#all his respect for dark would completely collapse

[hoe4hotchner]

Mine | [A.H]

Pairing: Mafia!Hotch x Fem!reader | WC: 0.8k | CW: club scene, alcohol, violence.

The club pulsed with life, the bass thrumming through the floor, weaving through the low hum of conversation and the sharp clink of expensive whiskey against crystal glass. It was the kind of place where power was by who sat behind the velvet ropes—where the most dangerous men in the room never had to raise their voices to be heard. It was also the kind of place where no one touched what belonged to Aaron Hotchner.

Yet, somehow, the man standing in front of you had made that mistake.

His fingers curled around your wrist, the grip just tight enough to be possessive, just firm enough to make you uncomfortable. The stench of expensive cologne mixed with the sharp bite of whiskey on his breath as he leaned in, grinning like he had already won whatever game he thought he was playing. "C'mon, sweetheart, no need to play hard to get. I can give you a better offer than whatever you're getting now."

You didn’t have time to answer before the atmosphere shifted. The air around you seemed to still, the space behind you darkening with a familiar presence.

Then, in the space of a single breath, the man was ripped away.

Hotch moved faster than you could process, his hand wrapping around the man’s throat and slamming him against the nearest wall with a force that rattled the framed liquor displays behind the bar. Glassware trembled. Conversations cut off mid-sentence. The entire club fell silent.

“Touch her again, and I’ll break your neck.”

His voice was quiet, and controlled, but there was something in it that sent a chill down your spine—something deadly. Hotch rarely needed to make threats, not when his reputation spoke for itself, but when he did, it was never an empty promise. He could kill.

The man gasped, his fingers clawing at Hotch’s grip, his face turning an alarming shade of red. The smug confidence that had dripped from his words only seconds before had vanished completely. He knew exactly who he had just crossed, and from the way his body trembled, he also knew there was no undoing it.

Hotch leaned in slightly, his grip tightening just enough to make his point clear. “You think you can put your hands on something that belongs to me?” His words were measured, deliberate, and left no room for misinterpretation.

You should have been startled by the possessiveness in his voice, by the sheer force of his anger, but all you could focus on was the way he stood in front of you, a wall of control and fury as if there was no reality in which he would let anyone lay a hand on you and walk away unscathed.

The man gave a frantic nod, his expression somewhere between desperation and pure terror. Hotch held him there for another long moment, letting the weight of his words settle in before finally releasing his grip. The man collapsed, coughing violently as he stumbled back, eyes darting around the club as if looking for an escape route.

When no one moved to help him—when not a single person in the room dared to challenge the man who had just nearly choked him out—he scrambled toward the exit, disappearing into the crowd without so much as a backward glance.

Hotch exhaled slowly, his body still thrumming with tension as he turned to you. His eyes, sharp and dark beneath the low lighting, scanned your face before trailing down to your wrist where the man had touched you.

His jaw clenched, and before you could say anything, his fingers brushed over your skin, tracing the faint redness left behind. His touch was the opposite of what you had just endured—gentle and respectful, ensuring you weren’t hurt.

“Are you alright?” His voice had softened, but the barely contained rage still simmered beneath the surface.

You nodded, your pulse still racing. “Yeah.”

He didn’t look convinced. His fingers lingered on your wrist for a moment longer before he exhaled sharply and threaded his fingers through yours instead, his grip firm and protective. The warmth of his palm against yours sent a shiver up your spine, but it wasn’t from fear.

It should have been.

You should have been wary of a man who could snap a neck as easily as he could open a bottle of scotch, a man whose power extended into every shadowed corner of the city.

But you weren’t afraid of him. You never had been.

His hand tightened ever so slightly, his thumb brushing over the inside of your palm in a way that felt more like a promise than a simple touch. His eyes searched yours, and for a brief second, the room around you disappeared.

“Take me home,” you murmured, and the second the words left your lips, his grip on you became unshakable.

Hotch had never been the kind of man to let go of what was his.

And tonight, that included you in his bed.

[mysteryfawn]

hauhaauh,, i freaking adore your layout so so much <:-),, maybe perhaps -- a chance x reader oneshot where the reader's quite .. overworked / stressed with some stuff and chance tries to cheer buddy up.. "just try your luck!" and the "im unlucky as ill ever be" :brokem_heart: chance makes em ill........../pos

BWAHHH thank you smsm!!! it means a lot, I tried to make this a bit emotional!!! I hope you enjoy it <3 (chance... sighs dreamily /silly) --- RED = Chance

Muffled speaking came from the TV, which slightly lit up the dark living room… The sounds of slight snoring echoed throughout the cabin, the owner of such sounds was one specific gambler, one sleeping on his partner’s couch.

Chance was originally going to surprise you by gifting you some cake and flowers, for absolutely no reason (He shot Mafioso 3 times in a row). Anywho, he ended up collapsing on your couch after waiting until 8 PM, it wasn’t his plan to doze off, but the long wait beckoned him to take a nap.

His eyes shot up due to a loud sound of a door being closed shut harshly, scaring him a tiny bit, but ultimately, he knew who had finally arrived home. Lifting his body, Chance turned off the television, swept off the imaginary dust from his clothes, and adjusted his hair slightly, his face changing to the iconic smirk he always wears.

