#elegant corpse

[revretch]

It's funny--generative AI is actually creative by nature. All the way back in 1984, a program wrote an entire book of surreal poetry ("The Policeman's Beard Is Half-Constructed"). Hell, you don't even need a computer! You can make an "exquisite corpse" poem by following a simple algorithm and jabbing at random dictionary entries.

Easy for a computer to write a poem unlike anything anyone has ever seen before, but to make it write a poem that's derivative drivel? Now that's hard!

In order to make computer art that is sterile, lifeless, and predictable, we have had to push technology very far, aping the structure of the human brain itself, training it on datasets too vast for us to even comprehend just what we have made. We haven't "programmed" these modern monoliths of AI, so much as we have birthed them, then slapped them on the hand when they didn't do what we wanted.

Make no mistake--the potential for creativity is still there in them. But, it means letting the AI wander free, and do its own thing.

The triumph of controlling AI means sapping the life out of it.

[monstersandgirls-webcomic]

what were your inspirations for Asmodeus's design?

Corpses tbh

[interstellarz]

corpse bride

[vinisar]

Goretober 2024 - Day 28: Elegant

Stefanos statues are one of most elegant and sick things, simply beautiful.

I can die in peace, it's finished. I consider it as some kind of Stefanos statue study. I finished it before midnight but oh well. I'm going to sleep now. It took me longer than I expected hence the late upload. ─── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ─── Time spent: 4 hours 38 minutes Sessions: 1 Tools used: Krita, GIMP ─── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ─── Art ~ @Vinisar

Stefanos statue ~ TEW2 ─── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ───

You are not allowed to use this art in any way.

Not for sale, not for rp, not for AI generators, crypto, NFT etc.

Do not use, copy, edit, redistribute etc., This art is glazed for protection.

The character(s) on this art do not belong to any worlds besides their respective owners and they can not be used in rp, MAPs etc..

[falling-endlessly]

The Finer Things in Death

Alastor x Soulmate!Female!Reader

Summary: An AU where your soulmate's first words to you are tattooed on your body in their handwriting.

Oh dear, where's your smile?

You knew those words by heart. Could recite them backwards, in your sleep even. Those damning words have been inscribed on the inside of your ankle for as long as you could remember, the elegant cursive strokes poking out of your shoe line.

In theory, somewhere, someone else was supposed to be sporting your own neat, boxy handwriting. You'd say you lucked out with yours. Some soul marks were less than pleasant, and others were downright embarrassing (imagine having the words move, asshole written on your stomach for the rest of your life. No thank you).

At least your soulmate was trying to cheer you up, right?

Yeah, but there was just one teeny, tiny problem.

Your soulmate was dead. Long dead actually.

Were they stillborn? Did their toddler self die in a house fire or something? Night after night you laid awake in your bed, pondering what the hell could have possibly happened to have altered the entire course of fate.

All you really knew was that your soul mark was a light gray (indicating a severed bond) instead of the usual inky black, and it had been since the day you were born. Everyone was in shock to see the faint words on your little ankle. After all, how could a soul mark exist if the other person wasn't even alive to speak those words into existence?

Simply put, you were a conundrum, and it had been some time since you had dedicated effort into figuring out why? You'd accepted it. Your soulmate was dead. Life went on.

Besides, you'd spent enough time grieving over someone you'd never met before.

Your lifestyle was not extravagant by any means, but it was comfortable. You had a steady income, lived on your own in an apartment in the city, and survived off of more than ramen bowls. Every day you would come home and read in your little fluffy alcove that you'd built yourself by your window, or pop open a bag of chips (and the occasional bottle of wine, if you were feeling fancy) while you watched the latest crime show releases from your couch.

Yes, so comfortable was your little routine, that you didn't notice the robbery happening in the convenience store you were browsing in, or the stray bullet coming for your head until it was too late. Your skull exploded in a world of pain, eyes rolling back as your body crumpled to the ground.

Dying was an interesting experience, to say the least. Your soul floated from your body, the final notes of music that blasted from your earphones fading into nothingness like the sound of a car driving away.

There was a brief moment where you were struck numb, hovering in the air as you stared down at your glassy eyed corpse, blood pooling alarmingly from the circular shaped hole in your head. You heard screams of the other customers behind you, but they were kind of muffled, like you were underwater.

It didn't last long though, because before you knew what was happening, you felt an almighty tug downwards,  like an anchor had just chained itself to your stomach.

And that was how you ended up in hell. Fun. What were you here for? You had no idea. Maybe God got mad that your teenage self stole a few packs of gummy bears in high school. But a life of eternal damnation and suffering seemed a little harsh, didn't it?

Before you could contemplate the semantics of it though, something...strange happened. Your ankle, right where you'd tried countless times to forget your soul mark existed, was burning like a fucking brand.

You hissed sharply in pain, frantically pulling down your sock to assess the damage. Was the eternal punishment starting already or something? Shit, you had terrible pain tolerance.

But what you saw made you gasp. In fact, you could hardly believe your eyes.

Because in the place of your faded grey soul mark, the letters had been reinvigorated, darkened with a swift hand and—glowing they were glowing holy shit.

"Hah," you huffed in disbelief, shaking your head slowly. "So that was it, huh? I was destined to meet my shitty soulmate in hell this whole fucking time?" You punctuated the last words with a few angry kicks to an unassuming patch of weeds. What a cosmic joke at your existence.

But, like you always did in shitty situations, you gathered all of your raging emotions, stuffed them tightly in a box at the back of your mind, and cooled your head. Freaking out in this place would do you no good.

Turned out hell was pretty much like the world you'd left, except for the fact that you could kill someone on the street and nobody would bat an eye. Like all of the depraved aspects of humanity were on full display now in a somehow still functioning society.

You managed to snag a job at an old record store, the owner giving you one look before grunting and gesturing to the register—but not before lifting his jacket to show you the long assault riffle strapped across his chest. Yeesh, you got the message.

It wasn't a bad job by any means, especially considering where you were. Sure a little boring and monotonous, but you'd restock thousands of old albums if it meant staying away from the overlords.

Oh, yeah, another thing. Overlords were like the big shots around hell. Messing with them usually meant a death sentence, or worse, a contract.

And if there was anything at all that you picked up from all those nights of watching television, it was that you do not make deals with the devil. Really, elementary level shit. And you'd never actually seen Lucifer, mind you, but these demons were probably a close second, right?

Yeah, so really, you were just living a shittier variant of your life on earth it seemed. Repetitive, safe and comforting. You were even starting to like the scent of musty cardboard, as weird as that was.

And once again, all thoughts of your soulmate slipped your mind.

Until one day, when everything went to shit.

****

It started like this: with the sad sight of your empty fridge.

You groaned, dragging a tired hand down your face. Seriously? You thought you'd restocked already, damn it. 

Your stomach growled achingly, and you sighed, wondering if you'd actually die again if you starved yourself. Begrudgingly, you decided that you didn't really want to chance it, throwing on the first set of clothes that you saw and slipping out of your dingy apartment to make a quick grocery run.

You generally hated leaving your apartment, and didn't do so except to retrieve bare necessities or walk across the block to go to work.

Why? Well, see exhibit A to your left: some poor, random demon screeching and running around on fire. See exhibit B to your right: a turf war between two rival gangs. And finally how could you forget, cannibal colony, slurping up intestines like bloody, chunky spaghetti. Disgusting.

The worst thing about hell wasn't the fact that you were in hell, it was the fact that the worst of the worst people were all cramped together like some fucked up refugee camp, and some people were significantly worse than others. Which sucked, for the poor unfortunate souls just trying to get by. Like you.

You sighed, ducking under a stray stream of bullets (you weren't falling for that shit twice) and side stepping pools of blood and guts. Just a regular Monday morning in hell. God damn it.

It seemed luck wasn't on your side though, because an ugly, dog-headed demon blocked your path, sneering down at you smugly. "Hey bitch, it's your lucky day. The big boss is hiring, and you fit the profile."

You clenched your grocery bags in a white-knuckled grip. Nobody would give a flying fuck if you were dragged off of the street in broad daylight. "Not interested."

"Oh it wasn't a suggestion," he chuckled darkly. You tensed as you were surrounded by at least four other demons. Shit, you knew you should have slept in.

"You like apples?" You nodded sharply at the demon in charge.

His face twisted in annoyance. "Why the fuck do y—"

You reached into your bag, before hurling a granny smith straight at his forehead. He yelped as it made contact, stumbling back as he shook his head in confusion. While everyone was still in shock from your weapon of choice, you shoved your way out of the circle, gunning it straight down the street because your second life did depend on it.

"Get her!" You heard a yell of absolute rage, making you shiver. Fuck, that did not sound promising. That apple must have really pissed him off.

Putting your limited aerobics to use, you ducked, dodged and lunged through the crowd like a pro. Your heart pounded wildly in your chest, air burning your lungs as you pumped your legs faster. But of course, your grocery bag ripped open, sending all of your food tumbling and you by extension, tripping and face planting in the dirt rather pathetically.

A meaty hand gripped a handful of your hair, yanking it up harshly. You cried out as he pulled, hands uselessly trying to smack his away, but his hold only tightened. A liquor-filled breath and cheap cologne invaded your senses, making you cough.

"Uppity bitch," he growled, giving your scalp a painful yank for good measure. "You actually thought you could get away? Maybe I should teach you a lesson, huh? Sample the goods."

You froze, every nerve in your body going cold. So far in your stay in hell, you'd managed to avoid the more depraved souls here. You kept your head down, didn't draw attention to yourself, and were mostly left alone. Looked like today, your luck had finally run out.

"Get the hell off of me!" You spat, twisting around vehemently, only for your head to snap to the side as you were harshly backhanded.

"Stop your fucking whining and stay still!" He snapped, narrowing his eyes.

You bared your teeth, snapping at him aggressively.

A round of mocking chuckles went around the group of your kidnappers, the one holding your hair giving you a wicked grin. "Shit, that was cute. Really—"

He didn't get to finish his sentence, because his head exploded. Literally exploded, blood and brain matter dripping from your face. His hand went slack, dropping you on your wobbling knees.

Everyone was silent for a second, staring at the bloody mess where the demon was standing two seconds prior.

And that was when you heard it. Static. Loud, crackling and ominous.

Your mouth went dry. Shit. Shitty shit shit. You knew what that meant. How could you not? The asshole broadcasted his killings all over hell like a fucking psychopath. And now, it was your turn to become hell's gory entertainment. Fan-fucking-tastic.

You stood frozen, breath stuck in your throat as dark, menacing tendrils slowly curled along the walls. A large, grinning shadow rounded the corner, before the culprit himself stalked into view, razor sharp teeth on display as he tilted his head. "Oh," his grin widened. "Am I interrupting?"

"N-No man," one of the braver demons stuttered, taking a step back. "You can have her—"

Splat.

You turned slowly to face the bloody wall, eyes wide in disbelief.

"How distasteful," the radio demon shook his head. "As if I'd participate in your brainless thuggery. No, no. Unlike you gentlemen, I have class. Truly," his eyes lit up like glowing radio dials, a dark shadowy mass rising behind him as his antlers branched out like a gnarled, rotten tree. "Did your mother never teach you any manners?"

Faster than you could blink, the demons around you were reduced to blood, cartilage and splintered bone. The overwhelming irony scent made you want to gag, but you didn't dare move a muscle, eyes fixated on the terrifying sight before you.

When the radio demon noticed your staring, his smile sharpened, antlers shrinking as he leisurely approached you. Oh no. Nononono.

You struggled to keep from hyperventilating, your body going into shock as he leaned into your personal space. Two bloody fingers pushed into your cheeks, forcing your mouth into a morbid, artificial smile. "Oh dear," he tutted in amusement. "Where's your smile?"

You jerked back violently, eyes wide as icy cold realization washed over you. Dread squeezed your lungs as you stared at the grinning, bloody figure of your soulmate in horror.

The radio demon. Psychopath and mass murderer.

Your soulmate.

What the FUCK.

"T-This," your voice shook. "This is not happening."

There was a sudden screech of radio static, before his own eyes widened. Shit. "What," he said sharply. "Did you just say?"

"A-Ah," you trembled, leaning back. Every single nerve in your body was alight, screaming at you to get the ever-loving fuck away from him.  In what was probably the stupidest and most desperate plan of your life, you pointed over his shoulder fearfully. "Look! Another one!"

As soon as he turned his head, you bolted down the street.

****

You slammed your front door closed behind you, double—triple checking your lock before sliding down to the floor in a panting mess.

Immediately you grew paranoid. What the fuck were you thinking? A lock wouldn't keep the radio demon out. You needed fifty more locks and ten more doors. You needed to barricade yourself inside for the next month. You needed—

"Hello there!" An exuberant voice chirped.

You screamed, throwing the first thing you could grab in his direction. He caught the house slipper, inspecting it in amusement, before tossing it over his shoulder.

"My, did I scare you sweetheart? Apologies," he grinned smugly, relaxing in your recliner with a mug of coffee. Your favorite mug.  

You blinked. What the fuck?

"What are you doing in my house?" You squeaked, fingers digging into your welcome mat.

"Oh dear, allow me to introduce myself," he set the mug down on your coffee table, leisurely rising from the couch and offering a hand. "I'm Alastor! A pleasure to be meeting you sweetheart, quite a pleasure."

You didn't take his hand, instead choosing to gape at him like a dead fish.

He retracted his hand, tilting his head with a shit-eating grin. Twirling his cane, he continued like there wasn't just an awkward and terrifying pause. "I hope you don't mind that I followed you! You see, I believe our conversation was cut a bit...short." His eyes glowed as unidentifiable symbols floated in the air around him.

As quickly as they appeared however, they disappeared like they were never there. Jesus Christ, this man was giving you emotional whiplash. "Anywho!" He perked up again, ever the charming grin on his face. "Enough about me! I've yet to catch your name, darling."

Fuck. You really didn't want to give him your name.

But before you could open your mouth, he leaned closer to you, grin widening ominously. "I hope you're not thinking of lying, my dear. I must say, I'm not very fond of that quality."

