from a hidden spot while he dealt with clients. Each one was met with cool, collected confidence, even the most dangerous. 

You had witnessed how he schemed and manipulated. How he turned people against one another or played them like pawns on a game board. He was ever the picture of a man in control of and enjoying the world around him, acting as if it were his to direct. In those moments you had never noticed a crack in his facade.

Even during most nights when you shared his bed, there was no seeing through the boundless confidence he showed the world. Most days like there truly appeared to be no end to his cockiness. Rarely though there came intimate nights when you saw the veneer crack and flake away. Instead of receiving the adoration he so craved from the humans he claimed to love so much, so often he received only scorn, hatred, distance. You knew Izaya would never actually  admit  to those nights when he hurt - his pride would never allow it - but you could feel it well enough. And you those felt privileged by those infrequent nights.

Nights like those, when you could sense the need in him, things took a slower turn. You insisted he lie back and relax for a bit. Initially to your surprise, Izaya seemed content enough to indulge you and let you tend to him. Once you had both stripped down and he sprawled out along the bed, arms stretched up and hands tucked behind his head, you went to work. You started with a kiss, sensuous and lazy at first, growing more insistent as time passed. You ran the tip of your tongue smoothly along his bottom lip, entreating him to let you in before fighting a languid, half-hearted battle for dominance with his tongue.

After you were satisfied you had kissed him into an erotic daze,  you left a hot trail along the sharp line of his jaw, the curve of his neck, and the shell of his ear with your tongue, sometimes pausing to leave a kiss or bite down on an especially sensitive area. You took your time in claiming each inch of his skin, ensuring every bit of your attention was on him. Sure, you couldn’t make up for the love of all of humanity, but you could certainly do your very best to assure him  someone  adored him.

Past his neck, you continued your ministrations, defining the hard lines of his collarbone and his chest. You paused to nip and suck briefly at each nipple and swirl your tongue around them teasingly. Even the smoothly corded muscles of his shoulders and arms didn’t escape the hot stroke of your tongue, working your way down each arm before licking and sucking at his fingers, all the while ensuring his eyes were locked on yours.

Down over each dip in his slim torso and navel, nibbling coyly in addition to your licks. You kissed across the descending vee of his hipbones on each side, purposely avoiding the hopeful erection awaiting your mouth where they met. Over the insides of his thighs, sometimes surprising him with a less chaste nip to the sensitive skin. Even further down, brushing fingertips and tongue over his lean calves, feeling the muscles jump and flex from the featherlight touch. Only once you had outlined the rest of his slender body with the brush of your tongue did you make your way up to where you knew he was the most impatient for your touch.

A series of pleased sighs and a low, quiet moan here and there encouraged your exploration throughout They let you know where he especially enjoyed the touch of your lips and tongue and teeth and fingertips and just how far unwound he had become. Yet the moment couldn’t stay soft and pure forever. Even if you would have eagerly given him hours of your time to show him that you cared, Izaya’s patience only went so far, even on the nights he was at his most broken. 

When you at long last you licked a long, hot stripe up the underside of his eager cock, the moment of adoration and worship was broken and back was the intense, primal atmosphere. Immediately a lewd groan and a curse burst from his lips. His hands leaped from their place cradling his head, tangling themselves in your hair as you wrapped your lips around him and started to bob up and down along his length. You pulled away just barely at moments, swirling your tongue around the sensitive head before taking all of him in again and starting your tempo anew.  His gentle sighs morphed into progressively more harsh and husky groans, peppered with swears and exclamations of his enjoyment the closer his orgasm came.

Often on those rare nights, the ‘fun’ ended when Izaya came, satisfied just to bask in the afterglow. But you were fulfilled by the idea that you had assuaged some of whatever hurt he dealt with in his quest for human adoration, even if just for a little while. Besides, once the mask was back in place, he never left you wanting.

[slasherscream]

if you're still taking V requests could I have a lil black!reader and V with reader getting some comfort while they're depressed :']

it really buttered my egg-roll to write this

v x black!reader ft. // soft comfort

He notices everything about you. 

It is such a luxury to have another living, breathing person in the shadow gallery and he doesn’t take it for granted.

