#willing to curse people if the price is right

[veggieboxes]

age swap au refs for some of the adults :p

context: here / here / and here

[moondirti]

kyle yearns for his captain's approval. you're the perfect medium through which he can secure it.

featuring: gaz x fem!reader x price. very consensual. fondling. inspection. fluff. praise kink. objectification. cucking? anal play. mentions of dp and breeding. 4k words of nonsense.

when price asks gaz if he's got anyone at home, gaz answers.

truthfully. he'd be hesitant to admit that he does to anyone else – soap especially, what with his track record of worming his way into people's pants – but his captain is... his captain. jonathan price. a real force of nature, cursed with an uncanny determinism and a habit of getting what he wants regardless of if those around him are willing. gaz knows that price will find out eventually; when the ring he's been planning to purchase for months finds it's way onto your finger, and he requests a change be made to the dependants section of his paperwork. perhaps before then too, if he really did some digging. but gaz also knows that, if there were anyone to trust with this precious knowledge, it'd be him.

so, he tells him about the little number he's got tucked away in a home in south oxfordshire. it's the lazy afternoon before a big mission, and he shouldn't be drinking but he is, a tumbler cradled between his palms and the burn of rye whiskey loosening his tongue. price doesn't speak, just listens, as the sergeant gradually devolves into more and more detail about your meeting, your courtship, the work you distract yourself with when he's not around. and despite his reverence, he admits it all breathlessly, a sheepishness pervading every word. how is he expected to keep his composure when the air is so heavy? unrelenting scrutiny and the potent waft of cigar-smoke draw a hot flush to his skin, the older man humming every so often as a prompt for him to continue.

he wants to, oddly enough. gaz is a reticent man, second only to ghost when it comes to keeping his life private. but something about this circumstance has him ready to lay it all bare. he wants to tell price about how you kiss his neck, the wicked fucking ways in which you use your mouth to milk him dry. he wants to pull out his phone, scroll through the hidden album full of pictures of your tits, of home-made films that paint you in a cum-covered, dazzling light. he wants price to know that he chose right, wants to hear the praise whispered in his ear as his captain lays a sturdy clap onto his back.

instead, he shrugs.

"not much more to tell, cap."

"damn shame." price taps his cigar to rid of the ashes. "sounds like a proper match, garrick. good for you."

and it's enough. a big enough lump of wood to keep the needy fire in his belly roaring. he shifts in his seat to dissuade the heat, rubbing his jaw in contemplation like he hasn't already thought of a perfect way to reap more.

"tell you what, sir. we survive this next assignment, i'll bring you over to meet 'er."

it's a hairbreadth escape, but they do manage to make it back alive, albeit a bit more scarred than they once were. gaz gets home late at night to find you awake, waiting on him despite the incredibly short notice he'd given you for his arrival. it's there – in the foyer, his nose buried in your neck as you babble on about how much you missed him, and what you'll make for breakfast to celebrate, and questions like hey, are you okay? that cut looks fresh or when was the last time you slept? – that he breaks the news. you'll be having his captain over for dinner in two week's time.

of course you're overjoyed. you've been begging to meet the people he risks his life with ever since he told you what he did for work. the planning is immediate. you're dumping recipes on him the next morning, asking for his opinion on what appetiser, main, and dessert your guest of honour would enjoy best. and what's his poison, anyway? i can get my hands on a nice bottle of scotch if you think it'd be worth it. kyle doesn't have the heart to tell you that nothing you'll do would matter much, that price has already taken a liking to you. besides, if anything, your homemaking ability makes him chub up in his pants. best not to rob himself of that delight.

the night arrives as quick as it had been put forward. gaz has to dodge your attempts to put a tie on him, stifles your complaints with a kiss and insists that it's not that kind of dinner party. you're confused (bless you) but flit around making last minute preparations in your bustier midi-dress anyway, kitten-heels clicking against the polished hardwood floors. at a certain point, he can tell that you're fussing over nothing and pulls you by the hand to stand by the doorway with him.

"there's something i didn't mention earlier." he whispers when you're finally settled, tucking his index finger under your chin. your brows knit anxiously. he pecks the canyons between them, stroking your bottom lip until the frazzled energy bleeds from you.

"why would you wait? there's not enough t–"

"not exactly something you can plan for, doll. s'just gonna happen." when you fail to push him for more context, he sighs. "price is expecting to see you."

"sure... that's the whole point, isn't it?"

"no, sweetheart." gaz's free hand wraps around your waist, lowering until it reaches the plush sweel of your ass. his touch lays breadcrumbs for you to follow, leading you down the very depraved path he's trekked a million times the past few weeks. "i mean all of you."

your lips part in realization. oh. he's scared straight for a second, heart hammering like it always does when he reveals a darker fantasy to you. but you merely smile – anxious, sure, pupils clouded with fresh concern, but a smile nonetheless – and accept his admission gracefully.

"and you want me to let him?"

gaz nods. "if you'd please."

you place a chaste kiss on his cheek, careful not to smear your makeup onto his clean-shaven skin. "okay."

he visibly slackens, an edge of playfulness cutting it's way back into his tone. "what's say we take those panties off, make things easier when the time arrives?"

"can' remember the last time i had a beef welly this good, love. family recipe?"

"yes, actually! but it took me some time to perfect for my own. the original called for sherry in the duxelle, but i always thought wine was better suited."

kyle doesn't know if he's ever been more proud of you.

you're a vision. the paradigm of charm. he half feared things to would be awkward following your conversation at the doorway, but aside from the first few minutes of price's arrival – the time it took everyone to thaw the ice of unfamiliarity – you've been anything but stilted. in fact, he worries that you missed the true implication of his request – of the direction things will take later – given the way you laugh openly. the ease in which you bridge conversation topics. your attentiveness, eyes roving over both your boyfriend and his captain to ensure everyone has everything they need. you certainly don't act like a girl who's going to be nakedly appraised tonight. all the expected clumsiness, the stumbling over your own words, replaced instead by eloquence and quick wit.

sweet girl. bloody... beautiful, darling girl.

price seems to think so too. he chuckles heartily at the stories you offer of kyle failing learning to waterski during your anniversary trip to mauritius (and offers his own insight too, something along the lines of how you'd expect the sergeant to be better balanced, given he's survived hanging off a helicopter before). offers some solid advice on how to deal with the ostentatious coworker whose been bugging you for months. and when you question him about his personal life – a line every good soldier knows not to take with their CO, which has gaz wincing internally – all your guest offers is a genuine, crinkle-eye smile. no doubt appreciative of the non-intrusive manner you ask.

he shoots gaz a look before answering, and it's one full of tacky warmth. a look he's seen several times on the field, molasses sweet and satisfying, one that invades his private thoughts too often to admit. whose effect he knows only comes off in a cold shower, a quick pump to his cock if you're not around to help relieve it. something like approval. unspoken praise.

"wish i could say i've been blessed like the two of ya. married to my work, m'afraid."

"oh." you wave your arms, standing to clear the table of dirty plates. "don't be ridiculous, john. you're a wonderful man. put yourself out there and i'm sure it'll come to you." you say it like it's breathing, and just as easily prance away to the kitchen, your voice losing to the clatter of silverware in the sink. thus, when you yell out something about dessert (price is really only able to decipher i made madeira! over the illegible chorus of cabinets closing) kyle is the one to answer you. well-trained in untangling your voice from any sort of ruckus, poor cell reception and moans and drunk gibberish and the obstructive fabric of his hoodie when you sob into his chest.

"maybe later, doll!" he voices back, scratching the back of his neck as he takes in the food still laid out in front of them. picked apart by hungry forks but still, enough to make up days worth of leftovers.

"mm. the girl stuffed me full, garrick." price stretches from his seat. "if i didnt know any better, i'd reckon you lot were fattening me up to feast on me come winter."

gaz stores the remains of your meal into nearby tupperwares then follows suit, urging his captain to follow him into the lounge. "please," he laughs, nodding when the man pulls a cigar from his pocket and twists it in a silent question. "she thinks they starve us out there. tries to make up for it by feedin' me into oblivion when i'm home."

"speak for yourself. i could do with a home-cooked meal every now 'n' then." the captain takes a puff of the maduro between his fingers, lets the smoke cloud his hindbrain. your house smells so much like you, like kyle and you – warm laundry and anise and jasmine – that he feels a quick lick of guilt at ruining the fragile balance of it. too little too late, too – the scent of leather and oily spice pervades the space.

but you don't mention it once you waltz back in, smoothing your hands across the back of your dress. "if we don't get a chance to try the cake tonight, remind me to send you home with some, john." gaz poorly conceals his laugh with a cough, sinking into the cushion when you shoot him an offended look. "what?"

"nothing," he pouts, then hides his next words behind the back of his hand, whispering to price. "i told you."

"i can hear you, you twat!" you flick his ear, brows furrowed in faux irritation as your boyfriend wraps an arm around your legs.

"i know! hey– i know, gorgeous. was only joking." his forehead nudges your tummy, restless until you comb your hand over his tight curls. "th'captain knows that too. isn't that right, sir?"

"of course."

"you laugh now, but wait until you're halfway through a month long mission. you'll wish you had me around!"

"don't i know it." kyle murmurs, the fingers at the back of your thigh slowly creeping upward. the skirt of your dress slips, climbs up your legs with the motion of his forearm, and all too suddenly he remembers your lack of undergarments.

fuck. he almost forget he pocketed your panties. and you... you've been so natural, such a good hostess despite the cold brush of air constantly on your cunt. it flips a primal switch inside him – that same trigger that'd prompted mention of this night in the first place. blood rushes to his cock so fast it hurts, desperation flooding his lungs until the only thing he can breathe out is your name.

"hmmm." you smile in return. and if price weren't here, he'd bury his nose into the canyon between your legs and take a deep inhale of your natural musk.

but he is, and so all gaz can manage is a quiet: "how about you show the captain our little surprise?"

"oh?" the man in question hums. dangerously relaxed, two legs spread and his posture curved as he watches the little display you put on for him. "what's this about a surprise, then?"

you bite your lip, raking your nails down from your boyfriend's neck to his shoulder and placing a tight, reassuring squeeze there before breaking away. nothing is said as you push an ottoman between price's knees, making sure it's steady before pushing him to rest against the back of the couch.

"do you like my dress?" you practically purr, bending over as to pronounce your tits. kyle's breath stutters, watching for the way superior's eyes take in your form. gratification swells in his belly when he just smiles, patting your hip.

"s'that really a question that needs to be asked, lovie? you know the answer."

an adorable mix between a shrug and giggle is all you give. "kyle says you want to see me."

"aye. i do."

"and i wanna make him happy."

"same for me."

and kyle thinks he could just cum in his pants if this keeps up. he feels filthy, both an observer and the main act in this spectacle. the knowledge that his captain doesn't just want you, the love of his life, but him too works away at him, hollowing him out until he's nothing but a husk of docile yearning.

"so, what'll it be?" you say.

"turn around. elbows on the ottoman, knees on either side of my thighs."

you obey instantly, lamplight catching the heated flush of your skin while you position yourself according to price's wishes. your back arcs so that your ass is prominently within his view, plump even beneath the loose material of your dress.

"kyle."

"sir." he coughs, shifting to conspicuously adjust the aching mass tucked in his waistband.

"on your knees, son. righ' here beside me. when i ask a question, you're expected to answer."

"yes, sir."

"got tha' that, lovie?" he grunts. "respond now, and then it's silence from you."

"okay!" you wiggle your hips, forgetting yourself for a moment. "sir!"

this gaz can do. following orders. grounded pragmatism, however far this is from a professional setting. he figures price has gleaned as much, has given him this task so he doesn't flounder off track throughout the evening and ruin things for everyone. the hard part is over then, all of that hesitant foreplay – of opening up, getting you to agree, of the stretch of time it took for everyone to warm up to one another – wrapped up for something simpler.

all he has to worry about is answering promptly and correctly while he watches his captain–

flip your skirt over your hips.

a low whistle. then, two hands on your backside, kneading the soft flesh there. working either globe apart like dough, the glistening seam of your most private parts spread open to prying eyes. price appraises your cunt for the first time like he would a winning showdog, or the sky on a particularly pleasant day. all utilitarian-like. if it weren't for the bulge in his trousers, your boyfriend would almost be offended.

"no panties, hm?"

"no-" you start, squeaking out an apology when you earn a firm swat to your thigh.

"i asked her to go without them tonight. thought... you'd appreciate it, sir." kyle replies, swallowing the saliva that arises upon seeing your lips flutter.

"good lad." a hot flash of arousal breaks across his chest. the captain lets go of his grip on your ass, watching how the fat jiggles back into place, then returns to squeezing it. "surprised i couldn't smell 'er, way she was dancing around us all night."

it isn't a question, so gaz stays quiet.

the groping continues. sometimes its light – brushes of calloused palms across the area, disturbing the stillness like a rock skipping over water. you ripple when he pokes, shake when he taps. other times, and increasingly once price notes your resilience to pain, it borders on rough. moulding your flesh into compact pinches, jabbing his thumb into the softness so hard it'll bruise. you take it all with grace, a low whine building in your chest that he let's go unpunished.

"she's taking this well. you rough her up often?"

"when she asks, sir." he thinks for a moment, catching your wily smile from the corner of his eye. minx. "likes it more than i do giving it to her."

"need someone to take care of the both of ya." price chuckles, then moves on, oblivious to the way the sergeant's hips buck at his implication. or, maybe he notices – probably does – and stores it away for another time. "looks like a greedy little pussy to me." his thumbs hook onto either side of your labia, pulling it apart like fresh bed to reveal the sloppy mess between. your clit is enflamed, angry for being neglected for so long. if you were allowed to speak, kyle can guarantee with almost a hundred percent certainty that you'd be whining to be touched. "look a' tha'." price's accent grows thicker. "fat little thing just jumping for attention."

he curls a finger, then flicks the swollen bud. a loud moan bursts from you, your face falling between your forearms as you hold yourself back from begging. gaz would've acquiesced by now, would've rubbing the bundle of nerves raw the second you fanned your pretty lashes up at him.

but price snaps it three more times in rapid succession, which apparently is too much for you to handle because you yell. "p-please!"

he remedies your slip up with a slap to the same area. the crack on impact echoes long enough to tell him that one hurt. "shhh. so spoiled, sergeant. how often do you make her cum?"

"a-at least three times a go, sir."

"what's the record?"

"eight."

"and the longest you've held off?"

kyle hesitates, bowing his head for the reprimand he knows is coming. "never... never tried. sir."

"tch."

a precision blow. swift but petrifying. the captain's managed to find both your loose strings in a matter of minutes, tugging to see them come undone on his lap. gaz has got the unwavering urge to rest his chin on his strong thigh, put it on the record that he isn't weak willed, just indulgent. something that can be easily remedied, with his guidance. if he'd let him.

and you...

you're gyrating your hips, begging for some pressure on your aching centre. price gives it to you, though not in the way you expect, pinching your clit and tightening his hold until you're motionless, muscles trembling but otherwise perfectly poised.

so the inspection continues. he fans out your vulva, exposing the hole that clenches around nothing. a laugh wracks his frame at the sight, the aftermath of it husky. amused. "begging to be filled, a'right. how many cocks has she had in 'ere?"

"just mine, sir. and her toys."

"how about at once?"

kyle's never been so bold with you; has always held back that godless part of him, that needy dog he sees his comrades often embrace. pure, unfettered degeneracy. you're soft, and pretty and good and a high-functioning member of society. and he's never once wanted to see you hurt, uncomfortable or bite-mark-bloodied, despite the way his mind screams at him to at least ask. see if you'd be willing to appease that side of him.

yet you visibly shiver at the thought proposed by price, gooseflesh pocking your skin, and he knows he should have thrown caution to the wind.

"one, sir."

he watches the man's finger outline the circumference of your opening, dipping in by the millimetre to test the waters. "shame. could probably stretch her out. get 'er nice and loose for whenever you wan' something to keep you warm without the commitment."

the finger plunges in.

gaz watches you swallow his superior to the last knuckle in what must be a world-record, no time to blink lest he misses it. price goes with the motion, setting his free hand onto your ass to keep you steady as he wiggles his digit to make space amidst the tight embrace of your walls. or, that's what he thinks is happening. the only indication he has of things are the lewd squelches your cunt emits and the face of pure ecstasy you pull. but he's well-versed enough in your bodily functions that he's sure of his estimate.

"scratch wha' i said. nothing beats this." his superior groans, and for the first time that night, adjusts himself in his pants. kyle wishes he would pull it out, allow himself the relief of freeing a raging hard-on from its confines. but kyle also wishes that he could be given something to do, something with his mouth perhaps, to sate the unaddressed thrill in his bones. it wouldn't take a smart man to figure out that both wishes are very much correlated. "fucking suffocating clutch. wouldn' pull out if my life depended on it. pussy like this isn' made for that, garrick."

"sir?"

"you cum inside her, lad?"

"i- yes. i-i do. she's on birth control."

"best to see to that, then." he says, like the contraceptive is an obstacle and not a consolation. you release another, long-winded moan, to which price pulls his finger out to pat your vulva. like taming a wild animal. "though what i said still stands. could always do with a loose hole."

his hand inches up.

this time, it's gaz who groans.

loudly. his eyes fluttering halfway shut, hands tugging at the tight fabric over his groin. you throw a curious look over your shoulder, concern glossing your pupils until you confirm that the source of the sound isn't pain, but pleasure. ecstasy at finally having his wants vocalised, that incessant impulse that nags and nags and nags anytime he's fucking you from behind, tight rim practically leering up at him, tempting him to thrust upwards and 'accidentally' slip in.

"you like that, sergeant? hm? ever use this asshole? it looks unbroken to me."

"y-you're... not wrong, sir. i–"

"but you want to?" he finishes for him, scooping some of the abundant slick from your cunt and slathering it onto your back entrance. it's not enough lubrication to do anything but press one thumb in, but he repeats the process to push the other in alongside it.

"yeah."

you give him a look that can't mean anything except we'll talk about this later and he can bloody kiss price if he was given permission to, if not for anything but helping him open this impossible subject with you.

"we'll see to tha' some other day, then."

his thumbs retreat. your hole winks shut again. gaz is torn between looking at you or his captain, but the latter man robs him of the indecision by bringing his dominant index and middle fingers to his lips. they're shiny with the remnants of your fluids, as if he needed any incitement to wrap his mouth around the digits. he works at them until price's fingers prune, laving his tongue around the knuckles, against the nail beds, all the way through to the fold of skin between them.

so desperate to please, to see to it that 'some other day' is everyday henceforth.

a future with price by your sides. beyond just the field. the bite in your supple existence. spice supporting anise and jasmine, some aphrodisiac blend that'll carry you through to the end of your lives, happy. sated. a mediator. commander. captain. his captain.

"that's a good boy."

he could really get used to this.

[seonghrtz]

𝐒𝐋𝐄𝐄𝐏𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑.

synopsis: you have a sleepover at gojo's.

No one had said that taking care of two children half your age, one of whom had a lot of cursed energy, would be easy. And maybe it wasn't supposed to be easy. After all, you were eighteen, a young adult, and the only thing you had been taught as a child was to obey your superiors and fight curses ⸻ even how to deal with the limbo that was your life, you had to learn on your own. You hadn't been given a manual on how to take care of children, let alone a manual on how to deal with the most powerful sorcerer of the generation. But you always knew your life wasn't going to be easy anyway.

You and Gojo eventually established a dynamic so that you could take care of Tsumiki and Megumi Fushiguro. During the week, Gojo took care of the children, especially since their school was in Tokyo, and on the weekends, you took care of them. Of course, if Gojo had a mission that made it impossible for him to take care of the children, you took care of them. It was basically the dynamic of a divorced couple with joint custody of their children. But the point was that you and Gojo weren't a (divorced) couple and you didn't even have children. In fact, Gojo had only taken Megumi and Tsumiki to look after, and you were accidentally involved in the whole situation.

And since it was the weekend, it was your day to take care of the Fushiguro siblings. Gojo was usually the one who took the children to your apartment, but since you had an appointment in Tokyo, you ended up arranging with him to pick up the children at his apartment. You had asked for the address of his apartment and miraculously convinced him that it wasn't necessary for him to pick you up and take you to where he lived ⸻ it took a long five minutes of arguing with Satoru before he gave in.

You walked in a bit of a hurry until you found the street where Satoru lived. You looked up the numbers of the houses until you found Gojo's. It was a tall building that gave you a headache just looking up, and it was fancy, completely different from your building, which was much smaller and much simpler. This building certainly showed how well off Gojo Satoru was financially. He had luxurious comfort.

The two of you were different in many ways ⸻ the only thing being that you were both Jujutsu sorcerers ⸻ and sometimes, it was inevitable not to wonder why he needed your help, you of all people. It was an unlikely action coming from Gojo Satoru, but if that was the price for Megumi and Tsumiki to have a normal, healthy childhood, then you were willing to pay it.

You approached the building, double-checking that you were in the right place, though you didn't need to, the whole atmosphere matched the lust that Gojo himself exuded.

"Excuse me, good afternoon" The access controller got your attention before you could pick up your phone and tell Gojo that you were already outside his building.

"Good afternoon." You bowed slightly.

"Are you Kamo Y/n?"

"Yes, that's me."

"Gojo-san asked me to let you in as soon as you arrived," the loud click of the apartment gate opening was heard as soon as the access controller spoke. "You can go up, the apartment is on the twelfth floor."

"Thank you very much." You thanked them and headed for the elevator, obviously not up twelve flights of stairs after a relatively tiring day.

When the elevator arrived, you entered it and looked at the button panel, there were twelve buttons for the floors of the building. Of course, Gojo Satoru wouldn't live anywhere but the penthouse. When the elevator doors opened, you stepped out of the elevator and noticed that there was only one door on the twelfth floor; if there was only one apartment per floor, at least you wouldn't be confused as to which apartment was Gojo's. However, before you could touch the elevator, you had no choice but to do so. But before you could ring the bell, the door opened to reveal a smiling Tsumiki.

"Kamo-san! Are you here to pick us up?"

"Uhh." You nodded.

"Ah, but we were going to marathon the Barbie movies..." Tsumiki said sadly

"Hey Kamo-chan, don't just stand there in the hallway!" Gojo appeared next to Tsumiki and grabbed your wrist, pulling you into the apartment.

“Gojo-san!”

"'Gojo-san'? Kamo-chan, we're the same age, there's no need to be so formal."

"What happened to your hair?" you asked, noticing the ribbons in some of his hair.

"This is called style!" Gojo put his hands on his waist in an odd pose.

"Fushiguro?" You looked at the little boy who was walking towards you with his backpack, ready to leave.

“Oi Megumi, do you want to leave so badly?" Gojo put his hand to his chest and pretended to be offended.

"Ah, but what about Barbie?" Tsumiki looked at you sadly and then at Gojo."Well... ah... you can watch it at my apartment..."

"NO!" Gojo shouted, interrupting your speech. "That's not fair!" A pout formed on the white-haired boy's moist pink lips. "I also wanted to watch Barbie too and watching it alone is no fun since I won't be able to sing the duets from the movies..."

"If you want, you can stay at Gojo's for the weekend, it's no problem." You've given a simple and practical solution.

"I don't want to." Megumi said, attracting the attention of everyone present.

"Megumi!" Gojo said dramatically, "Don't you want to spend a super fun weekend with me and your sister?" Gojo looked at the little Fushiguro, hoping that he would give an affirmative answer, but Megumi just stared at him with a serious face.

"Why don't we all stay here together?" Tsumiki suggested with a smile, "That way, we can watch Barbie and have a fun sleepover!"

"That's a great idea, Tsumiki!" Gojo said excitedly, he'd been trying to convince you to spend a day (or night) in his apartment for a long time, he knew it might cheer up Megumi's constant bad mood, but it was hard to convince you to stay. And now he had the perfect opportunity.

"I'm sorry, Tsumiki," you said, putting an end to Gojo and Tsumiki's happy murmurings about a possible slumber party, "I don't think today is a good day for that."

"And why not?"

"The only thing I have with me right now is my wallet" and a pocket knife, but you omitted that information from the girl.

"No problem!" Gojo said with a smile on his face, "I can lend you the towel, toothbrush and clothes, don't worry about it!"

"Please, Kamo-san" Tsumiki's bright, hopeful eyes made you look away.

"Ah... okay," you gave in and watched as Tsumiki and Gojo celebrated while Megumi hid his relief, at least you were with him and he wouldn't have to endure Gojo's taunts alone for another night.

"Tsumiki, you can choose today's Barbie movie, Megumi, you're responsible for building our hut in the living room, I'll order the food and Kamo-chan, you can take the part of being pretty and sit in that chair." Gojo smiled and put his glasses on his face. Tsumiki smiled excitedly and pulled her brother into the living room.

"Let's make dinner together." You said, drawing Gojo's attention back to you.

"What?" Gojo looked at you in surprise.

"Let's cook dinner instead of ordering in."

"Are you sure about that? It's easier to order in, not to mention there's a really good restaurant I always order from."

"If you want me to stay, we'll cook dinner together."

"What kind of bribe is that?"

"You promised to feed them well." You crossed your arms and stared at your own reflection in the sorcerer's glasses in front of you.

"All right," Gojo sighed and led you into the kitchen.

When you entered the apartment, you were surprised by the size of the place. Everything in Gojo's apartment was double, if not triple, the size of your own, but it was still surprising to see the size of this kitchen that was almost unused by its owner. You went through the fridge looking for ingredients to give you an idea of what you could make for dinner.

"Are you sure you don't want to order something? It's a lot easier." Gojo said, watching you take out the ingredients and put them in the sink.

"Peel the vegetables." You said, ignoring Satoru's question.

If you had the chance to ask your past self how she saw herself at a certain point in the future, she would certainly never tell you that she would be taking care of two children half her age, much less that she would be cooking alongside one of the strongest sorcerers, much less that she would see him cut off his own finger while chopping vegetables. You probably didn't expect him to be a disaster in the kitchen. But as they say, you learn by making mistakes ⸻ even if you seriously doubt that Gojo has learned anything from what he's learned in the kitchen.

When dinner was ready, you gathered in the pantry. You and Megumi ate in silence while Gojo and Tsumiki had a deep and serious discussion about the best characters, dresses, clothes, everything related to Barbie animation.

Everything went perfectly and although you would have preferred to stay in the comfort of your small apartment, seeing Tsumiki's radiant smile and Megumi's relaxed expression made your decision worthwhile.

It didn't take long for your regrets to show.

Watching Gojo and Tsumiki perform the songs from Barbie & the Diamond Castle at midnight certainly made you rethink many of the decisions you had made in your life. The scene of Tsumiki singing and twirling in front of the TV was quite cute, what was hard to bear was Gojo's thin voice every time it was his turn to sing ⸻ it was inevitable not to get a headache at that moment. You took a deep breath, the movie was only half over, and according to Gojo, this would be the last of the movie marathon, you had to be strong and hold on until the end.

When you least expected it, you felt something touch your arm and turned around to find Megumi sleeping peacefully next to you. Afraid of waking him, your body stiffened and you waited for a quieter moment in the movie to ask Gojo which room Megumi was sleeping in. Before you could do or say anything, Gojo picked Megumi up in the most tender way you'd ever seen and carried him to his room. Tsumiki, now without her duet partner, turned to you with a sleepy smile.

"Kamo-san"

"Yes, Tsumiki?"

"Thank you for joining us today. It was a lot of fun."

"Oh, that's okay, it was no big deal." You shrugged with a slight smile on your face.

"Can I... can I give you a hug?"

"Oh?" Your eyes widened slightly, surprised by the sudden question from the girl in front of you. "Yes... yes, of course" You opened your arms so that Tsumiki came closer and hugged you, snuggling into your arms.

"Thank you for taking care of me and my brother." Tsumiki whispered into the hug.

"Um... no problem." You murmured and felt your heart warm. "I think you better go to bed, Tsumiki, it's getting late."

"But what about the movie?" she asked through a yawn.

"We can finish it tomorrow at noon."

"Will you stay with us until noon?" A small smile appeared on the girl's face.

"Um," you said with a nod, "I'll make your favorite if you like."

"Ah, you're the best, Kamo-san!" Tsumiki hugged you once more before going to her room, leaving you alone in the huge living room of Gojo's apartment.

A sigh left your lips and your attention turned to the television, which was showing the movie you had forgotten a few minutes ago. You weren't familiar with the movies that Tsumiki (and Gojo) loved so much. During your childhood and teenage years, you had only one concern: to stay strong enough to survive. In a lifeline like that of a jujutsu sorcerer with a born technique from one of the greatest clans, you felt more like trapped and powerless prey about to be devoured alive than the predator about to strike. The world you were a part of was for the smart, the strong, the influential, and in this game, you ultimately chose to learn the rules of the game rather than how to beat it.

Cartoons, movies, and even fiction books were a privilege your lifestyle didn't allow you, not when you were in the clan domain, bound by the ideals of the terrible elders who looked no further than their own navels, trained tirelessly to become a fighting machine whose goal was to put an end to what they called curses.It didn't take you long to discover that you were just a disposable pawn in the elders' game. And that it would be an uphill battle to break free of their control.

"I still can't believe that was your first time watching Barbie" Gojo sat down on the other end of the sofa "You should have more fun, that's for sure!"

"I never had time for it..."

"You're so boring." Gojo sighed and threw his arms up before he let out a sigh. "I have to kill myself working to make money and ensure my independence," Gojo lowered his voice in a failed attempt to imitate you, "Do you work so hard to impress daddy?"

"My father is dead." You said in a serious tone.

"Ah... well... ah..." Gojo swallowed, shocked by your statement. "Wow, you really know how to create a tense atmosphere," he murmured.

Silence fell over the room and you turned your attention to the television, which was paused at the end credits. It hadn't been your intention to create a tense and uncomfortable atmosphere at that moment, but the words had come out without thinking. And when you least expected it, you felt something soft and cuddly hit you hard.

"What?" You turned your head to see Gojo holding back his laughter.

"You were too serious!" He smiled and threw another pillow in your face. "Come on Kamo-chan, aren't you going to fight back?"

"Fight back?"

"Yes, throw a pillow back at me?"

"What's the point when you can manipulate and distort the space around you with your limitless?"

"Come on, Kamo-chan, I was trying to make us have fun! Why do you always have to be so serious? Can't you just laugh at me like last time?"

"I've never laughed at you."

"Okay, will you stop gaslighting me?" Gojo stood up from the sofa, hands on his waist, indignant, "You know what? You should take a shower!"

"Are you telling me I stink?"

"No!" Gojo quickly denied, "I'm saying you need to relax, I can see your muscles tense from here."

"Um, okay then." You shrugged and followed Gojo to the bathroom down the hall.

While Gojo left you in the bathroom to get you some clean clothes, a towel and a toothbrush to use, your eyes wandered around the relatively large bathroom (like everything else in his apartment). The white and blue details in the bathroom reminded you of Gojo, and you wondered if he might have patented those colors for himself.

"I didn't have any panties to lend you, so I took some new underwear I've never worn before." Gojo said, looking away, his hand on the back of his neck trying to hide the blush on his cheeks.

"Oh, that's fine," you picked up the things he'd brought for you and waited for him to leave before closing the bathroom door and getting ready to shower.

In a way, Gojo was right. In the end, the shower helped you relax and get your mind out of the way, and not think as much as you used to.

When you finished showering, you put on the clothes Gojo had brought for you. The white blouse was soft and sweet-smelling, it looked big on you, but it was just right and gave you a comfort you couldn't quite explain. You put on the black shorts and hung the towel on a rack in the bathroom, along with two other towels, and took the opportunity to brush your teeth with the toothbrush Gojo had given you.When you came out of the bathroom, your body shivered as you came into contact with the cold air of the apartment as opposed to the warm air of the bathroom, and you walked into the living room and sat down on the end of the sofa where you had been a few minutes ago.

"If you want to sleep, my room is the last door on the left." Gojo said as he looked at you, feeling a blush on his cheeks as he noticed a certain more domestic area around you.

"Your room?"

"Yes, my room. The guest room is being used by Megumi and Tsumiki, so if you want to sleep, you can go there."

"I will not sleep in your room."

"Why not? My bed is quite comfortable, you know?" he said proudly.

"This is your house and you should sleep in your room. I can sleep on the sofa without a problem."

"I'm not going to let you sleep on the sofa?" he said more like a question.

"Why not?"

"Because I don't want to," Gojo crossed his arms in front of him.

"Come on, Kamo-chan, don't be stubborn!"