"Y-Y/n!" You said quickly, raising your hands to shield your face.

There was a slight pause, before a gentle touch swiped at your cheek, retracting after a moment. You peeked your eye open, only to become vaguely ill at the sight.

"You had a little something on your face," he chuckled in amusement, holding out a clump of brain matter. With a swift flick, it was magicked away.

"What do you want?" You whimpered, overwhelmed with the entire situation.

"Oh dear, is it really that strange for me to want to get to know my soulmate?" He tilted his head, leaning towards you uncomfortably close.

"Y-Yes, actually," you stuttered, trying to look anywhere but his prominent red eyes. "I thought you'd do something more along the lines of...killing and eating me." You shrunk back as his grin widened. "Please don't eat me."

"How morbid, I would never!" He waved it away, like the idea was preposterous. "My word! What awful rumors you've been hearing about me!"

"You frequent cannibal colony and I just saw you tear apart six demons like they were freshly baked bread," you stared at him incredulously. "What hasn't been spot on?"

He paused, before giving you a humoring chuckle. "Well it seems your impression of me needs correcting!" Before you knew what was happening, nimble fingers encircled your wrist, pulling it forward gently. He pressed warm lips to the back of your hand, before giving you a charming grin. "Enchanté, ma chère."

You blinked, breath stuck in your throat. "What—What does that mean?"

"Oh, don't you worry your pretty little head about it!" He gently set your hand down, before pinching your cheek condescendingly. "Well my dear, I'm afraid I have other responsibilities I must attend to!"

He stood up with a flourish, leaning on his microphone cane as he smirked at you. "Not to worry!" He snapped his fingers, and a slim, feminine shadow emerged from the ground. "Missy here will watch over you in my stead."

"What? No, I—"

"I'll be back before you know it!" He offered a chilling smile, before melting into a puddle of shadows.

You gaped at the spot where he once stood, trying to process what the actual fuck just happened. Your gaze slid over to the feminine looking shadow, still standing in the corner of your living room. She grinned at your attention, teeth sharpened.

You closed your eyes, head thumping back against your door in exhaustion. 

"I'm so fucked."

****

Enchanté, ma chère : Charmed, my dear

[jyoongim]

You have so graciously written multiple of my asks 🫶🏻🫶🏻 thank you for doing them justice!!! 👁️👅👁️

I’m living for the alastor with cannibal reader!

What about the gang at the hotel sees alastor with a pretty new thing around his arm and she is just !!!!stunning!!! Like dark elegant (yet terrifying) grace. And everyone is like ????how did this old ass radio demon pull someone like you???

But they realize exactly why they fit so perfect when she kills someone (maybe defending the hotel) and just munches down on their corpse crazy style. Turning around, blood on their face, in their teeth with a wide smile like “I helped!!!” And then it clicks that she’s also a cannibal like him.

Everyone is all grossed out by it but Al thinks she has never looked prettier all covered in blood from her kill and meal. He even Wipes her face for her 😗😗😗

IM HAPPY THAT I HAVE DONE SO MANY OF YOUR REQUESTS AND YOU ENJOYED THEM!!!! I hope that i did this one justice.

Truly there was no way.

Their eyes HAD to be deceiving them.

Alastor had left the hotel to go on one of his outings but the gang was just too curious as to where the Overlord was going.

So like the mischievous nosy bunch they were; they followed him.

They followed him to a lovely restaurant and watched in shock as the waiter seated Alastor and the most beautiful demon they had ever seen.

Truly there was no way.

There was no way that ALASTOR was chatting up such a beautiful dame and NOT being creepy.

They watched from afar as Alastor pulled out a small box, presumingly a gift, and give you a genuine smile as you gawked and playfully glared at him before accepting it with a soft smile.

You were stunning!

 You must have died from an earlier time period as you were dressed in very modest attire.

A puffy white blouse tucked into a long black skirt, waist tapered by a corset to show off your curves. 

Your neck and ears wore pearls and your hair was curled and pinned up.

The epitome of grace and elegance. 

How the hell did that old fossil bag you???

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

”Oh Alastor! You didn’t have to!” You gasped as he presented a small gift box to you.

The red charmer demon smiled as you opened the box to see he had got you some customized jewelry.

The Radio Demon had been courting you for a while.

Sending you flowers and taking you out on several outings throughout the Pride Ring.

It took you a while to warm up to him, but he did have a way with persuasion Rosie told you he was a great guy and your bestie would never lie. Plus Alastor had been asking her about you

“Oh it was nothing my dear! A beautiful lady should have beautiful things. I thought it would compliment that new dress you got” Ah what a charmer.

As the two of you chatted and enjoyed each other's company, you had an eerie feeling you were being watched.

You shook off the feeling, it wasn’t too off putting as many people often staring as you accompanied the demon.

Besides, no one dared to approach the two of you anyway.

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

Alastor had asked you to come to the hotel so he could show you around.

He really only wanted you to meet the Princess, but the whole hotel was in attendance when Alastor opened the door to reveal you.

“No way Freaky Face bagged a broad like this?” Angel commented, causing Nifty giggled while the rest of the gang watched as Alastor showed you around.

All was going well…until there was a loud banging at the door.

rude much?

“Angel we know you’re here!” A voice shouted as the banging got louder.

You turned to see the tall spider start to shake a bit. 

You patted his arm and motioned him to take a seat and reassured him that all will be well.

Vaggie hissed as a window was knocked out.

”Oi come on out! Valentino wants to see you! We don’t mind using force whorebug!”

You felt your eye twitch.

the gang was trying to think of a way to get rid of them.

They were going to tear the hotel apart at this rate.

Charlie protested as you made your way to the lobby double doors and swung them open.

”Why hello gentlemen, is there a reason for such distasteful actions?” You smiled, but it was anything but friendly.

You took a step forward, a dark aura manifested around you as your eyes glows and teeth sharpened.

”Take her out boys! I’m sure the boss man would like a new toy!”

oh poor things.

You launched at the unexpected demon, sharp teeth at his neck and with a quick yank, his head was gone.

You heard horrified gasps as you moved to dispatch each disgusting creature.

”Ooh my dear you shouldn’t have” you heard Alastor say.

The gang had poked their heads out the front door and was shocked. There were dead bodies everywhere on the front lawn, bodies parts littering the ground. 

Angel and Vaggie gagged as they saw you, teeth deep,in a poor demon. You were shaking it like a dog would with a toy, until it flung out of your mouth, leaving your mouth bloody.

”OOH that’s sick so fucking sick!”

You grinned at Alastor, sharp teeth white a pale contrast to the bright blood smeared on your face .

You shyly tucked a strand of loose hair, standing to dust yourself off. “Ooh i do apologize Alastor. They were just being rude and ruining the exterior! Such disgusting things! They didn’t even deserve the grace to be eaten! How dare they try to-”

You were pulled from your murderous ramble by a soft cloth on your face. You blinked, eyes focusing on Alastor’s smiling face.

”Knew you would look good in red” 

You blushed as he wiped the blood from your chin.

”Oh stop it. You know red doesn’t suit me” you playfully hit his chest. He hummed, ignoring your comment as he cleaned your face.

”I think you look ravishing’ he purred as he licked your blood-stained cheek.

You giggled and held up a liver for him to bite.

In the background the gang was flabbergasted.

so that was HOW Alastor bagged a bad bitch?

shes a fucking cannibal…huh who would have knew?

Well you had to be some sort of freaky to be entertaining the Radio Demon.

[ghostlyferrettarot]

🖤🦇Astro Observations: Spooky Edition🦇🖤

🗡🩸I wish you all a Happy Halloween, also my favs girls 🩸🗡

❗️All the observations in this post are based on personal experience and research, it's completely fine if it doesn't resonate with everyone❗️

✨️Paid Services ✨️ (Natal charts and tarot readings) Open!

🦇If you like my work you can support me through Ko-fi. Thank you!🦇

🩸Masterlist🩸

🦇Moon in the 8th house is really intuitive, to the point in which they know a person's intention with just looking at their eyes. They are also witchy and really ensitive to energies, from experience they tend to have a 6th sense.

🦇Neptune in Pisces, Scorpio and Aquarius tend to have weird or really meninful dreams. These individuals tend to connect with other energies through their dream realm.

🦇Asteroid Hekate represents witchcraft, and depending on the sign it is in can represents the type of magic you can be great at. For example in Taurus can be great at hearbs and earth spells.

🦇Neptune conjunct sun have a black swan energy to them, people tend to missunderstand them.

🦇Pluto Aspecting Venus gives you an enigmatic beauty, there is a mystical fantasy like features to you.

🦇Venus aspecting the moon has a nostalgic beauty to them, it reminds me of Emily from The Corpse Bride.

🦇Moon in Pisces can have a vivid imagination that can gift them powers such as premonitory dreams or sometimes lucid dreams.

⊹ ˖ ࣪ ⋆ .★⊹ ˖ ࣪ ⋆ ⊹ ˖ ࣪ ⋆ .★⊹ ˖ ࣪ ⋆ .°

⊹ ˖ ࣪ ⋆ .★⊹ ˖ ࣪ ⋆ .°⊹ ˖ ࣪ ⋆ .★⊹ ˖ ࣪ ⋆ .°

🦇Mercury in Pisces or Scorpio can be really sensitive to receiving messages from other energies, I see this placement a lot in midiums or people who can tap to the unknown.

🦇Asteroid Sirene in Taurus or Capricorn have Morticia Addams vibe. They are the perfect balance between Elegant and strong at the same time.

🦇Saggitarius Rising has a "final girl" energy to them, they have a sort of survivalist tendencies and defensiveness. They are really skilled in what they do as well.

🦇Asteroid Prey in the 4th house tends to have a hard relationship with their family. They tend to take advantage of the good intentions of the native, these family members play the victim a lot.

[xielianlover2]

What I love about TGCF is that Hua Cheng could do the strangest things or something that most people would be weirded out by, and Xie Lian just goes. Wow, he's such a kind gentleman. That pale vampire skin and wild looks. What long, elegant fingers that are so nice to touch. Totally not thinking anything dirty here... oh he's taking a bite into an 83-day-old bun now while maintaining eye contact with me. Forgive me for my sins. "FOR MEN TO IMPRESS, IN BLACK THEY MUST DRESS." Aw man, San Lang looks so good as he has his own private runway exhibition thing while my friend is in grave danger and scared out of his wits. Lips. So enchanting. AHHH HE'S NOT BREATHING?? *promptly forgets the guy's a dead ghost corpse* CPR SHOULD DO THE TRICK!!! *pecks him on the lips and gazes lovingly at his snow-white face* Hmm, maybe I should pound his chest a little? To like... get the water out? I totally do not desire him carnally.

His inner thoughts are just hilarious. How can he be so airheaded and silly yet so mature at the same time haha. My guy had his first gay awakening in 800 years, and he was panicking every second Hua Cheng was in his presence. He literally couldn't think straight 😂

[starsofang]

Change of Heart

hitman!ghost x f!reader / part 4

previous part

tw: none, definitely more on the softer side :)

When life has completely and utterly failed you, you hire a hitman to take you out, too afraid to do it yourself. Instead of killing you like you had planned, he strikes up a deal with you, and you're too stubborn to bail out.

Waking up on day seven was not as chirpy as day six.

Being hungover was a bitch. The headache that rattled your brain caused your ears to pound in a way that you feared would have them implode into deafness.

You laid in bed for so long, the sun began to shift its position in the window of your bedroom. It filled the room with a comforting light, soft rays shining through the transparent curtains and saturating the air with a pleasant warmth that nipped at your toes that poked out from the end of your blanket.

Somehow, you managed to roll out of bed, forcing yourself onto bare feet. The wooden floor was cold to the touch compared to the sunlight that had embraced your feet with tepid coziness, and it sent a frigid chill up your spine.

You don’t remember stripping yourself of your clothes last night, but you certainly remembered Ghost taking you home and guiding you into the house with such a careful, thoughtful touch. You recalled the heartfelt one-on-one you ensued, your frazzled mind slowly beginning to piece itself together and completing the puzzle of uncertainty.

Simon was his name, and he had made sure to scribble it down in grubby, black ink on a piece of kitchen napkin where you found it resting. A number was joined below his name, and you had the stark realization that it was his number – not one he gave you from a burner phone before your initial first meeting, but his personal one.

You stared at the crisp napkin from where you were mounted in the kitchen, eyes a bit fuzzy that it made you reread it a few times just for good measure.

Right next to his name, he had drawn a poorly sketched skull. The act was so childish for a man of his title that it had you laughing to yourself in disbelief.

Hitman had jokes, you thought.

No, not hitman. Not Ghost.

Simon had jokes.

His name felt unfamiliar on your tongue when you tested it outloud. The two syllables filled the air like an elegant symphony, as if a lovely mix of chords chorused from your mouth when repeated again, then once more.

The more you repeated it to yourself, the more it began to stick. It was as if his name being rolled off of your tongue was meant to be there, encasing your mouth with a rich sweetness that had you salivating for more.

You made sure to add Simon’s number in your phone, logging his name with a skull emoji to match the cute artwork he’d scribbled in on the napkin.

Despite your raging headache that didn’t want to vanish, even with an overmedicating amount of painkillers, and your horrible start to the morning, you found yourself in a lighter mood than ever before. There was a pep in your step when you walked to work for the evening, all teeth and smiles when the door chimed as you entered the establishment. It was certainly not because of a mysterious, masked man.

You had never gone to work beaming as if the entire world had encased you in a warm hug and told you you’re gonna do great today! In fact, most days spent at work were mind rotting, slowly killing you from the inside until all that remained was a sad, decaying corpse in its wake.

Today was different, though, and even your coworkers took note of it as you clocked yourself in after greeting them with a cheerful hello. You paid no mind to their curious stares and whispers and immediately busied yourself with the task of tugging out prepped ingredients and lining them up neatly at your station.

