#t: visage of the masks

[theunknownmasks]

Source

[vendettavalor]

// LOOK AT HIM GOOOO!

[shameofice]

playable subject one official icon

(made with the genshin icon maker picrew)

[ninibeingdelulu]

It’s raining ✧

Plot: Training under the pouring rain for an upcoming mission, Lt Ghost find you.

It was pouring down but you couldn't have cared less, not when this upcoming mission could be the biggest of your career. You'd trained relentlessly, determined to be in peak condition.

Even now, wearing only a thin white t-shirt and shorts, you pushed through the brutal regimen - squats, push-ups, sit-ups - the rain plastering your clothes to your body.

So focused on your routine that you didn't realize the way that soaked shirt was practically see-through, clinging shamelessly to the curves of your breasts with every movement.

Rivulets of water traced along your skin as you panted heavily. That's when a low, gruff voice cut through the rhythmic pounding of the rain.

"That's enough for today, soldier."

You spun around, eyes widening as you found Lieutenant Ghost observing you with that inscrutable stare through his skull patterned balaclava.

"Sir, I can keep going-" you argued, unable to read his expression besides those intense eyes drinking you in from behind the mask.

"Not in this downpour," he growled.

"Unless you're aiming to get sick before deployment." His tone made it clear this wasn't up for debate.

With a huff, you opened your mouth to protest again but any words dissipated as Ghost suddenly closed the distance between you both.

His gloved hand clamped firmly around your arm, hauling you under the cramped cover of a nearby supply tent. You stumbled against his solid frame, heartbeat picking up from the unexpected contact.

Now enclosed in the tiny dimly lit tent, you were acutely aware of Ghost's overwhelming presence as the two of you stood mere inches apart, rain drumming on the thin canopy overhead.

Your gaze lifted defiantly to meet that masked visage but you felt your breath catch in your throat. Just his close proximity and that piercing stare was enough to set your nerves buzzing with inexplicable tension.

Ghost's focus drifted lower, darkly intent, and you followed the path of his hungry roaming eyes as they raked shamelessly over the contours of your chest where the waterlogged white fabric left nothing to the imagination.

You could have sworn you felt the ghost of his touch searing over your breasts despite the distance between you.

Then, with a single lurching step forward that had you instinctively backpedaling until you hit the tent's rear wall, Ghost leaned in so close you could feel the heat of his body through the soaked layers separating you.

"That's an order," he rumbled in a dangerously low tone close to your ear, voice rough like gravel.

"Don't let me catch you training in conditions like that again, soldier. Not unless you want circumstances to become... unpleasant for you."

You could only give a mute, flustered nod of understanding, rendered speechless under the building intensity smoldering in the confines of that tiny tent.

Ghost held your wide-eyed stare a beat longer before stepping back abruptly.

"Get dried off."

He instructed gruffly, reaching past you to snag a discarded jacket draped over a crate.

He tossed the bundle at you without ceremony before turning on his heel and ducking back out into the downpour without a backwards glance.

Leaving you flushed and flustered, chest heaving with undeniable arousal and stark realization of how fraught with tension this op had just become.

[shiro41]

Fucking My Teacher- GOJO SATORU

Summmary: Fucking your sleeping teacher is bad enough but waking him up while doing it?

WARNINGS: Somnophilia, blowjob, degration, dirty talk, noncon(?), 1 slap, using of names (bitch, slut, etc.), teacher-student, breeding if you squint, belly buldge, virgin!reader, hint of size kink, yandere!reader

Note: this is an old work for my friend..thought might post something since it's valentines...yeah- im late.

The soft breaths that left his mouth quietly felt as you hovered your finger on his lips. The Ghostly touch of his delicate skin and rested face made your cheeks tint a rosy color.

His worn mask was nowhere to be seen and the usual black attire he wears often at school was replaced with a comfortable T-shirt and boxers that hugged the curve of his waist, exposing the plush of his muscular thighs and shaved legs.

The scent of his perfume lingered despite the newly changed clothes, it clung on his skin like glue and his tufts of white scattered around the fluff of his pillow.

Admist the darkness of his room that's illuminated by the natural light of the moon, you can still see the beauty of this man. Your featherlight touch continued to drag across from his delicate features to his hard muscles that peaked and teased you from the confines of his shirt.

Swallowing a thick load of saliva, you got up from your position before giving the defenseless man a kiss goodnight on his forehead, leaving as fast as a cool breeze with no evidence to trace about someone's presence other than your beloved.

A palpitating heart and cold fingers combine with heated cheeks and whirled stomach, the very thought of Satoru drives you to insanity full of desire and love for your snow white teacher.

The figment of Satoru telling you sweet nothings and holding you close to him more than just a platonic teacher-student relationship makes you drool at the thought. The ecstasy you always feel whenever Gojo's soft skin makes contact with your own, sending you to a state of Euphoria.

You've yearned for his attention, yearned for the feeling of the sweet flying butterflies that whirled in your stomach like a tornado and hungered for his affection.

The small bag containing minor objects that belonged to your teacher was a reminder of how much you love him, the stashed collection of things he has bought and gave on your abode served as a sign of your undying affection for your white haired teacher, Gojo.

The vivid image of his calm breathing from earlier synced with the thrust of your fingers, the audible squelching sound of your juice coated finger and the suppressed moans that dare escape your lips was a reminder how much you lust over your mentor.

Your legs shook with the way your pussy walls clenched against your fingers, sheets coated in white as you felt the Ecstasy of the orgasm. Gojo's unsuspecting faces and stolen photos scattered around your bed like reviewers, surrounding your pleasure filled figure as you continued to suck on your fingers, tongue swirling and unintentionally biting the skin.

The smell of your mentor's freshly washed underwear hitting your nose as you salivate with the idea of Satoru's length shoved down your throat, thrusting in a pace that would leave you in tears, leaking like a broken faucet underneath him.

Your restrained moans and small cries of Gojo's name that became a chant as your fingers slid in and out, stretching the overstimulated vagina that yearned for Gojo's dick.

The loud puffs and pants as you rode out your second orgasm for the night followed by a meek call of his name as your body collapsed from the intense session of masturbation, the bed creaking along the way.

You could feel the wetness in your abdomen, caused by the cum that seeped into the thick covers of your bed. The cloth that Stuck on your mouth was centimeters away from you, a visible wet patch from your saliva and stretched visage of your fingers going deep within your throat.

"Gojo..."

Although sensitive and tired, you pushed yourself to clean up after the mess of your pleasure filled session thinking about your teacher in a way so sinful the devil could not accept in hell.

Morning rolled around for you to attend school with your classmates, greeting Nobara with a bubbly persona and Itadori as you three chit chatted about certain things. Megumi was unfortunately sent to a mission to exorcist curses directly commanded by your teacher, Gojo.

Said man barged into the room with a grin, his towering figure spreading as he made himself welcome despite the late arrival. You found yourself in a reverie about your teacher's flexing fingers, finding them incredibly attractive with the way it curled and straightened with every movement.

You wondered what it would feel like to grip on your thighs and plunge it deep within your sweet pussy, maybe slap the folds and rub your aching clitoris.

The very thought of it makes you shudder and let out a breath, the shaky sigh and quiet rampaging imaginaries you've fantasized about your teacher made you rub your thighs together. How sinful, aroused in class fantasizing about Gojo who seemed to be oblivious—like any other students with you—about your undying lust and love.

"(Name)!"

With a sudden call of your name from his lips and the touch of his hands on your shoulder, the gasp that escaped you and the shiver of your whole body was evident to everybody. It was clear you weren't paying attention to their current topic, too busy undressing Gojo with your eyes.

"Are you alright? Something bothering you, hmm?"

"It's nothing, Gojo.."

"Oh come on, you can tell me! Is it a boyfriend?"

What a tease. Behind the black fabric of his blindfold was his blue eyes that will stare deep within your soul and you knew he was checking your well-being as of now behind his mask.

With an annoyed huff and furrowed brows, you pushed your teacher away to create a space. However, his hands caught your wrists and that alone made your heart skip a beat or two.

His touch was firm yet soft, almost securing you like a fragile package. His hands wrapped snugly around your wrists and you wondered if this is the equivalent of his touch when he's bedding a woman.

"G-get off me, stupid teacher! It's none of your business if I'm thinking of someone!"

You exclaimed, cheeks flushed with tints of pink and glare hotter than the hot summer air. Despite your mini tantrum, your mentor's teasing grin did not dissipate. Instead, it grew to a mischievous smirk that you knew won't end well.

Despite your mini tantrum, your mentor's teasing grin did not dissipate. Instead, it grew to a mischievous smirk that you knew won't end well.

You exclaimed, cheeks flushed with tints of pink and glare hotter than the hot summer air. Despite your mini tantrum, your mentor's teasing grin did not dissipate. Instead, it grew to a mischievous smirk that you knew won't end well.

"Care to tell us who?"

The day ended with teasing, Nobara and Itadori's curiosity seeped out of them like overflowing waters. Their arms would cling into the fabric of your uniform like leeches as Gojo's angelic voice sung like an angel from heaven in the background, adding salt to the wound he caused with his mischief.

At the comfort of your room, your stare lingered at the skin of your wrists. Gojo's touch still present despite the fact it's physically absent, love was an understatement to describe what you felt during that moment. It was rather blissful, satisfying.

addicting.

The late of the night didn't make your eyes shut with sleepiness, the overwhelming desire to fuck your teacher rivaled the drowsiness. At an ungodly hour, you've snuck once again at his humble abode with quiet steps and careful movements. The stealth of your figure could compare to a feline's; light and quick.

The familiar door that you've come to know as your beloved teacher's greeted you, blocking whatever is happening inside which you knew by heart. The soft jiggle of the doorknob and a disturbing creak didn't awaken the man who snored blissfully in his bed, covers a mess and position laid out similar to a starfish. The sight made the insides of your body shiver in a pleasant manner.

As per usual, you stared at his defenseless figure completely drinking up the sight of his relaxed state. Oh, how you wish you could just kiss those parted lips and silence the small snores that escape them, feel the flesh of his skin and cup the softness of his cheeks.

"Satoru..."

A breath, you found yourself straddling him. Hovering over his sleeping body with the familiar dancer performing in your eyes; Lust. His breaths harmonize with your heavy pants, touch featherlight against the thin fabric of his garments. Your eyes stayed focused on his covered ones, white lashes at rest that you want to kiss.

Morals and values were not in your book, so does resistance. With a soft bite of your lip, a deep breath and a quick pull, you knew it was too late to go back down and beg for whatever deity you believed in to forgive your sins.

With all its glory revealed your teacher's rested cock, you could feel the blood circulating at the area of your nose as you continued to strip the fabric off his sleeping figure. Slowly, intimately and sinfully.

"Fuck, you're built like god's favorite."

You whispered, softly fluffing his hair and a kiss on his forehead before you retracted and focused on the meaty length that settled in between his muscular thighs. You suppressed a moan, it was better than you pictured. All the pornography you watched late at night, wishing it was his engorged flesh plunging deep into your velvety walls was not comparable to the cock of Gojo Satoru.

The desire to touch and taste his dick was immense, thanking whatever exists above that this man turns off his infinity while asleep. Your pink muscle experimented around the area of his pink tip, swirling it like a lollipop and licking it like chocolate on a spoon. It wasn't as tasty as you expected, it didn't feel like it was supposed to be judging from the adult videos you've seen, however, the tingles and collywobbles confessed how you enjoy pleasing the sleeping man.

A small groan was let out, halting your movement to look over the man who's still thankfully asleep. One could not fathom how low and dirty you swooped in to taste and love this majestic human underneathe you. Diving deeper into the depths of his length, you've managed to suck the muscle that turned slightly stiff overtime.