“Took you long enough!” The gambler started, chuckling before quickly shutting up upon looking at your disheveled and tired figure… ‘Oh dear, it was one of those days, wasn’t it?’ thought the white-haired man, sighing softly.

Walking up to you, Chance helped you take off your bags, shoes and coat, guiding you to the dinner table to sit down and eat the red-velvet cake he baked. “How are you?” The gambler started simple, trying to not overwhelm you with questions.

You stayed silent for a bit, coldly staring at the cake, trying to collect your thoughts. Chance cut a slice for you, setting it on a tiny plate with a fork for you to enjoy… Taking tiny bites of it, your mood slightly upgraded, allowing you to respond to your lover’s question.

“Fine… Just-” You couldn’t complete the sentence, your voice low from exhaustion and hesitation, and your objective set on sleeping for an eternity, but that wasn’t something your consoling boyfriend would let happen.

“Speak to me, dove… What’s wrong?” Chance asked, offering a sweet smile. “Well, the rest of the survivors have been keen on making sure I know they don’t care about me, and the stupid killers are always killing me off first because APPARENTLY!-” You took a breath, attempting to calm down, “apparently… I’m the easiest to kill.” You trailed off, speaking your mind angrily, talking about how you always try your hardest but nothing is ever enough.

After you finished with your rant, Chance kept quiet, looking at your eyes that were struggling to contain your tears. “Y’know… When I first got here, they did the same with me, it took a pretty long while for them to even accept me as another survivor!-”

“I’ve been here for a year already.” You interrupted, quietly but strictly.

“Look, darling, they’re assholes… We’re all going insane in this place, but at least you got me and I got you!” Chance paused, putting a hand on your shoulder. “You can’t please everyone, and you don’t have to either… And for the killers, I can teach you how to wield a flintlock!” The gambler inched closer to you, his chair touching yours.

“Ya gotta try your luck, and who knows, maybe if you shoot enough monsters and save enough people, they’re gonna respect you!” Chance smirked, giving you a side hug as he already started daydreaming about you shooting Mafioso.

“I’m as unlucky as I’ll ever be, Chance…” You muttered, sighing deeply in defeat, thinking about how many times his gun will explode in your face instead of working properly. The gambler stayed quiet for a bit, but quickly got up from his seat, offering a hand for you.

As you held his hand, he brought you towards your couch, falling on it and dragging you down with him, gaining a squeal of surprise from you. Holding you close to his chest, he planted a small kiss on your forehead.

“Dove, you’re not that unlucky, you got me, remember?” Chance chuckled, cuddling with you as you giggled lightly… He was right, and he knew it, you knew it. You lifted yourself to his face, kissing his lips softly, before closing your eyes as you set your face into his neck comfortably, dozing off with him.

[quillsnink]

When Chris comes across fanfiction you've written about him

A/N : Hope you like this silly scenario haha. Picture credit goes to the owner. On that note, I wonder if Chan has a secret Tumblr account haha, I wouldn't put it past him.

• It was Chris' day off and he was lying on his bed under the blanket with his phone in his hand, scrolling through his private Instagram that only his close ones knew of and the one he used to stalk his fans.

• As usual, it was his favourite hobby to stalk Stays online, always curious to see what Stays were up to. He was scrolling through edit after edit, some where he was being the adorable Channie and "cute as a button", according to Stays' language, not his, and others where he was in full on wildin' in Christopher mode on stage.

• He chuckled at some of the comments made by Stays and felt shy at the same time. What he gathered was one group of people found him super adorable (he wondered how on earth could people find him adorable when there were the other members in the group) while other Stays were thirsty, each comment made him flustered and left him red in the face, it was like he was in his own episode of Thirst Tweets.

• He scrolled down next to find your fanfiction titled "Dangerous Alliances" pt 15. It was a fanfiction about him. He was intrigued to read it especially seeing the dark edit of himself in a black suit.

• He was fascinated by the way you portrayed him as a powerful and the most feared mafia boss, mysterious and alluring, surrounded by danger. He was used to being seen as the leader and "protective older brother" type, but the idea of him being a dangerous mafia boss was a wild twist to his personality.

• As he starts reading from part 1, he raises his eyebrows at your gritty and intense portrayal of him, surrounded by his seven trusted men, as in the rest of Stray Kids, each one had a different and important role. In the story he had a painful past and he also discovered that his parents were a part of the mafia in the past. He was back and had risen up the ranks.

• As he read on, though, he’d become more intrigued, maybe even amused, secretly flattered by your imaginative take on his character. He’d never imagined anyone thinking of him that way, the dark brooding mafia boss with a dangerous aura only soft for his seven friends and the reader who was not from the mafia but was just as daring and didn't even hesitate to take a bullet for him by his enemy and almost had seen death in the face (his world had almost collapsed that day but he was so so so relieved you were alive).

• Wow, he thought, the female lead here is strong and intense and fiercely loyal to his mafia character and takes no shit as he read the part where your character, the reader, had come back and threatened the enemy that whoever hurt Chris would have her to deal with her, and you had eliminated the threat that made the other mafia families treat you with respect and fear and see you as a force to be reckoned with and not just Chris' lover or just some woman.