"Look who's talking" You rolled your eyes.

"Okay, since I'm the owner of the house and I'm the one who makes the rules here, you have to sleep in my room."

"I never thought of you as someone who respects the rules..."

"I don't, but you, being a good girl, will respect the rules," he smiled sideways.

"Will you stop bothering me if I sleep in your room?" You arched your eyebrow in doubt.

"Yes!" Gojo replied quickly with a smile on his face.

"Okay, then I'll sleep there." You rolled your eyes and got up from the sofa.

"Everything is already prepared for you there, Kamo-chan, I hope you have sweet dreams."

"Um... good night, Gojo." You mumbled and went to the boy's room.

For some reason, the simple decoration of Satoru's room didn't surprise you. Maybe your subconscious had already imagined something similar in his room. You closed the bedroom door behind you and let out a sigh before sitting down on the huge bed, which was strangely soft and comfortable, just as Gojo had told you. You glanced at the bedside table and noticed a vintage lamp and had to fight back the urge to smile, Gojo had good taste in decorating.

"What a treat..." You muttered as you noticed the light switch next to the bed. You turned off the light and ducked under the covers, and couldn't help but compare all this comfort to the equivalent of lying on a cloud ⸻ if that were possible, of course.

But when you thought you were about to fall asleep, your brain decided it was time to make you overthink about the day you had.

Why did you agree to stay the night?

Why had you showered at Gojo Satoru's house?

Why did you wear his clothes and now lie in his bed?

Why did you accept all this?

To see a sincere smile on the faces of the Fushiguro siblings? Yes, of course, but that wasn't the only reason. There was something else that even you didn't have the answers to. Not there, not in that moment.

Satoru had everything and he made you feel as if you had nothing or as if the little you had was insignificant. It still didn't sink in that you were lying in the bed of the most powerful sorcerer of the generation and that you were only there because of his insistence.

Perhaps you should be more honest about your feelings, not only with those around you, but also with yourself. Even if it's incredibly difficult, since you've spent your entire life up until this moment hiding your feelings so they won't be used against you. And sometimes old habits die screaming in a deafening silence.

And maybe, just maybe, it's time for you to stop seeing Gojo Satoru through his titles and start seeing him as an equal...

memory garden masterlist !

☆! tag list : @arminswifee . @khaleesihavilliard . @chieeeeeee . @manooffline . @shybananabagellover . @r0ckst4rjk . @sad-darksoul . @chuluoyi . @stormflysaysstuff . @arminsarlerts

© SEONGHRTZ, 2024ㅤ⸻ㅤall rights reserved. please do not copy / steal / translate / modify any of my works !

[riverbutghost]

hello !!! I love your writing and all your prompts, I was just wondering if you’d be willing to do an extreme angst one where Everyone especially Simon notices The readers mental health go downhill , and on one of the missions reader goes berserk, or purposely tries getting themselves killed , thinking they’re doing a good thing ?

Try for me

yea yes yes. omg. thank you so much i love your support !!

Pairing: Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x Fem!Reader (I didn’t know what to use so I used female pronouns<3)

Warnings: military stuff,, angst but happy ending! Also, the reader’s call sign is Crow.

Also this is phenomenal.

Gripping your gun tighter, you stumbled into the room. You quickly looked through the room and got out.

“If any of you find something, inform me so I can send help.”

Price’s voice came through the comms, and you sighed. If it was a month ago, you would have said something like ‘yes sir’ or anything. But now, you just wanted to deal with every single soldier by yourself.

It wasn’t a healthy thought for sure. But you just felt like you couldn’t do it anymore. You tried, so fucking hard but to no avail.

-

“I’ll pass on that.”

You smiled politely at your friends, who looked a bit skeptical. You saw from the corner of your eye that Soap and Ghost shared a knowing look. You didn’t care. All you cared was to sleep the day off.

“C’mere now, you love to play darts.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat and turned to look at them.

“I’m just tired, see you tomorrow.”

They knew something was wrong, but didn’t press on it.

-

“Crow, you copy?”

You shook your head to clear your mind, but still your vision was blurred with tears. You didn’t know why, but it happened all the time. Your throat would wobble and your eyes would water, but you didn’t cry. You couldn’t. Because you were never alone by yourself. Not when you were on a long mission.

“Yeah?”

You answered Price, sighing softly.

“I told you to-“

The line was cut off immediately, and you furrowed your eyebrows.

“Captain?”

You gulped after hearing no sign from him. You took a good look around you, but couldn’t comprehend anything.

“Fuck, not now.”

You mumbled to yourself as you harshly kicked a rock. Your chest started tightening, your headache got worse. All you needed was to cry, but you couldn’t.

-

Pursing your lips tighter, you held back a sob after the door opened. You gripped the blanket over your head, pretending to sleep on the couch.

The footsteps stopped right in front of you, and you tried to even your breathing.

“Crow..?”

You cursed your body for shaking slightly. You peeked your head through the blanket.

“Hey, uhm..”

Simon’s eyes scanned your face and he sat down.

“What’s wrong?”

His voice was abnormally soft, and you felt your eyes watering again. Getting softness from a guy who was intimidating and wore masks and kill people was what made the situation worse for you.

“Hey, hey..easy. S’fine, just wanted t’know because you don’t seem okay.”

You sniffed and pulled the blanket over you again, not wanting to ugly cry in front of your lieutenant.

“Is it about the mission..? Are you.. stressed? Sure, it is a hard one, but you have us. And we have you..”

You sobbed quietly as his hand traced patterns on your knees, touch soft as ever.

It wasn’t about the mission.

-

Loosening your grip on your gun, you sighed and threw it away. You could practically hear Price’s disappointed screams, harsh words that would go in one ear and out the other. But you were alone now.

Maybe if you just went to the soldiers and ask them to kill you, it would be easier.

You stared at the enemy, talking with each other about their daily lives. Not giving a single shit about killing people, torturing their kids and families.

You sighed and sat down behind a tree, holding your knees in a tight hug.

Closing your eyes, your lips wobbled a little but you sighed.

-

“Aye, Lt. What’s wrong with her?”

Soap muttered under his breath to Ghost, and he looked at you.

You were sitting down next to another rookie. Everyone was chatting around the camp fire, relaxing their minds for the upcoming mission.

That was Gaz’ idea. The camp fire.

Everyone was laughing, having a good time. You were sitting there, smiling at your teammate as he was making impressions of your other teammates.

You weren’t there, though. Anyone who knew your ups and downs would know that. You were pretending, something you did pretty good. But Soap knew, Ghost knew.

God, even Price could see it.

Ghost was the only one who saw you crying. It was the day before. You cried while he patted your knee.

It was something that affected him. Seeing you cry did so many things to his already broken heart, but he would get through it.

His main concern was you.

He dismissed Soap, and went over to sit next to you. You turned to look at the person who sat next to you, only to find him. Your smile faltered a bit, but you smiled again.

“When are you gonna stop this?”

You swallowed and tried not to break your smile.

“What, Simon?”

You called him by his real name, which was a warning. But Ghost wasn’t a guy that would consider a warning.

“Bullshit. I know you’re not here mentally. Talk to me.”

His voice dropped an octave and he gripped his gloves, ripping them off from his hands. Your sharp eyes met his as you opened your mouth for harsh words.

“Just because we made a mistake by fucking doesn’t give you the option to talk to me like you’re my psychologist.”

You hissed through clenched teeth, and got up.

You stormed out of the area, bumping your shoulder to Soap’s in the process.

“Hey-“

Ghost’s eyes never left you as he came next to Soap.

“Leave it Johnny.” He mumbled with raging eyes.

-

“Crow, where are you?!”

You gasped quietly as you shot up from the ground. You were looking at the sky, almost hypnotized.

You looked at the time on your clock, and you were there for an hour.

You looked around, finding the soldiers still talking and waiting.

You got up, walked towards them with slow and unsteady steps.

The soldiers saw you and got their guns ready. You didn’t even surrender.

“It’s for the best.” You mumbled to yourself as you took another step.

“Stop right there, lady!”

Someone yelled, but other hushed him.

“She’s one of them!”

You waited for the guns to start firing. You sighed deeply as you thought about the hurt you caused your loved ones. It was going to be better for everyone.

You held your breath and closed your eyes as the fires started, only to realize that you were flying.

Opening your eyes, you looked behind you to see your lieutenant’s chin.

“Sim-“

“Shut it.”

He put you into the truck, and locked the doors after he got out.

A pained sob left your throat after he left, and you held your face in your hands.

What was wrong with you? What the hell were you thinking? No, it would be better if you died. You’re a pussy.

The door of the truck opened harshly, and Simon got in.

“What the fuck was that?!” He yelled, hand slamming down in anger.

You just sobbed after that, but he shook his head.

“Fuckin’ hell.. I told you to talk to me, didn’t I?! You were going to die!”

Hi clenched his hands, fisting them. He punched the metal door and you flinched.

“Fuck..”

He mumbled again, and looked up at you. His eyes were red, angry.

“What’s wrong with you?” He asked after minutes of silence other than your broken sobs.

“It would be better-“

“No!”

He yelled again, body tense with so much anger.

“I hurt you all the time! Why, because of my fucking mental health? I promise you wouldn’t miss me if I died.”

Simon’s eye twitched as he punched his thigh. He pointed his finger at you accusingly. He took a deep breath before talking.

“You listen to me. I don’t want anything to happen to you. Nor do Soap or anyone want it. You hear me? I’ll take care of you, you’ll be better. Therapy, whatever the hell you want or need. I’ll fuckin’ do it. But you will not do..that again, yeah?”

Your face was scrunched up and Simon moved towards you, to hold you in his arms while you ugly cry. A big pained sob left you, making Simon’s heart clench.

“I’m sorry, M’such a wreck.”

Simon just held you tighter, brain fogged with the shit you tried to pull just minutes ago.

“Never, you hear me? Never do that again. Or I swear, I’ll kill you with my bare hands.”

You knew what he meant. He was scared. So were you.

“Tell me.” He mumbled into your hair, after minutes passed. You were now breaking deeply.

“I’ll try.”

“That’s it.”

You sniffled one last time.

“Let’s go, yeah? Wanna take a long bath. Gonna wash you up, sweet girl.”

Your heart was pounding in your chest as you thought about the man who was holding you.

You would try, just for him.

[callofdudes]

A story for my friend @itsscromp while I finish up some other things for him as well.

For some context this does take place in a sort of siblings/childhood friends au.

Simon was willing to do some crazy things to cheer you up. And I mean, crazy. From tickle attacks to cuddles until his toes to numb and he's got a kink in his neck.

But today is a whole new ordeal. You'd come home from school, a bad day at school. Where you were attending didn't exactly treat you with any respect, and when you'd reported bullying several times you went unanswered.

Today you came home tired. Slinging off your backpack and heading for the couch. You looked pretty bummed, and Simon could tell, sipping his tea in the kitchen.

"You doing ok y/n??"

You shrugged, slumping and turning on the tv. "School..."

Simon could tell you were pretty upset. And it didn't look like you were in any mood for tickles. So he had to think up something different... And then the craziest idea hit him.

Well, worst case it didn't work and you thought he was insane. He put down his tea, and took off his shirt.

You noticed from the corner of your eye and looked over at him. "Simon... What are you doing??"

"Drinking my tea." Simon raises his cup and takes another swig, popping his pecs. For a moment you were confused, and then giggled a little.

Simon continued on, pumping his pecs and sitting down on the couch next to you. And then his eyes widened. "Oh shit- y/n-"

"What's wrong, Simon??" You asked through laughter.

"I can't stop! They're moving on their own!"

"Oh no!" He keeps going, watching you as your face starts to light up more. "Oh no, they're cursed!!" You laughed, watching him pump his pecs.

Simon feigned immense panic. "Who cursed my beautiful pecs!!?"

You were trying to breathe right, laughing. "I don't know!"

"What do I do?? I can't stop them!" Simon smirks, even though it was a tad humiliating. He would only ever do this for you. Oh the life of him.

"Put your hands on them??" You suggest, still laughing.

Simon tries it, but continues on. "No, no they're too bloody strong!"

"Then stop working out." You snorted.

Simon decides he's way in over his head and gasps. "I could never do that! I must keep them beautiful and strong!"

You fell off the couch, snorting loudly, making Simon chuckle. "You ok there??"

"You're funny." You laughed, wiping your tears from the ordeal.

"Me and my pecs." Simon pats them.

You snickered and sighed happily, lightly shaking your head. "Simon... You'll kill me."

"Hey, they hear what people say about them, y'know." You look up, wiping some tears and nodding. "Oh? And what are they saying now?"

Simon considered this, and then looked over at the table. "They say... There's only one piece of chicken left and it's mine!"

You gasped as Simon dashed over. "Hey!" He snatched it up, snickering and licking his lips. Devouring the piece.

You huffed softly. "Unfair."

"My pecs are always one step ahead y'know."

You rolled your eyes softly. "Like I said, unfair. Now I want cuddles." You reached out, Simon frowning.

He popped his pecs and turned slightly. "Hm.. should we?? I know.. I know, it could be dangerous... How long would we go without food or water?" He mumbled, still popping his pecs.

"That is very true..."

"Alright," Simon turned back to you. "We've universally agreed to your request."

"Good." You nodded and got up, heading to the couch. Simon quickly cleaned up and finished up the dishes before going to find you. He stood near you, "We are ready."

You eagerly opened your arms and Simon flopped down on top of you harshly, making you huff. "Hey buddy.." You patted his back.

"Thank you Simon, and Simon's pecs..." You huffed, smiling softly.

"We all say you're welcome." Simon mumbled, snuggling against your neck.

But you weren't alone. Price came down the stairs and saw you two snuggled up. Without a moment to waste he came around and scooped you two up.

You both huffed and grimaced as he squeezed you gently. "Dad..."

"Snuggles without me, huh?"

You and Simon were squished. You looked at Simon, hopeless. "Why didn't your pecs earn us of this!?"

"Well maybe they wanted this, ever consider that!?"

"I'll never understand..."

"No you won't, only I will. You hear??" He huffed softly. You snickered, content, even if you were being crushed.

But Simon always had a way to cheer you up. Through adulthood you and Simon never lost the relationship you'd always had.

Simon could tell when you were bummed out, he didn't always, or ever, know what it was about, but he knew it had to be something. He was a fixer, he had to fix this.

So when he saw you sadly sipping your drink in the kitchen, he moved. He yawned, taking his shirt off.

"Simon?" You looked over at him confused. Simon stretched, "Ah sorry, I've just been hearing voices. Y'know, I think they're acting up."

He moved his pecs, his eyes going slightly wide. "What?? Y/n's been feeling sad?? Whaaaaat? Noo..."

You snickered a little. "They're back?"

Simon patted his stomach and nodded. "Yeah, they've been whispering things to me. We've been having midnight talks." He whispered.

You snorted. "What are you saying??" You laughed.

"They are saying... Y/n looks really good today, and they're proud of how well you're doing." He nodded firmly.

"They would like to give a motivational speech but... They don't have mouths."

"Well I'll take that as a compliment??" You laughed more, smiling as even now he could cheer you up with little effort. It's part of his charm really.

"They said you're very welcome." Simon smiled, and you smiled back.

"You always know how to cheer me up Simon."

Simon grabbed his shirt again. "Hey, as soon as you came around and became our problem, that became one of my job titles." He ruffled your hair.

Oh, your brother. What a silly man on the inside.

[yuesya]

There's a girl lazily lounged over a chair in a café in the street.

She's sprawled out in a graceless, careless manner. One that causes more than a few people to turn their heads to glance at the shameless display of such uncouth mannerisms in a public area… but the white-haired girl herself does not appear to notice the attention at all. Instead, her attention is focused on the untouched slice of cake sitting on the table in front of her, with an expression that wavers between aversion and curiosity.

"Hello, Shiki. How have you been doing?"

Uraume watches impassively as Kenjaku strides forward and takes a seat across from the girl at her table with a smile. The girl does not return the greeting, however. Dark blue eyes flick towards him dismissively, then cut over to Uraume–

–no, not to Uraume. Nanami Shiki’s gaze rests upon Lord Sukuna.

“Fushiguro… no,” the girl mutters to herself. Then, straightens with a spark of something approaching interest in her eyes. “Ryomen Sukuna. I thought the vessel was the Itadori boy?”

“I’m afraid your news are rather outdated,” Kenjaku shakes his head, smiling. “But this was a recent development, so I don’t blame you for not knowing.”

“Hmm,” the girl says. She leans forward on the table, one hand lazily propped under her chin. “So. Why are you here?”

“Can’t you take a guess?” Kenjaku lifts his hands and raises his palms harmlessly. “We seek the fingers that you have in your possession –Ryomen Sukuna’s fingers. For what price would you be willing to part with them?”

“No.”

Kenjaku raises an eyebrow. “‘No?’ You would take the side of sorcerers in this conflict? Is that what you really want, now?”

“If you really knew what I wanted,” the girl informs him simply, “Then you would know better than to show yourself before me like this.”

A momentary stillness; the calm before the storm.

Kenjaku promptly throws himself backwards, right as the tip of a knife grazes his jugular. There are startled shouts from all around them, at the sudden, unexpected sight of a girl pulling out a weapon in the middle of broad daylight–

Uraume hadn’t expected this, either. Hadn’t expected the girl to suddenly just attack like this, with no care for anything or anyone around her. Snake-like cursed spirits spring up from beneath Kenjaku’s feet, hissing as they leap towards the now-hostile curse user–

She doesn’t pause for a single instant, slicing through them all like paper. Including the regular humans who’d been swept up in the wave of Kenjaku’s cursed spirits. There’s absolutely no hesitation at all, not even the slightest hint of pause.

“This is a little much, don’t you think?”

“Did you honestly think I wouldn’t recognize you?” The girl levels her knife at Kenjaku, “Araya’s collaborator.”

Cursed energy flares, and there is the cold flash of a blade–

Lord Sukuna catches the knife and shatters it in his bare palm; the girl changes targets immediately, somehow procuring another knife out of nowhere.

The best option would be to negotiate. But if it comes down to a battle… make sure that she doesn’t cut you. Nanami Shiki’s abilities are… very lethal.

Lord Sukuna gestures sharply with his hand; a long gash opens up instantly on the curse user, who doesn’t appear to feel the pain at all, for all the effect that the gaping wound has on their movements. Uraume’s hands slam onto the ground; jagged spire of ice surging forward and–

The girl glances over at Uraume, and suddenly Uraume is… frozen. Frozen in place and unable to move even a single finger, heart gripped tight with some unholy, inexplicable terror, but that can’t be right, Uraume can’t be–!

“Uraume,” Lord Sukuna says. Why does it sound as if Lord Sukuna’s voice is coming from somewhere far, far away? “Don’t interfere.”

Uraume attempts to open their mouth to respond. They are unable to.

The girl looks away from Uraume. Uraume’s body collapses forward, and… and…

“Are they important to you?”

“Merely a competent subordinate.”

The girl hums, a noncommittal sound. There’s a corner of Uraume’s mind that burns with anger at such disrespect shown to Lord Sukuna, but at the same time he is also keenly aware that the level of battle that is about to take place is not something within his abilities to–

Casually, the girl’s hands rise up and fold together into a seal in front of her chest.

“Let’s see,” she says, “Domain Expansion.”

[svtdarlingbby]

Only For You- MingyuxReader mafia!au Part 1

pairing: Mingyu x reader; featuring Seventeen and NCT genre: mafia au / gang au warnings: weapons (guns, knives), violence, blood, cursing, kidnapping word count: 2129

"You dumbass, how did you get hit too?" you groaned as you leaned against the hard wall, applying pressure to your left side, trying to ignore the new searing pain in your left arm.

"Shit..." cursed Mingyu as he stumbled into the ground, blood dampening his black dress pants.

It was the middle of the night, and you and Mingyu finally completed the weeks long mission you and your team of mafia had been planning. However, a quite severe miscalculation had been made.

You see, Jun, the spy of the plan assured you that there would likely only be two targets maximum.

"Trust me, I only ever saw these two discuss targeting Seungkwan. I'm pretty sure the others don't know about their plan" affirmed Jun.

However, just when you and Mingyu were about to put an end to the thugs who planned to assassinate the socialite Seungkwan you were hired to protect, you were suddenly met with not two but six unruly men.

You weren't scared by any means; you could fight a group of grown men somewhat efficiently. Plus you had Mingyu on your side. Mingyu didn't really seem like mafia material. He had this demeanor about him that you swore would be helpful if he were a famous celebrity of some sort. He had it all: looks, charisma, humor. However he was not stupid. He used his charms to his advantage, to appear inconspicuous to the untrained eye. Most people would never suspect Mingyu to be a professional assassin in the mafia.

And then there was you. Maybe you were just hardened by the world you were born into, but you knew you weren't like Mingyu. Sure, there was no doubt that you are good looking, beautiful even. But you'd describe yourself as a farce. You hated injustice, yet you were in the mafia. The mafia that mercilessly kills people. Your targets are by no means innocent people, yet there is a part of you that finds the irony of being a source of physical beauty that was wired to be so violent and deadly. And yet, that was your strength, the main reason why Seungcheol saw your potential when he found you killing a man who had harassed a schoolgirl earlier on the bus.

And that's why Jihoon, Seungcheol's right hand man, decided to pair you with Mingyu for this mission. Even if you could not see it, you and Mingyu were perfect for this plan.

The night went as planned, with you pretending to be Seungkwan's disgruntled ex who wanted him gone and Mingyu being your rich fake boyfriend who was willing to pay anything to see his competition gone. Sweet talking your way to the other gang, you and Mingyu eventually led two of them outside the venue. They introduced themselves as Jisung and Chenle. Presumably, these two were the assassins who wanted to negotiate pay and such.

As you walked outside the venue, Mingyu noticed one of the assassins looking at you. He could see the lust in Jisung's eyes, the way his eyes scanned every inch of your body as you moved along. Mingyu felt a pang of jealously. Sure you weren't his real girlfriend but he just couldn't help but feel that this assassin was disrespecting not only you but himself also.

"Let's keep heading toward the back," suggested Mingyu as he placed a hand on the small of your back.

You couldn't help but to subtly shudder at his action. Mingyu was just playing a part, you kept telling yourself. If he's supposed to be your boyfriend in this case, then he's got to act like it too.

The four of you eventually found yourselves in the dark behind the building of the venue. You guys began to negotiate pay but through it all you felt that one sleazy assassin's eyes wander your whole body. And he was very obvious about it. Mingyu once again picked up on this and instinctively drew you closer to him, allowing his larger frame to slightly shield you from Jisung's lustful gaze. Once a price was agreed upon, the plan would soon truly begin.

"Just let me get my checkbook out," said Mingyu as he reached a hand into his pocket.

Just as the assassins were anticipating to get rich, you sneak out from behind Mingyu and pull out your gun and shoot Jisung.

"What the fuck?!" exclaims Jisung as he fell backwards upon impact.

Part of you forgot you were dealing with trained assassins in the case, especially after being ogled at. The other assassin Chenle immediately pulled out his gun and fired it, the bullet grazing your side.

"Shit!" you interject, catching Mingyu's attention as he finishes the guy off effectively shooting him.

"Y/N! Are you hit?" Mingyu asks looking behind him.

"Yeah, but it's okay. It's not as bad as it looks the bullet only grazed me" you explained, taking a deep breath.

Just as you both thought you had finished the job, you were suddenly ambushed from both sides by four other men.

"We knew you two were too good to be true, right Jungwoo?" sneered one of the gang members.

"I see the princess isn't doing so great. Maybe we should let her prince feel some of her pain, right Yuta?" laughed another as he glared at Mingyu.

You and Mingyu huddled against one another, back to back, guns pointed.

"How did the rest come out?" you whispered.

"My guess is the other two might've been wearing a wire" hypothesized Mingyu as you felt him quiver ever so slightly.

The four thugs slowly began to creep toward the two of you making the standoff more concentrated. You felt more nervous by the second.

"Y/N. Run" whispered Mingyu.

"What?" you whispered in confusion.

"You heard me, run. I know you'll have a chance of escaping. You'll be able to tell the guys what happened. Hurry, you're already hurt," he hurriedly explained.

"I can't leave you, we are partners for a reason," you whispered as you stood your ground and leaned closer to him, feeling the blood from your side soak through your clothes and onto him.

"Y/N..." sighed Mingyu, the pain evident in his hushed voice.

"Follow my lead," you whispered as you suddenly dropped to the ground.

"Shit..." you groaned somewhat dramatically. Yes, the area where the bullet grazed you hurt like a bitch but maybe it could help you out of this situation.

"Y/N!" Mingyu exclaimed, seemingly following along.

"Aww, the princess can't handle a gunshot," mocked Jungwoo, "you'd be the perfect little-"

He was cut off when you shot the other thug Yuta next to him, effectively stunning him. Using this to your advantage, you shot one of the guys cornering Mingyu's side.

"Kun!"

Mingyu seemed to understand your distraction, and he pulled the gun on Jungwoo. There was only one guy left who kept his gun aimed and the two of you yet the fear was evident in his composure. You managed to get back onto your feet while still pointing the gun at him. Yet you felt the blood loss beginning to get to you as you stumbled upright.

"Who are you?" asked Mingyu, voice full of authority.

"H-haechan of NCT," said the thug timidly.

"You're not leaving here alive," said Mingyu coldly as he pulled the trigger. The man did the same, yet his gun was aimed at you last second.

You yelped in pain as the bullet made impact with your upper left arm.

"Y/N!" yelled Mingyu as he looked behind him. In this moment of distraction, Jisung from earlier used the last of his strength and jabbed Mingyu in the thigh with his hidden knife before falling to the ground in a heap. As he tried to breathe through the pain, he noticed you make your way closer to the building.

"You dumbass, how did you get hit too?" you groaned as you leaned against the hard wall, applying pressure to your left side, trying to ignore the new searing pain in your left arm.

"Shit..." cursed Mingyu as he stumbled into the ground, blood dampening his black dress pants.

"Mingyu, you're bleeding a lot," you said in horror as you noticed just how much blood Mingyu was losing despite not being shot like yourself.

"Must've hit an artery," he whimpered through the pain, trying to apply pressure to his thigh.

"Oh my god," was all you could say as you practically crawled toward Mingyu, your side and arm searing in pain. But that pain didn't matter in this moment. All you could think of was Mingyu.

"Y/N, forget about me. Use the strength that you have to run. Go alert one of the guys. I'll be okay," he managed to say through the pain as his vision began to blur.

"But, but, I don't wanna leave you!" you were losing your composure as the thought of Mingyu dying in this very moment haunted you.

"You'll save the both of us if you try to get help now! Listen, Y/N. Today was crazy, and to be honest, I don't know if I will actually make it," he hissed through the pain, "But I couldn't stand the thought of those gross assholes even looking at you. You're someone special to me Y/N, and I want to continue protecting you. So please, just go find one of the guys," he pleaded.

"Mingyu," you murmured, cupping his face with your hand as he melted into your embrace the more tired he became. Mingyu looked up at you, his eyes pleading you to stand up and get help. So you did as you were told, stumbling to your feet and trying to move as fast as you could despite your injuries.

You decided to stumble toward the parking lot; your getaway van would probably be there. Even though it was dark, you were hoping and praying one of the boys would see your unbalanced and injured form immediately. And that's when you saw the black van approaching you.

"Thank god, they found me," you sighed in relief as the van pulled up next to you.

The door to the van revealed a very different group of guys instead. And an ominous feeling made a place for itself as a pit in your stomach.

"Get her," said one of the men, who appeared to be the leader.

Before you knew it, you felt two pairs of arms grab you and shove you into their van.

All the while Mingyu continued to fight the urge to pass out, you were the only person on his mind. He couldn't tell how much time had passed, but he suddenly saw Minghao and Seokmin running toward him, bombarding him with questions he couldn't yet process. He felt his fellow gang members lift him off the ground and into the dark van that had shortly pulled up.

"Thank god Y/N found you," he mumbled as he leaned against Minghao.

"What? Y/N isn't here?" said Minghao as he placed Mingyu in a seat and began to address his wound.

Suddenly an overwhelming sense of dread overcame Mingyu. "She's not???" he felt himself begin to panic. Where had you gone?

"Calm down Mingyu, what happened?" said Wonwoo as he placed a hand on his friend's shoulder, trying to calm him down.

"Y/N- I told her- she's hurt! I told her to find you guys!" rambled Mingyu, his face painted with fear.

"Okay, we'll drive around the vicinity of this building and be on the lookout. Joshua, Hansol, and Soonyoung, look for Y/N inside the building" ordered Seungcheol calmly.

"Mingyu, you need to calm down," said Minghao as he continued to examine Mingyu's wound, "We'll find Y/N, just explain to me how you got hurt and what happened."

Mingyu took a deep breath and explained to the boys what happened. However, it was evident he believed something was severely wrong since he couldn't stop shaking as he recounted the night's events.

Meanwhile, you found yourself in an unfamiliar van clutched by unfamiliar arms as you stared at many unfamiliar men.

"Are you Y/N L/N?" asked the leader.

The pain in your arm and side only grew more severe, but it was pure adrenaline that managed to keep you alert in this situation.

"Answer me," he said, his cold eyes staring into your soul.

"Release me," you simply stated, maintaining eye contact.

"She's a back talker. Johnny?" asked the leader, gesturing to one of the men holding you.

This Johnny guy simply nodded and suddenly you felt a gun pressed to the side of your temple.

"So, are you going to cooperate with us then?" asked the leader, sneering at you.

Hiiii I'm back lol! Wrote something a little out of my comfort zone but its spooky season so hey why not! LMK what you think! I'll try to have part 2 uploaded soon!

[la-imp]

AVATAR RECOM HEADCANONS - INTRO

Recoms!Deja Blu Unit - Science"Puke"! Reader

This is my first headcanon series and I am incredibly nervous because there are so many good ones out there already. I have read quite a few amazing headcanon series by various blogs who practically carry the whole Avatar Fanfic scene, which I am really grateful for! I know these sorts of scenarios have been done a lot by now, but I wanted to get one out and put my own spin on it. I hope to write more and update this series as well as take in requests, one-shots, etc, expanding on the characters as much as I can. I hope you enjoy! Avatar has consumed my life, lol...

Disclaimer: I do not own AVATAR, nor do I own its creative properties and original characters. I do, however, own the 'reader' character as well as other created figures that do not appear in the Avatar films, video games, or comic books. Characters involved: Miles Quaritch, Lyle Wainfleet, Alexander Ja, Mansk, Zdindarsk aka Z-Dog, Zhang, Lopez, Fike, Warren, Walker, Prager, Brown - mentions of Jake Sully

Plot Summary: The story takes place during the events of TWOW, right before the great reef battle. I won't spoil any crucial plot details (for those who haven't watched the movie yet), so I'll end it there. The reader is a militant medic with a biochemistry background, now assigned special care to ensure Project Phoenix's success. As their body chemistry is quite different and unique from that of humans, they require some help getting used to their new vessel. This is where you come in... and boy... you were not prepared for this. A bunch of Na'vi Human hybrids at the peak of their prime, fuelled by hormonal rage, primal instincts, and a knack for vengeance, they sure as hell turned your daily life topsy turvy. To them, you were nothing more than another science puke here to bore them out of their minds,  even though you had some military training as well. It is up to you to show them otherwise. To earn a place in their ranks.

Will (y/n) be able to handle this task or eventually fold like the others?

Warning(s): Cursing - Mild bullying - Negging - Foul language - Playful flirting

Content: SFW (Minors DNI) The reader is human and female. I plan to write specific headcanons for each individual character, but this was just a very long and detailed starter in order to get the ball rolling. Also this is not proof-read, so take this with a grain of salt. Happy reading! (also English is not my first language, so please bear with me) ______________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Hailing from a gentle background of academics and artists, you've decided to take a completely different route from what your family had destined for you. Going against their wishes and dissapointing a few members here and there was a price you were willing to pay in order to fulfill a lifelong dream. The prize of independence. Or perhaps you were tired of people telling you what you could and couldn't do. The idea of an adventure, exploring new worlds and galaxies, far far away from home was far more attractive than spending your years trying to fix a dying planet. But you also had a knack for helping and aiding those in need. Being a healer with a vast background of medicine and herbs only came natural to you. And as you graduated top of your class, you sought a new challenge. So you joined the space force. Military training was hard but you managed adquedately.  And as you finally becamea full-fledged medic, you signed a contract with the RDA to be shipped off to Pandora.