The head was now slightly hitting your throat, choking and gagging at the thick muscle that snuggly fit in your stretched wet cavern.

You could've sworn the man woke up in a daze before succumbing to sleep a few times before you let go of his now saliva covered dick, liquid dripping on his thighs as his cock stood up like a proud man after your inexperienced performance. Of course, he deserved to be your first in everything.

"Satoru... you're so...mph.."

Staring yet again at his relaxed expression, completely unaware of your doings to his unconscious body. The wet patch on the thin fabric of your panties only grew larger by the minute, it sought to be touched and pleasured, alas, your hands were as busy as your mouth; giving Gojo an inexperienced blowjob in his sleep.

A sigh and a small stutter of your hips when you took off the wet underwear and touched the bundle of nerves that waited to be pleasured, the heat on your cheeks couldn't be any hotter with the way you touched yourself on top of your mentor. It was humiliating but that humiliation was overpowered by the desire and lust to fuck your teacher, have your cunt suck his penis dry of white substances. It made your spine shudder with excitement.

With a hungered lick and a few strokes on his stiff cock, you dare to lead the pulsating tip to your soft folds— teasing yourself with the sensation of his dick on the surface of your sopping vagina. How naughty of you to take advantage of your sleeping teacher, fucking yourself with his aroused member. The slight groans and shifts of his made your body run cold in a pleasant manner, the thrill of waking him up keeps your adrenaline going and heart in a pace of a running man's.

A rather low and restrained moan passed by the guards of your lips as your soaked private suck and ate his throbbing length without any problem with the exception of the discomfort of it stretching your inexperienced hole.

Of course, you believed he's the only man to deserve and experience your divine pussy and take your sacred virginity even when unconscious, the thought of another man's penis taking you makes you shiver in disgust. It was Gojo's and Gojo's only. No one else. So, when you finally settled and felt the burning fire that bloomed as your walls was forced to stretch to a foreign object inside you that's definitely thicker and longer than what your fingers could reach and curl, you softly bounced on his hips.

The feeling of his length softly entering and exiting your hole that morphed into the shape of him was more than heaven, it was paradise.

It felt addicting, it felt satisfying. All you could do was take it in, enjoy the pleasure that it gave despite the minor discomfort it gave and drink up the moments that are rarer than a diamond gem. Sharp intakes of air and soft whispers was all you could do, doing your best not to moan too loud and wake the sleeping man beneath you.

"Satoru, Satoru...! Haah...so good..!"

"I love you so much, I'd kill and die for you...your cock is so big..god!"

Gradually, your pace got quicker as your huffs became louder, almost evident to the cold air that surrounded your heated body. Hand on your mouth, screwing it shut tight and eyes teary with the way his dick thrusted in you as you bounced like a cowgirl on a bull's back. Your toes curled up on the sheets, the nails of your fingers digging on your skin to form small crescent moons and occasionally scratch the delicate flesh.

"Fuck...Satoru!"

"I'm.... I'm....fucking god!"

A silent scream and a stutter of your whole body, creamy and thick white semen overflowed from the inside of your cunt. Your vision faded to black as the earth seemingly stopped to witness your pleasure filled expression, inaudible whines and sobs as your teeth buried deep in your skin to silence the volume of your bliss.

The feeling of incredible strength of a fist tying your hair at the back of your head and a deep, sleepy chuckle made your blood run as cold as Russia's snow. Is this how a deer feels when exposed to headlights? You thought to yourself, stunned by the sudden awakening of your teacher.

"How's your experience so far, sweetheart?"

"G-gojo! It's uhm.."

The situation itself was unexplainable, the feelings you harboured for your mentor were unexplainable. Everything about your doings was unexplainable.

"Now, now, (name). I bet you've enjoyed everything that has happened so far. But, you do know everything you've done is wrong, don't you?"

Was he going to lecture you? That's the best thing that could happen as of now, you think. He's probably going to report you to the jujutsu headquarters or just send you to the police to repent your unforgivable sins. All this happening with his dick still inside, drenched with your dripping cum on the sides of your thighs and his to the sheets of his bed.

"Don't you deserve to be punished?"

The question sounded more like a statement, you felt his grip from behind your head tighten. His other hand is finding a way to your jaw that's dried with your own saliva from the session, ever so slightly pressing the smallest amount of strength that felt like a guard to keep your mouth from lapping anything that belongs to and is on him.

"How naughty of you, (Name)."

He whispered, sending spooky chills throughout your whole body. You waited for his next move, accepting whatever he will do to you like a good obedient girl that's been tamed by the fine hands of her teacher. You've already eaten the forbidden fruit, it was just a matter of time for you to face the consequences of your actions but you did not expect to be caught midway of committing it.

A surprised yelp and a jerk of your body left your soul flying to heaven as his hips rutted without a word, squelching noise audible to both of you as his balls came into contact with your skin. Hands flying to his shoulders for support as he continued without a word uttered for you to prepare, stuffing you with his meaty length vigorously.

"Ah-ah! Sat—Gojo! Please stop I'm sensitive!"

"What happened to 'Satoru', baby? Are you too shy to utter my name now?"

With your teacher's strength, he flipped the both of you. Now underneath him, you could see the oceanic spheres that danced with sinful lust and sadism that matched the smirk on his lips. His hand wrapped around your wrists rather tightly, almost making blood circulation stop in that particular area from the raw strength he possesses.

Hips continue to plunge deep inside you with the speed of a beast that makes the bed creak in a noisy manner as it hits the wall every time Gojo's cock disappears into your body.

"Ah! Satoru! Satoru! Satoru!"

You could only whine and sob, the intensity of your pussy being assaulted with his dick was better than earlier. He truly is an experienced man, making you cry out in pleasure as you willingly submit to be his whore of a student. Your legs are forced to be spread wide and dangle on his shoulders, having deeper access to hit every crevice of your heated walls.

From the Orgasm you had earlier and your teacher's intense pace and rough thrusts, your poor inexperienced vagina could only handle so much stimulation that it made you scream in ecstasy when you felt the gush of juices painting Gojo's length white, legs shaking from the shockwaves and seeing dots of white and black as your eyes rolled to the back of your head.

"Came already? But we are only just getting started."

"Ngh...Satoru I don't think—"

"You will. Whether you like it or not, you will be taking my dick like a desperate bitch you are. Are we clear?"

You could only respond with a single sob and cry, having no other choice but to take him in despite the overwhelming pleasures your body can't handle.

"Speak!"

A slap on your cheek.

"(Name), don't be a bitch now. Come on, speak and tell me your answer."

Vehement thrusts are what greeted you like no tomorrow, you felt the burning sensation of his harsh touch on your swollen cheek as his eyes glared down at you with a glowing fire of lust.

"Y-yes Satoru!"

You mustered, too fucked up to even form a single phrase. You could feel the wetness of your juices and Gojo's leaking from your hole that's been filled with yours and his rich, white semen. His length continued to assault you glistening pussy without a stop, a few groans and audible pants from him. The hand that acted as a restraint on your wrist continued to clutch them, now stronger than before as he's too indulged with the way your walls hugged his cock, morphing into the shape of it as if he's marking your insides.

"Fuck, you're a virgin aren't ya? This sweet pussy is mine to claim."

His hand that once restrained your arms slithered down your heated, pleasure filled body to the bundle of nerves that he's currently filling up. His index finger toyed with your clit and continued to form a circular motion that triggered a switch for you to automatically raise your hips from the soft surface of his bed and scream his name as you once again came from the added sensation of his hand.

"How pretty."

Diving to reach you, his slimy tongue lapped up the forming sweat and flowing tears on your cheek, tasting it like the last droplets of soda in a plastic can. His fingers continued to skillfully support his beast-like thrusts, occasionally pinching and slapping your vagina as if it were some skin on your arm. Your moans were no longer there, replaced with desperate whines, cries and hiccups.

"Take my cum and don't let it leak, got it? Not a single bit."

He murmured in your ear, biting the shell and wet it with his slithering tongue. A meek nod and a pathetic mustered yes from you before you felt yourself being carried like a newborn to Gojo's clothed chest, arms wrapped around your nude figure to secure your seat in his lap with his penis connecting you both in this ride.

If your screams weren't loud enough earlier, it definitely did now. You swore you saw the glass of unfinished water shake for a moment as your mentor jackhammered himself in you, constant sounds of slaps and squelches becoming background noises from the echoing gutteral moans from you and occasional groans and degration from your mentor.

"Ugh! Satoru! Fuck! Fuck me harder! There, there! Angh..there please!"

"Such a needy b-bitch, don't worry..Teacher's cum will fill you up any second now."

He purred, bouncing you up and down forcefully as he also plowed his pleasure stick as fast and wild as he could. You could see the crack on the bedframe and hear the quick creak of something being bent with the way he stuffed you full.

"Please! Please!"

Pathetically begging, you felt like a slut in need for a refill of his semen to energize you for the day. The world was now in a blurry mess, mixed with the tears and dizziness you're experiencing in sync thanks to your teacher's massive length. You could slightly see your stomach bulge every time his cock disappears, it scared you how long and thick it is to the point it started to get a little too intense for your liking but, you weren't one to complain and would rather save yourself from the advantage of your teacher exposing your sins to authorities or anyone he knows.

His fingers pried your mouth open, exposing your bleeding tongue that's been bitten minutes prior to his awakening. Your eyes widened as you felt the spit of his combine with yours inside your wet cavern being mixed with his tongue like a witch brewing a new potion. The open mouthed kiss didn't let you forget the arching of your back pressing against his torso, the fire that pooled in your abdomen similar to springs recoiling before it snapped in half.

The sudden stop of his thrust and the erotic moan from him made you realize he too, have cummed in sync with you. You felt his lips press at the side of your head whilst the grip of his hands on your waist and hips were the contrast of his soft gesture. You fear they'll bruise later or tomorrow, but that wasn't what concerned you the most in this situation.

The heavy breaths and pants was the only thing you could hear aside from the ringing of your head, feeling the gush of liquids on your pussy and the slow retract of his cum covered dick, witnessing how your stomach visibly deflated from emptiness. You were still high from the overstimulation the man have gave you, the amount of orgasm you managed to produce in one night without having to pass out midway, all of it has made you feel beyond tired and exhausted.

The ustulation was satisfied temporarily, deep within you knew this was not going to be the last you'll ever taste your teacher's dick and the start of you diving deeper into the obsession over your handsome, masked teacher.

Gojo's Azure gaze stayed glued into your hazed ones, still calming down from a draining activity. Was this all worth it? Of course it was, you've tasted your teacher in more ways than what you expected and you were beyond grateful for it, ignoring how humiliating and shameful it is for you to grasp it.

"As a Punishment, you will be sent to a mission three weeks worth of time with no assistance, whatsoever."

[luridon]

It's him, isn't it?

You should love it, because you love him, and he loves you.

Why don't you?

♡characters: yandere!impostor x aware!reader

♡warnings: MINORS DNI, blood, murder, identity horror, obsession, psychological horror, dehumanization, MINORS DNI

♡notes: many, many messy questions, ambiguity, a man and/or monster may or may not be gaslighting itself, maybe impostor syndrome

♡w/c: 800~ | ♡masterlist♡

It holds you in his arms. You do not move away, anymore. You simply lie there, gazing at nothing.

Your skin is warm against its own. That heat is the only thing you share with him now.

It holds you tighter.

Are the hands wrong, or were they always so cold? Would you prefer they be so, so you can see what it is, and know it for what it is, or should it mimic his hands in their entirety? Is the jealousy its own, or is it his? Is everything his?