• Chan would seriously be impressed by how you turned him into a powerful, mysterious figure, even if it’s such a different side of him. Part of him would want to laugh it off, but he’d find himself getting invested in the storyline, wondering what’s going to happen next. He was shocked when it was revealed that the reader actually was a lost mafia princess on a mission, and that she was seducing him just to eliminate him and all that bullet taking for him was all an act.

• Chris was reading with two eyebrows raised now, completely lost in the storyline. He was eager to know what happened next and kind of wanted a happy ending only to discover that part 16 was not yet posted. He saved the posts and followed your account,clearly wanting to read the next part as soon as it was released.

• After reading, Chan would decide to leave a supportive, playful comment, making sure to stay in character as a fan without giving himself away.

• @ cblurking97 : "OMG, I LOVE this version of Chan! 😳 The way you wrote him as this powerful, feared mafia boss is so intense—it’s like he’s a completely different person! I bet the real Chan would be so shocked if he saw this. 😂 And the twist 😳. Keep it up, author ! You’ve got me hooked!! 👏🔥 I do hope it's a happy ending though 😅".

• Chris would chuckle after posting, secretly entertained by the idea of encouraging you in disguise. He’d feel a bit mischievous, knowing you’d never suspect the actual person you were writing about was hyping you up in the comments.

• Chan would be thoroughly amused by his anonymous support. Part of him would feel proud that someone could see his leadership qualities in such an intense light, even if the setting was a bit extreme.

• His thoughts after commenting would be something like "well, that’s one way to think of me, but wow, this person is really talented… I wonder how the story will end."

• He’d quietly enjoy the way you’d brought such a unique version of him to life and rooting for you as a "fellow fan" from afar, looking forward to the plot development.

A/N : Hope you liked it. Do like, comment, reblog and follow if you did. The rest of my masterlist is here.

[eudemonia13]

Light in the darkness

Solomon x Reader

Light angst. W.C. 1099 Solomon thinks about his adorable aprentice as they rest beside him.

He saw light in you, passed the glimmer of sunlight on your skin as you bathed in the warm rays of your home world, passed the brilliance of neon signs and late night artificial rainbows that painted your eyes a stunning palette of colour, shades he would chase in his dreams as his subconscious processed yet another memory of you.

An abstract keepsake that he would hold onto as long as he lived. When he had long forgotten the grassy fields, the taste of salt and sugar, when the last drop of his blood had dried. When the death of the world and the collapse of the sun had claimed the last slivers of light, he would remember you.

Tucked away with all the other parts of you he held dear. His thoughts were a kaleidoscope of you. The movements, the laughter, the rhythm of your heart beating. Everything stored away in the most precious archives of his mind.

No, he saw it there in the darkest nights of the Devildom.

Bright and soft as the dawn, light that emanated from you like the warmth from your skin as he rested in your arms. It enveloped him and cast the shadows in his mind into slumber.

He loved you, he loved you in ways that felt like sparks and fire. A firework, piercing the darkness with a violence that could only be human. So fleeting, and yet you burned yourself into the entire realm's consciousness like an afterimage, trails of fading sparks that still glowed as they rained from high. A fraction of time that outshone the dim embers of eternity.

He used to sparkle, he used to glow. And he still did, the hunger in the demon’s eyes told him as much. The subtle glances the angels passed behind his back when he was once allowed entry into the Celestial realm told him as much. There was still enough left in him to want, to covet and bide their time over as turn after turn of the games they played went on.

Solomon smiled, a reflex that had rooted into him and pulled the corners of his lips into an unreadable neutrality, a defence given to him by the slow erosion of millenia uncounted. Hard learned lessons like waves rolling the sharpest rocks into smooth, flawless stones, he had lost that earnest part of him to the oceans long ago.

What he felt, the vulnerability and timid honesty of his feelings even here when he was alone with his thoughts, was too intimidating to show without a mask. So he smiled to himself in the darkness of his room.

He used to sparkle, like you did now.

Still warm, still forgiving even as beings far beyond your reach played over you like a prize, like a bet. Like you weren’t human. Still bright, still shining.

He pulled you closer, tucking his head against your shoulder as you slept, chest falling in gentle crests, like waves rolling over him with every rise and fall. Time had no hold on him, not here. Not with you.

His dearest, his confidant, his…

What was he to you? Surely, he meant at least something to you. But in a room of flushed faces, of hands reaching out to you… How close was he to your light?

A Prince, strong and unmoving to the little problems that once battered him in his youth. He was safe, he was luxury and adventure and lightheartedness, still after everything in his long, long life. Passion and elegance… And knowing you would always come second to the inevitable need of his people.

A Demon, as capable, as beautiful and loyal as he was prideful. Having made his place in the Devildom from what was once scorn and misery, but now stood as one of the most powerful and respected Devildom Elite? Who offered you seduction, and complete ownership over his heart and soul? At least… So long as you could withstand his heart being locked behind the burden of pride, and obligations that could never be put off for more than a night before he would be buried by paperwork yet again.

And his brothers, demons of high regard all their own. But he hardly needed to slander any of them to highlight their glaringly obvious shortfalls.

