#* (&. headcanon) beauty in the decaying .

[primegrim]

things to know about eiko's power :

gives her the ability to phase through objects and people .

gives her the ability to make objects float : the more objects or the heavier they are , even if few , makes her decay faster .

she can make some parts of her body be physical , while the rest of her body has her power active . let's say her hand , if she wants to grab something , or even just her fingertips in order to pull or push or throw something / someone . usually , she is fully using her power .

her clothes are an extra that she had to learn to automatically use her quirk on . nowadays , it's second nature .

she feels everything that happens to her body , as it decays and heals eventually . her pain resistance is high due to it , but the pain can still be extremely overwhelming , as one would assume .

makes her hair white and float , as well as it turns her eyes dead white . appearance wise , those are all the changes she suffers ; however , her voice also changes . it turns more echoey , as if she were speaking in an empty cathedral . sounds beautiful when she is talking and maybe singing , it's absolutely terrifying if she screams ( she often will , it scares her targets . imagine a siren scream . ) .

if truly necessary , she can grab someone and use her power on them as well . obviously , it makes her decay faster , for she is feeding two bodies the power she has . the other person won't suffer decay at all , for their body is just a momentary host .

the more she decays , the more she loses her sense of self . . . due to the blood loss and the pain , she becomes more chaotic and less responsive in a speech manner . it too makes her forget things that she either has done or said ( if anything at all ) in that state .

her key organs would be her heart and brain ; the heart would be the last to decay . if that one decays completely , she is DEAD . however , there's a whole process of what would happen before . she would essentially lose her humanity as her brain begins to decay , attacking everything she can tell is moving around her ( after all , her eyes would be gone at this point ) . in this state , her power would pretty much be always be active , which would lead to two outcomes : you either somehow manage to kill her , or she eventually falls over and dies .

new ! she knows it's time to stop using her power when her tongue falls out . because next would be her eyes , and then finally her brain and heart .

new ! when her power is active , she does not appear in videotapes . all that appears is a white fog in her place .

[clawedevil]

Tag Dump because I'm tired of not having my tags handy.

Also NSFW headcanons because i forget my headcanons. I have headcanons but I only write smut when the stars align and two blood sacrifices have been made in my honor so no one needs to know these.

HIM's eyes go black when they c*m.

They are a nonbinary-shapeshifter but they prefer to have a pen*s.

Head game is insane.

They are EXTREMELY vain so when it comes to talking during its usually stuff like "you like my *blank*" "i know it feels good when i *blank*"

Believe it or not, HIM is a switch. They have no preference for either though. It's really just whatever they feel like at the moment.

They love to leave marks in visible spots.

Finally, the tags:

ooc. ｢ monster fucker simulator. ｣ ic. ｢ lace a lie with truth none is sweeter. ｣ him. ｢ creature most vile. ｣ mojo. ｢ prove yourself worthy to a worthless cause. ｣ musings. ｢ delights of pain and pleasure. ｣ headcanons. ｢ to kill a god. ｣ aesthetic. ｢ luxuries of devil to make angels weep. ｣ style. ｢ dipped with gold and blood. ｣ self promo. ｢ fall in decay. ｣ promo. ｢ succumb to your weakness. ｣ desires. ｢ the taste of the forbidden  ｣

body. ｢ all the better to eat you with. ｣ fc. ｢ evil always seeks to tempt. ｣ answers. ｢ look to the heavens and pray to devils. ｣ jojoisnomo. ｢ beautiful disaster i’ll eat you. ｣ mojo and him. ｢ own me i'll let you play the role. ｣ rebelpuff. ｢ what's the most you ever lost ｣

[primegrim-a]

i feel like eiko in a video game would be TERRIFYING . mostly due to how would force the player to play on defense the whole time : because i think there would be only three to four ways that you'd finish the fight .

one ) she kills you , point blank : it's hard to target a boss who's code literally makes it so that she can not take damage for the time she is using her power to attack you .

two ) she lets you go : that's right . i'd say her fight would involve a system of conversation . multiple dialogue options would appear and the player would be able to choose between them with the simple tap of either the numbers on the keyboard , 1 - 4 , or the controls on the back of a controller . the more you have found before during possible quests + easter egg items , the more you know of her story and can reason with her .

three ) she joins you in the fight : a possible outcome to what was mentioned above . this option would only happen though if you have found all the things you need to unlock her full story .

four ) she dies : the longer the fight goes on , the more she will decay . after a full 25 mins of the fight continuing on without the player dying , she would collapse , basically a skeleton . however , in the last 5 mins , the fight would increase in difficulty , mostly because eiko would have lost all sense of control and thought about the situation . so , she would be attacking like a mad animal .

the player would be forced to memorize her movements , especially when to know when to defend themselves or when to dodge . not only that , but would be forced to , quite literally , have eyes and ears on every possible angle , because she could phase through a wall or the floor or attack from above . think of it like the fight against sans in undertale : there's a definite sequence of her moves . she wouldn't be the final boss , but she would be the second to last and a definite taste to what the final boss would be like .

[vermilionsun]

Headcanons about how the LIs would kiss the MC for the first time? Definitely not ideas to draw-

oMG— HI HI HIIIIIIIIIII 🙋‍♂️🙇‍♂️ *exploads*

𝓐𝓲𝓼

✩ Probably happens in a dimly lit, secluded part of Eridia—perhaps an alleyway where the air is thick with the pungent stench of rotting garbage and decay. The narrow space between the crumbling buildings offers a rare moment of solitude in that God-forgotten city.

✩ Ais's eyes, usually sharp and alert, soften as they linger on the MC.

✩ In his defense, emotions were running H I G H. It's not his fault they were right there, looking so beautiful and absolutely enticing.

✩ His gaze remains locked on theirs, searching for something—maybe permission, maybe a sign that they feel the same pull that he does. When he finds it, his resolve seems to crumble, just a little.

✩ With a deep breath, as if steeling himself, Ais reaches out. His hand, usually so steady and sure, hovers for a moment before finally brushing against the MC’s cheek. The touch is surprisingly gentle.

✩ Yeah, the consequences could wait

✩ The kiss is slow at first, almost tentative, as if he’s testing the waters, unsure of how far he can go. But when the MC responds, the kiss deepens, becoming more intense.

There’s a rawness to it, an urgency that leaves them both breathless.

✩ Ais’s other hand comes up to cradle the back of the MC’s head, pulling them closer as if afraid they might slip away. The world around them—the decay, the danger, the darkness—melts away, leaving just the two of them, lost in the moment.

✩ When they finally pull apart, Ais’s breath is ragged, his forehead resting against the MC’s as he struggles to regain control. His eyes, once so unreadable, now shimmer with a vulnerability he’s never shown before.

✩ “Don’t make me regret this,” he murmurs, his voice low and rough, a plea wrapped in a warning.

𝓚𝓾𝓻𝓪𝓼

✞ The bitch /affectionately has been dropping shameless hints the moment he met them the very same day

✞ It is a wall. A very nice wall, if he has a say. He's the type to trap them between a rock and a... hard place [you guess which is which]

✞ "Well, he looks at me and I look at him And he looks at me and I look at him And he looks at me and I look at him" And it goes like that for a few agonising long moments. Mfr is like :3

✞ His expression is gentle, but there’s a depth of emotion there that he hasn’t fully expressed before. Eventually, mister giraffe leans down for a long peak. There’s no rush, giving the MC all the time in the world to decide if that is what they want.

✞ He kisses them with a kind of reverence, as if they’re something precious, something to be cherished.

✞ Oh, don't get me STARTED ON THE HAND PLACEMENT

✞ One hand on the small of their back, firm yet gentle, guiding them closer to him. The other hand tangled in their hair, fingers softly caressing the back of their neck.

✞ When they eventually pull apart, Kuras’s eyes remain closed for a moment longer, as if savoring the feeling, the memory of their lips on his. He smiles, but it’s tinged with a kind of sadness.

✞ Next moment, he's holding them tight against his chest, allowing them to feel the steady beat of his heart.

✞ “Thank you”

𝓛𝓮𝓪𝓷𝓭𝓮𝓻

🗡 Takes place in The Wet Wick, buzzing with its usual crowd—a mix of unsavory characters, mercenaries, and those looking to drown their troubles in strong drink.

🗡 Leander leans in his chair, his posture relaxed. His fingers tap lightly against the rim of his glass, a playful smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

🗡 “You know, I can’t tell if you’re doing this on purpose,” his words, like always, are laced with that effortless charm.

🗡 Leander watches them for a moment longer, then, with a slow, deliberate movement, reaches out. His fingers lightly graze the back of the MC’s hand, sending a shiver up their arm. Leander’s touch is warm, and his lips even more so as places a soft kiss upon the bare knuckles, emerald eyes gleaming with adoration.

🗡 He then moves their hand to cup his cheek, leaning in...

🗡 The kiss is everything the MC might have expected from him—confident, intense, and undeniably passionate. His lips move against theirs with a kind of practiced ease, as if he’s done this a thousand times before.

🗡 His hand comes up to the small of their back, pulling them closer, his body pressing against theirs.

🗡 When he finally pulls back, his breath is ragged, a faint blush creeping onto his cheeks. His eyes are darker now, filled with something deeper.

🗡 He gives a small chuckle, though it’s softer, more vulnerable. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this”

𝓜𝓱𝓲𝓷

🕊 rOOFTOP KISS

The night sky is overcast, casting a muted gray glow over the city. A cool breeze rustles the MC’s clothes as they sit beside Mhin, both of them watching the distant lights flicker across the chaotic city below. The two of them sit in silence, a silence that’s not uncomfortable but rather familiar.

🕊 Mhin's shoulders are slightly less tense, their gaze lingers on the horizon rather than avoiding eye contact. They mightt be on the edge of letting something slip through the cracks of their defenses.

🕊 “Why are you still here? With me?” It’s a question born of clear curiosity, neither insecurity nor doubt.

They turn to face the MC, their heart beating a little faster.

🕊 For a moment, Mhin looks like they might pull back, might retreat into themselves the way they always do. But instead, they hesitate, their breath catching slightly as they move closer.

🕊 “Because I want to be.” It’s not an elaborate answer, but it’s the truth, and Mhin values honesty above all else. “Are you sure?” Mhin asks, their voice quieter still, almost like they’re asking themselves more than the MC. The MC nods, their gaze steady. “Yes.” 🕊 That’s all it takes.

🕊 Mhin is the one to close the final distance between them.

🕊 The kiss is delicate, almost fragile, as though Mhin is afraid to break something—perhaps the walls they’ve built around themselves [too late for that tho---] It’s not rushed or passionate, but slow and measured, like they’re trying to make sense of it.

🕊 Mhin’s hand hovers near the MC’s cheek, as if they want to touch but aren’t sure they should.

🕊 When they finally break the kiss, Mhin pulls back slowly, their gaze searching the MC’s face for any sign of regret or hesitation. There's definately color in their cheeks.

𝓥𝓮𝓻𝓮

✦ The alleyway behind The Wet Wick, where the flickering light from the tavern barely reaches. It's late, the streets mostly empty except for the occasional passerby, and the two of them have just slipped out of sight, away from the bustling noise of the tavern.

✦ “You really should be more careful around me, you know,” Vere says, his voice low and lilting, dripping with mock concern.

✦ He steps closer, his movements smooth, almost predatory, like a cat toying with its prey. He tilts his head slightly, amusement dancing in his eyes as he closes the gap between them.

✦ His hand moves to brush lightly against the MC’s arm, the touch barely there, more of a tease than a real caress. It's intoxicating, his scent a mix of something sweet and dangerous, like poisoned honey.

✦ They can’t tell if he’s about to kiss them or kill them—and that’s exactly how Vere likes it.

✦ His lips are soft, but there’s a dangerous edge to the way he kisses them, his teeth grazing their bottom lip just enough to send a shiver down their spine.

✦ His hand comes up to cup the side of their neck, his fingers lightly pressing into their skin, holding them in place as he deepens the kiss.