Certainly, this body and all its love are his. It settles and calms in a way that it never would when apart from you, because he loves you. The heart hammered at your smile and ached at your tears.

You are his. Part of it

that is him

sings

weeps

at your rejection of

him

what remains.

Your devotion is painful all the same. There you lay, so bereft of who you love when he's right in front of you, as devoted as he always has been.

"Won't you look at me?"

It misses your gaze. Your warmth, your voice, your everything. Your presence is all it has now, and even that had to be carved with claws and chains.

What should it say for you to embrace it?

Do you know? I came to kill you, but I couldn't.

I've never thought of hurting you, I never will.

It will lie as easy as it breathes for your sake. It would have gladly lied forever if you had let it. It still would, if you'd only say so. It will mold itself into whatever you please. Can't you see? It's been trying so hard.

Won't you look at it, flaws and all? Won't you tell it that it's him? Even if you will never see it for what it is, can't you pretend? Call it by his name again, the way you used to, with stars in your eyes and love in your voice so bright it warmed him always. It will be him. You would have loved it if it were him. What does it matter if it's an empty echo, a mere mask? It would rather burn the visage you desire onto its own and wear that face until it dies than see you so disheartened.

Yet you don't look. You don't speak. You stopped weeping, long ago.

. . .your neck is so warm. Your blood is so lovely, pulsing at your throat. You live still, even if you don't love. You don't hate it enough to leave like that. You love him too much to go.

It's a small comfort.

"Please," he whispers, and you no longer flinch in his arms at the sound of his voice. "Please. . ."

Please look at me. Please hold me. Please love me. Care for me as you used to, even if so little remains.

He loves you. It loves you.

Was he truly so different now?

When he returned, and you first saw him, you were overwhelmed with relief. He had been gone too long. You held him close and warm, and it was all too easy to grow drunk and happy in your open adoration. How he ever had the strength to leave you, it didn't know.

It couldn't have fathomed the pain once those blissful, ignorant days came to an end.

Where had it gone wrong? The act must have come from somewhere, the way the love and the blood did, so why did you look at him so? Why did you call him a monster? Did you see one beneath his skin? Do you truly see one still?

The blood was cooling, drying already, when you saw him. There hadn't been a second thought, or a moment's hesitation. Striking had been as easy as breathing. A moment of clarity, a marriage of motive more ingrained than instinct because it was for you.

So why were you so afraid?

You stood there, aghast, then ran and hid. Why did you think you had to, when he would never harm you? You knew him so well, so what made you think you even could?

You love all of him, don't you? No matter what he'd do, you'd overlook his mistakes and find them endearing, you'd brush it all aside and only hold him tighter. You love him. You said you would always love him, so it must be in the wrong. It must be a beast that's finally shed its human skin. It must be a monster that took away your beloved, because the alternative is unthinkable-

That there was never another, that there's no monster at all, that he's been a wretched thing all along-

And that you would have never loved him, if you had known.

[catmansquad]

Comfort

Incubus!Miguel x M!Reader

A lonely Reader, and what goes bonk in the night.

‘Hey, you’re safe now.’ You had been falling through the skies, until you weren’t. Until you were caught in a strong arm and pulled against a strong chest. Then you were back in your home, and he was here; Spider-Man was here in all his fantastical, futuristic glory. The Spider-Man of the future. His huge hand was warm on your shoulder, he towered over you, broad and heavy with sheer muscle revealed by the skintight suit. ‘S-Spider-Man…?’ At your expression of disbelief, the hand squeezed your shoulder gently, the masked visage narrowed on one side in a mimic of a wink. ‘T-thanks! For saving m-my life…’ You swallowed, silently cursing for how you stumbled over your words, your voice cracking. This was getting embarrassing. Your hero, your favourite incarnation of Spider-Man was right here, in front of you, and he was impressive indeed. ‘Hey, no problem, I’m just doing my job…’ The hand left your shoulder as he widened his stance, hands resting on hips. Your eyes trailed his impressive physique, watching muscles ripple. The Superhero’s legs were impressive; thighs that could probably crush a watermelon- or a man’s head- with impossible ease. You didn’t realise just how long you’d been ogling him until you heard his husky chuckle. ‘… Seen something you like?’ He folded his massive arms, and you forced your gaze back to his masked face, even the expressive slits looked smug. Yeah, he knew the effect he was having on you. You forced your gaze to the floor, swallowing thickly. You could feel your cheeks burning, heart pounding. Then felt his hand return to your shoulder, he leaned in, voice a whisper by your ear. ‘You know… if you wanted to do more than just saying thanks…’ His other hand took one of yours and guided it to rest, palm flat, against the sheer wall of muscle that was his broad chest, so warm through the material of the suit. ‘… We could another way for you to express your gratitude, hmm…?’ He guided your hand down his chest, letting your fingers ghost across his hard abs. You swallowed again, suddenly well aware of just how far this could possibly go. ‘U-uh… Spider-Man… Surely you’ve…You’ve got other people who need your h-help?’ You managed to pull your hand away and he stepped even closer, hand moving to cup the side of your face. ‘Shh, shh…. Shh… Right now, you look like you need my help…’ You leaned into his touch as his thumb caressed your cheek.

The huge hand was on your chest, fingers splayed his touch like fire and ice as the gentle pressure encouraged you to lay down on your bed. The mattress creaked beneath his weight as he sat beside you. ‘Stay there…’ His hand left your chest, and he slowly began to peel the gloves from his hands, slick material falling away to reveal the caramel brown skin beneath. ‘I’ve got one rule; the mask stays on. Other than that…’ His discarded gloves landed on your bedside table, knocking the lamp into life. He shifted to show his broad back to you, one hand lingering on his shoulder as his finger crooked, beckoning you towards the zipper along the spine. ‘… Mhmm… Lend a hand and you can touch me all you like… How does that sound…?’

His broad body pinned you in, your hands flat against his chest, surrounded by his mass, his warmth, his heady sweet scent. He even smelled delicious. Perhaps seeing your flustered expression, his breathy chuckle made you nearly melt straight into the bed. ‘Such a good boy for me, aren’t you…? We’re going to have such fun together, you and me… If you ask, I will take you to the very heights of pleasure… Or you can spend all night with me, just like this…’ His masked forehead rested against yours, nose nuzzling gently. ‘Just tell me what you want… I’ll make it all come true for you…’ ‘I… I… Want…’ You couldn’t find your voice, it was just too much; like there was fire boiling inside you. His hands ghosted down your sides, nails tickling across your thighs and shifting to grasp your backside and your back arched up into him as he squeezed. ‘P-please…!’ ‘Please, what…?’ He was completely in control, the smirk clear in his tone. You were putty in his hands and trembled against him as he pulled you even closer. Your eyes went wide at the feeling and realization of how he was so very… proportional. ‘… Go on… Say it…’ Your heart was a pounding drum in a thunderstorm, like it wanted to beat out of your chest. You wanted to cling to him, to feel nothing but his strength, his warmth, his power in motion. You were an utter mess and he was only teasing you. You wanted him badly enough to cling to those strong arms, unyielding at your touch, even as his mask was narrowed in smug joy. Even as the walls started to melt and the room began to fade away- What? No. No, it couldn’t be. You didn’t want to-

The dream fell away, and you woke up. Your chest was tight, as if the supported weight of Spider-Man were still pressing down upon you, the air was chill, and when you blinked you eyes open, you met a pair of deep crimson inches from your own, looking right back at you. They widened in surprise or fear, then scrunched up, accompanied by the deep, sultry groan of pleasure. You blinked, the presence was gone, only the sight of your ceiling greeted you. The air was still frigid, the covers had found their way to be pooled around your ankles. Yet the strange heat, sweet scent, and aching longing of pleasure not yet reached remained. ‘Urgh…’ You rubbed a hand down your face, sweating before finally you dragged yourself from the covers. It was the early hours and you very much needed to relieve some pent-up stress. You hesitated, sparing a brief glance at the huge poster on the wall, illuminated in the dull moonlight that trickled through the gap in the close curtains; of Spider-Man 2099, leaping through the air with the city behind him. ‘Yeah…. No more comics before bed…’ You assured yourself. The memories of the dream, the heat and touch that lingered could be put to better use in helping you to unwind completely. Unseen, the shadowy presence flattened itself deeper into the corner of your room. The great, dark wings of a bat folded tight around his body and red eyes taking in your form. You were gorgeous even when flustered.

Reflecting on it now, you found the logic of the dream laughable; in how you had been falling straight out of the sky, how quickly Spider-Man had brought you home, how quickly he had you in your bed. The scattered, disjointed moments that only a sleeping mind could ignore. You tucked yourself back under the covers, the feeling of a delighted high slowly fading away, and spared the poster of the futuristic Spider-Man one final glance. ‘… Just as it was getting good… Fuck, I nearly got some from Miguel O’Hara…’ Grumbling in disappointment at the interrupted dream, you settled back down into the covers. Sleep finding you soon after, you dreamed of grey skies and storms as rain began to patter against the window.

Two nights later, you were drifting off again. You had made very sure to steer clear of the comics before bedtime, and the issues of 2099 stayed stacked atop a lone shelf. You were halfway into dreams as a floorboard creaked, either wood settling or a neighbour moving around in the night. The covers tucked around you were tugged softly, lower. You stirred, mumbling nonsense in your sleep. The covers moved again, sliding down across your body to rest at your knees. You shivered softly in the chill air, the mattress creaked. If you had been awake, you might have noticed the huge handprint in the mattress beside you. A huge hand resting on your back, a hot breath on your neck- You sat up with a sharp gasp, looking around in a panic. ‘W-who’s there?!’ You scrambled to pull the covers back up, tight around you, eyes straining against the darkness around you. Nothing. The air was still, heavy and chilly enough for your breath to steam up. Despite your senses confirming nothing was amiss, the hairs on the back of your neck still stood on end, goosebumps prickled up your arms. You felt like you were being watched, like you weren’t truly alone in the room. ‘Hello…?’ You swallowed your fear, eyes searching the gloom for any hint of movement. ‘Y-you can come out… I promise I won’t scream…. Much… Please, give me a sign…?’ The darkness did not stir. You swallowed again, throat feeling dry. Pulling back the covers, you stepped softly through your bedroom, out to the kitchen, desperately needing at least a glass of water.

You yelped as you returned to your bedroom, pausing at the sight you were seeing, then pawed twice at the light switch before managing to flick it on. You winced, eyes squinting and watering at the bright light, and missed the brief glimpse of then shadowy figure caught in a panic, darting and flowing into whatever shadow it could find. You wouldn’t see the red eyes glinting at you from under your bed. Your eyes were too busy being focused on what was on top of the bed; your Spider-Man 2099 comics had all be displaced from their shelf, not scattered in a heap, but neatly arranged in a pattern that made letters. “HI” ‘What the fuck…? What the fuck…?!’ Your heart was thrumming in panic. You had asked, and now you had received. Trembling, you scrabbled across the bedsheets, grabbing the comics into a bundle and struggling to put them back onto their proper place on the shelf. They were entirely out of order, some were upside-down, but they could wait until the morning. You had your answer that you were very much not alone. You didn’t turn the bedroom light off until you had calmed, and the lamp on the bedside table kept you illuminated in its own glow. The covers were pulled up tight to you neck, unable to sleep. Of course, you didn’t see the horned, winged silhouette clawing its way straight up the wall behind your headboard. No, your eyes were focused straight ahead, on the poster of your favourite Spider. ‘… Really wish you were real, Miguel… You could protect me from this. You could protect me from anything…’ The silhouette loomed over you, wings spread, clawed hands reaching out- and it gave pause sharply. Just simply listening to your desperate, sleep-deprived murmurs. The chill in the air dissipated into warmth, a sense of pitying sadness lingered that was not your own. No-one could escape the realm of sleep and dreams forever.

