#might come back to this later and do real shading

[rubynymphyy]

OC-Tober Day 25: Oldest age OC

The Gambler. ... although they're eons old, they really haven't grown up at all. someone will suffer for its childishness.

The Gambler on Toyhou.se - StormythOC-Tober

[yayll]

~ a little something about you and Dazai working together... or at least trying to ~

"Hold still! God, you really need to be more careful, Dazai, I worr-"

He blinks, and tilts his head, his voice soft yet firm as you both sit on the agency's couch.

"Would you mind looking at me real quick?"

You glance up from disinfecting his wound, and hum.

"Mm, why?"

He sighs, and when he speaks his voice comes out dramatic yet tantalizing, the way he always makes it sound when he knows he's about to say something silly. Something you'll hopefully scold him for! Yum...

"Oh, no reason... Just wanted a little kiss before I inevitably die in your loving embrace~"

You roll your eyes and groan, it makes his stomach do flips. There it is, that adorable shade of pink he loves so much! It matches the one you had on in bed this morning, but that's too naughty to think about now... Dazai hears the way your voice is significantly less strict, and he knows he has you. When does he not?

"Not now, Dazai-"

He interrupts, pouting as he reaches over and twists a lock of your hair in between his slender fingers, twirling it mindlessly while you mend his wound. He gives you a melting expression as his eyes droop enough for you to have no choice but to notice his despair as he whines.

"Mmm, why do you always only call me Dazai when we're at work?"

You sigh as you gently finish dressing his wounds, the fresh bandage mingling with his older ones... He makes a mental note to have you change those later too.

Anything to keep your hands all over him. Desiring him. Always in sight, always on the mind.

"Because we're at work... we're professionals, remember?"

That silly little comment makes him scoff.

"Hmph. Well, everyone knows..."

"Know what?"

"That you and I kiss in the supply closet sometim-"

You fling yourself against his chest and clamp his mouth shut, cheeks burning redder than a tomato. He licks the inside of your palm, causing you to immediately yank your hand away with a small squeak. You can't hold back the way your lips curl into an embarrassed smile as you hiss, and it makes him almost froth at the mouth... Trying to relearn decency is hard when he's this close to you.

"Professionals, Dazai!"

"... We should kiss" He blurts out, face smug.

"No"

"But it huuurtssss!" He's desperate now, resorting to the lowest of the lows so you'll accomodate him against all wishes, not like he has any shame left. He dramatically points at his wrapped up wrist, and slumps back onto the couch as he deflates into deadweight.

Your face softens and you look down, sighing in resignation that your boyfriend might just be a total baby FREAK. His pupils turn into hearts when you speak to him in the way he wants you to.

"Where does it hurt?"

"Who are you referring to?"

"You..?"

He smirks devilishly, and shrugs, feigning ignorance as he looks off to the side, arms crossed. You slowly start to get it, and crack a smirk. You exhale, shaking your head as you give him what he covets for.

"... Where does it hurt, Osamu?"

There it is, the magic word. By the time you're done asking that he's already crawled ontop of you, cornering you on the small loveseat and caging you in between his slender frame. Dazai takes your hand in his, and intertwines your fingers together as he nuzzles your cheek with his nose. His voice is soft, gentle, and talks you through it, just how he did this morning.

"Mmm, I'm not sure anymore... Let's find out together"

Your breath hitches, and you become bashful under him. He looks at you with narrowed eyes, knowing what it does to you, but more importantly what it does to his sick little mind. Leave it to Dazai to turn playful banter into something that will surely leave the two of you a mess... Hopefully you a little more than him. You whisper, a little breathless.

"Oh, now you're just baiting me, huh..."

"Well if I'm bait, then you're biting."

He whispers back, as if sucking the very life force out of you with his eye contact alone. This is how he wins, how he secures heaven for himself every single day, selfishly. He's not hiding anything in his expressions. He wants you for him, and no one else.

You really never stood a chance.

[lamentationsofalonelypotato]

Chapter 1: You Shouldn't Have Answered The Door

Pairing: Soldier Boy x f!reader, Reader POV

Summary: When the reader left Payback 40 years ago after a falling out with her childhood best friend she never looked back, but when two men show up to her apartment and start asking her questions about the past, the reader begins to think those things can’t stay hidden and starts to question what’s real and what’s fantasy.  This is a re-telling of The Boys Season 3, where the reader is a supe who's known Soldier Boy since 1927. The chapters will fluctuate between past and present. This is chapter one of my "You Call It Madness But I Call It Love" series. (I'm so bad at summaries please forgive me!)

Word Count: 3.6K

Warnings: References to sex, Cursing (once or twice), Soldier Boy might be, is, really, absolutely, a little OOC,

Note: This is told from Reader's perspective. Any references to the reader is made using you or your. There is minimal use of y/n. I tried my best to proofread, but nobody's perfect. If you don’t like, don’t read, but if you do like, you’re my favorite!

Internal Monologue is in first person and is in italics

Main Masterlist

Series Masterlist

Chapter 2

Present Day

Your head rests against your forearms on your desk, jerking upwards as a loud rhythmic knocking assaults the front door of your apartment.

What?

You think to yourself, rubbing your face with your hands. Your sketchpad was laid open on your desk beneath your head, the rough sketch of an egret bowing its head along the bank of a small pond splayed over the page in shades of gray. It would be the first in your new series of nature paintings that you would be unveiling in a month.

At least I didn't poke my eye out with the pencil. You think eyeing the sharpened point of the pencil that was dangerously close to your face a few seconds ago.

You turn your wrist to glance at your watch and note the time. It was an antique, square faced and strung on a simple black band, a reminder of a past life that you couldn't bear to part with.

Who would come see me at 8:00 am on a Monday?

For a minute you try to remember if you'd received a call from the curator of the gallery downtown, or if there had been a meeting or a lunch with your agent to discuss your next installment of work, but nothing comes to mind.

When you officially retired from being a hero you decided to become a full time artist, a hobby you had since you were a child. You hadn't expected it explode. You had enough money from your heroing career to live several lifetimes, not unwelcome given the fact that you couldn't die, not in the traditional sense at least, so art was supposed to just be a way for you to off steam. But you were happy with your life now, a lot happier than you had been when you were a hero on Payback. The thought of your previous employment with Vought sours in your mouth followed by the unavoidable thought of Ben that you push down with a well practiced sigh.

You didn't feel like reliving all that over again right now, though you knew it would probably happen later. It came in waves, especially at night when you found it difficult to sleep, the melatonin wasn't working, and all you really wanted was a hard drink.

Sobriety sucked.

The knocking persists, rattling around in your head like a bee trying to get out of a plastic cup.

"Fine. I'm coming." You shout standing up from your desk and making your way from the wall that serves as your studio towards the front door of your apartment, while trying to rub away the line the page made on your cheek.

Your apartment was the one extravagance you allowed yourself. Despite the amount of money you had, flashing it had never been a priority even in your hero days. The apartment was open concept with exposed brick walls, tall North facing windows that angled away from the inside and jutted outward over a raised wooden floored area that served as your studio. A large modern kitchen sat just to the right of the front door with stainless steel appliances, on another wall a tv hung above a leather couch and held a dark hallway that lead to your bedroom and the guest bedroom, the other walls were covered in your work, and the final wall held several bookshelves with art supplies and your vinyl record collection. A collection you started forever ago and that continued to grow with each passing year.

Need to get another bookshelf. You note looking at the limited space that remained.

You look through the peep hole in the solid metal apartment door. A tall dark haired man wearing a Hawaiian shirt and a black duster and a thin younger guy with brown curly hair stare back at you.

"I don't want to buy any girl scout cookies." You shout through the heavy metal of the door.

The younger guy snorts.

"y/f/n y/l/n?" The dark haired man asks an accent tilting the ends of his words.

"Who's asking?"

He pulls out a badge, holding it up to the peep hole. "I'm Agent Butcher, this is Agent Campbell. We’re from the CIA, here to ask you a couple of questions about Soldier Boy."

At the mention of Ben's hero name you pause. You had avoided thinking about your former best friend as much as possible over the past forty years. Your relationship with Ben was complicated, the final few days you spent together even more complicated than the early years.

It hurt to compare what your life with him was like before you both became supes to the life you had together after. You had grown up together, forced into close proximity because your parents were friends and then became best friends yourselves. You stayed friends, before you both got injected with Compound V and a few years later moved on to Payback together. You were the only person able to keep Ben in check and as violent as his temper was, he didn't like to cross you. You were the only person who knew the real him, had been with him longer than anyone else. Not that he ever admitted that to you or admitted that he cared about you, but you thought somewhere deep down that he had to, felt at least something for you.

That was the problem. You were in love with him, cared deeply about him, cared more about him than anyone else you'd ever had in your life. On the night you finally slept together you were happy, you thought he felt the same way, and then the next day at his premiere you found him in the bathroom with Countess bent over a sink. The fight that followed had been your resignation from Payback and also the reason why you weren't there when Ben died.

Your jaw clenches together at the memory, followed by guilt. You were always there for him, you had his back just as he had yours, but the one time you hadn't been there-

You open the door to look at them. "The singer?"

"What?" Agent Butcher looks confused.

"The artist? Soulja Boy-" You arch a brow feigning confusion. "Because honestly I don't understand why the CIA would be asking me about that."

“No.” Agent Butcher holds up a photo.

You keep your face impassive. It’s a photo of Ben and you at a movie premiere the week before he left to go to Nicaragua. Both of you were standing in your supe suits, your own was a sleeveless black one piece suit with purple embellishments that traced from the sides of your ankles and stretched up under your armpits, while a dark hood covered your head and a black mask hid the bottom of your face. You always thought you looked more like a supervillain in it, but you were thankful that it hid your identity. It was so long ago, but you still remember that night clearly. The ridiculous movie, the afterparty where everyone was so tipsy and the smell of alcohol burned against your nose, and finally when you went to the bathroom and found Ben and Countess together, the immeasurable rage followed by heartbreak that you felt when you saw them.  Not to mention the fight that followed when Ben trampled all over your heart and stated that you meant nothing to him.

“You’re here to talk to me about my mom?” You flit your eyes back to the two men standing in the doorway, easily slipping into the lie that you and Legend invented.

“Your mom?” Agent Campbell looks confused.

“Yeah. Indigo? I mean y’all can come in if you want-“ You open the door wider, understanding that they won't leave, before you begin to move towards the kitchen. “I apologize in advance. I’m not quite myself, I was up late working.” You pause halfway into the kitchen. “I’m going to make some coffee, you guys want some?” You eye the man in the black coat. "Or tea?"

“Coffee is fine."

You find the coffee filters and shuffle through the cupboards to find a bag of coffee, still trying to wake up. Staying up late wasn't unusual for you. You tended to find the urge to create in the wee hours of the morning, not to mention everything that happened in the past kept you up.

You open the bag of coffee to smell the grounds, thinking that it will wake you up, but as soon as you do the smell of Agent Butcher and Agent Campbell washes over you.

You could smell the compound V in their veins pumping through their bodies with every beat of their hearts.

So, they're supes. You think to yourself, pouring the grounds into the coffeemaker. Which means they probably aren't from the CIA.

Despite the realization, you weren't worried. Your particular ability was a well-kept secret, a secret that only Ben knew despite you being on Payback. Stan Edgar and the others had believed that "Indigo," the hero name assigned to you, had enhanced strength and senses, but it was more than that. You had an ability that, if brought to the public, would probably land you in a government facility. Laying low had it's perks, your freedom was one of them.

You watch them begin to walk around your living room examining the artifacts of your new life, the one you crafted when everything fell apart. There wasn't anything in the living room to arouse suspicion that you were the original Indigo. The only remnants of your past life that remained were in a wooden trunk at the back of your walk in closet, hidden behind a collection of paint splattered overalls almost identical to the pair you were wearing right now.

"You've got a nice place." The younger guy says looking around.

"Thanks. It's rent controlled. I got lucky-" You fiddle with the coffeemaker to buy yourself some time.

Why were they here to ask me about Ben? It had been 40 years, hardly seems relevant now. And why were they pretending to be CIA?

"You're an artist?" Agent Butcher asks, staring at the canvas sitting on an easel by your desk. It was a collection of multicolored dark greens that swirled together, flecked with pieces of gold that shone in the brilliant sunlight from the wall of windows where your studio was.

"Yeah. And I tend to paint my best at night. Hence the coffee" You turn, placing your hands on the island to face the two men.

“You’re really good.” Agent Campbell says examining some of the canvases on the wall.

“Thanks.”

“So your mum eh?” Agent Butcher turns to look at you. You note the smirk on his face and incredulous raising of his brow.

He doesn't believe me. Hard not to. I don't age.

“Yes?” You raise an eyebrow to challenge him

“You look a lot like her.”

“Thanks. I think there’s a compliment in there somewhere.” You look from Butcher to the younger guy who has moved on to look at your vinyl collection. "And I'm pretty sure that most kids look like their parents. But I'm not a geneticist."

"NO WAY! You have a signed copy of Billy Joel's Glass House!" Agent Campbell shouts holding up the vinyl cover in awe.

"Yeah." You can't help but smile at his enthusiasm.

"How did you-“

"Hughie." Agent Butcher sighs.

The younger guy now identified as Hughie puts the record back with a frown, before turning back to the collection.

“But you have the same name.” Agent Butcher's eyes flit to yours.

“She named me after herself. I’m sure the CIA can locate my birth certificate."

“Right.” Agent Butcher smiles, but it’s tight lipped.

You stand there for another minute looking from Agent Butcher to Hughie, trying to think of why they're here. "So what do you want to know?”

“Well is your mum around-“

You allow your shoulders to droop and take in a shaky breath. "She died about a year ago. Cancer."

They weren't the first to come here and accuse you of being Indigo. Legend and you had come up with the farce to protect you, help you start over, but you hadn't wanted to part with your name. So other precautions were put in place: a funeral plot was purchased and a death certificate was issued as was a fake passport, I.D, and birth certificate that made you thirty two rather than over one hundred.

“Really? I thought Indigo-“ It’s enough to make Hughie turn around and look at you.