He observes you constantly, consciously and unconsciously. How will this interact with Y/N? Would Y/N enjoy this? They’re wrinkling their nose again what could be the matter? 

You are a fixture in his life now. A constant, when for so long the only constant he has kept has been his rage, his vengeance, his mission. 

To neglect you in any way would be a crime.

So yes he notices from the very start when you begin to wilt like a flower without sunlight. You try to hide it but there’s no hiding how the gallery begins to lack the usual lightness you bring to it. 

You were so taken by his home the moment he’d spirited you away. Enchanted with its treasures and beauty. And he knows it is beautiful. Full of beautiful and rare things - but when you first took everything in         smiling from ear to ear? It became merely a reflection of your own loveliness and vibrancy.

It dulls as your happiness does. 

From the jukebox plays a crooning old school tune that you listen listlessly to from your spot on the couch. It’s one of your favorites but the energy is wrong. You aren’t engaged by it. Eyes closed, mouth turned down into a frown, and each breath you take seeming utterly forced. An effort just to breathe and an effort just to be living.

V takes all of this in and decides it would be ….inappropriate for him to allow this to continue on. He would be beside himself if you mistook him trying to respect your space and boundaries for not taking note of your suffering. For not caring.

He tries to make noise as he approaches you. The last thing he wants to do is startle you and you’ve taken to asking him if he walks on air because he is, in fact - always managing to startle you. At the sounds of footsteps you open your eyes and glance his way.

Your expression shifts only slightly but the fact that you look even slightly less miserable just upon seeing him is …..well it’s- 

“You’re back.” You say, sounding tired.

“I’m back.” V echoes as he moves to sit beside you. 

You shift as if to be further out of his way, legs curling up to be closer to the rest of your body. He can feel the warm imprint you left on the cushion, probably from hours of remaining still and unmoving.

His hands flutter uselessly for a moment before he settles them on his lap. He’d wanted to ….touch you, that he knows (he thinks of it, of settling his hands over your legs. Of using his hands to pull your legs - gently - back over his own, where he could simply… touch you and then he must imagine a world where you would enjoy being touched by him as much as he would enjoy touching you) . But that is not ….the point of what V wants to do. That is just an instinct that grows in him with each passing day. One that must be ignored as best he can. 

“Might I pose a question?” He says, eyes focused solely upon you from beneath the safety of his mask. It is the only reason he ever feels so comfortable looking at you so bravely, so openly. 

“Of course.”

“Are you - are you unhappy here?” He is momentarily startled by how quickly you spring into a sitting position. He is warmed by the force with which you deny his question and a tension leaves his shoulders that he hadn’t known was there. That’s troubling but staunchly ignored (like so many of his feelings regarding you).

“Why do you think that?” You ask, still frowning. 

Silence settles in the room, aside from the songs still playing from the jukebox. All the ones you’d selected sounding ….melancholy without the usual accompaniment of your dancing and enthusiastic singing.  

“Ah.” You say, laughing in a way that’s distinctly unhappy. “It’s nothing you did - it’s nothing at all really it’s just - I’ve always had … low moments like this where I just can’t seem to be happy." 

More silence until, "Is there anything I can do to lift your spirits?" 

You are about to shake your head, touched by his concern but unwilling to allow your misery to spread. You know this is just something that you’ll have to let pass. But then you think (the music is still playing - just the right kind for dancing. For holding someone close. Lovingly. It’s been so long since you’ve been held.) -

"You’ve thought of something.” V leans forward, focused on the way he’d seen an idea drift over your face before you’d shaken your head and tried to rid yourself of it. “Please - seeing you so unhappy is nearly unbearable. If there’s something I can do - anything I can do, I’ll do it." 

The statement lingers in the air with such a passion you have to look away from his mask. You feel watched in a way that makes your skin burn. 

"You could….Would you dance with me?” Your eyes focus firmly onto some bit of priceless, stolen memorabilia in the farthest corner of the room. 

“That would make you happy?” You manage to nod and then try not to tense when you feel, more than see, him get up from the couch. You’re half afraid he’ll leave you alone. A quiet mockery of your request. But that’s just the dark part of your mind talking to you.

V would never do anything so cruel and furthermore, his heart feels like it’s trying to escape from his chest even as he steps before you and bows in a way that’s both over dramatic and entirely charming. “May I have this dance?" 