‘Hey…’ A warm hand, gloved in red and deepest blue brushed against your face, and you snuggled closer into the strong body that lay beside you. ‘… Heard that you needed protecting? So, here I am. Your Superhero’s here to keep you safe…’ You hummed in delight, nuzzling into that broad chest as strong arms moved to embrace you. ‘Thank you… My hero. I... There’s something in the house with me. I’m scared.’ ‘Shh, shh, shh… I’ve got you.’ Those immensely strong arms squeezed you gently, letting his warmth seep into your body. This was entirely different; this wasn’t the bleeding edge, hungry carnality, this was warmth and comfort. A delightful sensation you had not felt in far too long; another warm body in your own bed. ‘You were always my favourite… My favourite Spider… I love you. I love you, Miguel…’ You heard the Superhero inhale sharply, going tense. ‘…. Y-you…? Again. Please.’ ‘Huh?’ You heard him swallow; he was almost trembling as he held you against him. ‘S-say my name again. Say that you love me… Please…’ Lucidity stirred across your thoughts, the sudden change from the stoic, flirtatious Superhero left the higher parts of your mind clicking into gear. ‘… Miguel, I love you…’ As soon as the words left your mouth, the broad body squeezed you close and- He was purring. Spider-Man 2099, Miguel O’Hara was in your bed, hugging you tightly, and he was purring. ‘You're buffer than in your comics…’ ‘Shh… Let me just enjoy this moment….’ You felt warm lips press themselves to your forehead, Miguel was purring louder, pulling you closer against him like he wanted to fuse into one being with you. ‘… Woah, big guy, you’re turning into a big, needy cat- and it’s getting a bit hard to breathe now…’ Those crushing arms eased up slightly, the purring softened before stopping completely. ‘… Please don’t leave me- not just yet. Let’s just stay like this.’ Your mind was picking up speed now; putting the pieces together. Beyond the window, there was no city, only the starry skies, this Miguel was larger and more muscular than his comic counterpart, and his entire attitude had shifted sharply as soon as he had heard a subconscious declaration of love. Was it alright to harbour a secret crush on a fictional character? You were dreaming again, and wanted to wake up. ‘Please… Please don’t…’  

You blinked awake, tucked under the bedsheets and very much not alone. You were being held, hugged in strong arms, a rugged face that was creased with worry and red eyes that were wide. The being in your bed gulped, crimson eyes frantically looking you over. ‘… Please don’t scream.’ The being pleaded in a soft voice, and you were left staring back open-mouthed. ‘… Please? I don’t want to hurt you. I never did.’ ‘S-scream? There’s a big, strange man in my bed with horns and red eyes- a-and you have fangs… Who are-? What are you?!’ You could feel something slithering across your waist, and tried not to squirm, was it a tail?! ‘R-right… Uh… Dios mio… Uh… I’m- Ok…’ The entity was flustered, stammering through his words before shutting his eyes and exhaling softly. ‘Ok… My name is Miguel. I am an Incubus- there, I said it! Now, please can you go back to sleep? Please?’ He fixed you with a charming, nervous grin. He was handsome, you wouldn’t deny, and the look of desperate, pleading innocence made him look cute. ‘You’re Miguel? I mean, you’re literally… Called Miguel... and you’ve been invading my dreams as… Miguel… Oh my god, you’re a sex pest. There’s a Demonic sex pest in my room, in my bed... You’re quite handsome, though.’   ‘Yeah… That’s um… A really weird coincidence? I’m so much better and less traumatized than him-‘ The Incubus nodded in the direction of the poster, then paused as his mind caught up. ‘… Wait! You think I’m handsome? ¡Si, estoy guapo! ¡Muchas Gracias!’ You were left stunned as the Incubus cuddled up to you, purring in delight again. You felt his tail moving, the tip patting into the mattress, just before your hand. Curious, you reached down and felt along the leathery, spaded tip. Almost in response, the tail moved like a serpent and spiraled straight up your wrist, the tip patting happily against your forearm. ‘Mmm… Hey, leave my tail alone...’ Miguel’s smile was playful, then it faded as if his mind had caught up. ‘I-I’m not a Demon, though! We’re entirely different beings. Just think of me as a being of passion. So!’ You felt the tail uncoil from your wrist, the Incubus tossed back the covers and leapt to his feet, resting one foot on the bedding as he stood, tall, proud and triumphant, hands on hips, bathed in the light of the bedside lamp; messy dark brown hair, long dark horns that curled straight back across his head, fingers that ended in sharp black claws, a long tail that ended in a spaded tip, and completely, utterly naked. The sight of his sculpted body brought a furious blush to your face. It didn’t go unmissed by his crimson eyes, an almost arrogant smirk growing on his face, his tail began to swish behind him with delight. ‘… So… Tell me, my little human; what fantasies can I make come true…?’  

(I will probably write more of this, but it's gone midnight and I was flagging...) (Incubi are both sweet things and utter dolts who just want to be loved. This one especially.)

[writingforatwistedworld]

hi! I love your blog, you have great ideas for Au's and writing the characters.

Could I ask for Idia, Azul and Vil's reaction to which reader is getting married but chooses to leave their partner standing at the altar and run away with them? it was an arranged marriage or something

(yandere au, please excuse my english, I'm using a translator)

Yandere x reader

I do not take any responsibility for you reading this no matter which age group you are from!

WARNINGS: Yandere themes, marriage, unhealthy relationship, kidnapping, imprisonment, illegal substances, manipulation, obsession

Azul Ashengrotto, Vil Schoenheit, Idia Shroud-Running away from an arranged marriage with them

Ok, first of all, how was it even able to come this far?

I mean, this man takes everyone out who just looks at you in a funny way

No matter how suave he is with everybody elso he is a huge manipulative softy around you and… now you are getting married?

Mhm great ok but why isn’t he the one signing those papaers??!

Instead there is that random stranger who, oh goodness, looks just like a fool who would accept even a contract from the most obvious scammer in this world

And would you look at that? It’s a contract! With the fools signature!

Having no other choice but to hand you over your guests and whoever you were forced to marry can now only watch as you to vanish into the sea

“You are shaking dear. Were you so afraid of getting maried to them? Don’t you worry, I will take care of you.”

Well at least you now have the option to escape whilst you were chained to some stranger in the earlier scenario…

But how was our local octopus sushi roll capable of getting that signature?

Of course Azul wouldn’t just waltz into the room and take you with him

He might, and the keyword is might, have used… legal and less legal substances to make your now ex-fiance agree to hand you over in exchange for a stack of money

Never mind the two danger noodles who were standing behind Azul and hovered over them whilst signing the papers

But hey! You are now having a home here! Under water! With chances as good as none to anyone ever finding you! More time for the two of you... yay?

Ok, Vil is, in theory and sense, rich from being so famous

And somehow the person who set this marriage up was able to push through with the preparations without problems?

Uh... is this some weird parallel dimension?

Despite his harshness whenever beauty (and how dry your hands looked) was presented in the discussions you two shared until now he is... in truth very tender whenever he is thinking about you

Rook being a menace? Show him a photo of you and he is silent once more

Epel didn't do his skincare routine again? Tell him something about you he didn't know and he is doing it for the young man

An assistant during a modeling gig spilled coffee over his clothing? Mention you and he is calm

Tell him that you are getting forcfully married off? Well then... oh uh... I think there is nothing there to stop him from breaking down the door

Epel and Rook also there, the first ready to snatch the cake and the second there to protect Vils “beau visage” (I can already feel the French going for my throat)

Yeah, that refined, cool mask is off and he is ready to burn the building to the ground, public image be damned!

Vil, sweety, I think you are stealing a certain faes role... TAKE THOSE FLAMES AWAY FROM ME!!!

But *ahem* back to them burning down buildings

Before you know it Vil is carrying you bridal style whilst scowling that things got this far

Oh? Happiness? Yes. You will experience that for a while... until you realize that you are trapped in a golden cage filled with skin care products and luxury brands... and oh! Almost forgot! With Vil Schoenheit himself, the legend, taking care of you

But how was he able to make sure no one found out about the incident?

Well, now there is a new kind of beef. Vil posted that there was a certain individual who had been harassing him and who wants to end his career with lies. Whoops! He also leaked their account!

But my dear, don't you worry about that. All you need to do is to stay in your little golden cage, stand in still like Snow White did in her coffin and just enjoy the presence of your beloved. No need to think about someone who will be hunted down soon by an angry mob after all...

You would be pardoned to think “Idia is a shut-in. No way he will blow that marriage up!”

I said pardoned, not being correct

You see, he might not be able to so much in person but that doesn't mean he behind a screen can't

No, seriously, take that PC away before he ends them once and for all

Also, you can ruin someone without a huge following on social media

Just be someone who can hack and is able to manipulate someone's data in their files

Suddenly police is storming the room, screaming at your fiancee to raise their hands slowly

Mhm, that was Idia

So still standing there in shook you didn't even notice the younger Shroud brother guiding you to his sibling

And that was where the awkward silence began

I mean, you were his sun, Hades Olymp, so close and yet so far away...

So how could he ever bear seeing you with another person?

Probably the best one to end up with of these three. He will not force affection upon you (being too shy himself), give you too much direct attention (only looking at you when you are distracted) and will even create a simulation of the outside world just for you

But why does the air feel so tense? Why does it feel like you have entered into a place beyond return, as if you are trapped in the Underworld?

Wes it his staring whenever you slept, catching him whenever you woke up and barely opening your eyes? Or were it the little touches of fingertips whenever he gave you something, feeling as if you had been burned

But no need to worry! They are gone and you are free! In his own, small world...

[1-800marvelqueen]

The Door At The End Of The Hall

Marc Spector x fem!reader, Steven Grant x fem!reader

Part Two

WC : 1.7K

SW : No usage of "Y/N," physical appearance and details are left completely ambiguous and are up to interpretation. Mention of guns, violence, fighting, death, blood, etc.

If there's any more warnings to be added let me know!

This is a re-post, all of my old accounts were deleted.

No no no. 

He couldn’t go back there, he couldn’t relive that moment. He couldn’t sit there and watch as you-

But Steven was already running towards you. Towards the memory of you.

Marc had already gone back through his childhood, through the death of his brother, through his mothers abuse, through his death and rebirth as Khonshu’s avatar. Wasn’t it enough? Wasn’t all that he’d shown Steven enough to balance the scales? Why would fate be as cruel as to force him to relive this moment again?

He could hear you yelling in the distance, the very sound of your voice hurts his chest, it rings in his head. He really doesn’t need to follow Steven into the temple, he remembers every single detail of this moment, this memory.

That’s all you were now. A memory.

He remembers it down to the smallest sounds and smells, down to the specks of dust and sand in the air. But this isn’t something Steven should witness on his own. As much as Marc doesn’t want to enter, Steven needs him. 

It was a mission gone wrong. Khonshu had ordered him to go against some pretty dangerous people, a cult of sorts. He knew it was extremely dangerous, that there was a chance Khonshu’s ability to heal wouldn’t save him. That’s why he hadn’t told you about it. 

You were an avatar. You served Sekhmet; the destroyer of the enemies of the Sun God Ra, the Egyptian goddess of war, plague, and chaos. Marc knows that you were the perfect fit to be her Avatar, your embodiment of all that Sekhmet stood for was so accurate, so precise, that if anyone had ever told him you were the Goddess herself disguised as a human, he wouldn’t second-guess it. 

