#one does not simply leave the rooftop

[yintous]

💭 thinking about waking up next to the batboys in the morning ｡ ｡ ｡ [masterlist]

notes. not proofread, more content under the cut, lowk cheesy, written in second pov, the only thing my writer’s block allowed me to finish 😭

Night and morning, DICK GRAYSON is all over you, his acts devoid of shame. His hair, his limbs, his everything, are wrapped against you. He is shamelessly generous with his physical affection and gives you his utmost attention, asleep or awake.

His subconscious refuses to let you get away from him, ever.

Waking him up is surprisingly easy because one move away from him results in his leg wrapping even tighter around your hips while a subtle whine falls from his lips. He would only let you go if you told him you needed to pee.

However, that does not mean his patience would magically grow. No, he will stand outside the bathroom door, so he would be able to droop his figure over you again once you were done with your business.

Once the sun rises and the curtains radiate a light that makes your eyes squint in retaliation, it will be the same— an endless cycle of his displayed devotion and adoration for you. As long as the pair of hands that are waking him up is yours, DICK'S smile will effortlessly ghost upon his lips before he kisses you; a morning without a kiss, he insists, is a form of torture.

Plus, the smell of your shampoo and the soothing note of your voice are enough to convince him that he is still asleep, helplessly indulging in a sweet dream; he is just a weak man, at least for you, who is he to deny such a glorious opportunity?

JASON TODD, like his older brother, is easy to wake up. A whisper or a slight movement is enough to make his eyes open involuntarily; it’s likely muscle memory.

Unbeknownst to him, he slightly drools in his sleep, leaving a dry trail on his cheek by the time he wakes up, right next to one of the scars on his face.

The confused and slightly dazed expression on his face is as endearing as it is absurd. Despite spending many mornings with you, his brain sometimes struggles to register that you are truly his.

Just as your hand caresses his cheek, he instinctively hovers his palm over yours, momentarily thinking of you as a potential threat. But then the sight of you softens him; his thumb gently brushes against your hand, and his lips press to your palm.

Normalcy can be elusive for him—he is acutely aware of that. Yet cooking breakfast with you, combined with your irresistible smile, makes him feel like an ordinary man. With you by his side, the day suddenly doesn’t seem so dreadful to seize.

Waking up next to TIM DRAKE doesn’t always mean waking up on a soft mattress, especially if you indulge in his tendency to nap anywhere at any hour. There are numerous places you might find yourself waking up: a mattress, a couch, the stools near the counters, or even on a random rooftop.

The one constant, however, is the sight of your boyfriend actively trying to pull you closer in his sleep, even when you’re already as close as you could be. His subconscious leads him to hold you as tightly as possible—one might think he’s having a nightmare.

But no, he simply enjoys holding you.

Waking him up feels like pulling teeth. He is definitely not the type to rise early and make breakfast with you; he is the complete opposite of a morning person. Without hesitation, he will drag you back into bed when you attempt to get up, eager for a few more moments of rest with you.

If you persist in waking him up, he may reluctantly comply—on the condition that his fingers can thread through your hair while you shower him with kisses on his face. In those moments, mornings don’t seem so bad to him, and he will consume your love for breakfast.

DUKE THOMAS wakes you up with morning kisses. He makes it his mission to rise before you, the early morning light casting a warm glow in the room, ensuring that your day begins wrapped in the love that flows so effortlessly from his heart.

His love is a rare treasure, so pure that it's the kind of longing poets can only dream of capturing in their sonnets.

He mutters your name with utmost care, as if it's a sacred incantation, kneading away the tension in your muscles with the hands of a delicate lover; a gentle touch enchanted with an intimacy that speaks of years shared.

It isn't long before the tantalizing aroma of breakfast wafts through the air, drawing your attention to the small tray perched on the bedside table.

Your heart swells as you take in the sight—each item perfectly arranged, your favorite breakfast lovingly prepared with attention to every little detail. From the fluffy pancakes dusted with powdered sugar to the perfectly brewed coffee, it’s clear that DUKE has poured his heart into every aspect of this morning ritual, just as he pours his heart into your life.

Each meal together is another chapter in your love story, written one delicious bite at a time.

© yintous do not copy, repost, plagiarize, or feed any of my work into ai.

[deadtired-highkeyenergetic]

Cold Jealousy

I am back once again with more Silco brain rot. Feeding all of you who need the content as well as myself.

Summary: Who knew jealousy was all it took for to have your first kiss with Silco?

He hates the coiling in his stomach that arises whenever you laugh at something a patron says. It sickens him, seeing you lean in so close to another man, your lips moving as you say something and then smile, causing the table to burst into laughter. He knows you're simply close friends with them, after all they are your childhood friends, people who grew up with you, so of course you'd act overly familiar with them but he can't stop his chest from tightening, his fingers twitching.

The nib of his pen pierces through the page he was writing on and he scowls angrily at the mess, trying to drown out your voice but it's intoxicating, a melody that snatches his attention away from the numbers in his notebook. Your laughter is like a drug, leaving him wanting more every time he hears it, and the thought that it's someone else eliciting it drives him insane.

"You alright there?" Vander slides him a glass of scotch, worry clear gentle grey eyes.

"I'm fine," Silco spits back, a little harsher than intended. Of course Vander would notice something was off, Vander knew him way too well. He turns back to his notebook, trying to suppress the whispers that begin to cloud his mind and stares at the numbers, willing them into his brain.

"You know they only have eyes for you right? They don't look at anyone the same way they look at you." Vander glances over at the table where you're currently playing a game of cards, and from the looks of it, losing.

"I know," Silco scowls, stabbing the page with his pen. Vander simply huffs and turns to attend to the customer who just pulled up at the counter. Silco rolls his eyes and closes the notebook, he's done for the night. There's no way he can continue concentrating when you laugh like that, when butterflies flutter in his chest and turn to stone as he remembers you're not laughing at something he said or did.

"I'm going to get some air," he grunts, slipping out the back door.

Out of habit, he makes his way to the rooftop, sitting at his usual spot and looks out at the sprawling underground city beneath. Neon lights flash from various stores like stars, illuminating figures as people walk past but the silhouettes disappear just as quickly, fading back into obscurity. It's the same pattern every night, he's memorised some of the figures already, knows the habits of certain individuals, and has noted the important ones. He spots the lady with twin brown hair buns who frequents the brothel opposite, the two enforcers who always sneak into the nearby drug store during their nightly patrol and nearly misses the sound of your footsteps.

"Hey." You take your seat next to him.

"Y/N." He barely spares you a glance before looking back at the city below. The night wind whistles through the air, sending shivers through his body and he curls up, hugging his knees to his chest. Dammit, he forgot his coat. The air here is chillier at this time of the year, being so far away from the hustle and bustle of the city's nightlife, but it brings a sense of peace that he treasures, especially when it's with you. Tonight, it just feels cold, probably from his lack of a coat, but there's a numbness he can't explain.

The clink of glass snaps him out of his thoughts and he glances up to see you produce a bottle of wine as well as two glasses.

"Sorry, I couldn't swipe a bottle of scotch so I grabbed the next best thing before anyone could catch me," you smile at him and pop the bottle open. The red liquid sloshes in the glass as you fill it up and hand it to him, "peace offering?"

He wrinkles his nose but takes the glass anyways, mumbling a thank you before letting the liquid slide down his throat. It doesn't have the same burn as scotch does, but there's still a pool of warmth that sits in his belly, although it does little to alleviate the chill he feels.

You smile and pour a glass for yourself, taking a sip, following the direction of his eyes. Silco swirls the red liquid around in his glass, biting his lip. The silence is awkward, but he won't be the first to break it, his pride won't let him. Fortunately, you shift closer to him and shrug your jacket off, wrapping it around his shoulders.

"Don't catch a cold on me."

He snorts in response, tugging your jacket tighter around himself. It smells nice, smells like you with a hint of his cigar's smoke. He can pick out the scent of wine, the smell of the soap you use to wash the jacket, the remnants of Piltover's smell from your afternoon stint and a small smile makes its way onto his face as he remembers the way you threw yourself at him, clutching a bag of freshly baked bread, laughing as you yelled at him to run for his life. The pool of warmth resting in his belly spreads to the rest of his body, sending tingles up his spine as he buries his face into the jacket's fabric. The fabric is worn but still maintains a certain level of softness, and it feels as nice as it smells.

He watches as you finish your glass and exchange it for the bottle, remembering his own unfinished glass and takes another sip. Scotch was still the best drink, a shame you didn't manage to filch a bottle of it. You down half the bottle in one go, sighing in satisfaction and gesture at his glass.

"You don't have to force yourself to finish it, you know?"

He scowls, and finishes the rest of his wine, all the while staring right at you. "As if I'll let you have any of mine."

You laugh, and he finds that your laughter sounds better when it's because of something he said than when it's because of something someone else said, besides, there's the added bonus of giddiness that fills him. He smiles, for the first time tonight and sets the glass down next to yours. The awkwardness has been broken, much to his relief and he feels as though he can breathe easier.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" You gesture towards the myriad of lights. "Piltover's lights can't compare to this."

"That's because most of their lights are the same colour," he snorts, "but yes…it is beautiful."

You beam, taking another swig from the bottle and set the bottle down, leaning back on your hands. The night breeze ruffles through your hair, playing with its strands and Silco watches as a couple of strands fall between your eyes, causing you to huff and puff at it until it falls off your face. The next gust of wind is stronger and you shiver, shifting closer to him. He shakes his head and throws the left half of your jacket over your shoulders so it covers the both of you.

"Don't you catch a cold on me either."

"Thank you for sharing my jacket." You roll your eyes, nudging his shoulder with your own. He nudges you back, the back and forth going on for a while until the jacket slips off your shoulder and he leans over to pull it back on. Electricity crackles from where his skin brushes against yours and he feels his heart leap into his throat when he looks up at you, realising how close the two of you are.

Sure, the both of you know how the other feels, knows the unspoken truth but continue to dance around each other, fearful of what acknowledging the feeling would bring, but tonight just feels right. He feels your hand intertwine with his and he leans in, throat bobbing as he swallows hard. You lean in as well and your lips meet for the first time.

The feeling is addicting, Silco quickly learns. The way your lips lock with his perfectly, the way you lean in as his fingers run through your hair, the way your free arm wraps around his waist, pulling him closer, all of this makes him wish this moment will never end. Unfortunately, the both of you need to breathe and so he reluctantly parts from you, pressing his forehead against yours. It feels natural, to feel your warmth, to hold you underneath your jacket, and from the way you're looking at him with such adoration in your eyes, you feel the same way.

It doesn't need to be said, nothing needs to be said, the only thing he needs to do is close the gap once more and taste the wine on your lips, savouring the sweetness of it all. This is the one time he will admit that wine tastes good, but he still prefers scotch.

Your hand gently cups his cheek and he finds himself leaning into the touch. Your thumb runs over his skin, brushing along his cheekbone and he sighs, surrendering to your warmth. A small smile graces your lips and he can't help but smile back, although his smile is rather lazy.

"We should head back before Vander has to come and haul us away," you murmur and Silco reluctantly extracts himself from your touch.

"And before he closes the bar up so that we don't have to wash the glasses." He picks said glasses up, nudging the empty bottle towards you. "You are still going to throw the bottle away, I'm not touching that."

"Why? You were so eager to touch my saliva just moments ago," you tease, mirth decorating your features.

"I'm not about to deny you your responsibilities." He ducks out of the way as you try to shove the empty bottle into his arms, quickly making his way back into the bar before you can succeed in making your problem his. He hears your annoyed shouts behind him and laughs, sliding into the bar's counter.

Vander raises an eyebrow as Silco places the glasses in the sink and darts off, then shakes his head as you come barreling in, demanding that Silco help you as payment for the wine he drank. He grabs the both of you by your collars and drops you both at the sink. "I believe washing everything in the sink will suffice as payment for the bottle of wine."

You groan when you see the amount of empty cups in the sink and Silco laughs, turning on the water tap. At least you're trapped in this with him, the washing should go by faster.

As the both of you hunch over the sink, you give him a little nudge with your elbow. "Next time, if you're jealous, just step in. I'll leave with you, I promise."

"Jealous?" He splutters. "I wasn't jealous!"

"Sure you weren't, Mr 'angrily stabs an innocent piece of paper with his pen'. Keep trying."

He huffs, turning his attention back to the glass he's currently wiping dry. "I wasn't jealous."

"Yeah yeah, keep telling yourself that. I doubt that changes facts though."

"Nobody said that was a fact."

You lightly punch him in the shoulder with your damp fist and he mock glares at you, smacking your arm with the drying cloth but can't stop the smile that's forming on his face.

"Don't ever doubt yourself," you say softly. "You mean everything to me."

And you mean everything to me too.

[yandere-wishes]

Okay just Tim’s cat!darling having absolute orange cat energy, like the most feral thing ever, like she has actually bitten him before and hissed at him, like she absolutely doesn’t like him

Or like one time Tim was tracking her after a heist they think she or Catwoman committed and she sees him spying through the window, it’s three in the morning and she got up to get fruit snacks and she gives him a back the hell off look before just going back to bed.

