#There would be way more blood if i had the ability to render it

[aroacesetitoff]

No Longer You - Epic the Musical

monochromatic because i currently hate how i do colors

[moonlight-prose]

RIGHT WHERE YOU LEFT ME

➛ 03. BRIDGE OVER TROUBLED WATER

a/n: we are getting down to the nitty and gritty of this man's pain. and he's finally starting to the accept the fact that he has to talk about what happened to him. honestly out of all the chapters this one might be my favorite. solely for the soft vibes i tried to shove into what is already a very angsty story. also somehow wade weaseled his way further into this chapter than i intended him to. so enjoy the humor i've tried to add throughout. (i am reposting this since it didn't show up in the tags yesterday.)

summary: to open up was like taking a knife to a steel door. he never saw the use in letting someone in. but dinner spent in your company and conversations over wine and whiskey is where things begin to take a turn.

word count: 8.3k+ (i don't even know how tf that happened.)

pairing: logan howlett x f!reader

warnings: partially explicit scene, angst by the bucket load, vulnerable and emotional logan, grief, trauma, heartache, fluff, domestic vibes, alcohol consumption, wade breaking the fourth wall, wade being a shit wingman, the beginnings of something more.

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Blood poured over his hands and soaked into the ground below. The warmth of it coated his senses, dug into the grooves and lines of his palms. He swore he felt it down to his bones. Now permanently mixed with a version of him long forgotten—the man who used to smile.

Their shouts of pain rendered him immobile. Useless to help them, useless to save their lives. Useless. Useless. Useless. He fought against the restraints, the invisible shackles put there by his own hands. Whether to stop him from going or to keep him from harm—he'd never know—but he battled regardless. With a snarl, he felt them snap, his claws sliding free in all their familiarity. A weapon of destruction unable to be used for salvation.

When he began to run he felt it. The piercing echo of her. The power she emanated as they took her life, brought her to the brink of death. He felt her voice punch through his chest—puncturing him in his heart. She screamed his name with her final breath. Called out for his help; for him to save them all.

He could almost see her in his mind, the horror that befell a school of such powerful people. And he loathed himself for breathing. For living after they were taken so quickly from him.

His family. His home.

What once existed would no longer return. That alone broke him further than their deaths. The knowledge that his world—his universe—would be without their heroes. So much of their worth had been given to humanity. Only to be stripped of their lives within the blink of an eye.

And he couldn't save them. He could barely stand on his own two feet without stumbling.

"Logan!" The scream split along his skull, rupturing veins that healed far too quickly for his liking.

What the fuck was the point of his abilities if he couldn't put them to use? If he couldn't do the one thing they counted on him for.

Their blood stuck to him, burrowing into skin that would never scar. He'd never have proof of the wounds that rested along his heart. Forever damned to carry the weight of his own failure—the guilt that ate him alive. For what? To tell the story he could barely stomach himself? What was his life to the lives of those who meant so much more?

Why did he have to fucking live?

He stood on the doorstep. Death stained the walls, pierced the air with its pungent copper tang. He keeled over at the bushes, all the alcohol he'd consumed expelling itself from his body at the sight. His family was dead. His family was dead and he couldn't join them. He couldn't fucking die.

What once felt like a gift—eternity to find these people who loved him—now rang true with the only word that could make sense. Curse. His curse.

"No," he gasped, eyes bleary with tears as he scrambled to his feet and sprinted through the broken down door.

His claws came free, expecting a fight. Only to be met with silence. An eerie echo of nothing.

No laughter, no life, no chatter of students.

Nothing.

The breath ripped from his lungs as a blaring horn spilled in through the apartment's open window. In an attempt to get some cool air, he pushed the couch closer to what airflow there was. The only downside was hearing everything as he slept. Each little noise and loud mouthed fucker as they wandered the rather empty street. He wanted to leave—move to a better spot where humanity was sparse—but the pull of you across the street kept him there.

"Fuck," he grunted, eyes blinking away the nightmare that tore at his psyche.

The bottle of whiskey underneath the kitchen cabinet called his name. Offering a respite against the horrors he couldn't run from. And with a pained groan, he stumbled towards it—grabbing his coffee mug from the counter. The amber liquid felt bitter against the back of his throat. A familiar burn he welcomed.

He may not be able to stay injured, but this he could have. The darkness at the end of the bottle. The silence he found in collapsing drunk against the couch.

The streetlight outside lit the area filled with trash and the few people sleeping in darkened alleys. If he listened hard enough he could hear their heartbeats. Smell the pungent scent of the city as it seeped through the window. He could feel the thrum of New York beneath his feet—unfamiliar in its nature but home nonetheless.

The sight of a light flicking on grasped his attention—a glimpse of you staggering to the kitchen for a glass of water clear through your window. You should really get curtains, or blinds. He'd help install them for you. But then he'd never get this again. A small insight into your life, a peek into what he left behind a day ago.

Your lips against his still seared through his body—your moans and want for more left him breathless. And he had to go and fuck it up. Just as he did with everything in his life. He ruined the good. Corrupted the innocent.

Doing the same to you felt unfathomable—painful.

But how could he stop?

When you were catching his gaze in the window. Your glass of water was forgotten and the blanket dropped to the leather chair behind you. He left the bottle on the floor by the couch, his empty mug beside it as you grabbed for something. Logan yearned to hear your voice. To apologize for how he left things. But saying sorry never came easy and he found that keeping you at a distance was much safer than what he actually wanted.

The ringing on his phone broke his penetrating gaze. He reached for it quickly, pressing it to his ear as you brought your phone to yours. A breath was all that echoed through the small speaker—soft and warm. He swore he could feel it against his cheek. Hear the echo of your heart pounding beneath his.

"Can't sleep?" you uttered, finally putting his mind at ease. He exhaled a deep breath—hearing it fill your ears as warmth trailed down your spine.

"Nightmares."

You watched him stand still as stone. His fingers gripped the phone for assurance. A sense of stability from a past that had already cracked him in half. The sorrow in his eyes practically bled through the streets. Lapping at your feet like the waves on a shore. And in an act so unlike yourself, you took a step forward. You stood in his grief and offered to drag him to the sand—gave him hope that this world might treat him differently.

Logan wouldn't save himself because he believed he deserved it.

He'd save himself because he knew you deserved a better man.

"Do they happen often?"

The soft echo of your voice tinged with sleep set his mind at ease. For the first time that night he felt himself breathe properly. He could taste the sweetness in the air, the heat that clung to his skin held traces of you when you started to open your window.

Leaving you at your door suddenly felt like the stupidest decision he'd ever made. But the fear is what kept him at a safe distance. He couldn't hurt you here in this shitty apartment. He couldn't destroy what good you held in your heart standing here at an open window.

"Every night," he rasped. His hand clenched, the bones of his knuckles shifting as silver began to peek through the pierced skin.

He knew you could see it. He heard your heart speed up through the phone. And with a ragged sigh, he retracted them forcefully—hiding the beast within to present you with the man beyond.

"You don't have to hide them from me." If you turned, you'd see the punctures in your door you tried to hide with duct tape. The claws that came free because of your touch—your kiss.

They should have scared you.

Logan almost wished they had.

"You don't want to see that part of me honey," he muttered, watching as you stood closer to the ledge—your hand pressed to the chipped wood. "It's not all sunshine and rainbows."

You laughed and he felt it down his spine. "No. I think that's only in Wade's mind."

"Don't say that fucker's name please," he groaned. "Not while I have you here."

"Did I touch a nerve? Wolverine?"

Your smile deepened, mischief practically dripping from your words. Yet Logan couldn't help fixating on the way his title sounded off your tongue. The hero name he loathed for so long suddenly made his heart flip. He gripped the phone tight enough until he heard a faint crackling sound—his body going taut at the thought of you saying it under different circumstances.

Moving past the subject was all he could do. All he wanted to do.

"Why are you up bub?"

You sighed, leaning against the window frame. "Restless. Too much energy from the day."

"Not too much moving in the archives huh?"

"I'll have you know I walk constantly. It's a very demanding job."

He snorted. "Down to the end of the bookshelves and back?"

"Shut up." Your laughter echoed across the street and it nearly startled him how normal he felt. How human. "I can guarantee my job is a lot more work than yours."

"You're right. Saving the universe is nothin' when it comes to books."

"I'm going to hang up."

"Don't. I'll stop." Despite his serious tone, he didn't try to stop the chuckle you felt strike against your heart. The husk of its deep nature.

The memory of his touch still rang clear in your mind. How his lips molded against yours, his body firm and hot beneath your touch. You weren't restless because of work. In fact you felt the pain in your feet begin to spread up your calves the longer you stood there. You couldn't sleep because of him. Too busy replaying that moment to find time in your schedule to sleep.

"Logan." His gaze fell serious at the soft murmur of his name. "Tell me about your dream."

He bit back the urge to push you away, to claim he was fine. That nothing happened and acknowledging it wouldn't save him from himself. But that's not what you were trying to accomplish, and he knew that. He could see it clearly in front of his face. But he was a man hardened by the nature of silence—of ignoring his pain until it eventually withered and died inside him.

Changing that wasn't a battle he'd win tonight. Nor tomorrow.

He sighed, seeing how you fought back a yawn. "Not tonight honey."

"Why–"

"I will." Your breath echoed loudly in his head. He wished he could feel it. "I'll tell you everything. Just not tonight."

Your finger traced the silhouette of him against the glass. "When?"

"I don't know." He imagined your touch was against his skin, pictured how you'd trace the lines of his muscles. How you'd lick along his veins for a taste of him on your tongue. "Tell me about your day."

"That's boring," you groaned.

"Not to me bub. I like history." He smiled. "I used to teach it."

"Fuck off. Did you really?" You perked up within seconds, eyes alight as they were the other night. And Logan felt himself get dragged in a bit deeper. He knew he was fucked the second he saw you, but now...there was no stopping the inevitability of you. "I guess I learn something new every day. James."

He growled, low and hungry—pleasure filling his stomach. "Don't start somethin' you can't finish honey."

Silence filled the air and Logan felt the doubt pull at his nerves. He watched you lean into the glass, your scent filtering through the warm air. Sharp and heady. Darker than your usual honeyed sweetness; the taste of it spread along his tongue—shivers rolling down his back. You wanted him. No fuck that.

You needed him.

"And if I want to," you breathed, trepidation and hope overlapping in your words. "Finish this."

He bared his teeth in a grin that felt feral—as if he could taste your flesh. "We will," he stated with such severity. A promise lined in truth for once. "Now go on. Tell me about your day."

He awoke to the sounds of clashing pots and pans being tossed on the stove—the incessant beep of the coffee machine blaring off every thin wall. And Wade singing loudly—and horribly—to some fucking pop song from the eighties Logan would learn the name of against his will. He groaned, slamming his head back against the couch in the hopes that this was all a dream.

If he wished hard enough maybe he'd wake up to silence.

Or to you.

"Good morning peanut!" Wade's voice shouted, another bang sounding off behind him. "I've got coffee, Canadian bacon, and the final answer for what came first—the chicken or the egg."

Logan longed to stab himself in the skull. This quick healing factor became a fucking pain in the ass at the worst of times. He staggered into the kitchen, immediately wishing he'd drank the entire bottle of whiskey last night at the sight of Wade in a pair of white underwear and nothing else.

"What the fuck." He shut his eyes, reaching blindly for a mug and the coffee pot.

"Yeah..." Wade slammed the pan on the stove, a now broken yolk spilling over the edge. "Laundry day and Al called dibs on the top load. Just call me Risky Business."

Logan's sigh was ragged, beyond exhausted as he gulped down the first dose of searing coffee. "He wore a shirt in that fucking movie."

"Lookie here! Someone is up to date on their Tom Cruise movies. Don't tell me you're a Top Gun fan honey badger because I have some fucking news for you. We topped them for highest grossing movie of all time." Wade smiled as the destroyed egg slid onto a chipped plate. "Financially topped. Personally, I don't think scientology allows Tom Cruise to fuck anymore."

"I'm not listenin' to your fuckin' bullshit," he grunted, pouring another cup.

The charred egg was slid his way. "Aren't you gonna ask me?"

"Ask you what?"

Talking this early in the morning made the veins in his throat strain—his grip on the mug nearly cracking the porcelain. In times like this Logan felt the overwhelming need to throw his roommate out the fucking window.

If only to get thirty seconds of hearing him scream on the way down.

"What came first."

He moved to make another pot of coffee, ignoring the chatter that fell from Wade's mouth. In order to even feel coherent enough to make sense of it, he'd need four more cups. Or enough to bathe in if the morning didn't calm down. The sun blinded him as he turned to glance out the window; the air stale and hot choked his senses. He'd never felt this overstimulated before—this out of place.

"You look like you've seen better days in a horror movie. Up having late night phone sex?" Wade grinned and leaned across the counter—his head in his hand and love in his eyes. "Tell me about it, stud? Tell me more, tell me more. Did you get very far?"

"Oh god," Logan groaned, slamming the coffee pot back into place. "Can you shut the fuck up for once? I'm begging you."

"Did you beg her?"

His claws pressed to Wade's smug face—blood spilling against his cheek. "I will cut your fuckin' mouth off."

"I just wanna know why you're waiting so long to give her the Hugh Jackman."

"The what?" he growled, heat blistering against his face.

"Ya know." The crude gesture to his groin had him digging his claws directly into Wade's cheek. But even then he mumbled around the metal piercing his skin. "The package. The full shebang. Rock her like a hurricane—or whatever the fuck that German band was talking about. Cause I sure know she's aching for it."

"Don't fucking talk about her like that."

Wade smiled until his cheek sliced down to his mouth. The sight was disgusting enough for Logan to forgo wanting breakfast. And lunch. And dinner at that.

"You don't believe me! HA! Let me tell you, you're pretty but there's nothing going on up there." A tap on Logan's forehead forced the claws to sink just a bit deeper. "That sweet angel across the street is ready to save that horse and ride you instead cowboy. All. Night. Long."

"You don't know what you're talking about." Yet even as he said the words he felt the lie stick to the back of his throat.

Last night's conversation was proof enough that Wade was telling the truth. Even Logan could fucking see what was right in front of him. Someone beautiful, someone smart. Someone...he wasn't worthy of. If he combined all those factors he only came up with one conclusion. The longer he stayed away from you, the better you'd wind up being.

The safer you'd stay if he wasn't constantly shoving his way into your life.

The loud sigh from Wade's healing mouth shoved another wave of guilt into Logan's stomach. "Look. Ignore it all you want, but sooner or later you're gonna wind up with only your hand for some company and she'll find someone who actually wants to be with her."

Wade was right. For once.

What Logan didn't expect was the anger he felt at the visual of you finding someone else. The rage that nearly overwhelmed him. That's how it should be. You with someone better, a man who actually gave you a chance at a relationship. One that wasn't doomed from the very start. He let the thought simmer, chewed on it for as long as he could.

And not a minute later came to the answer he'd been looking for.

Logan would rip apart any other man without hesitation if they came into your life.

This wasn't a fling. He'd known that on his Earth and knew it now. He clawed his way out of a grave once to get back to you. And he would do it again and again and again. As many times as it took to make sure he got a glimpse of your smile, felt the love in your touch.

"Grab your shit we've got somewhere to be," he grumbled, shoving the burned egg in his mouth and washing it down with fresh black coffee to kill the taste.

"Yes! Now there's the Wolverine I know." Wade shouted, pumping his fist in the air. Logan couldn't tell if he was being vulgar or not. 

"Let's go bang your girl!" A snarl ripped through his throat, blood splattering on his bare chest as he pinned Wade to the wall—his claws embedded in the man's heart. "Or you bang her and I quietly stay at home with the window open to serenade you two with the sensual sounds of Marvin Gaye."

He grinned, eyes flashing over Logan's shoulder. "Directly from Sam Wilson's playlist if you know what I'm getting at Marvel fuckers."

On days where people were stuck at work and students infiltrated the library above, you found the solace of the archives to be everything you needed. For an hour you'd been placing books in their correct spots, labeling boxes to be housed somewhere new, and theorizing where you went wrong the other night when Logan left.

You didn't want to let the disappointment get to you. Nor should you. The phone conversation last night clarified enough for you to know him leaving wasn't your fault. It wasn't due to your kiss or even because he didn't want to be there. He simply hadn't healed from what his world did to him. Whatever Wade mentioned to you in a ramble of semi-seriousness gave you enough of a picture to know what that might have been.

No matter how much you wanted to help him; to make him see that you weren't scared of what he had to give. This wasn't your war.

Logan made sure you understood that.

That still didn't stop the swell of dismay at his actions. The belief that you weren't good enough to hear his story began to eat you alive the longer he pushed it off. Each comment came tinged with pain you'd never be privy to. Agony he wanted to endure alone.

You would give him the space he needed—the time that was required in order to heal from wounds you couldn't see. They were there. Dug into the shape of his heart—carved into the metal of his bones—but Logan wouldn't allow you to bear witness to that. To a broken side of a man who wanted to be better. If only he knew he didn't have to be for you to ache for him.

The thought of him alone left your heart twisting in your chest and stomach fluttering.

You slid another book into the correct spot, silence echoing like a void that went on for miles. Only for the ring of your phone to shatter it like glass. You scrambled for the device in your purse, breath filling your lungs at the sight of his name as it flashed across your screen. 

Maybe this made you seem desperate—a type of clingy that would make any other man run. You couldn't find it in yourself to give a shit.

"Logan," you said—his name leaving your mouth in a breathy manner you regret within moments.

"Oh shit girl you've got it bad."

The pounding of your heart jumped at the loud echo of Wade's voice blasting through the small speaker. "Wade?"

"The one and holy." To say you were perplexed felt like an understatement. But before you could spill the millions of questions on your tongue, Wade kept going. "Hey! What kind of wood do you prefer?"

A loud rumble of an engine blared in the background—killing your ears. "What?"

"Oh right fuck me. Silly question. There's twelve thousand words already written about what type of wood you prefer." He laughed as the sound came again. "I'm talking the tree kind. Got a preference for scents?"

"She's not gonna be able to smell it you dumb fuck!" Logan shouted. You heard an audible screech before a loud rustle had you pulling the phone from your ear with a groan. "Honey?"

You smiled, walking towards the part of the room that didn't echo with your voice. "I'm scared to ask what you guys are doing today."

"Oh," he chuckled. You wished he'd bought a better phone, longing to see each expression that crossed his face. "I owe you a door."

That kiss reemerged in your memory once more. Burning through your body in quick rapid strokes. As if Logan was fanning the flames of something stronger—a fire that you wouldn't be able to control. You imagined what he looked like at this moment, if he still wore the exhausted look of grief from last night. Or if he'd covered it with a mask of annoyance due to Wade.

"I can just call the building manager to fix it." You put it on your list of things to do today already, but the idea of seeing Logan again was too tempting to pass up.

He huffed, falling silent. Wade's voice shouting about the Lorax became all you heard for a brief moment—Logan no doubt figuring out what he could say to fix this. The glimpse of him last night had set your teeth on edge in a way you'd never experienced before. You felt you could sink your canines into the tension and rip it to shreds with ease.

"Where I come from it's only right to fix what I broke."

What he broke.

This wasn't about the door. You could see it clearly in the pained way he spoke his words—each one more clear than the last. Leaving you in a rush with no fucking explanation left him worried that you weren't going to be around if he kept pushing you away. You were something good—a light he sought in the darkness he found himself in—and messing up this chance wasn't going to happen twice.

He'd done this before. He pushed those he loved away.

Doing the same with you only made his chest echo with the hollow emptiness that he'd grown tired of feeling.

"You can fix my door under one condition," you said, effectively breaking the silence.

"Anythin'."

The flutter in your chest felt lethal when he spoke to you like this; open and willing to bend where you wanted him to go. A man had never given you this before. The attention, the knowledge that he wanted all of you. Not just sex, or meaningless conversations. He wanted every piece you were open to sharing—every dark crevice and thought you felt embarrassed about.

You only wished he'd understand you wanted the exact same thing from him.

"Dinner. My place. Seven p.m."

Fuck what you wouldn't give to see his smile as he let out a sigh of relief. "I won't be late."

You smiled, worrying your lip between your teeth—that familiar gooey warmth now back in your chest. "You better not be."

"I've got great timing honey. Got nothin' to worry about."

Bullshit. You nearly said it, but a loud shuffle and a few bitten off curse words—mainly growled on Logan's end—cut your conversation short. A triumphant laugh you could only figure to be Wade's pierced your eardrum as the phone was unwillingly handed off once again.

