#one does not simply leave the rooftop

[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.

[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.

[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)

[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

[aceecee]

Insatiable - Chapter Five

TW for this chapter: murder, themes of obsession and possessiveness, brief mention of a panic attack, ooc sylus*, mean sylus, down bad sylus - has some naughty thoughts about you

* technically they are all out of character but I have no idea how the love interests act towards others who aren't MC, we have some snippets here and there but it's not enough. a lot is left up to interpretation so if you don't agree with mine, I can't do anything about it

WC: 5.3K

Masterlist

He can no longer live without you. You’re just like the air he needs to breathe. So, let him partake in you.

 For his survival. 

The city comes alive at night. During the day it feels like a ghost town at times but the night is when the sinners awaken and their appetite is never satiated. The hushed whispers in alleys, the not so odd gunshot you hear in the distance and the pleads of the victims all go ignored. The people here are smart. They know not to get involved.

But it is not the people she seeks. No. The one she’s hunting is yet another arrogant man with too much money and time in his hands. No matter how many of these animals she puts down, another simply takes his place.

The man thinks himself on top of the world, living on the top floor of the skyscraper. He feels like he’s untouchable. He thinks he’s safe.

He hasn’t even noticed her circling around him for days, watching her prey. Taking notice of every detail of his life. Of his betrayal. 

It’s what makes her such a great hunter. She’s patient, going days without nutrition just to complete her hunt. Not a single prey has escaped her.

And this man is no exception.

She watches him - lounging around on his sofa - all of it clear to her thanks to the large windows. She’s standing on the rooftop of the building next to him, watching him through binoculars and he still has no fucking idea. There’s guards stationed by the door of the room but they’re useless against her.

All she needs is the view of him to complete the job.

It’s all played out for her, like a scene out of a movie. She experiences it all with a wicked glint in her eyes, her favourite part is coming up, the anticipation might just kill her. He hunches over in pain but no sound escapes him as a vine covers his mouth, silencing him. His eyes are bloodshot as he feels multiple things inside him, swarming and looking for escape. 

One does.

It shoots out of his chest.

Then another.

This time through his left ear. 

It continues until he looks more of an abomination of nature rather than a man.

He’s left on the couch. Silenced forever. 

The last thing she’s ever thought of herself is an artist but she has created a masterpiece. 

~~~

Sylus stares at his hands. [Name] had left his office a little while ago and he’s been stuck in this haze since. He can still remember the feel of her skin against, the warmth of her body and how right it all had left.

He still feels the anger at your little sacrificial lamb act. How dare you even think about leaving him? 

This Eiden was a pathetic little coward. Still hiding behind his sister even when you’re considered dead. Sylus has been watching him the past year. Your brother has never done anything to find you, Sylus doesn’t care if he was hospitalized. The fool had gone and gotten married but couldn’t lift a finger for his family? 

There was no memory of you left in your brother’s house, Eiden was all too happy to forget about you and yet you’re still worried about him. 

And if that wasn’t enough, Eiden now has his Mara looking after him. How greedy. 

His mind is in a disarray. His being filled with turmoil. He’s not supposed to feel this way about you. His love is only for the woman who killed him. And that’s not you. 

No more of this. No more of feeling anything for you. 

She’s just a tool, he reminds himself.

And it’s time he treats you like one.

~~~

You find yourself back in your bedroom.

How you got here was not remembered. It all felt like a blur. 

Your gaze is on your wrist. The very one that Sylus had grabbed over a year ago. Your other hand curls around your wrist, trying to mimic the way he had. His touch had felt like acid on your skin back then so what changed?

Why had your mind and body deemed it okay? 

I don’t fucking know.