Like these videos are her

https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZP8YJmwbL/

And just replace this one with her and Tim

https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZP8YJnV4w/

OMG I did not know orange cat energy was a thing 🤣🤣I always thought stereotypical orange cat was just Garfield that's it lol!!

I can totally see reader getting more and more aggressive with Tim/Red Robin as time goes on. Sure she may still have a crush on him and thank him for her obsession with masked vigilantes and cat burglars.

But the more Tim forcefully steals kisses and hovers by her window at the most unholiest of hours. The more aggressive Reader becomes. She's not above just opening that window and trying to claw his eyes out!!

Worst is when she actually pieces together who he is, simply from the fact that he's liked all her videos and posts.

He's even left comments on her fics like 'Maybe Red Robin isn't that bad of a guy and he's just doing all these things 'cause he loves you.'

or

'my friend was saved by Red Robin once and they say he's absolutely the coolest and would be so gentle and kind to his lover.'

Reader has to bite herself to stop from writing the most graphic profanities in the reply!!

Your claws are raking over his muscles, digging into the curves and veins. Suffer, suffer, suffer. But the pain won't deter him, he still has your lips between his teeth, one hand wrapped around your neck while the other leaves bruises on your hips. Tim deepens the kiss swallowing your screams and pushing his bittersweet love down your throat.

Your knee finally finds an opening going to kick him in the stomach. But Tim only throws his head back and laughs, relishing in the pain. You scramble to crawl away, only for Tim to grab your leg and pull you back.

Your teeth are biting into his neck trying to bleed him, while he buries his face in your hair, high off your ethereal fragrance. In a swift motion, Tim straddles you using his knee to pin your hand to the hard ground. He picks up your other hand, admiring the glimmer of your claws under the moon's pale rays.

"You know kitty, it's not fair that you keep getting my blood under your claws." you stiffen, fear gleaming in your big doe eyes.

"I think it's time I get a taste of yours too, what do you say." "HELL NO" you scream, but it's too late, he drags your claws across your abdomen, moving his head to lick the stream of blood that blooms.

You utterly despise the all too pure look of satisfaction on his face. How your blood trickles from his lips. He offers you his golden boy smile and you wish you could impale yourself thoroughly.

Meanwhile, Bruce and Selina are watching from a higher rooftop. Having the most awkward and rage-filled conversation.

Batman: So, thinking of adopting any more kids? Catwoman: Only if your Robins stop driving them insane!!

Not to mention reader wakes up every day to a random present left in her room. How the hell does he keep getting in here?? Your mentor just paid for new locks and the best security system. Although you will admit you do kinda like the new perfume he got you and those strawberry chocolates were divine.

And ever since word got out that THE Tim Drake adopted son of Bruce Wayne, follows your accounts, your subscriber count has doubled! So maybe there are -unfortunately- some benefits to Tim's obsession with you. Even though you'll never admit it.

[tttabii]

── .한 수강 LUXURIOUS ૮₍ ˃ ⤙ ˂ ₎ა han su-gang x female reader

warnings : smut, minors do not interact, 18+

YOU WEREN'T EXACTLY PROUD of the incident-it goes without saying that the last school was not ready for someone like you. The girl you sent to the ICU was obviously in a position to receive such treatment after months of food being thrown at your back, having your family brought into it, and almost cutting your hair while you were stretching on the gym floor in PE.

Therefore, you don't regret making the decision.

The school board does, obviously, and that is how you apply to transfer mid semester, loosening your hair down, get your attire just right, and paste on a fake sweet smile.

New school, new beginnings. Supposedly.

Except, nobody warned you that you would be walking straight into his class.

Han Su-gang.

The name could have been praised as the gospel throughout the school hallways. Not only was he feared, but he couldn't be touched. He had a sharp immaculate jawline, piercing stare as his hands folded in his pockets were he struts through a corridor like he owned the entire place. In some respects, he owned all of it.

Even teachers looked the other way when he opened his mouth and raised his voice. Students openly talked about him as though he were a legend. A monster. A king.

You weren't sure what you expected walking in that day, but the moment your eyes locked with his across the room, you could tell he was intrigued. His posture leaned back like he was already bored, but the way his gaze followed your every move screamed otherwise.

"I'm Y/n," you said sweetly, your lips upturned just enough to be polite, your eyes bright and warm. You had perfected it-innocent. Harmless. Forgettable.

The teacher nodded, assigned you to the empty desk near the windows... the empty desk next to his. Classes continued, but you could feel it-his eyes on you, Judging. Wondering if you were prey, threat, or entertainment.

Then came recess.

You were rifling through your bag, annoyed. "Where the hell..." you muttered under your breath. Your airpods were gone. You could have sworn you put them right back this morning.

"Looking for something?" a cool, lazy voice asked. You looked up only to see him, Han Su-gang himself, casually perched on the corner of the desk like he lived there.

"Airpods," you said simply, ruffling your hair in frustration, brushing it over one shoulder. His crew had surrounded your desk like vultures, two girls gossiping with each other, and five guys like bumbling guards. You weren't bothered, but you weren't stupid enough to ignore it.

He tilted his head. "They probably fell out. Or maybe someone took 'em."

You looked up at him, not buying the innocent act for a second.

"Why don't you come join us on the rooftop?" he said suddenly, the corner of his lips pulling up in smirk that could be view as charming. "I'll show you what this school is really about."

Flirting or taunting-you weren't sure. But he was hot, and he knew it. He was hot regardless, and he knew it. Just as you were about to respond, a voice from the doorway called, "Y/N, please come to the teacher's office! We need you to finalize your transfer papers."

You got to your feet, shook out your skirt, and gave Su-gang a polite smile. "Well, I guess I'll take a raincheck."

But before you could leave, he leaned in closer, his breath ghosting over your ear, "I can't wait to see what you're like after hours, jagiya," he whispered just loud enough for his gang to hear, lips barely brushing your skin.

It wasn't dirty, but it felt dirty.

You blinked. A beat skipped in your chest-and then you walked out without another word.

Game on.

The rooftop air was heavy with vapor and smoke-the sun was down low, casting golden light over the buildings, as if it didn't know what kind of things went down on rooftops like this. You stepped outside, the thud of your shoes echoed on the concrete, the poppy breeze tugged at your shortened skirt.

There they were. Han Su-gang's crew.

They all leaned back like they didn't care in the world, casually taking puffs from their vapes, like it was a solemn tradition. The girls laughed and let sweet-smelling clouds exit their mouths. One of the guys was lounging on the ledge, feet dangling off, staring at the circling campus with half-opened eyes.

And right in the center of it all, like a throne had been carved out of concrete just for him-Han Su-gang. You raised an eyebrow as you walked up without a hint of nervousness. He didn't say anything at first, just grinned when he noticed you, walking his eye down your legs... pausing when he saw the edge of a tattoo peeking from your thigh.

The slightest smirk raised at the corner of his mouth.

So much for your "sweet girl" act.

"Didn't think you'd show up," he said, voice low and cool, exhaling smoke as he gestured to the empty seat next to him with a casual pat. "Come. Let's get acquainted."

His buddies whistled, sneering quietly with dumb smiles plastered on their faces like they were witnessing a performance. You took your time sitting down, raising your brows higher like it was boring. "You gonna tell me your name, or should I guess it from the gossip?"

"Han Su-gang," he replied, tapping the end of his vape absentmindedly against his palm before raising himself forward closer to you and adding, "You can try out my surname if you want. It fits you."

You huffed a laugh-more amused than flustered-but you had to admit that the way he said everything breezed through the air so easily you felt a curl of anxiety in your gut. The flirting was straight up real. He extended the vape toward you. You looked at the device and then shifted your gaze to him

"I don't just share this with anyone," he said, very smugly.

You took the vape anyway. "Consider me someone."

You took a drag and let it out slow; the room felt like the air slipped somewhere, but you made eye contact through the fog of mist and smoke. The air changed again, enough that he leaned into you now, only a breath away from your face.

"Not bad," he murmured. "Tough girl, huh? Shame your act's cracking already."

You feigned cluelessness. "What act?"

His hand slid across your thigh, featherlight over where the ink curved out from beneath your skirt. "This one."

Another whistle. This time, a boy had his phone up and was clearly taking a picture. You threw him a lazy glance. "Blackmail already?"

Su-gang smirked, still not taking his eyes off you. "They just want evidence I found someone fun."

You couldn't lie, he was attractive. And even if this was just some warped version of getting bullied, the look he gave you? Like he had already claimed you as his for his own?

Yeah, it made your heart beat a little faster. And judging by the way his eyes darkened when you smirked back at him?

He wasn't immune to you either.

────୨ৎ────

The teacher's warning faded away in your mind like just background noise, something dull and forgettable. "Stay away from Han Su-gang," she said, with a voice catching genuine concern as well as some degree of exhausted resignation.

But you had already taken a stroll down the halls with him, less than an hour later, while he tossed a bag over the shoulder of some poor kid he had probably convinced to become his personal mule, along with yours.

And you didn't say anything about it, didn't skip a beat, didn't even question it. You just walked next to Su-gang as if you had always walked side by side.

If she misread you as a "good girl," maybe that was on her.

Once your heels clicked out of reach, the whispers began immediately, almost rhythmically.

"That's the new girl?"

"Already in his crew?"

"I guess she's not as sweet as she looks."

And Su-gang- he knew where the stares were directed. He felt the envy. One glance from him, and the guys glancing over at you? Everyone could see their chances dwindle; it was over.

When you arrived at the club that night, the bass thumped through the walls like a second heart. The expensive lights rendered everything in cinematic slow motion.

Champagne foamed in crystal flutes. Cigarette smoke curled around lazy smiles and glossy lips.

You fit into it all like you were born for it.

That tight black dress you wore? Sin. Draped perfectly over your curves, hugging you in all the right ways. Every head turned when you walked past-girls whispering, guys staring like you weren't real.

You were sitting on the plush couch in the VIP area, giggling with the girls while holding a champagne glass. You let out that cute little giggle that you always do when you saw the box of fancy cigarettes sitting on the table. You remember expressing interest in them before, but everywhere you went, they had been sold out.

But here on the table, there they were.

Su-gang made sure of it.

You stood to reach for one of the cigarettes, and before your hand hit the box, he appeared from behind you, pulled you down out of nowhere into his lap, with his strong arms wrapped around your waist.

Gasps and teasing whistles erupted from around the table.

"Yah, Su-gang-" one of the guys started to say before getting shot down from the look Su-gang gave him.

He didn't say anything to you at first, just tucked his chin near your neck, the heat of his breath ghosting over your skin as his hand splayed boldly across your stomach. Possessive. Like he already claimed you.

"Pass the cigarettes," he said, his tone lazy, yet decisive. One of the men in the group grabbed them and handed them to him, fumbling but trying to be quick.

He picked one out for you, and slipped it between your lips the way someone brushes hair from your eyes.

"Don't say I never treat you." He lit it for you, and watched you inhale, your eyes on his the whole time. And for a moment, the whole club disappeared-the music, the people, the flashing lights.

Just you in his lap, the luxury curling between your fingers, smoke on your breath, and power in your smile. You weren't in his world. You were his world.

Su-gang leaned in, his breath hot against Leo's ear. "Let's go somewhere more private," he whispered, his voice a seductive promise that sent a shiver down your spine.

You nodded, unable to resist the allure of the moment. He glanced back at the group of friends who were now fully engaged in their own conversations, the laughter and the music creating a wall of sound that seemed to swell around them.

With a gentle nudge, Su-gang led you out of the VIP lounge, his hand firm but not overpowering on the small of your back. The hallway was a stark contrast to the vibrant energy of the club, the dim lights casting elongated shadows on the walls.

The bathroom door loomed ahead, and as Su-gang pushed it open, the cool air hit your flushed cheeks like a slap. Su-gang locked the door behind you two, the finality of the click sending a thrill through your body.

With a sudden urgency, Su-gang felt the need to capture the moment, to seal the intensity of his desire before the world outside intruded. He stepped closer, the warmth of your body radiating through the thin fabric of your dress, and without a second thought, he pinned you against the cold, hard surface of the library door.

His eyes searched yours, a silent question, and in your gaze, he found the answer he craved.

Your lips met in a passionate dance, a fiery exchange of breath and sensation that sent shivers down both of your spines. His hands slid around your waist, pulling you closer, as if trying to erase the last sliver of space between you.

You felt the softness of his mouth, the rough bite of his teeth, the tender way his tongue explored yours. It was a kiss that spoke of longing and need, a silent declaration of feelings that had been smoldering for weeks.

Su-gang's thumbs hooked into the straps of your dress, and with surprising deftness, he tugged them down, exposing your bare shoulders to the cool air.

Your heart fluttered in your chest, the excitement building as you nodded when he asked for your consent, your eyes never leaving his. His hands continued their journey, reaching behind you to unclasp your bra.

The fabric fell down, and you felt a rush of vulnerability mixed with exhilaration as his palms cupped your breasts, his thumbs grazing your sensitive nipples.

With a low growl, he bent his head to nuzzle against your neck, his teeth grazing the delicate skin. The sensation sent bolts of electricity through your body, making you arch into him.

He took it as an invitation and began to kiss and bite you gently, leaving a trail of fire along your collarbone and down to the swell of your breasts. The sharpness of his teeth sent delicious shivers down your spine, and you couldn't help but let out a soft moan, your breath hitching in your throat.