"I just want to let you know I've got money on whether or not he nails you tonight. So don't let me down cupcake."

"You're betting on this?" you exclaimed, loud enough to hear your voice bounce off the walls and echo back to where your supervisor was no doubt sitting.

"Of course. I'm not one to turn down the sleazy art of gambling." He sighed wistfully. You'd never wanted to punch someone more in this moment; suddenly aware that this is how Logan must feel every day of his life. "Besides if you heard the sounds that came out of our shower this afternoon. Oh ho ho. Something tells me that he was letting off some Steam Boat Willy to the thought of his late night phone buddy."

Disgust at Wade's words was rapidly overshadowed by the thought of Logan in the shower. Naked and desperate to find some release after your conversation last night. To say you hadn't pictured what he'd look like hard and aching from your touch would be a lie. But actually knowing that's what happened left you winded.

Your chest heaved as your body grew warm—the image of him with his hand around his cock, his head thrown back in pleasure, almost made your knees give out.

"Your thinkin' about it huh?" The overconfidence in Wade's voice snapped you back to reality within seconds.

"Shut up."

"Got ya red handed angel."

With a roll of your eyes, you made to head back to your work—Wade's words only served to fluster you more than you wanted. "Don't piss him off too much okay Wilson?"

His laughter nearly appeased you as the piercing sound of a saw went off again. The both of them must have ventured to a warehouse to find materials. You wanted to confirm your thoughts when Wade did it for you. As if he could hear you loud and clear.

"Who knew our man had lumberjack experience?" He sighed dreamily, a shout of what you guessed was Logan saying fuck off filtering through. "God it's like watching X-Men Origins Wolverine. Back when his hair screamed Staying Alive and I went by the name Billy Butcherson."

A cough from behind you gave enough notice that you had in fact been caught by your boss—her glare burning through the back of your skull. The short break you were allotted passed five minutes ago. Normally you'd be fighting your way to the end of the day. Today though...you felt that delicious bite of excitement at knowing you'd be spending tonight with Logan.

"I've got to go. But Wade..."

"Yeah?"

"Take a picture for me will you?"

"Already done. Got my phone set to burst. Which is what Logan's gonna do tonight instead of tainting our shower walls–" Logan's roar of I'll fuckin' kill you came seconds before you heard a thwack overlapped with Wade's high shriek. 

The line went dead instantly.

The elevator wasn't moving fast enough for your liking—each flash of a floor passed sent another wave of nerves through your body. Work dragged on longer than you expected. And the groceries you picked up on the way didn't feel like enough to make a meal grand enough for a night like tonight. You tried to destress by saying he wasn't expecting much. This wasn't even a date.

That is until you realized...that's exactly what this was.

A date that felt long overdue.

You hadn't known Logan long enough to pursue a relationship as deep as this, but that's where things got fuzzy. He knew you. Or a version of you that felt entirely different to the person you were now. And maybe that's where the security that this would last came through. The knowledge that no matter what happened, Logan was in this for the long haul.

This wasn't temporary.

A creak of the doors opening didn't deter you from digging through your mountain of thoughts. Each one more worrisome than the last. You should be terrified that this was it. The future had already been written and Logan was at the end of the road. That alone would be reason enough to turn tail and run.

Then you turned the corner leading directly down your hallway.

Logan stood leaning against the wall, a lit cigar in his mouth, smoke trailing past his lips, and a heavy wooden door placed directly beside him. A toolbox that looked to have seen better days sat by his feet. A bouquet of honeysuckle and peonies placed directly on top—wrapped in brown paper with a yellow and blue bow.

Whatever fear might have lingered in your body dissipated when his gaze found yours and his lips pulled into a smile.

"You're early," you said—desperate to catch your breath. The scent of his cigar lingered on your senses, mixing with the leather of his jacket.

Suddenly Wade's words from earlier felt a lot more real than you expected. He showed up dressed casually. Jeans, flannel, the familiar dog tags strung around his neck. Yet whatever transpired the night before came rushing back with the promise of more.

This was a date. But whether it would lead to something else you'd leave entirely up to him.

"I told ya I had great timing honey."

Heat trailed down your body where his eyes followed. "I didn't believe you."

"I know."

The claw marks on your door brought a flustered smile to your face. As if to say you were okay with them staying. You wanted them to stay. Logan's eyes darkened at the sight, a flash of something worse taking hold of his mind as you pushed it open.

You longed for him to tell you the truth. He wouldn't either way. But the hope still remained—lingering on the edges of your heart.

"Easy enough to fix," he muttered, reaching for his tools—the bouquet of flowers gripped tightly in his large palm.

"I didn't know what exactly to get." He stood in your living room, eyes trained on the window. Finally he was on the other side—in your home—and yet he found he didn't belong here. "Do you have a preference?"

He sucked in another drag from the cigar before pulling it free—stamping it out on his palm as you watched. A heady wanton look crossed your features. You doused it quickly in favor of unpacking the groceries. He made sure to store it away for a later time. One that didn't feel dragged by the weight of his own thoughts.

"I'm not picky."

You nodded. "Feel free to use whatever's useful. I don't have tools though."

"I came prepared bub." He lifted the box with a smile and suddenly recalled that he bought you flowers. Much to Wade's annoying comments about this being a first date. Logan wouldn't push you in any direction you felt uncomfortable going towards. But in an irritating turn of events, Wade was right. Twice. "These are for you."

The smile on your face was worth every dollar and excruciating minute spent picking out what went with what. He reminded himself to thank Wade. Even if it left a bitter taste in his mouth.

"They're beautiful." The delicate white lay atop pink flowers that filled your senses. An aroma you'd never known could work so well together. "Why these?"

A touch of crimson began to tint the tops of his ears as he let out a breath. "They're uh..." He coughed. "The day we met I said somethin' kinda awkward."

"I smelled different."

"Yeah." Logan wanted to bury himself six feet under at the teasing glint in your eyes. "That's how you smell. To me. Like honey and flowers."

There had to be an explanation for the way your heart split down the center—as if to offer him one half. To give him a part of yourself that once didn't belong to him. But that's where you were wrong. Even in a different universe, he would find you. You were once everything to him; the person he'd go through hell for. That fact never changed. Even if you did.

You wanted to spill every emotion, every truth about how your heart already longed for him in ways that left you reeling. But Logan wasn't a man to speak longer than he had to. And before you finally gained the courage to open your mouth, he was stepping back into the hallway. His hands busy with a project and mind eons away.

Dinner was simple to cook knowing he'd eat whatever you made. Pasta, some wine, and an old bottle of whiskey a friend of yours bought sat on the table as he put the final touches on the door. You'd spent the time at the stove combing over every word spoken. Every minute touch and fleeting look. As he worked effortlessly on setting your new door in place.

A dark honeyed wood with grooves throughout that almost resembled the small panes of a window. The quality was stunning. Beyond anything you'd seen before.

You wanted to prod and ask where he learned to do this. But the sight of him slightly sweaty, flannel tossed into his toolbox, and arms on display when he carried the door to its spot, left you dazed. Each movement caused the muscles beneath his skin to ripple—face screwed in a look of concentration while the sound of the drill echoed off the hallway walls.

For a moment you forgot dinner was cooking as you practically ogled his form. That familiar flame burned through your body when his gaze met yours and a smile crossed his lips.

Logan could feel your eyes on him—the aching burn of your gaze now seared into the bare skin of his arms and shoulders. And he fought himself to keep going. To ignore your now heady scent—the way your heart sped up with each shift of his body—and finish what he started. If he was being honest, which he rarely was with himself, he put on a show for you.

You liked him.

He just wanted to reaffirm that fact once in a while.

The smell of slightly burnt garlic had him biting back a smile as you rushed to fix what his distraction caused. His ego swelled. Heart pumping with a sense of pride the second he caught you flustered with your head bowed in the kitchen.

"Smells delicious honey," he said, testing the lock on the door a few times until he felt satisfied with his work.

"It's not much." You popped open the two types of alcohol, pouring a generous helping of wine in your glass. He fixed himself his own whiskey. "Something my sister taught me when I was in college. She believed if there was nothing else to cook, pasta was always the correct answer."

"Smart woman."

You pushed the plate his way and caught the grin he hid at the small act of domesticity. What began as a nerve-wracking date became an insight into what your future with him might look like. Dinner at a tiny kitchen table, his jacket draped over one chair, the scent of flowers twining together with the faint traces of his cigar.

A life that felt perfect enough to keep forever.

"I hope you know Wade's betting on tonight," you said, pouring another glass of wine.

You were settled next to him on the couch, dinner resting full and warm in your stomachs. The alcohol tasted sweeter on your tongue compared to an hour ago. He lounged with his legs spread, glass balanced in one hand. A lazy look of satisfaction in his hazel eyes.

Logan had never felt this comfortable. Soothed by the scent of you beside him, the whiskey on his tongue, and the sight of you with your legs curled beneath you. The red wine made you smile more, laugh easier. He noticed how you bloomed before him, light shimmering between small jokes and half assed teases.

All his life he wondered what home would truly feel like. What would having a place be? And this...you beside him with an endless night stretched before you, gave him the answer.

Home felt like you.

He groaned, head falling against the back of your couch. "He's a lucky fucker with that can't die bullshit. What's the bet?"

Your eyes dragged to the door—tracing the carved marks as his hand hesitated to settle on your thigh. "That you'd and I quote nail me."

"What?" he spit.

The laugh that bubbled to the surface echoed with the heady effects of too much wine. "I hate to break it to Wade. But I don't have sex on the first date."

Logan's lips turned up, hand finally against the bare skin of your leg. Your skirt fanned around your lap, covering your soft skin that lay beneath. "So this is a date huh?"

"Yeah." He tugged you closer. "At least I think it is."

"I think so too."

Unconsciously, you toyed with the chain of his dog tags, catching a glimpse of the worn letters of his name. Any other time you'd push the questions away. You would claim that tonight wasn't the right time. After all this felt good, right in ways nothing had before. But the wine made you loose lipped. Braver than the other times you pushed past the line he drew deep in the sand.

Except this time...he started the conversation.

"You asked about my nightmares last night."

Your eyes caught his, fingers stilling against his chest. "I know you don't want to talk about it."

He shook his head with a deep exhale he felt down to his stomach. "If this is what I think it is. What we're startin' here. Then you should know what you're getting into honey."

"I know what I'm getting into–"

"No. You don't." He sat up straighter, tugging you close until your legs lay over his lap. "You don't know what happened to me. What I did..." He sucked in air as his heart began to twist. The cold wash of anxiety suddenly brighter than a few minutes earlier. "What I couldn't do."

The pain in his eyes chipped off a piece of your heart. Oh how you longed to give it to him.

Cupping his cheek, you felt the scratch of his beard against your skin. "Logan. You're not a bad man."

"Yeah bub. I am," he barked in a half laugh meant to discourage you from seeing his grief.

That's what this was. The full spectrum of his emotions scared the shit out of him more than any villain he fought. More than the thought of dying alone one day. The moment you saw them for yourself, he knew you'd run. He almost expected it. Which is why he'd taken so long—put it off each time the curiosity lingered in your gaze longer than he liked.

He told himself you didn't need to know.

It was better this way.

Tonight proved that all those reasons—all those excuses—stood no chance when it came to you.

"I don't believe that," you whispered, your other hand curling around his dog tags.

"Gotta remember I'm not him. I'm not the hero and never have been." When you looked at him like that—eyes wide and lips turned down—he felt the full weight of the words he was about to say out loud. Words he hadn't spoken since Laura met him by the fire way back in the Void.

Somehow saying it to the other Logan's daughter felt easier. As if he couldn't disappoint her anymore than he had. She'd been there at his death, watched him struggle to protect her, and loved him in spite of all that. She called him Dad and spoke over his grave with a smile. Knowing full well he'd never come back to life, he'd never find his way back to her.

Laura wasn't his kid and yet...he knew she'd understand.

But saying it all to you…

He wasn't sure he'd survive it if you never understood.

"The X-Men in my world weren't as respected as the ones in yours. We were heroes, but the humans. God they fuckin' hated us." His eyes burned with each memory that came rushing back. A river that threatened to drown him. "And I always had to be an asshole. I didn't know what home felt like—what...family felt like. So when I got it, I pushed it away."

"Oh, Logan–"

"No, let me...let me finish honey." He gripped the glass until he heard a crack—his eyes dazed and mind lost to a different time. The night that would later become his ghost. "So I left and did the only thing I was fuckin' good at. I drank until I couldn't feel anythin' anymore. And the humans decided they'd had enough of the X-Men."

Grief struck your heart straight down the center. Tears spilled down your cheeks at the sight of him so broken—so raw from a time that would never leave him. You finally knew why Wade never explained it to you.

This wasn't his story to tell. Not his past to share.

"I came home and they were–" His fingers dug into the skin of your thigh in an attempt to ground himself. Claws slipping free as he struggled to get the final words out—the truth of why he pushed you away. Why he should keep pushing you away. "They were dead."

You pressed yourself against his side, lips against his temple as he silently bit back the emotions he refused to set free. What would become of him once they were finally out? He couldn't risk hurting you because of it.

"They called for me." His breath was ragged, voice thick with tears that never fell. "Jean. Charles. I heard them die in my head. But I was too fuckin' drunk to save them. I got home and all of them were...Jesus. The humans called us mutants vicious, but I'd never seen anythin' like this."

The worst part crawled up his spine with a chill that had his claws coming free. "And you. You survived due to your gifts. Apparently you hid in the future—snapped there without even realizing it. But by the time you returned they were dead and no matter how many times you tried to go back, you couldn't." He raised his head, eyes red and glassy. "You tried to kill me that night. I couldn't blame you for it cause I wanted to die."

"That's not me."

He shook his head. "I know, but you have to know why it happened. I couldn't protect you honey. I couldn't protect any of them."

"The humans did this. Not you." You dragged his face to yours, forcing him to see the sincerity in your eyes—the fire that burned no matter the variant. "You did not kill your family Logan. Don't take their shame."

"It's easy for you to say that bub. You weren't there." He felt your touch mark against his skin and fuck how he wished it would leave a scar. "I'm not the fuckin' hero. I'm the man who fucked it all up because he was too proud for his own good. I need you to see that."

Your gaze hardened. "Why?"

"So you know what you're gettin–"

"Bullshit," you demanded. "I know exactly what I'm getting into Logan. I knew the second I met you. So don't do that. Don't push me away." The press of his forehead to yours leveled the pain and allowed him to breathe. "I'm here to stay. Whether you want me or not."

He grinned, tears finally falling as your lips found his. You breathed life back into his chest, made his heart worth beating again. For all that time he damned himself, loathed the reflection in the mirror, he never thought he'd get this. The soft press of your kiss, the bitter tang of wine on your tongue as his hand gripped your hip—his claws retreating back into his body.

"Trust me. I want you," he mumbled against salt stained lips and broken smiles. "I'll always want you."

"Then it's a good thing I want you too."

That familiar flicker of sparks still existed in the air, begging for more. But you were content to stay here. Kissing him over and over again in order to embed the sensation in your mind.

"Thank you for telling me," you sighed, fingers curling into his hair to drag his lips back to yours.

The thud of his heart ran through his whole body. "Can I show you somethin'?"

You nodded, pulling away as he dug into his pocket. As much as he longed to keep kissing you, to spend all night right there on that couch. He knew there'd be time for that. A night where you were both unburdened by the weight of a past that defined who you were. Tonight was not that night.

The picture was old, burned slightly at the edges and crinkled, but he handed it over with a grin. A group photo like the one stored in the archives at your job. Only this time you recognized two faces among the small team of people in yellow suits. You were smiling with an arm around Logan's waist, your face pressed against his chest.

The sight of his smile—wide and unfiltered—made your heart leap. But the blue aura that seemed to wrap around your body is what gave you pause.

"The blue..."

"Your powers." He pointed to the way it ended at your hands, seeming to stem directly from your chest. "Turning them off wasn't really a thing you could do. Somethin' about time being a constant flow of energy. Charles always explained it better."

Thousands of questions came to mind. All of them pertaining to the powers and the team and more specifically him. He sunk into the couch with a sigh, his eyes hazy with a different kind of need. An ache that no doubt begged him each night. Sleep. Rest without any nightmares, free of the shackles he'd placed on himself.

So you stood, nearly startling him when you did. Nothing had to be said about your intentions, or why you held out your hand for him to take. He simply followed. Each step heavier than the last. The kitchen could be cleaned tomorrow, the bottles put away later. You couldn't find it in yourself to care when his hand was in yours and he smiled at you as if you'd hung the moon in the sky.

"Thought you said Wade was losin' tonight honey?"

You laughed, pushing the flannel from his shoulders as you led him to your bed. "He is. We're just sleeping."

There was no mistaking the doubt in his eyes, the trepidation of his nightmares. "I might hurt you."

"No you won't." Drawing his hand up to your mouth, you lay a kiss along his knuckles. "I trust you Logan."

"You shouldn't." His breath was a shuddered exhale at the sight of you pulling your dress up and over your body.

"Well too bad," you replied, tugging the covers back while he pulled off his shirt—leaving his boots by the door. "You don't scare me Wolverine."

"Wolverine huh?" Crawling into bed with you was easy. Though the mattress sunk under the weight of his bones, you still let him tug you closer—his arms wrapped around your bare waist. "It was James the other night."

"Careful," you said. "Or I'll start calling you Howlett."

A growl rumbled in his chest, his teeth nipping at the bare skin of your shoulder as you laughed. And suddenly he remembered what it was like to live. To want more than just the bottom of a bottle and a peaceful night's sleep. He could recall nights like this in the past. A different you curled up against his body—the love resonating in how you clung to him.

It all slammed into him at once.

Although tonight he didn't push it away. He kept you close, his nose burrowed in your hair, and welcomed the gentle tug of a few hours rest.

Tonight—for the first time—he slept.

Without nightmares.

[skyahri]

Soul |Ryomen Sukuna X Reader| HC

Summary: Sukuna meets the reincarnation of the only person he's ever loved.

Warnings: Implications of sex? Female pronouns. Reincarnation. Fear and anxiety.

- - - - -

"Rin..."

It came out like word vomit before Yuuji could even process what he was saying.

You looked at him, confused. Your name wasn't Rin and you'd never met this man before. Who did he think you were?

He slapped a hand over his mouth. Sukuna had forced his way to the surface just to ramble out a name? In all these years as his vessel, he'd never done something so trivial.

Sensing the flicker of cursed energy, Gojo, Megumi, and Nobara prepared themselves. It'd been a while since Sukuna had tried anything. Some sort of pact he'd formed with Yuuji kept him mostly content, although they weren't sure what it entailed.

It happened in the blink of an eye; Sukuna had taken over and stood directly in front of you, one hand flat on your chest and the other on your face.

"Rin... I could never forget the feel of your soul."

Your heartbeat fastened. An overwhelming feeling of fear fell onto you, rendering you unable to move.

What would you be able to do anyway? He's a God, and you had no abilities outside of actually seeing the damn things.

You had no idea what he was talking about. Your name isn't Rin and you'd never had any kind of encounter with either men until just now.

Megumi tried to move forward, but Gojo stuck an arm out in front of him. Something was off about the way Sukuna was acting, and he didn't think it was threatening.

It would be best to see how this played out instead of possibly starting a war that was never meant to begin in the first place.

"What are you doing? We can't let her-"

"Hold on."

They watched as Sukuna looked you up and down, inspecting your robes, hair, and face with a certain softness. His face was still hard and his movements still confident, but there was just that feeling.

"You look so different, but thats to be expected. Are you fairing well?"

You swallowed hard. His delicate touch did nothing to soothe your nerves. If anything, it only confused you more. He was tucking your hair behind your ear, giving you some sort of smile, and yet you feared he was going to rip your heart right out of your body.

"Um..."

Really, how were you supposed to respond? What sort of answer was he expecting? What were the consequences if you were to answer incorrectly?

Were you meant to comment on how you supposedly looked different? Was it your features? Your clothes? Your haircut?

"I'm scared."

Sukuna paused. You were horrified to have answered wrong, and now you could only hope he wouldn't kill you.

But he did something unexpected; he laughed. A thick, hardy chuckle that made your blood run cold.

Was this the end? How pitiful. Slain on a random Tuesday afternoon all because you wanted to meet up with an old friend. That's not a proper death.

"A thousand years and countless reincarnations, yet you still know how to make me laugh."