“Don’t read everything Vought says." You interrupt. "That experimental shit they put in her veins may have made her powerful, but it couldn’t protect her from that.” You sigh again to sell the lie, before turning to the coffee maker, to pour them and yourself a cup. "There should be some milk in there, sugar's in the bowl." You gesture to the refrigerator and the small blown glass sugar bowl on the counter next to the coffee maker.

Hughie moves into the kitchen to pour himself a cup, but Agent Butcher continues to eye you suspiciously.

“It wasn’t in the news.” He grunts.

“They covered it up pretty well. I mean do you blame them? One of the first supes gets killed by something like cancer. Can’t be good for Vought given they pride themselves on showcasing unstoppable heroes. I mean can you imagine if Homelander or Queen Maeve died of something like cancer? Doesn’t look good.” You shrug your shoulders and take a sip from the coffee in your hands. “What did you want to talk to her about?”

“Soldier Boy.” Butcher moves to the coffeemaker and it takes a strong amount of willpower to stop the urge to turn towards him, but you know that you need to act indifferent.

“Did she talk to you at all about him?” Hughie moves to one of the bar stools on the opposite side of the island with his coffee in front of him.

“Yeah.” You look down at the mug with a sigh, rolling the warm glass between your hands. “He really did a number on her. Plus towards the end she started seeing him everywhere."

The emotion that you summon is not fake. You allow a small amount to trickle over the dam you built to protect yourself from falling back into the pit you fell into when Ben broke your heart and then died. When you broke every piece of glass in your apartment and threw your couch through the wall.

“I’m so sorry for your loss.” Hughie looks sincere when he says it.

Why is someone like him hanging out with this guy? You think to yourself eyeing Agent Butcher again.

“It’s been hard. But I took care of her, sometimes it was only me. It’s kind of hard to restrain an 103 year old with super strength.” You smile to yourself at the joke.

“So you’re a supe?” Hughie takes a sip from his coffee mug.

“No I was just able to talk her down. Guess that first batch of Compound V doesn’t work the same way. Never transferred. Plus my dad wasn’t a supe so maybe it just diluted.” You shrug, the lies weaving easily through the air. 

“But she did talk to you about him?” Agent Butcher presses. He's leaning against the counter to your left.

“Yeah.”

“And?”

“I mean what do you want to hear? There’s a lot.” The mug sends a pleasant warmth through your hands as you hold it, but does little to stop the chill of the past from creeping up your spine.

“Start at the beginning.”

“Well.” You take another sip of coffee. “I don’t know details-details but- I just know that she grew up with him, they were from the same neighborhood in Philadelphia.  All that shit they made up about Soldier Boy being from a poor family was just propaganda. His dad owned half the steel mills in the state of Pennsylvania. Used to invest in property with my grandfather. Soldier Boy and my mom were friends. When he got the Compound V shot, she did too. They were looking for female and male volunteers. I think he asked her to? Or-“ You shrug your shoulders to push away the memory of the day Ben told you about the experiments. When he told you he was finally going to make something of himself and convinced you to go with him.

“They were dating?” Agent Butcher asks.

The question makes you pause. It was difficult to think about that, difficult to relive the memories of Ben continuing to push you away and his final refusal to admit he loved you. Ben never did say that to you. You had been through so much together, so many years as friends and then after the night you finally were together he threw you away like you meant nothing.

“No, but he really hurt her-“ You avoid their gaze.

“What did he do?” Hughie asks leaning forward on the counter.

“They had been through a lot together and I think when their friendship began to transfer to relationship he pushed her away. My mother said something about him refusing to admit he loved her. I think the last straw when she caught him with Countess.”

“Do you know anything about how he died?”

The memory of the phone call strikes you in the chest, when Stan Edgar himself called to tell you Ben was dead. When the darkness swallowed you whole and all you felt was guilt and heart break over the fight you had and how you left him alone when he needed you most.

“It hurt my mother a lot. Broke her. She never really got over him, no one was good enough, not even my dad. She drove him away too and then it was just us.”

“Was she there when Soldier Boy died?” Hughie spins the coffee mug in his hands.

“No. She left Payback  before that mission. It was right after she caught Countess and him together.” You force a shrug. “I think she regretted not being there. She was almost as indestructible as him, but I think she felt worse because they had a big fight right before.”

“So she didn’t know about Nicaragua or the thing that killed him?” Agent Butcher raises an eyebrow.

You cock your head to the side feigning confusion. “What are you talking about? Soldier Boy got vaporized in a nuclear explosion.”

“Well I think we’ve wasted enough of your time.”

They get up to leave.

“Wait-“

 Agent Butcher turns to look at you. 

“Why are you asking me about him? It's been what? Forty years since he died-"

"That's classified love. Thank you for your time."

You watch them leave, but listen to them as they walk down the hallway.

“So do you believe her?” Hughie’s voice echoes in your ears.

“Not a bit. Maybe we trail her for a day. See if she really is an artist." Agent Butcher grunts. "At least until we go to Russia."

Russia? Why would they go to Russia?

You stand there for a second, holding the coffee mug in your hands. As you do the memories of the past 90 years wash across your mind, breaking through the damn that you built to protect yourself.

You were friends for years. You loved him since the moment you met. There were good times before the serum and then the bad, when he got famous and you were there to keep him in check. Sure you may have annoyed him, but he liked that about you, that you were able to bring him back from the edge. The day you finally had sex you remembered it, it was special, or you thought it was. You were excited that finally he loved you as much as you loved him. But then it all fell apart. That fight hadn’t been pretty. When you left him you felt yourself begin to slip, you didn’t eat or drink for days and when you finally got the phone call you thought it was him trying to apologize, but it was Stan.

You think again about Russia and finally your mind drifts to Countess.

She was the one that said that the Russians killed Ben, she saw it happen, saw his body get taken away-

Your jaw clenches together in anger and frustration as you remember the last time you saw her, when she taunted you and you almost ripped off her head. You never heard it directly from her that Ben was dead, only heard it from Stan. Of course the ridiculous funeral for Ben that you were expected to go to would mean that you saw her, but you hadn't gone, didn't want to keep up the charade. Instead you went to Philadelphia and walked the streets aimlessly with a bottle of whiskey in your hand, remembering what it was like when you were kids. Sometimes you think it all would have been different if you never got the injection, if you said no when he showed up in your bedroom and asked you to come with him. He was your oldest friend. The only real person you'd ever loved or cared about. The memory of the fight rings in your ears but you push it down.

You think again about Countess.  She was the reason why Ben and you had the fight. The reason you weren't there in Nicaragua. Regret spikes in your chest. You should have been there that day, should have tried to save him. You always had each others backs and the one time you weren't there he died.

Maybe it was time to pay her a visit.

Thank you for reading! If you'd like to be added to the taglist for this series let me know :)

Taglist: @roseblue373

[whateveriwant]

could i request sumn real quick..

TF141 with a s/o who does archery, with those Japanese longbows (they’re called yumis, i think😭) ??

This was completely foreign to me so I hope I at least kinda did it justice 😭

Gaz

When you first told him about your hobby of choice, admittedly, he was unfamiliar with it

Archery as a whole was nothing new to him, but knowledge about your discipline in particular had entirely evaded him up until now

However, after learning more about it from you as well as researching on his own, he's now become your biggest cheerleader, literally and figuratively cheering you on from the sidelines

Whether you do it just for recreation or you do it for competition, he's always there to support you with 110% enthusiasm

He's like a proud dad whenever he gets to watch you in your element, always pulling out his phone to record you so he can show off to his mates later

Major cheeseball that he is, he's even gotten custom decals on his car to brag of your accomplishments, so that everyone can know about you and your unique skill

Soap

His interest was immediately piqued when you first brought up your incredibly specialized sport

You see, he used to do a little archery himself back in secondary school, and (not to brag) but he was actually pretty good at it

Of course, that confession gets your interest piqued, so you invite him to take some shots with your bow, which he readily accepts

He's positively preening as he nocks an arrow, confidence oozing from him as he takes aim… only to turn a shade of red just shy of tomato as he misses his shot by about 10 feet

He tries again and again, somehow getting worse with each shot, the frustration and embarrassment coming from him clearly palpable

Though you try to encourage him to keep going (after all, no one’s good at anything their first try), eventually, he timidly hands the bow back, saying he thinks he’s better off just leaving it to you

Price

He's a very physically active man himself, so learning that you're involved in a martial art was a major turn on for him

And him being in the military and thus heavily trained in all sorts of weaponry, the fact that it's a weapons-focused discipline was doubly appealing to him

From the first moment you brought your hobby up, he was practically begging to watch you shoot

It didn't matter if you had all the bells and whistles ready or not; hell, you could’ve been dressed in a flour sack aiming at tin cans in his backyard and he’d have still been over the moon

Wanting some privacy though, he took you to a range where you could show off your skills without distraction or disruption

And when he saw you take that first shot, hitting your target dead center, he would never tell you, but his pants got a little tighter after that

Ghost

While he finds what you do very intriguing, he wishes there was a more “real life” application to your sport

He knows how dismissive that might sound, but just think about it. In an emergency, are you going to whip out your two meter long bow to defend yourself? Exactly.

Ideally, he'd like to teach you how to use a gun. And you'll agree to let him… only if you can teach him how to use a bow

You might have some lighthearted bickering where he stubbornly insists that a gun is much more useful when it comes to personal protection

But well wouldn't you know it when one night he's awoken by the sound of someone trying to break into your flat, and what object should his fingers find in the dark? Yeah, I think you know

To you, your bow seemed like a perfectly good weapon when he used it to whack the would-be thief over the head…

Yeesh, now that earned you the side-eye of the century. But alright, he eventually conceded, maybe it does have its merits

[versias]

A Haunt is Where the Heart Is

The first time Bruce encountered Phantom, he was bleeding from a stab wound to the side that had missed both vital organs and armor.

“That looks bad.” The voice was quiet, barely more than a whisper.

The shape was barely more than an outline of a person; for a moment, Bruce worried he’d been dosed with some kind of hallucinogenic in the knife. It looked around before it shifted more into the visual range. At the same time, it drifted closer.

“Stop,” Batman growled. Then demanded: “Who are you.”

They became more and more real, and he could now see the fine-boned facial features, the grown-out hair in a shocking white, and glowing green eyes. White lashes swept down as it (they?) blinked, answering, “Phantom.”

“Is that ‘who’ or ‘what’?”

They smiled, a mischievous little light dancing in their eyes. “Bit of both, actually.”

“My wound isn’t bad enough to kill me,” Batman denied.

The being giggled, a noise that sounded like twinkling stars and made something squirm in his chest.

“I’m not a psychopomp, dude. Just trying to offer some help. I like to keep people in the world of the living.”

They knelt down, setting their gaze level with the injury, giving him the choice of accepting or not.

Tilting their head back to look up into his face, they said, “Let me help?”

He wasn’t so hurt that he couldn’t get back to the cave. But the mystery of the being was enough to keep him in the alley, stepping closer. He needed more data.

(It had nothing to do with the image of a beautiful person on their knees for him, though he might think about it later. Maybe.)

———

The next time they crossed paths, Phantom’s hair was longer. It floated freely, drifting in some ethereal wind as the being floated, parallel to the ledge.

Bruce let his boot scrape the gravel as he approached.

Phantom didn’t look. Their eyes were fixed on the sky. The blackout had coincided with a break in the perpetual cloud cover. A glittering blanket shone above and Phantom sparkled in the starlight like they were one of the stars. They were glowing the brightest they’d ever been.

“I never thought I’d get to see the stars here.” They breathed. Awe colored their voice.

Bruce glanced up. It was beautiful, but he had to admit that he preferred the shining lights of the city. Gotham was a city of shadows; without the light, the shadows didn’t dance.

He didn’t say that, though. Not when Phantom’s ecstasy was so obvious. It made him want to see the sky the way the ghost did.

“Did you come up here just to hang out with me?”

Batman grunted. “What do you know about the Park Row murders?”

There were always murders in Crime Alley, but the string of brutal killings had the hallmarks of a new serial killer.

Phantom gave him a Look.

“Want me to ask the victims? Or are you assuming all ghosts know each other, Batman?”

Batman leveled an unimpressed look at them.

“Ugh, how’d you even know I was looking into it?”

Characteristic snow pattern in security camera footage.

“I’m Batman.”

“Yeah, whatever,” they waved a lazy hand like a king dismissing their court. “I haven’t learned much. The shades of ghastly deaths like that aren’t very coherent. I can stabilize them a little, but I don’t like to do that—it prolongs their suffering, you know? Mostly, I’m just trying to help them cross over. Everything I hear is incidental.”

“Anything could help.”

Phantom tells him what they’ve heard. It is scattered and some of it might be the final delusions of the dying, but he appreciates it nonetheless. Centering the victims in his mind helps him. It also helps to hear that Phantom helped them reach some kind of peace.

“Thought you weren’t a psychopomp.”

Phantom blew a raspberry at him.

Bruce suppressed a smirk.

———

Adrenaline was still pumping through him when Phantom swept back into the room, the casing of a bomb held in one hand and the actual explosive material in the other. Just in time; Batman had finished laying out the private security hired to keep them out.

“Figured I’d just make it so the bomb couldn’t, you know, explode.”

The sound he made was an approving hum, reverberating in his chest as he stepped closer to the ghost. Normally, the cold wafting off Phantom helped bring him down when the action was over. But Phantom looked up at him through their long white lashes, playful as always. It hit his gut like a physical blow.

Something of what he was feeling must have shown on his face, because Phantom’s green eyes widened in surprise. Bruce swallowed the immediate anxiety, the fear of being known, and let himself reach for Phantom. They caught his hand and entwined their fingers.

“Got somewhere to put explosives?” They whispered.

“I do,” he rumbled.

“Do I get to come with you?” Excitement made their eyes sparkle.

No, I get to come with you.

———

The Batcave does have somewhere for explosives, but unfortunately there wasn’t a comfortable place for the other reason Bruce brought Phantom back with him. He considered bringing them up to his bedroom, then dismissed the thought. He was thinking with his dick, not his head. No revealing secrets while high on adrenaline and drowning in a beautiful person.

Thankfully, Phantom didn’t seem to mind when he sat at the chair before the computer and pulled them into his lap. The first press of lips to his own made him shiver. He opened his mouth and accepted the cool, slick tongue. The contrast between his own hot mouth made Phantom moan, something between pain and pleasure.