"Take off your clothes too," you urged him, your voice barely a whisper in the vast silence of the library.

He smirked, his eyes dark with desire, and stepped back. "Whatever you say, sweetheart."

With deliberate slowness, he began to unbutton his shirt, one button at a time. His muscles rippled in the dim light as the fabric parted, revealing his broad chest. He watched as you eyed him up and down, savoring the way your eyes devoured his body.

As you slipped out of your dress, you felt the coolness of the marble floor beneath your bare feet, a stark contrast to the warmth of his touch.

His gaze lingered on your lacy underwear, and before you could take another breath, his fingers were there, tracing the edges of your panties. He slipped his hand inside, his thumb finding your clit and beginning to circle it with maddening precision.

The sensation was exquisite, making you gasp and whine. Your knees grew weak, and you leaned back against the door for support, your eyes fluttering closed.

Su-gang took advantage of your momentary vulnerability, hoisting you up effortlessly and placing you on the countertop that ran along the far wall of the bathroom.

The coldness of the counter sent a shock through your system, but it only heightened the heat building between your legs. With a fierce growl, he ripped your panties off, tossing them aside like a forgotten piece of paper.

You felt a brief moment of exposure, but it was quickly swallowed by the overwhelming need to have him inside you.

He stepped between your spread legs, his eyes never leaving yours as he unbuckled his belt and let his pants fall to the floor.

His erection sprang free, thick and demanding, and you bit on your lips in anticipation. He didn't waste any time and plunge two fingers into your wet pussy.

The sudden intrusion made you cry out, your hips bucking against his hand as he began to finger you with a fast, relentless pace.

The way his hand moved inside you was almost magical, curling and stroking in a way that no one else had ever managed to do. It was as if he could read your mind, giving you exactly what you needed without you having to ask for it.

The pressure built quickly, and you felt your orgasm approaching like a freight train, unstoppable and all-consuming.

But just as you were about to reach the peak, Su-gang withdrew his fingers, leaving you gasping for more.

He leaned in, his cock pressing against your thigh, and whispered in your ear, "I want to hear you scream my name when you come."

Before you could react, he positioned himself at your entrance, the tip of his cock playing with your clit, teasing and taunting. It was agonizingly sweet, and you squirmed against the cold counter, desperate for relief.

With a final, almost torturous kiss, he plunged into you, filling you up in one smooth stroke. Your nails dug into his back, leaving trails of red against his skin as you whispered his name, over and over again.

His hips moved with an animalistic rhythm, each thrust pushing you closer to the edge. He was so deep inside you, it was as if he was touching your soul, the connection between your bodies palpable and intense.

Su-gang flipped your body to face the mirror, hand reached around to cup your face, turning it towards the bathroom mirror. Your eyes met in the reflection, the desire in them almost feral.

The sight of him behind you, his muscles flexing with each movement, was enough to make you whimper.

You could see the way his cock disappeared into your hole, the way your ass cheeks clapped against his pelvis with every thrust.

It was raw, it was real, and it was the most erotic thing you had ever experienced.

With a growl, he thrusted into you even slower but rougher, making it feel as if every inch of him was leaving an indelible mark on your insides.

You moaned so loud that it was likely that even his friends, who had chosen this moment to place their ear by the bathroom, could hear. The sound of your pleasure bounced off the tiles, mixing with the slap of flesh on flesh.

"I'm gonna cum fuck!" you moaned, the words a desperate plea and declaration all at once. The intensity of your orgasm was building, a crescendo of sensation that had you panting and trembling.

"Can I cum inside?" Su-gang grunted, his voice strained with his own impending release. His eyes searched yours in the mirror, seeking confirmation, a silent question in the midst of the chaos.

You nodded vigorously, the anticipation making your pussy tighten around him.

"Yes," you managed to breathe, your voice a gasp that matched his rhythm. "Do it, cum inside me."

The words seemed to unleash something primal within him. His thrusts grew more frenzied, his hips slapping against your ass with a force that was both exhilarating and a bit painful.

Each smack sent a jolt of pleasure through your body, making you squirt around his cock and coating him in your juices. He groaned, the sound deep and guttural, his eyes never leaving yours in the mirror as he drove into you.

Finally, with one last powerful thrust, Su-gang came inside you, filling you with his warm, thick cum. The feeling of him releasing was almost as intense as your own orgasm, and you felt your walls clench around him, milking every last drop.

Your legs trembled, and you wrapped your arms around his neck for support as he slowly pulled out, the last spurts of his seed painting your inner thighs.

For a moment, you let him sit you up on the counter, panting and trying to regain your composure. The cold wood of the counter was a stark contrast to the heat of your passion, and you shivered slightly.

Su-gang took notice, his expression softening as he carefully helped you sit up. He grabbed a handful of tissues from a box on the counter, his eyes never leaving yours as he began to clean you up. His touch was gentle, almost reverent, as if he were handling something precious.

When you were both dressed and ready to leave, your eyes fell on the shredded fabric of your panties lying on the floor. A small smile played on your lips, a silent reminder of the intensity that had just occurred. He noticed your gaze and smirked, bending down to pick them up.

Without a word, he crumpled the ruined fabric into a ball and tossed it into the trash can, his movements still filled with a restrained energy.

The air in the hallway felt heavier than it had minutes ago. You paused for a second, fingers fidgeting together as your eyes met his friend-Ji-won, maybe?

He didn't even try to mask the smug smirk pulling at his lips.

You were used to stares, to whispers, to attention. But this?

This wasn't just about your dress, or the way your heels clicked against the marble floor-this was about the obvious blooming bruises decorating your skin, like Su-gang had marked you on purpose.

Like he wanted everyone to know.

And judging by the way the boys avoided direct eye contact, shifting uncomfortably or biting back grins-they did know.

You cleared your throat and walked past them, your head held high, even if your cheeks burned. Su-gang wasn't far behind, his steps lazy and deliberate, like he owned every inch of the hallway.

"Hyung, you're insane," one of the younger boys muttered under his breath, but loud enough for you to hear.

Su-gang just shrugged, cocky grin tugging at his mouth. "What? She didn't complain."

You shot him a look-part scandalized, part flustered, part can't-help-it smirk. And he looked entirely unbothered, like he wanted them to see.

Like he liked the way you were standing here, slightly dazed, slightly marked up, completely his.

"Let them talk," he said low enough for just you to hear, brushing his hand against the small of your back as he walked past.

"They'll learn soon enough that you're mine."

[glamourscat]

࣪ ִֶָ☾. My Love Mine All Mine - Shidou Ryusei ࣪ ִֶָ☾.

Content: illusion to a bad childhood and trauma but nothing explicit has been discussed, mention of reader wearing glasses synopsis: a "poetic" way of how Shidou realised he was in love with you and the implications of so love

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Cause my love is mine, all mine… I love mine, mine, mine.

It’s true that in this world, in this life, nothing is free. From what we consume to what we do—everything has a cost. Nothing is free, nothing is certain. And Shidou knows a thing or two about the latter. Growing up in a rough, violent environment where love was a conditional act, he knew from an early age that, yes, in fact; love is conditional. Some people choose to love you because you are pretty, others because you are useful to them, others even because they are selfish enough to open their hearts to the unknown aspects that life has to offer.

Still, it’s one’s capability and choice to love.

And Shidou had not been loved by his parents, not that he could say his parents loved each other to begin with. Their love was a transaction. It was not love when he was screamed at for colouring on the table as a kid and thus punished. It was not love when they forced him, unbeknownst to his young mind, to steal to survive life because of their poor income. It was not love when two selfish souls decided to bring and “raise” a child in extreme poverty, giving him a setback in life. It was not love. Every slap, every shout, every kick. It was not love.

Cause my love is mine, all mine… I love mine, mine, mine.

Love is not the possession of another. You might have birthed your child, but they do not belong to you. What belongs to you is the love you have for them; that’s all you have. The thing that most do not, or fail to, realize is that love is a deeply human experience. The profound realization that you, as an individual, have the ability to feel a certain way about someone is deeply intersected with the complexity of being human.

Shidou’s childhood was an endless expanse of longing and confusion. Every harsh word, every dismissive gesture carved deep wounds into his young heart, leaving him longing for affection, for understanding. The humane instinct to be free and simultaneously to be freed. In the silence of his room, when night came and he was left to his device at times with shedding tears, he would often wonder what it meant to be loved, to be cherished. But such thoughts were fleeting, quickly swallowed by the harsh reality that surrounded him.

And then, you appeared. Such a contradictory thing. Gentle as the caress of the wind on a summer night and yet loud and firm as thunder during the coldest winters. At first, he didn’t understand you. You were kind, sincere and in a way like him. Honest in your thoughts and words, barely sugar-coating them and yet he couldn't say you were violent. Still, his heart, conditioned to mistrust, shut off at the unfamiliar warmth you brought.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

One evening, you had followed him on the rooftop of the team's base; not that you would admit that. The untouched camera remained in your hands, as you two sat together on the rooftop, he looked at you. “Why do you stick around?” he asked, his voice rough, almost challenging.

You smiled, but it was not a mocking smile. It was challenging, the good kind. As if to say 'dare try to tell me I am wrong.' "Not that I need an excuse to, but simply because I want to." you shrug as you lay on the rooftop staring the mix of colours in the sky "I think you're worth staying for."

He scoffed, but there was a crack in his bravado. “You must be blind, then.”

“Perhaps. I do wear glasses after all" you say with a hint of a foolish smile.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

He began to understand love in the simple act of being seen, being heard. That freedom he long waited for, that need of explosion to be seen, had arrived. He does not know exactly how and when it did. He just knows that he started to recognized love in the comfort of your presence. How you stood by him, unwavering, even when his past threatened to pull him back into the abyss. You challenged him, yes, but with a gentleness that was foreign yet profoundly healing. You put him in his place when needed to, but you always did it in such a way that made him want to become a better person by the end of it.

He saw love in your dreams, your passions, and the way you lit up when speaking about them. It mirrored the fire he felt for football, a testament to the unspoken bond between two souls who dared to dream despite the odds.

Cause my love is mine, all mine… I love mine, mine, mine.

And now, Shidou, understands that love is not something to be given or taken, but something to be felt, deeply and unapologetically, within oneself. And no one can take his love away from him. Even during the hardest days, he knows that he has a choice and that choice is to love you.

© GLAMOURSCAT(all rights reserved. do not share, modify, translate and re-upload my work outside of tumblr)

[multific]

Blood of Our Blood

Count Orlok x Reader

Requested by: Anonymous

Warnings: kidnapping of a baby, murder

Summary: Your heart aches for a child, but as a vampire, such a dream is impossible. But, your husband is someone who will give you anything you want. Even the impossible.

The castle is cold tonight.

It always is, but tonight the chill seems deeper, pressing into the stone walls.

You sit by the great window, staring into the darkness beyond the high peaks of the mountains, lost in thoughts you dare not speak aloud.

Count Orlok watches you from the doorway.

He has seen that longing in your eyes before, the sorrow you try to hide behind cold fingers and blood-red lips.

He knows your heart aches for something neither of you can have, a child, a piece of your love-made flesh.

But the dead cannot create life.

Orlok moves toward you, his long fingers curling against the back of your chair. “You mourn something we never had,” he murmurs, his voice a low rasp.

Your hands tremble in your lap. “I cannot help it.”

His long fingers slide under your chin, tilting your face to his.

His expression is unreadable, but in the depths of his sunken eyes, there is something.

You realise it to be determination. A promise.

“I will fix this,” he says simply.

You frown. “But, my love-”

A single clawed finger presses against your lips, silencing you. “Wait for me.”

And then he is gone, vanishing into the blackness of the night, a shadow swallowed by the wind.

You let out a longing sigh.

The village is silent when he arrives.

Small, pitiful, the rooftops slick with mist, their chimneys dark. Orlok moves like a phantom, his long silhouette stretching over the cobblestones, unseen, unheard.

He can smell them, the villagers, their warm, mortal scent, the blood that thrums beneath their fragile skin.

But he does not come for them. No, he comes for something far more precious.

And then he hears it.

The small, breathy whimper of an infant.

A nursery, tucked away in one of the homes. He slips inside with ease, his hollow eyes falling upon the cradle.

The child inside stirs, sensing something unnatural in the air.

And then, as if by some dark miracle, she blinks up at him with wide, innocent eyes, eyes that mirror yours.

A slow, twisted smile stretches across Orlok’s face.

Perfect.

He gathers her into his arms, cradling her against his cold chest.

And then, with silent efficiency, he moves through the village, leaving behind nothing but death.

There will be no one left to come searching for her.

No family to grieve, no mother to weep.

The child belongs to you now.

The castle doors creak open just before dawn.

You are still awake, pacing, worrying for your husband. But the moment you see him, all of it melts away.

Orlok stands on the threshold, his gaunt frame outlined by the dying moonlight. And in his arms, wrapped in a dark cloak, is a bundle so small, so delicate, that for a moment you cannot comprehend what you are seeing.

Then the bundle stirs, and the softest of sighs escapes from within.

Your hands fly to your lips, a gasp catching in your throat. “No…”

Orlok steps forward, silent as ever, and places the child in your arms.