He leaned forward and pressed his lips to your forehead. You only had a moment to panic before a lifetime of memories filled your mind.

You remember the time before modern civilization when you relied on hunting in the woods and crops from the neighbor's farm.

You remembered your parents, siblings, friends, and other villagers. You remember your home on the outskirts of town just against the forest line.

But most importantly, you remember Sukuna.

You remember meeting him as a human, and then several years later as a curse. You faced off against him, and although you couldn't beat him in the end, you'd come close enough to earn his respect.

He stood above you, two arms crossed, one on his hip, and the other outstretched to offer you a hand up.

Who were you to refuse such a gesture from the king of curses?

He allowed you to join his temple alongside other followers of his with the condition you devoted yourself to him entirely. The offer was presented as a choice, but the alternative was death, so any reservations you had were null.

You wanted to go with him anyway, but that's beside the point.

From the very beginning of your journey with him, it was made clear to everyone that you were 'special' and not to be bothered.

This fact didn't hold up too well with some of the others, but what were they to do about it? Argue with Sukuna? Tell him they were more deserving of his attention? How pathetic.

He allowed you privileges that would only ever be known to you, like dining with him or joining him on trips. These small pleasantries became grand ones, like sharing his bed and allowing him to claim you.

Your relationship was equal from then on. You were not just a follower of his anymore. He was just as devoted to you as you are to him, and he ensured you knew it.

He'd always make sure to tell you how special you were, that he was taking his time with you and granting you pleasure. How you were his favorite, and no one else could even compare. How others had not been so lucky in the past.

He'd escort you to and from the hot springs, have humans bring you flowers and jewelry, and allow you to see the most vulnerable aspects of him.

He promised his love for you would never die, and here he is a millennia later proving true to his words.

Once the unrelenting onslaught of memories subsided, your hands met his- one still on your chest feeling your heartbeat, and the other slid partway into your hair- and all you could do was appreciate his presence.

You stared up at him. His face was different, but that intense look in his eyes was all the proof you needed that he was still the same man from all those years ago.

Tears beaded up in your eyes and quickly dripped down your cheeks. Crying had never been your thing in the past, but you didn't care to stuff the feelings down. Such a reunion was an occasion enough.

"My love," you whispered.

He leaned his forehead down to meet yours.

"My Queen."

[sweet-as-an-angel]

Professor Miguel O’Hara x Reader Headcanons

Warnings: University Professor Miguel, Implications of Smut, Age Gap, Secret Relationship, Teacher’s Pet Reader, Academic Manipulation, Coercion, Abuse of Power, Miguel Abusing his Spider Abilities for Nefarious Purposes, Slight Yandere Miguel, Implied Obsession, Minor Spoilers for Miguel’s Backstory, Extra Yandere Headcanons, Forced Kissing, No Pronouns Used for Reader Except ‘You’.

Miguel knows it’s wrong to want you in the way he does. You’re his best and brightest student, after all — his magnum opus: his academic pride and joy.

Problem is, that appreciation for your work ethic and your eagerness to take heavy loads of work (and eventually heavy loads of other things) charmed him. Sure, he could label you asa kiss-ass, a teacher’s pet, a sycophant, but ever since the first day he met you, he can’t help but feel your concern for him is genuine.

You always ask him how he’s doing. Every class, without fail, you stop off at his desk on your way to your seat and ask: “How are you doing today, Mr. O’Hara?” Followed by questioning some inane, specific detail he told you off-handedly a day or week prior.

You always remembered the little details. Something even Miguel finds trouble with doing; what, with his extracurricular activities as Nueva York’s one and only Spiderman.

The fact that you’re kind to him, a luxury Miguel had long since lost along with his family, strikes a chord with him.

He’s not sure when his platonic appreciation of such a hard-working student turned to something more — a rogue daydream into the lewd — but once he started, he couldn’t get enough.

Something about your unspoken submission to him – your, dare he say, desire to perform just for him, led his mind and his morals astray, left much room for interpretation and experimentation.

Choosing to believe you liked him — like-liked him — made a brand of pride bubble in his chest that he couldn’t abandon, couldn’t find a potent enough alternative to.

He starts shamelessly, yet restrainedly, flirting with you. In his own way, of course.

“I loved your paper on the configuration of water molecules and their behaviour when observed; very enlightening stuff.”

The way your face would light up, your eyes crinkling while a small, almost relieved laugh escaped you, made his chest flutter.

He thought it was pride. How little he knows for a science professor.

Eventually, this escalated into him asking you to do things for him he “Wouldn’t ordinarily ask a student to do.”

He smiles at you, eyes deceptively kind behind his slender glasses, as he watches you so intently listen, hear, for his commands.

He wonders what other things you’d do — how far you’d really go, stretch yourself (as he hopes you’d let him) — for a good grade and a positive impression.

He has a secret weapon that he knows will work on you, regardless of how momentous the task.

“I’m trusting you because you’re my favourite student.”

There it is. The activation phrase. Your heart rate quickens, your pupils blow wide and he can feel, hear, the blood rush to your cheeks as his confession settles in.

He can expect whatever it is he’s asked you to do to be complete before the time he’s set for you to do it. And all because of your eagerness to prove that you’re worthy of such a title as ‘favourite’. His favourite.

Truly, though, you are his favourite.

He feels his heart prick and his eyes search for you whenever the door to the lecture hall opens.

Only once were you unable to come to class, rendered bed-ridden by the flu, and Miguel’s heart sank.

He thought at first it was because he didn’t have your adoring eyes following him, trailing his every movement, stroking off his ego with how furiously you’d type on your laptop, take everything he said and burn it into your memory with laser-life efficiency.

But, as the lecture drew to a close, Miguel felt…concerned about you. Your well-being.

A dangerous emotion.

He cared about you. More than just an academic plaything, a task donkey; he wanted to visit you, to care for you. In ways he knew only he was capable of.

During his surveillance of the city that night, he paid you a visit as Spiderman.

Nothing so overt as to make himself known to you; rather a sideline visit as he watched you through your bedroom window.

Truly, your physical state reflected how monumental your illness was; you lay in bed, unaware of the world around you as you slept, nose tip red and eyes ringed.

He wanted to come in, to tuck you back under the blankets you’d thrashed yourself free from, to check your temperature, to be with you.

He leaves, hand coming up to the glass, wishing to breach it — and all the rules — to see you.

But alas, the next time he sees you is in class a few days later when you’re fully recovered.

As you sidle into your seat, lecture hall (uncharacteristically) devoid of Miguel, your friends lean in to tell you all that you missed.

Though, to your surprise, it’s not academic material they’re covering.

“He kept looking over here while you were gone,” came one friend, smiling. Knowing.

“Yeah,” chimes another, leaning in even closer. “And he didn’t sound like he usually does — he sounded…” They look for the right word, term, eyes sliding upwards as if the answer lay heavenward.

The cogs click, they look at you, pointing.

“Disheartened!”

Of course, your friends knew of your admiration for Miguel, often construing it as romantic attraction, but their jibes never went past a joke – purely satirical. After all, practically every student fancied Miguel.

But, that was the first indication you’d seen that Miguel didn’t just view you as another of his students. Though, you hadn’t seen the other warning signs.

Not that youd knwo this prior to dating him, but Miguel gets unbelievably hard when you call him ‘Mr. O’Hara’. Or, even better, ‘Sir’.

Something about the way you look up at him beneath your lashes, eyes filled with the desire to please him, to get on his good side and undertake any task he set for you, was akin to him having full control over you — academic and otherwise.

It just reminds him of how much power he has over you; for the first time, he feels that he has control over the elements and objects around him — an agent of fate rather than being a subject of it. 

That, coupled with his secret identity as Spider Man, sends him on a power trip that often leads him to relieving himself of his growing burden in the privacy of his own four walls, your name laced between the groaning, the panting, the moaning; the only comprehensible instrument in his orchestra.

And, when you eventually start dating, he takes his frustrations out on you.

He makes low, raspy threats when he wants something.

“I’ll lower your grade,” he says, sliding his belt from the loops of his trousers.

The blood draining from your face, your widened stare, your mouth dropping open, make his pants feel tight. Tighter. Goosebumps erupt across his skin.

“Or,” he offers, folding the belt and holding it by the ends. He slaps the belt’s body against itself, sending a crack through the room. You flinch.

“You can be a good little student and earn your grade.”

‘Earning’ often ends with you panting and red and wet, while Miguel watches you between half-lidded, reddened eyes, contact lenses long abandoned, his true nature no longer an enigma to you.

Unfortunately for you.

Extra Yandere Headcanons:

Once you discover Miguel’s true identity, both as Spiderman and a monster, you can never leave.

And not just because you’d be endangering both yourself and him if you ever told anyone.

Miguel, quite simply, cannot live without you. And the thought that you would try to escape him is, despite his intelligence, baffling.

His delusion has blinded him, made him privy only to any positive opinion of him you may have, ignoring your reservations. Invalidating them.

If you ever do make the mistake of trying to leave, Miguel knows he cannot let you have the chance of making it again.

“Can’t risk you getting out, Darling,” he says, placing the finishing knots on the threads of his neon web, keeping your arms constricted behind your back. It’s nigh-impossible to breathe; the likelihood of you breaking your ribs against the pull of the web a certainty rather than you managing to burst it open with any manoeuvre.

He kneels before you, taking your cheek in his hand.

With fleeting defiance, you pull yourself from his grasp, only to see him bear his teeth, fangs and all, and growl. His hands snake about your cheek, your throat, and pull you to him.

“No-one will ever love you like I do,” he rasps. Before you can anticipate, his lips are on yours, parted, tongue lapping at the inside of your mouth. You squeeze your eyes shut, knowing better than to bite him.

His iron grip on your wrists from last time still haven’t healed.

You daren’t close your eyes for fear that doing so will leave you any more vulnerable than you already are.

Only when he’s breathless does he pull back, eyes half-lidded and gleaming. You can tell he’s angling for something more in the way his hand drops to your shoulder, his eyes sweeping across your collarbones.

But, luckily for you, the two of you know he can’t indulge in you just yet. Not while he has you bound in his basement and a class of students awaiting his arrival.

“I’ll be back for you later,” he says, still panting, forehead pressed to yours. His smile, once pointed and serpentine, is incongruously soft compared to the current circumstances. His lips gentle as he presses a kiss to your forehead. His eyes shimmer with a tenderness that often overtook him in moments of great need – of great “love”, as he’d characterise it.

With a tight, embrace, he parts from you. His shirt is an almost blinding white against the light pouring in from the hallway, the basement door now wide open. He retrieves his glasses from his breast pocket, slips them on. His eyes are unreadable, coloured brown with contact lenses which seemed to conceal his inhumanity from all except you.

“Sit tight, Sweetie,” he tells you. And you are plunged once again into darkness with only the dim glow of his web to accompany you.

And, just like the good, obedient student you are, you obey. For you have no other choice.

Reblog for more content like this! It helps creators like myself tremendously and it is greatly appreciated :-)

Masterlist Masterpost

Yandere Masterlist Juicy Original Content <3

[iwritenarrativesandstuff]

I’m just going to throw down my thoughts now real quick. Someone is obviously going to get taken over by Fyodor. This takeover seems to require blood to activate. Here are the potential options, rated lowest to highest by my own personal interest.

Random character we’ve never met - the easy and boring answer. Fyodor will body snatch one of the vampire guards he was communicating with. Fair amount of likelihood since he could easily have made the transfer of blood at any point, though I’m not sure yet if it needs to be an instantaneous thing or if his blood can lie dormant. Either way I think it’s a bit of an ass-pull with no stakes on our cast so I’m hoping this isn’t the case.

A named character outside Meursault - Probably someone he’s had a lot of contact with, so Fukuchi. This depends on the blood having a latency period and is also insanely contrived. I actually hate it more than the random guard.

The Catgirl thief - I’m assuming this is extremely unlikely since the host needs to be alive. But anyways. Women lovers here’s how we lose even worse.

Having said this now, I think it’s fairly obvious it has to be one of the other Meursault four. This is appropriately thematic and tragic, given that all of them place a lot of value on free will and self-determination, which a takeover by Fyodor would rob them of.

Chuuya - He spent a lot of time around Chuuya to be sure but there’s no blood on him. If there’s a latency period though, it is possible. I’m not feeling this one though, to be honest. I don���t see what narrative purpose it serves - Chuuya hasn’t had enough of a role in the manga for this to mean much, other than royally pissing Dazai off (which to be fair is definitely in character for Fyodor). I think it far more likely that Chuuya is going to be a witness for whatever comes next.

Sigma - High likelihood. He did get stabbed and had the memory transfer. I can’t remember whether Fyodor touched him with his wounded hand. It would be brutal for this to happen to him after he’d just broken free from his manipulation. But honestly I don’t know that Sigma getting taken over is all that interesting. For one, they’re going to need his knowledge (though that may be a reason for Fyodor to off him truthfully), and for another, I just don’t think Sigma’s… done enough as a character. I feel it would kind of render his arc in Meursault pointless to end his story here.

Nikolai - The most likely possibility to me. He is holding Fyodor’s severed hand, which he touched to his face. Fyodor’s ability probably kickstarts after his death, and Nikolai was the first to get his blood on him. Sadly, I suspect that if this is the case, this will be the end for Nikolai. If he gets taken over, I can’t see a reason or method to restore him to himself. What a horribly tragic end this would be to our favourite clown, his freedom snatched away for good by the one person he couldn’t help but get attached to.

Dazai - I dismissed this off-hand at first. Of course I did, Dazai is immune to abilities. I also want to be clear that I seriously doubt Asagiri will off his favourite boy like this. But oh man. What if Fyodor’s ability isn’t an ability, much like in the first skk manga team up? What if them both being there is a call-back to Rimbaud who snatched corpses, and Lovecraft who could hurt Dazai? What if Fyodor really has become no longer human - and this is the proof? I was kind of hoping the Meursault arc would end with Dazai (temporarily!) out of the picture, and this would be a way to do it - Atsushi and Akutagawa would have to step up, Chuuya could be more relevant. We could even have more Kyouka if what I’m starting to wonder is true - that Fyodor was involved in the death of her parents. At the same time, Dazai’s special boy plot armour nullification and mysteriousness gives us a plausible reason to bring him back. And all the while maybe they could continue their mind games, with Dazai being an annoying little pest in the back of Fyodor’s mind.

[levemetal]

Hi hello, I rushed this and I cannot be arsed to properly render this. I have other things to draw, many of them. But also. I really put too much effort into the flat of this that I kinda burned myself out LMAO

ANYWAY CALAMITY/GHOST KING SHEN JIU DESIGN. Take it, cherish him like I would. I wanted to dress him up like the pretty princess he is <3 Plus, ghost kings a la tgcf gotta slay in all categories so here we go. I'll ramble more about the more coherent thoughts I have but you can tear ghost king SJ from my cold dead hands. ٩( ᐛ )و

His motivations more becoming a ghost king/calamity are fairly straightforward if you're familiar with Shen Jiu and all the funky workings of his mind. It is to be stronger than everybody else and attaining a place that cannot be taken from him cause he has the power for it. So that no one else can have any power over him either.

However this also means that he does not necessarily have any grand plans of what to do with that power. I imagine he'd be a recluse, living off and alone somewhere hardly getting involved in the affairs of the living and gods etc.

If he does, I imagine it might more be in the style of killing slavers and otherwise bad men. Maybe a sort of brothel workers protector, getting rid of the most problematic and horrible clients? Let your imagination wander!

For a title? I have no clue man, I am not good enough at words for this. Something with green or teal as the color and leaves. That's how far I got.

Now the juicy stuff, POWERS. Leaves. Leaves and fans is the tldr version. I imagine he'd use the qi-infused leaves as in canon, just far more deadlier (probably) and conjured rather than just reliant on leaves off trees in the vicinity. For a weapon, if available (read: SY is not possessing SJ's OG body, or Xiu Ya was not obtained) I think he should get to keep Xiu Ya, or otherwise a blood weapon shaped after it. Tho if I had to give him a blood weapon a la Hua Cheng's E'ming, it would be a fan. The blades on it would likely be shift on, both an edge to cut with and places for darts to fly out. Otherwise in terms of weapons I could see daggers very well too for SJ. They'd suit him, as he could get in and get a quick stab or just throw them from afar. With his fighting style that likely has a lot of the ruthless tactics of his youth incorporated, I think it would fit just like a battle fan.

Otherwise, I do see him being a capable shapeshifter, or some sort of abilities to stay in the shadows undetected. If he needs some sort of animal or communication/surveillance skill associated with him, I personally would pick ravens. Spiritually created ravens as a sort of spying network and surveillance method.

Another juicy detail could be cultivation method. Tgcf does mention that the ghosts still have their own form of cultivating their power. For example, He Xuan eats and absorbs the abilities of other ghosts, whereas Hua Cheng is mentioned to cultivate via slaughtering. The xianxia in tgcf is rather vague now that I have a few more danmei under my belt, and specifically Devil Venerable also wants to know has given me a looot of thoughts about some interesting ways to detail this if it is so desired for a setting. Do please keep in mind tho I haven't really researched cultivation and the wuxia/xianxia 101 worldbuilding yet so this may not make sense. Anywho:

For Shen Jiu in particular I'd find it interesting to give him his own form rather than just copying either Hua Cheng (most fitting imo) or He Xuan (bonus eating disorder included, hooray!). So here are some ideas I had in no particular order:

- Take the core melting aspect from mdzs and applying it to ghosts (sorta): dissolving and absorbing the cores/qi of cultivators and ghosts alike, thus claiming the power for his own.

- Blood. Think less vampire and more slaughter. The messier the kill essentially, bleed the victims dry and absorb the blood to transform it into qi. (Thank you returning Dragon Age brainrot)

- dvawtk's Path of Slaughter. It doesn't really fit SJ as it relies on constantly finding stronger opponents to fight and challenge, especially ones stronger than oneself and persevering against the odds. Not his personal choice but it would poetically fit him and his entire life pretty well.

That's all for now. If you made it till here.... have a gold star: ⭐️

[fandoms-x-reader]

Inside a Horror Game (Part 3)

Requested By: @deludedprime

Word Count: 5,506

Part 1 - Part 2

You stood by yourself in one of the stone rooms in the labyrinth. The others were still trapped in their rooms, doing everything they could to escape.

You ran a hand over your face, trying to compose your thoughts. What had you done wrong? Why couldn’t you get them to succumb to their sin? Why couldn’t you kill them like you had set out to do? 

_______________

You woke up in darkness. It was quiet and empty with nothing and no one around you. You took a few steps forward trying to find out where you were.

You heard a voice off in the distance. You recognized the voice, but you couldn’t quite make it out. It was too quiet. You were too far away. You began walking in the direction of the noise and started hearing others.

You stopped when they finally came into view. Everyone you loved was portrayed in front of you in a vision. You could see and hear them, but you couldn’t reach out and touch them. “Hey,” you stated, waving your hand at them.

“Hey!” you shouted louder, your movement becoming a bit more frantic, hoping to catch their attention. But they didn’t react at all. They were looking right at you. They were talking to you. So, why couldn’t they see or hear you?

“Let them go.”

Your focus snapped to Lucifer as he spoke those words. You felt an uneasy tension building up inside you as your heart began racing. He was talking about you, wasn’t he? You took a few steps backward and your mind was overwhelmed as you recollected your time stuck in the videogame. 

“Soon you’ll find the urge to kill them stronger than any urge you have to protect them.”

You were the one speaking those words. It was your voice talking and your body moving while you said them. But, it wasn’t you. You didn’t believe them. They loved you as much as you loved them, you were sure of it. It didn’t matter if you were an angel, human, or demon.

“That would never happen.”

Your heart melted as Satan spoke up, reconfirming your words. You reached out to touch him and then realized you couldn’t. You had to get out of here. 

“Let’s see what happens when you’re tested.”

Your blood ran cold at the words. Someone had taken over your body and intended to use it to hurt everyone. You couldn’t let that happen. You wouldn’t let that happen. You weren’t sure how, but you would find some way out. You find some way to fight and take your body back. No matter the cost.

_______________

It was starting to make sense now. Everyone was still alive because you were fighting back. You were putting every ounce of your energy into regaining control and it was hindering your abilities. There was a war going on inside your body and it was being put under extreme stress as it tried to contain both you and the being. 

As you got weaker, the walls of the labyrinth began crumbling down. The being was losing what strength it had to keep them up. The unnecessary rooms and hallways began to collapse; and soon, the holding rooms went along with it. 