Insomnia has nothing on the current exhaustion you feel. The sleep is just what you need.

~~~

The rubbery texture of the mat has become a familiar sensation to you. You often find yourself face planting onto it.

He’s a monster. Relentless. 

Your entire body aches and not in a good way!

You had made the mistake of getting comfortable because now your body was subjected to a different type of torture daily.

Sparring with him. 

This was the deal you had accepted two months ago. You had served his finances well but his endgame for you was different. You’ve rested this last year and your body is much better.

Just like Sylus wanted.

So, now it’s time to train it. As you feel your muscles ache, you can’t help but think it was a bad idea to confide in him about your evol. Because now, he’s set on seeing how far your endurance can take you. How much you can handle.

And it’s made more infuriating due to the fact that it’s working. The torture forced upon you for years had left you capable of accomplishing more with your evol than you could during your childhood. But your body was malnourished so even that was stunted. It’s all changed now though. 

You’re also curious as to how far you can go. For the first time in all your lives you feel powerful. You can feel the potential brimming inside you, almost like it’s just out of your reach. It’s an addictive thing and unfortunately you’re hooked. 

Creating plants out of nothing isn’t the limit to what you can do. You remember how your body had moved on its own during your childhood, helping a certain someone calm down from his evol flaring up. Golden vines had wrapped around his body - glowing - and they had healed all his cuts and stopped him from losing control. Of course, you paid the price by sacrificing your body again. But something tells you that the vines are only the start. 

It’s why you don’t say anything as he knocks you off your feet once again. Two months of this and you haven’t made much progress. You can see the frustration inside Sylus and it worries you. Worried that he’ll throw you away.

A few months ago, these thoughts would have never crossed your mind. He kept you at a distance, sure, but he had always treated you with respect. In his own way, he kept reassuring you that such a thing would no longer happen…but something had changed.

Ever since he had comforted you in his office, he had been cold. Not just cold but sometimes scary. You have no idea where you stand with him. He no longer spoke to you in a teasing tone, no longer seeked you out and as rare it was for him to join your wacky adventures with the twins, now it never happens. He mostly communicates through Mephisto. The only time you see him is during your sparring sessions. He shows no hint of emotion in his eyes or face and it stings. 

You hate that it stings. 

His hold as he picks you up is gentle but it doesn’t feel like it. The dread at his touch is back too. But you’re too afraid to give it away. Afraid that if you don’t become what he wants you to then you’ll be disposed of. 

“This isn’t working,” his eyes glare at you. He’s brought you closer to his body, face to face. Your black long sleeved shirt is good at hiding how sweaty you are. But your hair is a mess and you’re breathing heavily. He’s wearing a red tank top with black shorts, looking as composed as ever. You don’t even have the mind to admire him like this as your heart sinks to your stomach. Yet another person has deemed you a failure. 

No. No. No.

I promise I’ll do better. I promise-

It’s hard to sign any of the words with the speed at which your pleas bombard your mind. None of it matters as he throws your wrist out of his hold and storms out. 

You can’t even hear the choked gasps that escape from you. You can’t hear your breath shortening as you forget how to do the action. Somehow you can’t even hear your thoughts as the four walls around you seem to sway and close in on you. You make no noise as you fall to your knees and it kills you inside.

You’re left laying down on the gym mat. 

~~~

The house is quiet now.

No longer do the occupants wake up to the sounds of clanging in the kitchen, no longer do they smell the food cooking and no longer do they see you. 

Sylus hadn’t met you in the gym the next day. Or the next. 

You take the hint and stop waiting for him.

You spend all your free time holed up in your room. You only leave for work. You haven’t signed in over a week as you refuse to cross paths with anyone. You left his card on his work desk, only to find it on your nightstand upon your return. You don’t push it by doing it again but you don’t use it.

Mary had sent you a text informing you that the kids wanted to see you but you responded by letting her know you were on a work trip. You didn’t want to put on a fake smile and pretend that everything was okay. That you were okay. 

Luke and Kieran try to knock on your bedroom door but you never answer. The door is locked but it would pose no challenge for them to pick it. They don’t. It doesn’t stop them from trying to get you to come out though. 

“[Name], come get food with us.” 

“[Name], come play this new board game with us.”

“[Name], come commit arson with us.” 

None of it works. 

Your window is kept locked and the curtains are always drawn. You can hear Mephisto pecking at it but again you don’t respond. 

~~~

On day five of your self-imposed isolation, you find yourself waking up with too much energy. You can only think of one thing to release it and that’s how you find yourself in the gym, tying up the boxing gloves as you stand before a punch bag.

Hand-to-hand combat was what Sylus had labelled you as a failure in so perhaps working the muscles would help.

The first punch you throw is half-assed.

How pathetic.

His voice speaks for you in your mind.

The second is too shaky.

How weak.

The third doesn’t even make the bag move.

Failure. 

It repeats in your mind.

Failure. Failure. Failure. 

It continues until you feel the white hot rage.

How was any of this your fault? Had you asked to be brought into this world? To be kidnapped? To be forced to watch your family be murdered in front of you and be the reason why? To be tortured and forced to experience unimaginable horrors? Did you beg for your mind to be broken over and over again?

Had you asked him to save you?

No, he had done so on his own. And now he wanted to throw a temper tantrum when things didn’t go his way.

Because you weren’t what he wanted? Who he wanted?

In your anger you don’t realise as your leg picks up and collides with the punching bag. However, you do notice as the force makes it fall off its hinges and smash against the wall. A good distance away from you.

You stand there gaping as the bag falls down, leaving a sizable dent in the wall.

“Always full of surprises aren’t you?” A voice purrs in your ear.

In your shock you hadn’t noticed the asshole entering and positioning himself right behind you. In a small act of rebellion, you push yourself away from him.

[Don’t touch me.] 

Red eyes widen a bit. It’s a surprise to see him open and close his mouth a few times, trying to think of what to say but falling short. He looks to be in contemplation before nodding and taking a step away from you. 

You’ve never seen him rattled. A part of you is smug. It’s a beautiful sight. 

What would he look like on his knees, your thoughts wander. 

“Meet me here again tomorrow?” it’s phrased like a demand but he speaks it like a question. His eyes look over your face but you give nothing away.

You nod.

This time it’s you who walks away.