You can’t help the small laugh as you slide your hand into his waiting one. You wonder if he can feel the way your pulse races (he can. His hand so much bigger than yours, his fingers brush across and wrap around your wrist and it only makes his own pulse race ever faster–) "You may.”

He guides you smoothly to the center of the room and a new song starts up as if waiting for his cue. The voice of a crooning Ella Fitzgerald begins to sing the classic and now illegal version of “Someone to Watch Over Me”. You both relax and stiffen at the familiar tune. It feels a little too on the nose.

He could spend the rest of his life watching over you, he thinks.What would it be like? To be loved like that- you wonder.

There is a distance between the two of you that is uncomfortable and one of you must take the plunge to eliminate it. You are the one to do so. Already so miserable and tired you thoughtlessly seek out the rest of the comfort you think you’ll find in his company. There’s a moment where he stops breathing when you step more fully into his space, the circle of his arms. Now you can feel the human warmth of him from underneath his costume. He can feel yours as well and after a stuttered breath his arms wrap more firmly around you. He begins to move you in smooth and soothing circles. 

You continue to surprise him by resting your head on his shoulder. He knows he’s imagining the tickle of your curls against his neck and underside of his chin, his clothing is too thick for that - but it’s the nicest thing his imagination has ever conjured, the phantom feeling of your hair that has always looked so soft. 

He glances at the hand still tucked into his own, gloved one and tries not to think about how your brown skin might look against his own (it’s a terrifying thought just as much as it is a ….one that fills him with-) 

Slowly he tucks you closer, a hand settling at your waist that he tries not to make feel …proprietary, even though it does ignite something fiercely possessive in him. You make a noise that sounds heavy with contentment and he thinks some of the gallery’s light is starting to return. 

[fantroll-purgatory]

Kilius Koplan

I’ve been saving this boy up.

@ancientvacation usual disclaimer that I don’t have a lot to say besides oooh and ahhhh

Alternian OC

Name:Kilius Koplan - Kilius comes from Achilleus, also known as Achilles, one of the great Greek heroes. It also sounds close to ‘Kleos’, a Greek concept of glory. Koplan is from Adam Copeland, the real name of the wrestler Edge, who’s finishing move is The Spear, the same characteristic weapon of Achilleus.

Also indicates he might have a soft spot somewhere…

Strife Specibus:

grapplekind/2xspearkind - The spear is a common weapon for ancient Greek heroes to use. Furthermore, The Spear was the name of Adam ‘Edge’ Copeland’s finisher. He uses two as to be like a pair of beetle pincers. He mainly uses grapplekind as it’s what he’s trained the most in, but aspires to finally use his ancestor’s spears passed down to him, so he always keeps the card on him as a little bit of motivation.

Fetch Modus:Apronmodus - Kilius stows and fetches things from underneath a curtain-like structure, much like how foreign objects are taken from under a wrestling ring. This means that he can use the underside of his kilt as a kind of hammerspace. It’s very silly.

hlkgjkaerhwr yeah it is! I love it so much.

Blood color:He’s an Indigoblood. The hex I use for his text is #0021bc whereas his blood, symbol and blood-coloured garments are a darker shade. I kinda run with the HC that there are set colours for each blood caste, but individual trolls type darker or lighter than those colours as a personal thing.

I think that tracks especially given that Equius used a markedly different text color than his blood color.

Symbol and meaning:Kilius’ symbol has gone through an evolution. The symbol I used for the longest time was the Hercules constellation, mainly because of it being a heroic figure and tying to him nicely. After the EZ came out, I redesigned a lot of aspects of my trolls, most importantly their symbols. As such, I recreated the Hercules symbol using the sign language of the Indigo caste. If I had to give it a name, I’d use Hercinius. The symbol also resembles a Greek pillar, which is neat.

Oh man yeah I love that.

Trolltag: perfectPankrator - A pankrator is just to describe someone who takes part in pankration, a gladiatorial style of combat where physical attacks with the use of punches and kicks are emphasised. Perfect is just to show Kilius’ ego and ‘better than you’ attitude. Instead of the negative words often found in trolltags, Kilius uses a positive one to stand as some kind of paragon to other trolls, fulfilling more ego-wankery.