When the rumbling from the walls crashing down stopped, everyone stood there together. A mix of confusion and relief washed over their features as they were finally freed from their captivity. But, who was the one who brought down the walls?

They looked at each other, all fourteen of them silently asking the same question. None of them were providing an answer though. “Lucifer, did you-?” Asmo began to ask but was cut off when Lucifer shook his head no. “It wasn’t me,” Lucifer replied.

“Satan?” Solomon asked, turning towards the Avatar of Wrath. He was good enough at curses that it was believable. There was a small frown on his face as Satan replied, “I tried, but nothing I did worked. This was someone else.”

Barbatos and Solomon had already been rendered powerless when it came to the videogame and after Diavolo and Simeon both denied playing a part in the walls crumbling down, that left them with only one answer. The one person they couldn’t see - you.

“So, they’re still alive,” Levi said, an immense weight lifted off his shoulders. He was afraid that after failing to kill them, the being would go after you. 

“We need to get to them,” Diavolo stated. Everyone agreed, ready to fight an army off if it meant saving you.

They raced through the hallways, easily finding the right path as the others were reduced to rubble. They reached the room and entered, stopping when they finally saw you. 

You stood in front of them, holding a weapon in one hand while your other hand clutched your forehead. You were turned away from them, not moving. From where they stood they could see that something was wrong.

“Y/N!” Mammon shouted, taking a step forward. Your eyes snapped open, clutching your weapon tighter. The being was inside of you and it had your memories. It knew everything about you; and, you had given them an idea.

“Stay.”

You smiled as all seven demon brothers froze in their spots and you used whatever magic you had left to stop the rest of them. The being was tired of waiting. They were tired of them trying to escape; and, they were tired of you fighting back. They were going to end this now.

_______________

You watched in horror as all of your friends were frozen in place. The being was going to kill them. You were going to have to watch them plunge their weapon into each one of their hearts as you sat there and watched.

The being began walking towards the brothers first and your heart nearly stopped. Just the thought of watching any of them die was overwhelming you with sadness. This couldn’t be happening. 

You watched as the being raised the hand with the weapon, readying it for the first attack. 

“No.”

This was your body and you weren’t going to let it happen. You took a deep breath and mustered everything you had left. You didn’t care if it killed you, as long as it saved them. You put everything you had into gaining control.

_______________

The brothers watched as you came closer and closer, your weapon ready to strike the first of them down. Your eyes were filled with malice as you wore a smile. The being had won. They weren’t strong enough.

You moved to attack as the others looked on in panic. But, you faltered. Your eyes - they were no longer filled with malice but with sorrow. Your arm was frozen in the air and the brothers could see the internal struggle you were going through. 

In a flash, you had plunged the weapon that was intended for them into yourself. Everyone watched in horror as you let out a painful gasp, blood pouring from the wound. Their eyes were wide as they watched you stumble to the ground. 

Tears filled their eyes as some of them let out shouts of pain. You were dying in front of them and they couldn’t run to you. They couldn’t help you. They couldn’t save you. 

You took your final breaths, looking up at the ceiling. It was finally over. You did it. You had killed the being and you were now in your own body, feeling everything as you bled out. You wondered if this was really the end or if you would wake up outside of the videogame. Then everything faded white.

*

Tears stained everyone’s cheeks as they exited the videogame. It was all fake right, you weren’t - you couldn’t be dead. They woke up in the cafeteria and they immediately scanned the area for you. But you weren’t there - at least, you weren’t standing there.

They immediately scattered, looking around the cafeteria for you. Belphie and Beel were the first to find you. Your body was on the ground, your eyes closed. Their hearts dropped for a moment as Belphie called, “Over here.” They were too scared to approach you. Too scared to find out you were really dead.

Mammon was the first to reach you, pulling you into his lap. “Please don’t be dead,” he whispered as he gently cradled you. Satan was the next to come, crouching down next to you, and gently placing his fingers on the side of your neck. 

He held his breath until he felt your steady pulse beating against his fingers. He let out a breath of relief and locked eyes with Mammon for a moment before announcing to everyone else, “She’s alive.”

After finding out you were alive, the group decided to move you to your room so you would be more comfortable as you rested.

Lucifer told the others that he would be the one to watch over you as you slept. He wanted - needed - to be there.

When the others left the room, he finally let his calm image fade away. He sat down next to you on the bed as his true emotions began to show themselves. His eyes were filled with sorrow as he took your hand in his. 

Lucifer had been genuinely terrified in that video game. He wasn’t scared of dying himself. But, watching you die before his eyes was something he couldn’t handle. As he watched the life leave you, flashbacks of your time together ran through his mind. He realized just how much he loved you and how he couldn’t live without you.

He turned your arm over and placed his fingers on your wrist. He wanted to feel your pulse himself. The tension in his shoulders was slightly relieved when he felt it beat underneath his fingers. You were alive. 

Lucifer’s eyes were trained on your wrist, willing himself to focus on the feeling of you being alive rather than letting the terrible thoughts he had take over. He couldn’t afford to fall apart. He needed to be here for you.

You let out a small groan as your eyes fluttered open. Lucifer turned his attention to watching your face when you began to stir. He felt like he couldn’t breathe as your eyes locked with his. Your eyebrows knitted together for a moment as you asked, “Lucifer?”

Lucifer couldn’t help the smile that spread across his face. You were awake. You were talking. Lucifer gripped your hand in his even tighter, willing himself to say something. To say anything, but he was torn.

He wanted to apologize a hundred times over for not being there to protect you. He wanted to thank you for saving their lives; but, he also wanted to scold you for endangering your own. And more than anything, he wanted to tell you how much he loved you.

He wanted to pull you into his arms and hold you close to him as he told you over and over again. But, his body refused to move and his mouth refused to speak, the shock of everything that had happened finally taking effect.

You could see the internal conflict Lucifer was going through, and you gently placed your hand on his cheek. He immediately leaned into your touch, allowing himself to be vulnerable in front of you.

He gently curled his fingers around your wrist, keeping you from moving. This is what he needed to assure himself that you were okay. You knew he needed this. He needed a moment where he could let his feelings show without having to portray a perfect image.

“So, when does the lecture start?” you asked after a moment. Lucifer let out a small chuckle, shifting in the bed to be even closer to you. “Tomorrow. I want you to be well-rested for it,” he replied and you smiled in response. Rest.

You hated the idea of it, afraid to fall asleep after everything that had happened. You wanted to stay awake so you could ensure you were in control of your body. But you knew it was impossible to stay awake forever.

“Would you stay with me tonight?” you asked Lucifer, and he could see the hint of fear in your eyes. He agreed in an instant, hoping you would ask him that because the truth was he didn’t want to leave you.

He got comfortable in the bed with you, holding you close. He promised himself he would always be there in the future to ensure you never got hurt again.

Mammon was a wreck. He had been a wreck since the moment he found out something was possessing your body. He blamed it on himself more than anything. He saw you get your first headache and he brushed it off. He told you he would protect you and then didn’t do anything to help.

How could he have been so careless? How could he have let this happen? He was sure his brothers didn’t want to leave him alone with you. If something happened, he probably wouldn’t be able to help. But, he refused to leave your side. His human was hurt and he was going to be there every second until you were better.

He sat down beside the bed on a chair. He leaned forward, resting his arm on the bed and placing his head on top of it so that he could watch you as you rested. He interlaced his other hand with yours, thankful when he felt it was warm and not cold.

“Please wake up,” he whispered. He hadn’t stopped whispering that phrase since his brothers left him alone with you. It was as if he believed it was a chant that would take effect if he repeated it enough. 

He just wanted you to open your eyes. He wanted to know that you were there with him and not some being. He already knew the image of you being possessed was one that would haunt him at night, ensuring his dreams were only nightmares. But, he would endure them, as long as when he woke up it was to the real you.

You let out a small gasp as your eyes shot open. Mammon immediately sat up at the noise and watched you intently. You blinked a few times, trying to understand where you were. Mammon was frozen in shock for a moment that you were actually awake. But, as soon as he saw you begin to blink, his arms flew around you, pulling you into a hug. 

You let out a small startled noise but relaxed when you realized who it was. “I’m sorry,” he said barely above a whisper as he pulled away. You furrowed your eyebrows in confusion and he told you, “I’m sorry I didn’t protect ya’. It was my job as you’re first, and-.”

You could tell Mammon was about to go into a long ramble and you stopped him by gently placing your finger against his lips to shush him. His eyes were wide as he looked at you. You were looking at him with the same love and adoration you always had and he memorized the way your eyes looked. The kindness in them replacing the images of when they held hatred towards him.

“There was nothing you could have done, Mammon. What’s important is that we’re both here and we’re both okay,” you told him. You then gently pulled him into the bed with you and he let you. He would do anything and everything you wanted him to.

He laid down in the bed and you laid on his shoulder, placing one arm over him. You could hear his heart racing and you could see him trying to hide the blush he had. You leaned forward and placed a kiss on his jaw. He was flustered, but he willed himself to not freak out. Even if he would never voice it, he wanted to be here with you and he wasn’t going to let his tsundere tendencies keep him from taking care of you.

As you laid next to him, Mammon’s mind couldn’t help but go back to the video game and the dream that the being put him in. He didn’t need the casino or all the winnings. You were enough. He knew that as long as he had you, he wouldn’t need anything else. 

Levi was panicking as he waited for you to wake up. His brothers were all incredibly mad at him for what happened. It was his fault after all that they all winded up in the video game. It was his fault that you got hurt.

Lucifer wanted to send him to his room right away, but for once, Levi put his foot down. He was terrified of the consequences, but he wasn’t going to leave your side. He felt guilty for everything that had happened and needed to make sure you were okay himself.

Lucifer hated being defied by anyone; but, the fact that it was Levi who did it surprised him. He could see how much this meant to his brother so he allowed him to stay with you until you woke up. Then he would be properly punished.

But as he was sitting in the room with you, Levi was beginning to regret his decision. He started to think that it would have been better if he had just gone to his room and locked himself away forever. 

You probably hated him. You had just been trying to help Diavolo with the event. Instead, you wound up in a video game and got hurt. Why didn’t he read the instructions? He should have known from previous experiences. He had just been so excited.

He began to pace the room as his insecurities built up inside him more and more. Would you be mad if you saw him there when you woke up? He just wanted to be there for you, but would you even let him after what happened? Maybe it would be better if he just left and asked one of his brothers to stay with you.

Just as he was debating if he should leave or not, your voice suddenly pulled him from his thoughts. “Levi?” you asked. He jumped slightly as he turned to face the bed. You were awake? When did that happen?

“Y/N,” Levi began, racing to the bed and sitting down next to you. “I’m so sorry for everything that happened,” he said, a frown on his lips. “It’s not your fault, Levi. I wanted to play the game too,” you replied. 

You could see how surprised he was at your answer. Had he been expecting you to wake up and yell at him? You decided to try and help reassure him further by telling him, “I’m glad you’re here, Levi.”

Now, he was shocked. “You…are?” he asked. You nodded your head giving him a small smile and a +blush coated his cheeks. His thoughts immediately shifted from self-deprecation to what he could do to make you feel better.

“Do you want to watch an anime? Or I could read you some manga? Or I could play a game for you- a NON-horror game,” Levi suggested, his mind thinking back to the things he saw in his dream. He was hoping you would still want to do any of those things with him. 

“Sure, Levi,”  you replied with a smile, and before you could even tell him what you wanted to do, he disappeared. He ran to his room to grab everything he could. He wanted to bring you everything you could want to do. He wanted to do anything he could to make you happy.

Satan let out a small sigh as he looked over your features. He placed his hand on your neck once again, feeling your pulse. It had been the twentieth time in the last hour that he had done it, but after what he saw in the labyrinth, he didn’t want to take any chances. 

He sent a longing look to the books on the ground next to him. He had brought them from his room, determined not to leave your side until you were awake. But, he couldn’t bring himself to read any of them. 

Every time he reached for one, he was reminded of the fake world the being put him in and his heart was filled with sadness as his eyes went back to your sleeping form. He needed you to be okay.

He watched you touch the orb on the wall. Why didn’t he stop you? He knew you were in a horror game. He knew danger could be lurking around any corner, so why did he just stand by and idly watch as you endangered yourself?

He had already moved from sitting next to the bed in a chair to sitting on the bed right next to you. But, now even this spot wasn’t enough for him. He gently shifted your body in the bed before picking your head up and placing it in his lap. 

He looked down at you and cupped your cheek before gently rubbing his thumb over your cheekbone. He studied every single one of your features, noticing how different they looked now that your body was free from the evil spirit.

Your skin tone was warm and there was a slight pink to your cheeks, making you look healthy and alive. Your eyes, even though they were closed, looked peaceful; and, even your lips looked softer. He spent an extra second looking at them, remembering the kiss you gave him in his dream.

Your eyes suddenly fluttered open, meeting his green ones. You furrowed your eyebrows slightly, confused as to how you got here and Satan understood. “When you-,” he began, but he couldn’t say the words. He hated the image they brought of what happened in the labyrinth.

“When the game ended, we were all transported back to the Devildom. You were still asleep so we brought you to your room,” he explained. “I remember what you said,” you told him and now it was Satan’s turn to look confused.

“I could still see and hear everything, and I heard you tell it - well, me - that you would never turn on me,” you stated. Satan nodded his head and replied, “I meant it.” “I know, I believe you,” you responded with a small smile.

There was a moment of silence and you asked, “Would you read to me?” Satan was slightly surprised by the question but excited nonetheless. You handed him one of the books from the ground and he pulled you further into his lap. 

Your head rested in the crook of his neck as his arms wrapped around you, his deep voice bringing the words on the pages to life. You were beginning to fall asleep when you said, “I remember the dream too, you know.”

Satan froze, a blush rising to his cheeks. “You saw that?” he asked, his heart now racing. You nodded your head before telling him, “It’s nice.” Satan suddenly realized that the current scenario the two of you were in mimicked the dream, except it was real. Satan smiled to himself, pulling you closer. He never wanted to let you go.

Asmo not only refused to leave your side, he refused to leave the bed. He wanted to be as close to you as he could. So, as soon as they laid your body in the bed, he climbed in right alongside you. The others protested at first, but when they realized Asmo wasn’t going to move, they left. 

As soon as they were gone, Asmo was doing everything he could to wake you up. He pulled you into a hug, whispering things into your ear to try and get you to wake up. When that didn’t work, he gently stroked your hair. Then he moved to trying to kiss your nose and your cheeks and your forehead. But at the end of it all, you still stayed asleep.

Asmo let out a sigh when you didn’t stir and worry filled every inch of his features. Why wouldn’t you wake up? He knew at this rate he was going to get worry lines, but for the first time, he didn’t care. 

You had protected them. You sacrificed yourself to save them. He watched as you bled out in front of them. None of them were able to do anything about it. And, it was killing him. The memory of you dying was driving him crazy and he needed you to wake up and erase it. 

He pulled you into him. Your forehead was pressed against his chest as his head rested on top of yours. The smell of his perfume overwhelmed your senses, causing you to stir slightly as your eyes fluttered open to find out what that amazing scent was.

When you opened your eyes, you saw that you were point blank with someone’s chest and there was only one person you knew who had that perfume.

“Asmo?” you questioned. Did he just hear you say his name? Asmo immediately pulled back so that he could look at you. He gently cradled your head as his eyes met with yours. His heart immediately swelled with joy.

“You’re awake!” he said happily, peppering even more kisses on your face. “You scared me,” he told you after a few more kisses. “I’m sorry,” you replied and Asmo shook his head. “Don’t apologize! I’m the one who should be saying sorry. I’m sorry I didn’t notice what was going on sooner, and thank you for saving us,” he replied.

“You’re too pretty to kill,” you teased and Asmo smiled at you. He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, and you noticed him holding back from something. “What is it?” you asked him. Asmo hesitated for a moment before speaking what was on his mind. 

“Possessed or not, if you ever proposition me like that again Y/N, I won’t be able to hold back next time,” Asmo told you, giving you a charming and innocent smile. You immediately blushed at his words, hiding your face in his chest and he pulled you further into him, enjoying the feeling of your touch.

It was true that his mind had been running rampant with images since that moment in the labyrinth. But, the important thing was that you were there with him. He had a chance at creating the happiness he had gotten a glimpse of with you, and he was going to do everything in his power to make it a reality.

Beel was starving to death, but his sadness was outweighing the pain. His brothers were surprised when Beel asked to stay behind with you instead of going to get food. He hadn’t eaten all day and they could hear his stomach let out inhumane growls.

But after watching you die in front of him in the video game, he couldn’t imagine something happening to you while he was eating. He needed to be here with you.

Belphie took sympathy on his brother, bringing him some food, but he knew it wasn’t enough to satiate his hunger. He would have to leave at some point or it wouldn’t be good for anyone. Belphie tried to tell Beel this, but Beel ignored him. He wasn’t leaving. 

He was the first one to notice when you got your headache. He should have said something to the others. Mammon had been there too, but he didn’t take it seriously. So, Beel thought it would be okay. 

It was just like when he heard the banshee scream before Lilith died. He saw the signs - he got a warning before something bad happened. But, he didn’t do anything about it. And because of that, he had to watch you die in front of him - just like Lilith did.

Tears streamed down Beel’s cheeks as he watched you sleep. Satan told him you would wake up, but he wouldn’t believe it until you opened your eyes. Until you could talk to him and tell him you were okay. Until you could hug him back.

He was so wrapped up in his thoughts that he didn’t hear a quiet voice ask, “Beel?” You had woken up to the large demon sitting on the bed next to you, staring at you. You tried calling out to him, but he was completely zoned out.

“Beel?” you asked again, a bit louder. This time he heard you and he snapped out of his thoughts, his eyes widening when he saw you staring at him. You could see how worried he had been and the streaks where the tears had fallen. You gave him a small smile before saying, “I’m okay.”

The crushing pressure Beel had been feeling was immediately released as you said the words he needed you to say. He opened his mouth to say something, but no words came out. Suddenly, a large growl filled the silence of the room.

You stared at Beel for a moment before asking, “Do you want to go get some food?” His eyes lit up as he carefully scooped you into his arms. He brought you into the kitchen carefully setting you down. His brothers had been nice enough to leave him all of their leftovers so the prep time was short.

You rested against Beel as he ate a tremendous amount of food. You knew he didn’t want to part from you, but he needed to eat so this seemed like the best option. When he was finally done he brought you back up to your room and decided to stay with you for the rest of the night.

He made sure to touch you every so often. He would hold your hand, or stroke your cheek. He would hug you or run his fingers through your hair. Anything he could do to remind himself that you were real.

Watching you die hit Belphie hard. The last time he watched as the life drained out of your body, it was by his hands; and the dark memories haven’t left him alone since the video game ended. He hated himself for hurting you. He did everything he could to move past it, but the events that happened that day made it hard for him to forget.

After he grew to know you, he swore he would never let harm come to you again. But, he broke that promise. He didn’t stop you from getting taken over, and he didn’t stop you from sacrificing yourself to save them. Why did you do it? Did you love them all that much?

Belphie had been sitting in a chair next to the bed for a while but grew tired of it. He moved to the bed, lying down next to you. He laid facing you, listening to each breath you took. “I thought napping was my thing,” he told you with a small smirk, waiting for you to come back with some snarky comment.

His face fell when he realized you weren’t going to respond. His mind flashed back to the fabricated world. A world in which you wanted to be with him and only him. A world in which the two of you were going to go into an eternal slumber so that you could be together forever.

“You weren’t supposed to fall asleep without me,” Belphie stated, moving closer to you. He laid his head on you wrapping his arms around you to pull you closer. “I don’t want to fall asleep if it’s not with you,” he whispered. It was a small confession of his love for you, but he was hoping it would be enough to stir you awake.

You mumbled something incoherent and Belphie moved his head up to stare at you. Did he imagine that? You mumbled once more, turning towards Belphie. You opened your eyes and a slight blush coated your cheeks as your face was only a couple of inches from his.

Belphie smiled as he saw you looking at him. “Good morning,” you muttered with a sleepy smile. Belphie touched his forehead against yours, closing his eyes. “You’re not allowed to leave me ever again,” Belphie stated, his arms tightening around you.

You nodded your head and told him, “I won’t.” Belphie let out a content sigh at your words and in an instant, shifted positions so that he was lying on top of you, cuddling into you. “Belphie? What are you doing?” you asked him, gently running your fingers through his hair.