Save to say, the six years of light-year travel did take a toll on your body. It was often emphasized that dreams do not occur during cryo sleep. Yet, your case was the opposite. Over and over you saw visions of a lush, prehistoric forest that almost looked magical and foreign. Due to overpopulation and pollution, nature seized to exist altogether back on earth, so thinking of what this mythical Pandora may look like, sparked a fire in the pits of your stomach. You began to wonder if these dreams held any meaning to them... or if it was just your brain chemistry running haywire during the cryogenic sleep. The closer you got, the giddier you grew - excited and electrified at the idea of setting foot on one of the most precious planet known to man. Perhaps in the entire universe.

After your space shuttle finally docked at the RDA's space station, you were quickly briefed on your assignment by the announcers, guiding you to the nearest secretary. The secretary looked over her glasses and tossed you an illegible glare before sighing with a shake of her head, handing you your paperwork. "May God have mercy on you," she mumbled before calling for the next candidate. You took the papers hesitantly, brows furrowing in confusion before your eyes cast down on  on these said documents. Your eyes widened as your heart nearly sank. You were assigned to assist military Avatar personnel? You looked back up at the lady who was now grinning at you, a glint playing in her gaze. "Fresh meat for the grinder. It's a bit crass they decided to assign a small girl such as yourself to help these beasts," You slowly nodded, an awkward semi-smile forming on your lips, "I guess I like a challenge," you said, tone matching her sarcastic one. You have studied them for three years now, after all. You were prepared.

A few labcoats accompanied by a good portion of cleanroom suits were helping you find your way before passing you your exopack mask. It was the first time you'd ever seen one of those from up close. The concept of not being able to breathe the atmosphere was somewhat daunting. But it was something you had to get used to if you wanted to survive Pandora's 'Adapt or Die' rules. Wasting no time, you quickly strapped them on and secured the clasps, allowing the small piece of machinery to flood your nostrils with fresh oxygen. Impressed, you found it was much clearer and cleaner than that of Earth's... sadly enough.  You then remembered the comment from the secretary earlier on, echoing in your mind over and over again until it festered in the back of your subconscious. Anxiety began to take a hold of you, shaking your confidence ever so slightly.

Inhaling and exhaling deeply, you then issued a curt nod to your superiors who lastly gave you a clipboard, detailing all of your duties and rank among the Recom unit members. "Ready, greenhorn?" Dr. Vasquez piped up, drawing you from your trance. You blinked at him with a wide-eyed deer-caught-in-headlights look, lips parting, "Y-yeah." he chuckled in response to your nervousness before slapping a hand on your shoulder in confidence. "Don' worry, they may look very scary at first glance, but you will soon realize they are professionals just like us, alright?" You nodded, swallowing the lump down your throat before clamping the board beneath your armpit. "Alright then kiddo, let's rock'n'roll," he said with a smirk before punching in a security code to unlock the doors to the decompressors.

The air was filtered to fit the atmosphere of the recoms. Which was in turn, extremely toxic to humans. Unconscious in twenty seconds - dead in four minutes. The prospect didn't sound like very glamorous death. As the door opened, a hiss emitted from the pressure, giving way to the bright light of the sun peaking through the glass windows. Vasquez marched forward before beckoning you to join him. Upon entering, the energy of the room immediately shifted. It was almost palpable to the touch.

A good part of your confidence was chipped away once you laid your eyes on your future teammates. Breath nearly caught in your throat. To say they were tall was a big understatement. They were huge - as a matter of fact - larger than life! Nothing could've prepared you for this. Most of them stood at around ten feet and nearly scraped the ceilings if they hadn't been adjusted to meet their physiology. You continued to saunter forward, one tentative step at a time, eyes still glued to their physiques without so blinking an eye. Their bodies were even more strange, striking you with awe. Slender, graceful, svelte, yet powerful. The complexion was a deep cyan or darker powder blue, decorated in interesting patterns and luminescent dots, all accompanied by a long prehensile tail that idly swung from side to side, giving them a more animalistic edge. They were all broad-shouldered, even the women, as you scanned the room with all the blue-skinned individuals lurking about, their poise signifying a certain strength and fortitude that of a warrior. They could easily toss a person across the room and break every single bone in their body with one blow if they wished.

Eyes were striking like molten gold peering from the shadows, intensely following your every move. Their previous chatter immediately died down as their eyes glued to you and the other scientists. Vasquez took his position next to someone who seemed much more commanding and authoritive compared to the rest. He stood slightly taller and wore a khaki tanktop, exhibiting a set of toned, muscular arms placated on his hips. You caught a glimpse of his tattoo on his left arm. A black eagle. A remnant of his previous life? Or something to distinguish himself from the others, perhaps?

The way he walked with a certain swagger, taking a stance next to Vasquez, sharp yellow eyes peering into the hall, had you nearly choke on your own saliva. He was an intimidating man,  "As you all know, we are sent here to accomplish a mission that we couldn't last time. To hunt down and terminate the leader of the Na'vi insurgency, Jake Sully.  And in order to ensure our success, we have been assigned our personal medical officers who specialize in Na'vi physiology. They make sure none of us step out of line and patch us up during missions. Treat 'em with respect, ya hear? They are as much our responsbilities as we are theirs," his tone was a low, commanding drawl, hinting at his possible origin back from Earth. He also sounded a tad older than his bio stats suggested.

"Wait, we're going to have these science pukes tag along?" Someone groaned in the background.

Doctor Vasquez nudged you with his elbow before whispering something into your ear. So he was the colonel. Colonel Miles Quaritch. The leader of the first recombinant unit Deja Blu, the first Avatar squad produced by Project Phoenix. Vasquez then nodded and brought you and another male medical officer. Thankfully you weren't alone. And as you peeked into the crowd, practically feeling their eyes rake over your forms in a very scrutinizing manner, you wished there were more human scientists to accompany you. "Listen up Recoms," Vasquez announced, matching Quaritch's energy. Which you had noticed, was now glancing at you over his shoulder with a lazed stare. You quickly turned away, hating that all of their attention was on you now. Just great. "Those are your new medical officers," he gestured to both you and your counterpart, earning him a few whispers and hushed conversations between the Na'vi hybrids. The heavily tattooed individual grunted loudly, expressing a clear distaste at the fact.

You watched as the one with the camo cap began to chuckle before leaning over to the tattooed female with the mohawk, gossiping something into her ear. Your eyes narrowed at her, hoping to God they weren't talking shit about you. The male medic next to you semed quite nervous himself, almost glistening with a faint sheen of sweat whenever the light hit his complexion. Oh man... what a great start. "This here is Mr. Ryan," Vasquez said confidently and clamped a hand on his shoulder before pulling you to his side with a toothy grin, "And this is Miss (y/n). They're going to do a quick checkup on your vitals before we make land on Pandora. Their status reports will affect your mission. If you have any further questions regarding any of that, feel free to ask them. Good luck and have fun," he said before departing, giving you a two-finger salute before vanishing out the door.

For a moment, you wished he hadn't abandoned you so soon, but as you stood there, again with the hundred yard stare, you instantly began pulling out your clipboard, training your eyes on the papers rather than the giant soldiers around you. Quaritch cleared his throat before stepping forward, closing in on your proximity. The heat practically rolled off of him. Almost radioactive in a sense. "Right. Welcome to the crew," he said as a deep rumble of chuckles resonated within the hall. You flicked your attention back on them, seeing as their expressions turned from scrutiny to amusement. The one with the hat flicked his chin toward Ryan, "So you get to touch us all around?" Ryan nodded cautiously, "Yes, in a sense. We need to do some physical checkups to make sure your bodies haven't mutated or caught any diseases on the way here and-"

"So you're gonna be cupping my big blue balls, too?" he said, making an obscene gesture as the team burst out in synchronized laughter. Mr Ryan pursed his lips in frustration. You felt his pain, it was nearly palpable.

You were so not ready for this... "Shut your horny mouth, Ja!" one of the female recoms hollered, smacking him on the back of his head.

Judging by the 'joke', you came to the conclusion that they were full-blooded jarheads. You sighed before ticking something off your clipboard. "And what about her? Is she good with her small hands?" At this your eyebrows twitched before you began searching for the miscreant of this statement. Seeing as the one with the bandana had crooked a finger at you. "Man, she does look cute tho... tiny lil thing. What's good, mama?" their banter continued, slapping and fist bumping each other, having the time of their lives. What a fucking farce - you thought to yourself begrudgingly. The behavior reminded you of teenagers experiencing the surge of hormones for the first time. You couldn't believe Vasquez had vouched for their professionalism. Perhaps he was in on the joke as well. "Shut your pie holes. They're here to help, not entertain you, you fucking lowlifes. Treat'em with respect or I'll have your ass handed back to the infirmary, you get me?!" Quaritch's voice boomed, immediately silencing the lively chatter among his subordinates.

Looking over at the colonel, you saw his hardened, chiseled features directed toward you with an unreadable expression. His pointed ears were tucked back against his head as he issued you a small nod. You repaid him with the same respect and inclined your head in acknowledgment before moving on to your first patient. "Brown?" you said, louder than originally intended before you flicked your gaze around the room, searching for any response. "Steven Brown?" you repeated with a bit more clarity. The mohawk lady merely snorted with arms folded, watching you as you searched for your first victim. Suddenly a blue hand lifted, alerting you of your designated recom, seeing that he looked a little less grim and intimidating. Although equally large, he seemed a bit more approachable, in your eyes at least. With that being said, it wasn't exactly a joyride pushing and squeezing yourself through, as some of them actively made an effort of staying rooted to the spot, entertained at your slight struggle. You could have sworn hearing someone wolf whistle at you but you pushed those thoughts aside when you reached your destination.

He was slightly shorter than the rest, not that you could tell right away as he was seated on one of the benches slightly hunched over, his posture overly lax. Much like the others, he sported that classical short military haircut and fade. "Alright doc, whaddya got for me?" he drawled with a certain bite. You decided not to overanalyze everything, as you were already extremely nervous. You meanwhile scribbled down all of the data before setting the clipboard down, looking him in the eye. He remained there, sitting there in silence, monitoring you with a peculiar glint playing in his topaz irises. "Alright, Mr. Brown, could you please stretch out your right arm? I need to take some samples and check your haemogram if that is alright with you," you explained as you flashed him a polite smile while the convos in the background resumed.

Brown simply nodded and muttered a small 'sure thing' before complying with your wishes. Once he extended his appendage, you got a chance to examine it closely - realizing just how large and sinewy his arm was. The texture was interesting too, differing not much from human skin, save for the lack of arm hair. "Finding a vein shouldn't be a problem," you jest before pulling out a small device for blood sampling. It was not a syringe, but a highly advanced gadget that locked down on the skin cell before drawing a bit of blood. "Alright, just let me disinfect this real quick..." you continued before wiping the spot with a small disinfectant wipe, clearing it from any bacteria. The feeling of his skin was curious, smooth yet somehow rougher to the touch compared to human flesh. Pandora's rough climates had evolved them to become perfect survivors as even their skin was harder to penetrate.  Brown tilted his head to the side, ears swiveling curiously when you placed the blood-letting machinery against the crook of his arm. A small pinch broke through his flesh, extracting only a few tiny droplets. "There we go, that's about it-" Before you could continue, however, you caught Brown sending you a mischievous wink. "Didn't hurt at all, doc."

"Got what ya need, Miss (y/n) or... did I get that right?" you felt blood rush to your cheeks, heating your face altogether. They were trying to rile you up on purpose now... "(Y/N) right, but just call me by my first name. No need for being formal," hoping it would somewhat diffuse the awkward tension between you and the recoms. However, things did not go as planned when Brown's brows lifted for a short moment before his ears rotated in your direction, more attentive than before. "Well good to know, (y/n), looking forward to working with ya," your breathing became heavy to his deliberate teasing as he allowed himself to lean forward. You nearly jumped at his sudden intrusion "So (y/n), what does my blood test say?" just then the analysis was completed, giving you a clear stats report on his bloodwork.

"So far so good... bloodwork looks normal. Cholesterol is in the green and.... well..." His face faltered a bit, "What?" "be sure to consume fewer sugary drinks or sweets but other than that, you're fine. Wouldn't want you to be the first adipose soldier on Pandora," his features continued to crack "You calling me fat, doc?" he said before warming up to a smirk. You leaned away from him to avoid his sudden boldness. "Nah, just reminding you to be on your best behavior if you want to keep up with the rest, alright?" Brown scoffed with a shake of his head as you took your clipboard with you, writing down all of the info as well as checking a few boxes. "I'll get back to you later, just need to do the same with.... uh.. Wainfleet?" you asked, squinting your eyes to spot someone a bit taller and a tad bit more athletic looking. He lacked hair, like some of the others as he wiggled his fingers at you flirtatiously, a crooked smile plastered on his lips. "The one and only," you grunted in affirmation, feeling some of the dread returning before you headed over.

A sudden ticklish sensation and force tugged at the crook of your knee, having you to stumble and nearly fall flat on your face. Walker clicked her tongue with a roll of her eyes, "Come on Kevin, leave the poor girl alone already!" Quaritch's nostrils flared when he caught Brown fucking with you. A move of his tail that hooked around your leg in order to trip you. "You better secure that shit, Brown before I clip that thing off, capiche?" He growled, causing Brown to stiffen immediately. Eventually, he lowered his head and ears ".... yes sir... sorry,"

You managed to calm your thundering heart as you eyeballed Brown with a mix of irritation and embarrassment. What an asshole. Is that how it was going to be all the time? Good lord... how much you began to regret signing up for this particular unit. "Mr. Wainfleet?" you said softly, approaching the man cautiously as he eyed you up and down with that same grin on his face.

"Call me Lyle, sweetums. Only my mother calls me Mr. Wainfleet. So.... here to check the goods? Or maybe even get a feel?" Lyle chuckled before flexing his built physique, making you watch his biceps bulge and swell. The action made your throat dry out like the Sahara desert. Just what in the world have you gotten yourself into...

[atzfilm]

love you to death (m);

pairing; death!mingi/f.reader

rating/genre; mature, fantasy/mythical, angst

summary; everyone who has ever loved you died horrifically. you’ve given up on love, until you find a man who keeps on saying he’s Death, willing to help you. for a price, of course.

word count; 25.5k

warnings; death (lots of it), illnesses, impending death, major character death, lots of angst, a lot of religious references (please do not read if you’re sensitive to this), suicide mentions (nothing happens), greek mythos mentioned (not accurate, just based around it)

You were loved in your dream last night. It was an indescribable feeling. The way their arms wrapped around you. The lack of fear expressed in your body. You felt their love through each fiber of your being. It was wondrous and calming. It was unlike anything you've ever experienced. For the first time in your short life, you felt safe. When you woke, the feeling still lingered. Like a soft kiss to your skin, telling you that it will be alright.

It was gone as quickly as it began.

Your fingers dig into your sheets. You squint from the rays streaming through the gap in your curtains. Soon, that ethereal feeling disappears with another breath. You rub your arms, throwing your legs over the bed's edge. The sinking despair seeps back into you as you stumble through your home. Making it through another long day.

It was your curse. To remain unloved until your last breath. You aren't sure when it started. Your childhood wasn't the greatest; your parents died before you were born. You were taken out of your mother's womb at a mere five months. And after that, it was history. People thought that both of your parents dying was just a coincidence. But then, unexplained occurrences often happen around you. Bodies dropping at the blink of an eye when they've gotten close to you. In the beginning, you cried. You couldn't understand why it happened. Why were you cursed to live this way? Did you do something horrendous in your past life? Those questions often drifted through your mind until it became a numb hum in the back of it. A reluctant acceptance.

You've had friends for only a moment. You're sure that back when you were in elementary school is when it became apparent that death followed you. Your friends died one by one. You were interviewed by the police the third time it happened, but nothing came of it. There was nothing they could prove that made you the culprit for these sudden deaths. Parents cursed at you anyway, calling you a child killer. You were moved from foster home to foster home when they learned of your background. You kept to yourself in the classroom, never had a friend of your own past your preteen years. You grew used to it. Being called weird wasn't anything new to you. And up to now, it's all you've ever known.

You stare into the mirror, lids heavy as you drag your brush over your teeth. You've settled for an online job; less people to deal with means less of a chance for someone to love you. The only other interaction you have with people aside from a webcam is in the markets to buy groceries. Unfortunately you couldn't quite afford ordering groceries online anymore, so the tense, quick trips to the store were what you had to do. You grew wiser each time you went. Made a list right before the trip and memorized where items were. Made paths that got you in and out quickly. And since today is your day off, it’s another run to the market for the week.

You wrap a scarf around your damp hair, balancing your toothbrush between your teeth as you tie it back. Once you’ve assured that it’s stuck in place, you spit out the foam, rinsing with the almost empty mouthwash and make it out the bathroom. Your eyes flick to your plants, still lively after years and years of taking care of them. The only living thing that you could keep in your house that can’t possibly love you back. You touch the leaves as you walk past, whispering good mornings. The tug of your sandals on your feet and you’re out the door. You grab your bike, adjusting your helmet on your head, then you’re off.

You live in a small, college neighborhood. Your neighbors are student roommates usually; each year another group thriving off the newfound freedom. And more often than not, they grow to despise you. Not for your lack of trying, though there is plenty of that. For the hellos that are ignored and the knocks on the door not answered. Someone being antisocial isn't new nor unexpected to them, but the blatant lack of acknowledgment of their existence seems to piss them off. But many want to be friends with you, inviting you to their parties or asking for directions to a particular place within the area. You did so, at first. And that only led to another death.

Another soul perishing at your hands.

The market is only a few blocks from your home, thankfully. You park your bike and lock it in the rack, grabbing your tote bag and entering the store. It's quiet enough, only elders shopping around this time. You've picked this time specifically for that. It's a morbid assumption, but older people are more often riddled with diseases and conditions that cause them to forget easily. It's enough for you to remain unknown in the neighborhood. They often assume you're a student shopping early.

You glance at the list, following the path you've already drawn out in your head. Produce, Aisle 2, Dairy, Aisle 7, Bakery. It's simple enough, your routine every time you enter. You stop outside Aisle 2, a blockage preventing you from entering. You grip your list in your hand. There's not enough food left on your shelves to last until tomorrow. But speaking to someone–

You close your eyes for a brief moment. It's fine. You can go to a different store for noodles. You turn on your heel, entering the other sections before checking out. Luckily this one has a self-checkout. It's not sensitive like the others, beeping each time you place a finger on the weighted scale.

How long did it take to get to the other market? You haven’t been in so long, though you should have in case something happened to this one. You tuck your groceries neatly in your bag, turning around. Your head immediately hits another, your body stumbling back and hitting the floor. Your apples scatter, panic immediately rising in your chest as you ignore the man you just bumped into. You scour the floor, throwing them in your tote despite how careful you were before. Your timing is messing up by the second, grabbing the last one you see on the floor. You look in your bag. One.. Three…

“You forgot one.”

You tense up. His voice is low, barely audible. You don’t turn up your gaze to meet his eyes, instead bowing slightly and grabbing the fruit from his hands. You’re careful not to touch, though your pinky slides across his thumb. Your thoughts don’t linger on it much, stepping around him and exiting the store.

The ride home feels prolonged despite how fast you’re pedaling. Cars beep around you as you make your way to your apartment, locking your bike on the rack and running up the steps to your home. You shut the door quickly, chest rising and falling. There’s no reason to be this afraid, that you know. Not one instance of people dying from you was because of ‘love at first sight’, but you’ve never wanted to take the chance. Because when you lower your guard for a brief moment, life just loves to hit you with the reality of your situation. No one can ever love you. And that means you will have to be lonely for the rest of your life.

You dump the tote bag on your counter, glancing over the items. It’s not enough to last you the whole week, so now you have to make time to take another trip. Preferably to a different market. You hold your head in your hands, eyes flicking to your plants. The lily seems a bit droopier today. Very much echoing your own mood. You clear your throat, rough from not speaking all day.

“You’re quieter than me today, Lily,” you move closer, touching the petal. It falls off and you widen your eyes, glancing at the soil. You slowly take her into the kitchen, touching her soil. She isn’t that moist, not enough to be overwatered, but you check anyway. Separating the soil from the roots, you see clear signs of root-rot. You sigh, leaning your elbows against the sink. “You can’t leave me too,” you murmur, slowly placing her back into her pot. A loud boom makes you jump, turning around and looking out your kitchen window.

Younger people, not far from your age, knock on your neighbor’s door. They hold bags in their hands, speaking to one another loudly. You’ve never seen them before (yes, you keep tabs on your neighbors), so you shut the blinds just as one of their gazes moves to your window. You tense up, walking over to your door and latching the top lock. Soon enough, you hear knocks.

“Yoo-hoo!” One of the men knocks again, ringing your doorbell over and over. “I know you’re in there.”

“Wooyoung can you stop being annoying for one day?” Another voice hisses, a low oof coming from said man. “Yeah, now stop ringing the bell.” He clears his throat. “Hi, sorry to bother you. Our friends next door aren’t home and we were wondering if we could drop this off to you so you can give it to them?”

You stare at the closed door. The options in your head only seem dire, though the chance of you knowing them outside of this brief interaction is minimal. They won’t ever see you again, and if they do you’re likely to ignore them. But opening the door to strangers even without your “condition” isn’t something smart to do. So you remain silent, staring at the door.

“Oh. I know this is a strange thing to ask, but we won’t be back in town for a few days and I know they need it right now—” he hesitates. “I can just leave it outside the door? And you can pick it up?”

“Why are we trusting a random woman to hold their shit? She could just steal it,” Wooyoung whispers, another painful sound falling from his lips. “What the hell, San!”

“First off, you don’t know how to whisper. And two, we’d know we gave it to her to hold, asshole. She isn’t just going to steal it and run. She lives here.”

“She could be a squatter.”

“You’re completely stupid, aren’t you?”

You open the door, a squeak falling from what you can only assume is Wooyoung. He holds his arm, rubbing it slowly as he grins at you. He looks like he just rolled out of bed, brown hair sticking up every which way, pajamas hanging from his frame. San looks a bit more put together, though he just wears sweats instead. He holds a package in his hand, smiling at you slightly.

“I really don’t mean to bother you and I know you must be busy. We just didn’t have many options left, and they really needed it. I know they’ll be home in the evening. If you don’t mind,” he looks at you, desperation in his eyes. Your eyes flick to the package in his hand. Bearing the responsibility of it is not what you want, but if it’d get them out of your hair…

You nod, pointing to a spot next to your shoe rack. He thanks you, placing it there and bowing quickly.

“Thanks,” Wooyoung adds, still holding his arm. “Are you a student? I mean, I really never see you around campus, so—”

“Really, Woo?” San frowns, looking at you. “Sorry about him, he really doesn’t know when to stop talking. I, uh, wrote our names on it so they know who it’s from. I actually put our phone numbers there too, in case they don’t show up by night. Though I’m sure they will.”

He stands there, hands tucked in his pockets. You glance in between them before nodding again. Recognition crosses his face, a quick glance to Wooyoung. They communicate with that brief look, Wooyoung walking back down the path before him. San thanks you again, bowing deeply before rushing after his friend. You watch as they both leave, walking back to the university. Their change in behavior is a bit strange, until you realize why. More than likely they think you can’t speak. It’s happened before. Just another thing you’ve gotten used to not doing. Having a conversation leads to dead ends, literally. They seemed nice enough. You take a glance at the package, seeing their names marked across the box.

“Oops,” you mumble, shutting the door behind you.

-

Aligning with the amazing luck you have, your neighbors haven't come home all night to get their package. You're a bit shocked– there hasn't been a time when they've stayed away. Were they on a vacation you didn't know about? Did they catch traffic on the way home? Either way, that package is still sitting by your door in the exact spot. You hadn't dared touch it. In fear of what’s inside or the repercussions of being curious you’re not too sure. Life has taught you that things don’t exactly happen for no reason, so the box will be sitting there. Forever, if it must.

You let out a sigh.

“Two idiots,” you murmur, slowly standing up from the couch. You enter the foyer, crouching down as you examine the box. It’s innocent enough, the outer appearance revealing nothing about what’s stored inside. Your eyes flick to the numbers on the box, a frown slowly etching itself on to your face. You have a phone, sure. And it’s one of the only things you’ve splurged on. But the only contacts you have in it are the landlord and police. You glance at the numbers, deciding to put them both in a group chat so you can send a quick message. And that’s it. No more communication.

You: Your friends haven’t showed up. Should I leave it on their steps or beneath their mailbox?

You pause, staring at the message. Is that enough information to not extend the conversation further? You slowly delete your message, retyping.

You: The package is still in my foyer. They haven’t come home yet, and this neighborhood isn’t busy enough for someone to steal it. I’ll leave it to the side of the door in case someone passes by or they may want to steal. Or you can come pick it up, I’ll leave it outside my door.

You reread it over and over. Maybe a little bit of information is better than a whole paragraph. You rub your face, eyes flicking over your screen. Perhaps the reason you don’t have friends is because you can’t draft a simple text. You delete the whole paragraph, sending a few words and hitting send.

You: They aren’t home and it’s almost 1am. What do you want me to do with the package?

You place your phone on the counter, grabbing an apple. You stare at it, waiting. College students are always up at strange hours of the night so you don’t doubt they’ve probably gotten it. You wait patiently.

Two hours.

You rub your eyes, the message still unread. Ah, they did say they were traveling out of town, why would they interrupt their trip to message a stranger back? You grab your phone, placing it on the charge and throwing yourself on the couch. You tuck your blanket over your head and beneath your chin so that only your face peeks out, and shut your eyes.

-

The loud horn of a truck wakes you up, your body rising to a sit as you rub your eyes.

You reach for your phone, blink again and again as you open your messages. There’s more than you expected; in fact, you’re sure there’s at least ten in your inbox. You rub your face, scrolling through the messages.

Unknown, sent at 3:41am: oh shit -san

San, sent at 3:41am: I really thought they were coming home, I’m sorry

San, sent at 3:52am: if you could keep it for a few days

San, sent at 3:52am: that’d be great

San, sent at 3:59am: I’m not too sure when woo and I will be back, thx!

Unknown, sent at 4:42am: hey!

Unknown, sent at 5:01am: oops, forgot to send the rest >:P

Unknown, sent at 5:19am: this is Wooyoung btw! Leaving it in your doorway is best kkk, idk when san is going to stop by? Might be a while, ill let you know :P

Wooyoung, sent at 6:00am: and um, sorry about this. and sorry for calling you a squatter, you seem like a good person! Also, sorry for messaging you so early, I never sleep hhh

San, sent at 8:03am: I took his phone away lol;-; let us know when you see these messages!

You snort, scrolling through the messages sent over and over. They seem to be bickering with one another, Wooyoung jesting and San scolding him often. It’s humorous, small giggles escaping your lips as you look through the chat. You’re about to send a message back when you see three little dots appear at the bottom. You stop typing, waiting for one of them to respond. After about thirty seconds of this, a message finally appears.

Wooyoung, sent at 9:13am: saw u typing >:)

You roll your eyes, sending your message.

You: I’ll keep it near my door. You can pick it up when you’re back just give me a few hours’ notice. Thanks.

The response is almost immediate.

Wooyoung: PERFECT. ttyl stranger

His chat bubbles disappear, your eyes flicking over it again and again. There’s nothing else, so you place your phone back on the table.

-

You hold the package out, the quick steps of San a bit alarming. It’s not only that he’s walking fast, no. He balances a cup between his teeth, hands tucked in his pockets to hide from the cold breeze of dawn. You were barely awake when they messaged you, two blinks away from falling back to sleep. He stumbles up your steps. Wooyoung is farther behind, taking his time as he eyes his friend. He’s tucked in a large overcoat, ears hidden underneath furry earmuffs, body trembling as he rubs his hands together. It’s barely into the middle of November, but you’re sure snow may come even before the start of next month.

San finally makes it up your steps and takes the cup from his mouth, dimples shining at you. Unlike Wooyoung, he wears only a light sweater. A shiver rolls down your spine just looking at him. He must be freezing, right? The blush coating his cheeks and red tips of his ears match the apples on your counter. You feel a bit bad, knowing you're only a few steps away from the heat of your home. But the last thing on your mind is inviting them in.

“They told me they were going away for a few days,” San shutters, taking the box from your hands. “I really didn’t know, I’m sorry about that.”

You wave him off, tucking your hands back in your pockets. “No big deal.”

“Holy shit, she can speak!” Wooyoung yells from the bottom of the steps, eyes wide. A grin plasters itself on his lips, eyes giddy. “I really thought you couldn’t.”

“Fucking Woo,” San rubs his face, sheepishly meeting your gaze. “He doesn’t really hold back, I’m sorry about him.”

You shrug your shoulders, taking a step back into your home. San glances at Wooyoung, before meeting your gaze. “We were thinking if you’d like, we can grab a coffee? Or whatever from the coffee shop down the street. I saw one of their disposables on your counter last week, so I thought that you’d enjoy it? Unless you don’t, and it was a first time thing. It’s, uh, your choice.” He tucks the package under his arm, rocking on his heels.

San definitely talks exactly like he texts. Wooyoung moves up the steps, lingering behind his friend. “We’re not taking no for an answer, stranger.”

You narrow your eyes. He means no harm in inviting you, that you know. But the looming thought of being friendly with them only makes your anxiety bubble in your chest. A coffee couldn’t do any harm, could it? They seem to read the look on your face, San scratching the edge of his hairline.

“Last time we bother you?” He murmurs, giving you a closed-lip smile. “No more packages?”

Your sigh is low enough not to be audible, reaching for your keys next to your door. Wooyoung pumps his fist in the air, stomping down your steps and running back to their car. San waits for you patiently, walking down first as you lock your door. Despite them being kind you don’t exactly trust them, eyes flicking to their car.

“I’ll meet you there,” You say, eyeing the car door. It’s freezing outside, your breaths fogging up your glasses resting on the tip of your nose. “It’s only a five minute walk.”

“I don’t want you to freeze to death,” San notes, standing just outside the driver’s door. “I know it’s weird to say, but I promise I won’t kidnap you.”

“That’s not convincing,” you take a step away from his car, nudging your head in the direction of the café. “I’ll be fine. I might get there before you with all of this traffic.” Before he could protest any longer, you turn on your heels, walking off to the café. You hear a sigh behind you and a door shut. You glance to the side, waving at them as they drive past you. There’s no doubt in your mind that you’d rather turn back around and head home. That’ll probably dissuade them from ever meeting with you again. Though, Wooyoung doesn’t seem like the type to just accept it. From his endless messages you could tell that he’d very likely show up at the foot of your doorstep, ready to break it down if necessary.

A slow breath escapes your lips, hands tucked in your coat pockets. “What have you gotten yourself into, y/n?” You mumble.

-

It’s quieter this morning. The café has fewer patrons than you expected, the warm sinking into your frame as you glance around. San and Wooyoung sit in a booth next to each other, leaving the opposite side free. You can only thank them, slow steps to the table. You rest your coat on the hook, sliding into the booth.

Wooyoung looks at you, almost jumping in his seat as you take your place. San rolls his eyes slowly, passing a menu to you. “I hope you don’t catch a cold,” he says. “It has to be below zero out there right now. At least let us give you a ride back?”

 “Thank you, but no thanks,” you give him a slight grin, taking the menu from him and looking down. Sitting in the booth is already a step for you. Now spending time with other people? You would huff at the thought mere weeks ago. You stare down at the menu you’ve already memorized, eyeing your usual dish you often take-out.

“There’s way too many vegetables on this menu,” Wooyoung stares, frowning. “I mean, cucumbers shouldn’t be in anything, let alone almost every dish!”

“You’re looking at the vegetarian section, stupid,” San’s frown deepens. With the way he insults him you’d think he hated the man, but you can see the adoration in his eyes. All of it is just teasing. Wooyoung seems to know that as well, sticking his tongue out and flipping the menu over.

“What do you suggest then, y/n?” Wooyoung’s focus is now on you, your gaze panicked when you meet his eyes. You look back down at the menu, eyes flicking over. “It’s right down the street from your apartment so I’m sure you come here all the time.”

“I usually just get a coffee and pancakes,” you say. “Nothing special.”

“Pancakes sound like a good idea to me~” He hums, closing his menu. His positive energy is palpable, even soothing your own anxiety for this moment. You’re still nervous, reserved. But it feels different now, your body more relaxed. Still your eyes flick to the exit, hoping that this would be over soon.

-

“You said there’d be one box,” you sigh, watching him enter with another one. “There was no reason to lie.”