Bruce pressed his forehead against theirs.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he murmured.

“I don’t mind,” they said. “It doesn’t hurt much; it’s just like stepping into a hot bath. And I don’t mind a little roughness.”

“You know, it occurs to me I never asked… what should I call you? I mean, pronouns-wise.”

Phantom threw their head back and laughed. Bruce resisted the urge to nip at the exposed throat.

“I use he, usually,” he said. “And please call me Danny. You?”

Bruce swallowed, looking for the right words, but Danny was quick to reassure, “No need to share your name, man. I’m in the enviable position of not having a life to disrupt if my secret identity is discovered. I’m not gonna scream ‘Batman’ though. He/him for you? Is ‘B’ okay?”

Relief. “It is. It’s perfect.”

Then he considered the rest of what he’d said. Not having a life, but didn’t deny a secret identity. Interesting. But not relevant, at the moment.

“So you’re a screamer?” His hands drifted down Phantom’s sides and around his thighs.

Phantom snickered, “Maybe. You know, if you can make me.”

It wouldn’t be easy to keep up with undead vigor, but he couldn’t back down from a challenge like that.

Bruce vowed to make him hoarse.

———

They slept together many more times after that. Phantom did get to see his bedroom and met Alfred (who referred to Danny endearingly as ‘Master Bruce’s young man’). Bruce made sure Danny knew he had somewhere safe to return to when he needed it.

He didn’t let it go further. Partly, it was about Batman. Working together once or twice was alright, but Batman couldn’t afford to have a partner. How could he ask Danny to shoulder Gotham’s darkness with him? Force him to watch Bruce throw himself into danger every night on an impossible quest?

He was already breaking Alfred’s heart. He couldn’t do the same thing to someone else. He loved Danny too much to do it to him.

God, Bruce loved Danny Phantom.

Bruce loved the way Phantom curled around him in sleep. Loved the way he arched his back and cried when he was close to orgasm. Loved how he floated a bit when he talked about space. Loved how he could always tell what Bruce needed to say, even when it got mangled between his brain and mouth.

Yet.

Phantom wasn’t��� alive. Not in the way Bruce was, at least. It didn’t seem fair to ask him to stay, to spend the rest of Bruce’s life tied to him. It wasn’t like they could grow old together. Bruce would age and Phantom wouldn’t, frozen in death. Whatever power allowed him to manifest in the physical realm shouldn’t be wasted on something so… domestic as a boyfriend. A husband.

Bruce loved Danny. He nestled somewhere in his heart, fluttering against his pulse. He could keep him there without chaining him to his side. It was enough.

It had to be.

———

Danny told him he needed to attend to his duties in the Infinite Realms. He looked resigned.

“When will you be back?”

“I don’t know. Time gets weird in the Zone. I’ll come back, though. Promise.”

Danny kissed him goodbye.

Bruce tried to tell himself it wouldn’t be forever.

It felt like a lie.

———

Bruce found Dick Grayson. He tucked him under his wing. Held on too tight and pushed him away.

———

Bruce found Jason. Failed him, again and again.

———

Tim found Bruce. He didn’t deserve him, but he wasn’t leaving. It ached.

———

Bruce’s family grew, children and cousins alike gathering under the banner of the Bat. Sometimes it felt right, to stand with them and fight for a better future. Sometimes Bruce felt like he was losing his mind, losing his grip on the situation and reality. He watched his children get hurt and get back up and get knocked down again. Sometimes, it was like seeing himself. Sometimes it was alien and horrible, and he was trapped in a nightmare.

He had lovers. Women, mostly. Selina, who came and went like an alley cat, disappearing whenever she pleased.

Talia, deadly and divine in equal measure, with a touch of death about her.

He didn’t need Alfred’s knowing glances to pick up the common thread, thank you.

He was pining, not in denial.

———

Damian showed up on his doorstep, haughty and whole and real. His flesh and blood, ten years old. This was the first time he’d ever even heard of Talia having a child.

What the fuck.

———

Jason came back from the dead, dripping with rage.

Bruce wished Danny was here. He’d know what to do. He always did.

[rekino2114]

Fem. Gojo showing you her domain

You were lying on your bed mindlessly watching videos until you heard a tap on your window. You went in front of it, readying your cursed technique in case it was an enemy. After what happened with toji you were not going to take any more chances. You were very relieved to see it was just your girlfriend. You opened the window and let her come in

"Oh, satori, what are you doing here?"

"What? Can't a girl visit her boyfriend once in a while?"

"I meant why were you outside my window?"

"Your dorm is on the second floor, and I just got back from a training session. No way I'm gonna do all those stairs"

"It's like two flights, and you thought floating was easier?"

"Hey I got my technique I'm gonna use it"

"Whatever, anyway so why did you wanna visit?"

"Oh yeah, I got something super cool to show you"

She smiled brightly and pointed at herself in a dramatic manner

"Guess who just perfected her domain expansion?"

"....For real?"

"For real real, it took training and a lot of mochis to power up but I finally did it"

"That's so cool, tori. domain expansions are the peak of jujutsu, I'm so proud of you"

"Well, of course I'd be able to do it sooner or later, I am the strongest after all but thanks for the praise"

"Don't mention it"

"Soooo are you ready to see it or what?"

"Won't it hurt me?"

"Nah, it's a non lethal domain.......kinda"

"....that's not really reassuring"

"Come on, don't you trust me? It's beautiful to look at, it's gonna be a nice date place"

"*sighs* fine but if I die my ghost will haunt you forever"

"Don't worry, I'll never let anything happen to you"

You were slightly taken aback by her serious tone, but she quickly went back to her silly self as she smiled again, put her hands together, and disappeared, you sighed and waited for a few seconds before she reappeared with an embarrassed expression on her face

"S-sorry, I forgot you can't-"

"It's fine let's just go"

You went outside (using the door this time), and in the courtyard, gojo stood near you and held your hand

"You gotta keep holding my hand. If you don't, then you might be in a coma for a couple of months k?"

".....what?"

"Don't worry, it'll be fine. You can hug me if you're really worried, I certainly wouldn't complain~"

"*sighs* just get on with it"

She smiled again and took off her shades, revealing the blue eyes you loved to stare at, put them in her pockets, and did her domain hand sign with her free hand.

"Domain expansion: infinite void"

Suddenly, black filled your vision as you got transported into her domain, an endless plane of black with white spots, satori's grip on you tightened as she looked back at you

"Soooo what do you think? Pretty nice to look at isn't it?"

"Yeah, it's beautiful, but I guess it was guaranteed that a beautiful girl like you would have a beautiful domain"

"Eh, such a charmer. You're gonna make me blush if you continue"

You sat down, and she did the same. Her hand made its way up your body until it reached your shoulder. She pulled you into a side hug and layed her head on your shoulder

"You know I love you right?"

"Yeah you tell me that every day"

"No, I mean like love, love you. You're the best thing that ever happened to me"

"*giggle* really? The great satori gojo loves me this much? I'm honored"

"You should be, but seriously, after geto left, you're the only person I have left. Sure, I have shoko, but to be honest, I don't think she cares that much about me. Even if she did, she can't really understand me.....sometimes I feel so...lonely"

You silently side hugged her back as you saw her blue eyes become slightly lucid while looking around

"I guess it's fitting that my domain is a big empty void cause that's where I feel like I'm in sometimes........"

"Except when I'm with you of course"

You turned to see her smiling brightly and staring at you lovingly

"You're what keeps me going. You're someone that i know will never leave me. i love you so much"

"I love you too"

You two kissed passionately and looked at each other with pure love

"Alright, I think that was enough. If I keep my domain going for longer, I might get tired, I'll undo it now"

She did as she said and put her shades back on

"How about we go out to eat? It's almost dinnertime and there's a really good spot around here"

"Sure if we bring megumi and tsumiki too"

"Uh?..........dammit I forgot about them....do you think they'll be mad at me?"

"*sighs* you're such a mess of a mom, we can buy them some toys on the way home, maybe they'll forgive you then"

"Great idea, you're a life saver babe"

"It's nothing. Let's just go"

She dragged around as you brought the toys and food for your adopted children.

No matter what happened, you would stick by gojo's side, and she would, of course, do the same

[seresinhangmanjake]

Stolen Angel - Part 4

Demon!Jake Seresin x reader

Summary: You thought you were having a one-night stand with some random, normal guy. Turns out he’s a winged, demon-like stalker who has been obsessed with you for years.

Warnings/Notes: Jake is a little dark. Kidnapping. Manipulation. Obsessive behavior. I’m sure there are typos. This used to be a different fic for August Walker, so if you see it, it’s fine. I wrote that one too.

Words: 1793

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

“You didn't eat.”  

You don’t flinch at the intrusion of his voice, not this time. While it was peaceful without his deep tone in your ear, you knew him finding you was inevitable, and honestly, you’re surprised it took him this long. Although, it’s possible that he didn’t need to find you at all; he could have been watching you from afar. Just because you haven’t seen his face in almost twenty-four hours doesn’t mean he hasn’t seen yours, and you’ve certainly provided him with an unobstructed view. But then you wonder why he hasn’t dragged you back to your room. 

You weren’t going to run. You just needed to see it, feel it, for yourself. Maybe that’s why he’s let you be; why he’s not scolding you until your brain melts. Maybe he knows that you won’t have logic overpowering your emotions when it comes to this, because even if you had some semblance of which direction to go in, you wouldn’t know what to do once you got there. To be anywhere other than here, like it or not you need him. You need his guidance and support, and worst of all, his permission.

“I ate some of it,” you confess. 

“Not enough,” he says. 

When he steps in front of you, his body eclipses the sun. The field around you untouched by his shadow still radiates its vibrant shades while you sit in the darkness he is creating. You look up, and his blond hair is glowing almost blindly from the backlight of the sun.

“Why are you out here, Angel?”

You turn your attention to your hand that’s nestled in the grass. “I had to see if it was real,” you say softly as you twirl your finger around a green blade.

He hums. “And are you satisfied with what you've found?”

Satisfied? You could scoff. What a foolish question; a disrespectful question. You can’t be satisfied with what you don’t understand. Feeling the dirt between your fingers and toes doesn’t provide you with the wealth of clarity he has been denying you. Clarity that you’re owed. 

“Come on,” he says at your lack of reply, reaching out a hand. “Out of the grass.”

“Tell me what this place is,” you say.

“I can explain it to you later. You’re not completely healed and we need to—”

“No,” you snap, meeting his eyes. “Now. Explain it to me now.”

Jake sighs, his hand dropping back to his side. “Angel—”

“I could become a lot more difficult, you know.”

He lets out a huff of a chuckle. Little crinkles form in the corners of his eyes. “Yes, I do know.”

“Then tell me.”

His smile settles. He mutters something under his breath before he glances over your head to the structure behind you. When you turn to get a look at what has stolen his attention, you find only an empty doorway. 

“You want me to like you, don’t you?” you ask, knowing that will draw him back to you. 

A blond brow raises in curiosity and suspicion. “This will make you like me?”

“It would help,” you lie. “The truth is important to me, and I don’t understand how you can expect me to want to be here if I have no clue what ‘here’ is.”

As he bites the inside of his cheek, you begin to worry that the promise of your affection is not a strong enough offer—that he might want more than just your words, he’ll want proof that you intend to follow through with what you say by your actions—but then he turns where he stands and lowers himself into the grass beside you. He’s close, and when his wing brushes over yours as he makes himself comfortable, he’s quick to pull it away, as if your feathers could set his aflame. 

Clearing his throat, he runs a hand through his hair before he rests his elbows on his bent knees. “It’s called The Tower,” he eventually says. “It was a prison, technically, until about two months ago.”

“A prison,” you repeat. “How fitting.”

He shoots you a look. You’ve offended him and you need to reign yourself in. “If you bothered to behave, it wouldn’t have to feel like one,” he informs you.

You hold back from rolling your eyes. You’re the textbook definition of a prisoner and you both know it. He can deny it to your face all he wants, but you have a right to feel like this place is a prison, even if it doesn’t exactly have the look of a prison. At least, not where you’re from. You don’t know of many ‘cells’ that include wardrobes, open windows, double beds with thick coverings, and fireplaces. Before you left your room you were imagining many possibilities for the cage you’ve been kept in, but among those were large estate or small castle, not a home for the naughty winged people.

“It’s awfully fancy for a prison,” you say.

“Our offenses weren’t so horrible.”

Our? 

Your brows almost shoot off your forehead until you take a half-second to soak it in and then accept the shame of being shocked. “Of course, you’re a criminal,” you say, nodding to yourself. “Did you kidnap a few other innocents and turn them into monsters, too?”

Jake doesn’t look you in the eye as he swallows hard, so you turn your head back to the horizon. “You’re not a monster, Angel. You’re perfect,” he tells you, then shakes his head. “But no. There were no others. I broke a rule—the same rule—a few times, which got me three separate six-month sentences in five years. Four months into my last one, the prison was dissolved here and set up elsewhere. Everyone was released; I stayed.”

Your brow pinches. “Why would you stay in the place you were captive?”

“I liked my room—well, your room right now. I liked the view. I thought it would be a good place for us once you joined me,” he says. “Secluded. Intimate.” 

Stomach flipping, your heartbeat gives a sharp thud. Instinctually, you think to move away, make an early retreat back to your room, but for once he’s actually answering your questions and you can’t sacrifice that in case you’re never given the same chance.

“What was the rule that you broke?” you ask. 

“Out past curfew, so to speak.”

“Out where?”

Jake goes silent, contemplating, then he says, “That's enough for now.”

But it’s not enough for you. “Out where?” you press to no response, so with a huff, you push off the ground to stand. 

He grabs your wrist as you’re about to take a step. “Sit,” he says. “I'll tell you if you stay.” 

Subtly smirking at the win, you return to the grass. 

Jake blows out a breath. “The Below,” he tells you.

“The Below…” You roll the words around on your tongue. They mean nothing to you until Jake makes a face like he might come to regret what he’s just done, and then they mean everything. “My world?”