“You got your nap in. Now I’m getting mine,” he replied with a cheeky smile. The truth was he just wanted to be close to you. To hear your heartbeat as his head was pressed to your chest. He could stay like this forever, with the two of you holding each other.

[threewaysdivided]

compared to the other hero's in YJ how do you think Phantom stands up power wise. like Future Danny ripped the world apart and i know in some fanfiction that it is used as an indicator that he is high up there, but i'm interested in your thoughts.

This is an interesting question nonnie!

I generally agree with the idea that Phantom is in the upper-tier of crossover superhero powers, but I do have more specific thoughts so let’s break it down:

Danny’s power level

Just looking at the variety and strength of ghost-powers that Phantom displays in his show, I would put him in the higher rankings of most heroes when it comes to raw ability.  I alluded to this in my main DP x YJ Deathly Weapons fanfic, but to me Phantom shows signs of a pretty common power-scaling differential that happens when a solo-protagonist hero gets transplanted into an ensemble setting.  Within his own setting, Phantom had to be (or become) powerful enough to solve most problems/ fights all by himself – and some of those ghosts he ended up facing towards the end of his canon were impressively strong.  By comparison ensemble heroes are generally less-powerful because working as a collective means they don’t have the same need for aggressive self-sufficiency and also so that no one character upstages or outmodes the rest of the group from a writing perspective.

There’s also the nature of ghost powers.  Phantom needed to develop the raw strength to fill the role of solo combat heavy-hitter, but his base powers are versatile to the point of unsettling.  He has to physically fight against other ghosts because they have (and to some extent are immune to) the same abilities as him, but in a fight against other species he could potentially avoid, manipulate or exhaust an opponent with strategic use of invisibility/ intangibility/ overshadowing.

The back of Dinah’s neck prickled.  With flight to mask footsteps and intangibility rendering them undetectable by touch…  Nonthreatening as Phantom generally appeared, she was starting to understand why his kind had developed such an unsettling reputation.  The idea that a ghost could be present at any time - eavesdropping, spying, interfering - without any of them being the wiser was… disquieting to say the least. - Deathly Weapons, Chapter 17: Assessment

On top of that, he seems to be in a similar boat to Superman when it comes to physical weaknesses – he doesn’t have that many, and they’re often quite specific or hard-to-find.   The most easily-exploitable one is that Danny can run out of power, be slowly starved of ectoplasm or be knocked unconscious; all of which would forcibly revert him back to his weaker human state.  After that, he’s vulnerable to certain magics and ghostly-artefacts, which are more likely to be accessible to various DC/ Marvel heroes (although they might not know exactly which spells/items will be most effective or why).  Beyond those two, most of his weaknesses need to be specifically known about and actively sought out – anti-ecto-technology is obtainable but not mainstream, blood blossoms naturally repel/hurt ghosts but they seem to be rare in nature (or even extinct in the modern day) and then assuming you acknowledge Phantom Planet there’s ectoranium which is basically ghost-Kryptonite in rarity (and possibly even the same mineral in DP x DC settings depending on the crossover).  Much like with Superman, the most reliable ways to take down Phantom require actively knowing what he is and having prepared accordingly.

Based on those metrics, I want to place Phantom in the same power-band as Superman or the Martian Manhunter.  I’d consider their powers to be equivalent incomparibles – it’s hard to stack their abilities side-by-side and say one is objectively better than the others.  A no-holds-barred, knock-down drag-out fight between those three could get very nasty but it would be hard to confidently call a winner without knowing more about the external factors around them.

That said, I think the thing holding Danny back from being fully at that level is his experience: or rather his lack thereof.   Danny hasn’t had much formal training (except maybe some basic self-defence instruction from Maddie/Jack) and he doesn’t have a proper mentor either.  His personal experience mostly fits the narrow niche of direct open combat with other ghosts, mostly throughout Amity Park and surrounds (although occasionally in the Ghost Zone or further from town). 

Phantom has enough raw power and innate talent as a strategic lateral-thinker to get by, but I think that hyperspecialisation and lack of guidance would leave him with a lot of blind-spots.  His hand-to-hand is self-taught and probably missing a lot of best-practice basic techniques.  He’s also never had an experienced third party to observe him in the field and offer suggestions on alternative approaches to using his powers/ keep him from developing bad habits.  This is something Danny actually comments on in canon; he can take a long time to identify solutions (even obvious ones) that deviate too far from his default throw hands approach to fighting.  His powers could be more effectively deployed as a precision-instrument but a lack of coaching means he tends to falls back on using them as a blunt hammer because that was the pattern that came naturally when he was first starting out, and no-one was around to keep that habit from ingraining.

The place where you can see this lack of experience hurting him the most is in his lack of soft-skills.  Phantom didn’t have anyone to advise him on de-escalation, damage control, comforting civilians, interacting with authorities etc.  Add in the naturally-frightening nature of many ghosts and it was easy for him to fall into a public perception of being “the town menace”.  Danny is pretty decent at rallying both humans and ghosts (even erstwhile enemies) to his side in crisis situations but no-one has taught him how manage public relations outside of that.  He says it himself: he needs a PR agent.

On the other hand, Phantom’s heroics have inadvertently earned him a decent amount of potential political pull in the Ghost Zone.  He has enough positive rapport that some regular rogues will take his side or even actively seek him out for help in the right circumstances, and other more antagonistic ones have at least developed a degree of grudging respect.  There are several powerful ghosts that either have direct debts of gratitude to him/his team (Princess Dorothea, Pandora) or who hold him in high esteem for re-sealing Pariah Dark (The Far Frozen).  It’s possible that defeating Pariah might even have granted him a potential candidature/claim to an official position, and judging by the way the Observants and Clockwork pay attention to him, it seems that Phantom’s slow accumulation of power/influence isn’t going completely unnoticed.  However, again, Danny doesn’t have the awareness, experience or training needed to leverage that effectively – heck, he’s not even doing it on purpose.

With all that taken into account, I think Phantom would rank very highly in terms of overall potential, but at his current level he’d be in the lower ranks of the A-tier.  He could become a much more powerful figure with the right guidance but in his canonical state he’s underutilising or outright overlooking a lot of his most effective tools.

TUE Future/ “Dark Phantom”

The “Dark Phantom” presented in the TUE Bad-Future is interesting to me because while he’s a very powerful figure within that story, I don't think he’s a very good reflection of canon-Danny’s potential to do harm.

Gonna complain about The Ultimate Enemy for a bit: I’ve tag-muttered about this before but I’m one of the Phandom members who finds The Ultimate Enemy to be a frustratingly weak episode.  It has a potentially fascinating core premise (the “evil future/alternate self”) but the execution is so convoluted and driven by improbable contrivances that the whole ends up being far less than the sum of its parts.   

One of the biggest problems is that, rather than being a straight future/alternate version of Danny, “Dark Phantom” is actually a hybrid of Phantom and Plasmius’ worse sides.  He’s a distinct, separate entity which means he can’t work as an effective dark mirror to either of them.  (Compare and contrast the Justice League episode A Better World in which the Justice Lords acted as a dark mirror of what the actual Justice League members could become if they chose to abandon their morals and compassion in favour of seizing control and instating a totalitarian system of draconian crime prevention.)

The episode also tried to graft on a really mismatched moral of “don’t be a cheat”.  Rather than being a lesson on choices/ values/ power/ responsibility, Dark Phantom almost ends up being an offhand biproduct of Danny getting caught cheating on a freshman/sophomore-year career-aptitude test.  Instead of learning a lesson about himself/ his ideals/ his personal faults, Danny comes away from the episode with a cool new superpower after deciding not to cheat on the test after all.  Not exactly satisfying.

That mismatch and the convoluted levels of moon-logic required to make it fit severely undermine the idea that this version of Dark Phantom is “inevitable”.  There are too many steps that are too highly-specific and too easily-avoidable for the threat to feel real: Danny has to care enough about an early-highschool CAT to want to cheat, he has to somehow get the answers which he wasn’t intending to do in the canon timelineand only does as a result of Clockwork’s meddling, making it a self-fulfilling situation, he has to get caught using them, Mister Lancer has to hold the resulting parent-teacher meeting at Nasty Burger rather than a school office for some reason, the Nasty Burger Sauce has to 1. be dangerously explosive and 2. coincidentally explode while not only Danny’s parents but his friends and sister are inside, Danny has to be placed in Vlad’s custody rather than with his Aunt Alicia or closer family-friends, Danny has to ask Vlad to remove his Phantom-half and finally, Vlad himself has to agree to do it.  Take away any of those steps and this version of Dark Phantom doesn’t happen.  That’s not inevitable, it’s contrived.

But anyway, let’s look at Dark Phantom as his own entity:

One of the things that makes Dark Phantom much more potentially dangerous is that he combines Phantom’s raw power with Plasmius’ experience.  Like I was saying before, one of Danny’s biggest handicaps is that he lacks training/guidance and tends to underutilise his most effective abilities.  Vlad meanwhile has had years of relative freedom to practice and finesse a lower raw-power level; he’s much more skilled at advanced techniques like duplication and overshadowing (which he canonically used to force through his fortune-making business deals), as well as ecto-constructs.  Plasmius is also a lot more tactical and manipulative in how he applies their common powers.  Plus, the TUE version of Dark Phantom is a full-ghost, which means he doesn’t have a vulnerable mortal state that can be exploited as a weakness.

This is why I think it would be possible for TUE!Dark Phantom to successfully decimate other heroes in shared-universe crossover situations where ghosts aren’t common knowledge.  He’d be an unexpected, unknown enemy that the heroes have no effective way to fight (outside of a few magic users).  Combine that with many of the most powerful heroes being visible as public figures, and Dark Phantom having inherited Plasmius’ strategic/manipulative traits and it could be very easy for Dark Phantom to basically launch a premeditated paranormal blitzkrieg attack, using Plasmius’ skill with duplicates and overshadowing to subjugate any hero he couldn’t overwhelm with Phantom’s raw power level.  It would also make sense that Amity Park would become one of the remaining bastions in any TUE-style future, since having advanced knowledge of ghostly abilities and access to anti-ecto technology would tilt the balance more evenly and allow them to at least keep the danger out.

Mentally, it’s also worth noting that Dark Phantom is a lot more dangerous than either Phantom or Plasmius.  He’s basically the most toxic traits from both of them, removed from their more moderating/ compassionate instincts.  Based on the canonical explanation given, TUE!Danny had Phantom forcibly removed in attempt to remove the pain/ rage/ grief he was feeling over the death of his family.  This isn’t a model-hero-persona conceptualisation of Phantom a la Splitting Images; the TUE-version of his ghost half is a big ball of churning negative emotion.  And what are some of Danny’s toxic traits when it comes to negative emotions: he lashes out, falls into self-blame and self-destructs.  Then we add in Vlad’s toxic traits: he’s egocentric to the point of narcissism, he projects negative feelings/ blame onto others rather than accept responsibility for his own actions and he has a controlling/ sadistic streak.   

TUE’s Dark Phantom is the worst possible combination of an emotionally devastated teenager and an emotionally immature adult.  He’s a ball of pain and rage that blames the world for that pain, lashes out at it, feels worse for doing so and then blames the world for making him feel worse because he doesn’t have the emotional capacity to accept that he’s the one causing it.  Grief is love persevering but the feelings of love, connection and guilt that contextualise his pain were left in the human shells that remained of Danny and Vlad.  It’s possible that the Dark Phantom presented in TUE might not have the capacity to feel positive emotions or compassion.  He was never meant to exist as his own entity – he was an attempt to destroy Daniel Fenton’s negative emotions which went horribly wrong.  In some ways it seems like his reign of terror could be an angrier version of Dracula’s scheme from Netflix’s Castlevania or Haliax’s goal from the Kingkiller Chronicles – a drawn-out suicide note from an undead being who’s been dead inside for much longer, destroying whatever peace/happiness he encounters in revenge for being denied it himself, until such time as he either attains catharsis or finally ends the pain by destroying reality and himself along with it.  That’s the final thing that makes TUE’s Dark Phantom more dangerous than either Phantom or Plasmius – he has nothing to lose and no “better nature” or personal dreams that other heroes could try to appeal to.

So yeah, the TUE version of Dark Phantom could absolutely rip the world and other heroes apart, but I don’t think he’s a particularly good reflection of Danny’s capabilities in terms of either powers or personality.  There’s too much Vlad in the mix, and even then he represents such a narrow and extreme edge-case for each of their personalities that it’s barely representative at all.  At best he’s a warning for what these kinds of powers could be capable of in the wrong hands.

Meta-question: What is “power” in narrative?

Alright, now that I’ve (hopefully) answered the question, let’s finish with a self-indulgent thought exercise for extra credit.

There’s an anecdote which I’ve heard attributed to the Stan Lee, in which a fan apparently asked him “who would win in a fight between Superman and the Hulk?”  To which Stan apparently replied, “whoever the writer wants.”

While it can be fun to make tier-lists and try to rank how strong different heroes/villains/creatures are based on the rules of their respective universes, I think it can also be helpful to consider that– like all things in storytelling – power is a narrative device.  It’s a tool that the character(s) and storyteller(s) can use to create and solve problems.

A character can be extremely physically strong/ skilled/ knowledgeable/ influential in a specific area but how much narrative power they have depends on how well their abilities allow them to influence or resolve story problems.   And, as the omnipotent god(s) of the narrative, the storyteller(s) can choose whether to confront them with challenges that play to their existing strengths, or that force them to find other solutions.  What’s the best way to kill a vampire?

This is actually part of what makes Lex Luthor such an effective Superman villain.  Objectively most versions of Lex are just A Guy™ – on a physical level he doesn’t have anything close to Kal El’s Kryptonian strength or superpowers.  But he feels like a serious threat because he often comes after Superman in ways that Clark can’t easily steamroll with that brute strength.  Lex uses manipulation, money, influence, connections, politics, public opinion; Superman can’t physically fight him without playing into Luthor’s plans, and trying to face him in those other fields requires tools that Clark wasn’t handed as part of his Kryptonian heritage.  An invading alien army is objectively a bigger physical threat to Earth, but a competent Lex Luthor scheme feels more dangerous because – while we feel confident that Superman can beat down a legion of monsters – when it comes to the question of whether he can outwit Luthor, the outcome is a lot less certain.

Situational disempowerment is another of the ways a narrative can reign in an otherwise “overpowered” character: placing them in circumstances where they either aren’t given many opportunities to showcase their best strengths, or are kept from using them because the drawbacks/ risks/ consequences of using their abilities makes their power(s) a liability.  I’ve mentioned it before, but this is actually one of the tricks I’m personally using to keep Phantom’s massive powerset balanced against the other proteges in Deathly Weapons.  It’s also something I’ve been struggling with when it comes to Conner’s place in that story since the stealth-mission plot structure doesn’t allow as much room to highlight his core powers and personal strengths.   

Stories can create additional stakes for powerful characters by giving them emotional arcs which their powers can’t resolve.   For a published example, consider the series One Punch Man and Mob Psycho 100.  Despite how high-ranked Saitama and Mob are within the power-scaling of their respective stories, those powers don’t kill the emotional stakes because the things they actually want/ need can only be gained through self-improvement or making connections in ways separate from their powers (and in some regards their power level actively gets in the way of that).  This is also something I’m doing with Danny’s main grief arc in DW.   

Final Conclusion time

In terms of physical strength and range of abilities, I think Phantom would be pretty near the top of the power-scale in most superhero crossovers.  While the Dark Phantom presented in TUE might not be a particularly good reflection of Danny’s specific potential, a crossover version of the TUE timeline offers a pretty good litmus-test for how dangerous a strong ghost could be in a given universe: the combination of power level, ability range and highly-specific/ inaccessible weak-points poses a strong strategic threat.

On the other hand, physical strength isn’t the only strength.  Phantom has a decent level of potential political sway as well, but he also lacks a lot of the soft skills and experience needed to make use of his toolset to its full ability.

Stepping back further, the answer to how powerful Danny is in a narrative sense is really just “however much the writer wants”.  Phantom’s narrative power depends on the kind of story he’s in and the challenges placed around him – there are as many ways to situationally nerf our ghost-boy as make him OP, all without needing to alter his on-paper powers.

[cyllres]

Devil | JJK x Makima! Reader

Y/n Itadori

Character Profile

note: aside from the eyes, the appearance is entirely up to you, while I do not rlly describe yn's appearance that much, this is what I usually imagine what she looks like when I write, again, she could look like however you want to, this is only for those who wants to see her more yuuji-like or see her as someone else

Name: Y/n Itadori

Age: 15

Appearance:

Eye Color: Yellow with multiple red rings within them

Hair Color: pink

Height: 5’4”

Skin Color: a bit tan to tan

Uniform: Her usual Jujutsu Tech uniform consists of an asymmetrical white jacket with high collars and pins on the left side engraved with the school logo, paired with navy blue pants that had a loose, almost flowing quality to them and brown shoes.

(PHOTO JUST FOR REFERENCE)

Abilities:

Enhanced Smell: Y/n primarily differentiates others (humans, animals, and curses) through smell. She could also smell the residuals curses leave after using its cursed technique.

Control: Y/n holds the power to directly control her inferiors. This "brainwashing" ability works on any being — from humans to animals, to curses.

Victims subsequently lose their memory of anything that happened immediately before they were put under control, and of anything they did while being controlled.

Curses under her control would be kept “inside her” and could summon them anytime she wants. When summoning them, curses are seen to crawl out of her back no matter how large they are. Curses could crawl out of any part of her body but the back is much easier. Does this damage her clothes? (no, curses have ghostlike qualities before they are fully manifested)

Y/n can borrow the power of her victims under her control. Even deceased individuals she controlled in this manner. (drawbacks would be fatigue and in some cases blood lost, especially when that victim’s power involves weapons coming out of their body)

Y/n can control individuals outright as well as warp their personalities in subtle ways.

She borrows the hearing of rats, birds and other small animals she controls to hear conversations.

She uses these small animals to travel around. These small animals can then cluster together to form the shape of a human and thus allow for Y/n to be transported to that location almost instantly.

Force Manipulation: Y/n has been shown to offensively manipulate an invisible force in a variety of ways. This force can be used to damage her weak targets.

She has been shown to inflict damage by projecting an invisible force to targets she points at with her index finger. She usually says "Bang!" while using this ability.

Curse modification: Y/n could command other curses to consume curses in order to modify them at her will. This could strengthen it, increasing its cursed energy. She could also modify its appearance and ability as long as she has the specific curse.

Cursed Energy Suppressor: Y/n originally possesses low cursed energy, a trait that distinguishes her from most jujutsu sorcerers. Her abilities primarily stem from her devil powers carried over from her past life as Makima, though they do utilize both cursed techniques and cursed energy to function. However, the majority of her power is derived from her devil abilities rather than her cursed energy.

When Y/n uses her cursed technique on a being, she leaves behind a faint trace of cursed energy on her target. These traces are so subtle and weak that they are almost imperceptible, making it extremely difficult for anyone, even the most skilled sorcerers, to detect or track her through them. This makes her control abilities particularly dangerous, as her influence is nearly invisible.

Additionally, Y/n’s overall cursed energy levels are directly affected by the presence of the beings she controls. Without those beings residing within her, her cursed energy depletes significantly, rendering her more invisible.

Love Interests:

Megumi Fushiguro

Nobara Kugisaki

Maki Zenin

Toge Inumaki

Yuuta Okkotsu

Todo Aoi

would def add more just request

NOW TIME FOR SOME HEAD CANNONS: (and spoilers ofc)

yn may or may not have already lost her memories as Makima, but remember things that feels familiar. After losing her memories as Makima, she does not know why she felt that way, she just does. She feels broken.

yn is constantly looking for someone that could protect her in a parental way but the walls she surrounded herself is way too thick for her to see people that care for her

yn does not know why she feels like she can't trust people, she just does

The orange curse, or now we know it as ‘Pochita’ is unhealthily attached to yn despite the constant abuse it receives from her, pochita sees it as ‘discipline’

yn misses suguru and NanaMimi, NanaMimi tries to contact and waits for her in the park

Giving up, NanaMimi left something for yn in the park from Suguru and them

Wait who is Sukuna to yn again? Why was she unaffected by his domain expansion?

“a gift to those who are loyal” are just silly little fillers... right?

yn is THE YANDERE in this series, or maybe I'll write some character that would have yandere tendencies depends

Yasu hates working with yn because of the paperworks piling up, does he complain tho? (ofc. not, he loves money after all)

yn is strong strong

yn still refuses to use a phone but Satoru got her and her brother one for ‘mission purposes’ and yes she struggles to use it.