~~~

Sylus is a fool.

He lasted not even four days after he walked out on you before finding himself at your bedroom door, hand raised to knock but staying in place. The only time he’s seen you these last few days is the small glimpses of you at work. You’ve isolated yourself and he knows it's serious when you’ve even shut Mephisto out. 

He wanted to use his position as your boss to force you to show yourself, especially when he found his credit card on his desk but after some contemplation, he concluded it’ll do more harm than good.

Pride does settle in him when he realised all the cameras were gone so he can’t even check up on you using them but it’s mostly overshadowed by frustration.

This is all his doing. He had been so focused on seeing results that he had overlooked the mental battle taking place in your mind. He should be happy that his plan worked, he treated you like a tool, successfully manipulated you into being desperate for his approval so why doesn’t it feel like a victory? 

Sylus has never heard you talk but he didn’t know one could be silent in other ways and it stings.

He hates that it stings.

He’s conflicted. Maybe it’s for the better that the two of you stay like this because the fact that he has gotten so attached to you in such a short amount of time is exactly why he did this. He can live with emotional pain, he’s been doing so for far too long.

But can he live without you?

He finds himself unable to answer his own mind.

He puts his hand down, into his pocket because he doesn’t trust his own body right now.

And he walks away.

He’s a fool.

He won’t apologise for it. 

~~~

He saw it all.

The quiet fury in your eyes that you could no longer express with your words. The raising of your leg as it collided with the bag. The sheer force it took for the bag to leave a dent in his fucking wall.

Desire pools in his gut at your show of strength.

It doesn’t help that you look so good in your workout attire. It clings to you in all the right ways. All those memories of pinning you to the mat and having you under him resurface. Sylus hadn’t shown it but he was utterly grateful at his restraint because it would’ve been so easy to have you in those moments.

His body moves on his own and before he knows it, he’s right behind you. He’s tried so hard to forget the feel of you against his body but his mind still yearns for it. He doesn’t touch you but he’s close enough.

You’re too shocked to even notice him.

How cute.

But then he ruins it by opening his mouth and something inside him breaks when you pull away.

[Don’t touch me.]

Your unspoken words ring in his head. Over and over again. 

You’ve rendered him speechless and for that he has to give credit where credit is due.

Sylus has walked away from you too many times to count and he can’t help but think when you do it to him.

Is that how he made you feel?

~~~

The room has changed the next time you enter.

The gym equipment has all been moved to the corners. Instead it looks more like something out of those spy movies you liked to watch. One area of the room is set up as a shooting range. There are four lanes, each with their own target. On the wall are various guns, none of which you have any knowledge of. You hated them in your first life so you never knew a thing about them. The guns in the game are a bit different, more technical.

There’s another area with training dummies. No weapons around them. Another area is set up as some type of simulator, you think. You don’t think you’ll ever get used to the technology of this world.

You hear them before you see them.

“Boss sure moved fast to make this happen,” Luke says. “Seems like we’re no longer the favourite child Lukey,” Kieran pouts. They stand before you, leaning on the other.

[You were never the favourite, that goes to Meph], they let an offended gasp at your declaration. Their antics never fail to make you feel better.

[Why have I been graced with your presence?] you ask.

“Cause we’re your new mentors. Boss’s orders.” They clarify together when you give them a confused look. It’s sometimes astonishing how much they move in sync, almost like they are one person. Not even you and Ei were that close.