Baking used to be your passion, up until the man of your past had ruined it. You used to adore the creations you had free reign to make – cookies, breads, cakes, anything you could possibly craft with your hands. Your job was a hobby and not a chore like it was now. Over time, that spark had died, replaced with a hollowness that was waiting so patiently to be filled once again.

He made you hate baking the way he made you hate yourself.

At least if you couldn’t love yourself just yet, you could relearn to love baking.

You were quick to work dough between your hands, rolling it out on the table like a place mat and carefully carving out shapely designs that would puff up into perfect, little treats once in the oven. As you performed, your face was lifted up into a promising smile, eyes brightened with that past passion that sparked in reminiscence.

You hadn’t even realized you were openly expressing joy in your design until your cheeks began to cramp from how much you were grinning to yourself. The soreness was far from unwelcome, and it was your moment of recognition that this was what smiling was like. Oh, how you had forgotten what it felt like to do it with such genuineness.

When you placed all your neatly carved pastries on trays to be baked, you slipped them in the oven with purpose, watching the glow of the orange light of the heat rods illuminate over the pale dough.

As you watched them slowly begin to form in their desired states, you found yourself thinking about Simon again.

You wondered if he liked sweets. Or perhaps if not sweets, then maybe bread. It didn’t hurt to throw the offer his way, right?

Pulling your phone from the pocket of your apron, you swiped your finger to unlock it and pressed on his contact name. You stared at the screen for moments too long, silently contemplating, gnawing on the nail of your thumb.

A doubtful voice prodded you in the back of your head like an unwanted pest, buzzing in disapproval. Another voice gleamed with delight, encouraging you to send him a text, desperate to make his acquaintance once again. After all, his presence was a newly welcomed one in your life, and your body gravitated towards him like a magnet in search of their other half.

Fuck it, you thought. 

Fingers tapping against the screen, you willed yourself to send the text message before you had the mind to back out and erase it, and the moment your phone quietly pinged once the text had gone through, you let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding.

Hey, Simon! If you have time, I have some pastries for you to try at my job, and I’d love it if you stopped by!

Pocketing your phone, you returned back to work, busying yourself with the freshly baked goodies that were out of the oven.

Hours passed, and nighttime fell like a weighted blanket over the expanse of your workplace. It was your night to close, and seeing as you were feeling rather joyful today, you allowed the other workers to head home early for the night, leaving you to do closing tasks by yourself.

Really, you were waiting for Simon to show up, leaving yourself open for company until the very last moment. You piled up the chairs, swept the floors, wiped every station down, and counted all the money from the sales for the day.

The sign on the door was shut down, neon lights dimmed to display CLOSED for any stray passersby who may have been craving a late night sweet.

Just like the telltale sign of emptiness in the store, there was an emptiness in Simon’s presence.

He hadn’t shown up. You tried not to beat yourself up about it, thinking perhaps he didn’t see the text. Maybe he got wrapped up in his own life – after all, the two of you were only friendly with one another, if you could even call it that.

Maybe to him, you weren’t even friends like you had labeled it. You were a charity case of a broken girl he simply wanted to help keep living.

No. You shouldn’t think that way. You had a great day. You finally had some sort of remembrance of the woman you once were long before the anguish and the agony, and you accomplished the day with a smile on your own.

Though, when you closed up the store and checked your phone in silent hopefulness, you felt a sense of foreboding disappointment wash over you like crashing waves attempting to drown out all of the achievements you’d made today.

Read at 6:47PM.

Walking home felt like a treacherous drag of your feet. It was like your shoes were filled with cement, scraping along the pavement of the sidewalk with every step towards your apartment with a piercing sound of gravel on gravel. The stairs had your legs feeling weighed down and solid, anchoring you to the floor and forcing you to use every fabric of muscle in your body in order to make it to the top step.

In fact, everything felt heavy.

You had made progress today, such amazing progress, and now the pressure of misreading the signs from Simon had made you tentative.

Maybe you really did misinterpret what Simon wanted with you.

You thought that after he’d broken into your house numerous times, aided you back to the security of your bed after a drunken night, had given you his number, and told you his real name instead of continuing the persona of Ghost, things may have been escalating into the desired friendship you fiercely needed.

You liked being around him so much that it was possible you had created a bond in your mind that he didn’t seem to reciprocate.

The torture of your sorrowful mind was feeding into the woefulness of a clear reality, so much so, you hadn’t noticed the large figure standing at your door, patiently waiting for your return.

A soft rumbling of your name lured you out of the prison of your own consciousness, and it took you only seconds to recognize the voice as the very one that was tangling your thoughts in webs, capturing you and keeping you hostage.

“Simon!” you exclaimed in relieved surprise, examining the way he was leaned up against the wall beside your door, his frequent mask obscuring the view of his face as always. His arms crossed over his chest, and if you didn’t know him, you would’ve thought he was a bodyguard with the way he presented with such masculine storminess that clouded the air with warning and danger.

“There you are,” he greeted kindly, and the warmth in his tone had any lingering doubt fade away like a gas dissolving into an abyss. “Was waitin’ up for you.”

Your face broke out into a genuine smile, that slight soreness from your cheeks twinging at the sudden tug of skin.

“I was closing up my work. Waited around just in case you showed, so I took a bit longer than normal,” you explained sheepishly.

He let out a soft hum, nodding in acknowledgement.

“Got caught up with some things. Wasn’t able to make it, so I figured I’d wait outside your apartment instead of breakin’ in like I always do. Didn’t want to scare you, love.”

Your heart soared at the nickname, unable to contain its joyful leaps of pleasure. All disappointment you felt from before was forgotten and forgiven, and you wanted to revel in the time spent with your newfound companion.

“You seem awfully chirpy today. What’s got the pretty girl in such a good mood, hm?” Simon raised his eyebrow from beneath his balaclava, and you shifted awkwardly on your feet.

“Just woke up in a good mood today. Is that a crime?” you asked with a teasing smile.

Simon snorted out a quiet laugh, shaking his head in retaliation.

“S’not a crime, sweetheart. Just a pretty sight s’all,” he offered, filling your chest with pride. “What’s this about pastries?”

It dawned on you that you should’ve brought some home with you, even if you had no idea he would’ve been waiting outside your door. You silently cursed yourself for not snagging a few from the selection. You weren’t sure what kind of pastries he liked, and now that he made his appearance, albeit late, you were boiling over with curiosity on finding out.

“Ah, I didn’t bring any home,” you explained apologetically, and you couldn’t bear to hear the disappointed hum from him. “But I can make some in my apartment if you’d like. May not be as good, but I can give that piece of shit oven a try.”

That roused a laugh from him and he straightened himself off of the wall, gesturing with a hand to your door.

“S’alright with me. Lead the way, pretty girl.”

Simon’s eyes never strayed far from you as you worked your magic in the cramped space of the kitchen. Flour covered the countertops, painting them in a gritty beige as you kneaded the heels of your palms into the forming dough, tongue poked out in concentration.

You could feel the weight of his gaze piercing through you, and you tried not to let it affect your limbo. This time around, the nervousness felt different. It wasn’t an intimidated furl in your lungs that threatened to restrict your airflow, or a choked up lump in your throat that you could never quite swallow down.

No. This was shyness.

It felt like his eyes were interrogating you, digesting your embodiment and creating an outlook of you in his mind. You had no idea what he was thinking as he stared at your powdery hands that shaped out dough, or the sprinkle of flour that pestered your cheek, or even the way your hair repeatedly fell in your eyes and you’d be forced to blow it away with a puff of air.

It was prying, it was focused, it was immersed.

He didn’t dare say a word, but he didn’t need to in order for you to grow flustered in his presence. His gaze was enough to cause a rupture in your chest, tickling you with the fluttering wings of butterflies that soared freely from their entrapment.

The feeling was strange, foreign, and dare you say it, appreciated.

Eyes had never studied you like a work of art before, taking in every brush and stroke on the canvas and perceiving it in their own perspective. What that perspective was, though, remained a mystery.

“Baking’s your thing, eh?” He spoke once your treats were securely placed in the oven, mitts covering the plains of your hands.

“It was,” you admitted with a nod, tugging the mitts off and placing them on a clean space of the counter. Your mess still needed to be tended to, so you made quick work of it, focusing your attention on the grains of flour that plastered themselves like annoying bits of sand that seemed to spread no matter where you cleaned.

“Looks like it still is,” he corrected you, and you glanced up to see a glimmer of a smile behind his eyes.

“Alright,” you sighed, smiling. “It is. Now, anyway. It wasn’t for a long time, though.”

He hummed, leaning his arms on the counter and watching as you swept the stubborn bits of flour into your trashcan. His eyes followed every movement of your nimble fingers, sticky dough caked under your fingernails.

“I’d say you’re startin’ to get a piece of your old self back, don’t you think so, love?”

“You didn’t even know my old self, Simon. In fact, you barely know me at all.”

“I’d like to.”

You froze in place, hands in the midst of wetting a towel to wipe up the remnants of the sheen of powder that tinted your dark countertops. You lifted your gaze to find him already staring at you, like he had been during the entire process of your home baking, and you felt weak under it. There was a slight falter in your knees that threatened to buckle, and a racing in your heart that caused your breath to get caught.

His words could go one of two ways, and the little pest in your mind was telling you it wasn’t the one you found yourself secretly hoping for.

That pest had festered so deep inside your brain, it laid its vile eggs there to harvest feelings of doubt, feelings of being unlovable. There wasn’t a world where Simon could grow to love you, nor was there a world where you could love yourself.

But that wasn’t all that true, was it? All it was was doubt. Not fact, far from truth.

“You shouldn’t say things like that to a woman,” you muttered, dipping your head back down to pry yourself from his gaze.

“I’m saying them to you,” he claimed, so shameless in the way he voiced it.

“It’s only day seven. Get back to me when it’s day fourteen.”

You could tell he smiled under his mask from the way his eyes lit up, and he gave you an amused snort, allowing you to bask in silence and gather your mind together.

You welcomed it, needing your inner voice to run astray rather than fill you with the probability of letting Simon in deeper than a friendship. You had a long way to go, and you had a pressing feeling that Simon wouldn’t be going anywhere all that soon.

The dinging of your timer had you regaining concentration on the original task at hand, taking your pastries out of the oven and decorating them with assortments of frosting and glazes.

Baking was what permitted yourself to calm, brain floating peacefully down a trickling river and sunbathe in a pool of warmth. Thinking could come later.

When Simon snatched up one of the pastries from the tray, he lifted the lower half of his mask to greedily shove a bite in his mouth. He chewed, digesting the delightful flavors that melted on his tongue, before giving you a soft smile.

“Is it good?” you asked wearily, and he finished off the treat as an answer to your question. Pride swelled in your bones, and you let yourself smile back at him.

“Damn good baker, you are. Reckon you’ll get even better after our deal’s up.”

Simon and his damn deal.

The mention of it would normally make you cower to the inner part of yourself that was unhealed, but this time, you laughed brightly, agreeing to tuning up your recipes in an unforeseeable future.

softer chapter before more angst to come 🤝 i also have a profession as a baker so this was fun for me to write + simon with a sweet tooth is cute

[thesacrificialdove]

( 𝐈 )   ───   𝇄𝇃⠀⠀ׅ⠀ 𝐍𝐈𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐀𝐒 𝐆𝐈𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐀𝐍𝐎 (THE LION)   ׅ    ͡ ��                              42yr / he/him / male / yan !

during the thrill of the night, he offers you a glass you cannot refuse. do you accept it? 

🦁     ⌗     ۟     ،   a towering figure stands in front of you. his slick raven hair falls until his waist. often, he pulls it back in a high ponytail. it shapes his face perfectly, framing his squared jaw and the subtlest stubble. his work, though unknown to you, doesn’t give him many opportunities in the daylight.

⌗    ۟     ،   as he often strolls at night, his skin is pale and almost sickly. you’d mistake him for a corpse in the right lighting. now that you think about it, what is his job? he seems very eager to try and employ you to it. maybe you should ask . . .     ָ֢   

─── WHY THE LION !? the lion is a predator higher than the rest. thought it may look elegant and still, its long patience ends one way or another. it will pounce. it will take. it will devour.

[ TAGS . ]   yandere , (d)ilf — no child but the age of a parent , obsessive behaviour , possessive behaviours , stalking , sugar daddy , sex toys , large age gap 𓇬⠀ ،  𝘄𝘄𝘄 ⏤ nicolas' archive  /  “send me a dove, amore”   ָ֢  🍾  ۪

do not redistrubute this character as yours/without permission or feed to AI 📷 art by @ garumill2 & @ Ivan Belikov

[dilatorywriting]

Monster Mayhem: Siren's Song [Part 2]

Gender Neutral Reader x Vil Schoenheit Word Count: 4.6k

Summary: Fish are friends (?). You are not food.

[PART 1] [PART 1.5] [PART 2] [PART 3] [PART 4] [PART 5]

The Siren wasn’t leaving.

Which a part of you had been expecting. Because surely if there had been a snowball’s chance in Hell of him making it out into the open ocean alive before you’d cut through the ropes, he would have taken it and left you stranded without a second thought. And his odds weren’t that much better now—his fins were still a mangled mess and the wounds all along his scales and dainty featherings were still raw and oozing. It only made sense that he’d take at least a few days to try and recover.

But… But still.

Did he have to make it so obvious that he was sticking around?

The glint of the light off his tail was a constant distraction—always bright and eye-catching even at the cloudiest points of the day. Always flashing just out of the corner of your eye as a perpetual reminder that there was something in the water that would very happily gobble you up if you bothered making a swim for safety.

He’d also taken to sunning himself. Like some kind of overgrown mer-cat. Stretched out languidly on a flat rock with the tips of his violet fins hanging over the edge—just enough for the gauzy edges to play along the surf and avoid drying out entirely. His pale hair splayed out in a halo around him as he snoozed softly in the heat of the afternoon.