She is so tiny, her little fingers curling against your chest, her breath warm against your skin. But it is her face that steals the air from your lungs, she looks like you.

“Where did you find her?” you whisper, voice shaking.

“I took her,” Orlok rasps, his long fingers brushing over your shoulder. “I made her ours.”

You look deeply into his eyes, trying to find something, anything, and then you look down at the little girl in your arms.

Tears prick at your eyes as you stare down at the child, at her delicate features, at the way she seems to fit perfectly in your arms.

A daughter. Your daughter.

“She is ours,” you repeat, your voice nothing more than a breath. Your words are thick with truth.

Orlok watches you, something ancient and unfathomable flickering behind his sunken eyes.

Then, slowly, he kneels before you, his clawed fingers gently tracing the child’s tiny hand.

“Our blood cannot create life,” he murmurs, voice softer than you have ever heard it. “But I can still give you your heart’s desire.”

Tears spill down your cheeks, your cold lips pressing to the child’s forehead.

A shuddering breath leaves you, something deep inside you breaking and healing all at once.

You glance at Orlok, your voice thick with emotion. “What shall we call her?”

His gaze lingers on the child. Then, after a long moment, he whispers a name, one that will echo in the halls of the castle for eternity.

A name worthy of your daughter.

And as dawn breaks beyond the mountains, Count Orlok, the monster, the predator, the shadow in the night, leans down to place a kiss upon the child’s brow.

A family, at last.

~Masterlist~

ˇAO3ˇ

Wattpad

/DO NOT TRANSLATE, STEAL OR REPOST ANY OF MY WORKS TO THIS OR OTHER PLATFORMS/

[greengoblinswifey]

Your first Valentine’s with Dae-ho

You gasped, your fingers gripping the sheets beneath you as Dae-ho hovered over you, his dark eyes locked onto yours. His cock was buried inside you, his hands firm as they roamed your body.

“You’re incredible,” he murmured.

His words sent a shiver down your spine, your heart pounding in your chest. It still felt surreal, making it out of the games, surviving together, and now, your first Valentine’s Day.

But before this moment, before the feeling of his cock filling you, the day had been nothing short of magical.

Dae-ho had planned everything down to the last detail. The morning started with a bouquet so massive you could barely hold it. Along with it, a beautifully wrapped box filled with Korean candy, soft tteok coated in honey, chocolate filled pastries, and his own twists on classic sweets.

“You spoil me so much, baby,” you teased, looking up at him as he watched you with pure adoration.

“You deserve to be spoiled,” he said simply.

Instead of the usual candlelit dinner, he took you on an adventure. A private boat ride along the Han River, the city lights reflecting in the water as he held you close, his arms wrapped around you. Then, an impromptu trip to a hidden rooftop garden, where he played music from a speaker and danced with you beneath the stars, twirling you in his arms as if the rest of the world didn’t exist.

By the time you returned home, your heart felt full, your body warm from both the night’s events and the way Dae-ho’s gaze darkened as he pulled you closer.

Now, beneath him, you felt completely at his mercy. His cock dragging along your walls, slow and savoring, as if he wanted to commit every inch of you to memory. Your nails dug into his back, drawing a low groan from his throat as he kissed you.

“You taste sweet,” he murmured, his lips tracing down your neck then to your boobs. “Like the chocolate I made for you."

You shivered at the warmth of his breath, your fingers threading through his dark hair. “And what does that make you?” you whispered.

He smirked, his hands roaming lower to rub your aching clit. “Hungry for that pussy.”

His words sent a spark through you, and as his kisses trailed to your boobs, you knew one thing for certain—tonight, you were the dinner.

“Fuck me,” you breathed, arching your back into him.

He smirked, giving you exactly what you were aching for. His cock slipped from your wet pussy, leaving only the tip before he slammed back in making you cry out.

“Take it, sweetheart. This is what you wanted.” He rolled his hips to meet yours, each thrust hitting your sweet spot, nearing you to the edge.

His breath came in deep, uneven pulls, his face contorted in something raw and breathtaking. His dark eyes were dazed now, locked onto you, as if he couldn’t bear to look away.

“You’re perfect,” he murmured. “So beautiful taking me, all mine.”

Your fingers clawed at his back, his skin burning hot, matching your pussy. The way he hovered over you, his body solid, cock throbbing sent a shiver through you.

“Dae-ho,” His name spilled from your lips, breathless and needy.

His hand traced your clit, thumb brushing over it, before he leaned down, his forehead pressing against yours. He was so deep, and you gripped him, taking him just the way he liked it.

“I love you, love this pussy too,” he whispered, voice strained. “I need you to know that.”

Your chest tightened, your nails sinking deeper into his skin as you whispered back, “I know, I love you too.”

“God, baby. I can feel you clenching so tight, cum for me. Give me my gift for today,” he breathed.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, spreading your legs wider, taking him as he went faster, rubbing your clit at the same pace and tipping you right over the edge.

Your entire body shook, a soul crashing orgasm hitting you like a truck making you squirt all over his raw cock.

“Good girl,” he cooed.

His hips stuttered and he moaned your name like it was the only word he knew as his cum filled you to the brim.

The room was filled with the sound of your heavy breaths, Dae-ho’s cock still buried in your pussy until he collapsed beside you. His chest rose and fell rapidly, his skin damp, his arm draped lazily over your waist.

Then, with a breathless chuckle, he turned his head to you. “Best Valentine’s Day ever,” he murmured.

You turned to face him, your heart still racing as you smiled, fingers brushing over his chest. “Best Valentine’s Day ever,” you echoed, meaning every single word.

[sst4rdst]

yan!Xiao stealing his darling’s clothes and things and making a little nest/shrine out of them? + darling’s reaction?? (Plsplspls🙏)

warnings : yandere themes, unhealthy relationships, gender neutral reader. author's note : srry for taking my time with this one 😭😭

it starts small.

a misplaced scarf, a keychain that vanishes from your dresser, a book you could have sworn you left open on your nightstand. nothing strange at first, nothing alarming.

you convince yourself that you’re simply forgetful, that things move because you move them, that there is no shadow lingering just beyond the edges of your world, watching.

but then, it happens again. and again.

a jacket you left drying on the balcony disappears overnight. the scent of your perfume lingers in the air longer than it should, as if something—someone—has taken it upon themselves to wear it.

your pillows seem… disturbed when you return home, the indent of a weight that was never yours still pressing into the fabric.

your throat tightens. someone has been here.

xiao watches from the rooftop as you search your room. your movements are careful, slow, as if you already know the truth but are unwilling to name it.

you check beneath the bed, inside the closet, fingers hovering over the door handle before shutting it again with a quiet exhale. he can hear your heartbeat—uneven, uncertain.

he should feel guilty. but he doesn’t.

the nest is hidden far from your reach, tucked deep within the mountains, far beyond the wandering eyes of mortals.

it is not a shrine, not exactly, but it is built from devotion, piece by piece, offering by offering. your scarf, draped over a rock like it belongs there. your jacket, folded with painstaking care, its sleeves still carrying the shape of your arms. a book with your name scribbled inside, pages worn from his touch.

his fingers graze over the fabric, the lingering traces of your warmth long gone but still there, in a way only he can sense. the scent of you clings to everything, wrapping around him, sinking deep into his lungs.

he cannot be near you the way he wants. not yet. not without ruining things, without forcing you to see him for what he is—something unnatural, something wrong.

but here, surrounded by the things you have touched, the things that have held your warmth, he can pretend. that is enough. for now.

you wake in the middle of the night with the distinct feeling of being watched.

the air in your room is still, suffocating in a way that makes your skin prickle. you sit up, slowly, ears straining for a sound, for anything to confirm that you are not simply imagining it.

the door is locked. the windows shut. there is no movement beyond your own, no sound except for the quiet rustling of the wind through the trees.

and yet, you know you are not alone. something is missing. again. another jacket. the one you had left on the chair beside your bed.

your breath catches, hands tightening in the blankets. someone was here. and they took it. again.

when morning comes, but the unease does not leave you.

it lingers beneath your skin, a weight that presses against your ribs, making the air feel thicker when you step into your living room. you glance toward the door, half-expecting to find it open, the lock broken, some tangible proof that you are not simply losing your mind.

but everything is the same as you left it—except for the absence of what should be there. your jacket is gone. and so is the hair tie you left on the coffee table.

it should be impossible. the locks are intact, the windows untouched, and yet things continue to vanish as if the walls themselves swallow them whole.

you press your palm against your forehead, exhaling through your nose. maybe you’re imagining it. maybe stress is making you careless. maybe you’re going insane.

you go about your day as best as you can, but the streets feel different beneath your feet. the sun is out, but the warmth doesn’t reach you, and every shadow stretches a little too long, flickering at the edges of your vision.

you are being followed.

you don’t know how you know. the presence is subtle, careful, always just beyond your sight, slipping between alleyways and rooftops like a breath of wind.

but you can feel it, the weight of it pressing against your shoulders, the steady, unwavering attention of something unseen. maybe all of this made all of your surviving instincts go to their maximum.

by the time you reach home, your nerves are frayed, and you resist the urge to turn around, to demand whoever is watching you to just show themselves.

you lock the door behind you. check the windows. draw the curtains. nothing. it isn’t until you step into your bedroom that you notice it.

a single feather, dark as ink, resting on your pillow. your stomach twists. you don’t own anything like this.

xiao watches as you pick up the feather, your fingers hesitant, cautious. he can see the way your throat moves as you swallow, your breath uneven. you are beginning to understand.

it should worry him. but all he feels is satisfaction.

you look for him, even if you don’t know it yet. your gaze lingers in dark corners, your steps quicken when you feel him near. the awareness is settling, growing, carving itself into you like something instinctual.

you are learning that you are his. and that is enough. for now.

the feather stays in your palm longer than it should.

you should throw it away. toss it into the waste bin, burn it, do something to rid yourself of the unease curling around your ribs like a vice. but you don’t.

instead, you place it on your nightstand, hesitating for only a moment before turning away, willing yourself to ignore the way your fingers still tingle from where they touched it.

sleep does not come easily.

when you finally drift off, it is restless, shallow dreams that dissolve the moment you wake, leaving only an aching sense of wrongness in their absence. and when your eyes open in the middle of the night, drawn from sleep by something you cannot name, the air in your room is thick. heavy.

you lie still, ears straining for a sound beyond the quiet rustle of the wind outside. there is nothing. no creak of the floorboards, no whisper of movement, nothing to suggest that you are not alone.

but the weight of something unseen presses against your chest. you roll onto your side, eyes flicking toward the nightstand. the feather is gone.

a sharp chill races down your spine, cold and quick, leaving your hands clammy beneath the covers. you don’t move. can’t move. because if you do—if you sit up, if you reach out, if you dare to check the corners of your room—you will see him. even if he is not there.

the thought is absurd. but it grips you all the same, tightening its hold until your breath comes too fast, too shallow.

you squeeze your eyes shut and count backward from ten, trying to convince yourself that you are imagining things, that the feather never existed to begin with, that this is nothing more than paranoia eating away at your exhausted mind.

and yet, when morning comes, there is something new waiting for you.

not a feather this time. a piece of fabric, neatly folded at the foot of your bed. you recognize it instantly. your jacket. the one that had gone missing days ago.

and for the first time, you wish it had stayed lost.

xiao watches as you reach for it, your movements slow, hesitant. he knows you are afraid. he can hear it in the sharp inhale you take when your fingers brush against the fabric, can see it in the way you hold yourself, like a deer poised to flee.

good. he doesn’t want you to be comfortable. not yet. not until you understand.

he had thought, at first, that distance would be enough. that simply watching would satisfy the pull in his chest, that keeping you within sight, ensuring your safety from the shadows, would be enough.

but it isn’t. it never was.

the pieces of you that he has taken are not enough to fill the void left by your absence. they soothe him, for a time—your scent lingering on fabric, the warmth of your belongings pressed against his skin—but they are not you.

and he is running out of patience.

he had wanted to give you more time. to let you realize, on your own, that there is no escape from him.

but seeing you tremble, seeing the way your eyes flick toward the door, calculating, wondering if you should run—

it stirs something inside him. you will understand soon. there is nowhere you can run that he will not follow.

and this is enough.

[eevees-hobbies]

ume devours pussy like he's been starved for days on end (he couldn't see you for a few days) and bonus points if you're actually a plaything for furin , so he'll do a pussy inspection first >-< - 💌 anon <3

Author’s Note: Hi, 💌 Anon! Welcome back 💕 I Just realized that I didn’t mention Sakura in this entire piece, and my heart hurts because of it, lol. Anyway, I’m snatching my bonus points thank you very much! I love the idea of being used by Bofurin; like sign me the fuck up! Trains go choo choo! Lastly, please don't clock me for the name of this little fic haha. I realized I don't have a banner with just Ume, and I was like, "might as well!"

Content Warning: Fem!Reader x Hajime Umemiya. You’re Bofurin’s girlfriend to be shared and loved by all, mention of sexual activities with others, fem! receiving oral, mentions of eating ass, but I spared you THIS time, some dirty talk, pubic hair mention, sorry to the two Nirei fuckers out there, I’m sure he eats pussy like a champ—Tis smut. Minors Don’t Interact. 