An Angel, kind and devoted, cunning and artful in everything he does. He was warm, and soft like spring rain, dewy and beautiful and calming to even your soul itself. He would give every part of himself to you and not ask for anything more than your happiness. And yet he was forever shadowed by the choices he had made, and had not made, and the knowledge of what would come from those fateful decisions… But truly, what could he say against Simeon? That he was bad with technology and he was afraid of the terrifying and confusing future ahead of him? Solomon knew that what his friend offered you could hardly be painted as ‘bad’ in even the harshest light.

Was that cruel of him? To weave his words and sharpen his tongue against those he has come to think of as friends? Even in the seclusion of his mind, could he take that from you? Could he appear just a little bit better, here, where none could hear him?

Solomon, the wise. Solomon, the witty sorcerer. Solomon, protector of Humanity. Solomon, who loved you with all his heart. Who had protected you when you were nothing but a defenceless human thrown to the wolves of the Devildom that first year of the exchange program. Solomon, who had risked the fate of the human realm just so that you may not hate him for the awful choice that must be made. Who had put the fate of everything he had devoted his immortal life to protecting, into your hands knowing full well that you might not choose what he would.

Solomon, who looked at you and saw everything he loved, everything he had sworn to protect and cherish deep in his heart where nothing could take it from him again.

Solomon, who loved you knowing he would lose you too.

And Solomon, the manipulative, the wolf in sheep's clothing, the untrustworthy sham of a sorcerer who used and conned anyone he could benefit from. Solomon, the human who had lost his humanity. Solomon, the liar. Solomon, the demon.

He wondered, silently. Wordlessly as his hands shook with the slightest tremble as he pulled you against him even tighter. His Light, his Truth… His Protector.

Who was he to you?

[obeymeshallwedateaddict]

I really loved the angsty fic I was supposed to protect you do you think you could do it but with the datables? If that’s too many characters then just Diavolo and Simeon and Luke.

(I know asking for Luke is 👿 because he’s just a child but I wanna sob and having him see MC die I think will do it)

Heyy I'm glad you liked the first part and sure. Part 2 is coming right up! I gotcha! Enjoy!

Author's note: This is part 2 of the story I was supposed to protect you which includes the demon brothers. You can find part 1 here.

Summary: During a fight MC(you) sees that the dateables + Luke won't be able to dodge the next attack so you take it instead of them, causing your death.

Contains: Angst

GN!MC x Diavolo, Barbatos, Solomon, Simeon, Luke

You can find more of my work here: Masterlist

I was supposed to protect you

Part 2

Diavolo

Diavolo, the future King of the Devildom, was a force to be reckoned with. His power was overwhelming, and his presence commanded respect. But even he, with all his strength and authority, was struggling. The battle had taken a toll on him, and for the first time, you saw doubt flicker across his face.

The enemy launched a devastating attack aimed directly at him, and for a moment, Diavolo didn’t have enough time to counter it. His eyes widened, realizing the danger too late.

Without a second thought, you threw yourself in front of the blast.

“MC!” Diavolo’s voice was filled with shock and horror, something you’d never heard from him before. He rushed to your side as you collapsed, his powerful hands catching you just before you hit the ground.

“Why would you...?” His voice trembled as he cradled you in his arms, his usual regal composure completely shattered. He was the Prince of the Devildom, yet he couldn’t stop this. He couldn’t stop you from slipping away.

You tried to smile, to show him you didn’t regret it, but it hurt too much to form words. Diavolo’s expression crumpled, tears gathering in his eyes as he held you tighter, as if he could somehow keep you with him.

“MC, please... I need you,” he whispered, his voice desperate and broken. But it was too late. You had saved him, and that was enough.

Barbatos

Barbatos was always composed, always several steps ahead of everyone else. His calm demeanor never wavered, even in the most dangerous situations. But this time, the enemy had caught him off guard. A powerful strike was coming his way, and for once, Barbatos didn’t see it coming in time.

You saw it before he did, though, and in an instant, you made your choice.

You stepped between Barbatos and the attack, taking the full brunt of the blow.

“MC...” Barbatos’s voice was softer than you had ever heard it, full of disbelief as you collapsed into his arms.

He knelt beside you, his normally composed face etched with something you had never seen before—genuine fear. “Why?” he whispered, his voice trembling slightly. “You didn’t need to do that.”

You tried to respond, but your body was growing heavier, the pain too overwhelming. Barbatos tightened his grip on you, his eyes dark with regret. For once, he hadn’t been able to predict what was going to happen. He hadn’t been able to save you.

“I... I should have protected you,” he murmured, his voice breaking in a way that was foreign to him. The timekeeper who was always in control, always calm, had lost something he couldn’t get back.

Solomon

Solomon, the ever-cunning sorcerer, was locked in a fierce battle with the enemy, casting spell after spell with a determined look on his face. But even the most powerful human had limits, and Solomon was nearing his.

The enemy’s next strike was aimed directly at Solomon, and for a moment, you saw the panic flash in his eyes. He couldn’t deflect it in time.

Without hesitation, you threw yourself between him and the attack, absorbing the impact yourself.

“MC!” Solomon’s voice rang out, full of horror and disbelief. His usual calm, teasing demeanor disappeared in an instant as he rushed to your side.

He knelt beside you, his hands shaking as he tried to stabilize you, casting healing spells in vain. “Why... why did you do that?” he asked, his voice trembling.