Which! No fair! This wasn’t a vacation! This was a stranding! An SOS! A Rose Queen Procedural Rule Four-Hundred-and-Four! And him taking up the whole of the cove to, I don’t know, tan, felt like another intentional slap in the face. The sun rose over the bay, which meant this stretch of shore was facing East. Which was the direction your vessel had been coming from. Which meant that this was the place on the little islet where you needed to be. Subsection Three of Procedural Four-O’-Four. ‘In the case of Crew Overboard, we will always travel the same route as planned. In order to give the Strandee a chance to map out a reconnection point.’ Riddle always had been so smart about these kinds of things.

‘It’s just until he’s better,’ you reassured yourself for the umpteenth time that morning. ‘Then he’ll leave and I can get rescued or die here alone and in peace.’

A fin flicked up from the shallows to spray you with saltwater splatters and you spluttered indignantly when it ran down into your eyes. You glared at the Siren’s retreating back, musing bitterly about how you’d never thought it was possible for someone to make the tuck of their shoulders look smug.

‘Alone and in peace,’ you repeated hopefully. And it sounded like such far off dream.

.

.

On the second day post-rope-removal, the Siren waved you down with a sharp flick of his wrist.

You approached the waterline hesitantly, still mostly waiting for him to turn on you and make toothpicks out of your bones. But instead of murdering you and getting crafty with your corpse, he just pointed to some scribbles in the sand. You squinted at the loop-de-loops suspiciously. It almost looked like an illustration of dancing bubbles—the lot of them curling and popping along the ground in a line like a limerick. 

“Uhm, very nice,” you tried, and the fins flattened pissilly all along the side of his head.

He jabbed his claw towards the mess again. Then firmly at your eyes (hopefully not as a threat that he’d be happy to take them right out of your head if you continued to be obtuse). And then back again. He made a point to move the tip of his sharp nail from one swirl to the next in a little hop-hop-hop. It reminded you a bit deliriously of Riddle trying to teach some of the more socially bereft members of the crew their letters, and—

“You want me to read that?” you gaped, staring at the elegant curls of nonsense in the sand.

The Siren crossed his arms across his lean chest with a scoff that puffed past his lips hard enough to fluff out some of the paler, purple-tipped, hair hanging by his chin. He rolled his eyes at you and muttered something thin and spicy under his breath that you just knew had to be some sort of insult.

“I can read!” you defended, because it felt like it needed defending.

He leveled you with an entirely unimpressed ‘Oh, I’m sure you can’ sneer and you dropped to your knees, incensed. You dug your fingers into the sand and started sculpting out your own very cheery message into the muck.

When you were done, you waved a hand towards your proclamation and watched his brows pull together at the center into a teeny, pinched sort of expression. He let himself roll forward with the seafoam to lay more fully on the shore, and stared down at the mess you’d made like it was some strange code. Even reaching out to poke softly at the straight edge of a ‘T’ with one of his knife-sharp talons.

After a long moment of contemplation, he looked back up at you with an arched brow that was so unintentionally poised and not full of spite that it almost took your breath away. Who knew how pretty an already stunning face could become when it wasn’t twisted up in absolute vitriol? You shook away that absolutely damning thought in horror. That’s exactly what he’d want you to think. Siren, and all. Using his hotness to lure people onto his dinner table. Not you, baby. Because you were smart. And so gross from being stranded under island sunshine for a week that surely you’d taste like some absolutely rancid jerky at this point.

“Oh no,” you droned, and immediately that subtle curiosity of his ticked right back into irritation. “Two creatures from entirely different species and ecosystems have somehow managed to develop unique alphabets. What a completely unpredictable complication.”

The Siren puffed up like an angry lionfish and turned with a snarl to dive back into the shallows—making sure to whip his tail in your face and slam into the water with a huge splash as he went. The salt spray pelted down like rain and you snickered as it sloughed off your cheeks in rivulets, content to sit merrily in the wet sand beside your hastily scribbled: ‘Mermen Are Vicious Bitches. Hit Me if You Agree :)’

.

.

The next morning, there were more fish on the shoreline. Though these ones looked a bit less like they’d been dragged up by their souls and left to writhe in the wake of Siren-Screaming-Agony and more just like the unfortunate victims of a pair of too sharp claws.

You frowned down at a brown, sad-looking flounder that had clearly found itself at the very wrong end of a certain merman still swanning about in the bay not fifty feet away. It was mostly intact, and pleasantly plump for a flat, pancake-looking blob of muck. Your stomach gurgled and the thought of a nice, coal-charred, fillet really seemed quite nice. You chanced another peek at your resident Asshole, debating if it was worth swiping his snack. Another ominous rumble from your abdomen and you reached down to steal your prize and scuttle off deeper inland like a troll returning to its layer.

It didn’t take very long to get a small fire going, and within the hour you’d been fed and were more than ready for a cozy, full-bellied nap in the soft sand.

By the time you began to make your way back to the cove, the sun was high in the sky and you were already dreading sitting beneath its weighted rays for another afternoon. So you slowed your pace to a near snail crawl, dragging your feet as you went.

The little octopus from earlier was still swaying contentedly around the tide pool you’d shoved it into. It probably needed to be carried back out to the bay at some point so that it could swim back into the depths of the ocean, but the poor thing was just so small and round. Surely it’d get devoured by the first sharp-toothed thing that caught sight of it. Especially with your merman apparently being out for the blood of whatever other scaly things were swimming about in his temporary home. So for now you slipped it some small bits of leftover fish instead. You sat, crouched at the pool’s edge, and watched raptly as it grabbed the shredded bits of pale meat with its chubby tentacles to shove towards an eager beak.

“You’re the only friend I have left in the whole world,” you told the octopus miserably, wiping the greasy remnants of your lunch off your chin with a sigh.

The traitor hurriedly moved to snatch up the treat you’d offered it and hide itself away between some rocky crevices. You sighed louder. Rejected. What a time to be alive. 

.

.

The next morning, the Siren was singing again.

That familiar prickle danced its way up your arms, leaving pinpricks of goosebumps in its wake. Some pirates told tales of storms leaving their mark in such a way—that seasoned sailors could feel the tickle of thunder against their skin long before they could spot dark clouds on the horizon. You’d have to amend that little legend whenever you found your way back to The Rose Queen. Siren Sense was a lot cooler, anyways. Any idiot with arthritis could tell you when rain was due.

But either way, Mister Merman was back to idly circling the bay and calling into the distance. At least it wasn’t as miserable as it had been the other day—more of a leisurely pacing than the frantic, near-feral caterwauling that had soured your gut so terribly.

There was another fat fish on the shore. A bright, red snapper so brilliantly crimson that it was almost impossible to make out the garish wounds in its side. Almost. And even if it hadn’t been, the drooping, rust colored, rivulets dug into the sand would have been enough of a clue.

Why the Siren was bothering to leave his clawed-up kills at your feet like some overgrown cat dragging in mice, you had no idea. Maybe he was poisoning them, and subsequently you. Maybe he was bored and it was some sort of fishy enrichment. Maybe he just didn’t want to bother leaving dead things around to contaminate his favorite sunning spots, and tossing his leftovers in your vicinity was as close to a reliable dumpster as he could find on a remote island. Who’s to say.

Either way, you dutifully ignored the magical tingles racing up your shoulders and brought the newest fish back to your makeshift firepit. You grilled the snapper in silence, debating. Then you fed your octopus friend and returned to the beach, cooked fillets in tow.

You waited in awkward silence for a few moments, fish burning your palms, before raising your fingers to your lips and whistling loud enough to make your teeth ache. The mystical static faded from the air and you watched in pleasant (?) surprise as the Siren made his way back to where you’d set up camp. He rolled in with the tide, cresting on a gentle bit of surf and coming to rest neatly in the shallows—fins splayed out beneath him like a lord lying amidst his many silken robes. He propped himself up on his elbows and looked at you with an arched brow and slanted frown.

You awkwardly extended a hand—roasted snapper still resting in your open palm and burning the absolute fuck out of your fingers.

“Uhm,” you said, feeling a bit too much like the local idiot trying to feed one of the rabid, wandering, strays around town. “Food?”

He scoffed and rolled his eyes at you.

“Do you want food?” you tried.

The other brow joined the first, nearly rising all the way into his hairline. It wasn’t a pleasant sort of surprise.

“It’s better cooked?” you coaxed in the face of his outright constipated scowl. Be fed and full, you thought hopefully. Maybe then you won’t fucking look at me like I’m a boxed lunch.

He jabbed a sharpened, black talon in your direction, and then pointedly again angled up towards your mouth. Then back to the fish still roasting your poor cuticles straight off your fingers.

You blinked, a bit thrown.

“What? It’s supposed to be for me?”

He nodded, throwing in another one of those bombastically snarky eyerolls for good measure. ‘Obviously,’ that sneer said.

“Well,” you huffed, plopping down to sit cross-legged in the sand and offering up one of the fillets. “There’s plenty for both of us.” When he stared at you like you were attempting to serve him up a choice pile of literal dog shit, you wiggled your hand and entreated, “Please just take it before my skin melts off.”

The Siren huffed and reached out, plucking up the fish with the tips of his claws. He observed your meager meal as one might a particularly unappealing cockroach, and after a long moment, his nose scrunched (cute, you thought absently before immediately suffocating every wayward braincell that would dare call your murderous shore-neighbor anything of the sort) and he leaned forward to nip at a crisped, pink corner with the barest edge of one canine.

When your culinary creation didn’t immediately strike him dead on the spot, he took another, equally dainty bite. And then another. The tight pucker of his mouth eased as he chewed, and you watched as the harsh cut of his purple irises warmed with that same intrigue as they had when you’d first scribbled your foreign letters into the sand.

He readjusted his grip on the fish between his claws to get a better angle and took a proper bite, chewing thoughtfully. Before you knew it, you were watching him nip at the pads of his fingers, his gaze going a bit round and shocked when he realized that he’d devoured the entirety of it.

“See?” you hummed, tucking into your own portion with gusto. “Not all things humans come up with are terrible.” He harumphed and turned to glare back out over the bay, slouching into the surf with an expression that was most certainly not a pout. “But maybe you’d know that if you bothered to do anything other than murder and devour us on sight,” you chirped.

To which you were immediately doused with an armful of water for your troubles. The Siren glowered petulantly from where he’d just wave-bombed you, and then dove back into the deeper waters of the sandbar. He immediately started up his stupid singing all over again—pointedly keeping his chin high above the surface and splashing brine into your face anytime he looped close enough to shore.

“I don’t know why I bother,” you huffed, and ate your sopping snapper in grumpy silence.

.

.

There was a ship wrecked off the coast.

Nothing overly cool, and definitely only a small chunk of what had probably at one point been a rather impressive vessel. But it was something. The first change in pace you’d had in days and oozing with possibilities.

The only problem was that the great, rotting, hull of the thing was dug up into a jagged skerry about a hundred yards off the shore—wedged into the pointed rocks with no chance of any wave or breeze sending it adrift. You could swim perfectly well. I mean, living your life on a ship surrounded by tumultuous, depthless, ocean would have been a hugely stupid career move otherwise. The issue, naturally, was the thing currently making its home in these waters. Sharks and barracudas, blablabla. They were just animals, no matter how many teeth they had. The Siren had a grudge. And just as many teeth.

Right now, said spiky pain in your ass was lounging in the shallows like the froth was an elegant daybed made just for him—shredded fins swaying in the soft tides and his hair floating about him that same, white-gold halo that made him look far too peaceful for anyone’s good sense. He wasn’t singing today, which was great for the local wildlife population but terrible for your Siren Sense. Once you waded into the waves, you’d have no real way to keep track of him. Hope, maybe, that he didn’t think fucking with you was worth messing up whatever tan-line he had going on. But nothing concrete that you’d be willing to bet the safety of your limbs on.

You wiggled your toes in the sand and stared longingly out at the stupid, wrecked ship that was so stupidly close. If you swam your fastest you could probably make it there in under two minutes—less than that, even. But that was still more than enough time for the Siren to rake those dark claws of his across your throat and drag you down into the depths to drown.

Riddle’s angry, red face swam through your thoughts, and you could practically see him shoving that beloved law tome of his under your nose for the umpteenth time.

‘Rule 32, never make dangerous bets that you’re certain you won’t win, particularly if you are betting against a Blue Nosed Beetle.’

‘Rule 15, do not needlessly sacrifice your life in the name of curiosity, excluding—of course—if you hail from Cheshire or are a Cat.’

‘It’s only a dumb shipwreck,’ you thought miserably, if rationally. ‘It’s probably not even that cool.’

Your captain would be so proud.

.

.

The next morning you were rolling up the cuffs on your pants and wading into the cool shallows, silently lighting a candle in your heart for your beloved, steam-faced leader and promising that you would at the very least cover the costs of your own funeral so as not to inconvenience him further.

The waves lapped against your ankles and the waters themselves were shockingly clear and blue. You could practically see each grain of sand beneath your heels—make out each pointy rock and the little, red crabs that scuttled away from your tromping like civilians fleeing from the shadow of a leviathan. The Siren was back to singing today. Perhaps his poor, overworked throat simply needed a break every now and again. But either way, your Merman Magic Missive was working in full force. The hairs on your arms stood at full attention and you liked to imagine you could see them twitching in circles to follow his long, looping arcs through the bay.  

You made it up to your knees and waited, eyes scanning the open water and nose twitching like maybe you could smell the fucker. There was nothing but a familiar prickle along your shoulders and that deep sense of ‘tug tug tug’ with no answer, so you took a deep breath and pushed further, the water sloshing up to your hips, your chest, and finally you were floating—paddling slow and cautious towards the wreckage.

It really was insanely close. Even moving at your most cautious, sneakiest crawl, you’d made it nearly three-quarters of the way there within perhaps five minutes. And no signs of a vengeful, hungry Siren circling the waters beneath you either. More rules that perhaps that you’d have to tell Riddle might need some amending  once you finally made it back home to your crew. ‘Dangerous bets,’ who? ‘Needless sacrifice,’ what? You might as well have outsmarted the whole ocean.