The wallpaper would be her and her brother while the lockscreen is Sugar. It would've been Sugar and Pochita but cameras can't capture curses.

She still loves taking photos of Pochita and Sugar playing tho and yes, while Sugar couldn't see Pochita, it could perceive it. (doggy senses or maybe it's because of smthng else)

yn takes selfies like a 50 y.o. dad on facebook

Still refuses to download social media but was forced to have a messaging app because of Satoru

Suguru promised to buy yn her first dog but was unable to because he died lol. Guess how he fulfilled that promise.

yn hates close combats, but after training with Maki she's a bit confident with it now and started relying less on Pochita or her force manipulation. Sometimes, close combat is more efficient afterall.

With that being said, the main reason why yn always finish missions quickly was because of Pochita. She sits back and relax why our cute lil modified curse does the job.

Sometimes she helps too. But she's always too lazy.

yn is so lazy to the point she walks behind the group. When it comes to stairs or anything that goes up, when no one's looking, she demands Pochita to carry her.

After her brother's death, yn started taking missions from grade 1 to special grade tiers. While higher-ups usually disallow newbies to take missions alone, they made an exception because they fear yn and hopefully one of these missions would eradicate her.

Before modifying Pochita, yn had over a hundred of curses under her control that are mostly grade 4 to 2. Some are grade 1 while most special grades were given by Suguru. She lost tabs on them and asked Pochita to consume them. (It was a gamble since she isn't sure if the grade 4 curse could handle this much curses but hey, she's crazy alright)

Does yn have a Domain Expansion? nah. Does Pochita have a Domain Expansion? yea, but it was only used a few times

yn's biggest weakness: fast opponents

Ryo (character from ‘a gift to those who are loyal’) promised that in his next life, his sister would see him as someone she could rely on. He would protect her the way she protected him and does not mind being reincarnated as her ‘older brother’.

While this story would not entirely focus on romance, but surely there would be cute scenes.

While Yuuji was eager to eat vegetables as a child, yn outright REFUSES to eat it.

[evermourning]

'𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰, 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰. ⋆｡˚❆

Pairing: Bang Chan x Reader

WC: 2.1k

Summary: He always knew you would be the one for him. From the moment he met you. And now, he plans to love you eternally. In every lifetime.

A/N: It's Margaret day (Dec. 18) so here is a lovely oneshot in honor of it <3 This song is so beautiful to me and I hope to portray it into words by the very best of my abilities.. also Fem!Reader is mentioned once or twice but anyone can read regardless of gender!

Ever since you were tiny, with small hands that could barely fit around your father's, you've dreamed of this occasion. You've dreamed of the flowing white silk adorning your frame, the vibrant flowers clasped in your gloved hands, the melodious aria playing in your ears as you walked down the aisle something akin to a movie.

In your dreams, the figure waiting at the altar ready to intertwine his soul with yours has always been a mystery, shrouded in a milky fog you rendered impossible to push away. So you'd wait. Wait until the time was right and the sun would shine, clearing the fog and bathing your husband-to-be in golden light.

You know now that man is Christopher Bahng.

From the moment he smiled at you for first time, everything everywhere in the universe came to a screeching halt as you felt yourself falling for him. For the scrunch of his nose and the crinkle of his dark, soulful eyes. For the way the sight of his dimples made your stomach flutter with delight. You knew from the start that at the end of the day he would be yours. He would be the man in your dreams, hidden by the fog.

Now those wishes have come true, and more than you could ever imagine. Life with Chan is simple and sweet. You've always craved the intimate domesticity you saw emanating from movie couples, the cuddling and the kissing and the little acts of service that proved they knew each other better than anyone else.

Life isn't exactly like the movies, though. You aren't stupid. But Chan makes it feel that way. He makes your heart pound with adoration when he comes up behind you while you're making dinner, wrapping his arms around your midsection and pressing a kiss to your shoulder. You swoon whenever you open your eyes to see him staring at you, a saccharine smile upon his perfect lips. You are blessed to even think about spending the rest of your life at his side. It was always a hope, a wish.

But now, as you stare at yourself in the oval mirror, your body adorned in hues of white and a lacy veil upon your head, your wish has been fleshed out and exposed. It is quite simply, a miracle. And now, a reality. It hits you like a truck. You are getting married. To the love of your life, your first and final flame. In less than an hour, you will have the sacred right to call Chan your husband, to raise children and grow old with him. A single tear slips down your face. It is the first of many that will flow like a river today.

From the tent where you've spent the last three hours getting ready, you can hear quiet conversation and a soft symphony playing as people get to their seats. Chan must already be up there. Your heart rate quickens. Will he like how you look? Will he think you're beautiful? It's a foolish thought, as you know to the very depths of yourself that Chan loves every single atom in your body. He loves you when you are at your happiest, your smile bright enough to power a city, and he loves you at your lowest point, falling apart in his arms when you think you cannot do a single thing right. To him, you are the very oxygen that keeps his lungs working and his blood pumping.

Your bridesmaids come up to you, whispering words of encouragement with wide grins before they are whisked away. One after another, you hear the 'oohs' and 'aahs' from the crowd. You fight urges to peek outside. You and Chan had both wanted a more private wedding, opting to only invite family and close friends. And it was 100% worth it, you wholeheartedly believe. Although the promise of loved ones cannot quell your shaking hands and beating heart. You fidget with your hands, waiting until it is almost your time.

You sigh with relief once Minho, your longtime best friend, slips into the tent, smiling sweetly at you as he takes your hands in his.

"You look amazing. God, you're all grown up now." his voice is filled with multitudes of love for you. From the moment these dreams began as a child, you've known Minho was going to be the one who gave you away. He's watched your heart get broken time after time, comforting you each and every time as gently as the first time it happened. And then, because of him, you met Chan. You will forever be indebted to him. "Are you ready to go? They're all waiting for you. You're going to stun them."

And you nod, a nervous smile upon your lips as Minho links his arm with you. The music crescendos as you step out, and all eyes fall on you. They gasp at the sight of you, people clutching their chests with excitement. You can't help it. You beam, your face radiant.

You don't want to look at Chan yet, still taking in the scenery. The venue is outside, not a single discrepancy in the beautiful sunset. The color theme is white, matching your attire, and paired with the vibrant green vegetation, it looks absolutely divine. Your bridesmaids are giggling and waving to you, unimaginably proud of how far you've come. You pass Chan's family, soon to be yours, and his mother places a hand over her heart in silent gratitude. A thank you, for being her son's one true love.

When you look to the right, you see the remaining six of Chan's boys, dressed to the nines and watching the scene with utmost excitement. You can't help but chuckle when Felix wipes a tear away, eliciting merciless teasing from Jisung and Hyunjin. But even from here, you can see they have watery eyes too. They have nothing but adoration for Chan, and they are your family just as much as they are his.

Then, your eyes fall on Chan. His jaw is to the floor staring at you, taking in every inch of you. When you step up the altar opposite him, he is quick to take your hands in his. His voice is shaky as praise falls again and again from his full lips.

"Oh my god, you're beautiful- you're so- I can't even find the words for it. You've enchanted me. I can't speak." Noticing him getting flustered, you snicker. The officiant unfortunately interrupts your moment.

"May we begin?"

The first part is a blur, the only part you vividly remember and will forever cement into your cerebral is Chan squeezing your hands tightly as he looks deep into your eyes and says the two words that will change your life: "I do."

He never once looks away from you. Not when the officiant cracks a joke or two that bring his infamous dimples out, not when he is carefully slipping a silver wedding band onto your ring finger. When he is done, he lifts your hand up and presses a chaste kiss to the ring. It sits right alongside the brilliant diamond he proposed with, and the crowd releases a collective "awww". When you put his ring on, you do the same. It is a sign of respect and equality. There will never be an imbalance between you.

And finally, it is time for the vows. You wrote these the day after Chan proposed. You knew exactly what you'd been waiting to say to him all this time.

"This feels unreal to me. I still can't believe I'm standing here, about to tie the knot with the only person who has ever made me feel this way. I've never been so giddy when I'm around someone. I've never been so lonely and mopey when you're away. I want to spend every waking moment thinking about you if we are too far away from each other to touch." He's about to cry, it's so obvious, so you rub soft circles upon the skin of his hand. "Love is an inexplicable thing. It's fickle and can be mean, and I always thought it was out to get me. But I was wrong, because I was blessed with you. Love is far too soft of a word for me to use, because the way I feel about you could never be explained. I could dig through every page of every book, meticulously searching for the right term to use, but it would be to no avail. So you must trust me when I say that I love you, although there is so much more complexity than just those three words. Trust me when I'm falling apart and trust me when I'm doting on you like there's no tomorrow because just know that you are making all of my childhood wishes come true by being you. I promise to love you even when your hands are gnarled and you complain a bit too much about your back hurting. I'll love you when you finally become the old man Seungmin is always telling you about. And finally, I'll love you because you make me human."

The audience takes a moment for your words to register, before it is Chan's turn to say his vows. He takes a moment to compose himself before he begins, his eloquence taking everybody by surprise.

"Thank you, angel. That was beautiful. I still remember the first time I saw you. I was at Minho's birthday, and it was getting too stuffy, so I went up to the rooftop to catch my breath. You were up there, in all your beauty, and I swore I wanted to marry you right then and there. Your hair was blowing in the wind and you were wearing white, and I was like 'Shit. You're gonna be mine one day' because I knew that you were trouble and I didn't care because I would go to the ends of the earth for you to even look my way. It was then, I knew. I knew that you would make me the happiest man on Earth. I knew that I would love you for the rest of my life, even if you didn't feel the same. I remember our first date, when we curled up on the couch together and we watched 'Tangled', and the way your eyes lit up at Flynn and Rapunzel's relationship, and I knew instantly that I was going to give you something so much better. Your body is my home, and your arms, my shelter. Our youth may fade, but our love will never be anything finite. Our souls are intertwined now, tied together by the string of fate that led us here. I will search for you in every lifetime. Even if you are on the other side of the world, I will travel the seven seas for even a glimpse of your face.l love you, forever and evermore."

His words are like a drug, seeping into your system and mellowing you out until you can only think of him. You tune out the ceremony until you hear the words you've been longing for ever since you saw him.

"I now pronounce you husband and wife! You may kiss the bride!" And in the blink of an eye, Chan's arms are wrapped around you so tightly you fear your body will disintegrate if he loosens his hold on you. His lips are on yours, kissing you with so much passion and intensity that you two are one. When he finally pulls away, he wraps his arm around you and you look towards your friends and family with a smile. Now comes the final part of your ceremony. The sky has mellowed out now, a shady of navy blue speckled with shimmering stars that you would never see in the city.

Hand-in-hand, you kneel down beside a lantern with both of your names inscribed upon it with a heart. Together, you light it and lift it up so it dances in the breeze, traveling up, up, up, until your love has reached the heavens. You watch it go, your head on Chan's shoulder and his arm around you.

"Thank you for loving me." you whisper in his ear.

"Don't thank me like this is a chore, it is a choice. And from now until the end of time, my choice will always be you."

@evermourning, ©2023. all rights reserved.

[k-nayee]

Messenger's Daughter 300

wc: 4k a/n: video clip for the movie scene is inserted if y'all wanna see!

Traveler M.List

ˏ⸉ˋ‿̩͙‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˏ⸉ˋ‿̩͙‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˏ⸉ˋ‿̩͙‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙.·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .‿̩̥̩‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˊ⸊ˎ‿̩̥̩‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˊ⸊ˎ‿̩̥̩‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˊ⸊ˎ

The dusty road leading to Sparta was long, every step taken heavy with the heat from the Sun.

Your father, the official representative of King Xerxes known as the Persian envoy, led the procession on foot.

You walk a few paces behind, eyeing the skulls of conquered kings dangling grotesquely from his horse.

Having spent countless days and nights studying what you can on Spartan culture, a sense of urgency knot in your chest of the potential outcome.

"Father we cannot do this," you plead, the desperation in your voice cutting through the dry air. "Bringing these skulls will only provoke their rage, not intimidate."

Laughter erupts from the men around you, coarse and mocking.

"A woman lecturing us on matters of war?" one sneers, his face creased with disdain. 

The others join in, their laughter a choir of ignorance.

 "What's next, a child advising the king?!"

Anger flares within you, burning away any hesitation.

Facing the man who dared to belittle you, your voice rise with every word. "You are fools if you think the sight of those skulls will make them cower! Spartans are proud, fierce...they will meet this threat with blade and blood."

As you spoke, uneasy glances were exchanged, your words igniting a flicker of doubt amongst the retinue. But your father saw only insubordination.

"They are—"

"Enough!"

Your words are cut off by a hard slap across the face.

The blow sends you reeling, head snapping to the side as a searing pain spreads across your cheek.

You look up to meet the steely gaze of your father, his hand still raised from the strike. "Your emotional, fear-driven babble have no place here. You have no right to speak of war and strategy."

His words sting more than the slap.

"Shall I remind you what lacks between your legs? The only reason you are here?!" Your wavering frame makes him step back with a scoff of indignation.

"Put your veil back on...and know your place," he turns away, dismissing you with a wave of his hand to rejoin the men who reveled in your humiliation.

You stood there for a moment, the pain in your cheek echoing the ache in your heart.

You always thought, hoped, he would grow to value your intelligence. That he saw the potential in you went way beyond the traditional roles of women, perhaps one day take his place as Messenger.

And dare say, even respect you.

But his words laid bare the truth. You are nothing more than a pawn in his task of diplomacy and power.

You can't help but feel a sense of loss. Not just for the father you thought you knew, but for the future you had envisioned.

With a heavy heart, you reach up, fingers trembling slightly as they drape the veil over your face.

The fabric felt suffocating, yet it was a shield, hiding your stifling tears from the world

════════════════*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═════════════════

As you approached the gates of Sparta, the atmosphere is palpably heavy.

The Spartan guards, known for their stoicism, eyed the group with a mixture of suspicion and disdain.

Your father stepped forward, his chest puffed with a misguided sense of pride along with his men. "I have come to speak with your Spartan King in the name of our ruler King Xerses!"

You linger at the back, exasperated from your father spouting praise of the tyrannical leader's strength and power.

The veil's once comforting ability of anonymity is rendered useless by the guards' unnerving scrutiny. 

A shiver runs down your spine once you finally pass their security, the heat of their gaze still following as you continue on to the heart of the city.

Despite the streets thrumming alive with activity, the tension is too palpable to ignore.

"Greetings!" Amidst the crowd of disciplined warriors and stoic citizens, a man steps forward, addressing the group with a sly smile.

Of average height, slightly shorter than the Spartan warriors, his presence still commanded attention.

He tilts his head in greeting, smile deepening till the point teeth show. Had you known better, you would say he resembled a wolf.

"I am Theron, a representative of the esteemed Spartan council. You must be the Persian envoy we've been expecting."

The delegation's arrival to the gate had already reached the ears of Councilman Theron it seems.

Your father nods. "Indeed, I am. We come bearing a message from the mighty Xerxes. Bringing with us, peace and cooperation."

Waves of disgust sweep over you upon catching his subtle hand movement towards you. 'So this is my purpose ? To be an offering of 'peace' incase a King needs more persuasion to bend the knee.'

"Peace you say?" Theron's sharp eyes catch the gesture and seems to understand the indication by the way he stares on you with an intensity that sends a shiver down your spine. "Spartan hearts are not easily swayed by outsiders. Our loyalty is unwavering..."

As he talks, his gaze trails down your figure before settling firmly on where yours would be.

You shift uncomfortably under his leering, feeling as though he sees right through the veil that covers your face.

"Let us proceed to the palace, you will have the opportunity to present your message directly to our leaders there. Follow me."

You barely take a step when you're yanked to your father's side. "Speak out of line—ruin this chance of negotiation...and I will have your tongue."

His grip on your arm is harsh, tight enough to leave a bruise, but you refuse to show weakness.

Instead you remain looking forward, lips pursed as you give him a single nod.

Satisfied with your obedience, he moves to walk alongside the political man and delve into light conversation while you stay in his shadow.

After more minutes of walking, you finally reach the steps of the great Spartan palace.

You try to look and absorb as much as your veil would allow you, eyes wide in hopes of searing everything you see into memory.

It wasn't until accidently meeting the unwavering glare of a nearby guard did you remember where you are with a grimace and found focus on the floor.

The atmosphere feels suffocatingly tense, your clattering footsteps echo against the stone walls as if a reminder of your foreign presence.

A Spartan guard approaches Theron, whispering something into his ear. He nods subtly, view sweeping over your group before settling on your father with a practiced, stiff smile.

"I'm afraid it will be a while until King Leonidas and Queen Gorgo can receive you," the Spartan official announces, his diplomatic riddled voice echoing slightly in the spacious hall. "They are attending to matters of the state. Please, make yourselves comfortable."

Your father, seizing the opportunity, steps forward. "Councilman Theron, while we await their majesties, perhaps we can discuss the matters at hand. The great King Xerxes desires only peace and prosperity for all."

Expression unreadable, Theron nods, though his eyes betray a hint of skepticism. "Of course, peace is a noble pursuit. Sparta understands the significance of such journeys and messages. Rest assured, your words will reach the King and Queen's ears in due time."

As the men engage in conversation, you find yourself drifting away to a window.

The stone is cool as you lean against its edge to take in the rugged landscape of Sparta. A breathtaking view that should offer solace, is instead a stark reminder of your reality.

'Is this what my life has come to? ' you wonder silently, eyes tracing the harsh lines of the distant mountains. 'I have no mother, no siblings, no one but him... and now, even he feels like a stranger.'

Your hands begin to tremble, the fabric of your veil fluttering slightly with each quiver. 'Once this negotiation is over...

Fear gnaws at your heart, the future a looming shadow filled with uncertainty and dread.

'...what will become of me? '

The soft patter of feet breaks you out of your solitude of thoughts. You turn to see a child—a young girl, no more than six or seven, standing a few steps away.

"Chryseis!" a voice urgently hisses.

Glancing through your lashes, you catch a glimpse of a woman, presumably the mother. Her face is etched with lines of worry and fear, trying to coax the child back to her side.

But Chryseis doesn't heed her. Instead she steps closer, doe eyes fixed on you.

Conversations around begin to dim as the onlookers' attention move towards the unexpected meeting.

You feel the weight of every gaze; some curious, some wary, all fixed on the interaction.

They seem to expect you to react, but rather than focus on the growing apprehension, you direct your full attention to the little Spartan. 

Turning to face her fully, you silently admire her courage. You're aware of how ominous the black veil and attire made you appear to those younger - often assumed to be a Mistress of Death.

Yet, she stands there, undeterred.

You take a step forward, deliberately ignoring the guards whose hands move subtly towards their weapons. They adjust their stances, body ready to intervene should the need arise.

Untainted by the tense atmosphere, Chryseis extends a cup of water towards you, her small hands trembling slightly.

Your heart warms at the gesture, a sheer contrast to the cold indifference you've faced since arriving. 'She must have seen me all alone while the others drank and conversed, and believed I was thirsty...'

Kneeling down to be at eye level with her, you carefully take the cup from her hands.

In a smooth, almost reverent motion, you lift the veil; revealing your face for the first time since setting foot in the land of Warriors.

"Efcharistó," you whisper, the Spartan language feeling unfamiliar yet comforting on your tongue.

Chryseis's eyes widen, not in fear, but fascination of your appearance.

The Grecian sun bathes you in a golden light, causing the rich brownness of your skin to take on a glowing hue.

Your features are youthful: soft cheeks that seem to capture the gentleness of your spirit, while your soft lips form a smile so sweet and kind, it could weaken the hardest of Spartan hearts.

The most mesmerizing feature, however, is your eyes. They are a indescribable shade of [color], almost ethereal.

The sunlight catches in them, making the specks of light within shimmer akin to the clearest Mediterranean waters.

Those who initially regarded you with suspicion, are now taken aback by your unveiled beauty. The air is filled with a palpable sense of awe.

Seizing the moment to spread a little joy, you reach into your garment and dramatically pull out a goose feather. The large, white plume shimmers as you present it to Chryseis with playful grandeur.

"You know..." you begin, capturing her attention with a teasing smile. "I've had the honor of meeting Victory herself. She spoke to me of you Spartans..."

She's instantly captivated, a gasp escaping her lips as she leans in closer. "R-really?!" she breathes out with wonder.