Word Count: 1.9K

Divider by Saradika. Banner by me

One qualification for a good leader is being unselfish, and Umemiya embodies that virtue perfectly. 

When he took on the role of leader of Bofurin, he knew that it would involve quite a bit of sharing that had the potential to test anyone’s patience. But as though it’s his calling—and it most definitely is—Umemiya willingly shares wisdom with those ready to receive it and, most importantly, shares his most limited resource: his time. He’s never had a problem giving away so much of himself for so little in return. 

It wasn’t until Bofurin had gotten back from winning an intense match-up with a rival group across town, and you all were celebrating on the rooftop with food and beer, that the obvious occurred to him. 

As he watched over the joyous faces of his crew, he found himself studying you, like he always does, as you interacted with Hiragi, whose eyes looked over your form hungrily after you placed a piece of Gyoza against his lips and the tip of your finger touched his tongue.

He watched when you went to speak to Kiryu, who pulled you into his lap playfully and planted a kiss on your cheek, his hands resting under the curve of your breasts. 

And he watched as you crossed the space to turn up the pop-punk music crooning from the stereo. Suo reached out to you unprompted and tucked a stray hair behind your ear, his hand lingering for a beat too long to be considered innocent. 

It became abundantly clear to Ume that he would be doing a massive disservice to his team if he didn’t share you, too.

You thought he was suggesting an open relationship when he approached you with the idea. Your thoughts were in flux immediately. Was he unhappy? Was there someone else? Your heart sunk into your stomach at the idea and the hurtful implications of such an arrangement, but Umemiya simply shook his head.

“I have no intention of offering myself to anyone but you.” 

Admittedly, your new role as the official Bofurin Girlfriend had you just as busy as Umemiya. You weren’t only a sexual toy for them. You were Nirei’s first date, Suo’s confidant, Tsubakino’s shopping buddy, and Kaji’s and Hiragi’s third wheel at metal shows. You felt so lucky to be surrounded by so much love—and dick. But all those excursions—and dick—kept you insanely booked, to the point that you had to develop a shared calendar with your boy toys to not overlap on dates!

So it’s not to anyone's surprise that there are days when you and Umemiya don’t cross paths. You exchange texts frequently, asking how the other is doing and sharing inside jokes with cute gifs and memes, but the absence hurts and leaves you aching for him. And maybe it was also Umemiya’s intention to busy you with the boys because he knew he couldn’t give you as much time as you deserved, but it didn’t hurt any less. 

But fret not; on rare occasions, your schedules align.

You can feel him before you see him, an overwhelming presence that makes the air dense and clotted with an insurmountable pressure. You look up to the door, and just as your intuition hinted, he strides into the room where you all commonly loiter as a group—members strewn across the worn-out couch and others talking amongst each other immediately straighten and hush. 

Umemiya’s well-kept hair is slightly messy, with a few strands dangling in front of his face, and his eyes are smoldering as they scan across the faces in the room, searching until they land on you.

As soon as your eyes meet, the air feels as though it’s coursing with electricity—sexual tension threatening to boil over and scorch anyone who gets in your path. It doesn’t take long for everyone to get the hint to vacate quickly, knowing that you two are set on a collision course that they wouldn’t be able to stop even if they wanted to.

“Ume," you start but are unable to finish as he crosses the room. His heavy steps are the only thing that prepares you as his lips crash onto yours. As he kisses you, hands placed on either side of your cheeks, he breathes you in. His chest expands against yours, and you’re reminded at that moment how much you’ve missed him—missed this. You both wonder silently, but somehow aloud with your bodies, how you could go so long without the other.

And when you’ve been apart for so long, you don’t have time for pleasantries. Ume is walking you backward until your ass is pushed against the back of the couch, which previously housed Bofurin members, the indentations of their bodies still fresh in the cushions.

He smiles at you—one that you recognize because it isn’t his usual giddy grin; instead, it’s a smile that conveys, “I can’t help what I’m about to do to you.” 

Ume gently grips your elbow and spins you around. As he bends you over, you’re now painfully aware of the feeling of a breeze as he hikes up your dress and his fingers pinch at the exposed flesh of your ass.

“No underwear?”

“Suo doesn’t like it when I wear panties. He says it’s a hassle.”

Umemiya hums to himself in response to this interesting tidbit. He kneels, placing two giant hands on your cheeks, and spreads you down the middle. If anyone else were in the room, they’d be able to see everything, from your juicy, wet cunt to your winking, puckered asshole, and the fact that Umemiya can see everything makes you gush.

“My pretty girl is already so wet,” Umemiya muses, eyeing your pretty hole as it drools for him. You blush, knowing he’s not referring to you but having a conversation with your pussy instead.  

“Have you been a good girl for the boys?” His mouth leaves hot kisses and gentle nips along the curve of your ass, tongue darting out and leaving a trail of saliva across the expanse of your smooth flesh. You stiffen, wondering if his tongue will dip into somewhere more lewd—and Ume considers it, but he’s on a mission with one goal in mind; he’ll devour your asshole another time. 

“Y-yeah, Ume. I’ve been a good girl for them.”

His finger traces your entrance, spreading your freely-flowing juices onto your cunt’s lips. His eyes take you in with pride as you clench around the air simply because his finger is so close to being inside of you. He smiles at the physical way you show how much you crave him.

“For who in particular?”

“My god, Ume! Always with the questions!” You squirm under his touch. You know he isn’t being an intentional tease, but the line of questioning still feels invasive. How do you tell your boyfriend that Hiragi’s cock was breaking you in by noon, and Kiryu had you sucking him off under the table while he tapped away at this phone screen only a couple of hours ago? 

“Why are you shy all of a sudden? Here, I can check.”

Your thighs quiver as he slides two fingers inside of you without warning. You attempt to adjust, but his probing fingers are sweeping so deeply inside of you that you have to dig your nails into the soft fabric of the couch to keep yourself from reaching back and grabbing his wrist. 

“Sugishita, huh? I can tell.”

Oh, yeah. Sugishita, too. 

You cringe as his fingers pass over your clit, making you hiss and recall that you woke up to a particular someone’s head buried between your legs.

“And Nirei, too? Did it feel good when he sucked on your clit? That’s his favorite thing, right? Sucking at your cute little clit until you cum down his throat.”

You huff and wiggle against his hand, growing restless from being exposed like this and against his eyes with no release. 

“Does his tongue feel better than mine?” There’s no jealousy in his tone—just curiosity and a hint of ego because he knows the answer before you can say it.

You give him a quick head shake and mouth the word “No,” earning a smirk. 

“Use your words, sweetheart.”

He’s teasing you, and not saying what he hears means the unfortunate consequence of not having his mouth on you. 

“Your tongue feels better than Nirei’s, Ume.”

“Good girl.” And without further comment, and to your delight, Ume places a kiss against the back of your mound, soft pubic hair tickling his lips.

You don’t like to compare sexual experiences; every Bofurin member brings their own “talents” to the bedroom, but Umemiya has to be your favorite. He touches you with such fondness and devotion that it sets you on fire. Your head falls forward, and your shoulders slump as his tongue makes gentle work of your clit, as if to apologize on behalf of Nirei for making you sore.

“Did you miss me, Ume?”

“More than you could ever imagine. It’s been so long since I’ve seen you—done this—that I was starting to get restless.”

Umemiya’s words ring true. He feasts upon you as though what you have between your thighs is the only meal that can satiate his immense hunger. The way he rubs his nose against your sex, chuckling as you whimper against him, “Needy girl. What am I going to do with you?”

Umemiya’s tongue splits you open, his tongue solid and firm as it explores your cunt, his hands are placed on either side of your ass, with his face flush against your skin to leave as little space between you as possible. 

The way his hot breath fills you up and the way he moans with every lick makes your head spin. Ume and pussy-eating are synonymous. Eating you out is like breathing in air for him, and the way he’s pushing you forward, your stomach digging into the back of the couch from the exertion, is a clear indicator that he’s just as into it as you are. 

“You taste like heaven, baby girl.” Soft, gentle praises float through the air as he laps at you. Between hungry slurps and moans, your legs begin to tremble. If you weren’t holding yourself up against the fortitude of the couch, you’d surely collapse against Umemiya’s face. 

“This isn’t too much for you, right, baby? I’m so hungry; let me have a little more of your pretty pussy.”

It doesn’t matter what you say; Umemiya is set on devouring you regardless of your ability to stand.

“Grind back on my face, sweet girl. I want you to fuck my tongue.” 

And as someone who isn’t in the business of disappointing her king, you use what little energy you have by pushing yourself off the couch and grinding your pussy on Ume’s outstretched tongue. 

He goads you on with each bounce, and in between the soft, wet, smacking sounds from the collision your ass makes with his face, you can barely make out what he’s chanting. 

As you look back at him, curving your midsection to get as best of a view as one can in a bent over, ass-up position, you’re met with the intense, unapologetic, “dare you to look away” gaze of Umemiya’s over the top of your cheeks. 

Direct eye contact during cunnilingus is an unsung hero, and Ume remains the champion. Your walls clench around his tongue, squeezing the muscle as your pussy juices cascade into his mouth and down his chin. 

And despite the way you quake around him, Ume lets you ride it out on his tongue before pulling away and unbuckling his pants.

“God, I’ve missed ya.”

[im-totally-not-an-alien-2]

Halloween prompts year 2 day 14

Tim was the best thing to ever happen to Danny.

He didn't mean that just because how much of a sappy romantic he was to Tim, but because he literally saved him from his own mind.

Danny was never going to leave Amity Park so long as the portal was open.

The portal would always remain open between his parents practically treating it like thier third child and thier ability to simply make another if anything would have happened to that one. Not to mention the super creep named Vlad.

So Danny would have stayed in Amity forever, cleaning up after his parents and being miserable.

Or ya know. Until they managed to kill him.

But then Tim came into his life and fixed everything. He befriended Danny over nightime rooftop rendezvous and groaning at his dumb (read awesome) puns.

As they got closer Sam and Tucker seemed to get both anxious and angry. Were they jealous? What right did they have after the Gregor incident?! Its true that they'd both been to busy to hand out with Danny for the past few weeks, leaving Danny with only Tim to turn to for company.

Tim pointed out that they may feel threatened knowing someone else knows his secret and Danny couldn't help but agree.

Tim pointed out that Danny was going to be stuck here cleaning up after his parent the rest of his life if he didn't find a way to stop the portal. Danny had nearly broke down at that and admitted he didn't know what else to do, so Tim devised a plan with that big beautiful brain of his.

They created a machine that ran on ectoplasm and magic that could wipe information from both technology and the human brain. They could remove all traces of ghosts ever existing in this town and erase 20 years of knowledge and research from Vlad and the Fentons minds, but it would come at a cost as magic usually does.

They would have to forget Danny existed as well. Tim offered that they could run away together.

Danny decided that was okay. The only person he had left in this town who had cared about him was Jazz and she was better off without him there to get her hurt.

Tim also had a plan to strip Vlad of his powers as well as his knowledge, and Danny was looking forward to not having to deal with him anymore

It was the day after everything went down, Tim was driving the GAV while Danny flew in the Ops Centers Jet form. They had made sure to swipe everything they could from the labs as well as everything the thought they needed to travel to Tims home dimension.

Danny had promised to help Tim uncover the secrets of his past and who he really was and to do that they essentially planned to travel around the Earth being wandering criminals.

Between Tims intellect and Dannys powers they were undefeated and unnoticed. They stole whatever they wanted and did whatever they pleased, making sure no one had to get hurt unless there was no other options.

Of course they stole cash from bank vaults as well as whatever else was in there. They couldn't stop Phantom from entering since anti-meta tech didn't affect him and couldnt track Phantom due to him being whatever he was plus the collar Tim had helped Danny design that covered up his ecto-signature.

They lived like this for over a year, breaking in to abandoned places, having waterfights in large city waterfountains (and running when they heard police sirens), tagging some of the places they'd hit when they wanted to leave a message, long romantic walks at night, lots of laughter, going on dates to restaurants (they never dine & dash. Some places make the wait staff pay which is bull and they might want to return to that establishment at some point), that one time they stole a $900 wedding cake from a homophobic bakery owner, lots of Fake out-Make outs to avoid getting sent to jail, ect.

They were having the time of thier lives up until they stopped in a little 24 hour diner in Bludhaven. They were doing what they usually do, flirting and laughing until the waiter takes thier order, when a guy approached thier table. Tim and Danny exchanged worried looks before the guy held up his hands in mock surrender, "I'm not gonna hurt you, I promise, I'm Dick Grayson." The man held out his hand to Tim, who hesitated before shaking it, "Tim," he answered honestly.

Danny nudged him with his foot under the table.

The man smiled wide, "Like Tim Drake?"

