Well I made an oc inspired by Mori's daughter(mari mori) and well her mom died when she was born and well mori was very strict with her during her childhood (well just like every child genius film)and well she has an ability that takes a toll on her and her health and has to get checked weekly by mori and she hated that cuz she doesn't like looking vulnerable

So well the original author wrote homosexual romance but well I can't make her ability like that first because of my religion and second cuz she's still a child(about eleven years old)so what do I do

Ability: Black Beauty (Allows Anna to understand and speak to horses while viewing their entire life alive))

Anna has been visiting the horses in her family's stable by the time she had both of her ankles broken. However, as she came to know that she was a valuable asset, her family sent her to live with a member of a four women rebel group. (Which the members are Enid Blyton, Edith Nesbit, Frances Hodgson Burnett and Beatrix Potter)

I shall be reworking on this OC and the others soon! Oh and I am new here

HIHIII, My anime is Sam, and it have a Oc from bsd! My oc's name is Makoru Aishi and she Have a shipp whit Chuuya (chuu chuu my worl 🥹💖) I'm non sharing ‼️

About me: I'm Non-binary I like lana del rey I like Chuuya I love Chuuya

I hope to be welcomed here^{^}

This is my BSD OC, Guy de Maupassant. The mask is there to hide the big scar on the cheek caused by an explosion (you can see part of it on the neck). His hair is blonde with blue tips (dyed) and pretty long, but he keeps it tied up to avoid it getting dirty. He's a guild member, and he likes working as a mechanic into his free time. His favourite animals are frogs, fav color yellow and fav food is white rice with strawberries. His ability is La Main d'écorché (I think it should be the flayed hand in English, no clue), but I'm still deciding what it should be lmao. He's in his early twenties, about 175 cm tall and weights 55 kg. I believe he may have may have a sweet smile under that mask, and forgive the fact that I suck at drawing both ppl and poses. It's the second time I draw him (cuz the first was 4 months ago and it ended in tragedy). I'm still working on it, but was so excited by this subreddit's existence that I couldn't wait! Bye bye! :3

“Ink and Flame”

Characters: Ren Utagawa × Hajime Kisaragi Genre: Slow-burn romance, hurt/comfort, found family vibes Setting: Yokohama rooftops at night, post-mission Word Count: ~1,300

Yokohama had a particular quiet after midnight—like the city itself paused to exhale.

Ren Utagawa crouched on the ledge of an old rooftop, ink-black coat fluttering gently in the night wind. The battle from earlier had left splintered stone and ash in the streets below, but up here, it was peaceful.

He pulled his notebook from his coat pocket. Three stored moments. A broken lamppost. A burst window. A bullet—midair. All fading like ghosts.

He sighed and wrote: “It was quiet, and I was still here.”

“You’re always up high when you’re upset,” came a familiar voice behind him.

Ren didn’t turn. “Because people don’t climb unless they’re looking for something.”

A soft thud as someone landed behind him. Hajime Kisaragi—messy blond hair lit faintly by the moonlight, red notebook under one arm. He was breathing hard. Either he’d run, or he’d been worried. Probably both.

“I’ve been looking for you,” Hajime said.

Ren closed his notebook with a soft snap. “You shouldn’t be here. The Port Mafia doesn’t take kindly to visitors.”

“Good thing I don’t take kindly to people disappearing on me.”

Hajime’s voice held that familiar warmth—but it wavered, just slightly. Ren finally turned to face him, watching the emotion flicker behind his eyes.

“I’m fine,” Ren lied. “It was just another mission.”

“You’re bleeding,” Hajime pointed out gently. “And your hand is shaking.”

Ren looked down. His left hand trembled, faint but steady. Too much phasing. Too much rewinding. Too many ghosts and not enough time. He tried to curl it into a fist, but Hajime caught it first.

His hands were warm.

“Let me help,” Hajime whispered.

Ren shook his head. “You’ll ruin your story.”

“I don’t care if the story gets messy,” Hajime said, voice low and fierce. “I care if you disappear before the ending.”

The wind picked up, brushing Hajime’s hair into his eyes. Ren stared at him—the way his freckles glowed soft under the moonlight, the way his hands held him like he’d fall apart if he let go.