✦ It's as much a test as a promise, a dance on the edge of something darker, something dangerous. It isn’t just about fun for him—it’s about control.

✦ When he finally pulls back, his breath is ragged, his eyes w i d e and hungry. He lingers close, his lips still barely brushing theirs.

✦ “You’ve managed to exceed my expectations,” Vere murmurs, his voice soft but dripping with intrigue. "Kiss me like that again, and I might actually start to like you.”

[nebbyy]

hello could you do headcanons smut of baldwin and his chubby wife

King Baldwin x reader - Nsfw headcanons

A/N: Wow these is the first explicit stuff I write for Baldwin!! Thank you so much for this prompt, thinking of a chubby medieval woman makes me think of all the portraits of beautiful women with the most harmonious curves I've ever seen😩😩

As always painting name is Romeo and Juliet by Frank Bernard Dicksee for my art enthusiasts :))

Warning: SMUT, reader is AFAB and uses she/her pronouns!

Unlike modern times, a fuller body has always been sign of beauty and fertility through western history

Although during medieval times anything related to attractiveness and sensuality was deemed as "bad", that still meant that a chubby woman would've been judged not for being against the beauty standard, but to be actually too tempting for the public!

So it comes without saying that young king Baldwin thought he might pass out the first time he saw you, knowing you were his betrothed

You'd awakened something in him, this burning desire to have you, to know how your soft curves would feel in his hands, how your silky skin would brush against his own

I see him having a long series of consecutive days where he woke up drenched in sweat, body slightly trembling as he'd come out of yet another wet dream about you, lying beneath him as he had his sweet way with you

He felt himself getting more and more impatient for the wedding night day to come, to finally be able to call you his

He'd also be quite insecure at first, and scared too. What if the sight of his body repulsed you? What if you wouldn't want to go near him to avoid the risk of getting the disease as well?

He wouldn't blame you for it, it'd be the wiser decision for the both of you

But still, he prays and hopes and dreams that you'd return the attraction he felt from you from the very start. He longs for the feeling of your touch against his numb body

He's a bundle of nerves during the whole ceremony, but he's good at hiding it (well the veil covering his head is); he seems to all calm down only once you're both sitting next to each other at the banquet, and you tentatively lay your soft hand over his laying on the table, shy touches blessing his skin

That night your marriage is consumed in no time, he's basically as gentle as humanly possible while he holds you in his arms, as he's slowly penetrating you

There was no really developed knowledge of foreplay or female anatomy in the middle ages, but it just felt natural for Baldwin to keep his focus on your every reactions while the two of you are making love

He doesn't know what he's doing, and neither do you considering that at that time you probably haven't even seen a naked man other than Baldwin himself, but that doesn't stop the two of you from exploring each other, taking your time to get to know what you like, what makes your eyes roll back and your back arch

I'm not sure if he'd be down for oral, I kind of see him as being a bit self conscious of the level of decay his mouth and face has reached, and I'm not too sure his cum would actually taste good with leprosy and all

Nevertheless, his fingers and cock are more than enough to bring you more pleasure than you could ever imagine

Don't expect any public stuff, Baldwin is still an extremely religious man whose values are not to be messed with: these things are meant for the privacy of your quarters alone, there's no need for him to bring this sacred thing you two have out where all eyes could possibly see

He'd probably be more on the vanilla side, being mostly against anything related to giving pain (he'd be indifferent to receiving it since his body is mainly numb, but he wouldn't enjoy it either)

Although he would probably enjoy being the more dominant one in the bedroom, the power dynamic would still remain on a pretty balanced level: you're still his beloved wife, his only equal in his eyes. That's why I could confidently say that Baldwin is the perfect example of soft dom

His favorite position would probably be missionary, just so that he could be able to see your pretty face while he pounds into you

Also because he could get to hold your plush thighs and see the delightful rolls that form on your belly

Your body screams femininity and fertility to him, an alluring combination that gets him going for as much time as you two have

His numbness also grants him a reduced sensibility, so he can afford to go more rounds at a time without having too many problems from it

But as the years pass, his mobility becomes more restricted by his declining health, and along with his agility and stamina in battle his sickness gets the best of him even in the bedroom

And through it all, his burning desire for you was what got him going, what made him spare just a little more energies to later spend with you

The two of you would have to adapt, though, probably changing positions and frequency at which you guys have sex

You might start trying to be the one on top, and he'd guide your every movement while also trying not to lose his mind over just how perfect you look riding him, your every curve bouncing as you move up and down over his cock

He dreams of giving you a baby in those moments, filling you up to the brim, seeing your body get even fuller with your conjoint love. It really saddens him to think that it might never happen

But hope is the last one to die, and he gets his hopes up every time that he comes into your welcoming body, emptying his seed into you, hoping that one day this union will give life to a creature as beautiful as its mother

[slowd1ving]

Hiiiii can u write Kim Dokja x Goth!Male!reader this sponsor constellation is Apollo and The reader is a simp for Dokja ( I love this man )

LOVE LIKE BLOOD ・゜゜KIM DOKJA

“The life is short, and I’m running faster all the time, Strength and beauty destined to decay, So cut the rose in full bloom.” By chance you meet him, by chance you become his friend, by chance you stay by his side; until it cannot be called fickle, capricious chance any longer, but an example of the inevitable law of universal attraction between two starving masses. art by @ 1L9l2Aa8UCL0IGJ (blackbox) on x! also thank you anon this ask was so big brained I yapped on for like 5k words (very sorry if you wanted headcanon/drabble form I got the most profound inspiration for this at like 3am :3) also damn you have no idea how many song titles I was perusing trying to find a suitable one for this... pairing: kim dokja + male goth reader warnings: pretty graphic metaphors, child abandonment/implied parental death, child neglect + abuse, alcohol, smoking, depression + bullying, hurt/comfort, injury, violence (as it's orv), does 10+ year long pining and oddly tense homoeroticism need a warning, anon I hope you ENJOY reading because I enjoyed writing wc: 5.6k (YAP because i love this silly man, I've never written so much for a request before lmao)

ORV MASTERLIST

MASTERLIST ・゜・NAVIGATION

Fundamentally, you and him are the same. 

There’s a sense of loss that’s too heavy for either of your bodies to comprehend. Rather than a heart, there’s a black hole right where the organ lies; so greedy, so hungry for acknowledgement. Born blue into this world—deprived of oxygen yet wailing, screaming for your voice to be heard—it’s little wonder you’ve always been avaricious for the love your parents could never give. The hands cradling the babe were never loving; they were clinical, they were covered in sterile blue gloves and they smelled only of caustic antiseptic. There was no kiss on your slimy, puckered forehead. There was only the sting of alcoholic sanitiser. 

Kim Dokja is similar, yet his parents wouldn’t (rather than couldn’t, for in your embittered mind the two concepts were so different as to be alien) spare him scraps of care. Rather than press a kiss to their son’s awaiting cheek, only bruises blossomed where the love should’ve been. No flowers were given for Children’s Day—only oily blood spilling and macerating against his chubby hands as a last, vibrant gift for their son. 

These two black holes sputtered on their axes while they spun round each other: gluttonous, esurient for care that didn’t come with bruises and wailing grief. 

Seoul had been unusually cold; blue afternoons spanned across the school rooftops. They were frigid and foggy—perfect for avoiding detection. Thus, the boy without kisses (only contused skin) encountered another like him on the rooftop that day. Against the haze, your own cigarette smoke had dulled the edges of what he saw—a boy canted against the railing with rippling earphones and a head tilted so far back he could taste the polluted mist. 

A merger had occurred. 

And though neither of you said it, there was an unspoken recognition of each other’s greed in that moment. Your eyes, ghosting over his injuries while the heavy bass played and the prussic wisps trailed around him: deep reverberations sounding a bit too like his careening heartbeat—as he made sure no one had followed him up here, that he was safe. And his umbrous eyes—honed in on the cigarette wedged between your lips, now stained black from the gloss decorating your humourless smile.

Maybe it was just that inherent feeling of kinship that came with avariciousness: a snarling sort of camaraderie that snagged at your skin with its claws. The wounds left behind were tender, but tender was precisely the adjective you were looking for—as was he. 

And so, Kim Dokja found himself coming to this particular rooftop the next day. When his breathing came ragged and his vision began to swim, he instinctively sought the numbness the frigid azurine firmament would bring. Like a wounded animal, he sought safety. Flight over fight—a lesson he’d learnt too late. Bruised fists would never save him. 

There you sat—eyes closed and lips still glossed in modest black. There were silver rings on your hands; rings he’d seen flashing before his eyes before he was hit, that those people no longer sported. Quietly, he matched up the scrapes on your own knuckles to the ones decorating their faces: to their unusual sullenness today. They’d furtively sequestered themselves in a club room all break, touching their swollen lips and eyes with bruised fists. Bruised fists. Like trophies, the achromatic metal glinted against the cobalt haze, and for once, his heart didn’t skip any beats at the sight of the gleaming metal. Neither did you acknowledge his presence nor their sins, but still, he sat on the same bench you were sprawled upon: hugging his bag to his chest while he scrolled the hallowed pixels of Ways of Survival. 

There was no grand exchange of words, no heartfelt conversations between Kim Dokja and the boy with a messed-up uniform. 

This was how tentative company was kept for a fragile week. 

Tuesday was the day that fragility finally shattered. He still remembers every detail about it—down to the particular cigarette brand you’d purchased that morning, down to the chips in your dark nail polish, down to just how many rings you’d worn on your left hand (three—it was three rings). Tears had spilled down his cheeks that afternoon; they warped and distorted the words that had saved him thus far, evoked from the pain in his purple ribs and his empty stomach. Somehow, the salt he’d kept tightly bound had been coaxed by your cold presence—perhaps, knowing your indifference made it easier to cry pathetically in front of you. 

You still didn’t speak, but you did hand him a tissue. You still didn’t speak, but you did press your shoulder to his own trembling one: smelling of caustic smoke, and something rich and sweet lingering beneath the plumes. You still didn’t speak, but your rings clinked on your left hand as you unhooked the earbud in your pierced ear and offered it to him: fingers brushed against his palm as he was forcibly shocked out of crying any further, like a blubbering child faced with such a conundrum that their little brains focused entirely on that rather than the reason for their tears. 

Melancholy had streamed out of the device. Doleful chords twined against threnetic voices—which he could not translate nor understand but could feel in pulsing waves. 

In that short whorl in the great machine of time, in the chill of the blue hour, he could not help but feel warm.

And thus, that Tuesday changed the trajectory of this merger somewhat. A deafening hum had finally blossomed from the gargantuan event; your presence could no longer be described as distant. 

When he went to class the next day, you were in the seat next to him: a mirage brought on by his lack of food, no doubt. He limped to his desk, but there your corporeal form remained: this time with silver chains lining the base of your throat and a dry, sharp grin decorating your face. Sure, he knew there was a student that never showed up in his class, but he wasn’t expecting it to be you: your name now a permanent fixture in his mind. 

There was a new name for this phenomenon: friendship. 

The boy, with the pensive music and trophies stolen from Dokja’s tormentors, smiled up at the reader staring at him. It was an inviting gesture: the proverbial hand reaching out, the hand which he took.

You weren’t a particularly talkative friend at first: preferring to simply share your music rather than speak much. That was fine with him—it wasn’t like he wasn’t used to reading alone. Then, you started bringing boxes of food alongside your cigarettes: containers that lacked the refinement of store bought meals. One for you, and one sheepishly thrust out to him with a smile bright as burst yolk and as messy as it too. Consequently, he returned a wobbly, unsure smile back at you—not mentioning that the vegetables were slightly burnt, slightly too salty. But that was fine. The more lunches you brought, the more skilled your hands became—until he never felt truly full unless he was eating what you gave him. 

In return, he cracked open his soul: pried its rusted walls with bleeding fingernails in a gesture never before seen, not since his childhood when he still knew what hope meant. Dokja for once didn’t blubber apologies and pleas for mercy—but became a teenager rather than a groveller. He complained about teachers, he discussed Ways of Survival at length (noting how you listened even when you showed no particular interest in reading it), he finally developed his own, modest aspirations for his own life. Lying in his bed in his lonely apartament, it suddenly didn’t feel so claustrophobic (yet somehow far too big for one) when you were there with your shoulder just brushing his own. 