Jake groans. “How many times do I have to tell you that that is not your—”

“You were there more than just that one time?” you interrupt, stunned that you momentarily forgot that your home is where he met you. It must have been the anger or fear or lasting daze from the week of pain, but somehow it didn’t register that you could potentially return as well. “How?”

“No more questions,” he scolds.  

“But I thought you wanted me to like you,” you counter. 

Shifting to sit on your hip with your legs bent at your side, you set your hand on top of his. He stares at the new touch, then his thumb begins to rub along the line of your index finger in soft, slow motions. 

He doesn’t stop his staring. He doesn’t stop his thumb’s gentle caressing. “Yes, I was there more than just that one time.”

Despite your carefully restrained excitement at the plethora of new information, you forget the game you’re playing and jerk your hand away from his just as he’s about to intertwine your fingers. “So you can go whenever you want?” you ask. “Then take me.”

At the demand, his teeth clench, jawline sharpening. “No, I cannot go whenever I want, and no, I am not taking you.”

“Why not!”

“Because you are right where you should be,” he says decisively. 

You feel his heightening irritation, so you quickly place your palm on his shoulder and slide it down to his toned bicep where it stays. 

“I just want to see it,” you tell him before you scoot yourself closer to his side, your hip a couple inches shy of pressing against his. He looks down to where your bodies are nearly touching, then back up at you. You try a light smile. “Please, Jake.”

His eyes lock on to your smile, your lips. He darts his tongue out to wet his own, and you prepare yourself for the kiss you’re sure he’s about to give you—a kiss you won’t say no to if it helps get you home—but it’s a kiss that never comes. He just thinks; drinks in your smile and thinks. 

The green of his irises in the sunlight is overwhelming when directed at you for such a long pause, and you don’t initially notice when he opens his mouth. 

“If you show me that you can listen to me and do as I tell you, I’ll consider it,” he finally says. 

Your head flinches back, mind immediately going to the worst of what he could want from you. “What will you be telling me to do?” 

“To start, you’re going back inside. You haven’t finished healing and because you took yourself on a little adventure, you stressed your wing and now part of it is inflamed. You need rest.”

You must have been so mentally preoccupied that you blocked out all physical transmission to your brain because it’s only when he says it that you feel the return of the ache.  

“And you’re going to eat,” he continues. “Everything, this time.”

“Fine,” you relent. 

“You’re going to wear something made of more comfortable fabric than that,” he gestures to your smock, “And you’re going to stop arguing with me over every damn thing. You can’t change what’s been done, so being pissed at me doesn’t do you any good.”

It takes extra effort to muster up an agreement to that last one. Your swallow you can only compare to trying to get down a sponge soaked in wet cement. “Fine,” you grit out.

“Fine,” he says, standing. He extends his hand out toward you again. “Let’s see if you’re capable of behaving, Angel.”

tags: @wkndwlff @kmc1989 @sagittarius-flowerchild @dempy @oliviah-25 @rosiahills22 @xoxabs88xox @matisse556 @hardballoonlove @lynnevanss @pono-pura-vida @tgmreader @amgluvsbooks @djs8891 @shakespeareanwannabe @penguin876 @tgmavericklover @athenabarnes @emilyoflanternhill @wretchedmo @shanimallina87 @crowsreadsarahjmaas @mamachasesmayhem @sky2nd @jessicab1991 @rosedurin @averyhotchner @horseshoegirl @roosteraloha @b-bradshaw @fandom-life-12 @hookslove1592 @buckysteveloki-me @eloquentdreamer

[blackcherryvelvet0909]

Cherry Ink (Ace x GN!Reader)

“This is your fault.” 

“Is not!” The redhead’s protests only feed the fuel of your boiling rage. “I told you you didn’t have to follow me. You got yourself into this!”

“I was trying to make sure you didn’t get your sorry ass in trouble again!” 

“What’re you, my mom?” You desperately wanted to punch that grin clean off his face. “Are you going to make sure I eat my vegetables, too?” 

You decide to ignore him. There was no sense in getting into a fistfight. Right now, your main focus is to figure out where you are. You look up at the green road sign hanging above you. It reads, “Scuttle Str.” Well, that gives you a starting point at least. You then turn to look at the bus schedule posted to the wall of the shaded canopy under the bench you stood in front of. 

“There won’t be another bus for two hours.” 

“That’s not so bad.” Ace leans against the pole holding up the street sign. “We just have to hang out here for a while. When the next bus comes, we’ll ask the driver to take us back to the…the, um…” 

You sigh, trying your best to keep yourself calm. “Sebastian Square. By that time though, everyone will have already gone back to the resort. We’ll just have to go back there,” you narrow your gaze in his direction, “and hope that we don’t have a professor or two waiting to tear our heads off for disappearing.” 

“Oh please,” Ace scoffs with a roll of his eye. “If they’re so worried, they’ll have the police find us. You worry too much.” 

“Yeah, I do.” You cross your arms over your chest, continuing to glare at him. “I worry about us getting in serious trouble for running off. Wait, no, actually, you ran off! I was the one to go after you and try to drag you back to where we were supposed to be!” 

“Hey, I didn’t know the bus would take us here! I thought it was the one that stopped by that huge mall we went to Wednesday.”

You throw your arms in the air in frustration. “Ace Trappola, everyone! Freshman at Night Raven College and he can’t even bother to read!” 

“Since when was the last time you read a bus’ time table?!” 

“When I want to make sure I’m getting on the right bus, dumbass!” 

This is getting you nowhere. Despite the shade, the heat is sweltering and you’re sweating bullets. That little fan in the bus you and Ace disembarked a few minutes ago hadn’t helped at all. On top of that, you’re starving. Professor Crewel said at the beginning of the day that you would all stop to eat at a restaurant centered in Sebastian Square a little past twelve. You pull out your shitty little phone Crowley gave you last winter and, sure enough, it’s past twelve. That small breakfast you had to scarf down because your alarm didn’t go off that morning wasn’t going to hold you forever. 

“Let’s just get out of this heat.” You tuck your phone back into the pocket of your shorts and look around the area. “There’s bound to be somewhere we can sit and hang out till the bus comes.” 

Ace points to a building up a small hill. “What about there? It looks like some lil mom-and-pop place. I’m starving!”

He took the words right out of your mouth. You nod and, without another word, begin the short trek up to the thatched roof shack. 

You thanked whatever higher being there might be that you had some madol on you. It wasn’t much - just enough to buy you a cold drink and a bag of chips. You stepped to the side to allow Ace to place his order; you sat at a small table in the corner of the eatery and waited for him to join you. Your stomach growled as you opened the bag of chips, raising the bag to your open mouth and tilting it up and pouring them in. You chewed the few salty crisps that fell in, sighing through your nose as you swallowed as your stomach began to calm its hungry tirade. Hopefully the chips would last you until you could get some real food. Though a part of you felt guilty for thinking it, you were glad Grim wasn’t here with you - all your money would’ve been spent on him. 

A few minutes later, Ace plops down in the seat across from you. His meal consists of a burger, potato wedges, and a milkshake. You try to avoid ogling the bounty of food, directing your gaze down at your small, near empty bag of chips. You pick your drink up off the table and take a sip, the liquid gloriously wetting your mouth and tongue, staving off your parchness. As you place your drink back on the wooden table, Ace speaks up after swallowing a mouthful of burger. “That’s all you’re gonna eat?”

That pang of embarrassment for your situation wells up in your heart, like it has so many times before. “I’m not that hungry,” you say, avoiding his gaze as you take a potato chip and eat it. From the corner of your eye, you see Ace raise an inquisitive brow. 

“Could have fooled me for the way your stomach was growling earlier.” So, he had heard that. You thought it’d been quiet enough for only you to hear - apparently not. You mentally cursed your gut’s cries for sustenance as you bit into another chip, this time a bit more forcefully. 

“Well, I’m eating, so it shouldn’t do that anymore.” 

Your voice was a bit more snappy than you intended. “Geez, alright!” Ace takes a sip from his milkshake, right after mumbling a quiet, “Don’t have to bite my head off.” 

Soon, your bag of chips is empty. While the cold drink eases your body temperature and quenches your thirst, it does little to satisfy your lingering hunger. You take out your phone to check the time: it’s just a few minutes past one. A little under an hour to go before the bus comes back - another hour without food. Your stomach begins to ache; it’s a subtle pain, but you know it’ll gradually grow as the minutes pass. You desperately try to ignore it, distracting yourself from the smell of scrumptious food by looking out the window and glancing around the eatery. It truly is a nice place, just out of the way of the hustle and bustle of the city, located about a ten minute walk from the coastline. 

Just as you’re fancying a quick swim to further distance yourself from your hunger, someone pokes your arm. “Hey.” You tilt your head to look over at Ace. He’s got a teasing smirk on his punchable face. “Your stomach growling again.” 

You hadn’t even noticed, too lost in your thoughts to hear it. You fold your arms over your stomach and glare out the window. “Probably just indigestion,” you suggest dismissively. 

You feel Ace stare at you for a moment, perhaps coming up with a way to tease you further. Instead, he asks, “You’re still hungry, aren’t you?” 

Despite how much of a shithead he can be, there’s no sense in lying to him. “Yeah,” you reply. “I’m just going to hold out until we get back to the resort.” 

“Um, hello?” Ace gestures about the space with his hand. “We’re at a restaurant? Or whatever you call this? They make food.”

“No shit.” 

“So, go get something else to eat.”

“I’m fine, Ace.” 

“Your stomach says otherwise.” 

“Well, it can shut the fuck up, can’t it?” 

Again, your tone came out sharper than you intended it to. This time, however, Ace didn’t make an offended comment about it. He is quiet, almost too quiet. Suddenly, he gets up from his seat and walks away. Maybe he has to go to the bathroom? That, or he doesn’t want to get kicked out by starting an argument with you. That’d be surprisingly smart of him, you think. 

You glance over at his unfinished burger and wedges. Would he notice if you snuck in a bite of the meat, stole a fry? No - no, that’s wrong and you know it. You’re not Grim - you’re better than that. Wrapping your arms tighter around your stomach you turn back towards the window, once again trying to ignore the way your stomach continues to growl, mocking you. You almost jump out of your seat when something slams down on your side of the table. You’re startled to find a plate of food waiting for you. 

“Eat.” That sounds more like a demand than a suggestion. Coming from Ace, it’s rather surprising. He sits across from you once more, no smile in sight as he stares at you, expression serious. You look down at the plate of food - a dish you often order from places like this. The growling of your gut intensifies as the glorious scent fills your nostrils. You look up at Ace and eye him suspiciously. 

“I’m not falling for it,” you say, accusingly. 

“Falling for what?” 

“This!” You point at the plate of food. “You’re going to make me do some favor or something in return - like do your homework!” 

Ace scoffs. “Who am I, Azul? I’m not gonna do something like that!” You narrow your eyes at him. “Okay, okay, I’ve done it before! But that’s not what this is about.” 

He nudges the plate closer to you with his finger. “I’m not going to stuff my face and let you go hungry. I’m not even that low.” You raise an eyebrow at him. Ace briefly raises his hands in mock surrender. “Okay, maybe I’ve been an ass like that before. This is different, though.” 

Ace leans back in his seat. “Eat, okay?” The beginning of a grin tugs at the corner of his mouth. “Or am I going to have to come over there and force you?” 

No way in hell were you going to let that happen. He actually is serious, then. Well…if he insists. You put aside your suspicions - for now - and begin to eat. Immediately, you feel relief. In no time you’re wolfing down your food; it’s only when Ace chuckles at how you stuff your face that you slow down. “It’s good,” you say, trying not to be embarrassed. 

“Mhm,” Ace hums in agreement as he chomps down on his burger. “Real good stuff,” he concurs through a mouthful of meat, bun, veggies, and condiments. 

“Ew!” You cringe in disgust as you catch a glimpse of the mushy food in his mouth. “Don’t talk with your mouthful. It’s gross!” 

Ace laughs as he swallows the bite. “You’re such a baby! You sound like Crewel.” He lightly kicks your ankle under the table. “Are you gonna call me a ‘bad dog,’ too?” 

“No,” you grin at him wickedly, “but I could tell him how you’ve been acting here.” 

You glimpsed fear in those cherry-colored eyes. “Don’t you dare! My ass is already grass when we get back!” He jabs a potato wedge in your direction. “And I bought you that food.” 

“See?” You smirked. “I told you you’d use this against me.” The boy frowns at the realization, almost appearing disappointed in himself. An odd look on him, but likely nothing too deep. You smile and say, “Tell you what: as thanks for the food, I won’t tell anyone about your bad table manners.” 

Ace’s smile is almost mischievous as he winks at you. “Deal.” He nods his head to the side, towards the napkin holder at the edge of the table near the window. “You want me to take one of those napkins and write up a makeshift contrast, too?” 

You laugh as you shake your head, right before taking another big bite of your food. Maybe sneaking away from the rest of your class - whether or not intentional - wasn’t so bad after all. 

***

Your asses were, indeed, grass when you finally made it back to Sebastian Square. You arrived just in time to catch the rest of your schoolmates and teachers about to leave the area for the resort. Professor Crewel was the one to greet you both, as Vargas and Trein had gone out to look for you. To say the man chewed you out would be an understatement - and in front of all your peers, too. Of course, when it was discovered that you were only trying to keep Ace from running off, your punishment was a lot lighter. All you would have to do is write a one page apology for not notifying a staff member instead, among other details. Ace, on the other hand, barely got out of detention while still on the trip; although, he would surely face that consequence the moment he stepped back on campus. 

You step out of your hotel room and into the hall. Once again, hunger pangs your gut, and you decide to satiate it with a midnight snack. As you walk, your hand feels the billfold within your pocket. You’re very grateful that, upon learning that you used the last of your funds to procure sustenance during your unplanned delinquency, Crewel replenished your empty pockets. He strictly stated that they were for necessities - however, he discreetly said that, should there be any wants you desire in the last several days of the trip, you may come see him. Many would call it special treatment, but at this rate you’re waiting for the man to serve you adoption papers. 

The glimpse of a smile ghosts over your lips as you take the elevator down to the lobby. After departing the lift, you walk across the room and enter a smaller one a short distance away from the front desk. What meets your gaze are three large vending machines - and one familiar redhead. “Ace?” 