Matching her energy with a frantic nod, you continue, "Yes! She told me to forever sing the praises of your strength and valor. And as a token of proof, she bestowed me this white feather."

"She commanded me," you add, lowering the feather to Chryseis' level with a deliberate motion, "to give this feather to the one who dared to be brave enough to face me. Whose heart knows no fear, who stands undaunted before strangers from afar..."

The others are silent, watching as you extend the feather to the child with an encouraging smile. "...and here you are."

You are rewarded with her excitement filled giggles, small hands eagerly reaching out to grasp the feather.

Her delight is infectious, resonating so much through the crowd a few reluctant smiles appeared from even the sternest of bystanders.

When Chryseis' mother steps forward to gently coax her away, the little girl casts a lingering look back at you.

Her smile is wide and radiant, clutching the feather like a precious treasure.

The warmth of the moment fades as tension seeps back into the air with the arrival of King Leonidas.

He is a vision of a Spartan warrior: his presence commanding the room effortlessly.

Each muscle sculpted as if created by the gods themselves. Eyes, sharp and discerning, pierce through the crowd.

You feel a flush of heat coursing through you. The attraction so immediate and powerful, it leaves you breathless.

Your attention shift, falling upon Queen Gorgo. She...her beauty both striking and intimidating. Something within you trembles—maybe it's the strength in her gaze, the unspoken power in her stance.

Whatever it is, the confusing the stirring in your heart worsens at the sight of her.

"My King and Queen," Your trance breaks at the voice of Councilman Theron. He steps to the royal couple with a bow. "I was entertaining your guests."

"I am sure." The Spartan King dryly responds, his focus and bored-like stare fixed on your father instead.

"Before you speak, Persian. Know that in Sparta everyone—even a King's messenger—is held accountable for the words of his voice. Now, what message do you bring?"

A grin spreads across your father's face. Undeterred, he extends his arms grandly towards the sky. "Earth and water!"

King Leonidas' eyes narrow, a mix of disbelief and disdain flickering within them. "...You rode all the way from Persia...for earth and water?"

He says nothing. His silence telling all that needs to be answered.

Witnessing the entire exchange, Queen Gorgo releases a scoff. "Do not be coy or stupid, Persian. You can afford neither in Sparta."

You nearly freeze in shock. 'She...'

"Wha..." Initially taken aback by her boldness, it is replaced with disbelief. He turns to her with disgust coloring both his features and voice. "...What makes this woman think she can speak among men?!"

Without missing a beat she retorts. "Because only Spartan women give birth to real men."

Inspired by a mere woman causing such a charged atmosphere, you step forward. "And yet, beneath the mountain, there lies a pile of the weak and brittle—the newborns deemed unworthy by the same warriors...What of them? Are they not also born of Spartan women?"

The weight of your words stuns everyone into silence, every eye turning towards you.

Some of the Spartan onlookers rise in anger, taking your words as an insult to their way of life. But they pause upon noticing the reactions of their king and queen.

His expression is thoughtful. While hers...she simply stares at you with a small—could it be approving? smile on her lips.

Your father's reaction is immediate.

A mix of shame and anger covers his face, eyes shifting between you and the gathered Spartans.

"____!" He snaps out your name in rage, a sharp reprimand for your audacity.

Without warning, he yanks you to his side. His grip is tight, fingers digging into your flesh with a painful intensity.

"You dare to shame me in front of these...these Spartans?!" he hisses in your native tongue, his words laced with venom.

His chastising is ignored.

You instead hold contact with King Leonidas and Queen Gorgo, unflinching even as the grip on your wrist tightened. 

"Speaking out of turn? Challenging their ways as if you hold any sway?! Was my hand not enough?"

His voice grows louder, more insistent; but you are anchored by the eyes of the Spartan rulers—their expressions unreadable yet not unkind.

"Must I beat your place into you?!" He harshly captures your chin, forcing your gaze to his.

The proximity to his rage is terrifying; you can see the unbridled fury in his eyes, feel the heat of his breath.

You subconsciously shrink under his view, a faint tremble of your lips revealing the fear instilled in you from a young age.

It seems years of facing his temper and punishments in the name of 'remaining silent and submissive' have left too deep of a scar.

"There is no need for such reactions," the King Leonidas intervenes, booming voice authoritative and calm.

Queen Gorgo, stare never removed from you, speaks with a clarity and strength that resonates within the hall. "Your words are bold, foreigner, and they cut deep. But it is the Spartan way to face even uncomfortable truths. We do not fear words; we learn from them."

Visibly shocked by their rebuke, your father releases his grip and steps away.

The shift is palpable, from a moment teetering on the edge of violence to one of cautious quiet.

"Come," The Spartan King takes the attention once more. Turning, he begins to walk, a silent command for others to follow. "Let us walk to cool our tongues."

The courtyard still echo from the tension of the standoff before resuming back as the assembly falls into step behind their king.

As you follow, it gives the citizens of Sparta who witnessed the entire exchange a chance to disperse with murmurs and speculative glances.

The path taken is led to a more secluded part of the city; it is here, under the imposing architecture and watchful eyes of its greatest warriors, does the conversation continue.

Having regained his composure during the brief interlude, your father stands firm. His voice carries across the open space, filled with a renewed sense of purpose.

"If you value your lives over your complete annihilation, listen carefully Leonidas. Xerxes conquers and controls everything his eye rests upon." Briefly flitting to Queen Gorgo, veiled threat in his look, "He leads a force so massive, it shakes the earth with its march. So vast, it drinks the rivers dry."

The messenger fails at noticing the changing mood as he continues his sung praises. "All the God-King Xerxes requires is this, a simple offering of earth and water. A token of Sparta's submission to the will of Xerxes."

At the mention of the God-King, King Leonidas stops in his tracks. "...submission...?"

You shift at the steady yet barely contained fury in his voice, growing wary of the feeling of dread growing in the pits of your stomach. 

"That's a bit of a problem." The Spartan man turns, corner of his mouth twitching in disdain. "You see...rumor has it the Athenians have already turned you down. And if those philosophers and boy lovers found that kind of nerve..."

Seeming to pick up on the shift as you, Councilman Theron suddenly step forward. He has a thin smile, a light and forced chuckle leaving his cautious frame. "W-we must be diplomatic."

King Leonidas silences him with a simple raise of the hand. Giving the cunning man a brief glare from his peripheral, he retorts. "And Spartans have their reputation to consider."

Your father's patience thins.

"Choose your next words carefully, Leonidas." His voice is cold, warning sharp and laden with danger. "For they may be your last as king."

It's silent. Leonidas says nothing for a moment.

Hardened gaze scanning from the envoy to the Persian bodyguards, his thoughts began to drift as the distant laughter of children fill his head.

'Earth and water...'

The freedom of his people...

'Earth and water...'

The simple, pure life they have built...

'Earth and water...'

Seeking silent counsel; his eyes finally rest on Gorgo. The mother of his child, his Queen.

In a fluid motion, Leonidas draw his sword.

The metal sings when bared and is swiftly brought to the Persian messenger's neck. The armed men in your delegation reacts with alarm, but the Spartan guards are quicker.

"Madman... you're a madman!" your father gasps, terror evident in his voice as the Spartan guards mirrored their king, their weapons drawn against the Persian force.

"Earth and water," Leonidas coolly declares in resolve. He begins to back the man towards the open well—a final answer to the demands of Xerxes. "You'll find plenty of both down there."

"N-no man, Persian or Greek, no man threatens a messenger!" your father protests, desperation coloring his words the closer he's inched to the void.

Steadfast, the King steps closer, the tip of his sword barely touching the envoy's skin.

"You bring the crowns and heads of conquered kings to my city steps. You insult my Queen. You threaten my people with slavery and death." His voice rises with accusation, each one a blow that seals the older man's fate. "I've chosen my words carefully, Persian. Your message is clear. It is that of a war party!"

"This...this is blasphemy!" the cornered male cries out, his eyes darting desperately for any sign of mercy.

In doing so they land on your lone form standing amidst it all, wide teary eyes watching everything.

But...

You're not captured?

'Why isn't she-'

"My King, please. This is madness." Councilman Theron's last-ditch effort to prevent chaos interrupts his internal confusion.

As your father's heels dangled over the hole, the King shares a final look with his Queen.

A firm nod is given.

And that's all the confirmation he needs. 

"Madness?" Leonidas echoes, a storm brewing in his eyes. "This. Is. SPARTA!"

With those final words, he delivers a powerful shove, sending your father plummeting into the darkness of the well.

His screams echo hauntingly into the void as Spartan warriors unleash their wrath upon the remaining Persians.

"Leave one man alive," his voice shatters the trance you were in. You try to blink away the disbelief, the memory of him falling to death fresh in your mind.

'Run. Run away now...'

Feeling the stare of another, you look up only to lock gazes with your father's killer.

King Leonidas, the man who had just sealed the fate of your father and traveling caravan. Is looking at you.

The unwavering conviction in his eyes nearly roots you to the spot, every instinct screaming at you to flee.

'...before he kills you.'

 In a desperate bid for escape, you turn to run...only to be caught by a nearby Spartan guard.

"N-No!" You yelp in fear. Desperately dragging your feet and squirming in hopes of breaking away, it seems fruitless as his grip remains unshakable while pulling you.

Panic sets in.

The closer you get to him and the ominous pit, the more palpable your dread becomes.

 It isn't until you're standing before King Leonidas do you realize just how overwhelming he truly is. 

His presence alone commands attention, but it's his voice that anchors you back to reality.

Booming and authoritative, he speaks. Not to you, but to the sole survivor of your group. "Tell your god Xerxes, Spartans fear no one. We bow to no one..."

In a swift motion, King Leonidas grabs you from the guard and yanks you against him. His arm wrap around your waist possessively, a stark contrast to the chaos around you.

You can feel his strength, the hard lines of his body pressing against yours. It sends a wave of both exhilaration and fear through you.

He reaches up, his fingers entwining in your hair before pulling your head back with a firm tug. Throat exposed to the cool air, your breathing becomes shallow at his next move.

His breath is hot against your skin. You feel his lips and nose lightly tracing along your pulse line, reveling in your trembling figure and rapid heartbeat.

You're acutely aware of his body pressed against yours, the controlled power in his every movement.

Fear of what might come next battles with the indescribable feeling of being so close to the current ruler of Spartans.

"Warn him," he murmurs with a low growl, face hidden in the crook of your neck "warn him of the force that is coming..."

Lifting his head, King Leonidas meets the terrified eyes of the sole survivor, "...has made a wife of his pathetic Persian messenger's daughter."

[akutasoda]

hi! It’s been awhile and I was playing a game and got an idea! How would Bsd men react to an enemy whose ability is with every time they kill a person the reader themselves can move faster..and every attack they do will hurt more? Reader is a hazard is basically laughing their head off while gaining kills left and right

-🌀 Anon!

what are you?

synopsis - what happens when the enemy is as dangerous as could come

includes - atsushi, dazai, chuuya, verlaine

warnings - gn!reader, heavy violence/mentions of killing, descriptions of blood, slight dehumanisation, wc - 1.8k

a/n: hi hi! it has been a while, hope your doing okay however?

atsushi nakajima ★↷

an easy mission was what he had been told. a simple situation diffusion along the ports, one that had occurred between the port mafia and some underground gang. why the agency was involved made no sense but from a reasonable perspective perhaps it was just to keep peace.

no matter the reason, he had been assigned the mission as it wasn't to take long and no one accompanied as it was just seemingly a few low grunts. so he had no reason to be as nervous as he was, yet he couldn't shake the pit of dread tightening in his stomach.

something was off and he couldn't quite figure out the reason. even arriving on site the situation seemed very insignificant and meaningless. diffused within a short while. but it seemed off, like someone was watching him. and before he knew it more mafia members made their way over.

they seemed to off horribly misinterpreted the situation, assuming the agency was the reason for whatever had transpired. now instead of low ranking grunts, he was faced with higher ranking grunts but that wasn't the only issue. members of the other underground organisation had also arrived.

but worst of all, he could finally pinpoint the source of his dread. the first sign came in form of the still mafia grunts watching as a member of the other organisation was killed in a couple fell swoops. atsushi turned around just in time to watch another fall in less time. and another. and another.

the group ensued into panic at the termination of it's members and tried fleeing, forgetting any petty argument. tried. atsushi's hairs stood upright as he heard a rather horrific laighter echho throughout the port. each member being slaughtered in less time and effort than the last.

he'd never quite seen anything like this. and in complete honesty it was horrifying. laughter seemed to ricochet off the surroundings as blood coated the floors. he couldn't move. as much as his instincts told him to run, to seek safety he couldn't. fear grasped each and every one of his limbs rendering him immobile and only able to witness the execution happening before him.

what scared him the most wasn't the bloodbath, wasnt the laughter but the following silence. the same pit of dread now rising in his throat. his eyes locked in place of the figure standing over the graveyard of bodies. he locked eyes with you and that's when he could finally take off. the fear activating his flight and he'd never ran faster.

the only thoughts occupying his mind was how vile an ability you possessed and how sinister you were to weild it in such way. he'd prefer never seeing you again.

osamu dazai ★↷

he'd like to think he was prepared for every situation. he knew he wasn't but that wasn't for others to know. and being prepared meant that going into battle he would know exactly who the enemies were. another extent of his planning considered the fact that he thought he could never encounter an ability that shook him. afterall he could just nullify any.

but that could change rather quickly with a moving target, getting faster still. so when the agency threw him and a few others a new case that would most likely end in conflict, he thought he would be prepared. especially with his colleagues at side.

yokohama territory was a rather complex thing. it seemed simple but it really wasn't, the port mafia didn't have 'port' in the name for nothing. but some really couldn't understand that and even so it seemed weird that the conflict involved a different group at the ports.

while it was weird it wouldn't be solved by sitting around and thinking about it. so with confidence, he and his colleagues welcomed the conflict when no other option was viable. but there was something different. something was off, an outside factor looking to disrupt.

but no matter where he looked or what happened, he couldn't find the reason for it going wrong. they weren't noticed at first. bodies of the enemy dropping seemingly due to exhaustion - afterall the agency would rather not kill opponents. but it wasn't until red soaked the area that they stopped.

both sides looking equally confused but the opposing group looking more horrified at the deaths of their members. then another fell. dazai and his colleagues immediately went on guard but dazai could feel dread building in him. for the first time in ages.

and as another fell in quicker time he knew exactly what was up. this was now life or death for the agency so it was most tactical for him tourge his colleagues away into safety. not the graveyard the area was about to become. and he was right, bodies dropped left and right within inhuman time.

now it seemed more logical. this was port mafia turf, of course any conflict would be resolved by them. but he didn't think they'd so quickly resort to you. every urge in him knew he'd never be able to nullify your ability in quick enough time to stop you slaughtering everything around you and so he and his colleagues took off.

he knew a fight he wasn't destined to win and while he did like the idea of dying he knew you'd make it painful for him. and even in his rare state of fear he couldn't help but look back. loom back just in time to meet your gaze riddled with bloodlust as the sound of your bone chilling laughter echoed the now desolate land.

chuuya nakahara ★↷

he'd always appreciate a good fight. he enjoyed being in them aswell. a new way to test his skills and yet still show silent awe at the skills that could rarely impress him demonstrated by opponents. and plus, fighting for him was rather fun.

that's why he never really had issue with being sent on guaranteed conflict missions. while he did sometimes roll his eyes or scoff at being sent on so many, he did always enjoy the conflict in them. and he wouldn't say he was arrogant, but he was rather confident.

and that always shone through in his fights, he had confidence in his skills and ability and that rarely wavered. he'd read somewhere in the file that the group they were meant to experience conflict with had some sort of secret weapon. something that brought them a terrifying reputation, one that chuuya scoffed at.

he doubted that it could be something truly terrifying and that was what he was wrong about. and he knew he was wrong, he knew the minute he watched a handful of port mafia grunts fall in no less than a few moments. an event that was followed by a maniacal laughter that truly put fear into chuuya.

his body no longer wanting to fight, well he still did as he rarely backed down from one but he was happy to make an exception as something felt off. another group fell in less time and he could see the smirk of the original opponents as they fled the scene.

he heard the laughter yet again and thsi tome narrowly doged what would've been a fatal blow as the group of grunts behind him fell in a small movement. corpses now mostly made up his backing group and he knew he'd have to flee. but he really couldn't.

the fear demanded that he run but his fight or flight was still saying fight. even as your laughter sent shivers down his spine as he finally caught a glimpse of you slaughtering the rest of his group. even as he finally locked eyes with you standing opposite him. would it of been cruel for him to call you inhuman?

paul verlaine ★↷

the king of assassins. a title bestowed to him and a title he took seriously. no job that he was given would be taken lightly when he had that title. he prided himself on being good at his job, quite a bit of his confidence also came from that and therefore he would always prove that he was worthy of such a title.

against better judgement, he always looked to take the best action appropriate when a new job was tossed his way. he needed to know the ins and outs of the person or people involved and aware of any outstanding abilities that could cause an issue. so when your file was tossed at him he acted the same.

but it became apparent bery quickly that you're job was entrusted to him for a reason. no information. just a loose alias and last know location. that's what he was given and from that he had to still fulfill his job and if anything he saw it as a challenge. call him arrogant, but no regular assassin could perform such a job.

he had very quickly tracked down a lead. a lead that led him to your next expected location. he had no clue what ability you held, he had a hunch you had one however, nor did he know much about you. but he didn't care or atleast he didn't. not until he started waiting for you.

an unusual sense of dread filled his very being and no matter how much he tried to shake it off, he couldn't. he tried pushing it to the back of his mind but he really couldn't. and it only worsened even though everything was going as intended.

the group you were confronting had arrived yet no signs of you. the only sign of your arrival was the swift execution of a quarter of the group. verlaine was caught off guard, there was no way that was your doing. but he was corrected when you performed the same action yet seemingly quicker.

your laugh made his blood freeze. he understood now - why you had no information, why he was entrusted your file. and so he acted quicker than he'd like, but you were quicker. avoiding his attack and slaughtering the rest of the group in seemingly the same action.

you laughed again and it felt more of a direct laugh at him. you were no human anymore. your ability made you nothing but a weapon. he dared call you less human then he was and yet he still had a job to do. he had no doubt you're horrific ability and mind could end him swiftly but he didn't care. you weren't human anymore, so why should he treat you like one?

[yanderes-galore]

Diavolo with a La Squadra darling? Like, she wants nothing to do with him since he was responsible for the murder of two of her teammates and only wants revenge, and he can't help himself but be obsessed with her. I feel like he would stalk her as Doppio first, then shortly after(because you KNOW this man is not risking it) kidnapping her himself with the help of King Crimson.

I actually think this is interesting as Diavolo knows you can be an issue with your team.... Sorry for the long wait, made pairing Gender-Neutral as I never used any pronouns.

Yandere! Diavolo with La Squadra! Darling

Pairing: Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Stalking, Murder, Violence, Blood, Kidnapping, Sadism, Emotional manipulation, Threats, Dark themes, Biting, Neck kissing, Forced relationship.

To be fair, I think your team is already monitored by Diavolo.

Ever since he realized your team was trying to reveal his identity... He just knew he couldn't risk things.

Originally before the deaths of Sorbet and Gelato, you worked just as hard as the rest of the hitman team.

Being a Stand User yourself, you were often praised for your skills.

A little blood wasn't new for you and even Diavolo knew you could get a job done once given an order.

However, like the rest you felt burned when The Boss didn't allow the team more territory.

The unfortunate downside of being expert killers is The Boss distrusted La Squadra.

Which meant no new territory... and not a lot of income.

Sorbet and Gelato had gotten close to exposing The Boss, only to be killed as a message not to fly too close to the sun.

La Squadra felt like family to you, a close group of assassins all trying to just get paid.

Unfortunately, killing Sorbet and Gelato had the opposite effect Diavolo wanted.

Now you all just wanted to find a way to get back at him, which just so happens to be kidnapping Trish.

I can definitely see Diavolo using Doppio to stalk you.

Originally, like usual, it's to find a way to keep you at bay.

Not necessarily to kill you, but to throw you off his scent.

He's having Doppio keep an eye on the rest of your team too.

Although you're the one that manages to catch his eye.

Part of him does admire your killing instinct and loyalty.

You listen to your leader, Risotto Nero, no matter the command.

Diavolo just wishes such potential wasn't wasted on a reckless mission to find him out.

The fact you have no idea Doppio is him is something he uses to his advantage.