But just like your Goddess, you were hot-headed and stubborn. Once an idea had gotten into your head, it was hard to get it out of there. He hadn’t told you about the mission, he wanted you safe and far-far away from any danger he may partake in, he always did. But Khonshu, being the sneaky bird bastard he is, told Sekhmet. And therefore Sekhmet sent you to aid him. 

How could you ever turn down the chance to protect your loved one?

He enters the cave to the sound of fire whooshing, Marc ducks just in time as a man engulfed in flames stumbles past him, trying desperately to put himself out. If he wasn’t so emotionally drained, he could almost laugh at the sight. When you had first met him, you’d told him you had a fiery personality. He thought you were just saying it in the cheesy way that everyone else did. 

But then you had proved him wrong by lighting the sleeve of his shirt on fire without so much as lifting a finger. 

He thinks he had fallen in love with you at that very moment. 

His attention is pulled to the scene in front of him. He’s on top of some dangerous scaffolding, the planks under his feet looking like they could collapse at any moment. You’re down below, fighting bravely. He can’t make out the features of your face with the mask of your avatar garb covering it. But Marc doesn’t need to see your face to remember what it looked like. He’d spent so many nights laying with you, nights that were fruitless when it came to sleep, he’d trace the features of your visage while you slept. Memorising every scar, blemish, the way your nose would crinkle as he would brush a sensitive spot, the flutter of your eyes under your lids as you entered the deepest part of your sleep, while he remained awake. 

He looks at you as you fight, the spear of Sekhmet is in your hand as you battle it out with a man who wields a large knife. Steven watches on a few feet in front of him, confusion written all over his face.

“Marc, who is she?” hand lightly gesturing towards you as he casts a few glances over his shoulder, not wanting to take his eyes off of whatever was going on. When he doesn’t get a reply Steven turns to look at him, he grows concerned at the fact that Marc’s attention isn’t on him, nor is it even on you, it’s on the man who walks the scaffolding. Someone Marc had tossed to the side to deal with another in front of him. He wonders, if he hadn’t thrown the man to the side, if he’d just taken him out immediately, would you still be here? 

The man bends down to grab the gun Marc had wrenched out of the hand of the man he was currently fighting, the one he had tossed over his shoulder. 

Big mistake.

Steven speaks once more when he sees the man bend down to pick up the gun, aiming it towards Marc. “Marc what is going on,” eyes wide as he turns towards the shell-shocked man, who now had tears welling in his eyes. He places his hands on Marc's shoulders, giving him a few rough shakes. “Marc, answer me! What is going on?” 

At the sound of an exclamation of pain he turns back, thinking it was Marc that had just been shot. But no, Steven watches as the man above turns his aim from Marc to you as you spear through one of his companions. He shouts out while Marc drops to his knees next to him. The man pulls the trigger and the bullet goes flying through the air. It pierces you in your thigh, you stumble. He fires again, it lodges in your stomach. He shoots a third time and Steven watches as it goes straight through the right side of your chest. 

The man goes to shoot for a fourth time but is stopped by Marc. He’s stabbed and thrown off the scaffolding. Marc quickly dispatches the rest of the people in the room. 

He rushes to your side.

Steven can hear the utterances, the string of “No” that is repeated over and over again by Marc as he scoops your upper-half into his arms, cradling your torso against his. He whispers your name, mixing it into the plethora of ‘no’s’. Steven briefly thinks that it’s one of the prettiest names he’s ever heard. He watches as Marc frantically begins pressing his hands into your wounds, desperately trying to stop the bleeding. 

The mask covering your face slips away and Steven can’t help but think you’re one of the prettiest people he’s ever laid his eyes on. He watches as the hand that was pressed against your stomach comes up to smooth your hair away, blood smearing on your forehead with the motion. 

Steven gets the answer to his previous question of who you are when Marc's hand slowly caresses down your face to hold at the bottom of your jaw, and a gentle kiss is placed upon you, between your brows. 

“No,” Steven whispers. Voice wavering as the realisation hits him like a ton of bricks. Watching the way that past-Marc is desperately trying to hold you together with his hands, to heal you with his touch, and the way present-Marc crumbles next to him, the tears that spill down his face, his hands clenching at his sides, his shoulders shaking with the attempt to hold in his sobs. 

This was some of the most emotion he’d ever seen in Marc. 

He watches as you place your hand overtop the one that presses into your chest, your hand trying hard to envelop Marcs’, squeezing with all the strength that’s left in your body. 

Steven thinks he can almost feel the pressure of your hold on his own hand. 

Marc knows he himself definitely feels it. 

“Marc,” kneeling down next to his broken counterpart, “You loved her didn’t you?” Steven receives no words, only a curt nod, he watches as Marc looks away, his eyes clenched shut tightly. “I’m so sorry Marc, I-I would’ve never brought us here if…” 

Steven looks back to see your hand lift to gently touch against Marcs’ cheek, a soft look in your eyes as you attempt to embrace him one last time, face nuzzling into his chest, a gentle kiss placed where his heart would be. 

“Steven I don’t want to be here anymore.” 

Marcs’ voice is quiet, he sounds so different than he normally does. Gone is the confident, self-assured man, the one who never lets anything ever bother him. The man who’s hunched over next to Steven is hollow, and it’s at this point Stevens’ understanding of why he was created in the first place is truly solidified in his mind.  

He can’t find it in himself to argue with Marc, uttering a quiet ‘Lets go’. Placing an arm around Marc's backside, Steven hoists him up, carrying him back towards the door. He casts a glance over his shoulder just in time to see your head flop backwards, neck no longer supporting its weight as you finally give in, all signs of life gone. 

He can hear Marc pleading, to whomever he can think of first. Sekhmet, Khonshu, anybody.  He’s pleading for you to come back, to open your eyes, to not leave him.

 The cries and begs slowly get louder and louder. Steven can feel tears in his eyes, a lump forming in his throat. It’s only when Steven and Marc reach the plain white door does he hear a heartbreaking, gut-wrenching scream echo from the mouth of the cave. 

The guilt overwhelms Steven, curse him and his curious mind. He regrets coming in here, dragging Marc after him no matter how much he begged to not enter the room. The tears fall as they reach the stark white hallway, and it’s at this point Steven wished he had never gone in. That he had never even thought about going near the door at the end of the hall. 

~

Originally posted June 2nd, 2022.

[theunknownmasks]

MUSE BODY LANGUAGE

DEFENSIVENESS : arms crossed on chest // crossing legs // fist-like gestures // pointing index finger // karate chops // stiffening of shoulders // tense posture // curling of lip // baring of teeth

REFLECTIVE: hand-to-face gestures // head tilted // stroking chin // peering over glasses // taking glasses off — cleaning // putting earpiece of glasses in mouth // pipe smoker gestures // putting hand to the bridge of the nose // pursed lips // knitted brows

SUSPICION: arms crossed // sideways glance // touching or rubbing nose // rubbing eyes // hands resting on weapon // brows raising // lips pressing into a thin line // strict, unwavering eye contact // wrinkling of nose

OPENNESS & COOPERATION : open hands // upper body in sprinters position // leaning in closely // sitting on the edge of a chair // hand-to-face gestures // unbuttoned coat // tilted head // slacked shoulders // droopy/relaxed posture // feet pointed outward // palms flat and facing outward

CONFIDENCE : hands behind back // hands on lapels of coat // steepled hands // baring teeth in a grin // rolling shoulders // tipping head back but maintaining eye contact // chest puffed up // shoulders back // arms folded just above navel

INSECURITY & ANXIETY : chewing pen or pencil // rubbing thumb over opposite thumb // biting fingernails // hands in pockets // elbow bent // closed gestures // clearing throat // “ whew ” sound // picking or pinching flesh // fidgeting in chair // hand covering mouth whilst speaking // poor eye contact // tugging at pants whilst seated // jingling money in pockets // tugging at ear // perspiring hands // playing with hair // swaying // playing with pointer / marker // smacking lips // sighing // rocking on balls of feet // flexing fingers sporadically

FRUSTRATION: short breaths // “ tsk ” sounds // tightly-clenched hands // fist-like gestures // pointing index finger // running hand through hair // rubbing back of neck // snarling // revealing teeth / grimacing // sharp-eyed glowers with notable tension in the brows // shoulders back, head up - defensive posturing // clenching of jaw / grinding teeth // nostrils flaring // heavy exhales

tagged: @immolatiism

tagging: anyone who wants to steal!

[angel-of-the-moons]

OH MY GOD I LOVE YOUR PAVI FUCSS SO LIKE I DECIDED TO TELL YOU MY IDEA WHERE BASSICALY,

Pairing - Younger sibling of Hobie!Reader

- Basically, reader is Hobies younger sibling and both of them were basically accidentally bitten by the same spider and so they both got recruited and since Hobie made friends with Pavi, he decides to introduce reader to Pavi and when they both meet, it was basically love at first sight!!

Omfg Nonnie you genius (a cliche as old as time)!

You Were A Punk, He Did Ballet

Pavitr Prabhakar x Spider Person!Reader (Hobie's Sibling)

TW/CW: None. Fluff as fluffy as Pavitr!

🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷

It was weird. Not expected, like, at all.

Everyone knew it was weird, because Miguel friggin' O'Hara admitted it was weird.

Two people getting bit by the same radioactive spider?

Two Spider-People at the same time?

Two Spider-Punks?

Miguel could barely handle the one.

But, he figured it would be better to have you included in the Spider Society than have you in the dark, especially when your older brother Hobie was already pretty involved.

And so, your brother's tour of HQ started, prattling on about how Miguel would probably pull out all the stops on how you two typically kicked back and had unwound after your "hero crap."

Basically meaning "no spray paint, no loud obnoxious music, no fun".

But, you distracted yourself from the confining rules of your new "job" by saying hi to the people your brother introduced you to.

To say you were shocked was an understatement.

The pregnant Spider-Woman and the guy with a baby strapped to his chest? You could handle that.

But a freakin' T-Rex, a car, a cat... a popsicle?!

Miguel was worried about two punks?!

You adjusted one of your studded bracelets, sighing.

Your mask was off, revealing the heavy eyeliner and facial piercings you had. Yours weren't as basic as your brother's, you had some rhinestone studs to add a bit of "sparkle" to your visage. The chains and safety pins in your ears however were pretty on the bar.

"'Ey! There he is!" Hobie shouted, waving his arm in the air frantically to get the attention of another Spider-Man.

"Pavitr! Get yer arse over here and meet somebody!" He laughed.

The guy looked like he was about your age, might be older. But with the fact you're gonna be working with a sentient popsicle?

Easy peasy.

🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷

Pavitr's heart did a funny flip-flop in his chest when he laid eyes on you.

You were breathtaking.

Probably literally, to people you were angry or fighting with...

Your heavy, smudged eye makeup, studded appearance, and punkish appearance for some reason hit him like a ton of bricks.

You were on the same level of fashion as Hobie, but something about you made butterflies fly around in his tummy and sweat break out on his palms.

Oh, god, you had a lip ring, too?

He swallowed and nervously patted his sides as Hobie practically shoved him to you and introduced you to him, and you watched as they did their typical play-fighting.

"This is my work bro, Pavitr. He's from another universe, too." Hobie grinned at you, leaning over to drape his arm over Pavitr's shoulder as the latter stared at you, wide eyes and blankly blinking.

"Sup. Hobie's told me a bit about you?" You say, tossing him a lopsided smirk that made his pulse skyrocket.

He felt like his knees were gonna give out when you grabbed his hand and shook it, giving a fist bump as you pulled away, carefully minding him with your spiked knuckles.