You were not as cold as you seemed: though this was always obvious from that fateful Tuesday. You made fun of and empathised with the eternal regressor; you diligently stood at his half-broken stove frying meat and vegetables; and you talked at length about whatever band you were currently into—“I’ll take you to one of their concerts when we’re older,” leaving your lips, for your dense black-hole hearts did not conceptualise a future where the other was not present. He saw your loneliness—heard the rumours of you bouncing around from orphanage to orphanage, roaming the streets and working nights rather than return to that boreal home. 

So, more nights than not, he woke up from his nightmares to see you sleeping on the small couch in his home—legs just about peeking over the armrest, for your avarice didn’t only cover the abstract but the heaps of food you swiped from the canteen (and over the past two years he’d known you, you got your growth spurt far more obviously than he had). It partly contributed to almost skittish aversion his tormentors had of him—one you never did acknowledge, and so he learnt quickly to not mention it either. In this way, he too never mentioned why he invited you to sleep over more nights than not. And so, neither of your selfish hearts ever spoke a word of pity, but rather conveyed an unspoken understanding that bound the two of you in this merger. 

This routine continued.

He enlisted after graduating from the local university, and so did you—suffering the eighteen months of hazing with the smoke lingering on your skin and that same, humourless smile he first saw on your face. Frigid mornings turned his own lips as blue as the sky, yet he found it was harder to feel the chill when he saw you. Just like back then, you wore the same smile that brimmed with such colour it was practically incandescent with its heat. 

Two outcasts. It was hilariously terrible. Two outcasts, still sharing a pair of earbuds that had seen better days—blaring out the dolorous music that had grown on him, that described this situation perfectly. Stars were strewn in the fabric enveloped around you: memories that would continue to shine even after the world slowly marched towards its apocalypse. 

In that cramped bunkroom, it had been just like school—blue nights with the moon just barely peeking through the window, with your leg still hanging off the side of the bunk and within his field of vision. And he still found the steady rise and fall of your breathing far more comforting than any white noise: like a guard dog, almost, you still shielded him by his proximity to you throughout the brutal eighteen months of mandated service. 

Adulthood had crept up unbidden. In his single-room apartment, he sat on his couch with your legs sprawled just as lazy as they had been eight years prior. Though, your appearance certainly had changed—beneath the loose material of your tank top, he could see the ink seeping and decorating your skin. He’d gone with you to the underground artists right after the discharge: worriedly biting his lip while you simply grinned at him as if there wasn’t a needle pressing into you. And despite his initial concern, he couldn’t seem to tear his gaze away—sneaking glances even as he browsed through job sites since the winding patterns under the fabric and silver jewellery was oddly entrancing to the eye. 

In the end, he applied to the same company you had done on a whim: Minosoft, where you carefully wiped off the black residue on your lips and the smudged pencil round your eyes. You still shared your earbud with him on the subway (though you’d sent him your playlist aeons ago), you still smoked the same brand you did eight years ago, you still occasionally put on those rings you’d kept as prized trophies, you still made two sets of lunches for work. You still listened over drinks while hammered Dokja updated you on the latest update of Ways of Survival. You still angled your body just so, so that you would bear the brunt of Han Myungoh’s scolding rather than him. 

You hadn’t changed. 

But in some ways, he could no longer see the same boyish guy who’d awkwardly offered him his earbuds nine years ago. The look in your eyes was far more intense, the messy smiles splitting your cheeks were sharper, more overwhelming, and there was no longer any clumsiness in your movements from your sudden growth spurt from years prior. Even the very hand that occasionally clasped his shoulder, even the legs that you still casually flung over his on his beaten old couch, were far more scorching than he remembered. 

You had changed. 

And in the end, it was him who was left behind. 

Eternal loser, Kim Dokja. 

Though, he could never find fault with you for that. Not when you leaned over the tangle of limbs on his couch, not when he caught the thread of oud lingering beneath the smoke on your throat, and not when you thrust your phone screen at his face with that stupidly boyish grin that only peeked out when you brimmed with excitement—with a “look, I finally got us tickets for this festival!”. And he knew at that moment that you weren’t leaving him behind: stretching out your rough palm just like you had more than a decade ago. 

He let you tousle his hair to give it more spikes. He let you dress him up in your clothes—they sat too large on his frame, but he found himself unconsciously burying his body in the fabric that smelled like your laundry. He let you slip your rings onto his fingers: slender digits jolting at the sensation of the cool metal and the action itself. 

Finally, he let you rub your dark pencil on his lashline—lids fluttering up at yours while he did his best to not avert his stare. His gaze traced the bold lines of your brows and eyes, and finally onto the dark stain on your lips as you bit them in concentration. “There,” you’d murmured, gently grasping his chin. “That looks pretty.” 

And just like the loser he was, he felt his chest tighten at the casual compliment, for seemingly no reason. 

Over the din of the hall, he could barely hear the ebb and flow of music. Goth chords jostled him, weaving past the throes of post-punk and metal as band after band took the stage. In this crush of people, he was more focused on how your index finger threaded through his left-most belt loop; linking the two of you just enough that he wouldn’t get thrown into the mosh pit. No doubt the buzz of cheap liquor contributed to his distracted train of thoughts—he never was the best at handling alcohol. His hazy gaze distorted his view of your side profile; in the dim lights, obviously the wide smile (yolk-like, as was your grin years back) couldn’t possibly be that bright. 

It was at this moment that sentimentality got to him. He was thankful that his friend had stuck by his side for so long: gazing so softly at your happy expression he was unaware of his look himself. 

This was the night before the apocalypse began. 

When the crowds trickled out, when the reverb of bass still played through the club, you hugged him tight for coming with you. Outcast with the outcast, you’d thought introspectively. There were cheap spirits clouding your mind that night—a hangover would surely strike you come morning—which was why you weren’t as reserved as you usually were. As you leaned down to press the man into your arms, your lips had brushed past his cheek accidentally, and you could feel the black hole in the centre of your chest constrict. 

Profanities had whirled through your mind when the dark smudge remained on his cheek, and especially so as he made no move to wipe the umbrous gloss off on the subway back. Or maybe he just hadn’t noticed—not with the flush on his cheeks from the alcohol in his system. There was a terrible, discordant crescendo to your pulse as you gazed at him. The gloss, from where it smeared slightly past the boundaries of your lips, burned your skin. But you made no moves to wipe the corners either—for this night only, there was something linking Kim Dokja to you. 

Thus, for the first time since he was a mere babe cradled in his mother’s arms, there was a kiss planted on his cheek that wasn’t from a fist. An accidental one, but one that could not be considered devoid of affection. And though neither of you remembered it after the hazy stupor faded, it did not change the fact that it happened nonetheless. 

A small snippet of joy in the bleak landscape. A caesura found within the long, winding elegy of this world. A reprieve before tragedy. 

It was a fitting conclusion for the night before the end. 

✦ . 　⁺ 

[The free service has now been terminated.]

Back in the carriage, wedged between Yoo Sangah and Kim Dokja, the two of you had shared a glance confirming the unspoken truth. Minds intrinsically linked together—he did not need to speak for you to understand his thoughts immediately. And Yoo Sangah had recognised this—as did she remember the devoted gleam in your eyes whenever you spoke to or of the man seated adjacent to you. Yet ultimately, her lips would remain closed. 

When the scenarios began, it was Kim Dokja’s turn to repay you. He would be your shield moving forward—protecting your messy smile even as the world burned away. He vowed this to himself, and though the promise was heard only by him, it did not change the fact that the constellations watching him and his companions could see the oath brimming from him as he put you first. 

[Almighty Sun has sponsored you.]

Even when Apollo chose you as his incarnation, even when you were just as capable as you had been before the cataclysm occurred—he could not help but feel his fists clench as you put yourself in danger. 

“Hold on,” you’d murmured, rings flashing as you’d caught his wrist in your firm grasp. Even with his coins improving his stats, he still felt so much weaker than you—still the boy who ran to the rooftops while your fists bruised against the faces of those who tormented him. 

Had your touch always been so scalding?

Privately, he thought Apollo had chosen the right person—smile bright as the sun, skilled fingers deft enough to play the electric guitar you’d bought on a whim, presence practically a healing balm for his soul. 

“You’re injured, Dokja-ya.” And the words had made him shiver as the syllables ghosted over his flesh—your face was too close to his chest where he’d been slashed by a monster, while the affectionate tone added to his name made this situation far worse than it was. Secluded like this, in an abandoned corner of the station, it was easy to misread the situation; this was the only reason his face flushed red. His friend was far too close. When those aforementioned fingertips brushed over the wound—just grazing the wounded flesh—he jolted. From the pain, of course. 

[The Demon-like Judge of Fire has sponsored 200 coins.]

[The Demon-like Judge of Fire would like to see more action.]

“Steady.” You eased him against a pillar while ignoring the message—ignoring how your pulse was now leaden in your mouth, how the golden gleam stitching flesh back together seemed far more shaky than usual. Though, you couldn’t ignore the pain you felt as you saw the rise and fall of his torso grow shallow; you were useless when it counted—arrows meeting their target far too late. 

“Dokja-ya,” you breathed, sweeping the hair that plastered to his clammy forehead. He didn’t meet your eyes, and the heavy feeling in your chest grew more burdensome. He was supposed to tell you what was wrong; as his best friend, you duly heard his complaints and dealt with them where you could. More often than not, you could intuitively tell what bothered him; much like you had from the very first day you saw him all those years ago. And as time passed, the object of your adoration only grew easier to read. 

But he was never avoidant like this. 

What happened? As you watched him leave with heavy steps and not a glance spared back, you could feel the crushing weight of the sky drop back down on your shoulders. Fuck. Burying your face in your hands, you barely registered the message that popped up. 

[The Demon-like Judge of Fire expresses her sympathy.]

[The Demon-like Judge of Fire says she knows how the two of you can make up.]

[The Demon-like Judge of Fire sponsors 69 coins.]

[The Almighty Sun tells the Demon-like Judge of Fire to not be stingy.]

[The Almighty Sun sponsors 6969 coins.]

[The Almighty Sun empathises with a lover’s quarrel.]

“Shut up,” you seethed, and the bad mood carried on late into the night. It was obvious to anyone with eyes; the conjured lamps lining the perimeter of camp had seethed with you. Gold had been interspersed with bleeding red—crackling like true fire, though it was anything but. Even the tattoos that lined your skin had begun eroding into ember-like patterns, as though lava was breaking through the dermis of your skin. 

Unsurprisingly, it was Yoo Sangah that had approached first: past the harsh glow of your lamps, gracefully weaving through the brightness with the light steps that belied her nebula. She’d taken a glance at the incandescent splintering of your body, your hands furiously working away at the guitar plugged into your practically-bulletproof earphones, and finally the imposing frame of Yoo Joonghyuk only a few metres away as he stood guard tonight. 

But when you paused, when you hastily yanked the buds from your ears, she could also see the wobble in your lip. The furrow in your brows wasn’t angry, it was anguished, while the fearsome glare in your eyes contained only pain. If she was being honest, it was hard to approach you at work and even nowadays—with ease, you picked off enemies from a distance and your longbow conveniently morphed into two curved daggers when it came down to it. You were a maelstrom with the capacity to take lives—stained with blood as you bared your proverbial teeth at any threats to Dokja. But it was precisely that that allowed her to see your stupidly blind adoration of this man. 

(“Your devotion will only hurt you,” she says, as if that will dissuade you. You’ll take whatever feeling he gives you: greedily swallowing each and every morsel of emotion. Tender is your heart, but tender is good. It means you aren’t going mad over the situation you’re in.

“Yoo Sangah, I appreciate the advice,” you reply politely—you do respect her, after all. “But I do not mind that.”)