Tim and Danny looked confused, "Like who?" Danny asked and Dicks smile faltered

[biolumien]

hello!! I loved your rooftop smoke fic so much oh my goodness could I ask for literally anything hoshina I would love to read more of your works... It would make my day if hoshina fell first/if he was the one hopelessly in love but anything that is easier to write for you I would love to read

ALSO PLS FEEL FREE TO IGNORE THIS IF ITS NOT EXACTLY IT FOR U!!! TYSM IN ADVANCE

notes: bwahhhh omg… thank you for liking my first work…  i havent written hoshina before… but uh. i hope this is good. same reader-insert from last time for this one too!

hoshina falls first (or tries not to, because to love is to be known)

soshiro hoshina x gn!reader i turned it into kind of a character study, forgive me word count: 1103

let’s get this right off the bat, to clear any misconceptions. hoshina’s not a romantic. he doesn’t fall for anyone first. he’s built up the demeanor of a sly, wily little fox not because he wanted to, but because he had to. tread lightly around others, and they will never know what lies in your heart, the insecurities that bubble and eat at you alive. never let them know how you feel, because as soon as your inherent, weak-willed intent is shown, you’ll be devoured alive.

well.

that’s what hoshina tells himself, anyway. 

it’s what he has to remind himself of constantly when he sees you.

you’re not allowed, he reminds himself, to get under his skin. not in any mean way, not in the way where you play up his insecurities–except you do, don’t you? you don’t mean to, but he gets the impression that if he were conventionally stronger, more impressive, that he’d deserve your attention, the small smile that crosses your lips and lights up your eyes when you see him, the faint exhale of breath when you see him–he’d deserve that if he were better. if he were just simply better, he’d deserve it. he’d feel worthy of it.

hoshina’s not a romantic.

he signed up for a line of very dangerous, practically suicidal work knowing it might mean the death of him.

all to prove that he was worth something.

he’s not the ashes you throw away, he’s a brilliant ball of fire, can’t you see–but he needed to prove that he could shine alone, under his own merit. he didn’t need anyone, except he needed mina to get him into the third division anyway. 

he didn’t need you, except he kept making excuses to get close to you, and not even in any particular suave way. hoshina practically pines for your affections and attention, but the key thing about it is that he refuses, in a way that’s either very cute or insanely frustrating, to make it seem like he’s making the first move. fleeting kisses he shared with you, he never properly initiated himself–he’d stand there, make a big show of leaving, and you’d pulled him by the collar to kiss him. 

but at the very least you seem to be accommodating about it, in any case. you sometimes end up preparing him a cup of tea when you go on break, as if instinctually expecting him.

hoshina wonders if he’s pavlov’s dog in this case–drawn by you, trained to behave around you.

he doesn’t know how he feels about it.

“you keep coming here,” you say to him one day in the lab. at your desk is a wide variety of papers–notes on chemical formulas for bullets, the blueprints for one of mina’s new absurdly-large guns shoved haphazardly under a stack of notebooks, a coffee cup clasped between your hands, and you blow some of the fresh steam off. “i’m starting to think the captain’s going to find you slacking off.”

there’s a sardonic smile on your lips, but hoshina’s gotten better at reading you. you’re happy to see him–he can see it in the tiny way you fidget a little bit when he takes the spare coffee mug from your desk, finding it full of coffee already. does he feel his face softening, his drawn-up shoulders relaxing? no, surely not. he’s better than that. he won’t be influenced by you–and yet. and yet. 

“you have a lock on your door if you don’t want to be disturbed,” hoshina says simply, taking a sip of the coffee. black with a single spoonful of sugar in it, because as much as it was impressive to drink your coffee purely black, hoshina quite frankly couldn’t take it. and he’d built as much a complex around that, too, as if a simple coffee preference might define how worthy he is of love. respect. the works. he watches you, sees dark under-eyes from days of restless work and the writer’s bump on your middle finger, and feels his heart squeeze.

god, he hates it. does he? does he hate it? is he insecure about that? does he hate that he doesn’t hate it? does he hate that by pining for you, by forcing his way into your life, that he’s created the rumblings of his own downfall? no. the worst part of it all is that he can’t hate you. can’t hate the way you watch him, and he wonders if you’re watching him the same way he observes you–like a prey animal, almost, twitchy and nervous, in an attempt to grasp at feeble understanding. 

“if you keep coming back here, i’m going to assume you’re in love with me,” you say.

and you have no idea what those words do to him, really. you don’t know, because hoshina has learned to obscure most of his emotions, at the very least. 

so why does his face feel so hot?

“hm.”

he can’t even come up with a proper retort. you’re staring at him expectantly, as if waiting for the classic hoshina quip–a cackle or giggle, a casual slap on the table with a you wish! attached to it. but it doesn’t come. hoshina stands there, gagged for a moment–and suddenly his grip on his coffee cup feels a little weak.

“hoshina.”

he wishes the smile on your lips didn’t trigger some gut instinct of delight in him.

he’s better than this, damn it. he’s better than this.

your smile quirks up the corners of your cheeks, and there’s something like a shy flush across your skin. and–

“i wish i could take a picture of your face right now,” you say. “you look like you’re coming down with something.”

hoshina scoffs, the sound a little more high-pitched than he’d like for it to be.

“you wish,” he says. 

“so are you?” you press. “in love with me?”

hoshina stares at you–there’s a sudden tightness in your shoulders that wasn’t there before–you’re worried about his answer. and despite it all–his bravado, his hatred of the mere idea that he might rely on someone else–that he would ever need someone to know his heart, that he might be cowed and tamed like a dog–

he loves you.

he doesn’t want you to be worried about the surety of his answer.

“yeah,” he says. “i love you.” and when that sudden tightness in your body language disappears, he finally finds the strength to quip, “just don’t faint over me, alright?” 

and when you reach out to hit his shoulder, he grasps you by the wrist and pulls you in to kiss you.

[dandylovesturtles]

oh yeah so Yes pretty overwhelmingly won the poll so you guys only have yourselves to blame for seeing this nonsense I will probably not do much more with lol

anyway I've been mentally calling it the Draxum's Kids AU or Step-brothers AU because I didn't come up with anything creative

high level premise is that, due to ~mystic shenanigans~, Draxum from the OU (post-movie) gets pulled through a portal to another dimension, about a year behind the OU dimension, where he kept the turtles and accomplished a lot of his human eradication goals but was also a terrible father. Draxum sees the writing on the wall that his AU self's foolish actions have led to an impending apocalypse and finds the AU's Mikey (who is only called Boxshell) to help him get back to the original dimension. But as soon as he meets back up with Boxshell his Dad Instincts kick in and he realizes he can't just leave "his" kids here to die, so he decides to kidnap all four of them back to the original dimension.

this is complicated a bit by all of them hating each other

under the cut is about 3000 words of Draxum getting abducted

Draxum would really appreciate it if they could make it six months without a potentially world ending threat.

This one seems particularly suspicious. Giant black swirling vortexes giving off massive mystic energy signatures don’t simply <i>appear</i>, not for no reason. The fact that Michelangelo had been the first to notice it, cocking his head to the side like a bloodhound hearing a rabbit, was not putting him at ease, either.

“Soooo,” says Leonardo, swords already drawn and held loose at his sides, “what is it, Draxy?”

That is not his name, but because the situation is serious, he answers anyway. “You expect me to know? I’ve never seen anything like that before.”

“Come on, you’re our mystic guru! So get with the guruing!”

Draxum just gives him the look that the kids are coming to call his “not mad, just disappointed” face. He doesn’t have any more answers than he did two seconds ago. On the plus side, it doesn’t seem like anything is coming <i>out</i> of the dark swirly vortex, nor is anything getting sucked in. It’s just hanging there, in the sky over the Hidden City, menacingly.

“Doesn’t it feel familiar?” asks Michelangelo. Unlike Leonardo, he still hasn’t drawn any weapon. He’s just watching it, curious.

“I don’t remember the Krang portal looking like that,” says Donatello. “We could see the Prison Dimension on the other side. That’s just… an indistinct vortex of doom.”

“Not like the Krang,” says Michelangelo, but he doesn’t offer any further guesses. He just watches it with big eyes.

“But we gotta do somethin’ about it, right?” asks Raphael. “We can’t just leave it up there.”

“Well, if it’s not hurting anyone,” says Leonardo slowly.

“Just because it is not doing anything in this instant does not mean it will stay that way,” says Draxum.

“Yeah, yeah.” Leonardo slices through the air, a blue and less chaotic looking portal opening up. “Let’s check it out, Dee. Get some energy readings and all that nerd jazz. The rest of you, stay here in case it’s dangerous.”

“Oh, but it’s fine if it’s me,” says Donatello, but he steps up to the portal anyway. 

Draxum feels uneasy, because he doesn’t know what that thing is or what it will do, and because he doesn’t want the two of them going alone. “I’ll come with you,” he says, and when the kids give him a look, he quickly adds, “I may notice something that Donatello would miss.”

“I don’t <i>miss</i> things,” Donatello snaps back, but that’s factually untrue, so Draxum just grunts in response to it. 

“Sure, goatman cometh,” says Leonardo airily. “Let’s just go!”

Just to be sure nothing bad will happen, Draxum steps through first. The twins follow him.

They’re on a rooftop now, just under the vortex. Draxum had been expecting… something, but there are no threats, no signs of anything amiss. It’s a bit windy, and the vortex is making an ominous buzzing noise, but that’s all.

“Can you tell anything from here?” asks Leonardo, looking between the two of them. Donatello has his goggles down and a holoscreen up, incomprehensible numbers scrolling by at a fast pace. For his part, it seems the same to Draxum here as it did across town.

Donatello’s readings slow, and he raises the goggles again. 

“It’s… definitely massive, but I can’t tell much more than that. Though… I think Mikey was right. That it feels familiar.” He looks at his brother, something complicated in his expression. “Like we’ve seen something like this before.”

“I was afraid you’d say that,” says Leonardo, before turning his attention to Draxum. “How easy is it to make an interdimensional portal, anyway?”

Draxum snorts at this question. “For a pocket dimension, relatively simple. For an actual, separate world… Theoretically, it could be done, but it would take a massive amount of mystic energy and decades of experience. Especially if one does not have a mystical object to channel a portal through, like the key that was used for the Krang’s prison dimension.”

“But Mikey was able to do it,” Leonardo points out.

“Yes. And need I remind you it almost killed him.”

“You needn’t,” he snaps back. “I’m just saying… <i>if</i> it can be done, it really seems like someone’s trying it right now.” He still has his swords out, watching the vortex warily. “And what’re the odds that they’re coming here for a friendly visit?”

Draxum doesn’t argue there; he’s already treating whatever this is as hostile. Better to assume wrong and apologize later than to let down his guard and let one of his kids get hurt.

There’s the sound of footsteps behind them, and the three of them turn at once, startled. “Well, there’s Mikey,” Leonardo is already saying in a resigned sort of way, like he knew Michelangelo would join them before he gave the command.

“Sorry, Leo,” says Raphael, landing with heavier tread on the rooftop just behind Michelangelo. “He gave me the slip.”

“Guys, it’s fine!” Michelangelo argues, in that tone he uses when he feels like he’s being babied. “I’m telling you, whatever’s making that portal isn’t here to hurt us.”

“And you know this based on what evidence?” asks Donatello.

“It’s a feeling!”

“Ah yes, feelings, how quantifiable.”

“Well <i>you</i> don’t have any evidence it’s evil either, Donald!” Michelangelo retorts.

Draxum is about to step into the middle of this quarrel when Leonardo stops it for him.

“Guess we’re about to find out who’s right,” he says, eyes locked on something above them, and Draxum looks up just in time to see that there’s <i>movement</i> coming from the vortex now. “Dee, take Raph; Miguel, you’re with me.”

“Wait, guys, we should just-” Michelangelo tries again, but a shimmering blue portal under his feet stops him. Leonardo and Michelangelo reappear in the sky above, Leonardo using his portals to stay airborne while Michelangelo catches himself with his mystic powers. There’s the roar of a jet, and then Donnie is after them, his shimmering mystic tech carrying himself with Raphael dangling underneath.

And of course they’ve left him on the roof. Draxum sighs. <i>Children</i>.

He pops several vines on the roof and uses them to propel himself skyward, eyes searching for what has come through the portal, if that’s what it is. It’s difficult to see against the black coloration, but the boys seem to have gathered under a figure in a dark cloak, who emerges slowly from the middle of the vortex. It seems to cling to them like dark, black ink, the mystic energy drawing out behind them in long, gooey ropes. 

Draxum knows he is still many meters away, but even still, he doesn’t think the figure is very large. It’s a surprise, given that the vortex itself is at least fifteen or more meters across, but the figure coming out is short and slight, not even as big as Michelangelo. Of course, that doesn’t mean much; plenty of yokai are small statured naturally, as are some humans. Even Lou Jitsu is small, now, but still mighty. He can’t let the size of the person put him off guard, especially when they have summoned such massive mystic energy.

“Hey!” cries out Michelangelo. “Can we talk to you!?”

The figure in the cloak seems to startle at being addressed. For a moment, they hang in the air, the ropey energy of the vortex growing thicker on their arms and legs. Almost like it’s trying to pull them back.

The figure seems to realize this, too, because they jerk forward and raise their arms in a panicked arc.

Fire comes out - dark flames with incandescent blue cores that Draxum knows are hotter than any normal flame. If the boys are struck, the damage will be severe. Thankfully, Michelangelo yelps and whirls aside before he can be burned.

“I don’t think they’re interested in talking!” calls Donatello.

“That’s alright,” yells Raphael, his ninpo lighting his body red, “because <i>I’m</i> interested in smashing!”