Quirk:He replaces [hH] with ’]~[’ as to represent his symbol. Kilius’ ego would certainly lend him to shoehorn his symbol in wherever possible. As for his tone of voice he’s actually pretty verbose, but doesn’t use large words all that much. His kind of verbose is just being able to talk for ages and ages. He has a kind of mental rhythm when he speaks and isn’t averse to using spur of the moment rhymes. This is mainly to evoke the kind of promos popular in pro wrestling as well as thematically fit with the poems of the ancient world.

Design:I wanted to get a good fusion of Ancient Greek aesthetics along with modern professional wrestling outfits. So he wears a singlet, elbow and kneepads, and ring boots to represent the former, and over his singlet, a kilt commonly worn by ancient warriors, and atop his head rests his headband. His hair is meant to be a kind of unkempt curly mass, and his missing tooth is a reference to Chris Benoit, who I recommend not googling because it’s a nice day. The face plaster is mainly meant to exhibit a kind of roughboy demeanour.

“Don’t google it” you say, to a person who definitely googled it and now wishes they didn’t and has to pass the warning on to others. (note: it’s not just a minor thing it’s a major thing and will probably take you to a dark place)

Special Abilities (if any):Winning Smile. (Joking.)

Lusus: A rare lusus, the Bipedal Musclebeetle, named Beeteokles. His species have strong fatherly instincts, and Beeteokles in particular is doing his best to teach Kilius in the ways of the Palaestria, combat, and traditions. Which is impressive considering he has no mouth or discernible way of communication other than Beetle skrees and rhythmic flexing. His picture is a little inaccurate, as he should have the head of a Hercules beetle instead. His relationship to Kilius is meant to evoke the strong presence fathers played in Ancient Greek epics, as mentors and goals for their sons.

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH. I fucking love this and I have an addition because I’m still playing with the idea that indigobloods have hooved lusii so consider keeping everything the same except to change his lower half to a minotaur bottom. Oh my god I love this beetleman holy shit

Personality: Kilius is a pretty great guy to be honest. He doesn’t hold himself to modern-day hemorelations, instead finding solace in working off the ancient values taught to him by his lusus, more or less. He’s open and friendly to most, if not a little much to digest all at once. He often invites people back to his hive, all even before learning their name or where they came from. This is supposed to tie into the Ancient Greek value of ‘Xenia’, where a person is expected to be a good host to visitors, most of all strangers, and for visitors to behave properly when in a host’s home. This also ties into my interpretation of Kilius as a Knight ‘serving’ others in a sense by being such a good host.

However, Kilius may be friendly but he certainly isn’t a pushover. He’s up for a scrap or brawl often, and getting into arguments with him often results in the other party just letting things slide with how bizarre arguing with Kilius can get. He’s a very physical person, often acting on a whim, with enough cunning and battle training to be able to formulate plans under pressure. He’s also kind of a glory-hound, his acting on a whim for some more prestige often bites him in the ass, not that it dissuades him from trying some more.

He can be irritating to be around, as he can seem like he’s not taking things too seriously or genuinely. If met with someone who actively dislikes him and lets him know, Kilius will take it as an opportunity to gussy it up and make some long poetic speech about the fire of their rivalry or such. Going from his poeticism, that’s also a big part of Kilius. He has a flair for the dramatic, developed from both instincts and the theatrical nature of wrestling. He’s very well-read, so long as they’re either ancient epics or professional wrestling annuals.

Any other ideas or such would be appreciated!

I…I actually have one because you went and named him after goddamn Achilles. This dude could be a classical wrestler by day…and a heel by night! He could especially play up being the big, bad indigoblood beating up on the poor, defenseless lowbloods. He’s got the extra strength at hsi advantage and he plays dirty??? How dare he??? It’s a fun little contrast to his at-home personality and may get him some shit even when he’s out of the ring!

Interests: Wrestling, surprisingly. It’s his main hobby, passion and potential career in the fleet if he works hard enough. His passion for the classical world, which I’m not even gonna begin to try and explain for Alternia, is another major interest of his, specifically heroes and their glorious adventures.