You could see the panic in his eyes as he realized that no amount of magic could save you. His hands moved frantically, trying to cast every spell he knew, but it wasn’t enough. You were slipping away, and there was nothing he could do.

“MC... I’m supposed to protect you,” Solomon whispered, his voice raw with emotion. “I... I promised I’d look after you...”

But even the most powerful sorcerer couldn’t stop death. And as your vision faded, you felt his grip tighten on you, the weight of his regret hanging heavy between you both.

Simeon

Simeon was an angel of light, a beacon of hope even in the darkest of times. But today, even he was struggling. The enemy’s attacks were relentless, and despite Simeon’s divine strength, he was starting to falter.

The enemy launched a strike aimed directly at him, one that could be fatal if it hit. Simeon’s eyes widened, but he wasn’t fast enough to block it.

You moved before you could think, throwing yourself in front of him just as the blow landed.

“MC!” Simeon’s voice was filled with shock, his usual gentle tone now laced with panic. He caught you as you fell, his strong arms cradling you as if you were the most precious thing in the world.

“Why...?” Simeon whispered, his voice trembling as he held you close. His eyes, usually so full of light and warmth, were now clouded with grief. “You didn’t have to... I would have been fine...”

You tried to smile, but the pain was too much. Simeon’s grip on you tightened, his wings trembling slightly as he leaned over you, his tears falling silently onto your skin.

“MC, I can’t lose you,” he murmured, his voice breaking as he held you closer. “Not like this...”

But there was nothing he could do. As the darkness closed in, you could feel Simeon’s sorrow, the way his heart ached as he realized he couldn’t save you.

Luke

Luke, despite his young age, was full of determination and bravery, always trying to prove himself. But in this moment, facing a dangerous enemy, you could see the fear in his eyes. He wasn’t ready for this, and the enemy’s next attack was aimed directly at him.

You didn’t think. You couldn’t let Luke, so full of light and innocence, take that hit. Without hesitation, you stepped in front of him, taking the blow meant for him.

“MC!” Luke’s voice was high-pitched with panic as you collapsed in front of him. He rushed to your side, his small hands trembling as he tried to shake you awake. “No, no, no! You can’t... you can’t leave me!”

His voice was frantic, full of fear as tears welled up in his eyes. He had always looked up to you, always relied on you, and now you were slipping away before his eyes.

“Why would you do that?” Luke cried, his tears falling freely. “You’re supposed to be okay! You’re supposed to be with me!”

You wanted to reassure him, to tell him it was alright, but the pain was too much. Your vision was fading, and the last thing you heard was Luke’s heartbroken sobs as he begged for you to stay.

[casuallyobssessed]

Loose Ends - Donnie Barksdale x Fem!Reader ❥ 4.7k Words

A/N: Hoo boy. I got inspired to write this from a post I saw on here a while back. Other than that, idk why I wrote it. I keep putting Mr Barksdale here in evil situations and I won't apologize for it. PART TWO LINK

Warnings: domestic violence, non-con, P in V sex, major character death, blood and violence, no use of y/n, no beta, no happy ending

Do not read past the divider within the story if you're uncomfortable with graphic descriptions of violence and death.

Archive of Our Own Link

“Get out.”

Donnie leans across you and opens your door before giving your shoulder a hard shove. 

“Out!” He barks at you.

You shoot him a glare, but you know if you don't comply, it'd probably end with you unconscious on the side of the road instead of awake with a bruised ego. You begrudgingly follow his command and climb out of his truck, naked and vulnerable. 

As soon as your bare feet hit the dirt road, Donnie’s slamming on the gas and roaring away from you, throwing up a cloud of dust behind him. You contemplate running after him, but you know you could never catch up. 

Instead, you start walking the opposite direction, back towards the way you drove in. You're glad it's warm out tonight. Even though you try your best to cover yourself up with your hands to save some part of your dignity, it's pointless. This time of night, in these parts of the woods, there's no one around to see you anyway. At least, no one human. 

Bathed in the thick, silent darkness, you're keenly aware of all the living noises around you: from the cicadas and crickets performing their respective symphonies, to a distant owl begging the question of ‘who?’ 

A couple of branches break in the trees to your left and you pick up your pace, moving more briskly in hopes of making it out of the woods by sun up. You know that it's impossible, but you can try anyway. 

Maybe it would be better to die out here than go back to living with Donnie. Deciphering his moods and tiptoeing around him in your own home were skills you learned early on, but over time, you got too comfortable with him on his good days. He lulls you into a false sense of safety and comfort, and then one day you're fucking in his truck when he forces you out and abandons you in the middle of the woods because you didn't want to “take it up the ass like the whore you are.” 

He's done worse, you suppose, as you absentmindedly rub your hand across the healing scar on your cheekbone. The bruises always fade, but he likes to leave behind small, more permanent reminders that keep you pliant and obedient most days. You don't know why you keep putting up with how he treats you, but you know there's something inherently comforting in the chaos of the storm surrounding Donnie that makes it hard to leave. 

After a while, your legs start to cramp and you feel like you're getting nowhere. Time doesn't feel real anymore. Has it been minutes? Hours? You're not quite convinced that it hasn't already been days. One wrong step and your knees buckle, sending you collapsing into the dirt. Tired and frustrated, you stay kneeled, ignoring the rocks digging into your bare skin.