The man startles at the sound of his name. Obviously, he didn’t expect anyone else to come down here, let alone find him. “Shh!” he hisses. “Shut up! You want Crewel or Trein or Vargas to hear?” 

“And cook your goose further?” You giggle. “Nah - I don’t think you can get anymore burnt.” You ignore the daggers he glares into the back of your head as you view the choices available behind the glass of the vending machines. Candy, chips, granola bars, bottled drinks - you insert your money into your chosen machine and make your selection. Ace does the same shortly after you’ve acquired your snack. As you suspected, it’s a candy bar, one made of dark chocolate and cherries. 

“Bad dog!” You almost scare Ace out of his skin. “You’ll rot your teeth with that!” 

“You-!” Ace looks like he’s going to punch your shoulder, but refrains. He tucks the bar of chocolate into his pocket before walking past you. He bumps into you as he does, forcing you to sway to the side. 

“Hey, watch it!” 

“Make me!” he calls back, mockingly sticking his tongue out at you before making a run for the elevators. You run after him, but by the time you get across the lobby, muttering a quick apology to the janitor you almost bumped into, Ace is already gone. You mumble under your breath how annoying he is as you hit a button between the elevators, indicating you want to go up. After a small bit of waiting, the one to your far left opens and you get on. You press the button for your floor and watch the large metal doors close, right before you feel yourself ascending upwards. 

As you wait to reach your floor, you lean against the wall and shove your hands into your pockets. Your forehead crinkles as you frown, confused as to why there’s some sort of paper in your right pocket. You take it out, wondering if it’s some form of receipt you forgot. Instead, in your hand is a folded piece of lined paper, like you would use at school. You unfold the paper once, twice, three times before its face is opened up towards you. Your eyes widen as you read the words on the page, written in red ink. 

Date #1 was nice. Date #2?

❑ Yes    ❑No

[codgod]

y’know generally i try to limit colour palettes to as few colours as possible to make things more cohesive but despite my best efforts only jay ended up being able to stick to that </3

ANYWAYS here’s the as-of-right-now fully updated designs for these dickheads. these will no doubt undergo even more tweaking as i draw them more but this is a start i guess. also pls open the pictures to look at them properly i worked so hard LOL

some random notes under the cut yaaaay

chip —

he jingles when he walks. somehow he’s still stealthy. i do not know how

kept the platinum ring that bonded him to gillion in the block! because hey he doesn’t really have a reason to take it off (and it’s a nice reminder of how much gill cares about him, and how far their friendship has come since that ice arena)

his tattoos shift and flicker like actual flames, and sometimes (harmless, purely aesthetic) sparks fly off them when he’s excited

i just think smoke coming out of his mouth when he’s angry would be cool :]

chipped teeth from biting rocks and coins all the time :/

he has scars from the red lightning, they’re just mostly contained to his back and shoulders. they’re a similar red to his coat even once they’ve healed

gillion —

the tail sleeve thing is so he can rest it on the ground without damaging his scales, he doesn’t usually wear it when he’s just on the ship because the wood is soft enough that it’s usually fine + it can hinder swimming a bit. it’s mostly meant for places where there’s cobblestone or gravel streets and such. i think his armour would probably have a version that looks similar but covers the whole tail minus the fins, maybe with some armour plating of its own. i didn’t draw it because there wasn’t any room lol

his scars from the lightning are pink mostly because red stood out too much tbh. they softly glow in the dark the same as his coral and the pink parts of his fins

also kept his ring! his hands aren’t really made for jewellery, though, because the webbing means it won’t sit very secure on his finger. so he keeps it on the same chain as the necklace he got from aslana to keep it safe

tried to make him look a bit bulkier and more his age than in my original design? i feel like i was leaning too much into the naivety and. shortness. originally lol. he also has thicker eyebrows now and i’m still trying to decide how i feel about them but i think? i like it? i don’t tend to give many character thin eyebrows so it could’ve been a unique thing for him but alas

i think i made the sword too small but like ignore that

also forgor to include pretzel </3 that’s okay though she can get her own design sheet later. she’s special like that

jay —

i believe in tall jay supremacy

blue magic! i was considering gold but that’d look a bit more like a canary than i wanted for her wings so. blue jay :]

her hair is supposed to look kinda like fire to mimic her dad ! kinda showing that even if she runs from her family and the navy they’ll always be a part of her. and also i just like drawing messy hair

i gave her sturdier gloves just because i feel like it fits her better. also changed up the shirt to more of a button up solely because i don’t like tank tops very much LOL

i did WANT to make her outfit a bit flashier to match the boys better but i couldn’t quite figure out where to Put the flash. maybe that’ll come later, the way the story’s going i might get to design some cool prosthetics for her or something

overall —

because there’s just so many fucking colours i triiied to add at least one or two colours from each of them into the others designs. jay has her necklace with each of their main colours on it, her wings are the same blue as gillions eyes, her jacket and right eye are the same dark blue as destiny’s blade, her hair is the same orange as the lighter part of chips tattoos. chip has a dark green sash under all the belts, the same as the hilt of destiny’s blade. they all use the same shades of black, gold, and brown

the only real exception is gillion doesn’t have anything from the other two because he has Such a specific colour palette and he already had so much going on as-is orz jay was obviously the easiest to do this with because she has both warm and cool colours in her palette by default lol (and i did her design last, so that helps)

[4pfsukuna]

omfg bruhhhhh

yall want me to believe Choso “on sight before his feet even land on the floor” Kamo is some pathetic whiney crybaby? Like why is every fic so… ugh i want him to fight back. Somebody please tag me or drop a link for assertive/ aggresive/ dominant choso! (Prefferably black reader)

like do i gotta write it myself?

Choso who meets you when you both come in late at night its 2am and youre standing in the hall talking about whatever the hell a middle part buss down is. He doesnt care he just wish you werent so loud… in your shared hall.

you glare at him because who was he talking too! You pay the same amount of rent as him and to damn much at that they should be lucky you werent in the lounge making ramen watching their t.v right now.

It doesnt get better when you bang on his door asking him to turn his music down cause why was he playing last resort by papa roach at 3:30am on a wednesday. He opens the door in a hoodie and tight calvin klein boxers and your eyes drift for a second until the next rock song starts up this time in japanese and he has the audacity to have an annoyed expresion with you!

”did you want something or did you just want to stare” he glares annoyed with a steady voice though youre expecting him to snap.

“Who answers the door in their boxers have some decorum” you respond half embarassed that he caught you. “And your music is loud… some of us have jobs in the morning” and you storm off not leaving any room for backtalk.

the next time he sees you is a few days later when youre both rushing out and slam into another his shirt and leather jacket falling to the floor with your purse falling sending your wallet down the hall and lip gloss shattering that dior gloss was not cheap.

”are you fucking kidding me” he hisses and you notice hes shirtless silver bars through his nipples and a few tattoos littered across his chest.

”you got a real stairing problem there princess” which makes you smirk.

“you look like a 1st grade art project… line work isnt half bad its just the asshole its attatched to” you retort collecting your items not realizing a few slipped from your wallet.

it was maintenance day you didnt have time to worry about shit it was hair lashes nails toes and a fresh tattoo and belly piercing your friend finally found an artist that did both and had clean work.

youre all smiles and sunshine walking into C.K. Parlor even enjoying the convo with the pink haired male receptionist whos so sweet mentioning this was his brothers shop but something about this guy looks familiar.

“Hes so hot” your friend gushes making you turn around and groan at the sight of your annoying ass neighbor.

”couldnt get enough bothering me home so you come here” he teases but theres something so stoicly calm about his anger… its more so mild annoyance.

”i actually came to get a tattoo and piercing but i think ill pass” you speak not wanting to admit you actually loss your credit card but youre here for moral support for your friend who now that you look at her looks like she doesnt need it.

”youre already here dont tell me youre chicken… come on ill even do it for free”

”free?” Oh that had your attention.

“mhmmm lets call it a truce no more loud… anything just being good neighbors”

and its not long before youre on the table the design being shaded into your spine and he admires how you just take it… his mind does begin to drift to if you can take anything else when he notices how pretty you look today.

he actually loves white on your toes and the crisp french tip on your hands. Its when he notices the snake tattoo wrapped around your wrist that he realizes you might be interesting and not just some stuck up—

“you wanted your belly pierced too right?” He ask and if someone wouldve told you that youd be half dressed infront of your neighbor Today you wouldnt believe it. Hes professional and doesnt even glance at the double d’s you have in your lace bra… ok he did but you didnt notice at all.

you thought you seen his ears burn red but hes quick to turn away disposing of the needle and your completely suprised by how soft and careful his hands are… ahem he is.

”and maybe we can actually be nice to another” he says softly holding out your credit card that you dropped earlier.

your truce last all of 5 days. It wasnt your fault meg the stallion announced she was going on tour and you couldnt help the screams of joy and to blast her music.

you dont expect anyone to bang on your door or barge in when you open it.

”excuse the fuck out of me” you hiss slamming your door facing him when you notice hes looking past your face and down at your body.

you were wearing a dark purple lace bra and underwear the silver belly ring he initially put in switched out for a dangly silver one with a dragon that matched your tattoo and yes it was to early to change.

”my eyes are up here”

”please. Nothing i havent seen before princess actually it kind of looks like the black one” he smirks watching the fury in your eyes as you look for something to cover up.

”get the fuck out”

he saunters (the god damn audacity) out but not without pressing his whole body into you as if the walkway wasnt wide enough making sure to press himself into your ass leaning down to your ear.

”good night princess” and you dont have to look at him to know hes smirking but that raspy voice does something to you.

that night you go to bed with 3 orgasms… what dont make that face you had a voice kink and couldnt help it.

he smirks when he sees you the next day and you try to ignore him as he unlocks his car door.

”sleep well? You know the walls are thin and im sure our bedrooms share a wall”

you make a mental note to get on apartment finder tonight.

”im sure that was your first time ever hearing a womans moans outside of porn” you hiss back you werent no weak bitch.

and he wasnt a cliche man his taunts went further then just an insult back, hed give you more content for tonight. After all he was helping you help him.

”just be a good girl for me and let me hear everything tonight alright princess” he utters in a deep octave that makes your breathing stutter and you cant form a proper sentence and any insult is going to be childish.

you of course try to walk off but he grabs your arm pulling you closely his large hand spreading across your lower back.

”did i say i was done… look up at me” and you bite your lip to keep your jaw off the floor this man was wicked and you were not about to play with a devil.

”youre such a pretty mess” he adds in watching the gloss in your eyes before you come to your senses pushing him off heading fown the street.

”wrong direction princess” and you were headed the other way but you should probably just head back inside to change underwear.

and if he could hear you through the wall you were going to put on a show, you make sure even whine moan groan whimper and cry can be heard through these thin ass walls honestly you were so sensitive from overstimulating yourself… It was his fault.

You do everything in your power to avoid him the next few days that post nut clarity knocking some sense into you.

You actually have no idea how wrecked he’s been. How wrecked you had him! He needs to hear it again.

he might turn slightly yandere for you. its when you get a call at 1am and of course youre up you had actually just got out the shower.

”is this your payback” he hisses into the phone though you arent sure what hes talking about.

”how the fuck did you get my number? Doesnt matter bye”

“stop it just listen” he grunts catching your attention “i just need you to be a good girl for me just once i promise” he nearly begs and you have a wicked idea of what he’s doing on the other side of the phone.

you listen to every command, praise and groan his sultry voice lets out your fingers and sheets soaked

“you did such a good job baby, you deserve a reward how about you cum for me” he grunts sending both of you to your end him losing it to the sound of your orgasm.

“i wanna take you out on a date” and thats when you hang up not in the mood for his antics.

hes serious though, he takes you to the finest seafood restaurant with expensive alcohol you cant pronounce he even gets you a dress to wear, suprising you with a new dior lip gloss…3 actually.

”thats how many times you orgasmed through the wall the first night…” you thank God for your brown skin and him not being able to see you blush. He genuinely takes the time for you to get to know another subtly throwing in praises.

by the time you get back to the car your a wreck hair frizzing from your body overheating already.

your legs are rubbingg together and he spreads them guiding your hand down.

“Be a good girl for me and show me how pretty you look when you cum”

You happily comply watching as his hands fidget while driving

When he gets you back to his place your clothes are off and your back is against his fluffy comforter, not that you had time to notice but his whole room is black.

Hes a certified munch and will eat you until youre lightheaded. He eats you out on your back, makes you ride his face, eats you from the back he has you in 7 different positions from head alone.

He gives the deepest stroke while telling you how pretty you are for him the most filthies things he can mutter in your ear giving you back shots the pillow under your stomach propping you up as he plays with your clit begging for you to cum.

you black out and hes not far behind but makes sure to clean you with a warm rag and throws a tshirt on you.

He loves waking up to you and will actually barge in your home or bring you over to his.

He has his own stubborn ways which you will sometimes talk your best shit which he loves, he needs his woman to be on go not some docile lil weakling.

and sometimes he fights back!