Other than his two core themes, Kilius doesn’t really go for much else. Fitness is important to him, though that’s mainly to get better at wrestling, and epic poetry is more of the classical stuff. Some ideas would be helpful, as whilst his themes are strong and handy, I don’t want him to just be the wrestling and classics troll lol.

Hm.

I mean modern wrestling is commonly called “soap opera for men,” (whether the folks who watch wrestling like that comparison varies lol) and to tie back to both the classical version and the modern one how about he’s into nice-smelling soaps, classical opera, and soap operas? Gives him a little more dimension, and gives him something to do around the house besides watch wrestling.

Title: Remember, different verbiage and +/- skews. I have Kilius as a Knight of Hope, in that he passively serves others Hope. This kinda ties into how I see pro-wrestling, but I feel it works for Kilius even in the mindscape that Knights actively exploit.

This is kinda where I’m struggling honestly, to properly put into words why he’s a Knight of Hope. I’ll give it a shot, but I’d like to keep the classpect. That being said, I’m open for insight or suggestions/modifications to help him better fit this title or another similar one.

Kilius is kinda caught in an interesting quandary with his classpect. On the one hand, he has very strong beliefs that he has complete commitment to and uses them as a positive force in his life. On the other hand, as a Knight he’s being disingenuous in some form thanks to the mask he adopts for others. In the weirdest sense, Kilius’ mask is himself, that is, the idealised version of himself that he aspires to be, and presents himself as through his speech (the third person thing is a sort of showing of this, a trait that would be dropped as he goes through the revelations and lessons of his character.)

His main struggle is that he’s not living up to the idealised vision he’s made for himself. His mask is like a professional wrestling gimmick, Kilius the brave and bold, flexgrappler champion and future immortalised in epic tales of valour and etc etc. Some larger than life figure that he keeps stoking. He’s essentially made his mask some kind of Platonic form, the ultimate greatest version of him. This is why that he seems like he has it made from outside perspectives as he’s friendly, has conviction, goals, a sweet hive, etc etc.

Ugh, I’m really struggling with this honestly. So long I’ve mainly focused on the abilities part of his classpect, which is stuff like ‘serving’ others his faith in pro-wrestling conventions that he forces them to obey to them. I have a whole post on that which I’ll link here. Sorry if this kinda meanders, but Kilius is an older character of mine, and also one very close and dear to me, so I love the bugger.

Honestly I feel like the powers you gave him would work well regardless of whether he’s a Knight or Page? There’s a pretty fine line between the two.

I feel like maybe the “heel” storyline drives that home even further? Because now that conflict rears its head in multiple ways, both with his “Kilius the brave and strong” persona and the “Kilius the evil indigoblood” one. They’re both these really hamfisted attempts to shoehorn himself into a role that maybe doesn’t fit him all that well. And with the added interests I mentioned above, maybe those are things he keeps really private because they don’t mesh with either of those personas.

And I think I can make the argument even under the Knight verbiage CD and I use because this is a case where he’s so immersed in a profession that’s Hope personified that he’s feeling choked! It’s difficult to grow when you spend so much time doing something that requires you to suspend disbelief so much.

Land:Back when he was a Rage player, ‘The Land of Quakes and Kayfabe’, but since he’s Hope, I think I had ‘Rings’ as one of his words. The idea being that there were Hope-y wrestling rings around the planet, and upon entering them some shit happens. I’m not sure on this lol.

Hmmm. What about Land of Faces and Rings? Obviously referring to faces in wrestling, but the aesthetic could be that of Majora’s Mask-style makss that grant the wearer the abilities related to them upon donning one.

That’s the consort mythology, of course; it’s not actually real. Until Kilius believes it is.

Lots and lots of tournaments, with the promise that upon completing the necessary fights he will be able to reach his denizen. But that’s nonsense! Wrestling goes on forever and plotlines rarely have a conclusion! Kilius needs to will himself to the denizen if he wants to reach them.

Dream Planet:I think Prospit may be a given. Despite his struggles with his heroic fantasies, he IS very get-go and take-charge generally.