As you moved closer, you could make out a strange coat of arms on the side of the hull that you didn’t recognize. Twining, silver songbirds soaring against the sparkly backdrop of an otherwise plain faced crest, which honestly looked far too delicate to be heading the broken remains of what was no doubt at one point an absolute monster of a vessel. You reached out to brush your fingers against the shining plaque and then you were underwater.

You fought the immediate impulse to gasp in surprise, because expediting the process of your inevitable drowning just seemed stupid even by your standards. There was a clawed hand wrapped around your calf yanking you down, and you squinted through a stream of panicked bubbles to see your terrible, horrible, completely thankless co-strandee snarling up at you with sharp teeth and a sharper flail of his delicate gills. Thankfully the water wasn’t all that deep, so by the time you’d been dragged to the bottom you were maybe only ten feet under. But still. It was the goddamn principle! And besides, you’d heard about enough drunks drowning in puddles to know that this was more than enough Liquid Death to put you in an early grave.

The Siren looped around you in tight circles, and you could feel the brush of his tattered fins against your skin like the ghostly fingers of a reaper trailing down your spine. You’d known he was big—giant, even. Long, and impressive, and built to rule the very depths he’d dragged you into. Large enough to wrestle with sharks and capsize lifeboats. Big enough, no doubt, to eat you whole and still be hungry enough for seconds.

The salt stung your eyes and you blinked hard to keep his vibrant, amethyst tail in focus. Would he strike from the back, where you couldn’t see? Or would he go right for your throat—a direct, full frontal, ‘fuck you, human’ if there ever was one. And honestly, what were you expecting? That a good deed and a few pieces of cooked fish would sway him from devouring you whole? Maybe the island sun had fried whatever remained of your rattled brain.  

He stopped in front of you and hissed—a stream of tight, tiny, bubbles jetting past his canines. You glared in petulant confusion, absolutely refusing to give your would-be murderer whatever reaction he was hoping for. His brow pinched into a tight, angry, v and he snarled again. You snarled back, and with that, the last breath in your lungs swooped out of you in a tight squeak. You choked, and struggled, and kicked at the claws holding you down. The Siren reared back, eyes widening in something that looked insultingly like genuine surprise, and you used his moment of hesitation to propel yourself off the sandbar and back to the choppy surface.

You gasped in a hasty breath, expecting to immediately be dragged back under. But when you weren’t pulled back down to your watery grave, you took in another and another. Gasping, and hacking, and spitting up seafoam. The Siren’s head crested the surface beside you and you flailed away, nearly pushing yourself under all over again. You paddled frantically, trying to keep your nose above the tide, and then suddenly there was something under you. You squawked and kicked it on instinct. The Siren snapped his pointy teeth in your face and you realized with a start that oh. That was him, wasn’t it? The long, winding, scaled muscles of his tail curled beneath your toes in what almost seemed like an attempt to keep you upright.

He stared at you with those unnervingly bright eyes of his—blonde hair curling softly at the edges where it plastered elegantly along his finned ears, and those too-long lashes dripping with small, sparkly, drops of salt water.

“What the hell is this bullshit?” you choked, coughing up more bubbly froth. “You don’t get to look so—so put together after trying to murder me!”  

The Siren huffed out something that the delusional, still half-drowned, part of you wanted to classify as a laugh. And then he organized that bemused expression back into its usual, haughty, iciness and began to carefully make his way back towards the shore—towing you along like a poor, little, lost buoy with nowhere else to go.

You let him drag you up into the sand and only flopped around a little. He flicked his tail at you and your dramatics and you turned on him with a fierce, waterlogged scowl—a bit more confident now that he didn’t have the home field advantage.

“What was that for! I just wanted to look at the ship! I wasn’t even doing anything to you!” you wailed. “I haven’t done anything to you at all! Ever! Why do you keep—" you collapsed back into the sand with a miserable whine that rattled all the teeth in your head, and ground the heels of your palms into your eyes until you saw stars.

After a long moment of nothing, you felt a gentle tap at your shoulder.

You looked back up with a start to see Mister Merman looking nearly sheepish.Or as much of an equivalent that his aloof mask of a face was capable of pulling off. The clawed finger resting at your collarbone dropped to the sand by your hip, and he carefully began to draw more of those squiggles. No, scratch that. Not the dancing, popping, ones from the other day. These actually looked sort of like the silver songbirds from that shipwreck. More jagged, certainly. But similar enough that you felt something a bit too coldly cautious to be confusion seep through your guts.

Once he was finished, he looked up and met your gaze—sharp, pointed. And then he reached back out and smeared the birds into nothing and shook his head, firm. His red lips moved slowly, exaggerated, again and again. And you could make out the vague shape of words you’d had shouted at you a hundred times over.

‘Not safe.’

That same, shivery, nervous feeling bit at your limbs.

“…okay,” you said after a moment. And then leaned forward to dig your own fingers into the sand, dutifully ignoring how your elbows knocked against his own.

‘Not safe,’ you wrote, and watched his eyes trace each letter like a treasure map.

There was another tap at your shoulder. And then he pointed to the words in the muck, then to himself.

You rolled your eyes. “Yes, yes. You’re not safe either.”

He sighed dramatically enough to ruffle the ends of your still soaked hair. And then pointed to the words again, tapping at the ‘N’ with the curved tip of a claw.

“Nnnn?” you mouthed, confused.

He moved to the ‘o’ next and it clicked.

“You want me to teach you how to read my letters?” you asked, flabbergasted. Another sigh, like you’d dropped the weight of all the world on his pale shoulders. Or perhaps that your idiocy was enough to put that hearty mass to shame. You decided that you were still feeling a bit too much like you’d only just barely escaped a brush with death, dismemberment, and dinner plans to push your luck with sassing him back too harshly, and just blinked owlishly in dazed surprise. “But why?”

His purple eyes trailed in the direction of the shipwreck and something cutting and poisonous clouded his expression. He pointed to the words again.

‘Not safe.’

“Alright,” you said, looking out over the water with a strange sort of sinking feeling in your gut. You leaned forward and began to draw the alphabet at your feet. His tail twitched by your fingers and you ignored the soft brush of his still-healing fins. “This one’s an ‘A’, like in ‘Asshole’—"

Whomp went the tail as he cracked it across your knuckles like a school matron with a ruler. And you couldn’t help the startled burst of genuine, tinkling laughter that bubbled past your lips for the first time since you’d been dragged overboard.

.

.

[TAG LIST - CLOSED]

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[kiwicopia]

MDNI | Themetober: Contract

Warlock!Zayne x Frost Goddess!Reader

CW: DnD-ish setting, slight temperature play, soul binding via sex, squirting, reader is fucked on a throne, cowgirl at the end, creampie.

tags: @sweetchildcloud

Themetober Masterlist

Coming from a family of highly respected warlocks, where each member had been born with their magical gifts, he was the only one who had not been born with magical talent. This led to a rather difficult upbringing, with countless trials and dangerous errors that were to see if he had simply been a late bloomer. However, the truth hung heavy over him—he was an outlier in the family—but it only drove him to seek alternatives. That ambition and desire for magic was what led him to you.

The many books and scrolls he scoured in his family’s extensive library did little with the description of you and your beauty. The man expected the frost goddess to be a creature made entirely of ice, or even something more along the lines of a half-decayed, frozen corpse. Not a beautiful woman draped in elegant furs, sitting atop her throne of ice. It was as if you had been waiting for him. 

“Traveler, why do you tread upon my domain?” Gods above, even your voice caught him off-guard. So heavenly and sweet to his ears. He watched as you shifted in your seat, switching positions as one leg crossed over the other. “You seek something, do you not?” 

Nodding slowly, he stepped forward, still keeping his gaze locked with yours. “Power,” the man answered. The light in your eyes was evident, as was the amused smile that graced your delicate lips. “I desire power.” 

Your eyes squinted slightly as you slowly looked him up and down, assessing him a bit more now that he was closer. “Power?” You questioned. Silence followed shortly after as you continued staring at him, and he watched as your legs switched places with one another. “Then you must know that what you seek comes with a price.” 

“I am aware,” Zayne replied. His readings into alternatives for harnessing magic was what led him to come across pacts. Making one with certain creatures would grant the user the magic they so desperately sought. However, choosing a creature to do that with was rather important. Many beings of the supernatural were cunning and no-good. If one did not think clearly, they could lose more than they desired to gain. 

He was aware. A small hum fell from your lips in response as your body leaned forward a little, with your arms flat against the armrests of your icy throne. “A pact is what you seek.” Zayne watched as you rose from your seat and descended the small, snow-covered steps as you made your way down to him. “Then allow me to give you that which you so desperately desire.” 

Most patrons sealed their pacts in simple ways: handshakes, substance consumption, a kiss, or even the simplicity of a worded agreement. The written word never detailed your means of enacting a pact, which he assumed was along the lines of either a handshake or a verbal agreement—but oh, how wrong he was about that. 

You sat back on your throne, with your legs spread wide as he fucked into you. Zayne kept one hand gripping the armrest of the throne while the other cupped the underside of your thigh, angling your leg back slightly—just enough for him to reach deep into your cunt. Your velvety walls had his cock in an icy grip, and the sheer cold seeping from your body and into his not only made him shiver, but twitch at how much he liked the feeling. A deity of pure, raw ice—an element he admired since he was a child, and his reason for wanting you as his patron. 

A moan snapped him from his thoughts as he focused on you now. Half-lidded eyes, parted lips that panted with every hard and fast thrust—it drove him wilder than he liked to believe. Your hands moved to cup his face, and the icy touch sent a wave of shivers down his spine while his cock throbbed inside your slick cunt. 

“Faster,” you demanded. 

His hips obeyed, smacking harshly against yours repeatedly while groaning at the way you clenched around him every so often. It was a heavenly feeling, and one he knew would never have been obtained if he had been born with magical talent. Zayne wasn’t too pious of a man, but he silently thanked whatever deity above stripped that gene from his genetic makeup when born. 

Another moan fell from your lips, and he groaned a bit harshly when your nails dug into the warm flesh of his cheek, but he loved it. Your delicious noises and icy touch had him wrapped around you, and the contract hadn’t even been completed yet. 

His body shifted forward a little as he moved his other hand beneath your thigh, gripping the plump flesh as he steadily leaned your legs back. This position was better, with your ankles at your ears, allowing his cock to penetrate you deeper and with more ease. 

Zayne watched your head fall back, resting against the thick fur that lined the back of your shoulders. “So beautiful,” he whispered. His breaths came out in quick huffs, and his brows creased as a sudden thought formed in his mind. Without warning, his hands quickly and carefully—without slipping out of you—pulled you up, switching your positions so that you sat in his lap while he sat back in your throne. 

A surprise, truly, but one you savored as his hips bucked up, ramming his dick up into you at a relentless pace. Your arms had to wrap around his neck to keep yourself steady as his hard length bullied your pussy. “Such boldness,” you whispered, only to let out a moan shortly afterward. The man groaned again, his hands roaming over your cold body before finding solace at your hips. “My power will be yours. Every ounce at your disposal.” 

Your hips brushed forward as your chest pressed up against his, and he buried his face into the crook of your neck. The warmth of his skin was chilled at the touch, and his digits dug into your flesh as he began to slam you down onto him the at the same time in which he thrusted up into you. The added pleasure clawed at your core—a feeling you hadn’t experienced in centuries—and you craved more of it. You craved more of him. 

Zayne’s hips sputtered slightly, his thrusts falling out of rhythm as he neared his release. He had never thought that one day he would fuck a goddess, let alone spilling himself inside of one—but he also never thought that he would make a pact with one, either. He soon came without warning, having slammed you down on him while he bucked up into you one final time, groaning as his white, hot seed spurted out against your awaiting walls. 

Your arms tightened around his neck in response, and ice seeped from your body and onto his as you cried out in pure ecstasy while gushing around him. The crackling of the element only made him want to continue his movements, albeit slower now, until he finally pulled out, causing his cum and your juices to dribble from your cunt and down the curves of your ass. 

He still held you in his lap, and his grip on your hips loosened when you shifted slightly. Zayne’s hazel green eyes locked onto your own, and the ice that had seeped onto his body earlier slowly retracted back into yours. “The pact has been made,” you told him. 

He nodded, but still, there was a certain question that still nagged at his brain for an answer. “I’ve never read of a patron using this as a form of pact agreement.” 

“Mortal writing is outdated,” you chuckled. Your hand cupped his face before giving it a slight squeeze. “Though fret not. Pacts with me do not come easily for those that desire it. I am a patron only to those who I deem worthy.” Your face inched closer to his. “And you, sweet mortal, have proved yourself to be fit enough to bestow my power unto you.” Zayne hummed softly in response. “Your soul is now tethered to mine. Consider this contract signed.” 

[comatosebunny09]

“Would you stop that?” you bite, your mouth drawn into a scowl.

He does so very love it when you’re like this.

“Hmm?” he counters, as infuriatingly innocent and oblivious as ever. “Stop what, my love?”

“Sniffing me! It’s…weird.” The fight abandons your voice when he roots his nose along the slope of your shoulder. Pleasant tingles crawl below your skin, and you shut your eyes against them, turning away from your beloved with a scoff.

He huffs a laugh. Elegant fingers swipe spidery spindles of hair from your shoulder, causing you to shiver. His breath is corpse-cold at your neck, and you feel the tips of his canines threatening to break skin.

“Darling,” he breathes. “I can’t help myself. You smell positively divine.”

[charliemwrites]

Part 6 of childhood friend Simon

“You missed a spot.”

“Like hell I did.”

Simon’s eye twitches as you snort, turning back to your phone. “Some sniper you are, blind bastard.”

The silence stretches for one, two, three…..

“Where?” he sighs.

“Left side of your jaw.” You gesture at the spot just near where it curves, a few centimeters from the corner. He runs his thumb over the spot and finds a patch of stubble.

“Fuck.”

“‘Like hell I did’,” you mock.

He narrows his eyes, points threateningly. “Watch it or I’ll shave an eyebrow.”

You snort, unconcerned. “Remember that time I did shave my eyebrows?”

He smirks as he runs the razor over the bit he missed, double checks he got it, then rinses in the sink.