[kitkat13001]

˚˖𓍢ִ໋𝜗𝜚 𝚌𝚘𝚛𝚙𝚜𝚎 𝚋𝚛𝚒𝚍𝚎

come out and haunt me, i know that you want me “‘til death do we part…”

>> tomura shigaraki / tenko shimura x nomu!reader

>> reader and tenko are childhood friends, mentions of death!! implied character death (reader thinks tenko died), reader dies!!! and is resurrected (kinda, reader gets brought back as a nomu like kurogiri), brief talk about grief n stuff, titled after the tim burton film, lyrics from cigarettes after sex’s “apocalypse”

tenko had promised you once, when you were both very young, that he would always look out for you. that he would always be by your side. 

it was the kind of childish promise most kids make with their best friends, but at the time he had no intention of breaking it. 

but baby tenko at the time had no way of accounting for the horrors of the real world. 

you remember how strange it was for you to arrive to school that morning, the seat beside you empty for the first time in…probably forever. 

you remember the unease in your stomach when you asked your mother if something had happened to tenko, and you remembered crying after you overheard your teacher talking to your parents and saying that he would not be coming back. 

you never connected with anyone else the way you had with him. he was your best friend. people in school had branded you a loner after that, despite your kind heart. you were all too young—you to deal with that grief and them to understand what you were going through. 

your kindness never waivered, determined to be someone who could help others because you couldn’t help him when he needed you. 

and you never forgot about him. his face haunted your dreams, and his picture was tucked neatly into your diary, hidden in your desk. no one ever talked about it anymore and with his entire family gone, it felt like there was no one left to remember tenko shimura. 

but not you. you had shared his promise, and even though he couldn’t be by your side anymore, he would always be in your heart. 

you were in your late teenage years when the unthinkable happens. you’ve heard that grief can lead you to see ghosts, but you would think you’d have seen them ages ago. that’s why you’re utterly bewildered when you see tenko on the street one night on your way home. 

he looks different. older, obviously, and taller. his hair is a curious shade of powder blue. but it’s unmistakable. you would know his face anywhere. you see it every night in your dreams.

you gape in utter disbelief at the phantom standing just a few yards in front of you, thinking it might be a hallucination. but you feel that inexplicable tug in your stomach and you know that it’s tenko, that he’s alive. you had never given up on him, some part of you always holding out a tiny spark of hope that he was out there somewhere.

and he is. he’s here. you want to call out, to scream his name until your throat is raw, but your legs are frozen to the ground and your voice is stuck somewhere in your throat.

he’s seen you, you think, catching a glimpse of vibrant scarlet eyes from across the way.

but he’s gone, practically vanished into the mist before you can even react. 

you never forgot about that, not even years later. 

it seems like the time has passed both lightning quick and painfully slow. your twentieth birthday had come and gone with the changing of seasons and here you were, a young adult in the big, wide world. 

today would’ve been tenko’s twentieth birthday. you’re sitting on the swings in the park by your old elementary school where you used to come on playdates with him when the ground lurches beneath your feet. 

the metal frame of the swingset shudders and screams erupt in the air. you whip around, getting to your feet immediately and see a building collapse in the near distance behind some trees. 

fear strikes your heart as more shouts ensue, along with sirens and another quake of the ground under you. a child’s cry from the other side of the park has you springing into action, stumbling into a run across the sand. 

there’s a group of children huddled under the play structure, watching with wide, glassy eyes at the destruction going down nearby. 

you’re quick to corral them, leading them by the hands in the opposite direction of the chaos and telling them to stay put while you go back to make sure no one was left behind. 

your feet pound against the concrete as you run down the street and the ground heaves again when another building comes down. 

you stumble, coughing in the dusty wreckage. the screaming is only getting louder, and your heart jumps as the thud of hundreds of footsteps approaches. 

your mouth goes dry when you see the horde of screaming civilians running away from the collapsing buildings and falling debris. 

they’re headed straight for you. 

you feel like a pebble getting tossed around in a rip current as the crowd buffets against you. you cry out as you catch an elbow to the ribs, to the head. your feet are being stepped on and you’re being shoved away from one person and into the next. you can’t see anything in the dust except for the rush of people in the stampede as they clobber you in their haste to run away. 

one particular harsh shove has you falling to the ground with a cry, your aching body succumbing to the overpowering horde of people. you can’t do anything but lie there as they trample you, staring up at the sky in pathetic helplessness. you wonder for a moment if they’ll all forget you like they did tenko. 

and then everything goes dark. 

shigaraki finds you in the street, broken body splayed out like an angel fallen from the sky. 

he stands, paralyzed, as a wave of memories hits him like a fucking tsunami. 

your kind smile on the first day of school. your soft voice asking if he wants to play with you, sit with you, walk with you. your tiny hand in his tiny hand. 

you were the light of his life at only five years old. 

another memory tugs at him. your same kind eyes, wide with shock that night that he saw you for the first time in years. 

a part of him regrets not saying anything to you. but when it comes down to it, would it really have changed anything? 

would it have changed the fact that he’s standing here, staring in horror at your broken, dead body? 

he doesn’t realize he’s crying until the tears are rolling down his cheeks and hitting the dirt. he didn’t even think he was still capable of it, to be completely honest. the salt stings his agitated skin. 

this feels wrong. 

you were too kind, too beautiful and good to be lying here in the street like an animal. 

he doesn’t really know why he does it, other than the fact that he simply can’t leave you like that. so he scoops up your broken body and carries you home. 

you don’t remember anything when you come to. 

the doctor told tomura this would be the case. he didn’t have any issue with this. it might be for the best. he doesn’t know if he could subject you to his true self, his current self. 

the doctor also told tomura that he was lucky he got you here in time, and that your quirk was compatible with the process. 

it’s kind of strange to see you like this, tomura thinks. he still sees the sweet kid he was best friends with when he looks at you, at your reanimated body and vacant eyes. 

it’s your turn to be the phantom now. you’re quite similar to kurogiri, an ethereal and haunting presence as you flit about the bar. 

that’s where he keeps you. you’re not quite as experienced of a nomu as kurogiri is, so tomura typically keeps you here with him in the hideout. maybe one day he’ll take you out to see the world, tell you about how things used to be. 

you’d be useful on missions. the doctor made sure of that, amplifying your quirk and adding others into a wickedly powerful force within you. 

you’d be a wonderful protector, same as kurogiri. maybe more. 

but for now, tomura is still your protector. and he’d prefer to keep you all to himself here in your little corner of this cruel world.

after all, he’s got a promise to keep, doesn’t he?

this got away from me LMAO. but i actually kind of love it. dividers by @anitalenia

[evenmorefatallyobsessed]

Aloe AU Concept

Julius Miles Arc was not a dull man, however he was known to make the occassional mistake. Deciding to follow the tradtions of his family in teaching their male heirs the way of the Birds & Bee... Was perhaps the biggest of said blunders.

In his defense it was how his father taught him, so yes, he would admit, after a spledid camping trip he may have brought his son to the redlight district of Mistral's lower ring.

He was not however about to risk his son's safety, no Jaune was to become a man, so he would become one in the greatest brothel he could find.

Lien was for once not a concern as he was willing to shell out as much as needed to make sure Jaune left the occassion filled with a new life experience and just as much pride.

The place was spledid, and the women exceptional, why, if he didn't have a wife was was almost constantly breaking his pelvis he might've been tempted.

And his boy had his pick of the lot of them, oh how the other men waiting to buy their own time one of said women. Having to wait till his son had made his choice, Julius having put down extra so Jaune could quite literally have his pick.

He would admit to being suprised... Afterall he did not think his son would pick the Receptionist... He didn't mean to sound rude but well... She did look rather worn-out and... 'Experienced' even compared to most courtesans.

His reason was that the woman Aloe, was 'very pretty' he'd admit her eyes were a darwing shade of burgendy, or would've been where they not so off puttingly dull and and her hair messy and unkempt as it was was a unique green...

Though the real reason was obvious as Jaune's eyes flickered between the Faunus woman's damaged but still pretty insteactoid wings and massive, swelling breast. One appealed to his innocent nature, the other to his developing masculine desires.

The Receptionist, surprisingly enough actually agreed, despite no longer working as a escort.

And it had been set, Jaune had left with her confused, flustered and embaressed, and come back a little more brave and proud of himself, a bit of confidence clear in his eyes and a pep in his step...

Is what should have occured...

No, no, no... Instead they could quite literally hear his son becoming a man. Aloe as it turned out had chosen a room without soundproofing, seemingly she was well known for her pranks and lack of shame.

He stood there, with the women and other customers... Listening, it should've been only a half hour at most... It had been several. And that wasn't even the worst of it.

It was not how the other men had gone from snickering at his son for his inexpereince to looking ashamed of themselves as they heard the woman two hours later actually moaning, yelling and even begging his son's name.

It hadn't been the way the women had approached him hoping to see if the dad was as good as his genius soin apparently. No... It was when Jaune spoke.

When his little, innocent, naive son told the woman she would be his wife. When he told her to have his children...

He knew then, he fucked up, because a Arc went back on their word, even in the heat of passion.

-0-0-0-

Jaune woke up as the bullhead finally landed, his head in his wives lap, Aloe, one a Mistralian prostitute, turned receptionist then turned mother of his son and daughter. Jaune got up stretching, ignoring the people looking at him, or to be more precise his wife. A mother Aloe might be, but reserved she was not. Wearing a eye catching and frankly slutty outfit.

On some level he knew it was bad, but hey, if she followed the norm they would've never met right... His dad would've never trained him, after he asked him to so he could protect his family. Jaune might've tried sneaking into Beacon frankly.

But now he didn't even need to do that, heck a part of him didn't even want to be a Huntsman, he had children to raise, and provide for. A wife to love, he'd be content living the life of a farmer, and Aloe could accept that, but... She'd made it clear that he shouldn't just settle for a average life.

So he was here, trying to live out his childhood dream, at the very least she was right if he could fight off Grimm better the family would be safer, and Anself could always use another huntsman...

Girls cooed and awe'd at his children, Teal and Jasmine were adorble after all, his son having a pair of antenna and just the prettiest blue eyes in the whole wide world. His toddler Faunus son was too much for the girls to endure the cuteness of.

His daughter though was off limits, little jasmine, four months old, and looking every bit like a little precious fairy plucked straight outta the fairytales. Some might have worried he would've dropped her while he sleep, but that was never gonna happen. Getting outta the bullhead he manged to catch a girl getting... Blown up.

He really couldn't help himself, handing Aloe Jasmine before he went off to check the occurance, finding a girl in the crater. And like that he made a new friend.

Later he met a icy bitch who made a comment on his wife being a Filthy Faunus Harlot! Oh Hell No was some freaking Schnee gonna talk shit about his family!

-0-0-0-

Aloe would've never considered something like this in the cards for her. Motherhood, happily married, a life with litte to no worries... But that's exactly was exactly the life she was living.

She owed Jaune, no her husband everything, she was under no delusions, wasn't obssessed with him... Well, unwarrentldly obssessed, no, Jaune Arc had earned he devotion.

She knew what she was, who she was, and where she came from, she, was a whore, born in the lowest cast in Mistral at the ditrest corners of it's city. A Faunus with a impossible to hide trait filled in a den of raciest. Her mom having died, maybe from a overdose, possibly by a scored customer or maybe even at the hand of her own pimp.

She didn't really remember, she was too little to really recall.

But it left her to raise herself, and in that sorta enviorment you could only really do one thing. So she did, she sold herself, and she sold herself well. moving up and outta the lowest ring to just a low one, choosing a brothel she could trust. Making a life for herself that didn't make her crave death like so many of the others in her line of work.

No, she simply didn't care about anything, about herself... About her waste of a life, she was as content as street trash could be. At least their had been moments of bliss, thankfully her pipe was her only drug, she wasn't into harder stuff like others had been.

She was... content to just die like that, not live, what she did was difently not living.

Not until that little boy on the cusp of manhood came into her life and picked her. It still brought a smile to her face, his cute flustered expression.

His innocents and affection.

He didn't see her for what she was, didn't see the worn-out, used-up animal whore her other customers had saw before she moved unto introducing the girls instead of serving herself up. He saw a pretty lady, to naive to see her for what she was, and that... that was enough for her to wanna play with him.

Only they didn't just play, Jaune had said some interesting things to her, not anything she hadn't heard before mind you. When you could change your body size to the point where you looked like a actual fairy guys tended to say a lot. Espeically when you could could become a vice tighter then any other. But Jaune was to honest to mean anything but exactly what he was saying.

And when his father explained their families motto... Well, she always did have a eye for good oppertunities, just a lack of chances to take any. And now she was happy, happier then she had any right to be. With a home, a future and family, she could be content with that.

With teasing, and being bred by her husband while the other men in the village looked at her with desire while she brutally and slying ruined their lives for it. But, Jaune deserved more, he'd stepped up at every corner and then some. Learned to farm, to fight from his dad and even learning how to lead the village for the eventual day he had to step up.

He even learned about Faunus rights, and the struggles her people went though... He actually knew more about her people and culture then she did now. The idea of his son and daughter living in a world where they could be discrimnated against seeming to infuriate him.

She, she loved him, not at first, but it had happened fast... So much so she wanted to give back. And this was how, by supporting the dream he never talked about, that she knew he'd be more then willing to throw away for his family.

And well that wasn't all... She was getting up their in years, she was closer to his moms age then his after all... And Mistral had plenty of different life styles then simple monogomy. If some of those sorry excuses for men could have a mistress or three why shouldn't Jaune. Ture, he would never cheat on her, but she had plans around that, Huntsman fought side by side, grew close as family.

If she worked her magic maybe she could make certain... Arrangements, and beside she already had candidate or two. The blonde with breast as big as her own who went all dowey eyed over her babies, her kid sister who he was fast friends with. The 'Secretly' Faunus who looked at her and Jaune warmly as he lovingly cared for his Faunus kid. Not to even mention the spartan and literal bunnygirl

Heck maybe she was reading to much into it but even the Schnee seemed to be a bit to intense with Jaune when they argued. Maybe she could get her dear husband a personal, private and exclusive brothel of his own. Filled with girls who'd just love to be his personal whores.

[grumpymiika]

♡ TW: Yandere, kidnapping, dark content

♡ English is not my native language, so I apologize for any mistakes.

You worked at a modest little bar every evening. The atmosphere possessed such a warm, lively charm. You would listen to your patrons' confessions, exchange small talk, and earn your tips. It was easy to admit that you enjoyed working there, even if it wasn’t the career your parents had envisioned for you.

One day, a regular patron, with whom you had grown familiar, arrived. He would come in every day, order a single whisky, and sit in a secluded corner of the establishment. The most unsettling part of it all was his impeccable timing—arriving just as your shift began and not leaving until you were ready to close. Yet, you couldn’t accuse him of anything without evidence. Perhaps he simply had this time free and chose to spend it in the company of his faithful companion: his whisky.

Days passed, and nothing of real consequence happened. Still, despite searching for a reasonable explanation, you couldn't shake the growing unease that man instilled in you. Observing him closely, he was tall, very tall, and strong. His hair was dark as coal, and his eyes were a captivating shade of amber-brown. His face was adorned with scattered beauty marks, as though he had been sculpted by the gods themselves. You had never seen a more handsome man. But stop thinking such nonsense! Handsome or not, it was undeniable that his behavior was odd. Determined to uncover the reason behind this man's frequent visits, you began to muster the courage to ask him directly.