Truthfully, Diavolo could care less about the rest of your team?

He isn't even sure why he's so fixated on you of all things.

Most of his obsession is keeping track of you.

He wants to keep an eye on you and the team so he knows when to get rid of them.

Later on he may even do just that.

Except not only would it be due to the danger they pose, but because he wants to get a message across to you.

Diavolo is aware of how attached you are to your team.

I can see him using that attachment to isolate you.

Through Doppio he'd probably drag you or your teammates into certain situations.

Diavolo is a big planner.

If he ever did try to get you alone, he has his reasons.

That being to kill you, or in your case, abduct you.

He'd lure you with a fake order, only for you to be ambushed by Diavolo.

By the time he's interested, he's already used Doppio to gain info on every one of your habits.

Diavolo is the type to use your weaknesses against you.

First he'll reveal himself, using King Crimson to render any attack useless.

He's researched your ability right up to every little weakness you have.

By the time he's ready to take you out of the equation, he counters your ideas with a grin.

"You did say you wanted to know my identity didn't you, dear?"

Diavolo purrs, voice dripping with sadistic delight once he knows he can corner you.

"Perhaps destiny decided to be kind to the both of us, Hm?"

You don't understand his words, how could you?

You're a hitman trying to avenge your fallen comrades, meanwhile he's an obsessed madman that's been following you for a long time now.

Fate plays a cruel joke on you, allowing you to meet your target but unable to kill him.

Destiny still seemed to aid him as he's been wanting to get his hands on you for a long time now.

Once Diavolo has you, he has ways of keeping you compliant.

How? Well, remember when I said you were attached to La Squadra like family?

He threatens them with similar fates to Sorbet and Gelato.

That is, unless, you decide to play along.

He wants you to play into his desires, in return your team shall be spared for now.

Really, their fate is sealed either way.

Your team will still die even if you accept the deal.

Threats and careful planning is a big part of Diavolo's obsession with you.

He uses fear to make you controlled, even if he is a coward.

He doesn't need to put a hand on you, he doesn't want to.

No, instead he'll target one of your old squad members to be taken out.

Then he'll bring back proof.

What, aren't you used to blood?

So why do you look so ill when he brings you the corpse of a fellow La Squadra member?

Death was part of your job.

Don't spare them any tears.

Diavolo seems like the type of yandere to force you into his embrace as you stare at the corpse of a former friend, nibbling on your neck as he tells you that he "told you so".

He's possessive, viewing the deaths of your comrades as a way to get rid of a nuisance.

If the experience breaks you, good, it l benefits him.

He wants to make sure you understand who you belong to.

The moment Diavolo breaks you and gets rid of your team, he's won.

He looks forward to such a victory with a grin on his face, looking like a true demon in your eyes.

"Why don't we make a deal, dear?

[triforce-of-mischief]

Spirits and Hands

Summary: On his way to save Zora's Domain for the second time, Wild and his companions encounter a terrifying enemy.

Warnings: totk spoilers, panic attack, hands

AO3

Please reblog to show your support! Likes do nothing.

The journey to Zora’s Domain was already turning out to be a lot better than Wild had expected it to be. Any traveler he passed would have thought that he was making the trip alone, but he was far from it. Two glowing, spirit-like forms were at his side.

One, a young Rito with a bow on his back, had joined Wild last week after his physical counterpart had discovered his abilities as a sage. The spirit was useful for flight and fight, but his inability to emote more than a tilt of his head left his companionship a little lacking. Wild liked to talk to him, but Tulin’s avatar seemed to be more willing to communicate with beings on a similar level.

Wild’s other companion had been a constant presence ever since he had woken up on the Great Sky Island. Well, they hadn’t appeared in this form at first. He was one of many companions who visited Wild one at a time. Today, Wild was accompanied by a mostly-incorporeal Hero of Winds.

Unlike Tulin’s avatar, Wind was fully present and intelligent in this state. Time travel magic, yada yada, they didn’t really know or care about the differences between heroes and sages. What they did know was that although Tulin was unable to process too many new thoughts or allow Wild to touch him, Wind had no such limitations. The sailor claimed that he wasn’t dead, but all three of them agreed that he was more alive than the sage’s avatar.

Which brought them to this moment, meandering around the Zora River as Wild tried to avoid stepping in the thick sludge that had invaded the area. The spirits chattered with each other, audible only in Wild’s mind.

“And that’s when I looked up and realized that the dragon’s tail was the perfect shape for my grappling hook!” Wind said.

Tulin flapped his wings excitedly. “You could use it to wiggle the ceiling loose and crush the monster!”

“Exactly!”

“Stay close, guys,” Wild said quietly. “We’re about to enter the Tabahl Woods.”

The spirits agreed to finish the story later, mostly so Wild could concentrate on their surroundings. Unlike a few years ago, no Lizalfos could be heard near this stretch of the river.

“Gloom ahead,” Tulin pointed out.

Wild glanced in that direction, spotting a churning puddle of black-rimmed red. “Good eye. We’ll stay clear of that.”

The champion brought them closer to the river, letting the patch of gloom fall behind his line of sight. He had barely passed it when he saw Tulin prepare his bow out of the corner of his eye.

“Don’t tell me I missed a Lizalfos,” Wild groaned, setting a hand on his sticksword and turning around.

His heart dropped.

Wind shouted, “What are those?”

The puddle of gloom was creeping closer, tearing across the wet grass and turning the very air red as if a blood moon had appeared mid-afternoon. Flakes and tendrils of the evil substance floated above the concentrated mess, making Wild cough as it entered his lungs. With a demonic screech, a half dozen gnarled arms rose from the gloom, each topped with a hand and a malicious eyeball staring from its palm.

“Run!” Wild yelled, tripping on his own feet as he hurried to do just that.

“I got it!” Tulin called, and Wild heard the rapid thwip of his arrows.

“It won’t work!” Wild reprimanded, sprinting mere inches ahead of snatching fingers. “I tried that last time, they- ack!”

The hand found purchase on his ankle, draining precious energy before he managed to wriggle free. The pursuit resumed immediately, rendering Wild exhausted within seconds. He had lost track of both Wind and Tulin, the spirits left behind as Wild struggled to escape. The hand gave up the chase, but any relief Wild felt was extinguished by a familiar shrill scream.

Wild whirled around, finding that the gloom hands were now preoccupied with the smaller targets. Tulin had managed to fly out of range, sending useless arrows into the monster’s eyes. Wind, however, had been surrounded completely. A hand was clamped around his face, holding him suspended in the air while his feet kicked at nothing. More hands gathered around him, grabbing and squeezing and smothering.

Wind couldn’t feel pain, but judging by his panicked cries, that didn’t matter when he could still be scared.

A surge of protectiveness gave Wild the final burst of strength he needed to run away from the monstrosity’s field of influence. The hands shrieked and shriveled in the returning sunlight, vanishing and releasing Wind.

Tulin’s avatar swooped beside Wild, who told the Rito to go scout. Wild crashed to his knees beside Wind, giving him an instinctive once-over. The boy’s translucent body was unharmed, though Wild couldn’t be completely sure. Wind was curled around himself, knees tucked to his chest and hands clamped over his ears.

“Wind, are you…” The remainder of the question faded away, and Wild tried again when the sailor didn’t move. “Wind?”

In a voice more small and broken than Wild had ever heard it, Wind asked, “Is it gone?”

“Yeah… yeah, they’re all gone.”

Wind was perfectly still, but Wild could hear muffled crying.

This was a new experience, and Wild didn’t know how to react. Wind rarely cried, putting on a brave face around the older heroes and defending himself with youthful bravado. Wild had seen him wrapped in Warriors’ scarf a few times, even hidden away in Time’s arms once or twice, but Wind had never sought comfort from Wild. With the kid so vulnerable before him now, Wild could only hope that he could balance comfort and respect so he didn’t ruin the moment.

Wild asked, “Can you try to sit up so I can see that you’re not hurt?”

Wind hiccuped and slowly pushed himself upright, keeping his hands close and his head bowed. Wavy sea glass-green hair concealed his face, and Wild carefully reached out to rest his finger under the spirit’s chin. Wind flinched the slightest bit at Wild’s touch, but allowed him to tilt his head up for inspection.

Just as Wild had expected, Wind was completely unharmed- physically, at least. His cheeks were free of marks like the ones Wild could feel burning his ankle, left behind by dragging fingernails. No bruises from being grabbed, no patches of angry flesh sizzling with remnants of gloom. Satisfied with his findings, Wild braced himself before finally looking into Wind’s eyes.

Like Tulin’s avatar, Wind’s eyes were simple pools of light that held far less emotion than his true form. So when Wild saw that they were wide and shimmering, that glowing tear tracks were streaming down Wind’s face, he knew that something was very wrong.

“Wind, please,” Wild whispered. “What can I do to help?”

A ragged wail tore through Wild’s mind, and the champion had no time to prepare himself before the spirit launched himself forward. Wind was weightless in Wild’s arms, but tangible all the same as he quickly pulled him into a proper hug. The sailor made himself as small as possible, hiding from the world as he cried. Raw sobs and hoarse screams that would have caused a lot of pain if he had been able to feel such a thing, wave after wave of catharsis that came from vocalizing pure, overwhelming fear.

Wild waited in silence, knowing that words couldn’t help this situation. He remembered how afraid he had been in the aftermath of his own first encounter with the gloom hands. Only adrenaline had kept him going long enough to reach the Mount Lanayru Skyview Tower before he had crumbled in the snow, hyperventilating and hallucinating the horrible screams.

But as scared as Wild had been, Wind���s reaction was so much worse. The boy was trapped in his panic well after Tulin gave the all clear, never calming down even a little. Was it because he was so young, or was Wind reliving trauma that Wild didn’t know about? Something more was going on, but honestly, Wild found that he didn’t care. In this moment, all he wanted to do was comfort his little brother.

[lovelykhaleesiii]

❛ you're mine, and i take care of what belongs to me. ❜

for aegon, i don’t know why but that line screams aegon for me (i mean it also screams aemond) but i can imagine aegon saying that.

Aegon ii SMUT Prompt #8

pairing: dark!Aegon ii Targaryen x niece!fem!Reader

warnings: incest, swearing, mentions of SA, physical violence (altercation), female receiving (finger*ng), mentions of p in v sexual intercourse, jealous!Aegon, possessive!Aegon, breast play/kink, edging.

Your relationship with your Uncle was a unique one of that… Sharing a compellingly, special bond, one that was filled with nurture, possessiveness and love [although many would argue obsession, on Aegon’s behalf]. You were his, as he favoured to reiterate on many occasions. And tonight, he would come to attest this.

****

A lovely, Targaryen maiden you were. Many eager and hungry eyes of lords and knights in Westeros sought for your hand in marriage, as a potential wife. Not to forget, you had a strong connection to the Iron Throne, the political and societal advantage you had sowed to you, your potential husband would gain from also.

And although your relationship with your Uncle, remained a discrete one of that for now, as your mother [Aegon’s elder sister] and his own had their indifferences… You couldn’t risk being torn away from him, although at times he struggled to keep himself in line. Aegon was jealous through and through, and tonight’s ball had tested his ability to restrain himself for your sake and his…

****

“Oh Y/N, you are a young, beautiful and unmarried maiden… This hand yet belongs to no other man. Just allow me-”

“No!” You insist, Jason Lannister had been into you since the festivities had commenced. Showering you with compliments during the feast, as he approached the royal table, asking for a dance [which your mother insisted you take, as means to lure the Lannisters to her cause] and finally, having sought the chance to leave, seeking the fresh air and lonesome company of the gardens, he had somehow managed to find you. Although, things taking for a twisted turn, finding yourself backed to some stony corner and the young Lannister’s hands venturing and groping places only Aegon was granted to.

You felt frightened and fury, you attempted to retaliate, even going so far as to smack his face hard across, yet these attempts rendered useless. The man had an eager cock but even more of an eager mind.

“Do not play me the fool, Y/N. I saw how you enjoyed tonight, how desperate you are for me. Pathetic girl-”

“Let! Me! Go!” Using all your might, despite the restriction of your corset, you tried to shove him off, and you deemed your efforts a success, as Jason’s mass was no longer on you. Although, noticed a familiar figure and set of platinum hair, pulling the grotesque man far from you, shoving him against the sand stone wall, with such a ferocity.

“You ever touch her again, Lannister, and I’ll have your fucking hands. If you even go as far as to look in her direction, I’ll gouge your eyes out myself.”

Twisting his arm the way Aegon had, you were certain he’d dislocated something, Jason’s face forcefully shoved against the wall, as Aegon released him, standing his ground in front of you, you noticed small, fresh cuts across his cheekbone.

Jason’s eyes fluttered over you, looking beyond Aegon, and Aegon having noticed, took a great swing, punching Jason right across the jaw, leaving the young Lion to howl in pain, blood oozing from his mouth.

“Do not make me repeat myself, Lannister.”

Now whimpered away around the corner, his cries growing fainter until silence, Aegon turns to you, as he soothes his fist, now reddened from the impact.

“Aeg- My love, thank you,” You softly uttered, taking his hurt hand in yours, as you laid a gentle peck over the knuckles, caressing it.

“What were you thinking, Y/N? To dance with him, let alone run out here? Foolish girl, if a man is desperate enough, he’ll smell you out.”

“Is that how you found me here, needing to be rescued is it?” You bashfully provoke, a bright light glistening in his lilac orbs.

“Do not think I did not notice what was going on. Seven Hells, it was torture. I must admit, Y/N dearest, I do not know how much more longer, I can keep this facade up, my love.”

“I know, Aeg, I know. In all due time… But for now, thank you. I-I don’t want to know what would’ve happened, had you not been there.”

“You’re mine. And I take care of what belongs to me.”

A faint smile beamed across your face in exchange with his sweet words. You truly saw no other future, other than with Aegon, it was only a matter of time. Tip toed up, you lean forwards, sharing a passionate kiss as Aegon’s hands gripped your waist, steadying you, remaining there as you let go.

“Such a great feat should not go unrewarded, mayhaps my Saviour, wishes to do as he pleases-”

Undoing the front laces of your dress, loosening the bust, your cleavage exposes more, the material dropping as your breasts plunge forward.

“Mayhaps, he wishes to touch these-”

Aegon’s eyes fleeting from your breasts, to your face and back towards the entrance to the party, and back down at you, he guides your steps back into the corners. Away from any lingering eyes, nestling you between himself and the wall, as he lifts your mass up, resting you atop his leg.

“More-” He growls, as one hand reaches down below, his fingers teasingly graze the entrance of your folds, already moist from his heroic action.

“A greedy hero I have claimed, I see… Whatever pleases you.”

In cue to your words, Aegon shoves two digits in between your folds, motioning circles as his fingers explore from within. Quiet, moans helplessly fall from your lips straight into Aegon’s ear, as his head rests atop your bust, his lips suckling at the soft flesh of your cleavage. Even feeling a prompt, sharp bite, teeth plunging into your skin, leaving a trail of red, dented bite marks. Your wetness begins to stir, coating his thick fingers, as their size and motions stretch you out in preparation.

“That’s it, Aeg. My body is all yours, only yours.”

Without a warning, Aegon inserts another thick finger, feeling the ring breach your entrance, jammed tightly not moving further in, as your walls clench around the fingers inside.

“Fuck, I can feel your pulse, how tight you get for me baby, that’s a good girl.”

“O-Only for you.”

The tip of his finger, rubbing harshly at your clit, your grip on Aegon’s clothes back grew firmer, desperate for something bigger and longer to sate the tension beneath.

“A-Aeg I-I need you-”

“Just a little bit more baby, stay with me-”

His words salivating at your breasts, the warm breath and saliva coating your nipple as he suckled and spoke on. His teeth gently nibbling and pulling at your nipple, to tease, knowing how sensitive you’d get.

What felt like eternity, was most likely only a few minutes, as you continued begging Aegon for his cock.

Just as he did so to enter, he pulled his fingers out, your chest heaving as your pant in relief. You could feel your weight dropping on him, as he carried you against him, his fingers coated with your cum, inhaling your scent, as he licked it off one by one.

“Tonight baby, we will continue this tonight… Gives me a reason to get through this god forsaken evening.”

[bunji-enthusiast]

Hello could you do a one shot for Tristan where Gawain fittest with his fem s/o and he gets jealous

I hope I understood this correctly dear, but here you go!

"Wha-" You blinked a multitude of times, trying to even register an ounce of understanding in which the female knight had uttered the very words toward you. In the sense, you could almost feel your face heating up from embarrassment, being put in such a spot. Gawain just seemed to not be at all deterred, she was actually serious, without a shadow of a doubt. Now, that truly had told you that in which she had said was nothing short of a half-hearted truth. Unto that and nothing more, she actually had a gall to flirt with you.

Well, you were aware that she had a penchant for flirting with others who rendered themselves in the same gender, however the last thing you expected was being a target to her flirtatious misdeeds. Though in all your heart, you didn't want to be rude to her, it was nothing wrong of the sort. More so it was often times old drunkards who had high reputations for preying on young pretty girls.

"You heard me pretty miss," She tilts her head, shredded as may be, but she seemed akin to that of a toddler. "How princey over there managed to get you is lost to me, I am rather far better." Gawain postulates, making your blood almost boil at the rather invertedly common insult. Among empires and gentleman it was always common to spit out insults and curses of which those who were born into higher riches. But by no means was that Tristan's fault, he was simply born into monarchies, those of whom were greatly respected amongst the people of Liones. He had greatly inherited a lot of his kind and gentle traits from his mother as well, you could see the resemblance not in just genetics alone, but by mannerisms and their actions.

"You shouldn't talk about him like that, it isn't nice." You replied, albeit with a firm tone. Habitually you were always quick to defend the silver-haired nephilim against anyone who had spoken bad about him, but be it one of his very own comrades? It's naught high for impossibility!

"It's not like we're friends, Im on a far different level than he is. Even in the time I've known him, he continued to be traitorous." Gawain's brows furrowed, half-hearted in hatred and about green with envy.

Yet here the situation stood, strong and spiteful for one, and another revered in the very sense of objectivity. Gawain too was a woman, that was no lie, you thought she would understand such matters. It was otherwise you were disproven of such thoughts, right here and now. In a way you could understand her perspective about Tristan and considering her feelings on the matter of his abilities as well, but in no way will you ever consider it acceptable that she insulted him in such a manner.

"Still though, it's not as if you two are supposedly enemies." You stand your ground, even with a harsher grit. Despite the fact you highly dislike confrontation, you were easily faced with the brunt of the concept, which came to reality speedily. "Gawain with all due respect I would like it if you did not speak about him that way."

A soft call of both your names snapped you out of your ever building stupor of aggrieved and sexual bullying, leaving you a little surprised that Tristan was approaching the pair of you.

"Why are you two fighting?"

Oh that same, sweet old tone. Easily wanting to amend whatever bonds there may be left, yet there was something else tapered in between the lines of his words. Something reminiscent rarely ever displayed in action, it was bare, yet it was still there. You were once again a little stuck in motion at the thought of it, you thought you were disillusioned. Gawain just stuck her head out, "Nothing that is your business, this is between the two of us."

"I understand that." He interjected in a gentle manner, lifting his gloved hands up to appease to Gawain's current bullish behavior. "But the energy seemed to be rather dreary, so I was starting to get worried."

There it was again, passing by as it once had before just a mere minute ago. How is he doing that? Whatever it was. All you were doing, was just watching Tristan and Gawain converse, but you were easily torn away from your statute display cobbled with imaginary stone. Watching as Tristan approached you with a concerned expression painted on his face, he gently pressed his hands on your shoulders.

"Are you alright?" He questioned, patient as can be. You turned your head to see that Gawain was leaving the area, making you loopback to Tristan's face, shrugging your shoulders in confusion as to what just had happened. You wondered what even happened at all, all there was is a steady argument, you know that Gawain wasn't going to attack you, so why did Tristan intervene? He had no reason to do so. Then you thought back to when he first approached, not far from a few minutes ago. Something about him seemed slightly different, it was just a mere tendril but it was enough to shake you somewhat.

So finally, "I'm... fine. I'm fine." You repeated, about twice until you had seen the disbelief about your wellbeing in his eyes fade. "What was that about?"

Tristan's brow contorted, confusion. "What was what about?"

You shook your head in disbelief, nodding your head at where Gawain had left you two alone. Tristan seemed to notice the source of your confusion, easily misplaced as it is however. You still didn't understand how, or why.

Tristan's bloodlust was rather suffocating earlier.