Wooyoung rolls his eyes, stacking the next one on top of the makeshift pile he made in the middle of the living room. A quick count makes that the tenth one, his body slumped over the pile as he groans about how unfair life is. You snort, glancing down the steps. San stands there, hands resting against his hips as he frowns.

“Stupid over there made me get out of bed for this.”

Wooyoung makes a disgruntled noise from on top of the pile. A mix between a lion and a dying bird. San rolls his eyes dramatically, stepping into your apartment.

You broke the promise to yourself. After that quick café run, they saw you often while visiting your neighbors. Soon, you started small conversations with them. Nothing crazy, just mentions of the weather or traffic getting there. You tried to ignore them, shutting your blinds whenever you saw the car. Locking your door and turning off the lights when they appeared out of nowhere. It’s not like you haven’t tried to get rid of them. But moving out of your home isn’t an option for you right now, so you had to settle with the fact that the duo wouldn’t be out of your hair for a while. You thought Wooyoung was persistent, but San matched it ten-fold. Knocking on your door whenever he liked, leaving trinkets or food in your mailbox for you to take. You grew accustomed to their presence in your life now, enough so that you’d consider them acquaintances. Friends, not exactly, and hopefully never. But you could handle them just as the relationship you have now.

 Enough to dismiss your fears briefly.

“You’re going to crush the food,” you note, nudging his foot with your slipper. He waves you off, sinking to the floor. You hold open the door to San and he thanks you, entering your home. The bare walls and empty tables aren’t like that anymore; some of their belongings scattered about. You’ve told them countless times to take it to their own home and stop leaving it at your place. But of course they never listened, your cabinets filled with their coffee mugs, hoodies of theirs slung on the backs of your chairs. Their presence is slowly marking your home, the dull atmosphere dwindling away. San mentioned it once, but you could only shrug and tell him that you liked it minimalistic, easy to move whenever you decided to. The expression that crossed his face worried you briefly, but neither of you discussed it again.

“I’ll just buy more, that’s all,” A cheeky grin makes you push him off the pile, a loud scream as he hits the rug. “You’re more dramatic than me!”

Wooyoung sticks his tongue out, dragging his body across the floor. You only snicker as he makes his way to San, using him to stand up. San pushes his hand off, Woo falling to the ground once more. You can’t help but laugh loudly, hand covering your mouth as you look between them. San smiles back at you, brow raised.

“Now why would you hide a laugh that pretty?”

Your laugh slowly fades, body tensing up at his comment. Wooyoung seems to notice the change, pushing San’s leg as he stands.

“No one could beat my laugh,” he frowns. “My mom told me it’s magical.”

“A stretch,” San murmurs, earning another shove. You don’t laugh this time, rubbing your arms, desperate to rid of the concern that dwells in you. The conversation passes as if nothing were wrong. You allow it to, a quick thank you look at Wooyoung before you look through the boxes.

The night passes quickly, most clothing arranged in the proper places. San leaves first, explaining that he'll be back in the morning to drop it off at the donation center. Wooyoung lingers around longer. You can tell he has something on his mind, voice quieter than usual, fingers picking at the loose skin next to his nails. You pretend not to notice, cleaning the dishes in silence. There's not many, only yours since you own one of everything. They often use paper plates when they come over. He slowly makes his way over to you, sitting at your island. The stool scratches against the floor and he quickly apologies.

"y/n,” he rubs his hands, gazing at the table. “Why do you act this way around us?”

You pause in your washing for a moment, already knowing where the conversation is heading. You could end it now, tell him to get out and never speak to you again. But you don’t. Despite everything, you want to know what he’s actually going to say. If what your gut is telling you is true.

“And don’t say you don’t know what I’m talking about, because you do.”

“I don’t,” you murmur. You hear the chair scratch against the floor, Wooyoung standing by you. He reaches over you, turning off the running water. “Woo–”

“Do you hate us or something?” He looks at you this time, jaw clenched. “I mean, we’re trying to be your friends here, y/n. You’re not a bad person, and we like being around you. Is it something we did? Every time we say something nice to you or compliment you, you shut down. It’s like you despise us for even thinking of saying anything of the sort. I just…” he sighs, rubbing his face. “I care about you–”

“Leave.” You drop the plate in the sink. It cracks, but you ignore it, turning to him. “Leave, Wooyoung. Don’t come back here.”

This isn’t what you want. You don’t want to push him away, you don’t want to witness the way he’s staring at you right now. He’s one of the most important people in your lift whether you’d like it or not. Though he says he cares about you, he doesn’t yet. You’d know if he does. But if he’s thinking of the word, thinking of leading himself down that path, it’ll only lead to his death. And you can’t have that.

“y/n,” His eyes widen. “What the fuck is going on?”

“We aren’t friends, Woo. We’ll never be friends. I’m moving out soon. And tell that to San too. There’s billions of people in the world, let’s not make this difficult, alright? You can be friends with someone else.”

His brows furrowed in shock as you stare, but you don’t back down, lips in a straight line. “I don’t get it. We’ve been hanging out this whole time? Pushing us away just like that. Are you being serious with me right now? This isn’t a joke, right?”

Oh, how much you wish it were.

“Wooyoung, sometimes people aren’t meant to be friends. And you have plenty, not being mine shouldn’t bother you this much.”

“But it does, y/n. I feel like you just…” he sighs, closing his eyes for a moment. “I’ll give you your space. I don’t know what the fuck is going on with you, but I’m not going to listen until you can speak straight with me.”

“I’ll leave your things outside my door. Either you or San can pick it up whenever you want.” It’s harsh, you know it is. But you doubt it’d deter Wooyoung. He’s rather persistent when it comes to relationships. So despite your words he seems to ignore them, grabbing his coat off the back of the chair.

“See you tomorrow,” he says simply, leaving your apartment. The door shuts loud, the bang making you jump. You hold your head in your hands, body shaking. It was bound to happen soon, you were going to push them away. But not this soon, not when you were enjoying it. You look down at the broken glass, lip quivering.

-

The next few days test your will. The rattling of your door knob at various hours of the day, sometimes banging against the wood. You’d be afraid if you weren’t sure that they wouldn’t do anything to hurt you. It’s hard to pretend as if you don’t care about them, eyes burning into your monitor as you work. Most times it only lasts a few minutes, but there was a time that you can’t get out of your mind. Wooyoung sat outside the door for over an hour, light taps ever so often to remind you that he was there. It was the morning after he left you alone. He begged to be let in, apologizing for everything he did (he did nothing) and that he’s sorry (there was no need). It hurt, listening to his small voice through the wood, light sobs as he asked for forgiveness. You almost broke until San came, pulling him off your steps and driving away.

You wish you could tell them why you can’t be friends. Why, despite how much you desire it, they can’t be in your life anymore.

Today though, you take a break from your somber apartment and into a nearby park. A quick glance around and you find only elderly people taking morning walks. Just a moment to settle your mind, before you continue your apartment hunting. You’re the least bit thankful that you have a remote job that can be so easily adjusted to fit another schedule. This time, you hope to move far enough away that even if San and Wooyoung did somehow find out where you’ve gone, it’d be too much of a trek to attempt to follow after you.

“Are you shitting me?”

Your eyes flick open, head turning to the voice. San stands there, hands tucked in his pockets as he stares at you. You’ve just gotten a text from him this morning, about Wooyoung’s condition. He’s fallen ill and wants to see you. Knowing that you’ve sped up your house searching, desperate enough that you’re thinking of living in a motel until you find something. But seeing San standing in front of you, tired eyes and heavy bags underneath, it makes you want to cry.

He’s the last person you want to see.

You stand, eyes steady on him as he moves closer. He looks exhausted from looks alone, his hair unkempt from what looks like his fingers combing through over and over. “Why are you running away from us? I thought we were friends–”

“We were never friends, San. I can’t be friends with you.”

“So what then, huh?” He stops walking, hands loose on his sides. “You just kick us out of your life because we’re getting too close? You’ve been doing that your whole life, y/n. You’ve been pushing everyone away that cares about you in even the slightest way. Why can’t we just be your friends? Why is that so hard?”

“People who care about me don’t get happy endings, San. I can’t have you caring and then something happens to you, alright? I won’t forgive myself if anything happens to you. That’s why I’ve been pushing away. Just forget about me.”

“Is it because of your past?”

You stop backing up this time.

“The people dying? Is it because you’re scared of what could happen to us? y/n, we aren’t going to die just because we’re friends.”

“Did you do a background check on me?”

He swallows slowly. “You were being strange. I needed to know what was going on with you. You didn’t kill all those people, y/n.”

“But I did,” you shout, tears rolling down your cheeks. “I did, San. Not on purpose, but I did. And if that happens to you or Wooyoung, I don’t think I’d be able to handle that. You mean too much for me to just accept what’s going to happen. Wooyoung is sick. He’s sick because of me. So I need to put distance between all of us, so that he can get better. He doesn’t deserve what’s happening to him right now.”

“This doesn’t make any sense,” San sighs loudly. “He’s ill on his own, you didn’t do this to him.”

“I did. I let him care about me, and that’s what happens to people who do. And I’m happy you’re not sick, but I don’t want you to even remotely come close to caring enough about me for it to happen, alright?”

“Let me in,” his voice is desperate, steps moving closer to you. “Tell me what’s going on with you. We could fix it together–”

“We can’t. You can’t,” you hold your palm up to him. “I’m sorry, San.”

He drops his hands, running his fingers through his hair. “So that’s it? We’re done?”

You nod slowly, not meeting his eyes. “I’ll drop off the rest of your things at the post office and ship them to you.”

He shakes his head, “No. Don’t need them. I’d say I’ll see you around, but I don’t think you’d let me,” he backs up slowly, closing his eyes for a brief moment. “You know, if you were going to pull this, you could have at least told us you didn’t want any friends. Because this shit hurts, y/n. Just when we’re getting close, you cut ties. Like we mean nothing to you. Do we mean nothing to you?”

You keep your gaze to the ground. “We don’t even know each other.”

“Answer the question.”

“No, San. You don’t mean anything to me.”

He scoffs dryly. “Right. Whenever you’re over this that you’re going through, let me know. Unlike you, I still want to be friends, y/n. You mean enough to me that I don’t want to throw it away.” San slowly walks away, giving you his back as he turns around the corner. You crumble once he’s out of sight, falling to your knees. Your hands press against your face as you sob, heaving into your palms.

It’s selfish of you not to tell them why, tell them that you’d love to be friends with them. But you can’t. Not that now you’re on the edge of caring to the point where you’re afraid they will die when they love you. Wooyoung is close to it, and you can’t do anything about it. You rub your face, eyes still moist.

“Sadness is a difficult emotion to go through, is it not?”

You whip your head up, the sheer height in front of you making your head bend back. He looks down at you, eyes hidden behind dark shades resting against his nose. He keeps his hands tucked in his trench coat pocket, head tilted as he stares down at you. His hair rests against his head neatly, brow raised as he stares at you.

“Does she not speak?”

You back up from him, slowly getting to your feet. Odd, you think. It’s not the first thing someone would do when seeing a stranger cry. And yet here he is, emotions hidden away as he watches you think. You’re too riddled with your emotions to notice how strange this situation is, dusting off your pants.

“Not quite the conversation I’d want to have while crying,” you say. His lips curve into a small grin. “Do you need something?”

He shrugs, glancing just behind you. “You were interrupting me. Standing in the way of someone walking isn’t courteous, you know.”

You move to the side and he bows slightly, long steps forward. Something strange rests against his back, strapped into a holder on his coat. You glance around, wondering if anyone else sees this man walking around with a scythe on him. But no, everyone minds their own business, carrying on with their lives. You’re about to mind your own as well, until you notice him sitting next to an older woman. You pride yourself on your hearing, sitting on a bench as you watch him.

“It is a cold afternoon,” he starts, humming a tune. “A pity.”

“That it is, young man,” she holds a tissue up to her nose, blowing it loudly. “I forgot my gloves my grandson gave me. He always takes care of me, I feel bad that I forget so much.”

The man laughs, his smile slowly slipping from his face. You find it odd how quick he changes, lips resting into a straight line as he continues to hum. He stops, reaching into his jacket pocket. You hold your phone tight in your hand, until you see gloves appear as he hands it to her. She takes it, but he holds tight, narrowing his eyes.

“Are you as forgetful as you say?” he gives her the same look he gave you, though there’s no amusement as he utters it. “Has your memory forsaken you?”

She doesn’t notice the change in tone, body shaking as she chuckles. “That’s an understatement, son. Don’t remember the first thing I did today.”

You laugh to yourself at her words. The man doesn’t seem amused in the slightest, eyes narrowing for a moment before he sighs. “Oh Jihyeon, do you not know that lying is one of the greatest sins?”

“Excuse me? How do you know my name?”

He stands, throwing the gloves to the ground. “Ah, but then again, it wouldn’t shock me. If you can kill a man for starting a relationship with another, I doubt you’d let a little lie linger in your head. But it’d be peculiar to forget something that dreadful, would it not?” He looks down at her, waiting patiently. He takes in her silence, another loud sigh escaping him. “Will you continue to fib until your last breath? Have you not read that bible you keep tucked in your purse? You promised Him that you wouldn’t commit debauchery again, but here we stand. You, speechless, and I, giving you a chance to finally confess. Now little Jihyeon, listen carefully: lie to me again, and neither I nor He will give you leniency.”

She grips her back, glaring up at him. “I don’t know what game you’re playing, son, but – “

With ease, he grabs the handle of his scythe, the sharp curve of the blade only inches away from her next. You gasp loudly, hands pressed against your mouth to muffle your scream. It seems as if no one else in the park notices or says a word, passing by the two as if nothing is happening. The man clicks his tongue.

“You merit a fate worse than Death, but I’m sure you would enjoy afflicting souls too much for it to be a punishment. So instead, one of Them will help your transcendence to Hell.”

You push away the initial shock, gripping your phone and quickly dialing the police. But as you press your hands on the screen, they don’t seem to move the way they like, frozen in place. The one time you actually need them you can’t move? Furious, you look around to the others. As you begin to stand, a force holds you in your spot, preventing movement. What the heck is going on?

The man leans down, holding his hand against the cheek of the older woman. His scythe stays in its spot even as he lets it go. His other hand took off his sunglasses. The woman gasps, gripping his sleeve. But she can no longer speak, body crumbling into ash on the bench. She disappears into the air once you blink; remnants of herself left as dust on the wooden bench. He crouches down, finger running along the dust on the bench. He places his glasses back on, head turning to you, brow raised.

“Now how about we have a small chat, human?”

-

You couldn’t say a word as he walked around the small room. You’re not sure how you’ve gotten here, blinking and suddenly appearing in the area. Your phone is nowhere to be found, lost somewhere between the park and here. A light tap on the table pulls you out of your daze, the man placing a small drink in front of you. You don’t dare touch it, hands pressed between your thighs as you stare at the table.

“Apologies for not shielding you,” he starts, pushing back the tails of his overcoat to rest on the chair across from you. He still wears his sunglasses, though the room doesn’t shed an ounce of light besides candles scattered about. “Humans are not often able to see me roaming unless they are close to Death.”

“Are you going to kill me like you did to that woman?” You mumble, fear coursing through your limbs. It serves you right, after all. Though you involuntarily caused the start of a rope of murders, it was still your doing.

“I don’t mean to follow the clichés, but,” he takes a sip, thinking. “If I desired your demise, it would have been dealt with.”

“Then why am I here?”

“Why?” He furrows his brows. “You’ve called upon me.”

“I don’t even know you–”

He leans forward as you tense up, sliding a bit back. He hasn’t taken off his glasses since you’ve met him, and you can’t see his eyes through them so you haven’t the slightest idea if he’s even meeting your gaze.

“I am Death, human. I presume you’d recognize me since I have cleaned up your messes for a while. And I am to meet with one of your friends soon enough. Jung Wooyoung, correct?” His brow raises, watching as you take a deep breath. “Choi San seems to be moving into that spot much quicker, no?”

“Please,” your fingers grip the table in front of you, lips trembling. “Can you not spare them? They’ve done nothing, I’ve pushed them away.”

“Pushing them away doesn’t give you reprieve. It may delay the inevitable, but they will grow to love you. Something like that doesn’t stop because you’re away from them. From your past I can see that well.”

“Why? Why is this happening to me?” You hold your head in your hands. “I don’t want them gone, I want them to stay alive. They deserve a greater life than I. Would it be possible,” you look at him, watching as he takes a small sip. “Could I trade places with them? Will my death be enough to prevent theirs?”

“You are trying to bargain with me? Not unfamiliar,” he murmurs. “But strange coming from you. Do you not fear me?” He asks. Those five words reside in you for a brief moment, dwelling in your mind. Fear is not something you’d describe seeing him. At first, yes. But now your head is filled with questions. “Do you not fear Death?”

“No,” you say, and his brow raises.

“You dare stare into the face of death and not tremble in utter fear? Aren’t you a brave little human?”

You keep your gaze steady, knowing that looking away is what he’d like for you to do. “If it’s possible for you to lift my curse, I would like that. That is all.”

“I’m often cursed for what I represent,” he says, raising his hand. A glass slowly forms from the air, resting delicately between his fingers. “There is an inane fear of death. The end of many things. Loves, friendships, hardships, revelations and regrets. They all come to a halt once death is placed on the table. I’ve grown used to the dread etched in their eyes as I come to take them back to where they began. My mother warned me of what I would become when I was young, but I did not realize the utter disgust that people would feel toward me when I approached them. I am the embodiment of human trepidation. Many tremble in the face of cessation. It is something that I have grown accustomed to. But I can’t help but marvel at you.” He tilts his head. You can’t see his eyes behind the thick layer of shade. But you can feel his stare meeting yours.

“And why is that?” Tone hushed, breaths heavy. “Why do you marvel at me?”

“You wouldn’t know this, but all humans have a particular aroma. It is hard to describe exactly, but it’s a taste in the air. It makes it easier for me to figure out who I will be taking to their afterlife. But you… you are quite fascinating. Because in place of the sullied air of humans, you smell taintless. Purity in its truest form. Not even human offspring fresh from their mothers smell like you.” He leans forward, hands folded together.

“For the first time in a millenia, I do not taste sin.”

“You must be mistaken,” you shake your head. “I am filled with it. I am cursed.”

“Ah, that you are,” he nods in agreement. “That is all that I can taste that is remotely sinful. But it is not part of your being, so there is nothing I can do to solve your issue.”

“So I am stuck like this?” You say, and he nods, but pausing slightly.

“Not necessarily. If you were to die, your curse may dissipate. But your time is not near, and I cannot influence that decision if you so desire it. It is out of my hands,” he shrugs, taking a long breath. “That is the answer that I have.”

“There’s nothing I can do?” You swallow, a brief cold rolling over your skin. “Nothing at all?”

He purses his lips, “There is one. But it will come at a price.”

“I’ve dealt with seeing people that care about me die my whole life, another price wouldn’t change that.”

He leans forward now, standing on his feet. His palm presses against the table, glasses disappearing from view. Although yours still sits in front of you, full. He doesn’t move closer to you, strides meeting at the far wall. His hand brushes against the brick, the shine of sun somehow peeking through the cracks.

“Have you heard of the human woman, Medusa?” He asks. You nod, realizing that you should say something since his gaze isn’t upon yours, you open your mouth. He doesn’t let you say a word, though, continuing. “She is my mother. I am her damned offspring. Because she was cursed, I was born cursed as well. That is why I wear this eyewear,” his hand touches the edge of them. "Her ailment was passed down to her only son. It is why I never remove them, even when I'm at rest. But I'm not going on this diatribe for your sympathy. Because of it, I can never remove them. So," he turns to you. "In exchange for removing your curse, you give me your eyes."

You tense up. He notices immediately, laughing. "You will not have mine. You will just lose your sight. You'll never gaze upon anything again for your lifetime. It is a great loss, so I don't expect an answer immediately."

"Yes."

He laughs dryly, "You haven't thought it over–"

"There is no need. I have lived like this my whole life. I couldn't have friends, couldn't grow close to anyone. It all ended fatally. I've been alone my whole life. And now that I have San and Wooyoung… I don't want to let them go. I have suffered long enough. And if I have to sacrifice my sight, then so be it. A low price for what I've been dealt."

The man doesn't say anything. You wonder if he's backing out of the idea. If he changed it once he noticed how desperate you are to change yourself.

"Alright."

"Can I request something in exchange?" Your voice is low this time. He seems to sense the worry but he doesn't point it out, humming. "You can't fall in love with me," you say to him. Hushed voice, trembling fingers. "I want you to swear to me that you won't. Swear it."

"This is a silly promise."

"You have to swear it!" Your words are a bit desperate now. "Remain as you are with me. Tell me at this moment that you will not think of me in any other way than a mere stranger, and I will agree to this arrangement. This is all that I ask of you, sir."

He watches as you falter underneath his gaze, the last of your words coming out more pitiful than need be. In hindsight, he presumed that it was a warning only to protect your heart. He couldn't have realized how much you wanted to protect his. But there he is, hand reaching to clasp yours, eyes steady.

Speaking a promise that would grow to be quite difficult to keep.

"I swear to you with every breath that I take that I will not let my heart fall for yours. I pledge that I will treat you as I am now, and that I will never think of you more than a damned human. And in exchange, you will give me your sight, so that I may finally see the sun once more."

Your shoulders slump down, the speed of your heart taking a breather. Utter relief draws into your face as you nod.

"I accept."

–

He let you leave soon after that. A step through the exit put you back in the same spot you were before, though this time it’s darker out. Time seemed to pass quickly in his home, the street lights illuminating the park. You tuck yourself further into your sweater, fingers brushing against the phone in your pocket. Ah, so he did take it somehow. In all honesty the best choice would have been to call the police, but now you know that it wouldn’t be possible. What would you even say? Hello, you saw Death kill someone and now he wants your sight? You snort at the thought, shaking your head.

He didn’t explain much else to you once that was finished, just saying that he’d contact you when he was ready. And he seems to be able to read your thoughts, immediately mentioning that you’re still under the curse, and your friends' lives are still at risk. It makes sense, you haven’t completed your end of the bargain, but you hoped that you could. Whenever this is done, seeing San and Wooyoung again would make everything better. You hope they can accept your apology.

Well, not see. You can’t conjure a different word right now. “You never quite pay attention to your surroundings, do you?”

You flinch at his voice, eyes flicking to the side. Death stands there, hands tucked in his coat as he walks alongside you.

“I’ve been walking with you for quite a while now. Are your thoughts so interesting that you can’t bear to reflect on your life at this moment?” He points to the crosswalk sign, a red hand staring back at you. “You were going to cross on red, human. Death would be swift.”

“I thought you said it wasn’t my time?” You furrow your brows, taking a step back from the curb. He nods in agreement, glancing at a car that passes.

“It’s not. That car would have swerved out of the way, causing a massive collison. You would have six deaths on your hands from that alone,” his head turns to you. “And I’m sure that would displease you greatly.”

"Sarcasm?" You scoff, staring at the walking sign. Begging for it to turn red so you don't have to stand here next to him. Though you can't imagine him leaving just because of that.

“Perhaps,” he shrugs. “But that is up to you. And from your previous interactions with death, it’s unlikely that you wouldn’t be affected when it happens again.”

He’s irritating to say the least. Who knew that Death incarnate would be this infuriating? You glance at him from the corner of your eye, turning down your street. You stop just as your eyes move to your front door. San’s car sits there, condensation coating the windows. He’s probably sat there all night, waiting for you to arrive. Death shifts his head to where you’re looking, brow lifting.

“That is Choi San.”

“He’s supposed to be with Wooyoung,” You murmur. “Why the hell is he here?”

“Your friend is persistent. It’s admirable,” he nods. “Though it may be a hindrance to you. I have not started the process of removing your curse.”

“I know that.”

“Then what will you do?”

You look up at him. The thought is silly in itself, but it doesn’t hurt to ask. The worst thing he could say to you is no. “Could you help?”

A frown coats his lips. “I do not meddle in human affairs.”

“Then what do you consider our deal to be if not human affairs?”

“It does not include me solving your simpleton issues because you cannot face them yourself. Even the mere suggestion is laughable,” he scoffs. “Are all humans this desperate for redemption? If he cannot accept that you’re cursed, then you should not desire his presence.”

“I can’t tell him that.”

“And why is that?”

You stare at him, hard, until he nods slowly. “Ah, the risk of being attached. Your life seems difficult.”

“My life is not what I’m worried about.”

“That is selfless. It is a shame that not many think like you,” he leans against the sign, head turned to San’s car. “Watching humans for centuries has made me realize that most of you are too involved in your own lives to worry about others. And if you do, it is for selfish reasons. You are different, in that sense. Your soul being a slate of goodness makes you stand out. Though you still have your own reasoning, it is overshadowed by good.”

“You’re speaking about me as if I'm this pillar of pureness. I have lied before, I have made mistakes. Like right now, I’m trying to get your help so that I can avoid San.”

“But the root reasoning as to why is good. You don’t want him to die. That’s why you prefer I intervene,” He swallows. “But I’ve involved myself enough with you today. They won’t like it if this continues.” He bows his head slightly. “I will be on my way.”

With that, he’s gone.

-

You keep your windows closed, lights off. San was fast asleep when you walked by, head tilted to the side as he snored. He left the windows open a crack, thankfully. Your first thought was to scold him, tell him that he’s being silly. But you only glanced to make sure he was breathing before entering your home. He would have called if it were an emergency. And despite your hesitance, you sit in the living room. Directly across from the window that overlooks his car. Your neighborhood is safe enough, but you still worry even if you don’t want to see him yet. Your phone buzzes on the counter, and you grab it, glancing at the message.

Woo: I know you’re not responding to my messages, but if san is there could you let me know pls? <3

You swallow slowly, thumb hovering over the box to respond. You shouldn’t, you should ignore him for now. But your heart overrules your head’s desires, immediately messaging back.

You: He’s fine, I can see him from my window. Call him so he can go back home.

There isn’t a pause in his response.

Woo: thank you for taking care of him

Nothing else is said. He doesn’t try to pry into your life, beg for a reconciliation that you cannot give him just yet. It makes you feel a bit ill, his change of tone. It is not his fault, you wouldn’t dare put this on him. Perhaps you’ve succeeded in pushing him away. You grip your phone, glancing out the window. San is awake, speaking to who you can only presume is Wooyoung. You shouldn’t do what you’re about to do. You slowly step to the window, lifting up the blinds to watch as he starts up the car. He doesn’t look at your apartment right away, hands gripping the steering wheel as he loses himself in his thoughts. Finally, he looks right at your apartment, eyes meeting yours.

They widen for a moment, briefly perturbed at seeing you staring back at him. He unbuckles his seatbelt, the door swinging open. Before you can utter a word, he’s several steps up to your door, jiggling the knob. You open your door. He pushes himself inside, arms wrapping around your body as he grips you tightly. He hasn’t touched you since you’ve met, his embrace warm as he holds you. It’s an unfamiliar feeling though you don’t hate it. It just the first time someone has given you any physical affection.

“I’m sorry,” he says simply, hands shaking as he holds you. You’re still stiff, unwilling to overcome that last hump and give him an embrace back. Instead, you pat his shoulder. He holds you for a moment longer, before letting go, eyes scanning yours. “I knew I fucked up right when I left you there. But when I came back you were already gone, so I panicked and drove back to your house. You didn’t come all night and I was fucking terrified. I might have called the police if I didn’t see you just now-”

“You don’t have to do this, San,” you say softly, swallowing. “You don’t have to explain yourself to me. Not after what I’ve done to you and Woo.”

“I don’t, but I will. I’ve been so hurt that I didn’t listen to your words as they are. It’s your fault for abandoning us just like that, but it’s my fault for not seeing your reasoning. If you want to keep your distance, that's fine by me, but if you ever want to be friends again, I hope that you don’t hesitate to pick up that phone and call us.” He glances at the device in your hand. “Wooyoung is devastated but he still cares about you. I hope that you’d see it in your heart to care about us too.”

This was a bad idea from the start. Of course you care, you adore them. You want to be friends forever if you could. “Right now just isn’t a good time for me.”

“So you need time?” He asks, and you nod slowly. “Okay. I can give you that. Just, don’t move away for the sake of us. We’ll keep our distance, and you take your time. Do whatever you have to do.”

His kindness is so deep you wonder how you’re the one with the pure soul. But you just slowly nod, agreeing to his words. He embraces you once more before stepping out, running to his car and driving off. You rest your head against the closed door, hoping that Death can somehow speed up this agonizing process.

-

“What’s your end goal, Mingi?” Yunho rests on his stool, fingers brushing against the bottles on his shelf. Mingi arrived home not too long ago, coat resting on the rack next to his entrance. He barely held in his sigh when he noticed his friend in his home, Yunho’s hands tucked in his pockets as he examined his shelves. Yunho has been there plenty of times. Nothing has changed for years. “The human is cursed. The only way to lift it is through death,” he gestures to him, “Or transferring it to someone else. And I’m sure They won’t like that.”

Mingi holds a pen between his lips, reading over his book. “It’s nothing of your concern.”

“Is it not? Just because you are the deliverer of Death, does not mean you’re absolved from any repercussions with it. Like yesterday,” he balances the bottle on his index finger. “The woman was going to kill people but you stopped her. Preventing six deaths, just like that. They aren’t happy with you.”

“Why are you here? Your duty is elsewhere.” His words make Mingi’s blood run cold. They never pay much mind to things he does, just like his mother. Why would They watch now? Does it have to do with you, or something else?

“It’s merely a warning. You’ve been a close friend of mine for longer than I can remember. Dying for a reason such as this would be dreadful. And there’s talk,” Yunho places the bottle back in its place, turning to him. “y/n is an interesting human. They’ve been watching her journey, seeing how she reacts to her circumstances. With your appearance around her, it has brought quite a stir. You have to tread lightly. Everyone is watching you now. ”

“Even you?” Mingi quirks his brow. “You are the last person I’ve expected to see here. I’d thought at least Mother would come to warn me.”

“No one has seen her in a millenia,” Yunho says simply. “And I’m coming to you as a friend, Mingi. Centuries are only a blink in time. Having you dead before that wouldn’t sit well with me.”

“Is it that, or do you not want to take my place?” Yunho’s silent, and Mingi takes that as his answer. “I do not plan on involving myself anymore than I am right now. I will lift her curse, and I will lift mine. There’s nothing more than that. And I have involved myself with her countless times to transport the souls that loved her. This is nothing new.”

Yunho moves closer to him, taking the book from his fingers. He glances over the page once, before shutting it, leaning down to stare at Mingi. Even he cannot witness his eyes, but he just stares into the shades. “I heard the desperation in her voice, Mingi. You’ve already made mistakes before. One like this could have enough recoil to affect more than just yourself. Remember that. Do not fall in love with that woman.”

“I do not know love–”

“And that makes it all the more vital. You’ve seen humans love enough to know when it’s coming. Prevent it, Mingi. We do not need the bringer of Death to fall for the charm of a human.”

“I will not. Why do you doubt me?”

Yunho narrows his eyes before stepping back. “I’m glad that’s clear. I would hate to be the one to end Death. But if I am tasked with it, I cannot say no.”

“You would kill your lifelong friend?” Though Mingi’s voice drips with sarcasm, there’s a hint of truth in it. Have they followed the rules for so long that they’d accept an unjust one?

“It’s not my decision to make, Mingi. You know that.” He stretches his arms, sighing. “I’ve been away from my post far too long. I hope to see you a while from now. Don’t make me come any earlier than that,” his words are sincere, though harsh. Mingi doesn’t say any more, so Yunho exits his home. Mingi reaches for his closed novel, fingers flicking back to the page. His eyes flick through the text, settling on one particular line.

–

The looming idea of Death rests on your shoulders, but you don’t let it stop you. He will take your sight away, remove the glimpses of life from your eyes so that you don’t have to suffer anymore. It is a high price to pay, but you don’t hate it. Though you will miss your sight, you take the chances that you haven’t before. The list of market items in your notes is no longer there, replaced with things you’ve wanted to do but were too scared to. The small events are silly, things you probably could’ve done before. But fear drowned itself in your veins, preventing you from making the slightest step.

So here you are, standing outside of an amusement park. No one is with you, but you don’t mind it. Your fingers grip your phone tightly as you step up to the ticket teller, holding out the qr code for them to scan.

“Are you alright, miss?” She asks, brows furrowed. The old you wouldn’t utter a word, but you’ve turned over a new leaf. Speaking to people shouldn’t be as terrifying as you make it.

“First time here,” you say simply. The three words come out awkward, some vowels lower than others. But she only nods, a wide grin on her lips.