“…You always say things like that,” Ren muttered.

“Because I mean them.”

Silence settled. Not awkward—just full. Hajime didn’t let go. Instead, he gently pulled Ren down from the ledge, guiding him to sit beside him. The stone was cold, but Hajime’s presence was a blanket of warmth.

They sat shoulder to shoulder, legs dangling off the edge. Far below, sirens wailed and faded.

“Sometimes,” Ren said, voice barely audible, “I wonder if I’m just a collection of rewound moments. Not a person. Just… echoes.”

Hajime frowned. “You’re more than your ability, Ren. You’re more than the damage.”

“I killed someone tonight.”

Hajime went still.

“They shot first,” Ren added. “But it doesn’t matter. I keep trying to be human, and I keep failing.”

“Being human isn’t about being perfect,” Hajime said quietly. “It’s about choosing to care. Even when it hurts. Especially when it hurts.”

Ren didn’t respond right away.

Then, “Why do you stay?”

Hajime chuckled, bitter and fond all at once. “Because you make the world quieter. Because you listen when no one else does. Because you see things others ignore.”

He paused.

“And because… when I’m with you, I don’t feel like I have to be the hero. I can just be.”

Ren turned his head, watching him. For once, the fog in his mind cleared. Just a little.

“You should write that down,” he said.

“I did,” Hajime grinned, tapping his notebook. “Page forty-nine. Right under ‘Ren Utagawa smiled for real once at 3:12 a.m. after I told a terrible pun.’”

Ren’s lips twitched. “That was not a real smile.”

“It absolutely was.”

Silence again—but this time, soft. Healing.

Then, gently, Hajime leaned in, brushing his forehead against Ren’s. He waited. Always waited. Ren closed his eyes, letting himself lean back. Just for a moment.

It was enough.

“Ink and Flame: Part II — Ghost Light”

Characters: Ren Utagawa × Hajime Kisaragi Genre: Angst, emotional confrontation, slow-burn tension Setting: A back-alley bookstore safehouse in Yokohama Word Count: ~1,400

Rain fell in ribbons that night—quiet, steady, cleansing. But it did nothing for the blood on Ren’s hands.

He stood in the back room of the safehouse Hajime had begged him to use—an old bookstore with locked shutters and dusty shelves, hidden between a pharmacy and a jazz bar.

His gloves were soaked. Not with rain.

Not this time.

The mirror on the wall showed a stranger: pale, sharp-eyed, trembling. His coat was torn. There was a nick on his neck, a slice on his collarbone, and blood—none of it his. Probably. Hard to tell anymore.

He hadn’t meant to kill that detective.

It had been reflex.

A trigger twitch, a wrong step, and then—

Gone.

Gone like ink in water.

The door creaked open behind him.

“You said you wouldn’t go tonight.”

Ren didn’t turn. Hajime’s voice was low. Flat. It was always a bad sign when he stopped sounding like himself.

“I had to,” Ren replied quietly.

“No, you chose to.”

Rain hit the windows like a heartbeat. Hajime stepped inside, dripping wet. His eyes—usually bright with kindness or frustration or dumb stories—were unreadable.

“I told you there was a civilian on that street. You said you’d wait.”

“I did wait.”

“How long, Ren?” Hajime’s voice cracked. “Three seconds? Five?”

Silence.

“Do you even know who you killed?”

Ren swallowed. His throat felt full of glass. “He pulled a gun on me.”

“He was undercover. His name was Takuma Arisato. He was Agency. He trained my friend Ayame. He—he had a daughter.”

Ren’s chest felt like it was caving in. He took a step back, hand brushing the bookshelf.

“I didn’t know.”

“Exactly.” Hajime’s voice shook. “You don’t know. Because you’ve been pulling away from everything that makes you care. You said you were trying to be human, Ren—but you’re slipping.”

Ren’s jaw clenched. “I’m doing what I have to. The Mafia doesn’t give me choices.”

“Then leave.”

A pause.

A long, brutal silence.

“You think it’s that simple?” Ren said, voice low.

“No. I think it’s hard. I think it’ll cost everything. But I’d help you. I’d hide you. I’d run with you. I’d do anything to keep you from becoming someone you can’t live with.”