The midair fight begins in earnest now, the boys darting around the figure with their weapons drawn, even Michelangelo. The cloaked figure fights back with the flames, dark and so hot that as Draxum’s vines carry him closer, he can feel the heat coming off of them. Yet, despite the intensity of the attacks, Draxum notices that they are unwieldy and unpracticed, like the wielder has no real experience in fighting, and certainly not midair against so many opponents. Add to that, the strange, inklike properties of the still-spinning vortex seem to be actively trying to pull the figure back; each time they make progress, the moment their attention is drawn by one of the boys, they’re yanked back another few feet.

Draxum sprouts a few more vines off his main one, so that he can move more freely. Aerial combat has never been his forte, but he can make it work. So long as none of those desperate fire attacks burn through his vines and send him tumbling to the ground (he can only hope, in that event, that one of the twins notices him). 

The cloaked figure is still attacking wildly, and the boys have to move fast to keep out of the way. It’s easier for Michelangelo and Donatello, who can stay airborne indefinitely; Leonardo, meanwhile, has to use his portals to catch himself and Raphael periodically, portalling them back to the sky or giving them a portal to ground to launch off of. This leaves them open to attack.

Draxum couldn’t have made it in time if he’d wanted to, but in the moment he isn’t thinking he has to.

One of the unfocused black flames strikes Raphael; his ninpo projection protects him from being harmed, but he still lets out a gasp of surprise as it burns rapidly through the ninpo itself, leaving him exposed. Donatello swoops in to catch him before he can fall, and all the boys hang back for a moment, stunned by this development.

“What was <i>that</i>!?” Leonardo calls out, portaling above Donatello and landing on his constructed battleshell (Donatello says, “Oof!” loudly, but doesn’t throw him off). “It just burned through Raph’s shield like it was tissue paper!”

“Augh… that felt… weird.” Raphael is rubbing at his temple with his fingers. “Raph did not like that.”

“Alright, clearly this guy is dangerous.” Leonardo is tense, eyes focused as he watches the cloaked figure yank free of the stringy ropes of magic from the vortex, coming closer. “But see how the portal’s trying to pull them back in? We just gotta get them close enough and send ‘em back where they came from.”

He glances over at Michelangelo. Draxum looks, too. The boy’s brow is creased, like he isn’t happy with this outcome, but his eyes are focused on Raphael.

“...Yeah,” he says finally, and gives his nunchucks a swing. They light up with his orange ninpo, the bright fire a stark contrast to their enemy’s dark flames. “Let’s send ‘em back!”

The boys spring back into action, and Draxum follows suit, his vines carrying him up, closer to the vortex. Now he can feel more of the thing’s power directly, a great gusting wind that pulls rather than pushes. He hangs back from the direct fighting and instead watches the boys closely, should he need to intervene the way he hadn’t for Raphael. If the fire can eat through their ninpo, then any of them being struck would be disastrous - especially if one of the others could not catch them in time.

The kids are succeeding in their gambit to push the figure back towards the vortex, but that means they are also increasingly putting themselves in range of its dangerous reach. The ropey strands of dark mystic energy reach out like hungry tendrils, latching onto scales before being cut or shaken off. Leonardo has all but abandoned the fight against the figure and instead puts his efforts into slicing the strands apart any time they touch one of his brothers, either directly with his katana or with a well placed portal. He leaves the strands that attach themselves to the mysterious person, and they wrap more firmly around the legs, arms, and neck of the one in the cloak.

And that’s when they finally speak.

“No!” they cry out, in a voice unmistakably juvenile. “No, please! I just want to escape - don’t make me go back!”

Michelangelo stops short, bobbing uncertainly only a few meters from the screaming figure (a boy, Draxum thinks, but cannot be sure). “Guys,” he says hesitantly, lowering his weapons. “I really think we should-”

Whatever he was about to say is interrupted by a burst of flames from the cloaked boy’s hands, spiraling directly towards him.

“MIKEY!” shout several voices at once; Draxum only realizes a beat later that one of them is his. He’s the closest, and he moves fast, putting himself and a wall of vines between the flames and his son.

The flames make such short work of the vines, it’s almost comical. Draxum watches as the fire races down the towering stalk he’s made, eating them away and leaving nothing behind, not even ashes. The vine Draxum was standing on is, of course, completely obliterated, and he feels the swoop in his stomach as gravity starts its relentless pull.

“Dad!” he hears Michelangelo call out. The boy reaches a hand toward them, and in his panic Draxum reaches back. They are only a few meters from each other, and then less and then less, fingers almost touching-

But it is something else that grabs him first.

The vortex’s dark energy feels disgusting and slimy where it touches Draxum’s fur, like a leech pulled from some noxious bog. Its tug is ferociously strong, and he realizes that if Leonardo had not been quick, if the magic had wrapped around any of his brothers’ limbs the way it’s wrapped around Draxum’s arm, disentangling them would have taken massive effort. As it’s going to take to free him now.

There’s a yank, and he’s ripped away from Michelangelo and towards the vortex.

“No!” screeches the cloaked boy, and sputtering flames spill out around him, forcing the turtles back before they can move in to rescue him. “No! Get away! Leave me alone!”

“Gladly!” Draxum shouts back, ripping and yanking to try and free his arm. “Just close this foolish portal and go back where you came from!”

“I <i>can’t</i>!” the boy screams, and he sounds so wretched, Draxum almost feels some sympathy for him. “I can’t! I can’t!”

“You must!” Draxum argues, because he can tell. The energy has wrapped too securely around the cloaked boy now; there will be no freeing him. The portal he made is impressive, <i>especially</i> as young as he sounds, but it is not complete. He could not be severed from it, even if they tried to help. In fact, if they fully pulled him from the vortex, it would likely kill the child.

No; he must go back. But… is there still time for Draxum?

“Barry!” he hears the boys call out. They try to get close, but another burst of searing heat from the panicked boy in the vortex keeps them from advancing. More of the stringy ropes of magic are wrapping around Draxum now, on his arms, his torso, his legs. His neck. They yank him back, hard, and he gasps as the air leaves his lungs. The mystic energy slithers over him like a living creature, wrapping him up more and more securely in its snare.

It seems… there is not.

“<i>NO</i>!” screams the cloaked boy, one last panicked, desperate cry, but then his voice is abruptly silenced. There’s a roaring noise, incomprehensibly loud, and Draxum faintly wonders if this is how it sounds when a star collapses in on itself.

The last thing he sees as the portal closes around him is Michelangelo’s face, eyes wide and afraid, mouth open in a shout, hand outstretched as far as it can go.

And then all is dark.

…

When Draxum wakes, he’s laying on the ground in an alley in the Hidden City.

He feels a flash of <i>something</i> markedly unpleasant when he realizes he’s alone: sadness, betrayal, perhaps even, Titan forbid, <i>loneliness</i>. It seems the boys have left him to his fate and gone home.

Then he remembers the portal, and Donatello and Michelangelo’s guess that it was interdimensional. It’s likely the boys don’t know where he is. It’s possible he’s not even in the same time.

Or the same world at all.

Disturbing as that thought is, the part of the Hidden City he can see from his vantage point seems familiar enough. He recognizes this as a part of the old downtown, not far from where he and the kids had been fighting the cloaked boy. Even if this isn’t his time, at least he should still be able to navigate - that makes things easier.

He gets to his feet, shaking the soreness out of his limbs. He hears something pop, and is suddenly immensely glad the boys aren’t here after all. He’d rather not endure another round of teasing for being “old”.

The Hidden City he travels through seems largely the same as the one he left, to a degree that he starts to wonder if it wasn’t an interdimensional portal after all. If it was, the dimension he’s in now seems to have only slight variations.

Or that’s what he thinks, until he makes it to the nearest portal back to New York City.

There’s a checkpoint set up in front of it, one that didn’t exist here before. There are guards standing sentinel, ushering through a line of yokai and occasionally asking questions. They don’t seem hostile to the yokai, but it does seem like precautions need to be taken for… some reason.

More startling to Draxum are the crests that adorn banners hung around the checkpoint, matching emblems blazed on the uniforms of the officers.

His family’s crest.

It seems this dimension is quite different after all.

[joi-me-hoi-me-noi]

Y/n with a extremely powerful cursed energy

Request from one of my friends who somehow found out about my writing obsession with different fandoms... thanks girl, you know too much now.

Gojo

"I really don't want to fight anyone. Please, stop."

He doesn't say anything, his feet moving his being toward you. He was only walking. He thinks you're weak.

"Please, stop. I-I really don't want to hurt you!" You saw what he did to Hanami, you wanted it to stop.

Geto wasn't there yet so you had to stop him. He's standing right in front of you now. He looks down at you with a frown and then sidesteps you, starting his walk past you.

"Wait!"

You reach forward and grab his arm; he slightly jumps at the contact. You breached infinity. How?

He pulls away from you and crosses his fingers in front of himself.

"Domain expansion..." He was going to kill you.

You hold one finger up as the domain started to expand around you.

"Void."

A black veil swallows up his domain...he's in shock how a weakling like yourself was able to disable everything. A single snap of your fingers and the void you created forms tightly around him, he would lose consciousness soon.

You feel his breathing stop and cease your void, now back at the train station. You approach his body, crouching down to make sure he's unconscious. You go to rise to your feet and his hand shoots out to grab your neck.

"Your cursed energy is quite impressive, sadly, it wasn't enough. Now you're going to die here."

"Satoru."

The guy turns his head, looking at Geto and dropping his hold on your neck in the process. You push his hand away, gasping for air and moving toward Geto. He opens the prison realm and watches the man get swallowed up into the small box.

A hand is placed on your head.

"After the rest of them, your duties aren't over."

★・・・・・・★

Choso

You heard the loud fighting from the bathroom nearby and immediately rushed in, finding a knocked out Yuuji and the person who hurt him.

"Jesus! Yuuji!"

You rush over to him, feeling a soft breath on your hand. You let out a sigh of relief as you turn your head to dodge the arrow coming your way.

"Interesting. You're the blood manipulation dude I heard about."

Another arrow shoots out of his clasped hands, but you simply touch the tip of it, watching it turn into a bloody puddle on the floor. He demeaner falters as he watches you.

"You better count your blessings and hope I don't hurt you that bad."

★・・・・・・★

Sukuna

You thought it was insane that some random kid found their way into a veil and swallowed the finger of Sukuna.

"Y/n, he just-" "Megumi, exit the veil. I got it."

He was about to talk you out of it but then complied with the request you made. Using his curses to help him get off the rooftop quicker. Sukuna turns to you, a crazy smile appearing on his face. His fingers swipe in front of him, obviously trying to cut you. Nothing happens.

He does it again and again, nothing happens.

"No matter how many times you try it, it's not going to work."

He, of course, continued to try to hurt you and then groaned in annoyance when it wasn't working.

You stand in front of him and quickly nullify Sukuna. You click your tongue and carry the boy out of the veil, seeing Megumi and Gojo. Did this man really go shopping?

"Satoru, we have a problem. This kid swallowed Sukuna's finger and now he is his vessel."

★・・・・・・★

TODO & ITADORI

You run in from around the corner, watching Mahito getting beat up. His body rolls in front of you and he looks up at you. You give him your hand and pull him up.

"Well, you look like shit."

"Shut up and handle these two for me."

"You know you're going to owe me for this right."

Mahito runs off and leaves you standing there with the two boys.

"Hi! I hope you two aren't as boring as the others." You stretch out your limbs and start running towards them.

Todo and Itadori runs toward you, trying to grab you, they both fail. You jump up, suppress Todo's energy and using your foot to kick him into the wall. Then you hold Itadori's punch, draining the energy from his body.

"Someone's getting sleepy."

A quick push and he falls over, still alive but asleep. Todo springs back into action, trying to restrain you in some way. Using the drain energy from Itadori, you deliver a hard punch into Todo's abdomen, sending him into the way and knocking him out cold.

"That fight was barely fun..."

★・・・・・・★

TOJI

He just sliced a deep cut on Geto's chest, leaving him in the rubble. When he's walking away from the body, Toji hears something stirring behind him. He quickly turns his head and points his gun at you.

"Y/-Y/n." Geto's hand reaches out shakily, trying to push you away from him.

"Shh... I'm here. Rest." His eyes close and you used your technique to send him back to Jujutsu High, someone will help him.

"I can't believe an old man, of all people, killed THE Satoru Gojo."

BANG!

You appear behind him, sitting on the rubble pile.

"Let me tell you, I'm not like Satoru and I don't die easily."

BANG!

Your hand is around the gun barrel, it starts to dissipate in your grasp. He lets go of the gun and moves away from you. A smile appears on your face and then you sigh.

"I won't get to fight you like I wanted to after all. He's awake now and ready for a rematch. Bye now."

With a quick wink, you disappear into thin air leaving him to walk out the same way he came.

★・・・・・・★

A/n: The way my creativity was working like a machine is fucking insane. My brain hurts and I'm going to bed...

Masterlist —> link

[thewitchblue]

Death was her curse and her gift.

"Tim and I couldn't find out all of her abilities, but she's deadly both from a distance and up close."

Bruce told his children sternly. The Wraith was the newest vigilante and metahuman in Gotham. Her black bodysuit held concealments for her dual blades that release without a sound. She was as silent as a cat and as deadly as a hurricane.