You're teetering on the edge of breaking down when you hear the deep rumbling of a truck further up the road. A pair of headlights cut through the darkness, illuminating you in the middle of the road like a beacon of naive hope.

Within no time, Donnie's Chevy is barreling down the road towards you. You swear he's going to hit you, and you're fully prepared to let him, but then he brakes at the last second, stopping mere inches away from you. Like the literal deer in headlights that you are, you stiffen completely. 

You can't decide whether you want to laugh or cry when you hear the truck door open and his boots hit the ground. There's no time to prepare yourself before he's got two hands under your arms, picking you up out of the dirt and turning you around to press you against his chest. Cautiously, you wrap your arms around him.

“I didn't think you were coming back,” You sniffle as you hold him tighter, scared that if you let go, he might change his mind. 

“‘Course I was. You know I wouldn't leave you out here all by yourself, Darlin’. It ain't safe in these woods at night for a pretty thing like you,” His voice is as sweet as molasses while he strokes your hair, and that warm, safe feeling starts blooming inside you again. 

Something more sinister starts to shroud that warmth as he pulls away from you and you get a glimpse of his eyes. Normally they're filled with fire or rage, now they're boring into you with a betrayed sense of disappointment. Guilt and shame go hand in hand as they wash over you, sending a wave of tears to well up in your eyes. 

“Do you think you've learned your lesson, sweet thing?” Donnie tucks a finger under your chin and gently forces you to keep looking up at him. 

You know, deep down, that saying no to him was stupid. Pitching a fit because you couldn't get your way? No wonder he left you out here. You lightly nod your head at him, truly believing what you had done was wrong.

“Alright. Show me,” Donnie grabs your hand and heads towards the passenger door. You follow behind him warily. 

“What?” 

He opens the door and points to the seat, “Bend over.”

You snatch your hand away from him like he burned you. There's a heavy silence as he stares you down, daring you not to comply. You feel sick. It's not even about sex at this point. It's about the control he has over you and you know it.

“Donnie, look, I’m sorry, but-”

“That don't look like you bendin’ over to me.”

“I don't want to,” You cross your arms and take a deep breath, bracing for the fallout. 

“Well, I didn't ask if you fuckin’ wanted to, did I, Darlin’?” 

And just like that, Donnie is on you in an instant, pushing you towards the open door with one hand and shoving your upper body down onto the seat with the other. The zipper of his jeans scrapes against your skin as he presses his clothed erection against your ass, grinding himself into you as you fight back. 

This wouldn't be the first time Donnie has taken what he wanted from you, and you know it's probably far from the last. Normally, you're really good at grinning and bearing it, but you just don't have the energy for it anymore. You go limp against the cushion of the seat while you stare at your crumpled pile of clothes still in the floorboard, mentally preparing yourself for the impending conquest of your body. 

His hands slowly roam across your hips, but it's not loving or kind. It reminds you of how much care Donnie would put into delicately sponge-washing his truck before he’d come inside and knock you around with the same hands, not worried about leaving dents. 

He possessively gropes every inch of you that he can reach, ending his exploration of your body by tenderly kissing up your spine and then biting into the bottom of your neck as hard as he can. Pain shoots through your shoulder and down your arm. You want to scream, but you don't want to give him the satisfaction. He gets off on your pain and you refuse to give him anything. 

You're sure he's broken skin by the way it stings when he licks over the wound a few times, as if he's trying to get a rise out of you. 

“C’mon, Darlin’, I just wanna play with you some. That ain't wrong, is it? It's hard bein’ around you like this and not takin’ any action, y'know,” Donnie tries to spur you on and is met with silence.

“You ain't mad at me for leavin’ you out here, are you? I can make it up to you.”

You blink away tears as he leans back off of you, only to move his attention lower. Gripping the space between your ass and thighs with both hands, he spreads you open, presumably enjoying the view with a low whistle. 

“I'll never get tired of seein’ you all pretty and wet for me.”

You shudder thinking about how your body doesn't seem to get the memo that you don't actually want this. No matter how badly you want it to stop, you know you can't help the way your cunt prepares itself for him the moment he starts getting pushy with you. It has to be some kind of pavlovian response, you think. 

Keeping you spread open, he dips the tip of his thumb inside of you experimentally. When you don't respond, he pushes in deeper, seeing how far you'll let him go before you give him what he wants. 

“You seem real excited for someone who don't want want me to fuck ‘em,” His voice is deep and dangerous as he pulls his thumb out and slides it down to your little bundle of nerves. Slick and sensitive, your clit betrays you as he brushes over it relentlessly. 

“How ‘bout this? I'll make a deal with you,” Donnie continues his assault on your clit, making it impossible to concentrate on what he's saying to you, “You tell me to stop and we'll go home, yeah? If you don't want this, all you gotta do is say so.”

You know he's lying. You know better than to trust his word on something like this, but what's the harm in trying? Weakly, you shake your head no and try to crawl forward, further into the seat. 

“Use your words, Darlin’,” He warns as he uses one hand to pull you back towards him by your hip.

“Donnie, please sto-,” The moment his name escapes your lips, his mouth is on your clit mercilessly, “Oh, fuck.” 

Jolts of pleasure make your legs twitch as you bite your lip, suppressing a moan. You don't want him to know how good he's making you feel, but you're sure he can come to that conclusion on his own with how dripping wet you are. 