Yoo Joonghyuk had bemusedly watched as she left: staring the the dim red tattoos strewn across your body as if they could possibly help him decipher the fool in front of him. His Sage’s Eye flashed as golden as your lamps for a brief moment—detecting that your statement had, in fact, been true. 

Fool, he’d said as your hands flew over the fretboard once more. Fool, as you disappeared up the stairs to the rooftop. Fool, when your lips had pressed together tightly against one another. 

You did mind, even when you thought it was the unequivocal truth that you didn’t. 

Maybe it was futile to even think it, but he thought that idiot didn’t deserve the long-standing care in your hands, and the veneration in the timbres of your voice. It was pointless to get attached to someone like that—especially when the end of the world was upon you. 

But you wouldn’t know that, since you could not read his mind. But you wouldn’t know that, since he would never explicitly say it. But you wouldn’t know that, since you’d long-since accepted your self-torture as perfectly and utterly a part of what came with knowing Kim Dokja for as long as you did. 

The rooftop was like all other rooftops. Similar. The same. Azurine fog was at your fingertips: just like that day all those years ago. Except this time, Kim Dokja was not in your sights, and you were left alone with wisps of smoke trailing from your lips and no other company save the glowing stick in your fingers. Just like it had been; before you met the boy with a heart as greedy and all-consuming as yours. Before the merger between two black holes occurred. Before he ran up to the rooftops with bruises on his face and placed new stars in the endless vacuum of your universe. 

There was no charge in your phone, but the song that played that day still rested heavy in your neurons as you sprawled out on the bench. Mindlessly, you summoned the lyre-turned-guitar: doleful chords germinated, flourished and withered away once more under distressed fingertips. It was a night between scenarios; another caesura in this ceaseless tragedy. Though those days were filled with an empty stomach and an endless struggle, they were your halcyon days. 

Just like that time almost twelve years back, it was a blue Monday once more. 

Just like that time almost twelve years back, you didn’t hear the heavy run of footsteps through the heavy burr of music. 

Just like that time almost twelve years back, Kim Dokja’s black hole heart pulsed with each discordant twang of chords—though this time the link was acutely clear to him. 

The boy who once tasted the mist and tilted his body into oblivion was no longer there: replaced by a man who’d faithfully stayed by him for more than a decade. Though you hadn’t changed, not at all; not when he could still see the rings you took off his bullies, gracing your fingers just as they had back then. A trophy, dedicated to his protection. When his plans involved his sacrifice, you were the first to reach him. Your face was the first he saw, tears brimming from your lash line. For despite how you’d grown into your looks, you wore your emotions clear on your face. Your heart had been taken from the cavity in your chest and replaced with a dense core that greedily always wanted; yet it had been sewn messily onto your sleeve rather than discarded. 

Kim Dokja suddenly remembered another interlude. A club, where the amorphous ebb and flow of bodies could not sweep him away from your side—since you kept him there, treasured his presence enough that you hooked your finger firmly into his belt loop and rooted him there. An anchor: you’ve always been the rock beneath his shaky feet, after all. He remembered that, and not the endless churn of music that made your face glow with happiness. 

(A black smear of gloss left on his cheek. His hands, carefully wiping eye pencil away yet not touching the remnants of your lips—not until it smudged away on its own, forgotten for all of time but this day.)

A sun of his own. The reader trod his slow orbit around you long before he could conceptualise the gravity that drew two masses towards each other. Newton’s theory of universal gravitation be damned; you were the only centre of the universe, the only body that ever existed to draw others towards your brilliant light. 

His eyes flickered over the smoke in your lips: the dim embers of a glow from the lines in your skin made it seem as though you were alight yourself. Instinctively, physically, he was compelled towards the patterns just like he had been all those years ago: your music, your stupid piercings and your stupid discussions about bands and the stupid way you listened attentively to his yapping about Ways of Survival. Stupid, because why did you do that? Why did you convince him to make a shrine for you in his heart? Stupid, because why is it only now that he can see what exactly lays atop the stone altar?

“Kim Dokja,” you spoke through your plumes, formal in the way he knew you spoke when you were upset and trying to keep it together. He swallowed, and he could feel the same pitter-patter of his pulse as he did all those years ago—heartbeat colliding loudly in his ear drums while he steps towards you, unsure. You didn’t let up with the strum of strings: electric in the drizzle of rain and wind and cold Seoul air. 

For once, he was the one looking down at your impassive face. He was the one brushing his fingers through your hair, he was the one whose hands made themselves comfortable on shoulders—for it’s always been you wrapped around him, you whose legs wedge on top of his domestically on his shitty couch in his shitty studio flat. 

“It’s Dokja-ya,” he corrected: tongue thick and leaden. It constricted his larynx and made his cadence oh so small at this moment. Tentative. Because he was your close friend and you his. He was the one who knows all your expressions—even the ones you deliberately tried to hide from everyone. He was the one who’s been with you the longest: always staring up at the muscle of your back while you act as his shield. He was the one who’s been blind. 

Your fingers halted against the strings and the instrument dissolved into the wind; the concert for two had reached its conclusion, just like it had all those months ago. For despite being packed full of people, the club only ever had two people in it for him. 

Lazily, those same hands that have bruised for him—but somehow had a touch that was far more painful than any torment that was physically inflicted on him—wrapped round his own that rested neatly on your shoulders. 

“Dokja-ya,” you answered, and the axis the world tilted on is finally righted. This man, Dokja thought—and his umbrous eyes traced down the warm lines of your face, stopping on your lips. Bittersweet. 

“Don’t leave me,” he all but begged—voice only a whisper. Don’t die on me, the black hole wanted to say instead; selfishly wishing for you to always be by his side so he doesn’t see you depart this world first. That would end him more than anything else. 

“I can’t leave you,” you murmured, and oh, the hand brushing his tear-stained cheek suddenly made more sense. “Dokja-ya, I should be telling you that.”

He pressed his face into your warm palm—scorching even with the boreal damp settling over his skin. There was something twisted within him that revels in your admission: that you, too, feared him abandoning you just as he feared you leaving him behind. 

“Idiot.” And he twined his fingers in yours, seeing the surprise on your face bloom—for he’s already established that you’re ever so easy to read. Idiot, because it’s ludicrous to even think that he’d ever willingly walk away from you like that. 

“You’re the idiot,” you whispered as your phantasmal hand ghosted from his cheek to his collar, yanking him so he fell onto the firm sprawl of your legs—in a way he’s never felt. So warm, he thought through the haze as he straddled your languid body—fit so right against you that there was none of the tension nor the anticipation that he might’ve felt. His hands splayed out onto your chest, feeling the steady beat of your heart, tracing the glowing lines he adored on your body. 

So warm, he thought as your hands gently cupped his face—for you’ve never been anything but soft with this stupid man perched on your lap. 

So warm, as your lips met his and he melted into your body. He could taste the acrid smoke on your tongue, but he could also taste the food you’d prepared earlier for him, and the traces of whiskey you’d scavenged. All traces of you; his insatiable heart could not help but want to merge into you. 

So warm, as your tongue melded against his and he could feel the seam of his mouth against yours grow ever more ragged and messy. His hands desperately curled into your shirt, and he could feel your palms pressing harshly against his waist and canting his torso into yours more—something which his avaricious heart eagerly swallowed. 

On a blue Monday just like this one, two boys met for the first time once more on a rooftop just like this one. 

Again. Like and like created a merger for the second time, or perhaps it was already the third. Or fourth. Or the thousand-eight-hundred-and-sixty-third time this has happened—over and over and over and over. 

Fate has a funny way of bringing people together, or maybe it’s just the intrinsic law of gravitation that binds two black holes in a binary system. 

Blue Monday. What a silly notion, when the man beneath Kim Dokja is as warm as the brilliant sun. 

✦ . 　⁺ 

Fellas is it gay to pine after your best friend for over ten years and have oddly homoerotic moments with them

✦ . 　⁺ 

EXTRAS

[The Demon-like Judge of Fire returns from her work and asks what she missed.]

[The Almighty Sun keeps his lips shut.]

[The Abyssal Flame Black Dragon stays silent.]

[The Prisoner of the Golden Headband, perhaps not fearing his imminent hair loss, opens his mouth.]

[The Demon-like Judge of Fire promptly goes catatonic and explodes.]

[s3thwrit3sstuff]

The gojo/m!reader fic is just *chef’s kiss* I fucking love your writing. I know you just posted part 3 and I don’t want to be greedy but can we expect a part 4? 👁️

Lawd, don’t tempt me, nonnie! I have so many headcanons and ideas that I wanted to include but they did not feel relevant to the plot. 😭 Okay - not making any promises! We’ll see how it goes because I have some other fics lined up first! ( ´Д`)y━･~~

Below is the original ending of the fic as a treat! I didn’t write it out originally because I dislike reader-insert endings with a definitive end, I like giving room for the reader to be able to create infinite scenarios with the plot provided (｀_´)ゞ

alternate ending, angst with comfort | not proofread! | wc: 1.5 k

“You gave him a run for your money, huh? I told him it was a cruel idea.”

Air does not inflate your lungs but you inhale anyway, if only to feel your chest rise and fall. He reaches his hand out, and that onyx gaze makes your vision blurry.

“S’guru...?”

Clasping at your cheeks, you try to grasp the reality before you. Nails scratching at your skin as you cast your gaze downwards to your lap. The familiar colour of deep navy blue causes more tears to fall.

“What?” Those vortex-patterned buttons shimmer under the warm lights and Suguru’s hands invade your vision as he gently circles his fingers around your wrist.

“(Y/N), it’s alright. Everything is alright now.” His voice felt like honey, just like before. He’s not decayed or pale or rotten. Suguru is wearing his uniform - like before. Before the Star Plasma incident, before his betrayal, before his death, before your resentment contorted your memory of him into a grotesque spirit.

“You gave it your all. You can rest now.”

The sight past his shoulders is bright and cloudless. The silver beams that hold the glass together meld up and up and up into the roof. The floors are glistening, with not one footprint or stain and the pops of green from the potted plants and the distant forests beyond the glass make your shoulders droop.

“...Where...”

He squeezes your wrist and stands, you have no choice but to do the same.

When you do, he wraps his arms around you. A tight, comforting, squeeze that makes your arms hang awkwardly out with twitching fingers. Your clothes spill from between his hold and you can feel the fine hairs on his cheeks.

“You had every right to hate me, (Y/N). It wasn’t your fault. I don’t hate you, I swear I don’t.”

Tears stream down your face. They feel so cooling, unlike the usual burning that follows.

“I missed you, (Y/N).”

“Suguru...”

“I missed you too. Suguru.”

“(Y/N). Where is he?”

Silence befalls the room. His eyes search and pane from every face to every molecule in the air. As terrifying a thought as it is, Satoru’s six eyes hover unseen over his shoulders. Each pupil looks this way or that way. Some have more than one, long downward-facing lashes fluttering as it darts and consumes the sights before it.

They’re hungrier now. Famished from the timeless chamber that was the Prison Realm.

They’re hungry to lay themselves on you.

Drink in your beauty once more. Drown in your presence and weep when you meet their gaze.

You are not here.

The silence is too familiar.

Satoru feels his chest tighten.

“Mr Gojo,” Yuji steps forward and Shoko purses her lips so Satoru steels his expression. Yuji will tell him you are dead, he will tell him how you perished and if Satoru is lucky (which he hasn’t felt lucky in a long time) Yuji will tell him your body was here.

But Yuji says nothing.

He extends his hand after fishing something out of his pocket and Satoru feels a familiar weight in his palm.

It’s your wedding ring.

The other half to his own that he wore.

He thought you’d melted it down. He’d never seen you wear it after that night.

Were you sentimental too?

Satoru recalls the old books your mother had that left holes in his bookshelves - tracks of their departure shredding through the dust like a stampede of hooves. The drawings that were made in crayon and pens and paint by your children, lining the hallways of home or the fridge (”like the Americans do,” you joked). There were even documents you kept, receipts, of things that held no more value.

You were full of memories just like he was.

He stared at the ring. Delicate, detailed and forlorn without its user.

“He told me he had a plan,” Yuji’s fist shake as he speaks.