“Then I hope you enjoy yourself, miss! We only have one life to live, and I think it’s brave of you to come here alone. Have fun!” She opens the gate, gesturing for you to enter. The two of you bow to one another, your steps quick as you cross the barrier. To say it’s overwhelming is an understatement.

Crowds of people laugh together as they run for rides. Children crying when their parents say no, students giggling as they point to another group. Your mind buzzes at the overstimulation, hand rubbing your phone case as you make your slow steps. It’s silly to think that people are watching you, but the thought crosses your mind. You find an empty seat next to the entrance of a rollercoaster, sitting down as you gaze at the people.

“Do you plan on resting here the whole time?”3

You jump, turning to Death sitting next to you. The warm temperature doesn’t seem to affect him, legs crossed as he sits in his long, black overcoat, the same glasses pressed against his face. From the side profile you still cannot see his eyes, the arm of his shades masking it. It bothers you a bit, not knowing where exactly he’s looking.

“I’m fine where I am,” you murmur.

“Oh?” He hums, tilting his head as he gazes into the crowd. “People often die in these places. I’m a bit surprised that you stumbled into one. Knowing that you don’t like leaving your home.”

“Have you decided when to take my sight?”

“Change of conversation?” His brow raises. “I have yet to discuss it with the others. They aren’t elated with my decision making. It might take a while for approval. The son of Medusa isn’t exactly praised and nurtured.” He stands, head turning down to you. “I have another life to end. It is not a miserable one, if you’d like to join.”

“And why would I want that?” You frown.

“Because you think of me as some monster who kills innocents. That woman from before was more of one than I’d ever be. I would like you to see who I am outside of the torturous acts.” He shrugs. “It might change your mind about me.”

“Why do you care about what I think?”

He chuckles low, rubbing his face, “I do not care what you think is true or not. This is for your peace of mind, not mine. Though I cannot read your thoughts, I can tell you do not care for my presence. Perhaps witnessing me bringing peace to a tired soul will lessen that.”

You don’t respond, following him through the park. No one acknowledges his presence, but they do step aside when he’s just in front of them. It’s odd, knowing that you’re the only person who could see him right now. Did everyone think you were talking to yourself? You frown, sitting where he tells you as he crosses the center, meeting a person on the opposite side.

From your spot, you can see how he rests next to the older man. Speak to him in a low voice, giving brief smiles. Laughing at the man’s jokes. The man begins to cry after a few minutes of speaking. It tugs at your heart, already fighting back your own tears. But Death doesn’t say anything else to him. He places his hand upon his, squeezing it lightly. A few words are whispered to the older man. His tears dry up slowly, using the back of his hand to wipe away the rest that linger on his cheeks. He pats Death’s hand with his other free one, standing. Death follows his lead, staying in his spot as the older man walks away. You follow him, until he disappears into the distance, a soft light left in his wake. He adjusts his suit jacket, slowly making his way to you.

“You look perturbed,” he says, standing a bit away from you. “Did that only grow your hesitancy towards me?”

“Quite the opposite. Everyone fears you, fears the thought of you… but you do not express fear to others. You are kind to them when they pass. It’s nothing like I thought.”

He laughs, shaking his head, “Death is often depicted as such. Fortunately for you, I do not live up to the tales. I am merciful. Though your kind is innately selfish, humans have suffered in their lives often, dealing with the twists and turns of being mortal. A reprieve is warranted,” he watches as a family passes by, eyes overcast. “I was not always this kind, you see. I was angry, being given this role. But after thousands of years, it grows on you. They are the last being that you see on this plane, why treat them as if they haven’t struggled? I do not want them to walk into the afterlife filled with woe. If they can laugh once more before they take that step, I will allow it.”

“You are odd,” you say. His head turns to you, eyes still unseen. But somehow, you can feel how they linger on your figure. “But I’m not a stranger to that. It is refreshing.”

“And you call me the odd one,” he teases. You let a smile slip from your lips. You don’t see how his brows furrow, eyes focused on the way your lips turn in glee. But as long as the moment felt, it’s gone within a blink. “Shall we bring you back to your home? Or are you going to continue to sulk on a bench?”

“I’m afraid,” you say, the thought of doing anything out of the ordinary a bit much. Before entering you believed that you could ride the rollercoasters, enjoy your time before you can’t see it anymore. But taking that first step is terrifying. Death leans down, eyes meeting yours.

“If it makes you feel any better, you will not die today, and you will not cause the death of another.”

It does lessen your heartache for a brief moment. Enough for you to take a slow breath, glancing around. The massive coasters loom in the distance, nervousness sinking back into your skin. “Will you ride the ferris wheel with me?”

His lips quivers, “What?”

“Will you?” you turn to him, gazing up into his shades. “Only for this one ride, nothing more. You can disappear if you’d like after that.”

Yunho’s words linger at the back of his mind as he stares down at you, warning him. He should deny the request immediately. In fact, he shouldn’t even be speaking with you more than necessary. His lips drop into a frown. Why is he even considering it? Death does not meander around humans, join them in their silly pastimes. He scoffs at himself at even the idea of riding on the machine with you. But he can also see how tense you are, how you grip your phone as if it’s the only lifeline you have. He would have suggested for you to spend this time with your friends, but you have none. What a pitiful life. He ignores the blaring warning signs, a sigh escaping his lips.

“One. We will go on the ferris wheel, then I will leave you to your own devices.”

A relieved look rests in your eyes, quickly nodding. “Of course.”

The line is short. The operator lets you on on your own, shutting the door right behind you. You move to the middle of the seat, Death taking his place on the opposite side of you. The carriage seems to register his added weight, balancing itself out with ease. Your nerves are less now, gaze to the outside of the carriage.

“Do you have a name?” You ask, eyes still cast outside. “It feels a bit puerile calling you Death each time I address you.”

“My name isn’t necessary for you to know,” he says. His head is straight forward, though you’re not too sure if he’s staring directly at you. “And what does that matter? I am the deliverer of ends, so addressing me as such is correct.”

“Is it a secret, then?” A teasing smile rests on your lips, flicking to his face before looking back out. “Do I have some sort of power over you if I say your name?”

“Things like that are tall tales. There is no such thing as power to a name. I just do not see it as a necessity for you. I am to lift your curse, and lift mine. Then we will never see each other again.”

Your smile slips, hands tucked in between your thighs. “I’ve said too much.”

“You shouldn’t apologize for curiosity. We all have it, creatures of many kinds. But there are boundaries that need to be set between us. My name is of no importance, and I hope you never ask again. Consequences happen in the blink of an eye. There are things scarier than death itself, human. I know you are well aware of that.”

“I think I have experience with a lot of things, yeah,” your voice is teasing, though it doesn’t reach your eyes. The conversation is cut right in the middle, your eyes widening as you lean over the side of the carriage. “It’s beautiful.”

He follows, the scenery of the city staring back at the two of you. He lingers on it for a brief moment, before turning back to you. A youthfulness rests in your eyes, the reflection of the city illuminating your face. It has a bit of a childish wonder to it, fingers gripping the ledge as you stare out. Though he feels sorry for humans, their lives so short that there’s a slim chance to experience everything you want, he stays away. Interfering with their lives is the opposite of what he can do. Only bring them to the place they belong, then repeat the process over and over until humanity is extinct. Sitting here watching you is exactly the opposite of what he should be doing. And if that’s the case, why can’t he look away?

“It’s cold up here, isn’t it?” You look to Death, brows furrowed once you see that he’s no longer there. Excitement slowly falls from your face, hands letting go of the side. There’s no reason for you to be upset about this. He told you he was to leave after this.

So why does it bother you so?

-

You are becoming a burden.

It is not your fault in the slightest, no. You’re doing your part, listening to his words and heeding his warnings. Following what he tells you to do. In a sense, you’re perfecting your role in this transaction. But his thoughts, formerly occupied by work alone, are slowly drifting away to you. What you’re doing, how you’re behaving, if you’ve caused another death; those are the simple ones. But it’s shifting to: if you’ve eaten, have you left your apartment this week, did you cry today? Frivolous things, thoughts not necessary for what he needs to do to save you.

He tucks his hands into his pocket, the wind chill from the open window making him shiver. He doesn’t remember the last time he felt this cold. He glances at the lights lining the streets, humans preparing for the holiday season. In the beginning it was a bit silly to him, but now he understands. It's a time for reprieve, for happiness lost throughout the year. Though it's only momentarily, he can see it now.

"You're oddly quiet," Yunho points out. Mingi’s frown only deepens when they meet each other's gaze. He knows that They are wary of the relationship he has with you. And he doesn’t mind seeing Yunho since they’re friends. But having him watch his every move doesn’t exactly feel ideal. Especially since they’ve approved Mingi’s bidding. Why have Yunho along for the ride?

“Do you not have better things to do?” Mingi points out, glancing at his door. He’s told you his address and you said you were on your way, but it’s been hours. “I’d rather not have her alarmed that there’s someone other than myself involved with this.”

“Why do you care so deeply for the human’s feelings?” Yunho quirks a brow, leaning against a pillar. “If I didn’t know you better, I’d say you were falling for her.”

Mingi’s eyes narrow. “I’m glad you do know me well, then.”

“Mingi,” Yunho moves from his spot. “I know you want to get rid of your ailment, but this way isn’t the correct one.”

“Then what is? Suffering for another thousand years? You do not understand, Yunho,” Mingi touches his glasses, fingers dragging along the outline of the frames. “You have free reign to enjoy anything you’d like. To indulge in your pastimes. She is one of the only beings on this planet who can understand what suffering I must endure. Though our pains may be different, they align in ways you’ll never comprehend. So if I can take away her suffering and mine at once, then I will do it.”

“Do you not realize your words?” Yunho presses, jaw clenched. “Her suffering. You even mentioned it before yours. Mingi,” he rubs his face, thinking. “What do you expect me to do? To report back? Because if I utter the words you just told me, you will be punished severely.”

“It was a sentence, Yunho,” he says simply. “Don’t take it for more than what it was.”

“If you do not love her, then you care enough. That I can tell from a mere sentence, as you put it. But I will keep that information to myself. A sentence changes things, you know. Ah,” Yunho glances at the door. Just as he does so, the bell rings. “It is my time to depart. Though you do not see me, watch yourself Mingi. I am not the only one assigned to you.”

“All of these watchers for a mere immortal,” Mingi snorts, shaking his head. “As if there aren't more dire things to be attentive to.”

“Then you should be flattered,” Yunho teases, turning down his hallway. “You are quite important in comparison!” With that he disappears, leaving Mingi to answer the door.

-

You glance at your phone, looking back up at his home. You’re sure this is the place. At least it’s what your maps said. You were transported here and back before, so the outside isn’t familiar. For a bringer of Death, it’s odd to see plants lining the walkway. Trees looming over the cobblestone, succulents alive and well. Unlike yours, of course. Your lily is on her last leg, sitting against your window desperate for light. A bit funny in comparison if you linger on the thought. You hear the door click, eyes meeting the man just behind it. He wears the same thing he always does, though lacking the trenchcoat that embraces his figure. His collared shirt is a satin black, sleeves rolled up neatly to his elbows. Exposing tattoos decorating his skin. He opens the door wider, gesturing for you to enter.

You bow slightly, stepping around him to enter. He closes the door quietly, following you from a comfortable distance into his home. You aren’t as closed off as you were entering his home previously, so you take a glance around as he meanders into the kitchen, sitting on the edge of his couch. Everything is quite minimalistic, browns and forest greens covering the space. Nothing personal, not that you expected it. Your homes mirror each other in that sense. No attachments, nothing preventing you from staying longer than necessary.

“To keep you informed,” He starts, holding out a cup of tea. You thank him, taking it and holding it close. “I was given approval. But my curse cannot just be lifted with ease. I need to find someone deserving of a curse like mine. It will be arduous and tedious, but I will try my hardest to complete it on time,” he sits on the edge of his chair, arms crossed against his chest. His shades are different from the usual ones he wears, these smaller against his face. If you stared hard enough, you could see a bit of his eyelashes peeking up from the top. But you don’t, too wary of turning into stone.

“Will the curse will just continue then?” You ask, taking a sip of the tea.

He shrugs, “It’s too powerful to just disappear. My mother will carry her curse to the end of time, and after that.” He pauses in his words. You look up from your drink, noticing the strange look on his face. Though his eyes aren’t visible to you, the furrow of his brows and resting lips tell you enough. “It is a miracle that my request was accepted at all, human. Things don’t often pan out the way I’d like them to. Even if I have consent, we have to watch ourselves. They can decide against it anytime They like. I am not… exactly pleased at how easily They accepted my request.”

“Have They denied you before?”

His lips curve into a small grin. Nothing humorous or happy within the expression. “The number of times They’ve denied me could fill this entire room, human. It’s odd that They haven’t backed out on their word even now. I do not trust it.”

An immortal being like him being this on edge over their acceptance makes you worry. Could they reverse your curse when they take it away? Or even before, would they say no?

 “They will not place the curse back upon you,” his head faces you. “If They take it away it will be gone from your soul for good. There’s no need for that kind of worry.”

“If you are unsure about everything else, how are you sure about this?”

He chuckles dryly, “If They felt as if you were a risk, or you were entitled to the curse, it would not be lifted at all. Which is why we will take every precaution necessary.” He turns around, lifting a small, green journal off the table. He passes it to you, and you take it, glancing down at the cover. It’s filled with intricate designs, sewn into the cover of it. Your fingers run along the lines as he continues. “That diary has a list of things you cannot do while undergoing this trial period. Though your soul is of purest form, I would like to assure that it remains so until I have found someone else to suffer for eternity," he pauses. "Why are you giving that strange look?”

You hold the journal close, brows furrowed. “It’s odd the way you speak of it. Cursing someone for eternity, that shouldn’t be spoken of lightly. Is there anyone even deserving of that much suffering? How can you continue on knowing someone else will be like you? Or like me?”

“That is the difference between you and I. My soul is drenched in filth and sin. Once I took my first breath I was confined to this life. So, do you believe that I would care in the slightest who would take it from me? I have experienced evil incarnate, human. Your understanding of wickedness compared to mine is completely unalike. I do not care about the future sufferer.”

Your eyes narrow at that. “You say these things to me. You say you don't care. But there has to be a part of you that does, Death. You cared for that person at the amusement park. You understand my suffering, as well as other humans. You say you don't care but it doesn't seem to be true."

His head faces you, cup placed on the small island. You keep your gaze down, a bit afraid that you've overstepped again. Just because he offered doesn't mean he cannot change his mind. And if he does, you doubt there's anything you can do to change it. He seems like the stubborn type. Your confidence falters when you're in his presence. Though it wasn't exactly high in the first place.

"My duty requires me to care somewhat, that much I agree with."

He ends it at that. No more poking, prolonging the conversation. He told you there's a line between you that you can't cross, and he's holding up his side of the bargain. You should follow along as well, pushing aside your curiosities. He cannot fall in love with you. Explicitly said so. Perhaps that is the root of your wandering thoughts? Knowing that there isn't a way for him to love you, platonically or romantically. Gives you a burst of energy. The solemn resting face he has doesn't exactly allow for that, though. So you only nod, taking another sip.

"Is San and Wooyoung, are they still… Are they dying?" The last word is hard to speak, knowing they were close to it the last time you spoke to Death.

"Yes," he says simply. "Your separation from them doesn't change much since they care. San has been unwell, human. Though I do not and will not pry in your affairs, he is resting at home often now. I would say check up on him, but that would be against your agenda."

"It would," you let out a breath, the cup shaking in your grip. "I'll read your journal, Death. I'll follow anything that I need to. Until you find whomever you're going to place this curse upon. I'll wait."

He nods slowly, "Very well. In the meantime, you should enjoy your life, human. A loss of sight would be quite difficult to adjust to, especially since you're so used to seeing. This is a mere suggestion, of course. But do the things that you were afraid of doing. It may help you through this time. Or make it pass quickly."

It's strange how he says he's nothing to you, but treats you as if you're friends, as if he truly cares. Sure, you didn't plan on leaving your apartment until he was ready to lift your curse. And his suggestion is a good idea. But coming from him, the stone-like man… Well, it is a bit humorous.

Your nose wrinkles.

"Yes sir."

He scoffs, "This isn't a command."

You place your cup on a coaster he laid out, nodding. "I know that. But it feels morbid to call you Death each time we speak. And you're much older than me, so sir it is." You grin. You're teasing now, hoping that he notices.

"Death is preferable."

"Amazing and noted, sir."

"Human," he says it as if it's your name. It's annoyed you to no end, how he doesn't utter your actual name. But he wants the boundary and so do you. His hands grip the edge of his island, head tilted. "I don't enjoy your silly games."

You shrug, standing, “Not a surprise to me, immortal.”

His brows furrow at that, head at a slight tilt. “Is that your way of pestering me?”

“You call me human, I call you immortal. Since we don’t like to use names,” Your lip can’t help but quirk on the side. Knowing the chance of him falling in love with you or caring for you at all is minimal, it’s easy to speak to him. The stress doesn't linger like it does with others. It's a bit… calming being around him. Even with the looming threat of consequences resting upon your shoulders. "But I don't have time to continue speaking about this. Work is in an hour," you say simply. "In eight hours I'll be available."

He doesn't say anything, even as you give him a quick bow, stepping out of his home. The click of the door makes his eyes shake, questions resting in his mind. You're a strange one. He doesn't quite understand how you work. Sure, most humans are predictable and you were in the beginning too, but now he isn't too sure. This feeling; there's no other way to call it but comforting. And he hasn't felt that in a millenia. He glances at your tea cup, half empty. He knows humans in and out. Except you. And he doesn't appreciate that in the slightest.

Especially when you rudely leave the home, not waiting for him to speak. Though that may partially be his fault. He was swarmed so deeply in his thoughts and emotions he couldn't utter a word. He places the cup in the sink lightly, leaning against the ceramic framing.

"Hell," he whistles, pushing his hair from his face. Yunho is right, though he’d never admit it to his face. Something odd is happening with him and he doesn’t particularly enjoy it. Nor does he hate it. But what he does dislike is being in this odd limbo with his emotions, unsure of what to make of them. And he hates to admit it even more that he enjoys being around you. Enjoys. He almost scoffs at the word.

His chest swims.

-

You balance Lily in your hands, placing her in her new pot with cycled dirt. It’s not much, but you’ve seen her grow over the past few weeks, shedding the dead leaves from the summertime. You hope the heat lamp is enough to have her last for a while. Your phone buzzes, a new message from the groupchat with San and Woo. You haven’t left it because you want them to know you’re working on it. They message it often, not expecting a response from you, but wanting you updated on the happenings in their lives. You’ve kept the read receipts on, just for them to note that you’re not ignoring them. Completely, at least.

You open the chat, a paragraph from San on Wooyoung’s condition. It’s worsened, that you know from visiting him in secret. You hate to see him lying on that bed, different wires and tubes tied up and around him. Though he isn’t critical, he’s been placed in a medically induced coma, his condition not looking great. Your hands shake as you skim over the paragraph, San explaining that the doctors are still unsure what’s happening. Wooyoung’s always been healthy, and a scare like this just doesn’t make sense. Your eyes flick to the last sentence, thumb hovering over it.

He’ll never blame you for this, y/n. And neither will I. We love you.

San hasn’t spoken up about his condition and there isn’t any way for you to see him without ruining everything. But if he loves you, or is close to it, he’d be in the hospital, just like Wooyoung. He seems to have noticed that you opened the message, his chat bubble appearing. San is taking a while to finish, so you continue cleaning around your home.

A knock on the door interrupts your session, your eyes peering into the peephole. Your brows furrow, swinging open the door.

Death stands there in oddly casual wear for someone like him; a granite turtleneck tucked into dress pants, black shoes. He holds an umbrella in his free hand, the other tucked into his pocket. It’s freezing outside, the shiver traveling through you as you stand there. He tilts his head, a different pair of glasses resting on his nose. It’s a darker gray. If you peer deep enough, you could see the outline of his eyes.

“I can tell you’re not accustomed to guests,” his lip quirks. “We’ve been standing here for over a minute and you still haven’t invited me into your home.”

You open your mouth to speak, but stop. You’ve read several books in your lifetime, and all of them mention how you’re not supposed to say enter your home to a stranger. He seems to notice the hesitance in your eyes, stepping around your frozen figure and entering. You hold in a snort, closing your door. He glances at you as he takes off his shoes, placing his umbrella on your holder.

“Make yourself right at home, I suppose,” you frown, staring at his back as he takes in your apartment. His eyes flick to your plants, landing on Lily. He doesn’t say a word nor does it touch it, turning back to you. “Why are you here?”

“You haven’t left your home in days.”

“I’m abiding by your own words from the journal. Why risk it?”

His brows furrow, “I did not say remain in your habit for an extended period of time. Being cautious does not mean you have to forgo everything you may enjoy, or desire to partake in. And I explicitly expressed that you spend your last days with your sight seeing or experiencing things before it’s removed forever.”

You roll your eyes, resting against the curve of your sofa. “There’s nothing I want to do.”

“Doubtful.”

“You don’t even know me.”

There’s an odd look on his face, lifting one brow. “You are quite a silly one. No matter. I’ve come to lead you out of your home.”

“I’m on lunch I can’t just leave–”

“Will you let frivolous human things hold you back from seeing what you’d like?"

“What you call frivolous is what I call survival. I can’t just drop everything and go. I need money to live.”

“Ah, that?” He reaches into his back pocket, pulling out a wallet. Without another word, he steps closer, reaching for your crossed arm. His hand is warm, placing it between your fingers before stepping back. “It holds a credit card. I am wealthy by human standards, so you may use it wherever you like.” You don’t dare open his wallet. He only sighs deeper, taking it from your hands and opening it. He flashes a black card, holding it out to you. Your eyes widen, staring at the name on it; initials engraved on the back in bold. “You seem alarmed.”

“You’re giving me a black card. Do you have any idea what this means?” You look at him. His brows are still furrowed, so you continue. “An unlimited amount of credit? I can’t… only people who are wealthy can hold a card like this. I can’t take this from you. Especially with my name on it.” It feels heavy in your hand, the metal shining as you stare at it. You hold it out to him but he doesn’t reach for it, taking a step back.

“You needn’t worry about that,” he shakes his head. “I’ve lived longer than this currency has existed, human. The money means nothing to me. And you now have your own card underneath my finances.”

What the hell is going on?

You shake your head again, placing the card on the coffee table, “I’m not taking it.”

“Did you not say you were worried about your living situation? Will this not help you survive?”

“I…” It will, completely. All of your financial worries will dissipate into nothing, only leaving the lingering emptiness of not having anyone to be friendly with. Except for Death himself, and he isn’t exactly open to the idea. “I will not accept.”

“Humans and your dignity,” he murmurs, placing the wallet back on the table. You notice your name sewn into the leather, tailored to you. Why he cares so much is beyond your comprehension, but it still makes you unnerved. What changed in the time you’ve spent with him? All you’ve done is talk, maybe make a few jokes that aren't well received. And now he gives you access to his endless supply of funds? You rub your arms, goosebumps slowly forming on the skin. You are only a nuisance to him, nothing more. He can’t care. He doesn’t even know how to.

So you ignore the way your throat tightens, the way your hands tremble looking at him. He doesn’t know how to love, and you cannot love yourself. And that is as far as it can go.

–

“It is entirely a disaster in here,” you note, glancing at the piles of books in his personal library. You hold back a sneeze, pinching your nose. “When was the last time you’ve dusted? All of these books seem centuries old.” Your gaze moves to a novel sitting on the edge of a table, Shakespeare clearing written across the cover. “Perhaps even more.”

“Years of spending time on Earth has allowed me to indulge in the literature that your minds provide,” he says, picking up a novel from the floor. It’s so old that the words have faded, dust embedded into the spine. “It is a strange place in there, you know.”

You laugh, not noticing how his grin cracks at yours.

He failed.

Well, not entirely. He hasn't felt the chills or the sickness that you told him to others who have loved you prior. Nothing that has kept him bedridden for days until illness took his life. No, he hasn't made it that far yet. But he does like you. He likes the way your nose scrunches in disgust when you see the mess in his bookkeep. The way you gasp slightly each time you find out new information. The way that you smile, a bit hesitant, until it encases your expression, eyes crinkled. He finds it endearing. And he's delighted each time he gets to witness it.

It's the worst thing that's ever happened to him.

He cannot fall for you. There's the curse of course, but that is only the beginning. Desiring a human. It is a sin. It's happened once before and caused turmoil throughout the gods. He never thought that he'd be the one to do that. But there he was. Stirring his tea, watching you walk up the steps to his home. Elated to see you. He caught himself displaying a brief smile on his lips when he noticed your shiver from the cold. No wonder there's an influx of dead, cursed souls around you.

People often say that they think of the one they love at every given hour, every minute, every second. But Death, oh does he hate the spaces between those seconds. They feel much longer to him. The flickers of thought that do nothing but burden his mind of things that cannot be. The moments of time within seconds where he only thinks of you.

It is too easy to fall in love with you.

So he is determined to not be one of them.

He found someone to place the curse on, only days away from removing your sight and leaving your presence completely. He should be glad; less risk for himself. And he will finally be able to take off the glasses that have been stuck to his face for ages. It’s a win for the both of you. You can finally visit your friends, watch them recover. He should be happy. He really, truly should be.

And if that’s the case, why does this horrible feeling encase his soul?

“That deep in your thoughts you cannot hear me?” You tease, head tilted as you stare up at him. He hasn’t told you his given name, afraid that passing the barrier may lead to your demise. Yunho hasn’t even visited him recently. That alone terrifies him to no end. Why are They not saying anything? Is there something that he’s forgetting? You haven’t done anything remotely sinful, and neither has he. Is it a sign that They’ve given up? “Death?”

He looks down to you, your warm eyes meeting him with concern. He passes you the book in his hands, making sure to not touch you. The last time he did he couldn’t stop thinking of it, chest tight even now at the mere thought.

“It’s quite a mess in here, I’m not sure why you’d want to explore it.”

“I have my sight for only a few more days, it’s best to make use of it. And since you haven’t touched this room in centuries, it’ll take me a while to go through it all. It’ll occupy me for the next few days.”

“I’m a bit shocked you’d like to spend your last days with sight in an old library.”

“Believe it or not,” you pick up a book from the floor, a bit surprised it’s a manhwa. You flip through, before looking at him, “I do love to read.”

He left you alone soon after that. You sit in the middle of the floor, legs crossed as you clean off the books with a cloth, arranging them in their own separate piles. You noticed immediately how he liked to arrange them, his favorite books worn and torn in several places. You kept those to the side, standing and placing the newer-looking ones on the already dusted shelves. He was right, there had to be hundreds of books in the long room, piles and piles that seemed never ending.

You move to the next shelf, noticing that there’s just journals resting on these. A part of you wants to explore, see what goes on in his head. But some things are too personal to be revealed, so you move on to the next.

“Your soul is more pure than you give it credit for,” his voice appears behind you, and you jump, turning to look at him. He holds a plate in his hands, lunch resting just on top of it. “You’ve been in here for hours without nutrients. It’d be rather unfortunate if you died before reaching your goal.”

“Thank you,” you take it from his hands. He nods, stepping around you. His hand lingers on the bookshelf, plucking one of the older journals sitting on a top shelf. One you couldn’t reach, mind you, but nevertheless. He flips over the cover, humming softly.

“It’s an older one. When I was around five hundred years old,” he looks to you. “Not much to speak about back then.” He turns the journal to you. Shapes and odd symbols stare back at you, nothing you can comprehend. In all honesty it just looks like scribbles. “And not too sure what this says.”

“Do you not remember?” Your brows furrow.

His lips curve into a slight grin, “Would you recall anything from thousands of years ago? A long life doesn’t mean a long memory. The farthest I can think back is a little over a hundred. Some key events that go past that. But not everything.”

“I never thought about that.” It makes sense. You can barely remember what you did last week, let alone a year or so ago. Though your life is rather mundane, especially in comparison to the man in front of you.

“Though most immortals can remember thousands of years,” he says, placing it back on the top. “I’m rather unique in that sense. Since I was born a human, I have a lot of limitations. Thought processes are one of those weaknesses. It’s rather annoying,” his frown deepens. “You haven’t the slightest idea how small your brains are.”

“I’m going to pretend you didn’t just insult the human race,” you snicker, taking a bite of your sandwich. It looks like he bought it from somewhere, probably the deli you saw on the way over. “So you don’t remember most of these books then?”

He nods, “Correct. A lot of the languages are no longer in my vernacular. It isn’t as interesting as the films you watch. It’s hard to remember things even as an immortal. If I don’t use the language often I’d have to learn it over again. Right now I only know around fifty or so.”

You cough, blinking at him. “Fifty?”

“I’m sure I’ve spoken hundreds in my time alive. And I’m not fluent in all of them. But knowing a few key phrases is enough for me. I don’t need to be excellent, I only bring souls to where they need to go.”

Right, the Death thing and all. You haven’t asked anything about that, knowing it isn’t your place. Even with the growing curiosity. He leaves at random intervals in the day to do his duty. Sometimes it’s as if it doesn’t affect him, and others… The darkened expression on his face says enough. He doesn’t let it linger much, disappearing after a few minutes or so. But you can tell it’s hard to do. It’s not a job you’d wish upon anyone.

“You have that strange expression on your face again,” he says, gaze glued to a journal in his hands. “Don’t allow those unnecessary thoughts to linger.”

“Easier said than done,” you mumble. Your eyes are on the table as he moves closer, his palm resting on the wood. Rings of various metals and designs rest on his outstretched fingers, some with languages you can’t point out. He rests his other hand next to it, forcing you to look up. He leans down, meeting your eyes with his darkened ones. “I don’t know how to force myself to not have emotions.”

“Do not pity me, human.”

“You’re stuck. In this cycle of Death. How could I not? No one chooses who they’re born to, that I know. But placing this curse on an innocent child is…”

“The same thing happened to you, and you do not pity yourself.”

“Because I have accepted it.”

“And you believe that I haven’t accepted mine? I do not enjoy bringing souls to their death, human. It’s not fun for me, but it is what I must endure. Just like you, though yours will be lifted and I will be stuck with mine. At least I'll be able to meet their gazes now." He moves back, one hand still resting against the wood. “It is the least I can ask for.”

You pity him, no matter how much he insists on you not. It’s hard to just push those emotions away. He was born into this position, and all you are left with is a lack of sight. You adjust yourself in your seat, eyes cast down. “Do you enjoy this?”

“Enjoy?” His brows furrow. “Enjoy what?”

“This pretending not to care. Pretending that you will be fine with it when anyone with eyes can see that you’re not.”

His lips lift, “In a few days you won’t be able to see it at all.”

“Humor isn’t going to make me stop pitying you.”

“It’s not humor, human. It’s just the simple truth,” he sighs loudly, cracking his neck. He rubs it slowly. “And I don’t care. Not as much as I used to. What will that do but delay the inevitable? If you wanted to know, at some point I did care. I rebelled against it. That only led to me suffering more. You haven’t the slightest idea what it feels like to be stuck in a standing crypt for half a century.”

“That’s-”

“Don’t,” he notes, shaking his finger at you. “The gods are listening. Be mindful of your words. Thoughts are nothing we can control, but what we say willingly is. Keep that in mind." He takes another journal off the shelf, flipping through. "It was painful. The only reason I was let out was because of my mother. She felt that it was enough time and released me. And as you might have already guessed, it's a rare occurrence for me to ignore the gods' wishes."

"I understand." There's nothing you can say to make his pain less, especially since it spans over a thousand years. You're sure that even yourself would be complacent in your position. He wants change, that you can see from the removal of his stone curse, but not to the point where he leaves his role as Death. "Thank you for helping me."

"It is a positive for us both," he says simply.

"I know that. But still, thank you. You didn't have to say a word about it but you did. You helped me. You're giving me a chance to learn how to let people love me, and how to love them back. I know I haven't lived as long as you, but I can only thank you for understanding how I might feel," you move around him, grabbing your clothes and wiping off a shelf. He doesn't respond to you and you don't expect it, the tapping of his steps fading as he leaves you alone in the room. Once the door clicks shut, you drop the cloth. The trembling of your hands makes you suck in a breath, holding back the tears that threaten to fall. You haven't cried this much in years, not since you were a mere child realizing that no one could care for you. Being around Death, seeing your almost friends suffering, all of it just weighs on you. You'd rather his curse not continue to another, but there's little options left. And you believe that it's your right to be a little selfish.