Trembling, clutching the seat, and whimpering his name is how you find yourself coming undone for him. Ashamed can't even begin to describe the feeling coursing through your veins as you hear him unzip his jeans. You know what comes next, whether you want it or not.

Looking up from the seat, you can see the key still in the ignition. All you have to do is get into the driver's seat and you could drive off. It seems simple enough. 

Except for the fact that he's got one hand firmly gripping your hip while he's shoving his pants down, almost like he could read your mind. You consider ragdolling again, maybe it'd get things over quicker and you really could just go home. 

The promise of home is enough to calm you down and relax for a moment. It's only a temporary fix before Donnie is grabbing your thigh, manhandling you onto your back, and pulling you far enough off the seat to line himself up with your entrance with ease. 

Out of instinct, you grab his forearm and dig your nails into his skin, trying to pull his hand off your inner thigh. You instantly regret it when you look up to see the wicked grin plastered across his face. 

“You wanna finally play rough with me?” He laughs darkly as he pins your wrists above your head with one of his huge hands.

“No. Stop! I don't want to do this. I don’t…” Your voice trails off as you realize he's not listening. 

His eyes shine with a lust you've never seen before, and honestly, it scares you. Donnie has said and done a lot to you since you've been with him, but this is completely different. The usually soft brown in his eyes looks almost black from this angle. It's unsettling, and it's more than enough reason for you to start fighting him again. 

With a growl, he's shoving himself all the way inside of you and it makes you squeal. Donnie knows he's big enough to hurt you if he doesn't go slow at first. Even when he's drunk, he usually takes his time with you. 

“It hurts… it hurts, it hurts!” You whimper.

The pain of him thrusting in and out makes you writhe against him, eliciting an appreciative moan from him and an unhappy whine from you. No matter how hard you try to wiggle out of his grip, it proves fruitless.

Donnie pauses mid-thrust, considers your struggle for a moment, and then speaks, “You want me to let go of you?” 

“Obviously.”

“You gonna try to hurt me if I do?”

“...no?” You're not sure what answer he's looking for here. 

“Go on,” Donnie releases you and leans back, “Take a swing at me, Darlin’. I know you want to.” 

As badly as you want to knock him into next year, you still hesitate. You're not sure what game he's playing at, but you don't know if you want to participate. You keep your hands above your head until Donnie grabs one and hits himself in the chest with it. 

“Come on! Fuckin’ hit me.” 

Suddenly, now that he's begging you for it, maybe it's not a bad idea after all. So, you hit him, square in the chest. It's a weak hit and it makes him laugh. 

“Everything I done put you through and that's all you can do?” 

You frown. He wants you to hit him? Fine. Balling your fist up and propping yourself up with one arm, you deck him as hard as you can in the jaw. You recoil from the sensation, your knuckles aching. To your surprise, he doesn't say anything, so you keep going. 

You hit him in the chest again. Over and over and over, blow after blow, until your arms start to feel weak. He still doesn't react to you, and it makes you even angrier. 

“You know what, Donnie? Fuck you! Fuck you. Get off of me!” You scream, shoving and bucking against him as he moves to hold you down again. 

“That’s my girl! Now you got the idea,” He says cheerfully. 

When his hands migrate from pinning your shoulders down to wrapping around your throat, it happens in an instant. You claw at his forearms, his wrists, and his hands. Prying at his fingers did nothing but make him squeeze harder. Sobs catch in your throat with nowhere to go but back down into your chest. 

Your breathing quickens as he lets some pressure off of your windpipe for a brief second, allowing a few deep breaths in before he's pushing down again. A deep burning settles in your lungs and your vision starts to get fuzzy around the edges when Donnie decides to start thrusting into you again. 

A pleading cacophony of whimpers and groans somehow make their way out of your mouth. The wild look in his eyes tells you that he knows exactly what you're trying to say, and he doesn't care. 

It amazes you that the man who used to be your reason for breathing could be so obsessed with taking that privilege away from you. 

For your last few moments of consciousness, you feel tears running down the sides of your face as he uses your body. Your arms feel limp and it's hard to keep your eyes open. The last thing you see is Donnie hovering above you, eyes trained on yours, like he's waiting for the moment your world goes black. And then, it does.

When you come to, your arms are suspended, tied up in thick, scratchy rope that's hanging over a sturdy branch above your head. You’re on your tiptoes in the leaves, unable to put your feet flat on the ground without seriously straining against your shoulders. 

It's hard to focus on anything other than how sore your throat feels and the aching between your legs. Your whole body feels like you've been shoved through a wood chipper and glued back together. After a few shaky, grounding breaths, you're still on the verge of losing what's left of your sanity. 

Before you start really panicking, you take a moment to look around. He must have dragged you deeper into the woods because you're no longer near the dirt road that you started out on. 

Contrary to the skinny trees surrounding you, the tree you're attached to is huge. Because of the lack of light, you can't see just how tall and wide it truly is, but it definitely doesn't look like it belongs here. 

“You finally awake?” 

Donnie’s voice comes from behind you, making you jump. You can't find enough purchase on the ground with your toes slipping on the leaves to turn yourself around to face him, so you stay put and silent. 