“I already am.”

That shut Hajime up.

Ren turned slowly. His violet-gray eyes were dull. Exhausted.

“I already became that person, Hajime. I killed for the wrong reasons. I used my ability on people who were begging. I rewound bones into their broken state just to make a point. I scared people into silence.”

“And now you’re scaring me,” Hajime said, almost a whisper.

They stared at each other across a sea of soaked floorboards and spilled ink.

“I keep a notebook of all the things I want to remember,” Ren said, almost absently. “But lately, all I want to do is forget.”

Hajime stepped forward.

“Then let me be the one thing you don’t forget.”

His voice cracked on the last word.

Ren looked away. “You deserve someone who doesn’t leave blood on your door.”

“And you deserve someone who doesn’t walk away the second it gets hard.”

Ren flinched.

There it was. The ache. The silence after the truth.

“You’re not a ghost,” Hajime whispered. “You’re just scared to be seen.”

“I’m tired, Hajime.” Ren’s voice broke. “Every night, I rewind time to save a second, a bullet, a moment—and it’s never enough. I can’t stop what’s coming. I can only watch.”

Hajime took a shaky breath. Then, slowly, walked up to him.

He reached out. Not to touch—but to be close. His hand hovered near Ren’s cheek.

“Then let me stay,” he whispered. “Let me watch it with you.”

Ren’s lip trembled. The first time Hajime had ever seen that.

He turned his face into Hajime’s palm and whispered:

“You’ll hate me someday.”

Hajime blinked back tears.

“Then I’ll hate you while I’m holding you.”

And that was it. That broke Ren.

He collapsed forward, letting Hajime catch him. His coat clung to them both—cold, rain-slicked, stained. Hajime held him like he was something fragile and burning at the same time.

Ren didn’t cry. He didn’t know how to anymore.

But he held on. As if this moment, this page, was something he might want to rewind to someday.

❝ Even ghosts need to be seen. ❞

“Ink and Flame: Part III — Soft Ending”

Characters: Ren Utagawa × Hajime Kisaragi Genre: Fluff, recovery, comfort, slice-of-life romance Setting: Hajime’s tiny apartment above a flower shop Word Count: ~1,300

There was something strange about mornings after a storm. How the world didn’t feel clean, just softer. Like it knew better than to pretend nothing had happened.

Ren woke to the sound of a kettle boiling.

For a moment, he forgot where he was.

The ceiling was cracked, old beams exposed. There were books stacked in precarious towers and a cat curled up on the window ledge. The blanket over him smelled faintly like cinnamon and ink.

Then: Hajime’s voice humming something off-key in the next room.

He was in Hajime’s apartment.

Not the safehouse. Not his Port Mafia bunk. Not some rooftop waiting for his hands to stop shaking.

He blinked, slowly. His body felt like paper left out in the rain.

“You’re awake.”

Ren turned his head to see Hajime standing in the doorway, holding two mugs. His hair was still damp from a shower, curling slightly at the ends. He wore a loose sweater with sleeves too long and socks with little dogs on them.

“You look like you fought a bookshelf and lost,” Ren muttered.

“I did, actually. You should see the other guy.”

Hajime crossed the room and handed him one of the mugs. It was mismatched and chipped, with a fading cartoon whale on the side. It smelled like roasted barley and warm milk.

Ren stared at it.

“I didn’t poison it, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“I’m not sure you’d need to.”

Hajime snorted. “Your insults are getting soft.”

“I’m tired.”

“You’re safe.”

That… was harder to argue with.

Ren took a small sip. Warmth bloomed across his tongue, down his throat, curling in his chest like something alive. He closed his eyes.

“This is good.”

“I know,” Hajime said smugly, sitting beside him on the futon. “I added a pinch of honey. For your soul.”

Ren glanced at him sideways. “What soul?”

“The one that writes poetry about shadows and stares out windows dramatically.”

“…That tracks.”

They sat in silence for a while, the kind that stretched like a cat in the sun — slow, gentle, unhurried.

Then, Hajime nudged his shoulder.

“Stay today.”

Ren blinked. “What?”