“Now,” Kieran claps his hands, “...it’s come to our attention, little lady, that you pack a mean kick. But first, we have something to show you,”

Luke grabs your hand. It’s the first time he’s touched you and he realises this himself and drops it quickly. Before he can say anything, you grab it again. 

[What is it?]

You have no idea what expression he has on his face, you can’t see the look in his eyes thanks to the mask they wear but you hope he’s shocked. 

No way am I admitting that I feel safe around them, they’ll never let me hear the end of it.

Neither of them say anything but instead drag you to the spot on the wall that had the dent you created. You wish so badly you could cackle when you see what they’ve done to it. 

“Ta-daaa!” They give you jazz hands as they show off their work.

The hole is framed and there is a small plaque to the side of it. When you look at it closer, something is written on it.

Baby’s first victim. 

“Well, what do you think? It was my idea if you like it. Kieran’s if you don’t.” You hear an offended “Hey!”, followed by a smack. The twins bickering is interrupted by your clapping. When they turn to look at you, you’re staring at them with a wide smile.

[I love it.]

You regret the show of appreciation when two sets of hands start pinching your cheeks, cooing at you. 

~~~

For the last month, the twins had trained you in every fighting style that specialised in using legs. You pick it all up fast. It’s exhilarating seeing the damage you can do. It’s reassuring to know that you’re strong with or without your evol. 

Also you’ve destroyed over a hundred dummies. Pat yourself on the back!

You haven’t seen Sylus in the last month but this time it doesn’t bother you. The only communication you’ve gotten with him is a message Mephisto relayed. “Focus on your training, don’t show up to work.” 

You don’t think you would have been able to concentrate when your entire body is constantly aching. Any free time you have is spent either at the orphanage or resting in your bed.

The twins and you have gotten even closer during this month. Close enough to divulge some secrets.

It’s yet another day.

Rather than taking your frustration out on the dummies, the twins want to spar. Which means you have to be wary of how much force you put in your kicks. Kieran decided to go against you first with Luke watching on the sidelines. 

But the kick you land on him is too hard, the force of it is known by the loud sound ricocheting throughout the room. Before you can drop everything and see if he’s okay, you notice it. You notice Luke holding his side in pain. The exact same spot you had just kicked his brother in. 

You’ll ask about it later but for now, you rush off to find the first aid kit. You examine the area on Kieran, he tried to play it off but the shake in his voice was too noticeable. The guilt must have been clear on your face because he relents when he notices the tears in your eyes.

You don’t want to hurt those you care about. Intentional or not. Physically or not.

Luckily there is no internal damage, just some bruising that should go away on its own. You give him an ice pack. Then you turn to Luke.

[Show me yours.] 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he crosses his arms and looks away.

You move yourself into his field of view and sign. [I’m not stupid, I noticed. Show me or I’ll tell the boss that it was you who drank his favourite wine.]

That sets him straight and he shows you. He’s given an ice pack as well.

It all makes sense how they seem to be so in sync, to the point where they feel everything the other does. It’s great, sure, but it’s a huge weakness. 

Take one down and the other does as well. 

Not on your watch.

[My evol kills me,] it’s only fair to let them know something of yours in exchange. You don’t have to see their faces to notice the confusion so you explain in more detail.

The three of you go out for some ice cream for comfort after.

This time it’s Sylus who is waiting for you in the room. He’s at the shooting range. You walk over. The boots you’re wearing make enough noise for him to hear. He turns to you and you freeze at the soft smile on his face. You narrow your eyes at him in distrust, making sure to keep a distance. What is he planning…

He only chuckles. “Relax, little bird. I only want to have an honest conversation with you.” Your body language relaxes a little but you’re still on edge. He continues his words when he notices, “I’m sure you’re wondering why I’m putting you through all this.” When you nod, he closes the distance. His hand reaches out to caress your cheek but stops before it makes contact. He’s gauging your reaction and continues when you don’t give him a reason to stop.

Your breath hitches when his fingers cradle your cheek. “It’s all for your benefit…and mine of course.” His eyes are hooded as they stare into yours. “I want you to slice the necks of each individual that did this to you,” his fingers move to the large scar across your neck. You tilt your head up to give him access. “Each individual that works for them will die by your hand only, I’ll make sure of it,” he promises you. And despite your mind screaming at you to not believe him, you do.

[And what do you gain out of this?] He laughs softly at your question. You know him so well. “I get a super soldier.”

He tugs you towards the shooting range. “Now, let's see how you fare with this.”

~~~ 

Sylus stares at his bedroom ceiling. 