"Uh, it's, uh hi. Yeah." Pavitr fumbled, making you chuckle.

Oh, god, your laugh. It was perfect. Like a nice cold glass of water after a hot run.

And he suddenly found himself very thirsty.

Gwen came up and smirked at you, grabbing your hand to pull you away to show you something.

"C'mon, I gotta show you the cafeteria." She says.

You give Hobie and Pavitr a wink and a wave as you let the girl pull you away.

Hobie stared at Pavitr with the most frustratingly shit-eating smirk he's ever had.

"Cat got ya tongue, Pav?" He teased.

"No, I'm just--just tired! And I didn't know you had a sibling!" He sputtered, trying to shake him off.

"Oi, don't tell me you gotta crush on my sib already, Pav?!" Hobie grinned like a pierced shark.

"No!" Pavitr denied, his voice cracking and squeaking a bit with how hard he was denying it.

But, Hobie noticed the way Pavitr stared after you as you left with Gwen.

And again, he grinned.

[inkhornism]

WITH NOBODY TO REFLECT IN THE MIRROR, AKIRA FADES TO THE BACK OF HIS MIND IN FAVOUR OF THE WORLD AROUND HIM REFLECTING IN HIM. Unassuming silhouette that he is, he easily blends into his surroundings thus allowing sharp greys hidden by thick frames to observe those he holds dear.

( Gaze continously returns to a mop of warm, brown curls and the frown imprinted in that pretty visage they frame. )

He remembers a day in November, the unrelenting heat of the studio lights making him feel akin to a melting candle. Akechi stood so perfectly in his spot as if unaffected that it feels ridiculous. But the reason he isn’t affected is simple, the mask he wears is far too thick and sturdy to be melted by such things as artifical lights.

He remembers a day in January, the chilling shivers of freshly fallen snow sneaking their way inside Leblanc despite the heat being cranked so high up already. Akechi’s crisp presence felt like being blown by cutting winds, pale expression even paler ( because of the cold, because of the realization, because Akira can’t decide whether he’s still wearing makeup or not ) and rosy lips moving to say something.

He remembers a day in July, heatwave back in full force that he tries to combat with a paper fan while attempting to keep himself from sliding off the bench. Akechi appeared in the doorway in such an unobtrusive way that it looked like even the weak summer breeze might blow him away if he didn’t hold on the doorknob for dear life.

❝ I was just thinking. ❞ he says, unsure what to do with itchy and restless hands that only want to bury themselves in soft fabrics and touch, touch, touch to make sure that he’s not imagining things.

Maybe he should. Damn his discomfort at the proximity and damn the chance that he might be pushed away or worse.

So he does. Akechi is beyond beautiful from a distance, but up close and personal he’s absolutely gorgeous and Akira loses himself in those ruby red eyes with black flecks swimming in them. Idly, he wonders if it’s possible that their Personas may influence their appearance the tiniest bit, if Loki’s call of the chaos has bled through. Maybe he’s just imagining things now that he can take such a close look, lost in his own world of thoughts tumbling about his mind.

There are other things he notices this close. The way brown hair reflects the light and looks oh-so-soft to the touch, the fact that he’s pretty sure it’s grown longer, the way it frames a face that looks both still so youthful yet shadowed by a lifetime’s worth of tragedy. He takes in the little things that peer through lighter makeup like the faint dusting of freckles he’s very tempted to individually poke until he’s told off, the darker tone beneath eyes staring intently back at him, the little imperfections seared into his skin that makes him more the teenager he’s supposed to be than the idol put on a pedestal.

Although his hands have been hovering around the other’s hips as a possible resting place, he has yet to set them down anywhere. If not afraid that they’d just pass through the crow, he’s worried that he may cause him pain instead, unknowingly press on where he got shot in that blasted room behind the damned metal shutters. Sure, it’s been a good while since then, but ever the worrier and bleeding heart that he is, he doesn’t want to ruin everything. Despite the fact that this whole thing is already risky enough.

Akira is suddenly extremely glad their reunion takes place during summer because he’s pretty sure he’s never seen Akechi not covered up from head to toes. Perhaps once or twice in T-shirts, but never had the opportunity to just… look at him. To take in the muscles that have resulted from bouldering in his limited free time and likely from running through Mementos and Palaces all on his own. That and the scars he can pick up, the little nicks and the bigger gashes, all long healed up by now, but that they’ve left their mark upon once fair skin. He can’t help, but wonder how somebody who clearly doesn’t possess healing skills nor connections to people in the medical field managed to traverse such dangerous places and come back worse for wear, but alive nonetheless. Not for the first time is he beyond concerned about what Akechi must have done and learnt to do in order to drag himself out of the danger and to the nearest safe room and from there to the entry point so he can leave. Palaces are one thing, they have a static layout and the rulers likely didn’t try to interfere with him if they knew what was good for them, but Mementos? Another story entirely. The public’s opinion is so fickle, he’s learnt that the hard way when it turned on the Phantom Thieves in the blink of an eye. One thing is for certain, though. He’s good at being angry, at wielding anger akin to a knife, at making it expand and swallow things, even himself. Anger is a good way to keep the mind off worse things, to focus on what needs to get done now and without delay.

( He’s gotten distracted, fallen too far inside his own head. Vaguely, he wonders what Sophia would think of unconventional emotions use. Wonders what she thinks about the boy whose only fault was to exist in a world that hated him for seemingly little to no reason. )

Hands around his wrists shock him back into the present, the here and now, and before he can gather his surroundings, he instinctively pulls away with a pained noise, heart lodged in his throat. And then the sky feels like it’s rushing to crush him down when greys meet reds widened in just as much surprise, heart dislodged in a beat only to drop in the pit of his stomach instead. ( He needs to be more careful, he can’t go and make others worry about him. That will only lead to questions he’s not ready to answer yet. )

❝ I was just thinking… ❞ he repeats as if he hasn’t just stared in silence for probably an uncomfortable amount of time ❝ … that I like this you a lot better. ❞

[zeke-in-devildom]

Dissonance - Chapter 5: The House of Lamentation

What the hell even was his life at this moment? It didn’t help that he was still half-convinced that he was trapped in some kind of fever dream, or maybe his mind really had finally just collapsed under the weight of his damaged psyche. Still seemed like an odd twisted delusion for his mind to cook up, though. Then again, he’s spent his entire life listening to the whispers of the dead, witnessing their spiritual visages twisted in agony, bodies broken, mangled, and sometimes dismembered. He’d made a living writing about the paranormal, about the gruesome fate of countless characters caught up in things beyond the human experience. Why not add demons and a trip to Hell in there? 

Maybe that was why he had agreed to forging a pact with Lucifer. Like, the biblical fallen angel Lucifer. That Lucifer. If he weren’t so tired Zeke might have laughed hysterically, emphasis on hysterical. Never had he been more thankful for his ability to school his face into a polite mask.

After forging the pact, Lucifer had carefully helped him from the couch to settle into one of the armchairs situated in front of the desk before fetching the demon that desk belonged to, who apparently had been waiting just outside, who was also apparently the prince of Hell, or rather the Devildom - apparently there was a difference. The last several minutes had been so surreal. Barbatos, the demon that had stalked him for days prior to his abduction, served them tea as the prince - Lord Diavolo as he’d been introduced - explained this exchange program in further detail.

Zeke had plenty of questions - far too many questions. Thankfully the demons did seem eager enough to answer them. Well, Diavolo and Barbatos seemed to have endless patience as they indulged his curiosity. He hated feeling singled out as the only exchange student not living at Purgatory Hall, but it was reasonable that he was the most vulnerable of the exchange students and they could not ask the other exchange students to take responsibility for his safety. 

Apparently all his basic needs would be provided for, and each exchange student received a monthly stipend. The idea of being financially dependent on anyone, let alone demons, left a bad taste in his mouth. Fortunately it seemed that wouldn’t be the case. In addition to all the other things to wrap his mind around, it turned out that his pen name had a rather large and loyal fan base here. Anything with his pen name attached - book series reprints, tv adaptations, movies, video games, and even merchandise - they had set aside an account with all his accumulated royalties from the Devildom and the number was a lot. Knowing that they were producing content from his intellectual property without his knowledge or approval certainly did not make him happy, but at least it seemed as if their infringement was benefiting him now.

Speaking of his intellectual property, arrangements were already being made so that he could continue his work while studying in the Devildom. He already did much of his work from home, and so all that was to worry about was his ability to remotely submit his drafts to his editor. Zeke wasn’t interested in the specifics, but apparently some demon (AI?) called Karasu would be taking care of his remote connection to the human world. All he cared about was that he would be able to email his files so that his publishing schedule should not be thrown off and that the only people who knew about his connection to E.J. Novak were in that office. Zeke valued his privacy and wanted to continue keeping his private life firmly separate from his work. The three demons agreed.

Finally they gave him a cellphone to use while in the Devildom. They called it a D.D.D  but it was a smart phone at the core. Lucifer informed him that the contact information of every other member of the House of Lamentation, as well as Diavolo and Barbatos, was already programmed into his new device. All three of them urged him to not hesitate to reach out to any of them if he needed anything at all. That said, Lucifer seemed to hint that he should definitely be the first person Zeke contacted for any reason.

When his questions ran dry and the conversation drifted away from him, Zeke was able to fall silent and start to truly digest everything he had learned so far. Diavolo and Lucifer seemed to start their own conversation, but he was completely tuned out to the demons in the room now. Frankly, his mind felt sluggish, slow to process all the information that had been thrown at him. It was quite a lot of very nonsensical things for him to try to make sense of while basically blind and deaf. The first thing he had to decide was if he believed this was real or not, given his history it was exceedingly plausible that this was all in his head. That was the logical conclusion, wasn’t it? 

He was too drained to think.

Zeke was very familiar with being tired. Insomnia was a well-acquainted old friend at this point, being tired was just an inevitable part of his existence. What he was feeling right now was something far beyond tired. This was some bone-deep weariness that had wound icy tendrils around his soul. An exhaustion that made the gray matter behind his eyes throb in time with his heartbeat. 

Instead of focusing on complex thoughts, he closed his eyes and just let himself feel. The ward that had been protecting the room previously was gone now allowing the magic of the Devildom to buzz almost like electricity across his skin in erratic intervals, swelling and ebbing like waves across water - sometimes a ripple, sometimes a breaker. That chaotic, wild power had nearly suffocated him the moment it had crashed into him, but now it could only brush against him, enough to feel it, but not enough to overwhelm. It reminded him of rainwater rolling off a duck’s back. They had natural oils preventing the wet from seeping in. The aura that cloaked him now was kind of like that, except perhaps less oil and more weighted blanket. It was heavy in an almost comforting way.

Shifting focus from the magic in the air, he could feel a similar swelling of power emanating directly from each of the three demons in the room. He was confident that even though his eyes were closed he could have pointed to each of them and identified them by the feel of their magic alone. Diavolo’s power was immense, overbearing and loud, Barbatos’ power was subtler, quieter, and even more frightening, and Lucifer…

He could still feel the infernal magic of the pact with Lucifer pulsing through his veins, twisting around his tongue, tingling like spice in his mouth and burning softly against the back of his neck. Lucifer said that his pact mark was etched into his nape now, although supposedly it would remain invisible to any but those in a pact with him unless he was actively pulling magic through the bond they now shared. That said, anyone should be able to feel Lucifer’s magic and aura all over him. Zeke wasn’t sure how he really felt about that, but there wasn’t much to be done about it now. 