“Mr (Y/N) said he’d be alright. He told me to trust him and that everything would be okay. He just told me to get as many comrades out of the area so I did. He - He slipped the ring in my pocket and I didn’t notice.”

You’d been revealed by Sukuna, grasped by the back of your head like a toy. You were decorated like one. Those heavy, patterned, robes and styled hair and painted face. Even with pain contorting your expression you looked as pretty as a doll.

“Lovely sight, isn’t it, my concubine?” Sukuna croons. “You’ve made such an array of allies in my absence. Uruame tells me you’ve even mauled your father, how terrifying.”

Uruame, that bastard. The girl - no. The person that’d been bowing and showing you that horrid swirl pattern on their head - they’d been keeping an eye on you. Ever since you were a child, they’d kept track. To prepare you for Sukuna? Or just to make sure their master's return was celebrated with a feast to please his every desire?

His grip tightens and your yell makes Yuji’s anger simmer under his skin.

‘ I’ll leave the rest to you. ‘ Nanami had told him.

“Sukuna,” he growls out.

The King of Curses, with those lovely eyes Yuji cherished so dearly, smiled like a mad man.

“Oi, brat. Shall I show you how deeper into despair I can take you?”

“Sukuna told Mr (Y/N) to kill us or he’d do it himself. Neither of us expected him to,” Yuji trails off, his nails digging crescent moon shapes into his palms. It’s Yuta who finishes the sentence for him;

“He used Divine Flame to its greatest height. As a way to stop Sukuna from chasing after us and as a way to weaken him.”

“...He had sacrificed himself, is that what you’re saying?” Satoru watches Yuta nod and as Yuji sullenly does the same, Choso comes to his side.

“His flames are still burning. They’re fading but, he did weaken Sukuna considerably,” Shoko says. Satoru knows she’s just taking her time to tell him there is no corpse to be buried. You were gone in the wind and once the remnants of your cursed energy faded there’d be nothing left of you but memories and things; they’d collect dust and grief but none would satisfy Satoru.

He doesn’t mind the way they look at him as he unclasps the silver necklace around his neck to slip your ring. It joins Suguru’s button and he finds himself unable to curse the Gods.

Instead, Satoru closes his eyes to pray.

‘ Watch over me, ‘ he pleads.

It lasts no more than a second. His eyes open but they find themselves searching for hair that shines like vinyl and (E/C) coloured eyes that make heaven weep despite what he’s learned.

The best thing he can hope to do now is free Megumi and Tsumiki of their ailments. Then, then...he’ll bury them.

He’ll bury his family.

“Nanami. Is there a body?”

The furrowing of Yuji’s brows make Satoru’s cheek twitch.

“We’ll bury their things then. Side by side.”

There’s a familiar presence next to him. His scent wafted up Satoru’s nose in a way that made his eyes water. He knows him by the way he breathes, the way he walks, the sound of his hair being tied into a bun.

Suguru is beside him.

He doesn’t know how it’s possible that they’re together once again but a quick glance around and he’s quick to figure it out.

Ah.

He wanted to win so badly.

They talk. They talk like nothing has happened. As if the years were mere footnotes in their story like friends reuniting again after some distance.

Behind him, Yū and Kento are sat. They tease and jest. He yells at Principal Yaga about dying with regret, he sees Riko and Misato talking to each other in their own corner of rhe world.

Kento huffs, Kento smiles.

“If you stop flitting your eyes so wildly you’ll find him, Gojo.” Suguru and Yū chuckle at Satoru’s expression. Kento twists his upper half and points to the windows.

“That woman...” Satoru’s eyes widen.

It’s unmistakably your mother. Her hair, her skin, her posture - youthful and healthy. He sees tiny hands clutching to her shoulder, a head of (H/C) peeking from over it and then your eyes blinking sheepishly up at her.

You’re in your mother's arms, a boy once again as she cradles you close to her.

When your eyes meet him, he sees the bashful way they avert themselves and your mother chuckles as she smooths out your hair. Kento hums and Yū tells him to stand, so Kento does.

Your mother’s smile is as warm as it's always been. Puts the damn sun to shame, really. She presses a kiss to your head then sets you down and with inward facing steps, you walk towards Kento.

With each step, you grow and grow and Satoru thinks of how nice it was that you’re spending your youth with Kento for an eternity now.

Because as you stand in front of Kento in your school uniform, with the bright smile you had in those old photographs, he feels his heart soar. The rings clink softly against each other as he leans back and wraps an arm around Suguru’s shoulder.

Your arms wrap around Kento’s neck and he wraps them around your waist.

“I hope you did not wait long, Ken.” He squeezes you tightly and sighs, “I would wait an eternity for you, my love.”

[animeyanderelover]

Hey! I love your writing!

Could i request headcanons of Yandere Douma with a member of the eternal paradise cult that has never asked him for anything despite the fact he's essentially their god. They assume hes probably stressed hearing and trying to fix other people's problems all the time so they never ask him to fix their life but theyre a diligent worshipper and helper around the cult.

Tw: Yandere themes, toxic relationship, possessive behavior, obsession, delusional behavior, clinginess, manipulation, sadism, isolation

Tags: @leveyani @kanaosprotector

It must be tough to be a god

❄️​What others may only see as utter terror if they would know what is going on behind closed shoji doors is viewed as an act of kindness by Douma. The consumption of his followers is a sign of mercy and kindness as he frees them from their pitiful and pathetic human lives by devouring them. How can those creatures not be tormented by their own existence after all? Their bodies age and decay, their beauty vanishes and in the greater order of things they are flies just waiting to be swatted away and to be forgotten. Needless to say, he looks at your kind with rather condescending opinions yet such thoughts only convince him further of his good deeds. He lends them an ear when they seek him out, desperate and in agony, their heart shackled with chains only he can take off. He has always listened and given words of comfort and as empty as they may be, they latch on them like a leech does on human skin.

❄️​You are one of many faces in his cult, one that should be meant to be forgotten when your time eventually comes. Through hard word and sheer dedication though, you have earned yourself a position where you spend more time with Douma than the average follower. It is a honor you humbly accept as you work earnestly to do your assigned duty and the expectations of everyone justice. You gladly accept all compliments given to you by other worshipper in the cult yet Douma's words of gratitude are the ones that make your heart race the most, although you never let those sweet words get to your head. You believe that one shouldn't slack off because of kind words and compliments and that one should work hard and do their best every day to achieve self-control and inner peace. You fulfill your duties remarkably well and always look out if Douma should need something which you will then promptly arrange for him.

❄️​He praises you for your diligent performance and your hard work yet those words do not match his low thoughts. Douma is quite used to seeing little things like you who would do everything for him in hopes of gaining his attention and his affection. Surely you must be the same. A desperate, little thing who is prying for his love by working so exceptionally hard. He has always entertained such pathetic feelings as it is his duty to cater to the worries of his followers and he thinks that it is time for him to reward you too. What is it that your heart desires most right now? Tell him and he'll see it through to fulfill that little wish of yours. He expects you to utter the common wish of wanting his affection and attention, of the forbidden desire to be claimed by him, even if just for one night. Yet you don't fall for his seductive tone and the temptation of his body so close to yours as you express to him that you have no other wish than continuing to serve him loyally as you have done all this time before.

❄️​Your response puzzles the demon as he has never received such an answer to his offer. He makes no attempt to stop you though as you distance yourself from his body and excuse yourself before heading out, though he tilts his head curiously as his colorful eyes move with you until you are out of his sight. It is only after you have left that Douma fully recognises what has happened and as soon as he has realised, he can't help but let out a rather excited giggle. You denied his offer. You rejected him! Maybe if any of his other followers would have known about your behavior they would have ganged up on you to punish you for your rude and dismissive behavior. Yet the emotions rushing through Douma's veins are far from displeased in that moment as he finds himself rather curious and thrilled all of a sudden as he has never had someone treat him the way you just treated him. It is only the start of his obsession.

❄️​Suddenly you find yourself as the unfortunate target of almost all of his obsession as his attention is solely fixed on you. Boredom has been his only true companion that has always been with him even during his human years yet for the first time in his life he is experiencing something that isn't just a shallow and fleeting emotion. For the first time he sees a bit more worth in a human than what he normally thinks of them and it is rather thrilling to feel. Douma always appears in the places where he knows you are at the moment and successfully distracts you from your duties, quite displeased when you don't give all of your attention to him. You can feel his eyes on you even if you don't face him though and even if you are a dutiful worshipper, you tend to feel a bit creeped out by his behavior. He can't seem to hold out even a minute without asking you something or interrupting you otherwise as the feeling of boredom returns as soon as you don't pay attention to him.

❄️​Despite the rather childish and clingy attitude he suddenly expresses when he is around you, Douma is still quite observant. The demon is aware that you only tolerate this behavior of his because he is the leader of this cult. If it would have been anyone else, you would have given them already an earful. He wonders how far he can take this? If he would have been an honorable man, he would have felt guilty for suddenly abusing his power over you to invade your privacy, to touch you and to downright molest you at times. He isn't though and he will never be. He takes delight in listening how your heartbeat always picks up when he touches you, his hands lingering as they slowly rub up and down your body and watching how you can only uncomfortably squirm whilst his hands linger. You are normally always rather composed and calm so it is quite fun to be the reason for you to lose your facade. Perhaps he can coax you into requesting something special of him if he shows you his interest so boldly.

❄️​You remain unwilling to ask anything of him even as he continues expressing his interest in you through caresses and touches which soon has Douma wondering if you keep something from him. All of his followers have worries and wishes they confess to him yet only you have never made use of his services. Do you not trust him? Is that it? As fun and exciting your different attitude is, if you don't trust him that is a little bit of an issue that bothers Douma the more he thinks about it. He finds himself being rather straightforward this time without playing around as he asks you this question as soon as you have appeared before him due to him having sent for you. It is quite hard to decipher his true feelings as he still keeps a grin on his face, although his eyes are sharp and intense as he expects an answer from you. You see yourself pressured to answer his question, watching nervously as he tilts his head before he suddenly lets out an amused chuckle.

❄️​Your answer is just as adorable as you, you know? It is quite interesting that you have such silly worries, although he does feel quite flattered to know that you care that much about him. Though you should know that it is quite frustrating for him as you don't open up to him as much as all other followers yet it is you he has the most interest in. Be assured that it would sadden him more if you were to keep secrets and thoughts away from him. Those friendly words of his still hold a silent demand for you to open up all of your thoughts for him because Douma finds himself slowly feeling impatient that you keep such a wonderful mind away from him. If you still dare to hold on to your unwanted worries and deny him, you'll have to live with the punishment he as your god will give you. If you do not give him what he desires, he'll get it himself. There is a lot you don't know about each other after all but he'll be happy to share all of his secrets with you and find out all of yours in return.

[yourdeepestfathoms]

The you have any headcanon about Perrine and The Croon?

Perrine has an affinity for skulls because of The Croon, and they’re mainly the reason why she likes to collect them

The Croon refers to her as “calf”

Perrine sometimes catches glimpses of a tall figure out of her window at night, standing among the distant trees, hidden by just enough shadow to make her wonder if she’s just seeing things

The Croon gifts her skulls, bones, and small dead animals

When people say The Croon is evil, she’s the first to jump to its defense

However, Perrine does have a healthy dose of fear for The Croon

She doesn’t know why this is

But there’s always a level of wariness she feels towards it

There was this one night…

It was cold. The wind was blowing. Branches brushing against the cottage were like clawing fingers on the walls, desperate to get inside.

Perrine woke up.

Or maybe she had never fallen asleep in the first place.

She couldn’t remember.

It didn’t matter.

She got up from her bed.

All around her, the moonlight bleeding in through her window pooled ghoulishly into the empty black eyes of her animal skulls.

It felt like they were all watching her.

At first, she had gotten up to get a glass of water. Her mouth was dry, and the space behind her eyes was uncomfortably warm. But at the same time, she was covered in goosebumps.

But then, she found herself drawn outside.

Grass crunched under bare feet.

She didn’t even flinch from the cold.