The tear slides down your cheek, running your hands over your skin to catch it before it begins its long descent. You're caring for Death too much when you know he will no longer be in your life. You're breaking your own promise to him, and you're not sure what to do. He's right about most things. Except one. Emotions are uncontrollable. The tightness in your chest when you think of him is unfamiliar. It's a feeling you've rejected your whole life. Quite ironic how it happens with the one person that it cannot.

There's no way you can love him.

–

"It's frigid, my hands are shaking," you shiver, glancing to the side. Death stands there, hands tucked in his pockets as he looks up at the building. You've passed by it often, your fear overriding everything else. Museums are often occupied by wandering, lost souls. You wouldn't dare be the one to pull anyone down deeper. He ignores your complaints, taking two steps at a time. You grind your teeth, pausing for a moment before following behind him. The guard waves him in without the fee, bowing at you slightly. You bow, brows furrowed once you enter.

"You didn't have to pay?"

He shrugs, "I am one of their highest donors. I've already paid enough for several lifetimes. Ah, there it is,” he looks back at you, turning a corner. You struggle to catch up, hands wrapped around a brochure you took from an employee. You almost hit his body when you turn the corner, catching yourself. He faces the painting in silence. You follow his gaze, staring up at the painting. It’s massive; filling half of the wall. It depicts an angel, in its arms a demon-like creature. You can barely see the child’s face, covered mostly by shadows casted. He tilts his head as he stares up at it.

“This was a painting of me,” he says softly, pointing to the child. “That angel was a depiction of one of the gods holding me when I was just born. Believe it or not, I didn’t have any afflictions first pulled from my mother’s womb. But They decided that it must be so. An innocent child, could you imagine that?” He looks at you. “Well, perhaps you can.”

“My curse is nothing like yours,” you say softly, moving closer to the painting. The lines are harsh around the child, bold in their strokes. Angry, even. If it weren’t so high up, you’d like to touch the dried paint, feel how angry the painter was who made it. You turn to look at him. “You didn’t deserve that.”

“And neither did you,” his voice is low, hesitant.

“How long ago did you paint this?” You ask. A laugh escapes his lips.

“A wise human,” he notes. “Several centuries ago. I was angry for hundreds of years. Painting was one of the few outlets I had to myself. Paintings have happened since the very beginning of time, in one form or another. It helped a lot when I couldn’t handle my own thoughts. I’m sure this paint is mixed with my tears,” he runs his fingers through his hair. “Though I’m not as angry as I once was, I sometimes come in here to remind myself. I felt things strongly before. I hurt. It grounds me, helps dig through the muck and wretchedness of the world.”

The conversation slowly mellows out as you follow him around the museum. Anything you ask about the paintings he tells you with ease, almost too easily. You can tell he didn’t lie; he definitely came here often. It makes your stomach twist, knowing that you’ve missed out on so much because you were afraid of the outside world. Afraid of meeting people. You took it too far, and now you don’t have a chance to get some of that time back. Meeting Wooyoung and San changed your life, yes, but you wished that maybe, if you were strong enough back then, you could see the world. Before you’ll never see it again.

“What is one thing that you’ve always wanted to do?” He asks after a brief moment.

“Is this a trick question?” You ask, brow raised. He shakes his head. “I don’t know. I mean, I never really thought of it.”

“Don’t be silly, human. All of these years with your own thoughts, and you haven’t had one desire? Nothing at all?”

“Is it that unbelievable?”

“It is. Now, tell me.”

You pause. Though you enjoy listening to his words, whenever he pries into yours makes you nervous. There’s often something else between his words, other things he means. Him asking a question like this unsettles you. He leans down to your height, his height matching yours. Though you can’t see his eyes, you know he’s staring directly into yours.

“I can tell when you’re thinking too hard, human. This isn’t a trick.”

“No one has ever asked me what I wanted,” you say simply, swallowing slowly.

“Entirely your fault,” he notes, straightening himself. “It’s better for you to enjoy your last moments, than wallow in sorrow at a life lost. I know it may be difficult for you to think of something for yourself. Selfishness in that regard does not run through you. But I am giving you a chance. It would be wise of you to take it.”

“Seoul Tower,” you say softly, fingers digging into your sleeves. “I was always afraid of going there because of all the people lingering around. I don’t think I’m that afraid anymore.”

“Fear is often a hindrance in everyday acts. Though yours is more worrisome than most, a part of it is irrational. You know that no one would love you at mere sight, but on the off chance it does happen, you’d blame yourself for it. It is an endless cycle, leading you to where you are now.” Strangely, a smile decorates his lips. It is slight, yes, but it is still there. A bit hidden behind the shadow of a sculpture on his face. “Close your eyes for a moment, human.”

You look at him weary, brows furrowed. He waits, head slightly tilted. You overcome the bit of stubbornness within you, shutting your eyes. You feel his hand slowly encase yours, fingers curled into one another. His touch is soft, smooth. Warm. And if you were bold enough to say it, it felt a bit loving. A quick tug pulls you against his body, his other arm wrapping around your torso, pressing your back against his chest. He covers your eyes with his free hand. You feel as he leans down, lips close enough to your ear to touch. He doesn’t, though.

“Open your eyes, human,” he removes his hand, fingers still interlocked with yours. You open your eyes, heart almost dropping at the sight.

The two of you stand at the top of Seoul tower, the sky suddenly dark, starry city lights flickering around you. You move closer to the windows, the darkened interior only making it bright. “It’s…” you trail off, hand trembling against the glass. You’ve dreamed of being at the top since you were a child, desperately yearning to see the city below. As you grew, you settled with the fact that you wouldn’t ever stand at the top. And yet here you are, alone with a man who calls himself Death, watching lives move around you.

“I can understand why you’d want to see this,” he says, moving closer to you. You tense, realizing that his fingers are still embraced in yours. You almost let go, but he tightens his hold, shaking his head. “If you let go, we’ll be back at the museum. I should have warned you earlier.” The way his tone changed, it’s as if he feels pity for you. Having to settle with holding him when you feel the exact opposite. His touch is strangely calming. "I apologize for the misstep."

"I don't mind it," you say simply, grip tightening. His heart flutters at your words, face almost showing it. “I’m just amazed that there’s no one around at this time.”

His lips lift, “Oh there are plenty of stargazing humans. I have just hidden them from your view so that you may enjoy it on your own. Years worth of avoidance doesn’t diminish in just a few nights.” He rotates his finger, a brief gathering of a crowd around you, noises picking up. But just as he does it they disappear once more, leaving the two of you alone. “And I can see why you don’t enjoy it. They’re quite a nuisance.”

You laugh, looking back at the city. It’s one of the last things you’ll ever see, one of the last moments in time you’ll ever experience. The moment should be somber, spirits down. But instead, you’re all but gratefully, gaze moving back to him. Though you can’t tell if he’s looking at you, the way he cocks his head, as if asking you a question, is enough to know that he’s meeting your own eyes.

“Thank you.”

He doesn’t say anything back. No you’re welcome, not even an acknowledgement that you’ve uttered the words. And you don’t expect anything at all, continuing to stare out into the night. He doesn’t mention how warm your hands feel when they’re entwined in his, nor the way you subtly tighten it, as if to make sure he’s still there with you.

“Is death quiet?” You ask. “Should I be afraid?”

“Your loss of sight isn’t your death, human.” He knows that you’re not asking that, though for some odd reason he doesn’t want to answer why he’s worried about you bringing up the topic. You’re not dying, not anytime soon. He’s made sure of that. “Worry not.”

“I know that, you’ve told me explicitly. I just… I mean, will it hurt? Will I be alone in my thoughts as my life fades? Should I be scared of that day to come?”

He tilts his head, thinking. You keep yours resting against the glass. It’d be humorous if he weren’t so confused as to why you’re bringing up such a conversation at a time like this. “Death is scary,” he says simply. “You lose everything you’ve known just like that. At least, that’s what humans tell me when I bring them to their designated place in the afterlife. They are scared of what’s to come, scared that they will miss what it is to be human.”

“And what do you believe?” You turn to him. Your voice is still, steady. Though you show no fear on your features, he can feel it. “I… If something were to happen to Wooyoung, I don’t want it to hurt. I don’t want it to scare him. I’ve lost so many people over the years because I wasn’t careful with their feelings. I made the mistake of letting them in. I’d be afraid if I suddenly became ill, then died."

"If I may," he interrupts. "None of the humans died by your hands. It is more complicated than that. Trust when I say that the only humans you should be worried for right now are the pair you know. Letting yourself fall back down into that hole of despair will only make you feel worse."

"Then? How am I to pretend that I didn't see them pass? How can you ask me to forget the poor souls that perished in front of me?" You let go of his hand out of anger. The scene immediately pulls you back into the museum. You pay no mind to passers-by. "You expect me to pretend that it doesn't hurt me, knowing what I've done?"

"I'm saying that it's no fault of your own. Why can't you just trust my words–"

"You expect me to just blindly follow the words of a reaper of Death? Is that what you think? You've seen people die over and over so it may not affect you, but it hurts me. It hurts me so much."

"You think as if each death is filled with woe and trepidation. That is not the case, human. Not everything is negative. I have told you several times without fail that not all death is horrid. I have shown you that it could be beautiful."

You scoff, grabbing your back off the leather seat in front of the painting. "How could death performed due to my influence be beautiful? They've passed on because they've loved me. It's the most wretched thing I can think of."

Death holds his fists tight on his sides. You've seen him irritated, sure, but this void. Lack of emotion. It oddly reminds you of when you first met how. How easily he spoke of your curse, how he didn't care about anything you told him. You should be elated, jumping out your shoes seeing him not care for you. Instead, it only places fear in your heart.

You say no more, turning on your heel. Just as you push and exit through the doors, you're on top of a roof. Your heart drops as you almost fall over the edge. You hold back a scream, stumbling back. Your body hits a solid man, turning back and seeing Death stand there.

"Let me go." Your tone is stern. "I don't need this, whatever you're doing. We stay on our own until we must be together. And then we won't have to see each other anymore."

"You haven't let me express myself and instead interpreted my broken sentences for truths when I barely spoke half of it," His steps to you are slow, your fingers gripping the ledge. He leaves barely a few inches between the two of you. "Why must you defy me at every turn? All of this would have been much easier if you just listened to me. Once. If you just listened, nothing would be like this."

He moves back, fingerings dragging along his sculpted hair. It messes it up, strands sticking every which way.

"I've forgotten how stubborn humans are. In the end none of you are gods, none of you listen to reasoning beyond your own pitiful knowledge and only follow what you know. The limits that you hold yourself too, forcing yourself into these boxes you've created with your own desires and thoughts, unwilling to move past it unless you're on your last breath. Humanity is insufferable."

"You could let me go and not have to deal with it any longer," you feel small on this extensive roof. Sure, you could run, but it seems like he wouldn't let you go an inch without his ranting heard. And if you're honest, some of his words ring true.

"You do not understand what I'm telling you. I have forfeited so many things so that we could be free of our heavy burdens. So that you may walk this Earth free to love and be loved. Death takes, never gives. And yet here I am, sacrificing my own being for your benefit."

"I have no asked you to do this–"

"When you were in my home, figuratively on your knees in front of my eyes and begging to be free of this curse the gods gave you, I could have said no. I could have ushered you away and let you continue to live your life, eventually forgetting about the being named Death that didn't care at all for your feelings. I could have done that. I could have done it all."

He's saying so much and so little. If you were to see his eyes now you're sure they'd be desperate in their gaze, begging you to understand what he's telling you.

"What are you saying to me, Death?"

He moves quickly to you now, your body pressed against the ledge. He places a trembling hand against your back, the other holding himself up so that you're not unwillingly pushed against him. He leans down.

"I did not want to love you."

You can feel the strength of his words by how he holds you– gentle, but steady. Despite the way his lips trembled he didn't move.

"You promised you wouldn't. You don't love me," your voice is soft, nervous. Fingers digging into the fabric of your pants. Your gaze doesn't dare match his. Out of anger, no. But the fear of the truth. He couldn't possibly love you. Perhaps he cares. Maybe liking you a bit. But love, he cannot. He would be dying.

"Death cannot die," His voice breaks off your train of thought. The soft touch of his hand envelopes yours. You don't resist, even as his lips move to the side of your face, a breath away from your ear. "I could love you endlessly and it wouldn't hurt me in the slightest. I made that promise with you so that you'd stay true to your own. So that you wouldn't be afraid."

"You lied."

"You would have doubted the truth."

"I want to run."

"Then I will run with you."

Your breath hitches. "And if I didn't let you?"

"I'd very reluctantly release you from my binds, human. It is as simple as that."

A laugh behind you makes you tense. Without another word, Death presses you against his body tightly, staring at the intruder. You could barely turn around until he lets you, meeting the eyes of someone new. You haven't seen this man before. Locks of blond hair frame his face, disappearing beneath his coat collar. He holds a scythe in his hand, the other tucked in his pocket. He doesn't say much, sitting on the edge where you just were, lazy meeting your gaze.

"It's unfortunate that we've met this way, y/n."

"Who–"

"Leave," Death interrupts you. "We still have two days until the curse is lifted. She hasn't done anything wrong."

"Ah, but you have. Were you not in a pact with her? Do not fall in love. She said it simply, and you agreed because you thought you'd never do it. Now look at where we are," he gestures around the three of you. “On top of an old building, her last breaths were taken in the presence of two immortals. It is definitely a story to tell if she truly had any relatives or friends. Quite unfortunate that she does not. Not any fault of her own, of course.” His grin is strangely wide and gleeful despite the words. He lifts himself off the ledge, seemingly matching the height of the man who stands next to you.

“We’ve done nothing, Yunho.”

“We, what an interesting word choice. I have warned you countless times what was to come if you grew closer. You know this and yet you let it continue,” his smile slips as he moves to you. “You were not meant to die this way, but the gods proclaimed it so it must be done.”

“You’ve followed their words your whole life. When will you decide that their words aren’t set in stone?”

“We’ve talked about this-”

“And?” Death insists. “You will kill an innocent?”

“I don’t have a choice in the matter, that you know well. If I do not perform this I will perish myself,” Yunho looks to you, lips in a straight line, lightheartedness gone. “I want you to be happy with her, Mingi. I want you to enjoy every waking moment, every new experience of new love, new infatuation. I want you to experience it all, as your greatest friend. But as a reaper of death, I cannot allow it.” He stares at the weapon in his hand, his thumb dragging along the handle. The fear in your heart only grew as he stared at his weapon. There’s sympathy in his words, that you could tell. But between that was genuine and unrelenting truth. He didn’t want to do this, no. But he had no other choice. A part of you respected that, him living his truth. All of you were burdened with one thing or another. Yours was love, Death’s- no, Mingi’s, his was Death itself. And Yunho, loyalty. Though you barely know him, it’s an odd trio.

Mingi opens his mouth to speak, but he stumbles back, hands letting go of you as he tries to steady himself on the ground. Yunho walks toward you, head tilted as he stares.

“The gods have watched you for a while, y/n. It is a sight to see you in person. Wondrous, in fact,” he smiles at you lightly, head tilting down. Is he bowing to you? “Having the gods focused on your life is an honor, you see. Not many get the chance to be blessed by their influence.”

“Is this what you call blessed?” You could only scoff at his words, shaking your head. “A blessing should not feel like a curse.”

“A blessing and a curse, are they not one in the same?” His brow quirks, sliding to his friend behind you. You follow his gaze, perspiration coating Mingi’s forehead as he struggles to stand. His fingers dig into the concrete, cracks echoing around you. You try moving forward but he shakes his head, forcing you to stop in place.

“Death-”

“He can only help himself, pretty,” Yunho says, moving next to you. You tense up, his hand resting on your shoulder as he watches Mingi. “His sheer will is what’s keeping him cemented to the roof. If he gave up, he’d be able to save you. Unfortunate.” His grip tightens. You can feel his nails digging into your skin, a cry spilling from you as you fall to your knees. Yunho keeps his hold, ignoring how you claw at his hands. “Will you now defy the will of the gods? You’re no longer wanted on this Earth, human. Your time is complete.”

“No…” you feel the tears falling down your cheek as he pulls you up, pain shooting throughout your body. “Please,” you beg, looking into his eyes.

“Yunho.” Mingi struggles, lifting his head. “Let her go, she’s done nothing.”

“You are above me in rank, Mingi. So in continuing to respect you, I warned you beforehand. Falling in love with a forgotten creature is what you were warned of countless times. And yet you continued anyway. You continued to fall in love with her,” Yunho looks down at you with pity. “Both of your curses would have been lifted but you couldn’t resist her charm.”

“She is no immortal.”

This time Yunho laughs, “You think They would curse an innocent soul out of pure enjoyment? Or a strange test? My dear friend, y/n is not a normal human. Her soul has been cursed for eternity. Do you not recognize it?” Yunho pushes you to the ground beneath his feet, his hold gone. You cough, unable to move. His words make no sense in your own head. You’ve been a human your whole life, there’s nothing that is godly about you.

“She is a human.”

“Half-human. Her mother was an empusa. Fed on her father and sucked the life from him then ate him. In fear that she would be just like the abomination that was her mother, they’ve cursed her very being. She was born before the gods could stop it, and was thereafter cursed for eternity. Her soul is older than even yours, Mingi. Any one who encounters her dies just as they love her so their soul is still pure before being devoured by her true nature. We would have been rid of her if you just followed what you were supposed to. Not fall in love despite her allure. But you did anyway. You fell in love with the creature, and now you must watch her die.”

He presses his heel into your back, an inhuman scream coming from you. Mingi’s brows furrow as he looks at you in pain.

“She’s nothing like her mother, her soul is pure.”

“That you’re correct about. Her soul is not tainted yet,” Yunho murmurs, leaning down. “She hasn’t eaten anyone yet, so it is sin free.”

“Why would the gods torture a being that has done nothing wrong? They can rid her of the curse entirely and be free of the empusa. It would be that simple-”

“Some things even the gods cannot interfere with,” he says softly. “An empusa are beyond their own strengths. No god could get rid of her even if they’d like. Her soul is eternal. Her mother existed before Them. It would be impossible to just get rid of it, so a curse was needed to keep her in check. You just needed to not fall in love, Mingi. That would have removed it all. But you fell for the charm.”

“Is there nothing that can be done?” Mingi’s voice is desperate now as he looks at you. “You said she cannot die, what’s the use of restarting her life again? It will only lead down the same path.”

Yunho pauses, eyes narrowing. “We would have more time to come up with a solution for her presence. The underworld would have been a good place but her mother assured that she wouldn’t be able to enter it. Is it not a tragedy the way you love it,” Yunho’s tone is sorrowful now. “If it were anything else I’d weep at the sight of his everlasting love for a being he barely knows the true nature of. You can love a devil as much as you’d like, Mingi, and it can love you back. But this does not stop its very being. You are death incarnate, you know the consequences of loving evil.”

Yunho lifts his scythe, pity in his eyes as he looks down at you. “Beg for your life so that you may be able to repent.”

You say nothing, silenced by their back and forth. Your mother is a demon-like creature, and your father was innocent. But because of your heritage, because of the choices they’ve made, you’re stuck like this. A cursed soul, forced to live your short lives and reborn again and again, until the destruction of this world and thereafter. You don’t beg, there’s no use. The only thing you can think of is looking at the man you love just beside you, his eyes still covered by the thick shades.

You wonder how your friends are doing, how Wooyoung will be once your soul is gone if for a brief moment. How San would be healthy once more. Able to live their lives without the lingering chance of you appearing again. Why are you not afraid? You worried for death mere moments ago, why are you so settled in it? Is it because the ones you care for will no longer be threatened by your presence? Or is it because the first time in your short life, you’re finally settled in your own feelings? None of it is your fault, none. It is your mother’s. All of the lives gone is your mother’s fault. And you couldn’t be more grateful for that.

But you still have one request.

“If I may,” you whisper softly, lip lifting slightly. “If you would give me the honor of seeing your eyes just once.”

“y/n…” his voice wavers, lip trembling. “You-”

“You have such a pretty name, Mingi,” your lips are in a bloody grin now, tears falling to the concrete beneath you. “I’m sure your eyes match it.”

“You will be stone for eternity.”

“And if my last sight is you, I will be grateful for all of that eternity.”

“I will not,” he says, shaking his head. “I could not live knowing you were in a frozen state. I will not. I’m sorry,” he moves his head down. You imagine that he’s closing his eyes, his gaze forever lost on you.

“Then will you look at me as Yunho takes this life away?” Your voice is barely above a whisper. “Could you grant that last wish of mine?”

“I-”

“You are one of the few beings on this planet that has made me feel like I could be loved,” your body shakes as you say the words, each one coming out between a sob. “I want you to remember me as the woman who hated looking at the dust in your library, who enjoyed listening to you tell me about your past, who nagged you when you added me on your financials. I want you to remember me as the woman who was too scared to step outside of her home to buy groceries. I want you to remember me as the human who loved you more than you’d ever know. I want you to remember me this way, Mingi, alright?” You turn your head to Yunho, nodding.

Without another word, he lifts his scythe. The last thing you hear is Mingi’s screams just as your eyes shut.

-

It was an indescribable feeling. The way his arms wrapped around you. The lack of fear expressed in your body. You feel their love through each fiber of your being. It was wondrous and calming. It was unlike anything you've ever experienced. For the first time in your short life, you feel safe. When you woke, the feeling still lingered. Like a soft kiss to your skin, telling you that it will be alright.

You gasp, fingers digging into the sheets beneath you. A hand holds you steady, the other resting on your back as you breathe. You look up, tensing once you see Mingi sitting on the edge of your bed. He keeps his glasses on, brows furrowed as he stares at you.

“You’ve been out for a while, y/n.”

You still. Your name. He says it simply, as if it’s the easiest thing in the world. As if he never avoided it in the first place. It’s a change, a big one. Your thoughts are scattered, but one large, lingering one rests in your head. How are you alive?

“He didn’t kill you,” Mingi starts, letting you go. “He split your soul. The cursed one is in the underworld, trapped. He left the human you residing here on Earth. It was a risk, a large one. The gods believed that he wouldn’t be able to do it so They told him to remove your soul completely, but he wanted to try it out. His words were true, there was a chance you weren’t coming back into this body. But in the end, he saved you. You’re no longer cursed.”

You touch your neck, feeling the length of new scar lines across it, wincing slightly. Could it be scarred over this quickly? Has this not happened only moments ago?

“You’ve been in the hospital for a week,” Mingi continues. “Your friends visited you. They just left for home but are coming back soon with other things.”

“Do they know who you are?” You ask. His brows furrow.

“No. I told them I was someone you knew. The strange one, Wooyoung, thought I was your estranged husband, as he put it. But San was the more wary one. After a few hours of convincing them that we were close, they let me take care of you.”

What can you say to him? From what his words tell you, you’re okay now. Your friends are healthy enough to come visit you. The curse must be lifted partially, if not fully. But there’s so much that’s happened. And yet here he sits, glasses still perched on the tip of his nose. He reaches out to touch you again, but you lift your hand, stopping him in his place.

"You do not love me." Yunho’s words linger still.

Mingi’s brows come together. "How can you tell me what I love?"

"If your words are true, if you truly love me then it must be a horrible experience. Loving someone who cannot love you the way you're meant to be loved must feel wretched." It’s true. All of your life you’ve been afraid of the emotion alone.

"Is that so?" His hand rests on yours, lifting it so that it touches the expanse of his chest. He lets it reside on his left side, just above his heart. The beats felt on your palm, residing within your own body. "My mother often told me that one day I would know what love felt like. I would never get it from her because her soul was too damned to feel even a bit motherly toward me. The first time I’ve felt my heart beat was when you entered my home and walked along the dusty bookshelves, asking me something other than what my duty is. And it just continued on after that. My dear human, if loving you makes me feel this way, then I don't mind it in the slightest."

"Neither of us know what it means to love. You could just have indigestion," your words are teasing, though there is a monumental volume of apprehension lining the curves of each letter. "We barely know one another."

"I've known you for longer than you've known me," His head tilts. "I've paid no mind to your existence because it is what the gods demanded of me. But now that I have, I can see why they were insistent on other reapers taking care of your killings. I would have been too enamored to continue on with you like this," His fingers slip into yours, letting his head rest against your forehead. "You are a vixen."

“I want your first love to be someone that’ll be able to love you back, Mingi.”

“Oh how I do love the way you say my name,” his lips lift. “Promise that you’d say it again.”

“Mingi,” you move away, "Everything I want to say to you crumbles between my lips and disappears into the winding wind," you grip his hand, gaze looming on the buttons lining his sweater. "It is a battle between me questioning myself on if I should look at you with this much desire, or if I should push you deeper away into the crevices of my mind so that I would move on. But the deeper that I push, the more the cracks form. The more my longing for you drips to the ground, grows into seeds I cannot pull out."

Mingi cups your chin, lifting it so that you can look at his face. His teeth dig into his lips as he anxiously waits for you to continue, fingers trembling against your skin. Death shaken at the core by a mere human is a laughable offense. No one would believe it if you were to ever tell the tale.

"Does this mean that you yearn for me as much as I do for you?"

"It means," your hand travels along the outline of his body, before mirroring the same hold that he had on you. "That through this frenzied despair I have realized that I do love the reaper of Death more than I ever should, and it fucking terrifies me to no end that his want for me will never match the inane craving that I have for him. That this love for you scares me, truly. That you will one day grow tired of me and move on to someone who would love you less."

"My dear," His lip curves into a grin. "If you think of your love like this, then I must be lucky to have a woman like you who wants me in such a way."

A knock makes you pull away from him. Wooyoung stands there, balancing a basket between his fingers. His brow raises as he looks at Mingi, before meeting your gaze. “I thought you were dead.” His hair is a deeper red. You can see how much healthier he looks, cheeks full and gaze wide.

“Woo,” San hisses, appearing behind him. His shoulders release the tension once he meets your eyes. “You’re awake. I bought a set of utensils and bowls for your kitchen, since we’ll be over more often now.” He notes, glancing at Mingi, “I apologize for Wooyoung, he’s often unable to read the room. Like right now,” he grips his arm, pulling him from the doorway. You hear commotion in the kitchen, your front door slamming shut, leaving the two of you alone.

You can feel your face burning as you look back at Mingi. A sly smile captures his lips. Without another word, he takes his glasses off. Deep, brown eyes stare back at you, a beauty mark just underneath one of them. They hold so much as they meet your gaze, blinking slowly, flicking all over your face before meeting your gaze once more. You can see the panic lessen until there is none, hands lifting to cup your face. A laugh escapes his lips, then another. His eyes begin to moisten, thumb dragging across your skin.

His curse has been lifted.

“I can finally see you,” his breaths are hushed, hands trembling. “I can finally look at you.” Without another word, he pulls you close, gaze now on the curve of your lips. “May I kiss you, my dear y/n?”

“No,” you say, and his eyes widen. You laugh, pulling him against you as you fall back against the mattress. You ignore how your heart beats, hands trembling as you hold his face. “I just wanted to see what your eyes looked like panicked.”

A groan echoes in his chest, “A vixen was an accurate description of you.”

“I love you,” you say.

Relief rests in his eyes. Without any hesitation, “And I love you.”

___

tags: @atiny68 @yunhofingers @mingi-banana​ @berryfiavoured @mingki1117​ @user1117sword @sankatchu​ @potaeto-writes-on-wp @a1sh1teruu @atinytease​ @mingkilovur​ @junglewoos @nolxverlikeme​ @dysftopia​ @jenniiee-tm​ @marievllr-abg @charreddonuts @rdiamond2727@mirror-juliet @rge-nini @fireheaurt

[random-and-average]

Yandere Miguel O'Hara with Shadow Wizard!S/O

Author's Note: I spent hours pondering how to make this work, but I came up with nothing that would make sense in terms of the movie. Thus, my rationale is that, if the multiverse details every single possibility and change, then magic has to exist in one of them, right? (Please just let me have this :']) Also, this headcanon is most likely the darkest one I've made so far. With great power comes great suffering, it seems.

Content Warning(s): kidnapping, confinement, mentioned drugging, exploitation, stalking, Google translate Spanish, extremely bad writing

At first, Miguel would try to find a way to use your magic to benefit him while determining your specialties and limits

Of course, those a part of the Shadow Wizard Money Gang Secret Society (SWSS) have to be exceptionally good at magic, so you're no exception

(Although, the society exclusively practices conjuration, transmutation, and necromancy magic because I don't see a Shadow Wizard society practicing things like divination or abjuration)

At the very least, if you refuse to use your magic to serve someone who is lesser than you, you'll just have to conjure random items that Spider-People need, such as a screwdriver or stepping stool

At most, if you're willing to be under Miguel's orders, you will be a semi-member of the Spider-Society, so you'll be brought on missions to aid in maintaining the order of the multiverse

On the off chance that Miguel has free time, he'll demand you see him so that he can witness you utilize your magic

Your universe's Spider-Man, if he is a part of Miguel's society, is internally cursing the entirety of the SWSS for causing him trouble outside of his universe

"Do you guys have to cause chaos in every location you're in?" Spider-Mage complained as he followed you around. As your universe's original Spider-Man, he was tasked to monitor you while you get comfortable at headquarters, though the two of you hated the idea of being in the other's presence.

"And do you have to be a wet carpet in every location you're in?" You quipped. "Spirits forbid you cast a minor transmutation spell! You might just upset the very order of magic with that one."

"I fail to see how using a shrinking spell to make Webslinger think his horse went missing is a 'minor transmutation spell,' but please enlighten me."

"I can't enlighten a fool who thinks size reduction is anything more than a minor spell. Inherent ineptitude isn't something that can be fixed immediately."

"Why you..."

»»-———¯\_(ツ)_/¯———-««

The moment he grasps the full scope of your abilities, including your necromancy ones, he'll start taking up more of your time until all of your days are spent with him

Granted, at this point it's not out of love, but so you can bring the family that he lost and was never able to get back no matter how hard he tried back

And he will force you to truly resurrect them, no matter the price

Diamonds? A body? Something holy? Something cursed? Anything you need, he'll provide it for you

You'll be confined to a solitary room until you get the spell right, unable to see anyone but Miguel when he provides you the materials to resurrect them

He can't afford you being distracted when the possibility of getting his family back is within reach

Unfortunately, the main component of true resurrection is that the soul of the person is willing to be brought back to life

Main problem? Only Gabriella is willing to come back, both of his wives meanwhile...

You can't even plead with them to come back, as Miguel doesn't have either wife's corpse

And he refuses to not have both his wife and child

So you're forced to stay in that cramped room and sleep on an uncomfortable mattress for longer, draining your energy repeatedly casting the same spell

With nothing grounding you to the present except for the buzzing of fluorescent lights, you started wondering how long it had been since Miguel quite literally dragged you to this small room in order to fulfill his deranged fantasies.

'Bring back my family,' he demanded from you as if you could just perfectly resurrect people at the press of a button, and even then, with his distasteful personality, you doubted the reunion would be all sunshine and rainbows.

However, you were starting to get desperate.

You didn't care how he was going to insane lengths to bring back his dead wife and daughter. You didn't care that the former individual didn't want to come back. You didn't care that he somehow was able to not only supply but continuously provide the materials you needed to cast the spell.

You just wanted to get out of this prison.

You couldn't stand the buzzing lights; the stiff spring mattress that reeked of body odor due to you not being able to shower; the putrid stench and humiliating sight of the toilet bucket, stripping you of your pride as a Shadow Wizard; the monochrome color scheme of this spirit forsaken cell that was exacerbated by the grey concrete walls all around you; the lack of being able to interact with anyone, save for the madman that brought you here; and the fact that you were only here to be exploited, to be treated like a tool that can be used whenever and however its owner pleases.

The screeching noise of metal against concrete stole your attention and forced you to look at the only person who would enter this miserable room.

"I have the needed materials."

You couldn't help but sneer at Miguel's statement. His straight-forwardness was refreshing at times, but in this situation, it infuriated you. He didn't even politely request that you cast a difficult spell or ensured that you were comfortable to do so. If only he knew that, back in your dimension, people would get on their hands and knees to beg you to cast a simple spell.

"What makes you think that your wife will allow herself to be brought back? She hasn't done it in the past, so what would make her change now? You might as well give up or settle for only Gabriella being resurrected," you reasoned. Hopefully, he still had enough sanity to know that what he wanted was a pipe dream. If he did, it would mean you would be able to be freed sooner.

"She might have finally come around to the idea that it's better to come back to her husband."