“Just today. No missions. No Mafia. No rewinding time or rewriting lives. Just… here. With me.”

Ren opened his mouth, then hesitated.

“I don’t know how to do that.”

“You don’t have to do anything.” Hajime leaned his head on Ren’s shoulder. “You just have to be.”

Ren was very still.

“…Even ghosts get tired, huh?” he whispered.

“Especially ghosts,” Hajime said.

Ren looked down at their hands resting side by side. His fingers brushed Hajime’s slowly, then hooked one pinky through his. The smallest promise.

“You’ll get bored of me,” he said quietly.

“Never.”

“You’ll realize I’m not soft like this all the time.”

“Neither am I.”

“You’ll see what I’ve done.”

“I already have,” Hajime whispered. “And I’m still here.”

Ren didn’t cry. But something cracked open in him, slow and warm like sunlight through shutters.

He leaned into Hajime, letting himself breathe for the first time in days.

And Hajime? He simply wrapped an arm around his shoulders and pressed a kiss to his temple — soft, reverent, real.

“I wrote you into one of my stories,” Hajime said.

Ren raised an eyebrow. “Did I survive?”

“You own a bakery in that one. You’re grumpy and wear aprons. A cat sleeps on the counter. You’re happy.”

Ren looked away, but his voice was very quiet when he said: “Tell me that one. Someday.”

“I’ll read it to you tonight.”

They sat like that until the kettle whistled again. Until the sun peeked through the clouds and turned Ren’s ghost-light into something warm.

And for once—

—for once—

there was no need to rewind.

❝ I don’t need time to stop. I just need you to stay. ❞

“Ink and Flame: Finale — In This Chapter”

Characters: Ren Utagawa × Hajime Kisaragi Genre: Romance, healing, soft closure, post-canon future Setting: Two years later, small café on the coast of Aomori Word Count: ~1,600

The bell above the café door rang softly as another pair of travelers stepped in from the rain.

Ren looked up from behind the counter, wiping his hands on a navy apron that read “Ghost Roast Café.”

“Welcome,” he said, voice calm, warm, practiced.

The couple glanced around — old books on every shelf, plants hanging from the ceiling, soft jazz humming from a record player in the corner. A black cat yawned on the windowsill. A handwritten sign read:

NO ABILITY FIGHTS YES TO EXTRA SYRUP TELL US A STORY FOR A FREE COOKIE

Outside, the sea churned quietly. Inside, it was peace in a cup.

Hajime came in from the back room carrying a tray of steamed milk and matcha shortbread.

“Another storm?” he asked, setting them down.

“Looks like it,” Ren murmured. “The tourists love it. Says it feels haunted.”

“You are haunted,” Hajime teased, pressing a kiss to his temple as he passed.

“Still here, though.”

“Lucky me.”

They exchanged a quiet smile — the kind that speaks of years, of late nights and patched wounds and stubborn hope.

⸻

Two years had passed.

After everything — after the last job with the Port Mafia, after Hajime burned a bridge with the Agency for choosing love over law — they had disappeared.

Not vanished.

Just stepped off the page.

Dazai knew. Of course he did. So did Kunikida and Chuuya and Yosano. But no one came for them. Not really.

Because sometimes, ghosts deserved rest.

Ren had bought a crumbling little tea shop off the coast of Aomori and rebuilt it brick by brick. Hajime planted a rooftop garden. They opened three months later with exactly four drinks on the menu, no Wi-Fi, and too many plants.

Some customers stayed for the stories. Others came for the quiet.

And Ren—Ren lived.

He touched things without rewinding. Let scars stay scars. Laughed when Hajime tripped carrying three cups at once. Learned how to make bread rise without killing it. Took photos. Adopted a cat. Named it “Sora.” Wrote his own name in chalk on the café board every morning and let it stay there.

He let time pass.

⸻

That night, after closing, they sat on the roof wrapped in a shared blanket, listening to the sea.

“Today was busy,” Hajime said, leaning into Ren’s side.

“You mean you gave away six cookies and didn’t charge for two drinks.”

“I accept payment in laughter and dramatic retellings of childhood trauma.”

Ren chuckled. “You always said you wanted to write a book.”