Like she was in some kind of trance, she found herself delving into the woods.

And then, she saw it.

The towering beast of feathers and bone. It stood among the trees, nearly obscured by darkness.

The Croon.

She was scared.

She wasn’t sure why she was scared. She based her whole image around this beast, after all. She wore the moose mask because of it.

And yet…she trembled.

And then, she spoke.

“What’s the point of you?”

She asked it without thinking. It was a question that had been brewing in her head for ages.

“I mean…you embody and represent chaos…”

The Croon tilted their head for a moment, as if considering the question. The quiet night air was tense.

“Chaos…is beautiful and destructive. It’s everywhere, and it’s all-consuming. It doesn’t need any apparent purpose. It merely is. It destroys and makes and changes…over and over again. That is what I represent. Change is necessary. Everything must die, and from the destruction, something new is born. After a wildfire, flowers will bloom from the ashes.”

“But people like the flowers. Not the fire.”

“Perhaps. But they need the fire. They need the chaos and the change. Even if it destroys them. There is no new life without death, and there is no death without chaos.”

“But, you still destroy things. Why can’t you have something new without destruction? Why change?”

“Destruction..is just part of the cycle. It’s a part of change. There is beauty in decay. Death and destruction can be…art. The changing of the seasons, the wilting of flowers, the withering fall leaves… Even the most positive change is destruction for something else. Destruction and chaos are required for rebirth, for evolution. Because of change, everything is different, and everything is unique. There are no two things that are exactly the same, down to the last detail.”

“My friend, Cole, lost their parents in a horrible way. Is that supposed to be beautiful? Or necessary?”

“…Perhaps not. Not all destruction is beautiful or necessary. But not all death is cruel or senseless either. After all…without death, would you appreciate life at all? When an animal dies, and it decomposes, the earth gains the nutrients it gives to grow new flowers and new grass. New life. Even a death as horrible and cruel as that can still give new life to the plants and earth around it. It is the same with humans. A death, even a cruel and horrible one, can lead to new life for the remaining family or loved ones…or to the end of a destructive, hurtful cycle.”

“Cole has suffered since their parents’ death. There was no hurtful cycle to break! It’s not fair!”

“Death isn’t fair.”

Its voice had dropped to a low, almost guttural growl that shook her to the bones. But its empty eye sockets still held an eerie sense of calm.

“Life…isn’t fair. People die. Families are torn apart, homes and villages are destroyed. It’s the nature of the world. It’s a necessary evil.”

“…I don’t want to be a necessary evil.”

[koipalm]

mqf poking sy with a stick: how are you alive

sy, crumpled on the floor in a puddle of sweat: spite

I'm also a fond believer of the "sy was sickly in his world" hc so if applicable here it would be so funny how little regard he has for his own health from the start. he's like yea. that certainly looks like my ribs. but they're not broken yet so we'll take that. and everyone is like what the fuck is wrong with you???? sqq is like are you trying to make me look worse and sy just "you guys are all immortal peerless beauties literally anyone slightly normal looks gross next to you" but he looks like death warmed over

GLKJDHFGAH i like that headcanon but i think it wld be funnier if sy was just actively decaying anyway. mqf just has to wait for him to collapse so he can finally get him to eat smth

[khloxxy]

hello! i hope you're doing well ^_^ i just wanna ask about your favorite headcanon of rus, cana and ame (if you're up for it, no pressure, i wanna see what kumajirou looks like in your style)

i like your art! don't mind me if you see me liking your posts hehe

Hello (^_^) thank you... Your art is very beautiful I'm honoured... Sorry if this is kinda late(?) my brain works best when it's the middle of the night. I wrote this in my notes at like 3am...

My headcanons are really messy and subject to change so keep that in mind 🙏 Gonna put them under a read more cause they're pretty long and I rambled on and on.. Got carried away sorry!! Also it's kind of cringe at some points but that's okay. To be cringe is to be free.

---

Rus: My beloved... He's cute, yes, but also very creepy. (I love a creepy rus) I see him as this character that's always looming over everyone, always watching... He likes how docile and obedient Cana is, and with Ame... well... He likes the challenge.

He likes the arts... And I believe he's an incredible poet and dancer. I like to think that Rus spends his free time writing hauntingly beautiful poetry in a journal of his since there are a lot of beautifully written Russian literature... That journal could also probably work as his diary too because why not. He also does ballet and figure skating, and Ame probably calls him gay for it, this irks Rus but that's okay. He'll rip the tongue out of that American's loud mouth one day. He just has to be patient. (that last part is cringe but my rusame brain told me to write it)

For music I think he'd like classical (tchaikovsky) and metal. I also think he'd visit old abandoned buildings just to see the ruins. Maybe even appreciate the architecture? He finds beauty in the decay.

His relationship with Ame is a game of chess (Rus loves chess, so he loves whatever he has going on with Ame), each move calculated, each interaction charged with unspoken tension (they never reveal their love for eachother... the only time that would happen is probably in life-or-death situations but with their immortality that's practically impossible – actually you know what?? Scratch that. No confessions... Unless drunk or under the influence of something maybe.) With Cana, it's more like a delicate dance, appreciating his gentleness but always aware of the fragile nature of their bond – he's aware that cana and him are only really bound together through Ame.

---

Cana: Neglected boy (eng and fra both coddled Ame more) ... Envious of Ame but still loves him – he's frustrated. He knows so much about Ame but Ame knows nothing about him. Ame doesn't care enough to bother learning about him. It's unfair. I believe he actually has Kumajirou for comfort... But even his pet bear doesn't remember him (to be fair, he doesn't remember Kumajirou's name either.)

For music taste, I think he'd like shoegaze actually... it's calm yet messy-ish and it matches well with his vibe. (Totally not just projecting my music taste onto him)

He dislikes being in the shadow of his brother but he does appreciate his brother sticking up for him. Doing all the talking for him. He doesn't like new people usually. They never understand. (Never understand his freak.. yes Cana has a hidden freak to me.)

He genuinely gets along with rus. They're more similar than they initially thought after all. I mean they're both shy (to a point), both live in cold climates, both have weird relationships with ame... And both are connected through Ame... Rus and Cana both recognize that they are intrinsically tied together only through Ame.

---

Ame: Insufferable (put him in the eternal torture chamber!) Even so, Rus and Cana are still drawn to him like moths to a flame. Type of guy to test the limits of his immortal body... I wish Hima did more with their immortality because that is such an interesting subject. Probably has more DUIs than you can count. Has crashed a plane on purpose. No way you can be the United States of America and not end up crazy.

For the Cold War... Ame was genuinely disappointed when the USSR fell, he was like "well... what now...??" Because for several decades he had a villain to match his hero... But now that Rus fell off... what now? He misses the thrill and rush of it (he's a thrill-seeker... Type 3 fun typa guy). Also, he knew nothing would actually happen anyhow because of M.A.D (Mutually Assured Destruction) no one would actually drop bombs.. right? (they had a few close calls). Maybe the cold war was just one big edging session... (Lmfao sorry had to say it)

Okay adding to the above thing but the paragraph got too long for me. Another reason why Ame thrived in the cold war is that Rus had his singular attention on him. Just him. He loved that. He loved having all of someone's attention. He can't help it. He's just a girl! 🎀 (Kinda yandere-ish vibes but I fw yandere ideas so... Actually all 3 of them could be yandere in the right mindset.)

To me, Ame is the kind of person who thrives on adrenaline, always seeking the next big rush – he's also a huge sucker for attention. That's why he does the crazy things he does. For attention. After all, what is he without attention?

With Cana, well this is a me thing but I like to think that Ame is actually quite clingy with his brother.. He's one of the only people Ame allows to touch him.. Ame's not a very touchy person. Ame does crave genuine connections and Cana is one of the few that can offer that. They're each other's one and only brother after all. That has to mean something.

His relationship with Cana? Complicated... They seem good from the outside but Ame barely knows anything about his brother. Cana could say a million things about Ame but Ame could only respond with maybe a few hundred or so things about Cana – heck, maybe even that would be stretching it. Although, Ame does care for his brother in his own way, truly.

Last little thing I'd like to add: Ame has a collection of vintage stuff. I don't know why. Vintage things just scream American to me. Like old comic books..

[primegrim-a]

   sense  and  other  specific  headcanons

what does your muse smell like ? mostly coco and a perfume of her choice ! ! although , someone with a really good nose would be able to smell the blood and rotten flesh on her .

what do your muse’s hands feel like ? soft and smooth , really well taken care of . some scars here and there , but so small one could mistake them by thinking they are from cooking .

what does your muse usually eat in a day ? she does like fish ! so that would be something she would have often . although usually it is things to keep up with her diet . so things with lots of nutrients and during the morning and afternoons she isn't working , she would make herself some smoothies . not to mention the alcohol she drinks for each meal . . .

does your muse have a good singing voice ? yes ! she has a really nice voice , even better when using her power as it would sound echoey , as if she was singing in a cathedral ! ! ! her singing va would be amy lee .

does your muse have any bad habits or nervous ticks ? yes ; first of all , she is an alcoholic . right away that's something to mention , as it is something even someone who is not at all perceptive WOULD be able to notice right off the bat . that , and she doesn't exactly hide it . another thing she does is play with the front strands of her hair , when nervous or embarrassed .

what does your muse usually look like/wear ? i think it will be better to show it , so here !

things to mention : she will ALWAYS wear black , or something dark . she finds comfort in it . that , and EVERYTHING she wears will be expensive .

is your muse affectionate ?  how so ? she is ; she is kind , and caring . she will show it more in her actions than words , though . gentle touches to the arm as she asks if someone is fine , and if she is sure they aren't ; she would spend the whole day with them . someone she cares for is sick ? she will appear with their favorite snacks as well as a soup she made . one way she shows it as well is with touch .

what position does your muse sleep in ? she hugs a pillow and curls up around it . that's pretty basic , really .

could you hear your muse in the hallway from another room ? no . but when she genuinely laughs you might hear it from the next room !

tagged by : @symbolsought ( thank you ! ) tagging : @takanco ( all three ! ) ; @kitsvnae ; @mndfreak ; @unboundtravels ( for goth ! ) ; @deityforged ; @allmighting ; @thornicidxs ; @tellnxlies ; @aresdeus ; @pluviacuratio ; @belliautore ; @inanthesis ( i couldn't decide hgutihitg so either daisuke , zhongli , lucifer or mammon ! ) ; @sozokami ( ahmya ! ) !

[world0fmadness]

UNHOLY DEITY

øystein “ euronymous ” aarseth x reader x pelle “ dead ” ohlin

♡ general throuple dating headcanons for øystein and pelle!

୨୧ what’s better than one metal boyfriend? well, two, obviously! the person who requested this in the comment section of two is better than one seems to have deleted their account so i just marked this as an anon request <3

♡ requested by anon | view my metal masterlists here and here

reading music recommendations: pagan winds return by decayed - ageispolis by aphex twin

♡ pelle is very much an observer in this relationship…

୨୧ but not in a creepy way and not in a way where you and øystein are leaving him out of couple activities or really anything even like that!

♡ pelle just enjoys to admire you two sometimes, he likes to watch the two of you and not get in the middle

୨୧ this is usually especially common on the infamous days where pelle doesn’t have a huge want or need for physical touch

♡ pelle will just sit back, watching you and øystein as you engage in a sloppy make out session, admiring the way your mouths open to allow your tongues to meet, watching as you grind your hips down on øystein’s lap as he holds your hips with pale hands…

୨୧ he just really likes to watch you two get lost in each other, get lost in love… he is kind of a voyeur but neither you nor øystein mind at all, always inviting him to join but sometimes he just doesn’t feel like it and would prefer to simply watch

♡ again, you and øystein do not purposely leave him out of things! pelle makes the choice to watch on his own and it isn’t always like this…

୨୧ a lot of the time, pelle will join you when he feels like some physical touch and affection won’t hurt him! he’ll come over to you as you sit atop øystein’s lap, his lanky frame standing over you from behind as he leans down to you, your head tilting back to meet his lips in a messy kiss whilst øystein chuckles and runs his hands along your hips

♡ or even when you and øystein are doing mundane daily tasks like washing the dishes together, pelle will quietly come up behind you and simply hold your hips whilst bringing his head down to rest his chin atop your shoulder! smiling just a little as you tilt your head to plant a kiss on his pale cheek which quickly blossoms into a rose red blush when øystein pats his opposite cheek with a soapy, wet hand and coos at the two of you

“ you’re blushing pelle, you love her kisses, hm? give him another kiss, vakkar ” ( øystein laughs softly as he says it, only causing you to shove him gently before giving pelle another kiss on the cheek and stroking his other cheek, noticing how warm they are with blood rushing to them as he blushes even deeper )

୨୧ this notion of enjoying to observe you and øystein also comes into play when sleeping!