The both of you had come to some sort of understanding with each other since then. He had taught you how to use guns and hand weapons, it’s dangerous for you to rely on your legs. He’s working towards getting you to be comfortable using your evol, but that won’t be for a while. You can be very stubborn when you want.

The guns hadn’t appealed to you like the blades had. You had settled on a pair of twin blades, the sword’s blade could extract leaving just the handles, which made them easy to carry. You asked them to be modified further, so they could be hot enough to cut through anything. It was an interesting ask, one that he indulged in. It took a while to develop, to find the perfect protocore that would work with it but he prevailed in the end. The giddiness in your face had made it all worth it. 

He’s fucked.

He still doesn’t know the answer to what you mean to him. All he’s aware of is that you can never leave him. You have a power over him that no one else does.

Like right now, you locked him inside his own room. He can easily escape but he’s not going to. Why? Because the image of the puppy eyes you had flashed at him pops up again. He’s about to set up an important deal, so sleep has been sacrificed. However, you noticed this and put your foot down. 

“It’s hardly fair, little bird. You never sleep.” You had taken up all the space in his bedroom door, your arms outstretched so he couldn’t leave. [I’m fucked in the head. What’s your excuse?] He only sighed, rubbing the space between his head. 

I don’t have time for this.

But when he looked back up, any thoughts of disagreement went out the window at the pleading look you gave him. [Please?]

That’s why he’s currently trying to glare a hole into the ceiling. He can’t believe he let you win. With a huff, he accepts his fate and closes his eyes.

The clock reads 8:00AM when he awakens. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he becomes all too aware of the silence throughout the house.

The uncharacteristic silence.

You don’t live with the twins and have a moment of peace. They don’t make it possible.

He’s rushing out the door. What are they up to? He does not want a repeat of last time. No, he can’t even think about it. 

The twins aren’t in their room, or in any of the other miscellaneous rooms in the house. He knocks on your door and opens it when no one answers. It’s also empty. Maybe the three of you have gone out together again, he calms himself down. 

Coffee.

He walks to the kitchen, passing by the living room but stops in his tracks. 

Found them.

They’re currently sitting down in the armchairs, tight ropes all around them. Their necks are slumped forward but the snores coming out of their mouths stop any panic. His eyes move over the couch. You’re sitting down on it. Still in your pajamas with a robe around you and fluffy slippers on. There’s a tablet in your hand and a steaming cup of coffee on the table. One hand is typing on the tablet while the other is giving head rubs to Mephisto, who is sitting on the couch’s arm rest. The bird looks very comfy at the affection he’s getting.

You look up when he enters, a warm smile on your face. You set the tablet down and get up to greet him. [Morning. Did you sleep well?”]

“I did,” he hums before pointing at the nuisances. “What’s all this?” You look at the direction, a mischievous look in your eyes. [I needed their help with something which they did! But they were being too loud and I was afraid they would wake you up so I handled it.] 

“By drugging them?” 

You give him a beaming smile in response. [Aren’t I a genius?] If you had a tail, it would be wagging. He smiles while imagining the sight. 

His hand brushes the stray hair out of your face. “Yes. Yes you are.” It moves down towards your wrist, his fingers lace with yours and he’s pulling you towards the kitchen, making sure to grab your cup of coffee. Mephisto follows behind. “Come. Let’s have breakfast together.” 

You instantly move to the fridge but look up at him when his hand slams the door shut. Sylus moves you towards the bar stool. “I’m cooking today. Just sit there and look pretty.”  He turns around and opens the fridge door. Simple eggs with toast will do. With the ingredients in hand, he moves to the stove. In a few minutes, the sound of the eggs sizzling can be heard with the toaster also on. He can feel your stare on him. 

As it should be.

He keeps an eye on you when you get up, heading to the coffee machine. You’re making it for him. The two of you are silent as you work, only the sounds of the equipment you’re using can be heard. You move towards him, and he accepts the cup. It’s just how he likes it.

[I’ll be back.] By the time you come back into the kitchen, he’s putting down the two plates on the table. The tablet is in your hand.

You sit down with him, looking for something on him and slide it to him when you do. He picks it up and reads it.

“This is…How-”

[I’ve been watching him for two weeks. As soon as you wanted the deal.] 

He puts the tablet down on the tablet. “Why?” arms crossed as he stares at you.

[Because he was too clean. Nothing on his finances, not even the hidden ones. No one is that clean when they live here. Certainly not someone that rich. I figured he’d mess up and I was right.] 