D/Ancestor: Kilius’ dancestor is Turnus Koplan. Whilst Kilius represents the Greek ideal of a hero, cunning, individual, glory-seeking, Turnus represents the Roman ideal a little more, in that he’s direct, professional and looks to the group more. That boy is here. Kilius’ ancestor was a great hero, aptly titled as 'The ]~[eroic’ (I love quirk-y ancestor titles). Upon a fall from grace, and enslavement into the gladiatorial rings, he quickly became known under a new name, 'The Crippler’, another reference to Chris Benoit.

Love this dude.

All in all, Kilius is a very special and sentimental fantroll for me, and one that despite working on a lot of stuff for him, hasn’t had much in the way of deeper personality or narrative arc developed. He’s mainly been used for roleplay, which doesn’t exactly support SBURB arcs. Plus I’m a very improvisational person in those types of settings, meaning I can often just roll with random info or ideas for Kilius without thinking about it. Hope you enjoy this boy!

i did! And tbh I think he’s basically good to go? I can’t even think of any redesign suggestions for him.

Thanks for sending him in. I hope the few extra details I provided can help!

TR

[dgmagines]

ahh can i have a cute scenario of tyki and lavi receiving a gift from their s/o? the gift is a plushie version of themselves that s/o sewed for them

//SCREAMS// I’M SORRY I’M LATE SCHOOL ATE ME IN HALF AND FAM I’M DYING FROM BEING SICK TAKE CARE OF YOSELVES //THROWS MEDICINE

I HOPE YOU LIKE THIS ANONNYYYYYY!!! and thank you for the ask as usual ;; 0 ;;

Lavi didn’t really pay much mind to it when ______ started hanging out with Miranda and Marie more; heck he didn’t even realize it until almost two weeks later because he had been swamped with Bookman duties. He stared at them from afar, laughing quietly with the older duo as they diligently worked on something out of his sight.

“Hey Allen,” Lavi heard his friend hum, knowing without looking that his mouth was stuffed with food again. “What’s _____ doing?” Allen coughed, swallowing his food loudly and quickly gulping down his bottle of water. Putting down the dango in his hand, the white-haired exorcist quickly smacked the back of Lavi’s head; returning to his food all while staring at the three exorcists a couple tables away.

“What was that for?!”

“Why would you even ask me that?! As if I would know!” Lavi pouted, seeming to melt into the table from where his chin rested. He had long ago pushed his plate away, not finding the enthusiasm in himself to keep anything down.

“Well you’ve been with them since we got back right?” Allen sighed, aggravated at his friend’s behaviour.

“First of all, no. _____ went straight to Miranda for something after we returned. and second of all, how long are you going to sulk and not talk to them?”

“I’m not sulking–”

“Says the guy constantly staring at them from afar. You know how creepy that is?” Lavi groaned, irritated with his friend.

“Oi. I’m older than you so you should respect me!”

“Not until you stop being a stalker,” finishing the last of his tom yam, Allen quickly flashed a smile upwards, catching Lavi off guard at his sudden actions. “Hey _____!”

“Hey Allen,” ______’s amused laughter rang inside Lavi’s head and he bolted upwards, accidentally hitting his knees on the underside of the table. Lavi groaned, red flushing his cheeks as he could feel soft finger tangling itself in his hair. “Goodness– Lavi, you okay?”

Shyly looking upwards, Lavi was met with the amused yet worried smile from _____. They gave a short laugh, their eyes twinkling with merriment. 

“I need to talk to you– if you can stand that is,” Lavi nodded eagerly, hastily getting out of his seat and making Allen groan at the him for disturbing his peace. He flashed an apologetic smile towards his friend, holding his arm out for the (h/c) who only laughed as they walked out of the cafeteria together.

“Its a little early but Komui assigned me to a mission again next week-” Lavi turned his head to look at the sighing (h/c), his brows furrowing as he recalled their hectic schedule.

“Didn’t you just got off a mission a couple days ago with Allen?” a strained smile was on their lips and _____ shrugged, looking up at him as if to reassure him that they would be fine. Lavi groaned, subtly pulling ______ closer to his side.

“Do you remember what happens next week though?”

“You going on a mission?” ______ laughed and Lavi pouted, not seeing any reason for them to be laughing when the Order was abusing their youth like this; just because they’re young doesn’t mean they have shorter recovery time than the older exorcists!