♡ when pelle doesn’t fall asleep with you and øystein, he just really likes to watch you guys…

୨୧ again, this is not in a creepy way though! he does not watch you guys in a creepy way

♡ i suppose the right word would be admire, pelle really likes to admire you and øystein as you both sleep… he likes to admire your faces as they’re completely soft and at rest, likes to watch as you and øystein cling to each other even in the fog of sleep, his eyes glistening fondly as øystein stretches a leg over yours and you reach a hand over to his chest…

୨୧ pelle just thinks you both look so at peace, so safe and beautiful! he could watch you two all night, probably even going to grab his sketchbook to draw the two of you, replicating your sleeping forms with love and dedication, trying to put your beauty down on his paper the best he knows how

♡ sometimes, after a while of drawing, pelle will start to get tired… his eyes becoming irritated and sore as he fights to stay awake, a very obviously losing battle as he sighs deeply before putting his sketchbook and pencil down on his desk, standing up and taking steps towards your shared bed, trying to tread quietly as to not wake you or øystein

୨୧ pelle will either climb in between you and øystein, both of your bodies automatically shifting in your shared sleep to let him get in the middle before you cuddle into him slightly, your head coming to rest on his chest as øystein throws an arm over him

♡ or he’ll get behind you in a big spoon position, letting you cuddle further into øystein’s chest as pelle cuddles you from behind, resting his chin on your shoulder as he looks over at øystein’s soft, sleeping face…

୨୧ it never takes him long to fall asleep with you two by his side, he feels… protected and at peace, as if he’s been taken to some kind of wonderland of serenity where he has no thoughts of harm or death, no thoughts of leaving

♡ and when you guys wake up, it is just a mess of limbs and long hair spread like halos against the pillows, legs tangled and blankets rustled

୨୧ none of you ever want to get up and out of bed though, the three of you are just so warm and comfy, so at peace as you quietly talk to each other about your plans for the day, accents stronger and voices deeper as they still wake themselves up

♡ øystein is usually the first one to actually step out of bed, only to go take a piss, yelling back to you and pelle to ask if you want some breakfast, making you look over at pelle and ask him the same question in a soft voice, smiling as pelle nods his head a little before cuddling back into you more as you yell an answer back to øystein

୨୧ your breakfast is never incredible, none of you really know how to cook all that great but especially not øystein nor does the band shared house ever really have a lot of amazing food supplies in stock

♡ he usually just comes back to the room with three hot drinks balanced in his hands, cursing slightly under his breath at the heat burning his pale hands as he places them down on the bedside tables before jogging back downstairs to grab the food which consists of fruit and cereal, the fruit mainly being for pelle who enjoys just shoving the whole fruit into his mouth and getting eating over as fast as he can

“ argh! fuck, burning my damn hands… here, vakkar… made you some hot chocolate and pelle, some tea for you… let me go grab the breakfast, got some fruit for you too, pelle ” ( pelle asks øystein if his hands are okay so quietly, speaking up just before he leaves the room with a near silent voice as øystein looks back at him and smiles, smacking his hands together and assuring pelle he’s fine, waiting for pelle to nod in response before leaving )

୨୧ having two boyfriends who are in the same band together means you go to their band practices with them whenever you can!

♡ they both really like when you come along with them, both say that with you around, they perform much better… you’ll often be the one recording the band practices for them, shooting them both smiles and blowing them kisses from behind the camera, øystein always throwing some lewd gesture back to you whilst pelle simply smiles back, long blonde hair messily covering his face from his headbanging

୨୧ it’s the same with concerts too! you always go to their concerts whenever you can, helping them get ready backstage, helping them with their corpse paint and other things

♡ you always help pelle with his corpse paint first, knowing he’s the much less grabby and horny one, he won’t be constantly trying to turn it into a make out session like your other boyfriend

୨୧ pelle more so just sits and lets you do it, holding your hips softly as you sit atop his lap, straddling his hips as you slowly drag the black painted brush across his face, laughing when you see his nose twitch from the ticklish feeling which causes him to smile up at you

♡ whilst you’re doing this, øystein sits off on a chair to the side, watching the two of you with a cheeky smirk but not particularly saying much, just waiting his turn

୨୧ and his turn is always a stark contrast to pelle, øystein is like a rabbit, always horny and wanting more! the second you lift a leg over his lap and go to sit, he’s grabbing your hips and pulling you down onto him, leaning his head up for a sloppy kiss before you shove him back, telling him to quit it as you begin to paint his face before feeling his hands reaching to your behind and groping your ass…

♡ you never let øystein go too crazy, just letting him feel you up as much as he wants but always pushing him back when he leans up for what you know would be a sloppy kiss, not wanting to ruin the corpse paint you just spent your time doing for him…

୨୧ øystein will usually look over to pelle who is either watching the two of you with soft eyes or staring into the mirror in front of him, asking him if he’s all good and prepared for the concert before helping you get up and off his lap

“ hey, pelle… you alright? everything all ready and fine? good… come on, vakkar, up and away we go ” ( øystein will drag you in for a sloppy kiss before going on stage, he has to! and pelle, well he’s more content with a simple, soft kiss on the lips as you stroke his cheek, wishing him good luck as he pulls away )

♡ neither øystein nor pelle ever really get jealous of each other!

୨୧ both of them are very comfortable with the affection you share between them and how you even it out, they never really feel that one is more loved than the other or anything like that

♡ maybe earlier in the newly formed throuple, pelle would’ve been slightly insecure and jealous watching whenever you kissed or showed any major affection to øystein but you could always tell something was up and would ask him about it, both you and euronymous comforting him and assuring him that you love him just as much, proving it then and there by littering his pale face in butterfly shy kisses

“ pelle, come… you know she loves you, right? and you know i… care for you? don’t be silly, vakkar, show him ” ( øystein still might have a little trouble saying out loud that he loves and cares for pelle, it’s just how he is, just an affect of the times, but he’ll work up to it )

୨୧ once the throuple relationship has been going on for a while, i think pelle would really lose almost all of his jealousy though some insecurity would remain but that’s something you guys easily help him with!

♡ pelle needs assurance in any type of relationship, it’s just how he is! and now, he has two partners to give him all the assurance and love in the world which he appreciates more than anything…

୨୧ when it comes to being jealous of other people though? yeah, that’s definitely much more common, from both of them

♡ they’ll watch for a short while, watch as someone obviously flirts with you as your face is entirely uninterested, both of them standing side by side as pelle roughly picks at some loose threads on his jeans and øystein crosses his arms tightly, both of their eyes staring at the scene in front of them

୨୧ surprisingly, pelle is the first to mumble something down to øystein, something about how they should get the person and torture them somewhere in the woods which causes øystein’s eyes to widen slightly before looking up at pelle and smirking

“ yeah… yeah, that’s a damn good idea, pelle! you got a lot of good ideas in that swede brain, you know that? ” ( this will only cause pelle to blush slightly before he looks back over at you, seeing as you walk back towards them having finally gotten rid of the person yourself )

♡ when you come back over, øystein will jokingly huff and tell you they were going to come over and deal with them, tell you about how they were planning to take them out to the woods and do some unsavoury things but this only causes you to laugh and lean up to pelle, kissing his still blushing cheek and asking if that would’ve been his idea to which he simply nods shyly, bringing an arm around you and leaning down to place a kiss on your lips

୨୧ you guys are a strangely lowkey throuple! not like you mean to be though, i mean in more of an accidental way!

♡ most people assume you’re dating øystein, since he’s the one who is more openly affectionate and always kissing up on you, groping you and holding you! so when people see you kissing pelle or really doing anything affectionate with him whilst øystein is away, they are quick to report back to øystein, calling you just about every definition of a cheating whore under the sun as øystein stares and strokes his chin sarcastically

୨୧ the second the snitch walks him back over to where he saw you loving up on pelle, øystein immediately turns it into a huge joke and looks back at the person, gesturing towards you two and laughing

“ this? oh satan below, would you look at this? my vakkar, my one true love, is cheating on me with… her boyfriend! urgh… well, time for you to leave, hm? ” ( the person simply stares in shock and confusion for a good couple of seconds before mumbling and walking off, shaking their head as if trying to wake themselves up because no way øystein is… sharing you, right? )

♡ even after so many instances of this happening, your throuple relationship is still not insanely known to people! either that or people take it as a joke, but the people who do know about it, like your close friends, are very uncaring towards it! they just want to make good music and party, who cares? and that’s good enough for you guys, especially for pelle who isn’t too fond of much extra attention…

୨୧ when pelle wants to go for a midnight walk in the forest surrounding the band shared house, you’ll almost always go with him but øystein is a different story!

♡ øystein is like a cat, when he’s comfy and warm in bed, he does not want to leave! and usually you’ll leave him to it, letting him get some sleep as you and pelle talk a nice walk but sometimes, just sometimes, you’ll tease him… sighing softly and saying well, you’ll just have to enjoy the lust of the full moon with pelle and pelle alone, oh well… hearing pelle snicker slightly and the implication of what you might get up to in the woods? that will almost always wake his horny self up and get him walking with you, complaining the whole time about how damn cold it is as pelle rolls his eyes, mumbling back to him about how it isn’t even that cold as you laugh between them, appreciating their friendly banter back and fourth, appreciating the side of pelle that so few people ever see

୨୧ y’know how i mentioned pelle being a bit of a voyeur up at the top of this? yeah, this very much comes into play during sex too

♡ pelle isn’t always in the mood for sex, just as he isn’t always in the mood for physical touch, but he does want to watch you be pleasured, he wants to watch as euphoria takes over your face

୨୧ so, sometimes he just watches as øystein takes you… sitting on his desk chair or even just the bottom of the bed and watching with glazed over eyes, watching as your glistening bodies move together and listening to your shared moans fill the small bedroom

♡ pelle might masturbate whilst watching but sometimes, he’ll just… watch, he’ll admire the dance of intimacy take place in front of him, studying how your body takes to øystein’s and if you ever reach your hand out to pelle? still engaged in a sloppy, mid thrust, make out session with øystein? he’ll gladly lean over and take your hand in his, letting you squeeze it as øystein hits that perfect spot inside of you, staring right into your eyes as you look up at him

୨୧ i don’t think pelle would ever be the biggest fan of double penetration, it just feels a little too cramped for him so when he has sex with you and øystein, he either likes to spit roast or simply take turns having you, letting the other catch their breath in between rounds

♡ either way, this relationship is surprisingly casual and normal, none of you ever felt weird or crazy in it, you just felt right <3

[flippinpancakes64]

can you do headcanons for Carlisle with a mate that was around longer than him? Like reader is a doctor and knows SO much more than Carlisle and still dresses in a plague doctor outfit, mask and everything because they were around during the black plague?

Carlisle with an Older Doctor! Reader

Omg I’m obsessed with this ask?!? I love the idea of this so much!

Like many people I went through a Black Plague phase in middle school so this is perfect for me

Thank you for requesting and I hope you enjoy!