Rage almost compelled you to lash out at him. How easy it was for him to talk as if he was minorly inconvenienced by his wife's refusal when you were the one suffering because of it. Though, you reigned your anger in since you wanted to reduce the amount of time you had to spend in this place.

Miguel would eventually understand that achieving his dream was futile, and some vengeful part of you wished to see him break down in despair when he does.

»»-———¯\_(ツ)_/¯———-««

His feelings for you only start to change once he realizes that, regardless of how many times you cast True Resurrection, neither of his wives will be willing to come back

Miguel is obviously devastated by these turn of events

Suddenly, he is much more aware of how lonely he was this entire time, and it's too much for him to bear alone

So he finds comfort in someone that has no choice but to provide him solace, you

Slowly, with each visit (or counselling sessions, basically), he grows fond of you

You are the only one who stood next to him when he was at his lowest (even if it was unwillingly)

In gratitude, you are let out of your room, but you're limited to the entirety of headquarters, nothing outside of it

He can't let you leave after you saw him when he was the most vulnerable he'd ever been since the loss of his second family; you were special

Eventually, the longer you stay by his side, his fondness for you grows into something else as he takes note of your interests, quirks, and minute features

"Miguel? Miguelllllllll. Are you even listening to me?"

Lyla appeared in front of the footage of you laughing with the other Spider-People as you demonstrated that you, too, were capable of shooting webs like them, forcing Miguel's attention to focus on her rather than you.

"Por el amos de Dios (for fuck's sake), what do you want, Lyla? I'm busy."

The woman gave him a stare that indicated that she didn't believe him. "Yeahhh, busy doing what exactly? Busy being a creep?"

"I'm busy monitoring the anomaly to ensure they don't interfere with the multiverse."

She scoffed, "You and I both know that they have no intention of doing so. If they did, they would've done it already, seeing as they have plenty of magic at their disposal. Obviously, you're stalking them out of your own self-interests."

Miguel glared at the hologram as he turned off the footage with a frustrated huff.

"I don't care what you think about me, but any word about this to anyone else, especially them, and I will erase you. Understand?"

All of Lyla's sass vanished faced with the man's glowing red stare that pierced through her being. Although she wished he was just bluffing, his tone clearly showed otherwise.

"...I understand." And with that, she disappeared.

»»-———¯\_(ツ)_/¯———-««

You'll know when Miguel is completely besotted with you

He will start taking up more of your time, just like he did when he understood your necromancy magic

This time, however, it's not to resurrect his dead family; it's to just spend time with him

It starts out as being forced to have breakfast, lunch, and dinner with him

Then it turns into full-fledged "dates" where he allows you to explore various dimensions under his supervision

Finally, you are forced to choose to have a microchip implanted in your body so that Miguel knows where you are 24/7; be magically bound to Miguel through a sacred ritual, courtesy of an intimidated Spider-Mage following orders; or stay by Miguel 24/7

Of course, the man does feel guilty for keeping you in the equivalent of solitary confinement

As a result, he is willing to bend the knee to you at times, giving into your demands as long as they aren't too "unreasonable"

He will spend the rest of his life atoning for what he did to you

Dedicates a space for you in his home where you can cast and experiment with as many spells as you desire

(It has cameras hidden in every nook and cranny in case you start dabbling in magic that'll take you away from him)

Absolutely melts inside when you start becoming less hostile/defensive towards him

(However, if your hostility doesn't stop, he'll simply remedy the issue by sneaking a love potion—once again, courtesy of Spider-Mage—into your drink)

Without fail, he takes a week-long break on your "honeymoon" every year, which usually involves visiting your home dimension

Speaking of your home dimension, the Shadow Wizard Secret Society (SWSS) initially doesn't take too kindly to one of their own being romantically involved with a magic-less person

But as the saying goes: if there's a will, there's a way

After a few choice threats and an offer to provide them with any needed materials, they're perfectly fine with Miguel

Though your colleagues pity you for being bound to such a lowly lifeform

Miguel loves seeing you cast magic and will even set aside some time for you to show him your power if you desire it

Secretly looks forward to watching you teach your future children magic

Gave you access to his desk, so you can also watch the Spider-People

Even allows you to be there while he discusses plans, mainly because Lyla likes having you there

(She sometimes begs you to demonstrate your magical prowess by having you animate objects into recreating the plan)

Will keep you in the dark about plans concerning individuals that could negatively influence you, specifically Miles and Hobie

Jealous of any creature you summon/conjure, even if it's to do a task; though, his jealousy intensifies if it's a humanoid

Goes through the effort of learning wizard customs (courtesy of Spider-Mage, like always)

All things considered, it was a normal day for you. You just spent hours watching movies that Miguel bought for you in his massive luxury apartment, and there weren't alarms about a rogue anomaly. The entire day so far was peaceful and uneventful, really.

And that made the alarms in your head go off.

Your thoughts were interrupted when your homunculus dropped right beside you on the couch with an excited chirp. With a smile, you pet your servant.

"So, is Miguel hiding something from me again?"

It tapped the cushion twice. Yes.

"I knew it," you sighed. "I wonder if it has something to do with Hobie again."

You got up from the sofa with a groan as you stretch, and your homunculus jumped down to join you. However, you picked it up and placed it back where it was.

"You'll have to stay here for now, Empanada. Wouldn't want the mean spider to know who gave away his plans."

The homunculus, Empanada (You honestly thought that it deserved a better name, but Jess jokingly suggested that Miguel would like it more if you named after something he liked), whined, but it ultimately laid down on a pillow, indicating that it wouldn't follow you.

With your homunculus out of the way, you closed your eyes and pictured the meeting area that you were familiar with as well as the empty chair that was reserved for you.

"Teleport."

Rather than feeling the soft cushions of your chair, you felt the sensation of falling from the sky, and when you opened your eyes, that was indeed the case since you teleported a good amount of feet above the ground. "Are you kidding me right now?"

Expectedly, the people in the room didn't anticipate your arrival.

"I didn't know that they could teleport!"

"Gwen, you didn't tell me that there was a Spider-Person that could come out of thin air!"

"Oh ho, that person is the last person Miguel would want to be here."

"Querido/Querida!"

Before you could cast another spell, you find yourself in Miguel's arms while he chided you.

"What are you doing here? You should be back at home!"

"Don't think I'm stupid, Mig. I know something's up when there's nothing going on."

"That doesn't mean you should cast such a dangerous spell!"

"Any wizard worth their salt knows how to cast a teleportation spell. Besides, it's only 'dangerous' if you're not skilled enough."

"...Mi vida, we're having a talk after this."

Miguel set you gently onto the ground, and you steadied yourself before you saw that there was a seemingly new addition to the Spider-Society, a Spider-Man who looked to be bleeding out of his armpits.

"You didn't tell me that you recruited a new Spider-Man, Miguel."

"That's because I didn't. I had Jess bring him here because he disrupted a canon event in Earth-50101."

"Lemme guess, someone was supposed to die, and he saved them, right?"

"It would be for the sake of the multiverse-"

"So you say. Anyways," you turn to the new Spider-Man, "what's your name?"

"Miles. Miles Morales."

There was something about him that made him stand out from the millions of people you've seen across your life so far. Even though you've never touched divination magic, you could tell that Miles was destined for great things.

And you wanted to be there to experience those things.

"Something tells me that you and I are going to get along real well, Miles."

[reds-skull]

Not Alive, Nor Dead

[PREV PART][AO3 LINK]

Two chapters in the same day? It's more likely than you think.

I was on a roll, so I just wrote another one, hope you enjoy haha. Some real fun characters get introduced! I'm very excited. Also reading your tags is very fun ty all <3

The very day after their long chat, Ghost’s ears pick up Soap’s laughter when he enters mess. He and Gaz are sitting together, being menaces to society as they used to. The Scottish Sergeant spots him a few moments later, and practically beams at him.

Ghost doesn’t know enough good words to express his relief at the sight.

The two Sergeants wave him over obnoxiously, so he takes his morning tea and sits himself beside Gaz, filling his vision with Soap.

He and Garrick often drink tea together at the early mornings, and Soap notices the two mugs of identical beverage and mutters, “fuckin’ Brits…” while taking a sip of his own disgustingly black coffee.

Ghost kicks him lightly under the table and lets Gaz get blamed for it.

The three of them get summoned to Price’s office soon enough, and now they’re all expectantly standing at attention in front of the Captain.

Ghost distantly thinks of the amount of direct orders the lot of them disobeyed in the last week or so and internally cringes. Well, the good part of the day is certainly over.

“The amount of headaches you muppets give me will make me die before age 40, Reapers give me strength…” The man rubs at his eyes.

Ghost steps forward, “as their commending officer, I take full blame for the Sergeants’ misbehaving-”

“Oh I’m not punishing you will you stop with the formal tone Lieutenant” Price lets out a small chuckle, “but you all better be on your best behavior from here on out, that clear?”

“Yes sir!” they all chirp as one. Ghost thanks Price more privately in his thoughts.

“Now… I’m afraid I got bad news and good news.” 

“The good news is that MacTavish is no longer under any other command beside mine.” The meaning of the words trickle through each soldier.

Soap looks the most grateful, eyes shining at Price with unwavering loyalty, “Thank you Captain”.

“Don’t thank me yet, son. I had to make some sacrifices for this transfer.” Price becomes annoyed, “we got a job to do.”

“What’s the catch?” Gaz raises an eyebrow.

“We’re under General Shepherd for this one, boys.”

Ghost’s fists curl like his stomach. His old CO. One of the bastards that signed on his original misuse of Limbo. If the residents of that empty void had enough soul left in them to understand the bigger picture, many of them would curse the General instead of him.

As it stands, he takes on all the burden of the General’s past sins. As always.

Price echoes in his head, “they wouldn’t let me take Soap otherwise. I’m sorry Simon.”

Ghost calms at that. If he has to do one last job for Shepherd to have Soap permanently join them, he’s willing to behave.

He knows Soap is worth it, somehow.

Turns out, Shepherd was just the gates to the hell that was this mission. International human trafficking ring, several soldiers missing along dozens of civilians, the suspected collaboration of ultranationalists from a handful of countries and one drug lord that only goes by “El Sin Nombre”.

The taskforce spends the week combing through the intel they have along with Laswell, trying again and again to make sense of this shitshow. The data doesn’t add up - there’s no reason for people all over the globe to be interested in the human trafficking. The majority of them are arms dealers and warmongers. If it was only military personnel, it would’ve made more sense, but what do civilians from Las Almas have in common with SAS soldiers?

Ghost was sitting at the 141 common room on one night, eyes burning and brain mushy from the amount of information he’s been trying to cram into it.

He takes a moment to survey the room. “Common room” isn’t really the right term for it; it was a small spot near their barracks, containing a tiny kitchen, a table and a couple old sofas. He was sitting at the table, where the lighting was the best, and reading through documents related to the PMC they spotted dealing with smugglers back in Switzerland.

Soap and Gaz were doing the same, but at some point have fallen asleep, now leaning against each other and snoring lightly. Gaz, as he often does, started floating in his sleep, leaving Soap barely hanging onto his legs.

Finding the view comical, he went over and pushed Garrick lightly. Like dominoes, they fell on top of each other, startling awake.

They both sputtered and blurringly looked up at Ghost. He dead panned and ordered, “go to sleep in your own beds, Sergeants.”

Soap was about to open his mouth to complain when Gaz yawned and took hold of the back of his shirt, dragging them both in the direction of their rooms. Not before Soap let out a small “g’night LT”.

Ghost would stay up a few more hours before he could reunite with his own bed.

They had a little more time left until the transport to Mexico, so Price decided to let them loose on the revenant training grounds. 

Unsurprisingly, Ghost got authorization to use Limbo. Now that Shepherd is in charge, he expects it to happen quite often. He should’ve been at least a little glad about it, with Limbo potentially being calmer.

He can’t be.

His brain supplies him with ample nightmare fuel, mostly starring his taskforce teammates screaming at him from Limbo, calling him a monster.

Price’s eyes burn a permanent spot at the back of his head, taking in all those thoughts. The Captain does his best to distract him from that line of thinking, but Price isn’t always there to fill his mind with the calming smell of tea and the warming sun on a rainy day.

His attention returns to the junkyard, where Soap now stands. He looks as apprehensive as he did the last time they were there, but he looks up at Ghost, and they nod at each other.

Since what happened at his room, they became… closer. Soap trails after him often, chatting about everything and nothing. It helps with the incessant screaming in his head.

Soap punches a truck, blowing it with enough force that the soundwave shakes the watchtower. He has to admit, watching Soap at his element, destruction surrounding him, fire catching on his arms without burning him, a glint in his eyes that would make grown men piss themselves…

Ghost feels something bubbling inside him. It’s warm and strange, and he pushes it back down.

Soap tries the ‘rocket technique’ Gaz has been begging him to give a chance to. He drops to the ground, and blows the earth underneath him.

Ghost doesn’t know if to laugh or shout when the Sergeant actually launches up, flailing and screaming for dear life, before being caught by a giggling Gaz. The poor Scot hangs onto Gaz like a kitten stuck on a thin branch, and they both float safely to the ground.

They stop laughing quickly enough, when Price’s voice booms through all of their brains to howl at the Sergeants’ dangerous tricks.

Soap’s range goes far enough by now that he’s not spared.

The night before they’re to be transported to Mexico, Ghost observes Gaz sitting on the roof of their barracks, alone and staring up to the skies.

He spots a ladder nearby and quietly makes his way up, eventually sitting down next to Garrick. The Sergeant wasn’t surprised by his arrival, instead turning his head in acknowledgment.

“Price’s thought leaked the other day.” Gaz airs.

Ghost hums for him to go on.

He turns to look at him, “if it comes to you using Limbo when we’re nearby-”

“It won’t” Ghost grounds. He doesn’t need someone to affirm his fears.

“If it does,” Gaz bulldozes on, “I’ll make sure to get everyone out safe.”

He sharply turns to study Garrick. They have a small staring contest before Ghost rises up with a sigh, “make sure you’re out safe first, Gaz.”

The Sergeant doesn’t respond, but is taken by surprise when Ghost offers him a hand, “we have a long day tomorrow, best to get to sleepin’ Garrick.”

The other soldier frowns before huffing a small laugh, taking the offered hand and getting up as well, “thought the Ghost doesn’t need sleep.”

Ghost sighs miserably, “one of many myths I wish were true.”

The flight to Mexico is a boring 11-hour ordeal. Evidently none of the Sergeants got enough sleep last night and are now snoring away, this time with Gaz safely secured by seatbelts.

Ghost and Price remain vigilant, exchanging words in their minds from time to time, but mostly leaving Ghost to sink into his own memories.

Last time he was in Mexico was… his own Reaping.

He remembers the dirt caking his lungs, the squelch of decaying flesh under his fingertips. The constricting feeling in his chest, as if his body knew, it doesn’t have long to live.

And the jarring shift when he appeared above ground, turning around to see his own unmarked grave.

Ghost now sees those ladder-like patterns, swirling around the plane interior. Price and the Sergeants fade away, and he sees his Reaper forming, a being of multicolored flesh and six unsettling eyes, molten light leaking from where its mouth should’ve been.

“SIMON RILEY”

“Reaper.” He suspiciously answers. His Reaper doesn’t appear when times are well.

“YOU KNOW OF THE REVENANT OF DESTRUCTION?”

Ghost frowns, “Usually goes by Soap.” 

“HE IS A DANGER. BRINGER OF DEMISE. STAY FAR FROM HIM IF YOU WANT TO GO ON LIVING.”

The Reaper fades away, ignoring his shouting.

“Simon? You solid?” Price’s voice floods his mind, a stark difference to the sharp, overwhelming scream of his Reaper.

Ghost takes control of his frantic, erratic breathing to something closer to normal. He sharply nods before warning Price away from his brain for the next while. He needs to maul it over, alone.

Soap is going to kill him, according to his Reaper. Or ‘bring his demise’, whatever the cryptic fuck meant. 

He’s almost mad at his Reaper for even suggesting Soap could do something like that. Soap, who decided he rather blow himself up again and again to atone for his sins, instead of using his extremely powerful abilities. Soap, who looked at him with no fear from the moment they met each other. The person he spent months thinking about, a single mission with him turning his world upside down.

‘Bringer of demise’? Fuck that.

If he’s destined to die, this time for good, by the hands of Soap, so be it. He looks over at him now, face slack in his sleep.

If there’s someone he’d be content with killing him, it would be Soap. He just hopes it won’t weigh on his conscience too much after he dies.

Reapers know it won’t be his fault.

They land after far too many hours, Ghost left with an empty feeling after the meeting with his Reaper. After hours of thinking about its words, he’s no closer to figuring out exactly what it meant.

The feeling fades a tad when he eyes Soap waking up, blinking into consciousness, and when he notices Ghost watching him, gives him a lopsided tired smile that Ghost wants to see every morning for the rest of his life.

The force walk down the ramp with their duffel bags, towards two men expecting them on the tarmac.

“Captain Price! It’s good to finally meet you face to face”, The taller man grins and approaches Price to shake hands. The one behind him smiles slightly at Soap and Gaz, but when he looks at Ghost his face pales.

Looks like he hasn’t lost his old charm just yet.

The men introduce themselves as Alejandro Vargas, Commander of the Los Vaqueros, and Sergeant Major Rodolfo Parra. They and the 141 will cooperate on this upcoming mission, and the taskforce will be residing at their base.

Ghost stays by the sidelines as the two parties converse, overlooking the surrounding scenery. The ladder-like patterns still swirl around the edges of his vision, as he listens to Soap talk with Vargas.

Soap says “I’ve never been to Mexico…” when Alejandro responds

“This isn’t Mexico…

This is Las Almas.”

ohohoho love using one (1) line from the campaign. Anyway I should really go to sleep now no more chapters for today!

[ink-sunflower]

A token of servitude (Sukuna x Reader)

No spoilers Words: 1095 Warning: yeah, it’s a sukuna ff after all, so there might be present some violents, dark content (though not something too much)

Summary: Reader travels to Heian age and meets Sukuna

✧❁❁✧✿✿✧❁❁✧

Time is a thread with innumerable beads that are brimmed with life occurrences. It’s like a jewellery, and the treasure of it can never be purchased by a mortal. But in the world of jujutsu sorcerers, curse users and curses, one doesn't seem so unattainable.

My curse technique allows me to perceive the priceless jewellery of time. I’m called the Time Walker, but the comprehension of my ability is vague. Even I can’t be sure about how my powers work.

But one thing I know for sure: the beads of the past are unalterable and do not yield to forging. Therefore, we cannot change it. The outcome we encounter in the present is a sequence of actions taken from the past. Meaning, even my ability of travelling within the thread of time can do nothing to the formed beads. The future though is flexible. Obtained knowledge help reach the desirable result.

My master has burdened me with a glorious purpose. I have to go to Heian era to find the sword of the Damned. The blade of the weapon is so sharp that it cut everything. Even in Heian period it was lost somewhere. And my task is to find that place.

One being was seeking it. Ryomen Sukuna, the King of Curses. Just his name brings fear. The powerful and the cruel being whose name alone is enough to make people tremble with fear.

One thousand is a significant number to pass. Yet it’s the least obstacle.

So my life brought me here. One moment, in the midst of busy streets. But after my eyes has falls shut and curse energy has started flowing through my vanes, the world started shifting. It takes no time in a basic understanding of the phenomenon. For me, though, it’s different. I can’t count time spending walking on the thread, calculating the right among of beads to bypass. Time as a measurable unit looses its senses here.

And after nothing but everything, a warmth of sun rays combined with placating breeze welcome me in an old era.

Feeling a bit drowsy, I spend some time sitting on the ground, unmindful of the outside world.

My state of was interrupted by a rustle of glass. I decipher a pair of human beings coming to this area.

Deciding not to reveal myself to them, I take a place to hide.

Now that they’ve become closer, I am able to discern the essence of their conversation.

“Do you think the rumours are truthful?” One of them babbles.

“Of course they are. He’s tall and monstrous. Thought some women would die to spend a night with him. Perhaps, If we are lucky, we’ll find one willing one,” the other replies. “Lord Sukuna rewards handsomely for nice offerings, brother.”

“And maybe we can have fun before handing her.”

Disgusting. Those pigs are not better ones from Zenin clan. But they can be of use. I think it’s time for a show.

“Help me! Somebody, please!” I yell, falling down to the ground. This got they attention immediately as they run to me. “Something was haunting me!”

They took a look around the forest but obviously find nothing suspicious. That makes two brothers glee thereof, they share a malicious grimace. One brother takes a rope to bound the prize and present it to the King of Curses like a toy enclosed with a ribbon.

“The luck is on our side today, brother.” And they have never been more wrong.

That’s what I need – to make them think of a prey that they have caught. A nameless face to give away as a some trinket. I give them something more to gloat: purity, so they think of me as even more worthy price.

I do not need my eyes to know that we’ve arrived to Sukuna’s shrine (or temple, whatever it is). An overwhelmingly magnificent and ominous energy emits from the walls, the power of which makes you suffocate on its presence.

Inside the shrine, I can behold the King himself.

There he is, sitting on his throne, his posture is confident and chin is high. Sukuna’s pink spiked hair slightly pushed upfront and black lines adorn his face and mighty body. The drawing in old books capture nothing of the real image.

For a second, a small second, my gaze is caged within his eyes. A bolt of emotions strikes though me, causing goosebumps to form on my skin. Was it dread or rather… excitement? I feel something that draws me in, something more subtle and complex.

A monstrous entity with four arms says nothing, but a predatory smirk appears, unrevealing his fangs.

Perhaps my boldness amuses him. I’m grateful to still have my head.

Two men pushes me to the ground, kneeling before the King. They’re forcing me to bend so low, that my forehead meets the ground.

My cue to act.

Breaking the robes with the help of mu cursed energy, I do not give them time to comprehend a single thought and seize their flabbergasted state to take care of brothers. With a swift motion, I punch them into their snouts of faces, making them land hard on their backs.

The smallest of them is knocked out within the first attempt, the other is tougher, it seems. He tries to stand up and blow a hit, but with a kick in the stomach, he ends up on the floor once again.

It is not enough for my satisfaction. The person does not deserve mercy.

Even though he knew he couldn’t have something in intimate senses in order not to stain his prize, it did not deter his hands from inappropriate touches. But I had to play a part, so I held back. I could tell, it was nothing new to the brothers, to treat women like this, and their misogynistic conversations made it difficult not to throw up.

I can pay back now.

With strong determination, I lift my leg and deliver a straight hit on his “valuable” part between his legs. A loud screech thunders though the walls. (🐣 An omelette is ready to be cooked)

The curtains close and I kneel before Sukuna. He exudes a powerful and sinister aura, just looking at him gives me a mixed feeling of awe and terror.

“My Lord, may I present you my offerings, these two fine pigs.”

Sukuna cackles wickedly, his deep voice rumbles, leaving a ringing in my ears. It flows effortlessly and enchants to listen to it.

“Well, that’s quite intriguing. Let’s see what else you have in you.”

°。°。°。°。°。°。

How was it? Should I continue writing the story?

[neverchecking]

Oh my godddd I love your writing sm

And I also love @welcometothefairgrounds , I am her 🧚‍♀️ anon. May is a lovely person

If you’re doing requests, could I get yandere time? My daddy issues are calling lmao

If not feel free to ignore, I got too excited and forgot to read lmao

- @fairly-linked-buffet (don’t want this on my sfw acc and tumblr is being dumb so here)

I love her sm! She is honestly a gem. I'm glad to have someone from her page here with us! And don't worry! Requests are currently open so you're all good!

Some Father Time to bless your day, Darling~

I really liked how this one came out so I hope you do too! Personally, one line in this- Idk, it hit me and I wrote it and I still am just :O everytime I read it.

(IDK if I got his sword right??? I think I did, but idk-)

CW: Just some disturbing imagery, but it is Yandere!

Anything

Warrior's Hyrule was just as nice as it was last time he was here. The people still bustled as they always did, calling out demands, or bargaining for a better price, maybe haggling over a trade. It kept the streets busy and full, foot traffic flowing in every which way. Exactly why Time needed to keep an eye on you at all times. Not only an eye, but a hand. Your fingers, delicate and slim, were kept interwoven with his own, feeling so soft against his calloused digits.

Every bit of you was so soft when compared to him. From your gentle movements as you walked, with the sway of your hips and head, to the calculated movements of your hands whenever you patched him up, not that he ever wished for any blood, let alone his, to sully your perfect skin. It always pained him whenever you had to see him injured in any capacity. The pinch in your browns and the furrow of your lips, all of it enough to make him internally panic before trying to fix it. Having you upset in any capacity was enough to poison his mood. He was built and formed to be a weapon of destruction, unbeatable and a figure invincible to anything thrown at him. A weapon fit to protect only the finest of jewels bestowed upon humanity. You. He was convinced he was put on this wretched world for you. To protect and love and cherish someone as soft as you. Till his dying breath and even then he would be hard-fought to not crawl out of his grave to ensure your safety.

All of that to say, he kept your hand clasped tightly in his with no intention of letting go. Not when the risk of you getting lost, or run over or goddess forbid hurt was too high. While he was more than happy to escort you wherever your heart desired, he was not willing to risk your wellbeing in any way, shape or form. That was too far beyond what he could allow. At least when he was with you while you went from stall to stall, he could watch over you. He could use his stature and his attitude to ensure your safety.

Time knew he was tall. And Built. And looking every bit a soldier the other knights of this time wished they could be. And he knew how to use it. He knew how to angle himself in a way to shadow over anyone who thought they could fool you into spending three times what the object was worth. He knew how to set his jaw and level his brows to...dissuade any possible passerby's from leering at you. He knew how to be intimidating to anyone but you.

Sweet, perfect you who saw through all of his defenses and touched him like he was a porcelain figure. Like he was capable of laying down his weapons and being a regular civilian. Like he was nothing more than the man you proclaimed him to be.

Like he was not a pagan of war but rather a child of peace.

It's what made you so perfect for him. Someone so akin to a saint saw something worthy of loving in him and clung to it. And he'd be damned before letting your love go to waste. Why waste it when he could use it to live? Live for someone, something, other than himself and that damned duty bestowed upon him. That destiny he was cursed with by that fraud of a Goddess. Why waste his time and feelings on hating the circumstances placed around him by a fake, when he could devote his being to his real goddess?

That's not to say everyone else saw you the same way he did though. He saw you as an otherworldly being worthy of his respect above all else.

Apparently that went above other pests comprehension though.

Time had been keeping an eye on him the whole time, with his greasy, clicked back hair and sunken eyes. Looking every bit a rat Time thought him as. He slithered about like a worm as well, watching you and your every step. Nothing seemed to deter him. Not any of the glare's Time shot him, not any of the ways he stepped as to cut off his view from you, not the Biggoron sword clunking against his hip in an unsaid, but no less serious, threat.

He just wouldn't let up.

He even looked brave enough to consider approaching you, one foot stepping past the shadows of the stalls and alleyways.

Kill him.

He need to take care of him. Take him away from you before he could sully your divine form. He could feel the power of the unspeakable buzz beneath his skin as he stepped closer.

KiLl HiM.

He could do it. He could easily do it. Take care of the pest. Drag him behind one of alleyways after finding one of the boys to look after you for the time while he took care of this degenerate.

KILL HIM.

It would be elementary. He had probably faced Bokoblins that put up more of a fight than he would. He was short and stout, something Time's own broad form shadowed at least twice over.

KILL HIM

His sword would just slice right through his flimsy flesh, painting his surroundings a dark red as his worthless body slumped to the ground, before being left to the wolves to pick apart. He doubted even those feral beasts would touch such a slimy creature such as this merchant, who was still inching closer.

KILL HIM KILL HIM KILL HIM KILL HIM KILLHIMKILLHIMKILLHIMHESGETTINGTOOCLOSEKILLHIM

Just as his hand raised to the hilt of his sword, your hand, perfect and soft and light and grounding, settled on his forearm. "Ooh, look, Time!" Your eyes, gorgeous pools of every color he saw in his dreams, were alight with excitement as you remained completely oblivious to the stray in the background. "There's a bakery! Can we go, please?" You then turned your pout to him, melting his fiery rage into a simmering pool.

It wouldn't disappear, oh no, but it would be lowered from a boiling rage, full of livid restlessness and cold turmoil, to a stewing annoyance. Something he would nurture and let grow into a full fledged plan to dispose of this creature. It no longer had to be quick, not anymore, now it could be a slow and painful demise worthy of daring to creep on his Goddess.

He smiled, that special smile just for you, as he used his free hand to gently angle your chin upward to meet his eye just a little more. "Of course, darling, your wish is my command." If only you knew what you could wish from him. What he would do to ensure it came true.

Anything to see you smile.

(Anything. Including sneaking off in the late of night, nodding to Wars and Twilight, who were on watch, and disappearing into the night.)

(Anything. Including breaking into a non-assuming house, full of dust and mold, vines crawling up the sides. Doing so practically silently.)

(Anything. Including pulling out the Biggoron sword and holding it high enough the moonlight reflected off of it just enough to gently light up his target. )

(Anything. Including plunging the tip of his blade into their shoulder to pin them to their stack of hay and blankets, holding a hand over their screaming mouth as they shot to the conscious world.)

(Anything. Including spending the late hours making sure this filth understood exactly where he went wrong. Exactly why this was happening. Making him think he had a chance at life. Making him believe that Time would let him go. Only to snuff that pathetic life away with just enough time to clean up and get back to you.)

(Anything. You just had to wish it.)

[shady-tavern]

Preview for "The Price of a Life" the March Patreon Short Story

(warnings ahead for murder and implied, attempted assault, please take care of yourselves)

*.*.*

Rani grew up with neglectful parents and a little brother who was treated like he could do no wrong. While she was often tasked with looking after him, receiving the blame for any and all misbehavior, her brother was given pats on the head for being such a strong willed rascal.

It wasn't the easiest time growing up and as soon as she was able, she spent every minute out of the house, helping the miller with carrying sacks of flour, holding horses still for re-shoeing at the blacksmith's smithy and in the evenings she was wiping down tables in the tavern. 

Any excuse to stay away and earn some money was pounced upon without hesitation. She was soon known around town as the girl who accepted any job so long as someone paid her for it. 

No matter how rough and tough it was, she lifted her chin stubbornly and no matter how hard it became, she was determined to prove people wrong when they doubted her.

She learned who in town was corrupt and to be avoided, she learned who would attempt to exploit her and she learned how to recognize the glint in people's eyes that promised nothing but pain and misery on her end.

She learned just how hard she had to hit to take someone down, heart pounding with terror and adrenaline as she stood in a dark, damp alley. A stone smeared with blood was in her hand as she stared down at empty eyes. 

She learned just how deep she had to dig a hole to ensure no wild animals dug the body back out, painful bruises blooming on her skin.

She learned fast and she learned well. Her hands grew rougher than any other girl's her age, she became stronger than many of the boys and she turned into a ruthless negotiator with a sharp intuition for those who wanted to trap her into agreements that demanded too much of her.

Her parents rarely saw her, but the few times they caught her sneaking back home, they were scolding her for being a terrible daughter who was never around and she ought to hand over some of her hard earned coin, they had housed and fed her for years after all.

Rani moved out of her childhood home as soon as she was old enough and the blacksmith flagged her down for an apprenticeship right away. It was hard work, but Rani was used to that and in the evenings she still went around, doing odd jobs for a bit of extra coin.

"I heard that unruly brother of yours got tangled with some unnatural folk," she heard her master say one day, almost half a year after having moved out of home.

They had some massive horses in today and they behaved well under her steady and reassuring hands. She had learned early on that animals liked it when she gave them a feeling of comfort and security, that they liked her calm and quiet words.

"I genuinely don't care," Rani answered, the black mare snorting and finally relaxing, lowering her head and her ears perked. 

She was a sweet one, but a different blacksmith had once badly hurt her while shoeing her and now she got worried and scared easily. It was understandable, in Rani's opinion.

The blacksmith hummed, a low noise that seemed to rumble in his barrel chest. "No one's seen him in a week, people think he ran into the Blood Lords."

Her hands stilled for a moment. Everyone knew of the Blood Lords, of the monsters that called the cursed city beyond the forest their home. Endless rumors surrounded that place, one worse than the other. Anything and everything could be bartered away in that place, from souls to blood and even someone's own children.

The Blood Lords never left their cursed city and while some speculated it was because they couldn't, they didn't need to either. Not when there were people desperate or foolish or arrogant enough to seek them out anyway, thinking they could weasel out a deal in their favor.