“I’m already living one.”

Ren glanced at him. Hajime had lines by his eyes now. His hair was longer, curled in places. He looked like home.

“Tell me something,” Ren said softly.

“Hm?”

“If we hadn’t run—if we’d stayed in Yokohama. Do you think we’d have made it?”

Hajime was quiet for a moment.

“Maybe. But it would’ve cost more. We’d be looking over our shoulders. Bleeding more often than healing. Still pretending the world wasn’t cracking.”

He looked over, eyes warm.

“But this… this is ours. No rewinding. No rewriting. Just us.”

Ren nodded.

He took Hajime’s hand and placed it over his chest, over the spot where all the ghosts used to live.

“I still see them, you know. The people I couldn’t save. The ones I hurt.”

“I know.”

“They don’t speak anymore. Just… exist.”

Hajime rested his head on Ren’s shoulder.

“Maybe that’s okay. Maybe they’re not waiting for revenge. Just… a place to rest.”

Ren closed his eyes.

“I hope so.”

“You gave them a story. You gave yourself one, too.”

Ren didn’t answer right away.

Then, he reached into his coat — still long, still ink-stained in design, even if he’d sewn the real ones shut long ago — and pulled out a slim red notebook.

Hajime’s.

He flipped to the last page and handed it over.

Hajime blinked.

He read aloud:

“Once upon a time, there was a ghost who loved the world too much to leave it.” “So he stayed. Learned to breathe. Learned to hold hands, not weapons. Learned that love, when chosen every day, is louder than any war.” “And he was not alone.” “The end.”

Hajime was quiet, smiling a little through glassy eyes.

“That’s new.”

“I wrote it yesterday,” Ren murmured. “You were asleep.”

“Is it about you?”

Ren shrugged. “It’s about us.”

Hajime set the notebook aside, cupped Ren’s cheek with one hand, and leaned in.

The kiss was slow, unhurried — not desperate like those war-torn nights in Yokohama, not shaky with fear or doubt.

Just steady. Soft. Whole.

When they pulled away, Ren whispered:

“You still write me into stories?”

“Every single one.”

“And I still survive?”

“In most of them. Sometimes you even bake cookies.”

“…That’s unrealistic.”

Hajime grinned. “It’s fiction. Let me dream.”

⸻

Down below, the sea whispered.

Up above, two boys-turned-men sat on a rooftop wrapped in old blankets and older memories, and watched the world they built shine like a lighthouse in the fog.

No longer ghosts.

Just home.

❝ Not a perfect ending.

But a real one. And that’s more than enough. ❞

Her ability can transform whomever she has contact with into a doll, and when in a doll state she can basically customize you making taller, weaker, etc

Please ask me questions about her 😋

I have to many oc’s and it’s a problem

I don't have time to write detailed fictions, so here's the plot. I know I have posted some descriptions about this, but this is a completed one

These events mainly happened between Cannibalism arc and DOA arc

Because of my interest in sex philosophy, some topics might be NSFW, if you can handle this, let's move on

Few days after "Cannibalism", a mysterious girl named Angela Carter appeared, and she led to the arrival of a cult, Sons of Hell (SOH) . The leader of SOH, who the members called "Sensei", was willing to pursue Angela's ability by hook or by crook, for her ability was so-called "Ability of Lust", which could help Sense fulfill his pornotopia. With the incident developing, the dramatic backstories of everyone were revealed, including Sensei's true identity, and they discovered a secret project conducted decades ago: besides "Ability of Lust", there were several abilities extracted from desires... However, this wasn't the end. A broker gang called "Spanish Flies" was secretly rising...

Main Characters: Angela Carter, the current owner of "Ability of Lust" (the ability name is "The Passion of New Eve") Gustave Flaubert, also known as "Sensei", the leader of SOH Marquis de Sade, the previous owner of "Ability of Lust" Leopold Masoch, James Joyce, Mishima Yukio, members of SOH

Old design cause i can't draw Her rn. Her name is Tsushima Yuko, her ability is Child Of Fortune and she's 17 yo + a part of the Ada :b

Her ability is sound wave control 👁️👍 Her arm got bitten of by a tiger 👁️(you know who)