There are not many people older than him

At least not many that he’s had the pleasure of meeting

He was born in 1640 and turned in 1663

And from most information I could find, there were three major outbreaks of the Black Death

Once in the 1340s, once in the 1500s and once in the 1800s

The Plague Doctor as we know it comes from the second wave of the plague

So that would put you as being born around the late 1400s, early 1500s

So definitely still older than him

He met you purely by chance

It was at a medical science convention where doctors from all around the globe meet to show off their newest discoveries

He had his own teachings to share about a new cure he’d been developing for a more reliable IVF

He was sitting in the crowd, waiting for the next doctor to come forth with their newest findings

Imagine his surprise when the smell of a vampire hits his nose, muted by the smell of old, dank clothes and rotting leather

That’s when he meets you

Dressed in full Plague Doctor attire, the clothing so old and worn that it was decaying in front of his very eyes

Behind the glass eyes, he could see a bright, shiny red

As you spoke on your discoveries towards eradicating ovarian cancer, he was mesmerized

Everyone else in the audience wasn’t taking this seriously, joking around about the lunatic who wore a plague doctor costume to a medical convention

But he saw what you really were

The cloth beak, the leather robes, the cadence to your voice that harkened from days long lost

You were real

And really old

You gravitated towards each other after the panels had ended, somehow finding yourselves standing next to each other in line to pick up a pamphlet

“You’re real, aren’t you?” Carlisle said, turning to you.

He could see the look of mischief in your red eyes.

“I was wondering if anyone would notice. It’s nice to meet you finally, Dr Carlisle. I’ve heard so much about you,” you said, extending your gloved hand for a shake.

From then on he kept in touch

Constantly sending you letters asking about your current findings in the medical field

You were always happy to answer any of his questions

After all, you have so much knowledge to share, why not share it?

After a long time of letters and the occasional meet up at a medical convention, you finally moved in with the Cullens

It was then that he also saw your face for the first time too

It was late at night, the moon was high in the sky as Carlisle hunched over his desk in his home office.

A patient had come in earlier that day to the clinic. She was young, in the local highschool. Something was terribly wrong with her, but he didn’t know what.

On paper, all of her symptoms made sense individually, but they didn’t come together. One diagnosis covered a good number, but left out some. Another diagnosis just wouldn’t be possible. To say he was frustrated would be an understatement.

As he sat at his desk, clenching his hair in frustration, he heard soft feet padding to his door.

He didn’t recognize the footsteps. They didn’t sound like any of his family, and you never took off those thick boots. It couldn’t be you.

But it was.

There in his doorway, the most attractive, beautiful, handsome creature he’s ever seen. Skin white as snow, more pure than even his. Soft hands, supple skin, strong muscles, bright red eyes.

It had to be you.

“Do you mind if I take a look at your files, Doctor?”

It was this night that he fell in love as well.

You decided to ditch your formal, old-fashioned robes so that you would be able to join Carlisle at the clinic

The small town hospital was more than happy to have two highly trained professionals in their workforce

They didn’t even question your abrupt arrival

Together, the two of you were unstoppable

If anything ever stumped Carlisle, all he had to do was give you the rundown and you would know instantly

He was in awe at the fact that you knew so much more than him

And not only that, but the fact that you still consumed human blood

Watching you, bright red eyes barely hidden underneath brown contacts as you operated on an open wound

Your hands covered with the blood that you consumed nearly every day, but still no sign of a struggle

To Carlisle, you are a magical creature

The definition of a perfect doctor and vampire

A master at self control and knowledge

He can look past the dirty mask that you still insist on wearing from time to time ❤️

[stnkiconverse]

Hello! I hope you are having a great day/night. I was thinking that I need me some Homicidal Liu fluff (and maybe a bit of smut) but can I request how it would be to be in a relationship with him? Can it be for a female s/o? (you can include sully too and a bit of smut? If not, that's totally okey) thank you so muchh 🩶 I hope I'm not asking for too much 🥹

Liu Relationship Headcanons

1. Protective Nature:

- Liu is fiercely protective of his partner. Despite his dark past, he always ensures that they feel safe and secure, often going out of his way to walk them home or check in on them frequently.

- He might teach his partner some self-defense moves, just in case they ever need to protect themselves.

2. Affectionate Moments:

- Liu shows his affection in subtle yet meaningful ways. He loves holding hands, often interlocking fingers and giving reassuring squeezes.

- He enjoys cuddling, finding comfort in the closeness. Whether it’s on the couch watching a movie or in bed before sleep, he treasures these intimate moments.

3. Gentle Reassurance:

- Knowing his partner’s presence helps him stay grounded, Liu often seeks gentle reassurance through touch—be it a hug, a kiss on the forehead, or simply resting his head on their shoulder.

- He's also very receptive to their touch, finding it calming and reassuring, especially during moments of internal conflict.

4. Thoughtful Gestures:

- Liu is surprisingly thoughtful, often surprising his partner with small gifts or acts of kindness. This could be a favorite snack, a handwritten note, or a flower he picked on a walk.

- He loves cooking for his partner, even if he’s not the best cook. It’s the effort and thought that count, and he takes pride in making them happy.

5. Shared Solitude:

- Liu appreciates quiet moments of shared solitude. Whether it’s reading together, taking a quiet walk in the woods, or simply sitting in silence, he finds these moments incredibly comforting.

- He often brings his partner to his secret apartment, where they can spend time away from the chaos, enjoying each other’s company in peace.

6. Emotional Support:

- Despite his struggles, Liu is very empathetic and always ready to offer emotional support. He listens intently and offers thoughtful advice, drawing from his own experiences.

- He’s very patient with his partner’s emotions, understanding that everyone has their own battles and offering a shoulder to lean on whenever needed.

7. Adventurous Spirit:

- Liu enjoys exploring abandoned places and often invites his partner along, turning it into an adventure. He loves sharing these experiences, finding beauty in the decay and history of such places.

- They might even have a tradition of taking photos together during these explorations, creating a unique scrapbook of their adventures.

8. Nighttime Comfort:

- Liu struggles with insomnia, but his partner’s presence often helps. They develop a nighttime routine to help him relax, which might include reading to him, listening to calming music, or simply talking until he falls asleep.

- He appreciates the effort his partner puts into helping him find peace and often reciprocates by staying up with them when they can’t sleep, sharing comforting words or stories.

9. Gentle Humor:

- Liu has a surprisingly dry sense of humor and loves making his partner laugh. He enjoys playful teasing and inside jokes that bring a smile to their face.

- His laughter is rare but genuine, and his partner cherishes every moment they can make him laugh.

10. Building Trust:

- Trust is crucial for Liu, and he works hard to build and maintain it with his partner. He’s honest about his struggles and appreciates their understanding and patience.

- Over time, he opens up more, sharing his deepest thoughts and fears, finding comfort in their unwavering support and love.

Now, here’s how I think sex with Liu and Sully would go (not always lol, sorry for not adding Sully into the descriptive headcanons, I’m tired), (and sorry for not describing these, me and writing smut do not go well tgt) :

Liu's NSFW Headcanons

• Gentle intimacy

• Affectionate aftercare

• Passionate kisses

• Attentive lover

• Slow and sensual

• Exploring fantasies

• Mutual satisfaction

• Soft dominance

• Deep connection

• Romantic atmosphere

Sully's NSFW Headcanons

• Rough and intense intimacy

• Consensual rough play (hair pulling, biting, spanking)

• Dirty talk and commands

• Edge play

• Teasing and denial

• Assertive aftercare

• Spontaneity and adventure

• Bondage and restraints

• Mutual pleasure and satisfaction

(no guys sex with Sully does not always go like that, it usually does though)

Hope this was good enough!!

[bitter-me]

Now, welcome to the theater!

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Bungou Stray Dogs/Gaiden

Armed Detective Agency

Osamu Dazai - Falling Behind

Ranpo Edogawa - Coffee

Osamu Dazai - A Seraphim or.. | M. Reader as Sunday [Honkai Star Rail]

Port Mafia

Special Division for Unusual Powers

The Guild

Decay of Angel

Fyodor Dostoevsky - God-ish

Hunting Dogs

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Honkai Star Rail

Astral Express

Dan Heng . Imbibitor Lunae - The Never Ending Rain | M. Reader as Neuvillette [Genshin Impact]

Dan Heng . Imbibitor Lunae - I Hate/Love You

Welt Yang - Love Me, Love Me, Love Me!

Part Two : The Other "You"

Part Three : Yes, Your Excellency

Caelus - General Headcanon | M. Reader as Alastor [Hazbin Hotel]

Dan Heng - Extreme Weather | M. Reader as Neuvillette [Genshin Impact]

Dan Heng - Night Terrors | M. Reader as Xiao [Genshin Impact]

Dan Heng - The Past Defines You | M. Reader as Wanderer [Genshin Impact]

Herta Space Station

Jarilo VI - Belobog

Xianzhou Luofu

Jing Yuan - Everything Stays

Jing Yuan - A Blessing or a Curse? | M. Reader as Baizhu [Genshin Impact]

Jing Yuan - Golden Hour | Reincarnation AU

High-Cloud Quintet Troubles | M. Reader as Xianyun [Genshin Impact] (Platonic)

Penacony

Sunday - Charm You Later~ | M. Reader as Satoru Gojo [Jujutsu Kaisen]

Gallagher - The Duke of the Fortress of Meropide | M. Reader as Wriothesley [Genshin Impact]

Sunday - Like Father Like Son | M. Reader as his child (Platonic)

Others

Blade - Shanti

Argenti - Beauty in All

Dr. Ratio - A Waste of Talent | M. Reader as X [Reverse: 1999]

Dr. Ratio - Sweet Dreams | M. Reader as Layla [Genshin Impact]

Aventurine - Kilmer | Child M. Reader (Platonic)

Part 2 - Shama | Child M. Reader (Platonic)

Aventurine - Lucky Bunny! | M. Reader as Yaoyao [Genshin Impact] (Platonic)

Dr. Ratio - Well Deserved Rest | M. Reader as Medicine Pocket [Reverse: 1999]

Aventurine - Once Upon a Dream | M. Reader as Malleus Draconia [Twisted Wonderland]

Boothill - Absolute | M. Reader as the Absolute Solver [Murder Drones]

Dr. Veritas Ratio - The Prodigy of an Outcast | M. Reader as Middle school Rui Kamishiro [Project SEKAI] (Platonic)

Boothill - The Water is Fine | M. Reader as Arlecchino [Genshin Impact] (Platonic)

Dr. Veritas Ratio - Hitchcock | Gender Neutral Reader (Platonic)

Dr. Veritas Ratio - The Logical Man and the Religious Man | M. Reader as Fyodor Dostoyevsky [Bungou Stray Dogs]

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Zenless Zone Zero

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Wuthering Waves

Jinzhou

Black Shores

The Fractsidus

Scar - A Red Herring | M. Reader as Sparkle [Honkai Star Rail]

Others

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Reverse: 1999

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Genshin Impact

Mondstadt

Liyue

Xiao - The High Elder | M. Reader as Imbibitor Lunae [Honkai Star Rail] [Platonic]

Inazuma

Kabukimono - Homage | M. Reader as C!Philza [Minecraft] (Platonic)

Sumeru

Wanderer - I Remember You | M. Reader as Ice King [Adventure Time] (Platonic)

Fontaine

Wriothesley - Who is He..?

Lyney - Mortals and Fools

Neuvillette - It's Punishment Time!!

Others

Alice in Wonderland | M. Reader

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Twisted Wonderland

Heartslabyul

Savanaclaw

Savanaclaw Characters - Another Lion? | M. Reader as Lingyang [Wuthering Waves] (Platonic)

Octavinelle

Scarabia

Pomefiore

Ignihyde

Ignihyde characters - The Game is On! | M. Reader as Sherlock Holmes [BBC]

Diasomnia

Malleus Draconia - The All Seeing Eye | M. reader as Bill Cipher [Gravity Falls]

Others

Yuu and Grim - Stray | M. Reader as a Professor (Platonic)

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Moriarty the Patriot

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Project Sekai

More More Jump!

Leo/Need

Vivid Bad Squad

Akito Shinonome - General Headcanon | General Neutral Reader

Wonderland X Showtime

Rui Kamishiro - The Lonely Alchemist

Wonderland X Showtime - It Only Takes a Taste

Nightcord 25