Rani had always thought that even her hardheaded brother knew better than to tangle with creatures which knew neither pity nor compassion.

"He'll be back soon, I'm sure," she said, though a part of her was sinking like a stone headed for the bottom of a lake. "He's old enough to start adventuring away from town. He's probably trying to get to the king's city and he'll turn around when he realizes it's a bad idea."

The blacksmith hummed, low and sceptical and Rani felt just as doubtful of her own words. What if her brother had been stupid enough to go to the cursed city? A place shrouded in eternal fog and with the taste of death so prominent in the air it made all but the most foolhardy or desperate flee in terror.

At least, it was like that according to rumors.

Rani focused on her work, but once she was sent away by her master, instead of seeking out one of the people who usually needed an extra hand, she headed to her childhood home. It had been the first time since she had moved out that she had gone back.

She half expected her brother to pop out, scaring her half to death and laughing at her face and the angry but secretly relieved lecture she'd give him. She half expected the little shit to have been hiding somewhere, watching as people fretted and worried, giggling to himself.

What she found were her parents crying their eyes out. Even before they looked up and spotted her in the open door, their hopeful faces falling with disappointment upon seeing that it was her and not her brother, she knew the truth.

Her brother had, indeed, been stupid enough to tangle with the Blood Lords.

"You must save him," her mother began, tone half accusing and half an order, as though she blamed Rani for this situation.

Rani turned on her heel and strode away, angry and worried in equal measure. She had always ended up stuck with cleaning her brother's messes. Had always had to face the anger of anyone he had played a prank on, getting scolded and told to keep him in line, because her parents slipped away from their responsibilities whenever they could.

She was sick and tired of being dragged into their problems, into being blamed. Her parents were two perfectly healthy adults, they should handle this.

She stomped all the way home, to the tiny little apartment over a general goods store she had rented. She passed by the alley where she had fought that terrible man, the rock she had used still lying where she had dropped it. Any blood on it had long since gotten washed away. 

No one had ever found out what had happened to that man.

She owed her brother nothing. In fact, she had told him multiple times to be more careful with his pranks and jokes, that one day he'd bite off more than he could chew. That he had sought out the Blood Lords was as laughable and nonsensical as a louse trying to tear out a wolf's throat. What had he been thinking?

She told herself that it was most likely already too late to save him. The Blood Lords took everything they wanted, they were considered even worse than the fae knights that rode through the forest during full moon nights, luring the prettiest lads and lasses out of their homes to whisk them away for forever.

The Blood Lords lived off of blood and souls and the screams of the anguished and tortured, their veins filled with dark magic and malice. According to rumors at least.

But there was always a kernel of truth to rumors, wasn't there?

Rani stared into her cramped little space, gritting her teeth, until an enraged snarl ripped free and she grabbed her cloak and shoved some things into her satchel before stomping out the door again.

*.*.*

Would you like to read more? Then check out my patreon! Or the masterlist, for more of my stories and other patreon story previews. Enjoy!

[commander-krios]

Everything

Fandom: Baldur's Gate 3 Pairing: Rolan/Dammon Rating: Teen Summary: Rolan's had little time to himself since becoming the Master of Ramazith's Tower. Thankfully, he has friends willing to help him get a break. Words: 3924 Additional Tags: Gift Exchange, Tieflings, Romance, Love, Valentine's Day, Fluff, Post-Canon

Read on AO3

Elturel Tiefling Camp Discord Server Exchange treat for a few Dammon/Rolan lovers!

Rolan had begun taking his midafternoon meal breaks at the Elfsong Tavern, away from the bustle of Sorcerous Sundries. The first reason being it was quieter in the tavern during that time of the day, the majority of the inn’s guests sleeping off their nightly overindulgences while the rest made day trips into the city. The second reason was it made it more difficult for Cal to seek him out with questions about the mundane things, those things that could’ve waited the hour he took to eat and catch up on some reading. This was easier, simpler, and he could sit and ponder his own thoughts before trudging back to some disaster or another at the store.

When someone slipped into the unoccupied chair at his table, however, he was beginning to think that the Gods themselves were plotting against him.

“You look bored.”

Lakrissa watched him with a grin, pushing a glass of wine towards him. He eyed the drink suspiciously before glancing up at her, taking in the perfectly groomed ponytail that tumbled over her right shoulder, her chin propped in her hand, elbow on the table in an undisciplined manner.

“I didn’t order that.” Rolan said instead, ignoring her probing gaze to bury his nose in the book again. She didn’t take the hint, only nudged the glass closer to him. It was a bribe, he realized. For what, he had no idea. “What do you want, Lakrissa?”

She raised her eyebrows before a laugh escaped her lips. “Want? There’s nothing I want from you, mage-boy.”

“Then why-”

“Think of it as a thank you.” She reached into the little pouch on her side, pulling out a scroll, setting it on the table between them. 

Rolan stared at it, immediately recognizing the fancy calligraphy and stamp on the document. Swallowing nervously, he lifted the glass and drank deeply, refusing to be baited into the conversation. She had no proof it was him. The silence between them was tense, but when he finally returned the half finished wine to the table, he cleared his throat, glancing away from her. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I’m not stupid. You’re one of the only people who knew about the bard school. I figured it would be denied. Anti-tiefling sentiment is still high after all of this time, especially so soon after Elturel.” Lakrissa returned the scroll to her bag and replaced it with a hastily scribbled letter. Rolan knew Wyll Ravengard’s handwriting mainly from their recent correspondence. There was no mistaking it. “Wyll said you made a convincing argument about opening a school in a letter. His father approved it because of you.”

“I-”

“You don’t have to say anything, Rolan.” Lakrissa told him, securing the letter with the scroll once more. “You owed us nothing, but you helped anyway. So thank you.”

Rolan blushed, fingers trailing over the page of the tome in front of him. He liked Lakrissa, she was one of the only people who saw the reality of their situation from the start. Elturel, goblins, the shadow-cursed lands… and she continued on despite it all. Perhaps because of it all. Rolan had only made everyone’s lives more difficult with his ranting. But they’d still traveled with him and now he had the means to help everyone. He intended to use it.

But one thing he wasn’t expecting was sincere gratitude. 

Rubbing the back of his neck, his claws got caught in the strands of the hair loosened from his bun. “Uh, don’t mention it. Please, don’t tell anyone.”

At the pleading in his voice, Lakrissa grinned like a cat who caught the canary. Uh oh. “Oh, I won’t tell anybody. For a price.”

A groan slipped out and he buried his face in his hands. “Hells, what is it now?”

Lakrissa laughed, pouring another glass of Arabellan Dry. Then he watched through his fingers as she stood, tucking the chair back beneath the table. She glanced down at him thoughtfully, as if trying to best articulate what she wished to say. Or maybe she was trying to torture him more, he wouldn’t put that past her.

After a moment more, she sighed, waving towards the exit in the direction of Sorcerous Sundries. “Lia and Cal are worried about you.”

That was unexpected.

“Whatever for?” His hands dropped to the table and he had to resist the urge to grab the wine glass as a barrier against the uncomfortable thoughts that spun at the back of his mind. Worried? About him? All he ever did was worry about them, and now, they had everything they could’ve dreamed for. What was there to worry about?

“When was the last time you went out?”

Scrunching his nose in confusion, Rolan waved to their surroundings sarcastically. “What do you call this?”

“Hiding.” 

He scoffed in offense, but didn’t deny it. Because it was true in a way. He was hiding, mostly from Cal’s questions about the Sundries. “I was busy doing work before you so rudely interrupted me.”

“Oh, so rude of me to bring you wine.”

He rolled his eyes, noting her sarcasm but refusing to argue about something so stupid. She was being unusually nice today, but he figured she was as bored as he was, sitting here in the quiet tavern. If she wished to speak to him about something to alleviate that boredom, he’d gladly discuss wine, the latest novel, hells even the Gazette’s more recent gossip, but his personal life was not one of those things.

“How about this then?” She lifted the glass of wine and took a deep drink of it herself. Must’ve been a really slow day. “When was the last time you went out with Dammon?”

His blush deepened at the mention of the man who was… well, not quite his boyfriend, but something close enough. Digging his claws into the wood of the table, he caught the satisfied expression on Lakrissa’s face. She’d gotten under his skin and she knew it. “That’s none of your business.”

She let out a snort, refilling the wine one final time before setting it directly in front of him.

“Don’t you fret, mage-boy. Since you refuse to admit to doing something nice and taking the ‘thank you’ that comes with it, I’m going to find a way to thank you that you can’t refuse.”

“Why does that sound like a threat?”

“Think of it as a promise.” Ruffling his hair like he was one of the tiefling children, Lakrissa laughed when he reached up to knock her hands away in irritation. “And try to be less grumpy, Rolan. As much as it pains me to admit, you’re actually cute when you smile.”

Lakrissa waved before swiping the rest of the wine bottle from the table, leaving with his wild thoughts and burning cheeks. With one final look at the full wine glass beside his book, he pushed his chair back and made a quick exit, intending to put as much distance between him and the Elfsong as possible.

~~~~

“Alfira was here earlier.”

The next day immediately started off on the wrong foot. From the moment he’d woken up, a mischievous specter followed him, creating chaos everywhere he went. First, the lava elemental broke free of its compulsion, wandering outside and nearly setting a house on fire. Then, his projection started malfunctioning, and he had to stand at the desk for hours before Cal came down to relieve him. He’d also had to toss a few troublemaking kids out of the store for trying to steal one of Tolna’s books as a prank.

Gods, he still had a headache from the tongue lashing he’d gotten after.

And now he had to deal with this? It appeared Lakrissa wasn’t simply teasing him, after all.

Rolan glanced up from his accounting books, furrowing his brow at Cal’s words. There were very few reasons as to why the bard would show up at his store and he figured they all had to do with her girlfriend’s threat. “And? Did she say why she was here?”

“Yes.” Cal sauntered over to his desk before dropping a sealed envelope on top of his paperwork. “She left this.”

Rolan stared at the flowery pink paper envelope in concern. “And what is that?”

“Maybe you should open it and read it. It’s addressed to the ‘Master of the Tower’.” Cal sat beside the desk, putting his feet up on the edge. With a glare aimed in his brother’s direction, it only took a moment for Cal to get the hint and drop his feet back to the ground, a sheepish grin on his face. “Sorry.”

He sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose with his thumb. “I’m sure you already know what it says so please, enlighten me.”

Cal nodded, sitting up straighter and smoothing the wrinkles out of his shirt. “They’re throwing a party. For the bard school’s opening. Alfira said it would be a huge favor to her if you came.”

Of course she did. It’d been weeks since he’d done much else besides sit at this desk and update the ledgers for the store: the vault inventory, the supply inventory, the accounting. Lorroakan hadn’t kept any sort of organization for the entirety of his time as Master of the Tower. Rolan didn’t even know if he turned a profit or steadily lost money.

“I have so much left to do-”

“Come on, Rolan. You helped them get the deed to the building. The least you can do is show up and celebrate with them.” Cal dropped his voice, his expression softening significantly. “You should go, have some fun.”

“Does everyone know about that?” Rolan sighed, feeling the fight leave him at Cal’s grin. He never did things for himself, but Cal and Lia… if it meant that much to them, he’d do it even if he hated every second. “Fine. But the moment somebody decides that I need to give a toast because I helped, I’m leaving.”

“I don’t think you need to worry about that. No one is willing to stroke your ego. It’s big enough as it is.”

Rolan coughed to cover the laugh that threatened to expose him. “I think you need to spend time with someone who isn’t Lia.”

“You’re just mad because she’s right.”

Ignoring the barb, Rolan realized he hadn’t seen his sister all week. She hadn’t lived in the Tower for a few months now. The Flaming Fist barracks were comfortable enough and Lia refused to spend every quiet moment with her brothers (or so she said), but she at least visited on occasion. Strange.

“Where is Lia, anyway?”

“Oh, uh…” Cal rubbed the back of his neck and averted his eyes to the floor, pretending to study the intricate tiles. Rolan didn’t need to spell detect thoughts to know that his brother was running through a hundred different excuses for their sister, before choosing what was most believable. Whatever was next out of his mouth was going to be a lie. “She’s… working?”

“Are you asking me or is that your answer?” Rolan tapped his feather pen against the envelope, tempted to open it to see the words for himself. “Because last I remember, Lia works the overnight shift.”

“She’s picked up some extra work.” Cal rushed to explain, standing as if that would stop the interrogation. “Alfira mentioned Dammon would be there. If that changes things.”

“Oh?” He tried not to sound interested, but gods dammit, it’d been too long since they’d seen each other. Maybe a public appearance among drunken bards wouldn’t be as awful as he thought. If he managed to avoid the singing. “I might be able to squeeze in a quick word with everyone.”

He almost missed the smile on Cal’s face as he slipped out of the door. “Whatever you say, Rolan.” 

~~~~

The Elfsong Tavern was in chaos when he set foot inside. Drinks were poured freely, multiple bards were singing off key between hiccups, and others were guffawing and cheering along with the song. Or perhaps it was songs. None of the tunes were the same. Rolan spied Lakrissa near the bar, a glass of wine in each hand. She weaved through the crowd, a bright smile on her face as she watched the revelry. It was all a bit much for him, but he’d promised Lia that he’d make an effort to connect with the rest of the Elturel survivors.

He could do this.

“Rolan!” 

He turned as Alfira appeared at his side, and without warning, she threw her arms around his waist, hugging him tightly against her smaller form. Using her lute must’ve given her a set of strong biceps because for a brief moment, Rolan struggled for air. 

“You have no idea how happy I am to see you!”

She smelled suspiciously like a fruity wine and when she glanced up at him, Rolan immediately noticed her flushed cheeks. “Already drunk, hmm?”

Alfira giggled, nudging his arm as soon as she released her hold on him. “No, silly. I’m having fun. You do know what that is, correct?”

Lakrissa slid up next to them, holding out one of the glasses of wine towards him expectantly. When he only stared back, she raised an eyebrow before thrusting it into his hand. “Take it, dumbass.”

“Uh, thanks.”

“It’s your favorite.” Lakrissa said, handing the second glass to Alfira who took it happily. He slanted his eyes at her, immediately suspicious. “Drink up. Enjoy yourself. There are plenty of drinks to go around.”

He briefly considered asking her what her ploy was. She was definitely up to something, but decided an argument was a worse choice than simply drinking the wine. So, with a forced smile, he took a long sip, waiting for the inevitable hammer fall.

Rolan wanted to leave, these types of events always made him anxious about performing well enough to be considered ‘polite and stimulating company’, but this was their party and celebration. Even if he didn’t particularly enjoy being around all of these people, it wouldn’t be proper for him to rush off. The wine hit his tongue with its familiar woodsy flavor, the berry lingering as he swallowed it down. Lakrissa watched him intently, her mouth twitching into a smirk as if she knew exactly what he was thinking.

“If the crowd is a bit much, there are some fabulous views from the roof.” 

“Why would I-”

Slipping her arm around Alfira’s waist, she turned back to the party, glancing over her shoulder at him with a conspiratorial look. “You can thank me later.”

Once Alfira and Lakrissa blended into the crowd, the sudden desire to flee tickled his mind. It would be so easy to disappear, to return to the Tower and forget this entire night happened. He figured no one would even notice, too drunk and invested in the party to realize that a guest was missing.

But he hadn’t seen Dammon yet.

And despite everything he’d thought earlier, he really did want to see him tonight.

The best course of action would be to go to the rooftop where it would luckily be quieter and wait until Dammon either appeared or he didn’t. Then, he could slink off into the night with no one the wiser.

~~~~

The roof of the Elfsong was much quieter, though the rumble of the party could be heard beneath his feet. With a quick sweep of his gaze, he noted the cushions set up beneath a pergola and a small table with chairs off to the side. The air smelled strongly of flowers: roses, lavender, and fuchsia, a tantalizing combination that helped to ease the anxiety in his chest.

He breathed deeply of the cool night air, not cold enough to need additional layers, but enough to make him shiver slightly as a breeze loosened his hair from his bun. With a disgruntled sound, he attempted to gather the hair in his hands but the wind made it impossible. 

“Leave it. I like it down.”

His hands froze, the strands slipping from his fingers, and he turned, his darkvision making it easy to see what he’d missed during his first sweep of the area. A pair of piercing blue eyes ringed in gold, golden hair pulled into a bun over an undercut, and a set of familiar horns. 

His breath caught at the sight. “Dammon.” 

The tiefling blacksmith slipped his hands into the pockets of his slacks, smiling up at him. He wasn’t wearing his usual garb, the things he wore in his day to day work. No, tonight he looked comfortable in a pair of dark slacks and a loose tunic, tucked into his waistband. Simple, but effective and Rolan couldn’t stop from staring.

“Fancy seeing you at one of these parties. I didn’t think you ever left that Tower anymore.”

Rolan flushed, grateful for the darkness and the wind blowing the hair in front of his face, if only to hide his embarrassment. “Yes, well, things have been busy. Swamped, really.”

Dammon’s gaze trailed over his robes, one of the dressier ones from Facemaker’s, bought at a price that he’d balked at before Lia forced him to hand the coin over. But with how the other tiefling’s eyes flitted across his chest at the gleaming gemstones and down the length of the sleeves at the elaborate embroidering, Rolan knew it was worth it. If only to be admired by him.

“Glad you could pull yourself away.”

There was no judgment, no anger or disappointment, just Dammon being… Dammon. Kind, understanding, accepting. He turned to walk to the edge of the balcony, his face hidden in the shadows. 

Rolan followed without even realizing it. They stood, side by side, so close that Rolan could feel the warmth of his skin on his own. It wouldn’t take much to reach out, take his hand, perhaps press a kiss to the inside of his wrist.

“Lia’s been helping out at the forge.” Dammon’s admission pulled him from his thoughts. The blacksmith glanced down at the street below, watching as the people milled about, laughing and drinking and singing. The party was in full swing, yet here they were standing above it all, watching the city shed inhibitions and find joy in the mundane. They were safe, they were happy, and they were free. “She’s been trying to lighten my load so we could… have this.”

“Some time to ourselves without the crushing weight of responsibility?”

Dammon chuckled, leaning an arm against the banister, eyes on a fixed point in the distance. For a man who worked with weapons most of the day, there was something so soft about him. It’d taken Rolan too long to figure out what it was. His eyes. When Dammon looked at a person, he saw many things but the first and foremost was that he saw their soul. Not the facade they put up, but who they were beneath. At one time, it scared Rolan to be seen so deeply but now… now he craved the horrifying ordeal of being known by another person.

Of being known by this man in particular.

Rolan sighed as Cal’s sudden onslaught of questions, all in regards to the running of Sorcerous Sundries, began to make more sense. “It seems Cal was trying to do the same.”

The sounds of a lute and a lyre floated out of the windows of the Elfsong and people on the streets began to spin in a dance of wild limbs and stumbling feet, too drunk to do much else besides rocking back and forth or falling. The rest of the city stretched out ahead, lights flickering against a velvety black backdrop, the stars above burning as brightly as the streetlamps.

He didn’t know what possessed him. Maybe it was the Arabellan Dry still tingling on his tongue. Perhaps it was the beautiful sounds of Alfira’s lute from below. Or it could’ve very well been the fact that his family, his friends, the people who cared about him, had done so much to give him this peace. 

Rolan’s hand slipped into Dammon’s, noting how easily their fingers slotted together. 

He’d always wanted somewhere to call home. For years, it had been Cal and Lia and the little family they’d built out of the ashes of their lives. But the upheaval by the descent into Avernus, the difficult road traveled to Baldur’s Gate, Lorroakan and everything with the Netherbrain… he didn’t think he’d find happiness again, only pain.

He was grateful to be completely wrong.

“What are you-”

“Shh.” Rolan tilted his head to the side, nodding to the dancers below, a smile curling his lips. “Do you hear that?”

Dammon raised his eyebrows, amusement flitting across his features. “The music? It’s kind of difficult not to.”

“And what do people do when they hear music, Dammon?”

The blacksmith rolled his eyes, but his face softened more than Rolan thought was possible. He straightened, turning towards Rolan with expectation. “Why don’t you tell me? So I don’t get it wrong?”

Butterflies went to war in his stomach, but the challenge in Dammon’s eyes was intoxicating. He was going to make him say the words. Despite his intelligence, his knack for learning and doing things his own way, Rolan struggled with the right words. But action, that was easier. 

His free hand slid along Dammon’s waist, their entwined hands turned into proper position. When Dammon met his gaze again, his eyes burned like blue fire ringed in gold. His tongue felt heavy in his mouth, his heart pounded out like a war drum in his chest, but he managed to force a single question out before he lost his nerve. 

“Dance with me?”

Dammon’s eyes widened slightly before a grin spread across his face. His hand tangled in Rolan’s loose hair, strands sliding his fingers. Then he leaned in, lips brushing softly against Rolan’s, the contact a shock but a welcome one. His mouth was warm in the cool night, and he drank him in like a man who hadn’t touched a drop of water in days. His skin burned, his heart threatened to dance right out of his damned chest, and still, it wasn’t enough. 

Rolan shifted closer, wrapping both arms around Dammon’s waist, deepening the kiss with a swipe of tongues and teeth. Everywhere their bodies touched, Rolan felt like he was on fire, flames beneath his skin threatening to burn him to ash. And it would be a good way to go, he thought, as the kiss finally broke.

Because with the way Dammon was staring up at him, smiling like he was nothing more than a drunken fool, Rolan understood. What they had was important, as important as anything else in his life. And he was going to fight like hell for more nights like this.

“I thought we were supposed to be dancing.” Dammon whispered, breath ghosting against Rolan’s cheek as a laugh left his mouth. 

“Do you want to?” He asked, hoping he didn’t sound as breathless as he felt. “Dance, I mean.”

Dammon ran his hand through his hair again, but his gaze never slanted away. Chills ran down Rolan’s spine at the intensity of his eyes that he almost didn’t hear the words. “It was your idea, but I like this too.” His lips brushed against Rolan’s briefly before he pulled back, nothing but tenderness on his face. 

And Rolan couldn’t help but agree. 

This was nice.

It was everything.

[captain-mj]

MJ!! HOLY!! That warrior AU is freaking amazing!!

I'm humbly begging for a part 2 🙏🙏🙏

I'm way to invested now haha

A ton of people sent me Requests and i appreciated all of them so much!! Here y’all go. Part 1 here

Also I am so willing to make a 3rd part (and possibly more I maybe have several planned already) so feel free to just ask!

Ghost was a great sinner. He had perfected the art of it. Had broken every command. Coveted, killed, used God’s name as a curse. Slept with many people and had never been married.

But right now. This might be his greatest one. 

Soap had fallen asleep. He had moved in the night, gently leaning into Ghost. This was the sin that would damn him. 

Soap’s gentle breaths. He could feel them through his shirt. Gentle and even. Ghost should get up. Should shove him off. He didn’t. He enjoyed the heat of Soap’s body, relished in the false vulnerability. 

The morning light fell over his features, illuminating him. He looked so relaxed. His strong features catching the light in a way that made him look ethereal. 

Soap began to stir and Ghost quickly sat up, trying to erase what he had been doing. He stood up easily and pulled his coat back on. The house was well insulated, but it had still gotten cold in the night with no fire. 

“Finally, you’re up.” Ghost glanced down at him, watching him slowly blink awake. He reached down and cut his binds. Soap rubbed his wrists and Ghost noticed with a wince how red they looked. He’d have to find something a little more permanent soon. 

Soap looked at him with soft hooded eyes. “Ah.”

“Hope it was a dream?”

“Aye. Was dreaming you were a pretty blond lass. Real disappointed to see you.” Soap huffed and sat up. He stretched, muscles rolling under his skin. “How long are we going to share a bed?”

“Until I can find a way to make sure you don’t escape. Thought this was slightly better than tying your ankles to your wrists and leaving you in the living room.”

“Sick bastard.” 

“Never said I’d enjoy it.”

“Don’t have to. Can hear it in your tone.” Soap rolled his shoulders before shivering. He looked... so tiny. So cute. 

Ghost looked away. “I’m going to be busy. A guard will be outside the door. They’re instructed to kill you if you try to escape.” 

Soap looked at him with a small glare but nodded. “Fine.” 

Ghost glared at him. “Soap. Don’t make me have to hurt you. Just stay put.” He really didn’t want to. Just needed him to stay there. Stay safe. 

Ghost was not honest with himself if he could help it. He tried to avoid it to the best of his ability. But he had already lied to Soap and Shepherd, no use also lying to himself. Shepherd believed he wanted Soap to torture him for all he did on the field. That wasn’t even close to true. Soap was told that Ghost did it so he wouldn’t boost Shepherd’s ego. That was slightly closer. 

Ghost thought of Shepherd talking with Price. Price had looked uncomfortable, but Shepherd was there leader so they had to bite their tongues. Shepherd detailed what he would do to Soap. Described how he’d break him. Make him a concubine by a different name. 

Ghost had felt a strong mix of feelings at what he had talked about. Disgust at how casually he discussed assaulting him. Nausea as he remembered his own time as a “Spoil” under a cruel man. A heavy amount of hate. 

But underneath it all was a current of seething jealousy at the thought. It had caught him off guard. Even now, something possessive curled in his organs. He honestly didn’t want to hurt Soap. Soap was defeated after all. No need to be a sore winner. 

That didn’t mean he didn’t want to do other things to him. But lust was a sin and sinning was something Ghost excelled at. 

He’d never let Soap, or anyone for that matter, know any of this. He barely admitted it to himself. 

Before he left, he gave Soap some water and told him to cook if he wanted. 

“Don’t burn my house down.”

“Or what?”

“We’ll be homeless.” Ghost had deadpanned and Soap had laughed, looking shocked before he quickly looked away to fix his expressions. 

“Aye. Suppose we will.” 

Ghost nodded and walked away. He pulled on his gear, feeling Soap staring at him. He tried to turn around to catch him in the act but Soap looked away just fast enough. His hands clenched hard, taking a deep breath. 

Ghost didn’t touch him. Not once that morning. 

Price waved him over and he went to sit next to him. “You knew Shepherd wanted him.”

“Yes. That’s why I asked for him. Knew he couldn’t say no to me in front of everyone.”

“Simon. Careful.”

“I’ll be fine.” Ghost reassured. “It was worth it.” 

Price didn’t looked convinced but he let it go. The two of them talked about any news in their town. Price kept him up to date on things since he avoided leaving his home unless to go fight. His sword felt heavy on his hip. 

Alejandro and Shepherd joined them after a while, letting them finally start the stupid meeting. Ghost hated these. It was full of useless strategizing based on information that was probably fake. They weren’t on the field and none of them would agree on how to handle it, they never did. Inevitably, whoever was out commanding people would make a call and they’d pretend they never had the meeting in the first place. 

It was cycle. A vicious one that Ghost hated. 

The nice servant brought Ghost tea though. It was good tea, strong with sugar. He sipped it as they talked. 

“So, about MacTavish.” Alejandro spoke up and Ghost tried not to look at him, feeling an intense feeling of betrayal. “He still kicking?”

“Yes. He’s still alive.” 

Price looked at him, seeming to have just now realized Ghost never said what was worth it. All three of them were staring at him.

“Wait. He’s still alive?” Price asked.

“What are you doing to him?” Alejandro sounded slightly scandalized.

“What is he not doing to him?” Shepherd sounded a lot more interested. 

Ghost thought over his options. “He’s... alive. He makes a good bedfellow.” Lies. He stole the goddamn blanket. But the double entendre was enough to throw them off. 

Shepherd hummed. “Details?”

“No.” Ghost continued to sip his tea. He could feel Price’s disappointed stare piercing through him. Part of him wanted to explain that it wasn’t like that, that he hadn’t actually done anything, but if they thought he was keeping Soap for that, they wouldn’t question him not killing him. Soap would stay safe. His reputation could take the hit. Hell, may even raise it among certain of his men. He made MacTavish his whore. 

The idea made his nausea return. 

“So that’s why you wanted him. Should’ve known.” Alejandro smiled, but Ghost could see the tension in his shoulders. He was a tiny bit insulted by how easily they believed this now. 

“Are we done?”

“Yes. We’re done. Go enjoy the gift, Ghost.” 

Ghost nodded and stood up, his gear hugging his skin comfortably. The others were using the rare opportunity to wear just a shirt and pants with their coats, but Ghost preferred the leather gear. The weight of it kept him grounded. 

He left with no more fanfare, hating fucking meetings. 

The guard outside his home was still there. Their blade by their feet.

Ghost waved him off and went inside, rolling his shoulders. The place had been cleaned. Not very well, but there was significantly less dust everywhere. 

Soap jumped on him, blade in hand and Ghost disarmed him easily. 

“I’m wearing armor. That knife wouldn’t even… stop struggling.” He held Soap, watching him wriggle like a fish on a hook from where Ghost had his wrists. Soap looked at him defiantly. Ghost felt his breath catch. 

Fucking pretty asshole.

“You done?”

Soap grumbled. “Fine. I’m done.” 

Ghost nodded and took the knife from him. He pinned him to the wall and ran his hands along his sides, checking for weapons. 

Soap flushed hard and went still as possible until Ghost pulled away. He turned around, back flush against the wall. His eyes found their way to Ghost’s and he didn’t move. 

Ghost stared, confused. Soap’s clothes were clinging to him like he had been sweating. It hit him then that he didn’t have anything else Soap could wear than his own things. Fuck, he’d have to let him borrow his clothes. He wasn’t sure if that was good or bad yet.

Unbeknownst to him, Soap was waiting for him to hit him. He had just attacked Ghost. In his own home. Honestly, he was half expecting to be flogged. Maybe beaten with in an inch of his life. 

“Do you want a bath?” Ghost didn’t care that he had attacked him. He’d do the same thing.

“What?” Soap stared at him, hopelessly confused by his jailer. 

“A bath. Your clothes look gross. I’ll have a tailor make you some but for now you can just borrow mine.” Ghost tilted his head. 

They stared at each other for a long while before Soap nodded. “Alright. That… sounds nice.” 

Ghost nodded back and pulled away. He luckily had the money and time to have a bathtub set up, but he had to get the water from nearby. He set some to boil so the water wouldn’t be cold. 

The entire time, he considered which clothes he’d let Soap borrow. He couldn’t give him any of his nicer ones. Those were his. 

If he looked hard enough, there might be some of his old clothes somewhere. They’d be a little smaller so they might fit Soap just a little better. 

He finished setting the bath and told Soap so, still very clearly in the bathroom. 

Soap started to undress, seemingly bothered at all about getting naked in front of Ghost. Ghost looked away, not sure if he was ready to commit such a sin yet. He made sure he didn’t see Soap’s body, not sure he wanted that to haunt his dreams. 

“You can leave you know. If you’re going to be such a prude.” 

Ghost took a deep breath. “What if you escape?”

“You know, if you want to see me undressed, you could’ve just ordered me to undress. Not lured me in like this.”

“You would’ve fought me.”

“I suppose you’re right.” Soap sounded amused. “Are you going to avoid bathing with me here as well? You won’t eat in front of me.”

“I’ll tie you up in the other room.” Ghost was pretty hungry. He’d wait until Soap fell asleep to eat. It wasn’t the longest he went without food, but probably best not to get faint while holding someone captive. “Get in before it gets cold.”

“You warmed it up?” Soap sounded genuinely surprised. “Thank you.’ 

Oh. Ghost felt a flicker of something intensely warm in his chest. He didn’t respond. He could hear Soap sink into the water. 

Soap moaned softly at the feeling of the warm water on his muscle and Ghost tensed, hands clenching. The atmosphere in the room changed. He could feel tension like a goddamn storm. 

Soap let out a small sound under his breath, a shuddering shaky thing. Like he was scared. 

Only then did Ghost notice how this probably looked. Ghost’s hand on his weapon, his other hand clenched tight. His posture had tightened, making him look even taller. He was also looking at Soap, though he couldn’t remember turning his head. 

Soap looked afraid. Ghost was only available to see above his chest, but he could see the soft curly hair though. 

The last thing he wanted to do was scare him. 

Ghost was out of the room, door clicking behind him. 

Fucking hell. 

He went in the kitchen, finding that Soap had cooked. Nice. He pulled up his mask long enough to scarf down some food, not wanting to waste too much time. 

Unfortunately, none of the clothes he wanted could be found, so he pulled a random shirt and pair of pants and set them in front of the door. “Clothes are right outside when you’re ready to get out.” 

Ghost perched on the bed, thinking hard. 

This was sustainable, but he couldn’t let him go. He’d have to figure this out. Somehow.