"Avoid her at all costs. Until we find out more about her, she is a threat. Do not engage in a fight."

Bruce's voice was stern and worried. He hated having another masked vigilante running around in Gotham. He can't tell yet if she's a criminal or fighting on the side of good. Sure, she's been on their side so far, but that can change very quickly and very easily.

Unfortunately, his hunt proved fruitless. Every time he got close, it was like she melted into the shadows. She was gone before he said a single word. She did, however, wink at him before she vanished into the night. It was like she knew he wanted to question her, but she had no interest in talking while on patrol.

Jason, of course, didn't listen. He went out looking for her. If he stumbled across a criminal while on the hunt, he obviously took care of them, but his main focus was finding the phantom and questioning her himself.

After a particularly fruitless encounter, he found himself on top of a rooftop, sat down with his legs dangling off the ledge. This was becoming infuriating.

"Fuck! Why is it so hard to find her."

He curses, a heavy sigh falling from his lips. He's normally so good at tracking people down, but she's, well, a phantom. He's halfway convinced she's actually a ghost. How does someone just vanish into thin air like that? Does she hide in the shadows and simply walk away? Does she teleport? He couldn't be sure. How was he supposed to find someone who's untrackable? She leaves without a trace. No footsteps in the grime filled streets, no scent he can smell with his slightly heightened senses (he's no bloodhound but surely he'd smell something), even his trackers were removed nearly the second they are placed or straight up avoided entirely. It's like the shadows smack it away for her.

By the end of patrol, he's not happy in the slightest. He's sat outside the Batcave, not wanting to go home yet but not wanting to hang out with his family. His entire night was fruitless.

His head snaps up once he feels a hand on his shoulder. Before he could complain about it, assuming the hand was one of his family members, he stops himself. He notes the hand is much smaller than any of his siblings and certainly smaller than Bruce's massive hands. Then he feels it. A strong tug, almost as if he's been pulled towards a destination. Before he could even struggle, he finds himself in his apartment with a certain ghost vigilante sitting lazily on his favourite chair.

"I believe you have some questions for me, Big Red?"

Her voice was smooth, with a casual tone despite the very horrifying experience unfolding in front of him. He watches almost in awe as twin blades release from her suit silently with a flick of her wrist. She makes no move to threaten him, however. She merely cleans them with a nearby towel. Her eyes watched him with a calculated look as two shadowy hands disarm him with ease.

His brain finally catches up to his situation. He's disarmed, the vigilante knows both where he lives and where the Batcave is, and he has said vigilante on his chair with blades casually being cleaned.

"What do you know?"

Was the only question his dumbfounded brain could think of. What does he do in this situation? If she's a villain, she could've killed him, but if she was good, she wouldn't run away and avoid him.

"Everything, Jason."

Those two words nearly sends him into a panic. What counts as everything?

"Everything about me?"

He was almost hopeful. He desperately hoped she didn't know anything about his family. She lazily hung her legs off the arm of the chair, leaning back while still facing him.

"I know everything about everyone in your vigilante family. You became part of the family after nearly stealing the Batmobile wheels and you died because of the Joker. You've been revived, and honestly you've been through the wringer. Disowned for a moment, with mommy and double daddy issues. Your best friend is named Roy and you are about to have a secret girlfriend."

She said everything with confidence. She really did know everything. Then his brows furrow in confusion,

"Did you just ask me out after telling me my entire life story?"

He was equal parts flabbergasted and flattered. She was bold, that much he can tell. She swings her legs back to the front of the chair to face him normally. Calmly, she replied,

"That depends on what your answer to the question is."

He doesn't even know her name. He said,

"I don't know anything about you."

As if she could tell what he was thinking, she said,

"I'm Y/N. If you kiss me, I might let you take off my mask."

As silent as a tiger, she stalked towards him with a grin, her blades returning to her suit as smoothly as they came out to lower her threat level in his mind. Shadows swirl around her, almost clinging to her like an overprotective best friend. She really isn't here to threaten him. He knows she could skewer him like a kebab or sap away his life force, but he coyly asked,

"How am I going to kiss you through my helmet, punk?"

She smirked, pulling off his helmet in a shockingly gentle manner. He wraps his hands easily around her waist and pulls her closer. She was so close that he could smell her perfume and feel her body heat.

"Well, I am good at keeping secrets."

He said with a sly grin before kissing her. To hell with whatever the others think about their relationship. Sometimes, it's a good thing to take risks.

[shan-yee]

•𝘋𝘢𝘺 𝘟𝘐𝘐𝘐 = 𝘽𝙤𝙣𝙩𝙚𝙣!𝙎𝙖𝙣𝙯𝙪 𝙣𝙨𝙛𝙬 𝙝𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙘𝙖𝙣𝙤𝙣

•��𝘪𝘵𝘩 = 𝙎𝙖𝙣𝙯𝙪 𝙃𝙖𝙧𝙪𝙘𝙝𝙞𝙮𝙤

•𝘞𝘢𝘳𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 = 𝙢𝙚𝙣𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣 𝙤𝙛 𝙣𝙤𝙣𝙘𝙤𝙣, 𝙠𝙣𝙞𝙛𝙚 𝙥𝙡𝙖𝙮, 𝙜𝙖𝙣𝙜𝙗𝙖𝙣𝙜, 𝙙𝙧𝙪𝙜𝙨, 𝙢𝙖𝙣𝙞𝙥𝙪𝙡𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙣, 𝙪𝙨𝙚 𝙤𝙛 𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧, 𝙥𝙖𝙧𝙩𝙣𝙚𝙧, 𝙜𝙞𝙧𝙡𝙛𝙧𝙞𝙚𝙣𝙙, 𝙢𝙖𝙮𝙗𝙚 𝙤𝙤𝙘 𝙎𝙖𝙣𝙯𝙪 ?

•𝘞𝘰𝘳𝘥𝘴 = 967

•𝘈/𝘕 = English is not my first language, please let me know if you see any mistakes ! Enjoy ✨

•𝘈/𝘕 2 = 𝙃𝙖𝙥𝙥𝙮 𝙣𝙚𝙬 𝙮𝙚𝙖𝙧 𝙞 𝙜𝙪𝙚𝙨𝙨-

[Kinks]

⇰ I clearly see Sanzu into BDSM, I think he likes to inflict pain on his partner but what he likes the most is that he is the only one who can do it.

⇰ If someone dares to touch what is his, without his consent, he will not hesitate to do ten times worse to them. But if he is the one to do it, it's totally different, he knows what pleases her and it's a way of having ascendancy over her.

⇰ The only person he won't dare say anything against will be Mikey. But honestly, the young man won't be interested in the reader at all so it's unlikely he'll do anything to her.

⇰ I think that he would also like exhibitionism but with a twist, he would be the one watching. Perhaps once or twice a month he would let other men have sex with his partner under his eyes, beware of anyone who dares to touch her outside of these times.

⇰ Knowing that at the end of the night she belongs to him and that she is enjoying herself while he watches excites him. He likes to think that at any moment he can tell her to stop and she will immediately push other men away, it's also a way to have control over her.

⇰ Sometimes he’ll leaves the choice to his partner and these will be the rare moments when he will be gentle, in his own way, if she wishes. Otherwise « vanilla »sex isn’t really his thing.

[Vocals]

⇰ I was pretty hesitant on this one but I think that Sanzu would be more of the vocal type during intimacy. Under drugs he will have difficulty holding back and sometimes won’t even be aware that he’s letting out noises.

⇰ Generally he will talk more than he will moan or grunt, he’ll tease his partner during penetration or oral sex for example and will try to make her react by biting her,

⇰ He's not really the type to worry about others and rarely will he ask his girlfriend how she's feeling, and even if she's tired or wants to stop it's not sure that he stops.

⇰ He may use vulgar words to describe his partner and even if she cries he will not really think about apologizing, unless she refuses to speak to him afterwards and at that moment, reluctantly, he will apologize. Sanzu will surely offer her something too, a way to be sure that she will no longer hold it against him.

⇰ During a « gangbang » he will be silent, which is very rare, and will only intervene rarely to compliment his partner or, on the contrary, denigrate her

[Dom/sub/switch]

⇰ Sanzu is clearly in the dom category, and compared to others he would not pretend to be a sub even to please his partner.

⇰ This trait comes out in everyday life and not just during sex, he is very controlling and tends to keep a close eye on the reader, whether by asking someone to follow her or simply by clinging to her.

⇰ He will choose most of her outfits and buy her makeup, but Sanzu is very observant and these little details will often pass for attention since he will always give her what she wants without her asking.

⇰ It’s his way of making himself indispensable. However, he is still « gentle », in his own way, and will take her to the restaurants or shops she wants, he will sometimes just give her his card and let her do what she wants.

⇰ But only when he is sure that she is not thinking about leaving him or having doubts about him—who he is and what he does—, because yes, Sanzu does not shout from the rooftops what he does and I think he will prefer to keep certain details for him.

[Position]

⇰ Sanzu is not very complicated, he likes most positions and is ready to discover others even if they may seem strange.

⇰ Generally he likes positions like « The pretzel » and « The G-whiz » which give him some control and allow him to touch his partner.

⇰ He will be able to stimulate her clitoris and will have fun with it, he’ll tend to continue to stimulate her after an orgasm to watch her wriggle.

⇰ He also likes practical positions which can be done standing up or on a flat surface between two « matter that does not concern you ».

⇰ During a BDSM session he will restrain his partner with ropes or harnesses, he’ll have fun testing her flexibility by attaching her feet to his hands or her ankles near her thighs using straps.

⇰ Generally he will not perform penetration in this positions and will just play with different toys.

[Biting/marking]

⇰ Sanzu bites a lot during the act, his goal is to leave a mark, definitive if possible. He often leaves deep teeth marks on his partner's shoulders and between her thighs.

⇰ He may leave a few hickeys here and there, but his thing is really deep marks.

⇰ During foreplay he might brush his partner's skin with a blade, from time to time he will press it to leave a slight trace and over time the desire to engrave his initials might cross his mind.

⇰ Sanzu will not ask for his girlfriend's consent, he believes that if she got with him she knew what she was getting into.

⇰ If the reader decides to leave marks on him in turn he won't say no, he will even be quite excited. Exceptionally, he could even lend her his blade and let her in turn engrave something into his skin, even if he clearly prefers to give.

⇰ This will only happen after a while of relationship, he’ll trust his partner and will not doubt her at all, if you want to run it’s your chance.

[pskmonika]

I saw the post you made abt MHA boys’ type and thought it was so cute and accurate (at least how I envision it too) I loved your vision for Shinsos s/o and was wondering if you had any hcs about his type/what he finds attractive? I love this purple haired boy sm you have no idea

-🫐

Shisou's type / him having a crush:

Because of shinsou's calm personality, a lot assume that he'd be into someone who's more outgoing and extroverted that makes him get out of his shell, but i dont think thats true

trying to think of it in a canon way, shinsou is sooo similar to aizawa and we saw that aizawa had no feelings towards the bubbly girl that like him, so thats why i think similar to him, thats simply not shinsou's type

Shinsou wouldn’t fall for someone who blends into the crowd—he needs someone who sees the world differently, someone extraordinary in their own quiet way, shinsou doesn’t crave noise; he craves depth.

well at first You was quite, that all there was in you , that all everyone saw, but shinsou unlike everyone else, pays attention to the smallest details, like the way u loved to draw whenever u got free time, like the way u chase cats outside and always leave a piece of cheese or tuna in ur backpack just in case u found hungry stray cats, or the way u loved to come to class earlier than everyone just to listen to ur fav songs while staring out the window, u loved the sky, he for sure knew that, from the way u stare at it, the way u drew it

maybe it was drawing, writing, making music or even photography.... but you certainly was someone artistic, someone that sees beauty in things, someone that doesnt just look around the world, someone that sees the world, someone that holds so much inside

You were fascinating, just like your quirk: Nightmare. It brought your enemies’ greatest fears to life, turning them into a reality you controlled, it was scary, it made him wonder if people thought you have quite the vaillin quirk, just like they thought about him,

But unlike him, you was quiet but never unkind, and he was curious

So he got closer, started from borrowing a pen, to a random chat in the rooftop to being partners for a school project, and the more time he spent with you, the more, he’s sinking, deeper and deeper, into you.

you made him feel at ease, you were like a gentle breeze on a warm day, he felt like with you he can breath

He loves that no one knows you like he does, Your laughter, your secrets, your vulnerabilities—they belong to him. He’s possessive, and he knows it. its no secret how insecure he is, so knowing that he got to see sides of you that no one else sees, hear a laugh that no else hears, making inside jokes with you, hearing your secrets and discovering all the diff sides of you, it all make him feel so special

But the moment he sees you with someone else, it feels like his insecurities explode, the jealousy start consuming him like gasoline igniting on an open flame, and when the wild fire consumes him, it all came bursting out his chest, as a messy unexpected confessing and a sudden passionate kiss

N.B: i hope u enjoyed this! I always try to keep the character's true personality and stay canon and make the s/o kind of special, so sorry if this wasnt exactly what u wanted! Everyone feel free to request any other characters! This is the previous post and sorry for any grammar mistakes, if u got any other thoughts on shinsou's type comment it down below! Id love to hear your thoughts