His angry mental ranting was cut off when he felt himself being stopped in his tracks, lips pressing against his forehead. He heard a quiet “Happy birthday,” and a small bag being pressed into his arms. _____ parted from him, grinning excitedly at him as he stared down at the bag.

Pulling a small sized version of himself from the bag, Lavi couldn’t help but feel his heart flutter– even more so when he saw the bandages around ____’s fingers that they tried to hide from him. Tears welled up in his eyes, blurring his vision of the doll and making him laugh, immediately pulling the (h/c) into an embrace.

“Heh… I thought this was for you- for when you miss me or something,”

“Hush child don’t ruin the moment,” _____ patted his head and Lavi couldn’t help the tears streaming down his face as a wide smile decorated his features.

“…. Thank you….” Lavi murmured after some time, burying his face in the crook of their neck- making ______ smile as well.

“Happy Birthday Lavi,”

‘_______?” Road rolled onto her stomach, propping her arms on her elbows and staring at her in-law who was focused with the item in front of them. Their hands continued to move quickly, quiet mumbling heard from time to time as they diligently continued with their work.

“Hm?”

“How long are you going to hide in here? I’m bored,” Road whined, scooting closer and rolling onto her back; letting her head hang over the edge of her bed so that she could stare at the smiling (h/c). ______’s hands stopped, warm eyes looking over the pouting girl and laughing in amusement.

“Only until today– I need to finish this before he leaves,” just then, there was a knock on the door and the two occupants of the room stared at each other in worry- turning their gazes a second later to the door.

“______? You in there?” a sharp intake of breath was heard from _____, their eyes flashing a warning as they heard Tyki’s voice. Moving quickly to their feet, ______ stuffed the plush they had been working on into their bag pack, Road watching in amusement as they tried to carefully move the item without damaging the thread.

“Yeah Tyki! Just come in,” Road snickered as ____ glared at them, hissing a curse word under their breath. _____ managed to get on the bed just as the door opened, peeking their head from under the covers as Tyki lifted his brow at them, apparently amused at their attempt to act natural.

“Hey,”

“Hi,” ____ replied sheepishly and Tyki leaned on the door, crossing his arms. His eyes carefully scanned the room, nodding towards his sister as she passed by him. Road briefly turned her gaze towards ____’s bag, piquing his interest, before she walked out of the room, claiming that she was going to find someone else to entertain her.

“I haven’t seen you in a few days,” _____ laughed, shifting their eyes nervously around the room after sitting cross-legged on the bed. They couldn’t meet his eyes, instead choosing to stare at their fingers as they fiddled with them.

“Really?” Tyki smirked smugly, moving himself from the door to the work table, where _____’s bag was sitting. He leaned against the wood, watching as alarm flashed in _____’s eyes before quickly disappearing, an attempt to mask their worry so that he wouldn’t catch on to what they were hiding.

They stared at each other for a while; or more specifically, Tyki stared at them as they stared at anything else but him. His smirk softened into a smile and he rolled his eyes, dropping his arms and sitting with them on the bed.

“I’ll be leaving again today,” _____ visibly perked up at his statement, (e/c) eyes wide with both alarm and curiousity.

“To Eeez?” Tyki nodded, tilting his head back so he could flash them a grin. There was a slight pout on their face, barely noticeable, before it completely disappeared and they nodded, giving Tyki a smile.

“When will you be back?”

“I don’t know yet. Might be a while,” he shrugged, eyes now returning back to the bag. ______ noticed their staring and sighed, moving out of the blanket and off of the bed.

“I was planning to give this tomorrow- I haven’t even finished it yet but-” taking the plush doll out of the bag, ______ carefully held onto the needle, sitting again besides Tyki. They turned to him, an exasperated smile on their face as they lifted the gift.

“Since you’ll be gone a while- Happy birthday Tyki,” Tyki stared, his expression one of mild shock; he knew they were up to something but he didn’t know it would be something as adorable and meaningful as this. He took the doll in his hands, a wide grin slowly crawling up his features.

“I lov– ow!–”

“You idiot I haven’t finished it yet!” ____ grabbed a pillow from behind them and promptly hit the noah, taking the doll from him to avoid another finger-pricking. An angry pout settled on their face as they got to work again, telling him to back off until they were finished.

Tyki spent the night there watching them work with a silly grin on his face.