No amount of logic could explain how intensely he could feel everything. Not even in his most lucid of dreams did everything feel quite so real. Whether it was real or not, it wasn’t as if he saw many options other than to go along with it. If demons really wanted him to stay here, what could he do to fight it? 

Absolutely nothing was the resounding answer. 

With his eyes closed he could pretend that this was a dream, he could convince himself that he would open his eyes and things would be normal again. It bothered him that he couldn’t really believe that. Opening his eyes to face his new reality, he was momentarily struck again by that existential dread. All these years of trying so desperately to be normal and why? He was never normal but - he wasn’t crazy either. 

An unfamiliar sense of serenity and peace washed over him, banishing the anxiety and doubt that usually gripped him. Zeke closed his eyes again and relaxed into the chair even further. His entire body was sore, and looking at the demons was making him feel a little unwell. They were annoyingly beautiful, but the way their demonic features flickered in and out of his vision while in human form was making him a bit motion sick. There had to be a way to block that out, it was too visually overstimulating. That would be the first thing he tried to figure out how to control with his abilities.

Zeke didn’t even realize that the voices of the demons had grown into hushed whispers as he slowly was lulled to sleep.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

This time when he woke up Zeke was confused for entirely different reasons. He hadn’t opened his eyes, but slowly became aware that he was very warm, his head was not resting back against a cushion, but lolled forward to press into something firmer and alive. Blinking groggily, he realized a few things. The first was that at some point Lucifer had wrapped his coat around him, the second was that he was in the demon’s arms, and finally that they were moving. 

Zeke made a sound of surprise, hands immediately reaching to cling to Lucifer, worried that he’d be dropped. Why was he being carried? When had he even fallen asleep? Finding sleep was never that easy.

“Don’t squirm, I am not going to drop you.” Lucifer’s voice was melodious, and somewhere between smug and amused. It kind of annoyed him.

“Put me down!” Zeke squeaked, which was nowhere near as confident as he wanted that to sound. “…please.”

To his surprise, Lucifer stopped walking almost immediately to set him gently back on his feet. Zeke rubbed at his eyes and looked around. It was dark out. Surely he hadn’t been asleep that long. His demon must have seen his confusion.

“It is always night in the Devildom. There is no sun here.” That had not come up in the previous conversation. No wonder the air seemed chilly if it was always dark out, but he always assumed what humans considered Hell would be, well, hot. He pulled Lucifer’s coat tighter around his body, nuzzling his face into the warm fur collar. It was once again a reminder that he had not been prepared to come here at all. His thin turtleneck wasn’t warm enough and his toes were cold as he wiggled them in his boots.

Lucifer guided him to keep moving forward with a hand pressing on his back gently. Zeke took in the street they were walking along. It was surprisingly empty. Shouldn’t there be more people around? Oh, but there weren’t really other houses, were there? They were following a wrought iron fence, and as Zeke’s eyes traveled along it he finally caught sight of their destination. That had to be the House of Lamentation. Of course, Zeke would say it was less house and more mansion in his humble opinion. Even from here the house gave off a very haunted aura. He had seen haunted houses and buildings before, but this was something else entirely.

As they approached the ancient looking gate Zeke felt his feet become rooted in place. If it weren’t for the protective barrier of Lucifer’s aura he was pretty sure that he’d have been trembling at best, and lost the use of his legs at worst. They lived here? How could they stand it? Even demons had to have a limit to how much spiritual residue they could handle, right?

“Ezekiel, it’s alright. The House of Lamentation was a haunted house shrouded in superstition in the human world, we relocated it here to the Devildom several thousand years ago. There are no lingering spirits inside. It is perfectly safe for you.” Lucifer was obviously trying to comfort him, and Zeke might have appreciated it, except he realized that the demons actually didn’t understand how much energy was still swirling in and around the old mansion. Even if there were no active spirits, the house was alive. Not in the sense of a person, perhaps, but it was living and breathing in its own way.

“You really can’t feel it?” His voice was barely above a whisper as he gazed up at the windows that were casting warm light over the front porch.

“Feel what?” Lucifer furrowed his brows and looked up at the house, as if trying to see what Zeke was seeing. “Maybe you should rest once we get you inside.”

The demon’s hand on his back, once again urging him forward seemed to break him from his daze, feet no longer refusing to move forward. It was true, the house was alive, but the longer and closer he looked, listened, felt, the more Zeke understood that there was no malice behind that energy. In fact, it almost seemed excited, beckoning him, warm and happy to welcome its first human in thousands of years.

“I think…I like your house.” Zeke finally said as they approached the door, a faint but genuine smile creeping onto his face.

[caffeinatic]

Déjà vu

Written for the prompt "Sharing" in the Asbrry community and influenced by this post. Admittedly light on the Ryuu based on where it falls in the TGAA timeline, but he's there in spirit. T rating, CW for treating an injury and implied sex.

---

“Come along, Apprentice,” Barok says.

The word has become a name in absence of the one that the apprentice no longer remembers. It rings in the hollow recesses of his mind, spaces that surely housed all that he once had been but which are now disconcertingly empty of all but his master’s voice and that still, quiet whisper: You have not yet fulfilled your purpose.

He has not yet discerned his fate—or, if he has, he can no longer recall it—but he cannot ignore the hastening beat of his heart when he looks at the man: his benefactor, his teacher. His master. 

If he has some destiny that awaits him on these strange shores, he is certain that Barok van Zieks is a part of it.

“Yes, my Lord,” and he follows. He follows Barok with a sense of certainty; he stands at his side, unwavering, for whatever his Lord might need. Today it is assistance with their most recent investigation. Tomorrow it will be the prosecution of a man they both believe to be guilty of murder. The apprentice cannot help but believe that he has been drawn here, for reasons beyond his ken, to stand by this man’s side. 

It is a familiar thing, he thinks, to stand at the side of another with such resolve. Steps he has walked before, a tale he has told once already. But what whispers of destiny he may have heard then, he cannot say. 

---

“You should take more care, Apprentice,” Barok says. 

The apprentice winces at the sting of the antiseptic, but Barok does not pull away, and eventually the pain morphs into a lingering burn that is easier to bear. He applies gentle pressure to the fresh wound and does not meet the apprentice’s eyes.  

“I would not see you hurt for my sake,” Barok continues. His free hand rests on the apprentice’s arm, fingers curling around the apprentice’s wrist. The apprentice smiles, and there is a shade of wryness to the expression. 

“Not even you, my Lord,” he says, “can stop me from fighting for what I believe in.” 

Barok’s gaze flickers up to meet his, a fleeting glance before he returns his attention quickly to his ministrations. There is a faint flush to his pale cheeks that had not been there before; the apprentice’s smile only grows. 

There is another, the apprentice is certain, for whom he had been ready to die—or perhaps for whom he has died already?—but the memory unfurls before him like tendrils of steam over a boiling pot, barely visible, impossible to grasp. 

Still, the apprentice knows how to wield a sword. His stance is different from his master’s, his technique something buried in the recesses of his brain, half-remembered, that had surfaced when he needed it most. If he has retained these skills, there must be some greater purpose for it.

It feels right, he thinks, to imagine that he has come here to fight for what is just. 

---

“You may go, Apprentice,” Barok says. 

The apprentice doesn’t leave. 

He is dressed in the clothing Barok procured for him, standing in the home where Barok grants him room and board, among all the books and all the knowledge Barok has so readily shared with him. He cannot speak to the years leading up to this, but it is clear to whom he swears fealty now. 

“I would stay, my Lord,” he says, “if you would have me.”

Barok looks up at him sharply, surprise showing briefly in his expression before it settles once again on neutrality; his master is in the habit of wearing a mask, just as he is. The apprentice, however, is certain that Barok understands. His visage betrays nothing as he studies his apprentice, but Barok’s eyes are ever discerning.

“You are under no obligation to stay,” Barok says finally, cautious. 

The apprentice is smiling as he approaches, brazen in a way that feels both all too familiar and as though he is stepping into another’s skin. Brazen in a way he thinks he might be if he weren’t half-hidden behind this mask. 

When he reaches Barok’s side, he pauses next to the chair where the other man remains seated. “It would be no obligation,” he says. It is an invitation, and they both know it. 

He waits, though the tension in his muscles protests his stillness and the heat in his veins tells him to strike first. He waits for his Lord to touch his face with soft, timid fingers, along the line of his jaw, to guide him without words to bow his head and bring their lips together for the first time. 

Later, his master leads him upstairs; the apprentice, as ever, follows faithfully. 

---

“You can stay, my apprentice,” Barok says. 

The apprentice smiles even as he presses a kiss to the other man’s jaw. “I dare not, my Lord,” he says. “What would your valet say?” 

“Those in the van Zieks household value their discretion,” Barok says. He does not stop the apprentice as he throws back the bedclothes and slips from the sheets. 

“Then let me be discreet, too,” he replies. 

He does not say that the feeling of hands on his hips, of sweat-slick skin against his, has rekindled some faint recollection, as though his body has held onto what his mind has lost: memories, half-formed, of unruly hair and kind, dark eyes. 

He could tell his master, he knows, of these unearthed relics from a past love. They come from a different world, and there would be no need for jealousy over something so far removed from them here and now. The apprentice, however, holds his tongue. 

He has precious little left of who he once was, and each glimpse of his past is shrouded in a darkness that his mind’s eye fails to pierce. What remnants remain to him are hardly enough for him to piece together the larger picture of who he was, but he treasures them anyway. And he hardly dares speak aloud the memory of those dark eyes, lest they, too, fade away into the ether. 

The apprentice can see fit to share his loyalty, his sword, his desire. He might even someday come to share his heart with the man who is helping to reforge him. 

This little piece of his soul, though, the apprentice will keep for himself.

[ajwrites52]

Batober 2023: Day 3-Spooked

Wake Up.

“Huh?” Damian said as he leapt from his cot. He remembered this, the cold and empty place that he’d called home for the first ten years of his life. He was back in that cot that held none of his sketches or trinkets and memorabilia, no beds next to his workbench for Titus and Ace to nap in while he did homework, and worst of all no sense of safety. 

“No. No. No!” Yelled Damian as he threw off his covers and ran for the door. Only to be met with the silhouette of his grandfather, Ra’s Al Ghul.

“Damian.”

“G-Grandfather. But… you’re-” 

Before he could even finish his sentence, suddenly found in his grandfather’s arena dressed in his League uniform with a bloodstained saber in his hand. Damian trembled as he turned and found the sobering and hate filled visage of his cousin Mara Al Ghul clutching her bleeding right eye. 

“Demon! How could you?!” Mara’s voice was filled with such venom and animosity as she glared at her cousin who could only tremble at her gaze. “I thought we were family! 

“No. This isn’t real!” Damian tossed his bloodstained blade to the ground in denial of his vision, as he looked back up he found himself face to face with his mother. Her face was obscured in shadows but he could tell that she wasn’t looking at him at all. 

“That was an embarrassment Damian. You are an embarrassment.” Those very words struck the child to his core, but he clenched his fists and growled as he ran forward to force her to look at him.

“Silence! I’m not an embarrassment! No matter what you say!” Talia vanished into smoke which filled every corner of the darkened room, Damian clenched his teeth and spun around as he was now in his first Robin costume. “Oh great! What is this? Some kind of parlor trick? Scarecrow? Strange? Or is it you clown? I beat you senseless before and I’ll do it again!”

Something stirred in the shadows of the room, Damian pounced at it with no hesitation and sent it flying with a flying drop kick. The sounds of shattered glass and screaming echoed loudly and cleared away the smoke, forcing Damian to see the bloodied and battered body of his adopted brother-Tim Drake. 

“W-Why? I just wanted to know you, to understand you? Why did you?”