One evening, like any other, your shift was drawing to a close, and you were the one responsible for locking up. You were cleaning glasses, organizing them in preparation to close the bar. And there he was, sitting motionless, just as before. Usually, by this hour, he would have already left. You had other things on your mind, so you paid him no attention—a terrible decision, one that you would only realize later.

He slowly approached the counter where you stood, and before you could react, his hand clamped around your neck, and he pressed a cloth over your nose. Everything became a blur. The world faded to white, and you collapsed into his arms.

When you opened your eyes, you found yourself in a strange place, somewhere you had never been before. Looking around, seeking answers, the memory of what had happened rushed back, and panic took hold of you. "That bastard...," you whispered to yourself, trembling with fear. The full weight of your predicament dawned on you. Foolish, foolish! How could you have turned your back on someone like him? But there was no time to dwell on that; it was far too late. You attempted to stand, but were abruptly stopped by the heavy chains fastening your neck to the wall. Tears welled up in your eyes, and sobs escaped your lips. Before you could think of what to do, you heard footsteps descending the stairs. It was him.

With a small smile on his lips, he drew closer to your shackled figure. “Finally awake,” his voice echoed in the small, dust-filled room. “Who are you? Why am I here?” you stammered, desperate for answers. “Me? I’m Eric, and you’re here because I love you,” his words struck you like a blow. Love? But you didn’t even know each other!

“Don’t look at me like that, darling. This is all your fault—if you hadn’t seduced me, you wouldn’t be here.” More tears streamed from your eyes. He was mad! Kneeling down to meet you at eye level, he wiped your tears away with his thumb. “Shh, don’t cry, princess. We’re finally together. There’s nothing to regret.”

He presses a tender kiss to your cheek—under different circumstances, it might have seemed sweet. “I will always take care of you, darling.”

“Take care of me? You’re insane if you think this is ‘taking care’!”

“Darling… it’s time you realized you don’t need anything besides me. Work? Never again. I’ll take care of everything now.”

“You filthy bastard! You’re out of your mind! Can’t you see this is madness?!”

His expression darkened, his irritation evident as he arched his eyebrows. “You’ll learn to love me,” he muttered, rising to his feet. As he moved toward the staircase, he blew you a kiss before heading up, locking the door securely behind him—or at least, that’s what you assumed, having only heard it. You didn’t see anything for sure.

Terrified of what your future held, you desperately tried to free yourself from the chain fastening you to the wall, but to no avail. This was your new life. You could only hope you wouldn’t come to regret your decisions—had it not been for your misstep, you wouldn’t be here.

You will live with Eric forever, whether you like it or not.

Part 2?

[applebutter-and-cinnamon]

The Night Before

Summary: The time shared before Jake leaves for deployment.

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Reader

Warning: mentions of deployment, time spent apart, slight angst, some fluff

Read More: Coming Home (Can be read as Part 2)

You knew what you were getting into when you'd agreed to your first date together. It didn't mean that you were prepared for it. Dating a Naval Aviator, one of the best who was in a squadron with other, equally talented aviators, it was only a matter of time before the Navy called on them again.

You'd met Jake after the dagger squad had returned from their first mission together, before they had been grouped together permanently. Your first date together had gone so much better than you had thought it would, but Jake had amazed you with. You learned that he was more than his dazzling green eyes. He was smart, witty, and compassionate.

Now, 3 months later you found yourself in his living room, cuddling up next to him on the couch. He'd turned on a movie at some point after the two of you had spent hours memorizing the lines of each others bodies. His hand was resting on your knee and your head was laying against his arm. You were trying to soak up as much of him as you could before he left tomorrow, breathing in the smell of his cologne and basking in the warmth of his skin against yours.

"Where's your pretty little mind, Sweetheart?" Jake asked, his voice soft and low as he whispered in your ear.

You shrugged, turning your head so that your voice was muffled into his chest.

He rubbed your knee gently, "Babe, you know I can't understand you when you do that. Come on, what are you thinking about?"

"Just tomorrow," you told him, picking your head up a little so he could hear you. "I'm going to miss you."

Jake's chest vibrated with the little hum that he let out in understanding. He brought his hand up from where it was, maneuvering you as he wrapped it around your shoulders to bring you closer to him. "I'm going to miss you, too."

You felt him press a light kiss to the top of your head. Tilting your head up, your eyes locked onto his and you tried to memorize the exact shade of green they were and the number of eyelashes that framed their perfect shape.

He was looking at you like he was trying to drink in every detail. His eyes roaming every inch of your face as he gazed down at you.

"I'm going to write to you everyday," you promised him.

He smiled, teeth glinting from the light of the television. "It might get tedious."

"Not if it's you that I'm writing to," you told him.

His eyes softened, "You'll keep me updated about the squirel that's digging into your flower bed?"

"I'll write you a play-by-play of every movement he makes and I'll write to you about everything that happens at work -"

"You'd better. I need to keep up with the tea at your job so that I know if that bitch, Martha pulls any shit again." Jake was smirking mischievously but you knew how to read him now and he couldn't hide the very real sadness that was taking over him.

"I wouldn't want to tell anyone else," you assure him.

Jake nods and looks away from you down the hall where his office is. You haven't been in there a lot, but from the times that you've stayed the night, you knew the layout of his house. "If anything goes wrong," he begins, "Everything that you'd need to know is in the office. I know you're planning on popping in here every so often to check on things, but I've left all of my documents in case something happens in the upper left drawer."

You're glad he's not looking at you when he speaks, his words causing your stomach to twist unpleasantly, but you nod anyway. It's important to him that you know this, even if neither of you enjoy the topic.

"You'll come back to me," your words come out more hesitant than you had intended.

Jake's eyes snap back to yours, earnest determination shining brightly in them. "I will always, always do everything I can to try to make it back to you."

It should've scared both of you, the amount of commitment you were showing to each other so early in the relationship but neither of you could deny how right it felt to be with the other. His words, you knew, would echo around your head while he was gone, soothing you on the long nights without him.

You reached up to cup his face with your hand, bringing him closer for a deep kiss. The taste of him was an elixir that you could get drunk off of. The feeling of his hands around you, pulling you closer to him until a slip of paper wouldn't fit between you was a drug that you were addicted to.

You broke apart, breathing heavily with your forehead pressed against his. Wrapping his arms securely around your waist, he stood and carried you back into his bedroom, laying you down on the mattress with heartbreaking gentleness. Jake crawled in behind you and you fit your legs between his, curling into his body. The sheets were cool now, but still tussled from your time spent in them earlier.

He was tracing shapes along the small of your back as you played with the blonde hair on his chest. "Can I have your Longhorns sweater while you're gone?"

Jake hummed, "Of course."

"And can you spray it with your cologne?" You were both whispering now, some part of you knowing that to speak any louder was to break the bubble you were both living in. You'd do anything to keep him here in this bed with you and keep time from moving forward, pulling him away from you.

"Mmhmm," his eyes were falling shut, despite his obvious attempts at keeping them open.

"Sleep," you whispered. "You're going to need it."

Jake forced his heavy eyelids open, "I wanted to spend more time with you."

You pulled the covers higher up his chest, "I'll still be here."

"Talk to me," he asked, voice groggy. "Want your voice... Sleep better."

You pressed a small kiss to his skin, watching as his chest rose and fell with each breath. You licked your lips and began talking about everything mundane you could think of. Small, unimportant topics that you'd miss talking to him about while he was gone.

It didn't take long for his breathing to even out and for his hands to stop tracing against your skin. You stayed awake, gazing at him and taking mental pictures for you to remember. Your heart was beating painfully in your chest, a small crack forming as it prepared for the anguish that always filled you when the thought of being separated from the man you loved came up.

You knew that Jake would do his best to talk to you as often as he could. He'd already promised to call and write letters as often as he was allowed, but it was your first deployment as a couple. There was a part of you that was afraid that he'd come back and decide that you weren't the person he wanted anymore. You had no idea if this deployment would change him as much as his squad said the last one had.

His soft snore shook you from your thoughts. You ran your fingers through his hair so softly as to not wake him. "I love you," you whispered the secret into his chest. The way you always did when you had your buried your head in there, speaking the words directly to his heart and hoping that each time you spoke them that he'd feel the weight of them there long after you'd said it.

You settled next to him, curling around him. You cleared your mind of all thoughts of the morning and let his breathing soothe you to sleep.

When Jake was sure that you were sleeping soundly next to him he allowed himself a small smile and whispered, "I love you too."

[animereaderinsertwriter]

to fuck a god

tags/warnings: smut, ares x nymph!reader, erwin smith x reader, ancient greece au for a hot minute

a/n: this fic is a gift for the lovely, wonderful @bluebellhairpin whom i adore (and is responsible for my schmexy icon!!!!)

There is shouting in the distance.

Your nose wrinkles, your eyes tighten. Darkness, warm and weighted, presses against you, smothering wakefulness. Peace lulls you back to slumber.

Moments later, there is a scream—  you hear it past the darkness, past the weight. It is the lonely, abandoned cry of a wounded soldier. Your heart lurches, your eyes flutter.

Still you sleep. It has been too long since last you had rest.

It is a crash that finally wakes you. Pain blossoms in your abdomen as a bridge collapses, a crushing pressure that forces air from your lungs. You rise, hot, raging, vengeful; your waters churn, boiling wine-dark with the blood of mortal men. Battle has come to your riverbank, unbidden and unwanted. 

The men do not— cannot— see your body as you emerge from foaming rapids, but that does not lessen the doom they face by the outstretching of your hand. This is your river. The silt and sand beneath their feet, the water in their noses and lungs belong to you; they will not savage it without price

They pay with their lives by the dozen. You extract it from them mercilessly, plunging them beneath the water's surface. As your rapids rage, one man reaches, lunging to gouge another with his spear; even in your wrath, you mark the act as strange. What manner of beast is man that even in the throes of his own death, he seeks to cause another's? You find it too foolish to fathom.

 “For Athens!” cries one man just before you fill his lungs with water. “For the noble House of—”

He does not finish. You smother his battle cry with watery death. Athens could burn for all you cared, along with every noble house and home along the way. You cared little for irreverent man; would that the gods would send you power enough to flood them all.

 “Such fury from one so small. Would that I could inspire like rage in even fifty men.”

The voice, though gruff and deep, was quiet, bemused. In your distraction, you allow a man to escape your clutches and crawl back to shore, gagging and sputtering as he went. Furious, you turn and find the true object of your ire lounging beneath the shade of a fig tree, a scroll in hand. Once, it might have amused you to find the god of war reading, of all things— but you were accustomed now to his all-too-frequent visits, and the oddity had worn off its charm.

“Restless vagabond,” you spit, feet slapping as you walked from your place in the water to the shore next to his tree. “Go back to Sparta, Ares—you're not wanted here.”

So saying, you fold your arms, waiting for a response. When the god doesn’t deign to reply, you flick water from the tips of your fingers in his direction. Shiny droplets land in his dark hair, glistening like dew; a single shimmer of water races down the thick bridge of his nose, then dives off the blunt tip of it to land on his scroll.

“Woman.” 

The word is spoken lowly— a warning— but has no real bite. Your words, however, are far from toothless, heedless of how great and terrible is the power that he wields.

“I am no mere woman— no more than you are mere man.”

Dark-bright eyes look up at you, their russet brown edging on red as they sparkle with mischief. As his gaze follows the curves and plains of your body, Ares smiles— the very definition of crude and lascivious.

“You are a woman in all the ways that count.”

That, you supposed, was true enough.

“Why have you come?”

He nods towards the chaos of your river.

“The men brought me.”

“As if mortal man makes his own war.” Your face contorts into a scowl. “I ask again: Why have you come? Why come you to savage my banks, pollute my waters with foul man-blood and stinking mortal shit?”

“I told you the truth, pretty one.” Ares rolled his scroll gently. It crackled under his huge hands, but did not bend. “The men wage war, and whithersoever they wage, there I must be also.”

“Pretty one,” you grumble, angry at how well the compliment pleased you. “Better wrathful one, or vengeful one.”

“Those too, if it pleases you.”

He stands, brushing grass from his toga. The clothing in question, made of crimson fabric, falls just shy of halfway down his bulging, golden thigh, revealing softly curving muscle. The hulking mass of him throws a shadow long enough to cast doubt and fear into your very bones, even more so as he approaches you— but then he is close, so very close, and murmuring sweetly just for you to hear.

“Come, my Lady Wrath, my Darling Vengeance— does my presence really disturb you so greatly?”

You can smell the battle on him. His scent is metallic, like blood, and salty like sweat— and yet there is also the clean scent of the field, the spice of victory wine, and the smoke of burning bodies. Ares is and always has been a study in opposites, both animal magnetism and soft, reasonable attraction.

"Yes," you admit, striving for exasperation and hitting nearer to tremulous want. "You do disturb me." 

A large, warm hand grips your hip. You suddenly become aware of the bareness of your skin, the cool damp of you against the warm heat of him. The contact brings a flush to your cheeks. Your body responds as his hand flexes, squeezing; you can't help but search his gaze, wondering, as ever, what he's thinking. 

"I love that you're naked," he says, at once soft and sharp. "Your form pleases me, lady nymph. Your kind are never shy, but you are the only river-sprite I know that dares brave land baring all."

He touches you further, that large, rough hand sliding up the curve of your waist. He spreads his warmth from your hip to your ribcage to your neck, gently exploring. The touch is electric, yet strangely innocent. He is a god admiring Creation. Admiring you.

As before, you allow it— and how could you not? 

Who were you to say no to the attention and affection of a god?

"The men are dying in my waters," you say as his fingertips trace your jaw. "I'll fall ill, Ares."

"You shall not. I shall send another of my kin to cleanse you, as I did before."

You have nothing to say in return. As if sensing this, he kisses you, busying your mouth with the more pressing business of his want. Both of his hands are on you now, one on your neck, one at the swell of your ass; as he pulls you close, you can feel the hot, hard length of him against you, protected only by the thin fabric of his toga. The sensation is heady, and you pride yourself on keeping your feet through the ordeal. 

"Will you let me have you once more?" he asks against your lips. "What say you, my nymph of rage?"