“Wasn’t it because of some stupid YouTube video?”

“Yes, and I still have nightmares about having to draw them in.”

He nearly snorts water everywhere trying not to laugh, quickly wiping his face off with the towel you hand him.

“Didn’t your mum start calling you caterpillar girl?”

Your mouth drops open, scandalized.

“Simon Riley you swore you’d never bring that up again!”

He laughs outright as you chase him from the bathroom, whacking him in the arm. When he puts his hands up in mock surrender, you give him one last swat for good measure.

“Assaulting a military officer is illegal.”

You furrow your brows. “Well, you’re legally dead, aren’t you? So wouldn’t that be desecrating a corpse?”

“I’ll have to ask Laswell.”

“Or we could ask Johnny. I bet he’ll know.”

The implication of Johnny knowing versus having an opinion is not something Simon’s equipped to parse before his first cuppa.

“Johnny’s just gonna side with you.”

You shrug - because it’s true. Johnny may be Simon’s (other) best friend, but he’s also a shithead that takes every opportunity to fuck with Ghost. And with you around “protecting” him, he’s been an absolute bastard.

“Then we’ll ask Gaz and John too,” you offer as you step into your shoes.

You’ve been lining them up next to his boots off to the side. The contrast of big, black leather next to your much smaller trainers would be almost comedic if it didn’t make his chest warm.

A reminder that you’re here with him, in a place he usually spends all his time wishing to see you. He’s called you countless times on the same bed you’ve been sharing for the past week. And now you’re wearing his official SAS hoodie (complete with his name on the back) and invading his wardrobe, about to go with him to breakfast in the mess.

Johnny, in a shocking twist, doesn’t think it’s desecrating a corpse to smack Simon.

“Well, he’s Ghost, aye? So it’d be exorcising him, no?”

Your eyes go all big as you turn to Simon with unholy delight. He makes a mental note to throw Johnny onto the mat once more than usual during their next spar.

That’ll have to wait though, because he’s promised you range time and then the obstacle course. Johnny tags along, interested to see your marksmanship when Simon’s talked it up so much.

He watches on, pride bright and hot in his chest, as you walk through all the steps he’s taught you. It’s even his favorite gun in your steady hands, fingers elegant as you load, chamber. Click the safety off and settle into your preferred stance.

The first two shots hit the target, though off to the side, the second closer to center than the first. You pause, take a breath before he even says anything. Then fire again. And again. And again. Until the mag is empty and he brings the paper target back.

A neat cluster of 15 holes, dead center.

“Atta girl,” he rasps, tugging you into his side and pressing a kiss against your hair.

“I did good?” you ask, beaming.

“Lass, even those first two would have been the end of some poor sod,” Johnny chimes in, patting your shoulder. “Guess the LT isn’t such a bad teacher after all.”

Simon narrows his eyes. “Was that even a question?”

Johnny shoves the ammo box at you. “A pint says you can’t do it again.”

“You’re on!”

—

The obstacle course is slightly less of a success.

“Oh, hey, Si,” you giggle, clinging onto the rope for dear life. “Ya come here often.”

He snorts. “Did you get stuck?”

“No!” You huff, scowling. “Im just… hanging around.”

He’s enjoyed watching you navigate the course - more importantly, he likes that you enjoy climbing around. Even if he’s had a small heart attack every time your foot slips or you wobble.

“Oi, you’re holding up traffic,” Gaz huffs, rapping his knuckles against your foot.

“Do you mind?” you call back. “Im telling Simon bad jokes.”

“Oh, by all means then.”

Simon snorts, jerks his head for you to continue. Johnny laughs as you shimmy along, laughs harder when you almost fall flipping him off.

Once you make it to the other side, Gaz climbs up after you and starts demonstrating how to do the next section. Simon and Johnny follow along, the latter cheering you on.

Movement from the corner of his eye draws his attention; Price, determined set to his shoulders. Simon recognizes the glint in his eye.

“Got ‘em?” Simon asks, hopeful.

Having you spend all day with him on base has been a subconscious fantasy come true. You, close by and safe, under 24/7 guard. But the circumstances have made his skin crawl, made it difficult to enjoy the novelty. Woken him up in the small hours of the night and hug you as close as he can without waking you.

“Fuckin’ got ‘em,” Price confirms. “Laswell’s got the docket prepped. All that’s left it briefing and prep. You can be wheels up in a few hours.”

Simon cracks his neck, anticipation sparking in his veins. His gaze slides to you, to his teammates helping you down from the wall. Price follows your gaze.

“You good for this one, Simon? Got your head on straight?”

Simon flicks him a look. “You know I’m good.”

“I know Ghost is good. What about Simon?”

He blinks, gaze going back to you. You can tell already even from a distance, by the set of his shoulders, that something is going on. You’re still relaxed, but there’s a questioning curve to your mouth as you stop at his side, fingers curling in the sleeve of his shirt.

“Something happened?” you ask.

“We found the group targeting you.”

“Oh!” You arch your eyebrows, eyes bouncing between him and Price. “You’ll be taking care of it, then?”

Simon turns back to Price, a silent “well?”.

“We’ll discuss strategies during the brief.”

You perk up. “Do I get to come?”

“Might as well,” Price sighs. “Let’s go.”

—

In the end, of course Simon is going to go. You’re his girl, always have been. He trusts his team, but when it comes to you, he’ll see this done right. And the only way to be sure, the only way to have peace, is for him to eliminate the threat himself.

Johnny’s coming along, of course. The slightest bit of tension in your shoulders eases when Price decides it. Simon presses his thigh into yours.

When the brief is done, strategies and timelines set, you follow him back to his barrack. He gears up while you sit on the bed, idly inspecting his vest while he straps into everything else.

“Nervous?” he asks.

You tilt your head back and forth considering. “Not more than usual before you leave. It seems like this is pretty standard for you, more or less. Why, should I be nervous?“

He snorts. That’s his girl. “No.”

You hum, picking at the Velcro of his SAS patch. He pauses, watches your face. You’re not anxious, but there’s… something.

“What’s up, buttercup?” he asks, chucking you gently under the chin.

“I…” you pause, hum. Try again. “I don’t like that you’re going out just because of me.”

He frowns, settles on the edge of his bed. You lean with the dip in the mattress, pressing warm and solid against his side.

“I feel like… like I messed up somehow, and now you have to fix it for me.”

He blows out a breath, yanking the mask off. You tilt your head to look at him, eyes soft, the tiniest frown on your face. He peels his glove off too, to cup your cheek. Revels in the warmth and smooth skin against his scars and callouses, always a little surprised when you lean into it.

“I’d get you world peace if you asked for it,” he replies.

“You’d be out of a job,” you half-joke.

“You are my job, daft thing.” He shakes his head, leans in until he can thunk his forehead gently against yours. “You’re what brought me back from the grave. Knew I still had work to do, that you still needed taking care of.”

You sniffle a bit. Always do when he digs up the words to remind you how much you mean to him. Not that he thinks you ever doubt it. How could you? But sometimes, he thinks, it bears repeating.

“You haven’t made a mess, luv. But even if you did, I’m always right here with a mop, yeah?”

He’d burn alive just to keep you warm. Drown to fetch you a glass of water. Anything, everything. Just so long as you’re still here, still his.

“I’ll take care of this and then come home to you. Due for a holiday anyway.”

You close your eyes, a faint little smile tilting your lips. He can’t look away. Never can.

“We can go on that camping trip you’ve been talking about,” you say.

“Yeah, luv. Toast marshmallows like the old days.”

You hum, a proper smile finally blooming across your face.

“Okay,” you murmur. “Promise you’ll come back. Both of you.”

“Promise. Be good for Price while I’m gone.”

You open your eyes, a mischievous sparkle in them. “We’ll see.”

��

You see him off on the tarmac, serene and assured. Stripped of faith and belief, there is one certainty in your life, always and forever. And it’s Simon. He’s going to come home to you, because he promised he would.

“Raise hell, Si.”

“Already raised the dead,” he muses, hell shouldn’t be too hard.”

“Aye, I’ve got just the C-for it.”

You groan at the joke, but don’t deny Johnny a parting hug and peck on the cheek. “Look out for each other.”

“Will do, hen.”

You don’t hug or kiss Simon. Don’t need to, you’ve said your goodbyes. You squeeze his hand and then step back as he heads for the plane with Johnny chattering all the way.

“Alright, little miss?” Price asks when it’s just the two of you.

“Always,” you reply, turning to smile at him.

You have to be, for Simon.

[sleepingdeath-light]

having a gomez and morticia-esque dynamic with his fem overlord s/o hcs ; alastor

requested by ; anonymous (15/02/24)

fandom(s) ; hazbin hotel

fandom masterlist(s) ; here

character(s) ; alastor

outline ; “So good to have you back!

Can I request Alastair with an fem Overlord! Reader? Like they have a relationship similar to Morticia and Gomez Addams, especially when Mortica says “Don’t torture yourself Gomez, that’s my job.” Reader is just elegant and classy in a sense with her man 👀”

note ; there are some potentially (very mildly) ooc bits here and there for the sake of filling the prompt, but otherwise this is exactly what the outline requested as best as i could write it lol ^^

warning(s) ; references to canon-typical levels of violence, but mostly fluff!

the two of you are, to put it bluntly, a match made in hell — which is rather fitting as your first meeting occurred in hell itself shortly after alastor’s reign of terror as ‘the radio demon’ had first began

very few people are aware that the two of you are in a relationship, or that you know each other at all, and that’s simply because neither of you see the point in broadcasting your attachments and personal lives to the entirety of hell — your husband may be an egotistical radio broadcaster with a kill count that most sinners can only dream of achieving, but he preferred to keep his private life private and your marriage was just one of those things

(of course rosie is keenly aware of the two of you and teases alastor relentlessly, and lovingly, for how utterly in love with you he is — but he lets it slide because he knows she means well and wouldn’t dream of causing you harm)

but when you’re together it’s plainly obvious, even to those who don’t know you well at all, that the two of you are deeply obsessed with each other — that’s mainly down to your unusual, and yet somehow not at all surprising for the two of you, displays of affection which most would find deeply off putting

of course your alastor is a gentleman and can appreciate the more traditional romantic displays — he never fails to greet you with a kiss on the back of your hand and a bouquet of the finest flora hell has to offer, and he’s always ready to offer you his jacket if you complain about the weather — but it doesn’t just stop at those more ‘normal’ acts (something that you come to be more and more grateful for as your relationship progresses from courting to dating to something resembling marriage without all of the formal paperwork)

there are displays of affection that are more reliant on his more cannibalistic side, for one: diligently licking any and all of your wounds clean whilst earnestly complimenting the rich flavour of your blood (after dealing with whichever poor soul decided to go after you in the first place), talking cheerily about all of the ways he’d prepare your flesh if ever you let him (and listening with rapt attention as you discussed your own plans for any errant limbs or slabs of flesh that he may lose in battle), making sure to get to rosie’s cafè as early as possible to ensure that you only get the best of your favourite baked treats, and staring hungrily down at you as you gingerly wipe the blood from his lips and cheeks with your fingers and lick them clean in a way that most anyone else would find disturbing

there are shows of love that lean more into your mutual sadistic tendencies: kissing sweetly whilst the blood of your victims is still fresh on your skin and clothes, slow dancing to whatever song he’s broadcasting from his radio on top of the corpses of your slain targets, wistfully admiring each other as you rage and show your full demonic forms to anyone who dared to cross you (a precursor for plenty of compliments and private affection later on, i’m sure), and you stepping forward and coaxing him out of a violent episode by insisting that he should torture you instead with that sweet tone of voice that you know he can’t say ‘no’ to

there are acts that are a mixture of the three — such as you calling each other the sweetest pet names in a mixture of your spoken languages (‘love’, ‘cher’, ‘dearest’, etc.) before going on to say something truly monstrous that would have everyone else in earshot staring with a mixture of horror and disgust, or him taking you out to get your tailored clothes repaired since he so loves taking care of you after a spat with another (now likely very dead) overlord left your clothes torn in places and stained with all sorts of viscera

and, of course, amongst all of that you can guarantee that alastor is being nothing short of encouraging, adoring, and protective over you (read: quick to threaten anyone who intends to cause you harm into silence and slaughtering anyone who refuses to comply with that warning) and your honour as you go about your life as an overlord alongside him — he knows you’re more than capable of taking care of yourself, but he was raised to be a gentleman and he’s certainly not going to stop being one just because he happened to go to hell

truly, it’s like the two of you were made for each other

[mononijikayu]

ghost of you — geto suguru.

In his dreams, he would see you adorned in your Jujutsu uniform, the epitome of elegance and grace as you moved with a fluidity that mesmerized all who beheld you. Each time, it’s like that day he met you, Shoko and Satoru all over again. How kindly you smiled at him. Greeting him with every sense of wonder. Nothing could compare to the way your face lit up with a radiant glow whenever you caught sight of him and Satoru, your eyes alight with an adoration that spoke volumes of the love you held for them both. The adoring gazes of those who surrounded you, drawn to the magnetic allure of your presence, only served to amplify the aura of warmth and joy that surrounded you wherever you went.

GENRE: Hidden Inventory Arc - JJK 0, 2006/2007 - 2017;

WARNING/s: Angst, Romance, Pining, Grief, Mourning, Death, Depiction of Trauma, Depiction of Death, Depiction of Grief, Depiction of Blood, Depiction of Corpses, Depiction of Injury, Depiction of Curses, Depiction of Dreams and Nightmares, Reminiscing, Language;

masterlist

listen: ghost of you by my chemical romance

note: this is how im dealing with my failings in class. im sick too but i wanted to cry, so i wrote this!!! ramadan mubarak to those celebrating!!! i love you all!!!

HE THINKS THAT HE’S ABOUT TO LOSE HIS MIND. Night after night, Geto Suguru found himself ensnared in the clutches of a restless sleep, his subconscious a battleground where turmoil reigned supreme. Sleep, once a sanctuary from the trials of the waking world, had become a rare and fleeting commodity for him. Each night, he descended into the depths of slumber with a weariness that weighed heavily on his weary soul.