“No! SHUT UP! I’m not playing this game! I did what I was taught, I know I was wrong okay! Now face me you coward!” 

“What’s wrong kid?” spoke a dark and heavy voice who placed a cold hand upon his shoulder, Damian growled and spun around to deliver a powerful punch to whoever stood behind him. But as he did, he was only met with the white and bleeding eyes of Morgan Ducard with his fist landing in his forehead just like it did in the submarine. The cold deceased corpse of the dead man creaked as its eyes rotated back in place to glare at him and grab his wrists. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost?”

“STOP IT! I… I repented for your death Ducard! I’ve paid that toll in blood and tears!” Damian screamed and tried to pry himself from the undead Ducard’s grasp, Ducard scoffed before tossing Damian into a wall with little effort as he approached him with a sword in hand. 

“Repented? You? Heh. Don’t make me laugh.” Damian stood back up to his feet, spitting on the ground as he threw out two Birdarangs in Ducard’s direction. The zombified Ducard took both to the chest and just laughed in response, Damian noticing his eyes burning  with crimson flames that spread and melted away his flesh and armor leaving him a burning skeleton. “I’ve seen your true self, who you TRULY ARE BOY!” 

The burning visage of a man stood before Damian, its flames and skull morphing to resemble that of a Batman with devil horns and a trench coat made of hellfire. The area around him burned away as he now stood on the roof of Wayne Industries with Gotham ablaze beneath them. “T-This isn’t real! I know this is a game! This isn’t happening!”

KRAK! 

The demonic Batman backhanded Robin, knocking his domino mask off of his face before picking him up by the collar and holding him so they were eye to eye. 

“THIS IS FAR MORE REAL THAN YOU REALIZE YOU HORRID WASTE OF FLESH!” yelled the Demonic Batman as it raised its sword in the air. “You were born cursed, unwanted by your witch of a mother and monster of a grandfather! An ocean of blood follows you wherever you go, and will never leave you. You have only one true home, and it's time you returned back to the pit. Demon child.”

STAB!! 

Damian felt a sharp pain in his chest as the sword ran itself through his heart, the world went cold and dark. He couldn’t move anymore, his limbs failed him and his heart froze still, this was a fitting end to the Grandson of The Demon. The Child of Talia Al Ghul. The Prince of Blood. Damian…

Wayne

“He’s wrong about that, you know.” A gloved hand grabbed the hilt of the sword, Damian’s heart began to stir as the blade began to vacate Damian’s chest cavity causing a bright heavenly light to fill the room. Damian screamed as he opened his eyes and found himself now wearing his black and red uniform as well as sitting in the kitchen of Wayne Manor. 

“What?!” yelled the demonic Batman, the two turned to the door as Alfred Pennyworth appeared with a kettle of tea and cup in hand. The demonic Batman growled as it lunged at the two only to be sent flying out of the nearest door leaving Alfred and Damian alone. 

“A-Alfred?” Damian asked, slowly removing his mask as he was truly met with the smiling face of his grandfather figure who poured him a cup of tea. “But…”

“I’m afraid I can’t divulge that information, Master Damian. An old man must retain some mystique afterall. But I can tell you that whatever that monster said about you is utter nonsense, and you’d be daft to believe any of it.” Damian looked down at his feet, tears stung his eyes as he couldn’t look the former butler in the eyes. 

“But I did all those horrible things,” Damian wiped away his tears with his thumb only for more to follow suit. “I-I’m not worthy of any redemption. Of this suit or any of that forgiveness I’ve been given over the years. Christ Alfred it’s because of me that-” Damian’s words were interrupted by a warm hand placed on his head by Alfred, followed by a warm embrace. 

“Master Damian. It pains me to see how similar you are to your father,” Alfred pushed the boy away as he took Damian’s domino mask and held it in his gloved hand. “Both of you hold yourselves to such high standards, you think that your mistakes and failures define you. It’s painful to watch you both forget your successes and those you’ve touched in your lifetime.”

Damian looked around as he found the kitchen now bustling with all he considered friends and family, Jon smiling as he, Maya, and Kathy engage in a card game of the Superboy’s choosing while Jason fights to save his leather jacket from the jaws of Titus. Stephanie and Cassandra wave at him as they enter the kitchen with breakfast for the whole family, only for Dick to sneak up behind and snatch away the first Breakfast Burrito from Duke who groaned. Even Tim laughed as he grabbed his coffee from Cassandra and reunited with Bernard who stood waiting for him at the counter. Then Damian felt a pair of warm hands on his shoulders, he looked up to find his father’s smiling face alongside Selina’s who had Alfred the cat on her shoulders. 

“Your past will always exist Master Damian, but it is your present and who you choose to be that defines you. Now…” Alfred holds Damian’s domino mask in front of him as the doors to the garden open revealing the Demonic Batman growling as the garden is consumed by the blaze. “Who are you, Damian?”

“Pennyworth.” Damian smiled and took back his mask as he stood up and walked out to face the demon before him. Placing his mask on his face and cracking his knuckles Damian ran forward with a smile on his face as he announced, “I’m ROBIN!”

robin

Robin

ROBIN!

Damian gasped for air as he jolted out of bed, sweat dripping down his forehead as he found himself back in his bedroom with Titus at the foot of his bed and the relieved face of his father to his right. Bruce hugged his son in relief as he began to detail what had happened to The Boy Wonder, apparently The Spook had returned and sought revenge against the Son of Batman. Using a combination of his hypnosis and Fear Toxin, he’d trapped Damian in his own mental prison and was on the run. 

“Well then, I guess that means that Batman and Robin are still on the case. Let’s get to work, father.” Damian leapt out of bed and ran towards the entrance of the Batcave, Bruce chuckled and followed behind his son to the Batmobile. 

They weren’t going to let a simple scare tear them down, they were BATMAN AND ROBIN!

THE END

[pink-apron]

Music

Part One of the Vendetta series.

Rating: PG :)

Words: 1.2k

Warnings + AN: Hey shawties this is the first chapter! This is the first real fic I've ever written so yes that in itself is a warning. Basically glosses over the first scene in the movie because it's a very uncomfortable watch in the first place and I did not want to write in detail about an attempted assault so. Y'know. Anyway I am sending this out into the void so pls enjoy! :)

A yellow coded curfew is now in effect.

The monotone voice echoed its warning as you rushed through the empty streets of London. How typical, you thought, that the one time you dare act outside of your routine you are late, and breaking protocol, no less.

Looking over your shoulder, you round a corner and run into a rather plump wall, before the plump wall begins to speak.

"Excuse me, miss."

A large man stands before you, dismissing your apology and excuse before another man the plump wall introduces as "Willy" appears.

Your heart catches in your throat as the two men step closer, making obscene and vulgar remarks, the kind of remarks that have you reaching in your coat pocket for mace. One of the men roughly grabs your hand before you brandish the mace as your form of protection before the plump wall reaches into his pocket and brandishes his own; a Fingerman badge.

Your blood runs cold and again and you begin to apologize. More vile threats leave the plump wall's mouth before you attempt to run in a last ditch effort to save yourself, but another wall grabs you, this one armed with a baton. You desperately struggle and cry for help. You broke the rules, you think, and now you pay the price.

Your screams and thoughts are cut off by a voice from the shadows, and peering out, you can see the shadow is masked.

"The multiplying villainies of nature do swarm upon him."

The men stop, and angrily turn and curse in the direction of the shadow.

"Disdaining fortune, with his brandish'd steel which smoked with bloody execution."

The masked shadow steps forward, slicing in half the plump wall's badge -which was presently being brandished as a sort of justification for his transgressions- with a single stroke of his dagger before moving with such grace that you would not expect from a man of his strength, which was on blatant display as he threw Willy into a brick wall.

You watched him as he seemed to dance around the Fingermen in incredible, fluid movements, throwing them around as if they weighed nothing to him. Upon disarming the last of your would-be-assaulters, the masked shadow puts his weapon down to his side.

Was this an attempt of mercy, you wondered? Kneeling on the floor from being thrown aside, you peer up at the shadow, attempting to gauge his intentions from the details of his mask. You wince as, suddenly, he's punched but then he's moving again, throwing the failed attempt at mercy into a wall. He walks over to Willy, who is now on the floor, crying out for help much like you yourself were just moments ago.

"We are oft to blame in this- 'tis too much proved- that with devotion's visage and pious action, we do sugar o'er the devil himself."

The masked shadow moves to strike Willy down, for good this time, you think to yourself. After peering down at Willy's motionless body for a moment, either daring him to get up again or making sure he's dead, you can't tell, he walks towards you now with silent footsteps and looming figure as you reach for your mace for the second time tonight.

The shadow stands a few feet in front of you and you have to crane your neck to meet his eyes. He wears a Guy Fawkes mask, cropped by a curtain of dark hair. You take in his all black attire, and the way his voice rumbles as he assures you he means you no harm.

"Who are you?" you demand, just barely finding your voice.

"Who is but the form following the function of what, and what I am is a man in a mask."

Ah, funny, you think sarcastically. You'd say it out loud but, having just seen this man dispose of four Fingermen with ease, you bite your tongue and decide to keep the remark to yourself.

"But on this most auspicious of nights, permit me then, in lieu of the more commonplace sobriquet, to suggest the character of this dramatis personae. Voila!"

You flinch at his exclamation and watch almost amusedly as he theatrically suggests the character of the dramatis personae. At some point, his theatrics turn into passion, and his passion quickly spirals into anger. No, not anger, rage, you think to yourself. Producing a dagger more quickly than you can process he slices a "V" into a poster promoting Sutler's values on the bricked wall of the alley as his dialogue comes to a halt. Again, you flinch.

"The only verdict is vengence- a vendetta...", he adds with a deep, rolling voice. His back is turned to you while his mask looks over his shoulder. You have whiplash from his mood swings; you are hanging on to every word he says.

Finally, he turns back to saunter in your direction before he removes his hat and bows deeply, introducing himself as V. V raises his mask from the ground to look at you, and you feel a chill as the smirking mask stares into your soul.

"To whom, might I ask, am I speaking?" V inquires, almost cheerfully as he rises and fixes his hat back on his head.

Introducing yourself, V repeats your name, once as a question, once slowly- as if testing it on his tongue.

"Of course you are", he remarks thoughtfully. You shiver.

"What does that mean?" you ask quietly, afraid of provoking the masked shadow.

"It means that I, like God, do not play with dice and do not believe in coincidence." He offers his gloved hand out to you on the ground slowly, like you are a frightened animal. "Are you hurt?" V quietly asks as you accept his hand. The leather is high quality and cold, and the fingers underneath hold your own with such caution- like he feels you might run from his touch.

Even at standing height, he is much taller than you.

You tell him that you are fine, thanks to him, as you take in his appearance once more. You take note of the multiple daggers he has strapped to either side of his body. They look razor sharp and shine a ghostly silver in the moonlight, though now there is a splash of crimson across several of them.

"I merely played my part. Tell me, though, do you enjoy music?"

"I suppose."

"You see, I'm a musician of sorts", V declares, "and on my way to give very special performance. I would be honored if you could join me". There is a hint of mischief in his voice and again, you feel the mask stare into your soul. No, you think, it's the eyes. The black voids of the mesh eyes are pinning you to your spot, and somehow, it feels as if he is studying your face with a burning intensity.

This is a stranger, you suddenly remember. An armed stranger, whose several blades seem to be instruments of their own, and he better than a musician of some sorts. "I don't think so," you hesitate. "I should be getting home". You hold your coat closer to you out of habit, eyeing V with caution.

"I promise you, it'll be like nothing you've ever seen. And afterwards, you'll return home safely."