He continues to stare at you. A sign to not stop. 

[He has a mistress. Which wouldn’t be a problem but his wife has an iron tight prenup. One that’ll leave him with nothing if his infidelity is proven. That’s why I got the twins to…persuade him to take the deal. With a 5% loss to profit for him.] You wait for some sort of reaction from Sylus, you normally wouldn’t intervene with his business like this but you noticed the exhaustion in his eyes. Sure, it would've been easy for him to get what he wanted by brute force but that’s not how the world of business works. A reputation like that would only cause issues.

“Don’t do such a thing again,” he warns you. “That’s not why you’re here,” he pauses, “but good job.”

Later during the day when you return to your room, there’s a big stack of folders waiting for you. On them is a sticky note, ‘A reward,’ printed on it. When you open the folder’s it’s all the information he had promised you, about Eiden. But any thankfulness goes away at the dates listed. Sylus had been watching your brother for a long time, before the whole drama in his office. He already had all this information when he promised he’ll look into your brother. But he kept it these last couple of months. When you had disappointed him.

You can’t believe you trusted the words he spoke to you. You had hammered yourself down and begun anew for him. You’re letting him turn you into a killing machine. Your gaze falls back onto the sticky note.

Reward.

The word is sitting there, mocking you. What else is he keeping from you? Hiding it away and only letting you when you’ve satisfied him. 

With a new found resolve, you crush the note in your hands. Two years. He had invested a lot in you these two years so that’s what you’ll give him. The next two years, you’ll do whatever he wants. You’ll be whoever he wants. But as soon as the time is up, you’re gone.

Not just from him, from them all.

AN: We have Zayne in the next chapter!! Finally!!!

[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

•𝘞𝘪𝘵𝘩 = 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

[adrixivy]

Peter definitely does livestreams. Like we know he did a vlog during the deleted scenes and it was him partying with random people on a rooftop. And he taped his phone to his chest because he’s a highschooler who loves to D.I.Y and makes his own stuff (mainly because he’s broke) and he can’t swing with one arm so taped to the chest it is

He definitely has an Instagram account (ThatFunnyFriendlyNeighbourhoodWebslinger) where he goes live for a while as he swings through New York and basically talks to himself cuz he can’t see the comments. People who usually tune in simply listen to him ramble about basically anything because he makes it sound hilarious or he’ll talk about something that happened off camera and complain in the most unserious way people find him funny.

Peter after being run over by a flock of birds and he was blinded and slammed against a signboard: Like damn, no ‘sorry’?? I was minding my own business too!

Peter rambling about something he thought about randomly in class earlier: Guys, if I stole a helmet from one of Mr Stark’s suits, do you think he would notice it? I don’t know if I can say this but he has plenty of suits. I feel like if I took one of his helmets and change the protocol, hell maybe even add a mustache, his sleep deprived ass wouldn’t notice. Oh my god, imagine what I can do with his nano tech suit! I could change-

Peter gets a call from Tony and an “Oh snap!” was last heard from the live before it ended. He picks up the face time call to see an offended Tony deflecting everything he said on his live because he was also listening in and Tony was pointing at the camera as he kept going on and on about Peter not allowed anywhere near his suits anymore and maybe even the lab which Tony was obviously joking and Peter took it seriously that even with the mask on, Tony could see his upset face with his moving lenses and sad puppy noises. Tony obviously makes up for it by letting him input his own stuff into one of his old suits

There are times also where his live suddenly cuts off with a yelp or a scream because he just encountered thugs and they started coming at him that he has to immediately hide his phone as he does not need a broken phone right now, therefore ending the stream.

Peter halfway through a complaint: Then they were like, you should bring your own paper if you can bring a pen. Woman, I simply wanted to leave a note so that-*gunshots sounds in the background* OH SHOOT! *live ends*

Other than simply listening into his live, some of his fans makes compilation of certain moments in his lives.

‘Spidey’s complaints compilation’

‘Spidey’s funny rambles’

‘Spidey’s perfect cut-off screams’

And Peter watches every single one of them, always laughing his ass off as he recalls the day. He always liked the videos and sometimes leave comments too. He watches them with the team sometimes and they all have fun watching him, especially the parts where he plans to do his own adjustments to Tony’s stuff which makes the older man raise a brow at his kid who was claiming that he was joking then(He was not joking)

Oh and I forget to add, he always has a few hundred thousand people listening in because at most, he does lives two times a week only. His highest view count was a million people and he honestly panicked