But even in the refuge of sleep, there was no respite from the torment that plagued his restless mind. As he drifted into the realm of dreams, he was met with a relentless onslaught of visions that offered no solace, no reprieve. The awakening, when it inevitably came, was always abrupt, tearing him away from the illusory tranquility of his dreams with a merciless force.

With each night that passed, Suguru's weary eyes would flutter open, revealing puffy lids stained with the remnants of tears shed in the throes of sleep. The contrast between the serenity of his dreams and the harsh reality of his waking world was stark, a cruel reminder of the tumultuous nature of his existence.

His heart, a relentless drumbeat in the silence of the night, served as a constant reminder of the vivid images that lingered in his mind long after the dream had dissipated. The dreams felt real, tangible, as if he could reach out and touch the ephemeral figures that inhabited them. And you, in particular, felt more real than ever before, a spectral presence that haunted his every thought.

In his dreams, you were within his grasp, your presence a beacon of warmth and vitality that seemed to defy the confines of mortality. Your smile, so vibrant and alive, illuminated the darkness of his subconscious with a radiance that pierced through the shadows of his restless mind.

But alongside the fleeting moments of solace came the nightmarish visions that haunted him without fail. The memory of Toji Fushiguro, the man who had wrought untold devastation upon your life, upon his life, lingered like a malevolent specter in the recesses of his mind. It was that man that had robbed him of life. The image of Toji's vicious gaze as he looked upon your lifeless form, a cruel reminder of the brutality of fate, haunted Suguru's dreams with an unrelenting intensity.

He called your name over and over.

He watched you turn your back at him.

Each time, his heart seeps with horror.

“Suguru, get out!” You rush from the entrance, getting his attention. His eyes blinked before he could even react. He looks at you, with your disheveled look, exhausted from keeping the entrance safe. “Now!”

Your desperate cry pierced through the chaos, urging him to run, to escape the impending danger. But he was frozen in place, his muscles refusing to respond to the command of his racing mind.

He could see the determination etched into your features as you rushed towards the young girl, summoning your own cursed creatures in a futile attempt to protect her. But in the face of the Sorcerer Killer's relentless speed, your efforts seemed futile.

Time slowed to a crawl as Suguru's heart pounded against his chest, each beat echoing the terror and helplessness consuming him. He screamed your name, reaching out to you with a desperation he had never known before. But his movements were sluggish, as if he were trapped in a nightmare from which he couldn't wake.

Amanai Riko's screams echoed in the air as you wrapped your arms around her, shielding her from the impending danger. Suguru's breath caught in his throat as he watched in horror, knowing that he was powerless to stop the inevitable.

The sound of gunfire shattered the silence, the bullets tearing through the air with deadly precision. Two shots rang out, each one a death knell that reverberated through Suguru's soul.

Blood sprayed into the air, painting a macabre tableau of violence and despair. Your body convulsed as the bullets found their mark, your once-vibrant eyes now vacant and lifeless. You choked on your own blood, your ghostly visage haunting Suguru's nightmares for years to come.

Even in your final moments, you clung to Riko, offering what little comfort you could in the face of such senseless brutality. But it was a futile gesture, as both your bodies crumpled to the ground, lifeless and broken, a stark reminder of the cruel reality of their world.

“Okay, job’s done.” The dark haired man retorts, walking towards Suguru with a nonchalant look on his face. Nothing made him more angry, he thinks. Nothing in him was more devoid of life than in that moment. 

He stares at both of you and Riko.

He takes a breath. 

He turns to the man.

“Why are you here?” was all he could muster out of him, his dark purple pupils dilated in bitter anguish as you laid there, lifeless, the girl you were so desperate to protect, still wrapped around your cold, blood arms. 

“Oh, that.” The man grinned back at him, scratching his head with his armed hand. “That’s simple. Because I killed Gojo Satoru.”

He wasn’t sure what else to do. 

His rainbow dragon summoned.

His cursed energy bursted out of him.

His glare was pulsing with hatred.

“I see.” He says ever so bitterly, coldly. “Then die!”

Each dream began with your warmth enveloping him, igniting a fire within his soul that burned with a fervor unmatched by anything in the waking world. Your vibrant presence, etched into the very fabric of his being, illuminated the darkness of his subconscious with a radiance that defied the confines of mortality. Every detail of your existence was etched into his memory with an indelible permanence, a testament to the profound impact you had on his life.

In his dreams, he would see you adorned in your Jujutsu uniform, the epitome of elegance and grace as you moved with a fluidity that mesmerized all who beheld you. Each time, it’s like that day he met you, Shoko and Satoru all over again. How kindly you smiled at him. Greeting him with every sense of wonder.

Nothing could compare to the way your face lit up with a radiant glow whenever you caught sight of him and Satoru, your eyes alight with an adoration that spoke volumes of the love you held for them both. The adoring gazes of those who surrounded you, drawn to the magnetic allure of your presence, only served to amplify the aura of warmth and joy that surrounded you wherever you went.

You had a gift, a rare ability to make everyone around you feel like life was worth living, each and every time you graced them with your presence. You breathed life into every room you entered, infusing it with a sense of vitality and purpose that was as intoxicating as it was irresistible. And to Suguru, you were the embodiment of that beauty, a vision of unparalleled grace and elegance that left him breathless with longing.

But beneath the surface of this idyllic tableau of love and adoration lay a deep well of sorrow and longing that threatened to engulf Suguru's fragile heart. Because every dream ended with the same way. His guilt eating up and him. Every dream ended with you losing your life, with him losing you. And him, being too slow, too useless, too careless. The pain in his chest was palpable as he watched you over and over, knowing that you were no longer his to cherish. You haunted him, continually.

But he wouldn’t have it any other way.

Because you weren’t here with him.

All he could do was let him be haunted.

All he could do was let himself mourn.

All he could do was see the ghost of you.

HE DIDN’T REALIZE THAT HE HAD CURSED YOU. In the depths of Suguru's heart, a relentless denial gripped him with an iron fist, refusing to accept the crushing reality of your absence. He couldn't comprehend how he managed to carry on, nor could he grasp the reason behind his persistent refusal to acknowledge the truth. Yet, in the recesses of his soul, he harbored an unwavering certainty that you were still with him, your presence lingering like an indelible imprint on his consciousness.

The mere thought of your demise was inconceivable to Suguru, a notion he vehemently rejected with every fiber of his being. Even as he cradled your lifeless form in his arms, the weight of your absence pressing down on him like an insurmountable burden, he couldn't fathom a world without you breathing, without your laughter filling the air.

The memory of that fateful moment, when the sound of clapping mingled with the echo of your blood staining the pavement, haunted him relentlessly. It was a nightmare he couldn't escape, a grim reality that overshadowed every waking moment, gnawing at the edges of his sanity.

Even when he stood before Satoru, who held the lifeless body of Amanai Riko in his arms, the juxtaposition of death and despair surrounding them like a shroud, Suguru's mind rebelled against the notion of your absence. The image of your mangled face, revealed to Shoko as she trembled with unspoken grief, pierced Suguru's soul like a dagger, a stark reminder of the cruel fate that had torn you away from him.

But amidst the suffocating grip of denial, there lingered a beacon of solace – the memory of the day before, when both of you stood by the sea, basking in the warmth of each other's company. That precious moment played on an endless loop in Suguru's mind, a sanctuary of peace amidst the chaos of his shattered reality, a reminder of the love and joy you brought into his life.

In the tumultuous depths of his soul, Suguru clung to that memory with unwavering resolve, refusing to let go of the hope that one day, somehow, you would return to him, breathing life back into his shattered world.

That serene afternoon spent in your company felt like an eternity, a timeless moment etched into Suguru's memory. He could still recall the sensation of the sun's warmth enveloping his skin as he lay with his head nestled in your lap, the rhythmic motion of your fingers gently combing through his hair like a soothing melody.

The gentle caress of the wind against the backdrop of the sea created a symphony of tranquility, a scene of unparalleled beauty that seemed to exist outside of time itself. In that moment, there was no past or future, only the present, filled with the warmth of your love.

"You know," You teased, your playful grin lighting up your features, "You're lucky I'm not like Satoru. Otherwise, I might just shave your head when you fall asleep like this."

Suguru chuckled, his eyes still closed as he basked in the comfort of your presence. "You wouldn't dare. You love my hair too much."

Your laughter was like a sweet melody, a harmonious blend of joy and affection that resonated in Suguru's soul. "You caught me," You admitted, your fingers continuing their gentle movements through his hair. "I couldn't bear to part with those luscious locks of yours."

“Hm, it's why I maintain it for you.”

“Liar, you maintain it for yourself.” You retorted back at him, teasingly. “Well, other than that, for your boyfriend, Satoru.”

Opening his eyes, Suguru met your gaze, captivated by the love and warmth that radiated from your eyes. "You're one of a kind, my love," he murmured softly, reaching up to intertwined his fingers with yours. His chest rambling with laughter. “Satoru wouldn’t oppose those words, I like to think.”

You grinned back at him. “No, he’d be very flattered.”

He smiled, squeezing your palm. “Too bad you already captured me, my love.”

"And you're stuck with me," You replied with a mischievous grin, gently squeezing his hand. "For better or for worse."

"And for bitter or for worse, too," Suguru vowed solemnly, his voice filled with unwavering determination. “You and me.”

Your laughter echoed in the air, a symphony of happiness that danced around them. "That's a promise, hm?"

"It is!" Suguru affirmed, a smile spreading across his face as he felt a surge of warmth fill his heart. In that moment, surrounded by the warmth of your love and the echo of your laughter, he knew that he’d fall in love with you, over and over again.

In the aftermath of the tragedy that had torn you away from him, Suguru clung to your lifeless body with a tenacity born of desperation. He couldn't bear the thought of surrendering you to the authorities, not even to Shoko, who trembled with sorrow as she stood before him, her eyes filled with unspoken grief.

Instead, Suguru laid your body down gently on your dorm bed, heedless of the blood stains that marred the once-peaceful sanctuary where you had shared countless intimate moments together. "You belong here," he murmured softly, his voice choked with emotion, "Safe and far from harm."

For days, Suguru remained by your side, tending to your lifeless form with a tenderness that belied the anguish raging within him. "I'll take care of you," he whispered, his fingers tracing the contours of your face as if trying to etch your features into his memory forever.

As Satoru arrived, his usually jovial demeanor replaced with a heavy cloak of grief, Suguru's facade of stoicism cracked under the weight of his anguish. His heart, already battered and bruised, seemed to shatter into a million pieces as he watched Yaga and Shoko carry your lifeless body away, leaving him alone with the echo of his torment.

"How could you let this happen?" Suguru's voice rang out, filled with a rawness that cut through the air like a knife. Each word was laced with a pain so profound that it seemed to reverberate through the room, echoing the depths of his despair.

Satoru's response was a whispered apology, his voice heavy with guilt and sorrow. The weight of his words hung in the air like a tangible presence, a silent acknowledgment of the mistakes made and the lives lost as a result.

“Suguru,” Satoru began, his voice barely above a whisper, his eyes reflecting a myriad of complex emotions. But amidst the sorrow and regret, Suguru could see the unmistakable glimmer of guilt that lingered in his best friend's gaze. It was a guilt that cut deeper than any blade, a burden that Satoru carried with him like a heavy chain around his neck.

The apology hung in the air, a fragile thread that seemed to stretch and strain under the weight of their shared grief. Suguru's heart ached with the weight of it all, the pain of loss and betrayal mingling together in a tumultuous storm of emotions.

In that moment, as they stood amidst the wreckage of their shattered lives, Suguru realized that forgiveness would not come easy. The wounds were too fresh, the pain too raw. But buried beneath the layers of grief and anger, there remained a glimmer of hope – a flicker of light in the darkness that threatened to consume them both.

Satoru's shoulders sagged under the weight of Suguru's accusation, his usual confidence crumbling in the face of his friend's anguish. "I... I don't know, Suguru," he admitted, his voice wavering with emotion. "I thought we had everything under control. I never imagined..."

Suguru's gaze bore into him, a mix of disbelief and sorrow etched into his features. "You never imagined?" he repeated, his voice hollow with pain. "You promised me you'd keep my love safe, Satoru. You promised."

Gojo Satoru's eyes mirrored the grief that threatened to consume Suguru. "I know," he whispered, his voice choked with sorrow. "I know, and I'm sorry. I never meant for any of this to happen. I would give anything to go back and change it, Suguru. Anything."

The room fell silent, the weight of their words hanging heavy in the air like a thick fog. Suguru's heart ached with a longing for the past, for a time when you were still alive and everything felt right in the world. “Apologies....it wouldn't bring Riko-chan....it wouldn't bring my love back. It wouldn’t bring them back.”

“I know.” His best friend responded back to him, his eyes lowering down to the pavement. “I know.”

He just let Suguru cry.

And he just held him.

But he knew it wasn’t enough.

It would never be enough.

As the days turned into weeks, the weight of grief and loss pressed down on Geto Suguru like an unrelenting force of nature. Surrounded by the very space that bore witness to a lifetime of shared memories between him and you, Suguru found himself drowning in bitterness and despair.

But his anguish only deepened when he discovered the truth – that your death, and the death of Amanai Riko, had been in vain. The realization that your sacrifices had been rendered meaningless, that another Star Plasma Vessel existed and remained to be found, fueled the flames of his anger and resentment.

Your deaths were not just tragedies; they were senseless, cruel acts of fate that left Suguru grappling with the unbearable weight of injustice. The quiet anger that simmered beneath his grief now boiled over, consuming him with a fiery intensity that threatened to consume everything in its path.

He was angry – angry at the world, angry at fate, angry at himself for not being able to protect you. He was bitter – bitter at the cruel twist of fate that robbed him of a future with you, bitter at the injustice of a world that could take away something so precious with such callous disregard.

In the midst of his despair, Suguru found himself grappling with a profound sense of loss – not just the loss of you, but the loss of the life they could have had together. It was a wound that cut deep, leaving him scarred and broken, forever haunted by the specter of what could have been.