You consider for a moment. Always, he gives you the choice. You know he needn't— he is stronger, more powerful, and could and had easily taken what he wanted before. It makes you wonder if giving you the choice, allowing you to choose him, is a way for him to conquer you. In the end, it doesn't matter. There was only ever one answer. 

"Yes." Your breath comes quick as a calloused thumb brushes over your nipple. "Yes, Lord Ares. I will have you." 

In the end, there is no shame. Even Aphrodite herself had been unable to say no to the wiles of the war god. As conqueror, it was not in his nature to be refused. 

Having gained your assent, Ares does not waste precious time. Instead, he kisses up your neck, to your ear, taking the lobe of it between his teeth and scraping gently. The act sends goosebumps racing down your flesh, and you shiver. Ares kisses lower, down to the hollow of your throat and the plain of your chest, his hands wandering to hardened, sensitive nipple and gently curving breast. He touches you, explores you, holds you like you are precious, and your body opens to him.

"Spread your legs," he says against your neck. "I want to taste you."

So saying, he lowers himself to his knees, bringing himself of a height with your sex. Filthy and impossible, he noses at the apex of your thighs, nudges your legs apart with his hands; it is everything you can do to remain standing as he begins a great and terrible onslaught against your dignity. It is so much. It is not enough. Your hands move to his hair, pulling the soft strands as a long, thick finger finds your entrance, and he groans as he finds that his finger slips easily inside. Still, he does not budge from his task until you're trembling, quaking above him as your orgasm nears— and even then, it is only to look up at you with glistening mouth and fuck-me eyes and say,

"Kneel."

You can do nothing but obey. You kneel before Ares, and he kisses you, letting you taste your own pleasure from his mouth. It's filthy and perverse and everything you've ever wanted as he lowers you gently to the earth, wrapping your legs around his wide hips. You look up at him, awestruck. In this moment, he is soft, beautiful. He is nothing like you would have imagined War to be. 

Ares takes a moment to toss aside his clothing. His sex is even larger than you remember it— or, perhaps his form alters according to his godly will, and he is striving to impress. In any case, your sexes are now aligned— his tip to the very opening of your body— and all that remains is one push before he is fully seated. 

Despite all, you find yourself anxious for that push. 

"Do it," you urge, smothering that feeling. "Fuck me, Ares."

You can tell it pleases him to hear his name from your mouth. Even so, he does not acquiesce immediately, which both frustrates and endears him to you. 

"I'll go slowly," he says. "It is no small thing to fuck a god. I thought you'd have learned that by now."

You have no reply— not when his cockhead is pushing slowly into you, making way for the rest of his large, heavy cock. It is nearly a religious experience, being filled by him. You cry out as he's finally seated deeply within you, and all at once you can no longer tell where you end and he begins. 

"Yes," you tell him as he withdraws to begin another slow thrust. "Yes, yes, yes."

The word becomes a song as he picks up the pace. It is a song of moans and cries and deepest feeling— he kisses you as you keen, and the hot, hard length of him slows to an agonizing pace.

"Are you alright?" he asks, as though you are breakable. "Should I slow down?"

It infuriates you. 

With all your power, you shove at his chest. At first, be doesn't seem to understand, taken aback by your newfound aggression— but eventually, when you use the force of your hips to indicate your desire, he goes easily backwards, landing with a gentle thump on his back so that you can straddle his hips, impaling yourself on his length. Hands braced on the warm softness of his chest, you begin to grind, pushing him ever deeper into you until both of your breaths come heavy and your time is near. 

"You were made to be abed with War," Ares tells you, smiling madly up as you move above him. "Indomitable, you are, and ruthless— I have no doubt that a thousand lives could not separate us."

You barely hear him.

"Lovely creature. I would make you my queen, if I could." His voice pitches upward in a moan of pleasure as you use his body. "I would make you heir to my kingdom of ash and broken bone, would burn worlds for you."

Cogent thought is lost to pleasure, but you feel the meaning of his words. It pushes you closer, so close, so close—

"Come, pretty one," he says, "Awake, destroyer of man. I will catch you if you fall, in this life or the next."

You jerk awake. 

A warm hand rests on your shoulder. You turn, groggy with sleep, and find a pair of shining blue eyes peering into your own. Erwin Smith—your husband and commander— has never looked more handsome than now, with chest bare above pajama pants that fall a little too short at his ankle. 

"Are you alright, love?" he asks you, tender, gentle. "A nightmare?"

The wetness between your legs indicates otherwise. You guide his large, calloused hand there, wordlessly allowing him to feel your answer, and he smiles. 

"In that case, I'm sorry for waking you." He presses a kiss to your temple, a finger pressing into your folds. "You don't get enough downtime as it is."

You hum in agreement and run your hands along the solid, curving lines of his biceps. 

"You could always order me on bed rest, commander," you tease as he shifts, placing himself exactly as Ares had in your dream— between your thighs, your legs wrapped around his hips. 

"If I did that, nothing would ever get done."

"No? Am I that big of a help, then, that the Scouts couldn't function without me?"

"No," Erwin grinned, mischievous, "It's because if I put you on bed rest, I'd never leave your bed."

You smile, then gasp as he presses against you, cock straining against the thin fabric of his pajamas. The feeling is startlingly familiar, and all at once, Ares' words come back to you. 

"You were made to be abed with War. Indomitable, you are, and ruthless— I have no doubt that a thousand lives could not separate us."

You wonder if the dream was entirely that. It felt so raw, so real— and, though Erwin and the Ares of your dream shared little physical similarity, you suspected that they were made of the same parts. Only the paint was different. Ares was bronze and dark where Erwin was pale and blond, but in their hearts— in their dark, violent hearts, capable of more and deeper love than a mortal could imagine— they were the same. They were men made of war, bathed in the blood of innocents.

And they both wanted you. 

"Lay back," you tell your husband, pushing at the soft muscle of his chest. "I want to ride you."

Erwin grins. 

"I thought you'd never ask."

[duchess-kyuupid]

Twst Men and How to Fluster Them

How should one go about teasing their love to get that desirable shade of red on their faces?

[GN! Reader / Suggestive, but SFW] *All of these are pre-relationship and you trying to flirt with him*

~~Heartslabyul Edition~~ [Pt. 1]

[Ft. Riddle, Deuce, and Ace]

Riddle - When you break the rules just to get his attention - It doesn't take long to get under his skin with your flirty advances, because clearly Rule #324 states "A rose must never rest betwixt the mouth after teatime on Mondays" - and yet here you are, resting a lovely red rose in between those tantalizing lips of yours and sending a playful wink his way once you caught eye contact. - No, he was not going to fall for your antics again, not when you've broken the rules, again!! It should be off with your head! But before he can say anything, you quickly cover your mouth with your hands and sneakily hide the rose down your sleeves without him noticing. - "Why, Housewarden Riddle, I'd never dream of breaking any rules!" you claim with a knowing smile, "Oh, but, there seems to be something in your hair, let me get that for you-" - You step a little too close to him, he thinks, and you reach in an area behind his head, pulling out the rose from your sleeve. Already, Riddle's face has been red as apples from your proximity, and your very obvious flirting. - "Can't have the Queen looking improper for class, can we?" You chuckle and reach out for his hand to give him the rose. Mission complete, you've turned the Housewarden of Heartslabyul into a stuttering, flustered mess, and you decide (oh so graciously) that it was time to stop teasing him for the time being. Riddle notices how your eyes change from their mischievous little smirk to one of soft reminiscence. - "That was a type of 'magic trick' that was popular in my own world you know. We might not have had magic like you do here, but we do have our own little tricks up our sleeve," You laugh breathlessly, "But I'm pretty sure that with real magic, you wouldn't need to use tricks like this. Anyway Riddle, enjoy the rest of your day! And don't be late for class!" - And just like that, you briskly walked away without Riddle having the opportunity to reply. Suffice to say, Riddle couldn't bring himself to let go of the rose until he made it back to his room later that day, where he's been keeping it in a little vase ever since. (Oh, and if you or anyone else ever sees it, don't ask him about it! He'd be too embarrassed to give a straight answer... Or do, we all know that he's so much fun to tease~)

Ace - When you kiss the heart on his eye - "Ace, come here for a second, I have something to tell you," you say as Ace happens to walk by you on his way to the cafeteria. Naturally, he comes over without even a second thought (this man is so whipped for you, he'd do anything you ask before he could even process it - but of course you didn't know this). - "Sure! What is it?" he asks once he's closer to you. You say nothing until he's in perfect range to attack, and then you pounce. - With quick movements you lightly grab his chin and direct his face towards the side and kiss the little heart on his eye. - You stepped back as quickly as you could, feeling your nerves catch up on you, and while you still had your confidence in your system, you gave him your proudest smile and waited for his reaction. His eyes had widened and his mouth was slack-jawed as he was still processing what had just happened. This went on for about a solid minute of the two of you just staring at each other before you explain to him, - "That was for helping me out the other day. I have no chance of catching Grim on my own when he runs off chasing whatever's got his attention," you laugh a little, but it feels awkward seeing as how Ace still hadn't said anything yet, his hand was just hovering over the spot that you kissed over his heart. To be honest, that was really just an excuse that you made up on the spot. The truth was you kissed him like this because he's been too dumb to notice that you've been flirting with him for the past month. If this doesn't tell him that you're interested, you really don't know what will. - Now, you didn't know this, but this man's heart was simultaneously going a million miles a minute but also never going anywhere, like the cogs in his brain had short-circuited. He could hear his heart hammering in his ribcage like it was trying to escape, and all that he could focus on was the feeling of your warm lips kissing his upper cheek, even after they've been long gone. - On your end though, the silence was almost getting suffocating. At first you were greatly enjoying the spectacle of having Ace all frozen up and red in the face, but with each passing moment, your smile began to falter more and more. 'Did I misinterpret his reaction? Did he not like it? Is he actually getting angry with me? Did I really just ruin my relationship with Ace??' your thoughts began swarming your mind like flies, but before you open your mouth to apologize for being inappropriate, you hear Ace giggle and you could now see the big, dopey smile on his face too. - "So then, all I've gotta do is catch Grim, right? And you'll give me another one of those?" he asks confidently. If you hadn't known any better, you'd have thought that he was the one who gave you a kiss. - "W-well yes, if you'd like one," you reply rather sheepishly. - "Haha! Sweet! That weasel's not going anywhere, not while I'm around!" he chuckles brightly, "Say, I was just on my way to the cafeteria before you stopped me, wanna go eat together?" - You nod with a relieved laugh, "Sure, I'd like that." - "Hey, I've got an awesome idea! What if," he points to his cheek, "I buy your lunch in exchange for another one? Who says that the deal should be exclusively for catching Grim?" - And so at this point, the tables had turned- you had no idea that he'd be so excited about the little kiss on the cheek that he'd start asking for more right after. So, you, of course, had to change the tables again- to maintain your pride as a teasing lover, if nothing else, so you reply, - "How about you pay for my lunch AND you become my boyfriend? You get one free kiss for lunch, and you can get a specialty kiss voucher at least once a day that you can redeem anytime! It's a great deal, if I do say so myself!"

Deuce - When you help him study - To be honest, he's already a little embarrassed that he had to ask you for help on his homework. He swore to himself that he would become an honor student at NRC and make his mother proud, and yet here he is, just barely managing to pass his classes with a C, and having to ask the one who can't even use magic for help on his homework about magic. It's deplorable, really. Oh! but no offence to you though, in fact Deuce has so much admiration for you because of this fact! He thinks it's amazing how quickly you were able to learn everything from class when you've had almost no background knowledge or practical uses for any of it! Of course you were amazing! Meanwhile he's over here struggling with some of the most basic principles... - "Deuce, are you even listening to me?" you snap him out of his thoughts once you realized that he was just staring blankly at you, your tutoring lecture falling in one ear and out the other. - And with a surprised shake of his head, he realizes that the only thing that he was able to focus on for the past hour or so was you. - "Sorry, I just blanked out a little, can you repeat that last part you said again?" well, he really wanted you to repeat all of it, but he had to at least make it look like he was improving because of you- that way you'd continue helping him study like this in the future... But then again, if he asked you to repeat everything you'd already gone over, there's a chance that you would stay here for longer... - "Listen, Deuce, I don't think that this is working," you sigh and you go to stand up. His eyes widen and he hurriedly tries to stop you from leaving, - "Wait!-" - "That's why I want to try a different tactic," you smile, "If you can manage to correctly answer at least 10 questions in a row today, then I'll grant you one wish. And it could be anything- I can go buy something for you, I'll make you food, hell I'll even give you a kiss if you asked. And if you can make at least a B on the test this week, then I will do whatever you want for the whole day. And I mean anything." - 'Huh? A kiss? You'd give him a kiss if he got 10 answers right?!' Deuce's face flares up in a reddish hue at the thought and you take his stuttering as a yes to the deal. You smile at him and begin tutoring him once again. ~~ - Fast forward a couple of hours, and Deuce finally manages to get 10 answers correct in a row, and it's time for you to deliver on his reward. - "Well, what you do want, Deuce-y? Anything you want, is yours..." You tease him with the nickname, but all it does is make him more nervous because oh god, he didn't think about the fact that he'd have to ask for it!! - "Umm,,, I... Can I have a …a kiss from you?" - "Hm? What did you say? A kass?" Oh my god, there's absolutely no way that he'd be able to say it again without dying on the spot! - "A casserole..." He sighs. - "Alright, no problem! It's already way past dinnertime so the cafeteria's probably still closed, so what kind do you want me to make for you? I'm pretty hungry myself, so how about shepherd's pie?" You stand up from your spot on the couch and start walking towards the kitchen area behind him. - "Sure.." He really couldn't care less about what you made at this moment, he's still reeling from missing his one chance to get a kiss from his crush... - That is, until, you come up from behind him and give him a sneak attack kiss on his cheek. - "I actually did hear you, Deuce-y, just felt like teasing you for a bit," you whispered into his ear and giggled, "Now you just have to get a B or better on the exam, and I'll give you another one on the lips~" - To tell you that he died right there on the spot would be an understatement.

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Literally I wanted to get all of the Heartslabyul characters on here but then the post got too big ToT the price we pay for love....