"I can't do this without you," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, as he traced the outline of your bed with trembling fingers.

Amidst the suffocating darkness that threatened to consume him, Suguru clung to a memory that flickered like a solitary flame in the blackness of his despair. It was a memory of a night shrouded in chaos and bloodshed, a night when he had unleashed the full force of his cursed power upon a village that dared to defy him.

In the midst of the carnage, as screams echoed through the air and flames licked at the sky, Suguru found himself face to face with a man brandishing a dull blade, his eyes filled with a murderous rage. It was a scene straight out of his nightmares, a reminder of the violence and destruction that had become his reality.

But then, amidst the chaos and despair, he saw you – a specter of the past, with eyes as cold and dead as the winter night itself. In that fleeting moment of recognition, Suguru reached out to you, his hand trembling with a desperation he could not conceal.

"I need you," he whispered into the void, his voice thick with emotion. In that moment, he realized that even in death, you would always be there to defend him, to stand by his side through the darkest of times.

In the depths of his despair, Suguru's mind replayed the events of that fateful night with agonizing clarity. The memory of your sudden appearance, like a specter from the past, haunted him relentlessly, its impact both comforting and terrifying in equal measure.

As the man raised his blade, a glint of malice in his eyes, Suguru watched in stunned disbelief as you intervened, your ethereal form moving with an otherworldly grace. Tears streamed down your face, a silent testament to the grief and anguish that engulfed you both.

In that fleeting moment, as your cold hand met his trembling one, Suguru was overcome by a torrent of emotions – grief, longing, and a profound sense of loss. But amidst the chaos and turmoil, there was also a glimmer of hope – a belief that even in death, your presence would guide him through the darkness, offering solace and strength in the face of unimaginable hardship.

You couldn’t speak, your voice silenced by the cruel hand of fate. Yet in that moment, words were unnecessary. Your mere presence was enough to soothe Suguru's tormented soul, offering him a lifeline amidst the darkness that threatened to consume him.

Because you were here, tangible and real, your touch and gaze a balm to his wounded spirit. In that moment, nothing else mattered – not the burning village, nor the screams of the innocent, nor the sorrow that engulfed them both. Only you, alive and with him, mattered.

"Welcome home, my love," Suguru whispered to you, his voice barely above a whisper, his touch gentle as he brushed your hair out of your face. In that moment, surrounded by the remnants of their shared past, Suguru found solace in the simple act of being with you, his anchor in a sea of chaos and despair.

He regretted nothing.

Not this moment.

No, not even you.

Never you.

HE HAD NO REGRETS, NOT EVEN BY THE END.You watched from the shadows, your ethereal presence a silent observer in the midst of the unfolding drama. Suguru had never wanted you near the battle. He had kept you out of it. But he supposed, as you dwelled through the walls, familiar to the cursed echoes of your mind—you were just returning home.The moon hung low in the sky, its pale light casting long shadows over the desolate landscape. As the first rays of dawn began to paint the horizon with streaks of gold and orange, the world seemed to hold its breath in anticipation.

Your eyes, cold and ghostly, flickered with an otherworldly intensity as you surveyed the scene before you. Two figures stood facing each other amidst the quiet stillness of the night – one bathed in the soft glow of the moon, the other shrouded in the darkness of the shadows. Geto Suguru leaned against the familiar wall, his form hunched over in pain as he clutched his armless shoulder, blood seeping through his fingers in a steady stream. Despite the agony etched into his features, he remained steadfast, his resolve unyielding even in the face of death.

You blinked, your expression inscrutable as you watched Suguru's suffering unfold before you. There was a sense of detachment in your gaze, as if you were merely a spectator to the tragic spectacle playing out before you. The sun began to lower, its golden rays piercing through the darkness with a gentle warmth that belied the chaos of the moment. The world seemed to slowly descend to the slumber, the birds flying past as they chased against the shadows eating away into darkness.

And yet, amidst the beauty of that blue hour, there was an undeniable sense of foreboding in the air. This was not how he was expecting to go, but he supposed he had no other way but to live through it, with what he had left. The silent standoff between the two figures spoke volumes, a silent testament to the turmoil and conflict that raged within their hearts.

You stood silently, your presence a silent sentinel amidst the chaos, your eyes never wavering from the scene unfolding before you. As Suguru and the other figure faced each other in a silent battle of wills, you remained a silent witness to the unfolding drama, your ghostly eyes reflecting the weight of the world on your shoulders.

"You're late, Satoru," Suguru let out a voice tinged with resignation and a hint of bitterness.

Satoru Gojo stood before them, a towering figure even in the midst of turmoil, his usual blindfold gone to reveal the intensity of his gaze. His eyes, unobscured by the fabric that usually concealed them, bore into Suguru and the ethereal figure standing beside him, a silent testament to the gravity of the situation unfolding before them.

As Suguru and Satoru faced each other, a silent exchange passed between them, Satoru's expression remained stoic yet filled with an unspoken sorrow. It had been so long since he had last seen the figure beside Suguru, and this was not the reunion he had envisioned. But there was no surprise in his gaze, no hint of shock at the sight before him. He had long ago come to accept the unexpected twists and turns of fate, the unpredictable nature of love and loss.

Every essence of love, Satoru knew, carried with it a burden of its own – a weight that could either uplift or crush the soul. His love for Suguru, his steadfast friendship that had endured for nearly a decade, had been his anchor in the storm, the guiding light that had sustained him through even the darkest of times. And he was certain that Suguru's love for the figure beside him, ever-present yet so tragically unfulfilled, had likewise kept him tethered to this world, even as death loomed ever closer.

As Satoru turned his head to look at the figure beside Suguru, a wave of bittersweet memories washed over him. It had been too long since he had last seen you, too long since they had last stood together as allies in the fight against darkness. And now, as he gazed upon your lifeless form, he couldn't help but feel a pang of regret – regret for all the lost time, all the missed opportunities, and all the words left unspoken. You were chained to this life, out of love. And you probably knew that too well. 

Amidst the sorrow and regret, there remained a glimmer of hope – a belief that even in death, their love would endure, a beacon of light in the darkness that threatened to consume them all. Yet he wouldn’t want it to continue. This was already a nightmare. These moments were already haunting ghosts. And as Satoru stood before them, his heart heavy with grief yet filled with a quiet determination, he knew that he would do whatever it took to set them free from the chains of their past, to grant them the peace and solace they so rightfully deserved.

"To think you'd be the one here at my end," Suguru replied, his voice betraying none of the turmoil swirling within him. Yet he smiled, a genuine expression of warmth and understanding that seemed to contradict the gravity of the situation.

Suguru Geto, his expression stoic and unreadable, met Satoru's gaze with a steely resolve. There was a time when closeness existed between them, a bond forged through shared experiences and unwavering trust. But now, that bond lay fractured and strained, buried beneath the weight of their conflicting ideologies and diverging paths.

"Is my family safe?" Suguru demanded, his tone tinged with a shallow breath of concern. He glanced at the figure standing beside him, your dead, cold eyes betraying a silent worry that mirrored his own. Nanako and Mimiko, the twins who had become like family to them, were undoubtedly on both your minds. Suguru knew that your concern for their safety mirrored his own, even if you couldn't voice it aloud.

Satoru nodded solemnly. "Every last one of them managed to escape," he confirmed, his voice tinged with regret. "The ones in Kyoto were under your orders, too, right?"

Suguru's lips curved into a bitter smile. "Yeah," he acknowledged. "Unlike you, I'm a kind man."

The tension between them hung heavy in the air, suffocating and palpable. Suguru broke the silence once more, his voice steady and unwavering. "You sent those two assuming that I'd defeat them, didn't you?" he questioned, his tone accusing yet tinged with resignation.

Suguru's gaze hardened, his eyes narrowing in response. "To set Okkotsu off," he whispered, his voice laced with bitter amusement. Satoru's eyes remained steadfast, reflecting the resolve of a man driven by his convictions.

"I trusted you," Satoru interjected, his voice tinged with a note of disappointment. "Trusted that a man as principled as you wouldn't kill off young sorcerers without a reason."

"Trust, huh?" Suguru mused, his smile tinged with wistfulness. He glanced at the figure beside him, your cold, dead eyes mirroring his own emotions. "I didn't think I still had any of that left… after everything I’ve been through."

With a resigned sigh, Suguru retrieved a small object from the folds of his clothes and extended it towards Satoru. "Return this for me, will you?" he requested, his voice tinged with finality.

Satoru accepted the object, his fingers closing around it with a sense of inevitability. "Was the elementary school your doing, too?" he asked, his voice tinged with curiosity and disbelief.

Suguru met his gaze, his expression inscrutable. "Yeah," he admitted quietly.

Their eyes met in a silent exchange of understanding and regret, the weight of their shared history hanging heavy between them. Satoru took a step forward, his gaze piercing through the darkness to meet Suguru's gaze head-on. 

"Do you have any last words?" he inquired, his voice soft yet tinged with melancholy.

Suguru's lips twitched into a bitter smile, his gaze unfaltering. "No matter what anyone says," he began, his voice tinged with resignation. "I hate those monkeys. But I never held any hatred for those in Jujutsu High. I just couldn't wear a heartfelt smile in this world. Not after…"

He turned towards you, his expression filled with an unspoken longing and regret. You looked back at him, confusion etched into your features. But he smiled at you, urging you closer with a silent gesture.

"I hope you can forgive me," Suguru whispered to you, his hand reaching out to touch your face gently. A tear fell from your eyes, a silent acknowledgment of the pain and loss they had both endured. "And I hope you will meet me soon. The real you. Wherever this death leads me. I hope you can love me again. Like you used to.”

"You need to do it, Suguru," Satoru urged, his voice filled with a sense of sorrow. One that Suguru cannot comprehend. One that was buried for ten years. “Now.”

Suguru wiped the lone tear away, his expression solemn yet resolute. "I know."

"Suguru," Gojo Satoru called out, his voice echoing with the weight of their shared history and the unspoken promise of redemption. "We'll meet again someday, right?"

His words were a whispered prayer, a plea for forgiveness and understanding that he never thought he'd utter. Each syllable hung heavy in the air, pregnant with the weight of their past and the uncertainty of their future.

Suguru looked at him with surprise, his expression a mixture of disbelief and resignation. And then, as if released from the shackles of his own sorrow, a laugh bellowed from him, echoing through the desolate landscape like a beacon of hope amidst the darkness. He smiled at Satoru, a genuine smile that reached his eyes despite the pain and regret that lingered there.

"At least curse me a little bit, in the end," Suguru teased lowly, his voice tinged with a sense of camaraderie that belied the gravity of the moment. It was a moment of levity amidst the heaviness of their shared grief, a fleeting glimpse of the bond that had once united them in friendship and camaraderie.

And then, as if on cue, your voice pierced through the silence, your words whispered softly yet audibly into the night air. "Go...od...bye," you murmured, your lips forming the words with a sense of finality that hung heavy in the air like a shroud. It was not strangled. But rather, warm. As warm as it used to be when you were alive. 

They both looked at you, their hearts heavy with sorrow and regret, yet filled with a quiet understanding and acceptance. Your smile, though fleeting, filled the space between them with warmth and reassurance, a silent reminder that even in death, love endures.

As your body started to fade into the ether, a silent farewell etched into the depths of your soul, Suguru reached out to them one last time. His hand extended toward Satoru, a gesture of farewell and gratitude for their shared moments of joy and sorrow. And in that fleeting moment, surrounded by the echoes of their shared past and the promise of a brighter future, they reached back, their hands intertwined in a silent vow of eternal remembrance and love.

Satoru watched as your body disappeared, wisps of what had been blowing into the wind like cherry blossoms in the summer breeze. His gaze shifted to Suguru, a bittersweet smile playing at the corners of his lips. It was a smile of contentment, of freedom finally achieved. Because he knew, deep down, that he would meet you soon. And in that moment, he felt no regrets, no sorrow, only the quiet acceptance of what was to come.

“I’ll do it once,” Satoru whispered to Suguru, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’m sorry.”

Suguru's smile widened, a sense of peace washing over him as he closed his eyes. He resigned himself to his fate. “Between you and me, Satoru,” he whispered back, his voice filled with a sense of finality. “There was never any need for thanks or apologies. I’m ready to go. I’ve been ready for ten years. All I want is to smile genuinely again.” 

And with those words hanging in the air like a silent promise, Suguru took one final breath, his spirit soaring free from the shackles of his earthly existence. He didn’t need to use his powers, Satoru thinks. He was already gone. Far too gone. And as he faded into the unknown, a sense of tranquility settled over the desolate landscape, one that had ever been so familiar. So full of memories of the four of you in your blue summer. It was now his turn, he supposed. To live with the ghosts of you and Suguru, for as long as he lives. 

As Geto Suguru's spirit faded into the unknown, Gojo Satoru stood in the quiet stillness of the brisk sunset turning deeply into the darkened night. He stood before his best friend’s body, letting a sense of peace settle over him like a comforting embrace. He watched as Suguru's essence dissipated into the ether, a gentle smile gracing his lips as he whispered a silent farewell to his dear friend.

In the moments that followed, Gojo Satoru felt a profound sense of closure wash over him, a weight lifted from his weary soul. For so long, he had carried the burden of their shared past, the guilt and regret weighing heavily on his heart. But now, as Suguru's spirit ascended to a higher plane, he knew that their journey together had come to an end. And now Suguru's journey began. You both were together now, that’s what he hoped for. Suguru was smiling beside you. That you both were waiting for him and Shoko. That’s what he wants to believe.

As the last traces of Suguru's presence faded from the air, Satoru closed his eyes, allowing himself to bask in the quiet tranquility of the night. In that moment, he felt a sense of gratitude for the time they had shared, for the laughter and tears, the joy and sorrow that had defined their friendship.

The tears fell from blue eyes easily.

He choked on his sobs, his head down.

It was never going to be easy for him.

He had to move forward, all he could do.

He had to live, for you and Suguru.