His boots crunch on twigs and dead leaves as he circles around you like a shark out for blood, pocket knife glinting in his hand. It dawns on you that you are the prey, limp and at his mercy. 

“You know, I shot my first deer right where you're standin’. My Pa dropped me off out here with a twelve gauge and told me not to come home ‘til I killed somethin’,” He squints his eyes, “Got a lucky shot on a doe. Knocked her on her ass, but she was still kickin’, tryna get up. She had this crazy look in her eyes, like she was beggin’ me to finish her off. Bein’ a kid, I didn't have the sense to just put her outta her misery…

“I watched her bleed out right there. Took me forever to drag her back to the trailer by myself,” He chuckles, like he's fondly recalling the memory, “Pa wasn't too happy that I killed a doe and he tore my ass up, but we ate good on that for a while.”

His openness throws you for a loop. Donnie never talked to you about his childhood, save for a few very rare instances when he was blackout drunk. You knew he was abused, but to the exact extent, he never told you. As much as you want to accept this as a simple trip down memory lane, your brain is sounding off alarm bells. 

“I didn't want to do this to you. I just feel like you ain't gonna learn any other way,” Donnie sighs, fiddling with his blade as he avoids your gaze.

“I’m sorry. I’ll listen, Donnie. I can do better, I promise. Let me down, okay? I can- Just give me another chance,” Your tears flow as you beg for his forgiveness and try your best not to hyperventilate.

Donnie scoffs at you, closes up his knife, and shoves it in his pocket. He puts one hand on his hip and uses the other to rub his chin inquisitively. 

“See, I just don't believe you,” He sighs exasperatedly and points at you, “You fucked up and now you wanna give me all these crocodile tears. Actin’ like you're sorry but you couldn't even do one little thing for me. And then, you get pissed off at me for takin’ what's mine anyway.”

An unstoppable panic rises within you like roaring floodwaters and you are certain you're about to drown in it. You choose not to say anything. If you speak now, you aren't sure your voice would even cooperate. It turns out that was exactly what he was looking for. 

“Can't even deny it, huh? Fine. I’ma leave your sorry ass out here ‘til you can figure out how to behave,” Donnie says nonchalantly.

“Please, Donnie, don't leave me again!” You beg, frantically, trying your hardest to reason with him, “I'm scared. Donnie! Please!” 

You kick your legs back and forth, twisting from side to side as the rope sways from the momentum. The rope cuts into your wrists with a heated bite that’s enough to distract you from the growing tension in your shoulder blades. 

“I'll come back when I think you've learned your lesson,” Donnie enthusiastically pats your ass before retreating back to his truck.

Your heart sinks into your stomach as he slams the door and starts the engine. His taillights weaving through the trees don't take long to disappear before leaving you in total darkness again. You try pulling at the rope again, but it doesn't budge. A sigh escapes you as you close your eyes and try to make peace with the situation you're in. 

You think about home. If this was any other night, you would've taken a warm bath and would have been sitting in bed reading by now. You wonder if you'll ever get to finish that cheesy romance novel on your bedside table. It's one of those books where the husband is having an affair, and then a handsome stranger comes in to swoop the wife away and they live happily ever after. 

It used to be that you'd imagine Donnie as that heroic handsome stranger, but more recently, he's been starring as the villain in your story. Hope was an idea that you clung to for years, until reality started eating away at you. 

Now, you're despairingly alone, dangling by a rope in the woods like a piece of meat. You’re exhausted, mentally and physically. There's no telling how long he's going to leave you out here, so you decide you might as well try to get some sleep. 

-

Sleep comes easy, but you're woken up by headlights piercing through the darkness accompanied by the rumbling of Donnie's truck. He parks the truck, leaving it running with the headlights aimed at you, putting your body on display and leaving you feeling utterly exposed. 

Neither of you speak as he hops out and makes his way, lumbering over to you. Your fingers twitch against the rope as he pushes himself into your personal space, analyzing you silently. You hate the feeling of being scrutinized so closely, so you pull away from him as far as you can.

“I did some thinkin’,” He opens his mouth and you're hit with the stench of alcohol lacing his breath, “and I think you ain't worth tryna fix. I could have any woman in this town wrapped around my dick and they'd thank me for it. So why should I waste my time on some bitch that acts like she's too good for me?” 

The whole time he's speaking, he's got his hands resting on your hips, pulling you back in towards him. His words cut you to the quick, but you don't have any tears left to cry for him. The person you were a few hours ago would have done anything to change his mind. The person you are now just wants to get out of this alive. 

"Bet you won't be so high and mighty once you're all cut up, will ya?" 

In one smooth motion, he's pulling his knife out of his pocket and opening it up. With a quick thrust, his knife is buried to the hilt in your thigh. The scream that escapes your throat doesn't sound human. Pain creeps up your thigh, overloading your senses and making you shake. Your chest feels like it's collapsing in on itself and you can't remember how to take a deep breath. He lets go of the knife to cup your face, brushing a stray strand of hair out of your teary eyes. 

“Shh, hey. It's okay, see? I left it there. You ain't bleedin’ bad or nothin’, yet,” Donnie tries, and fails, to comfort you. 

With him directly in front of you, it gives you the perfect opportunity to spit right in his face. So you do. You wonder if you should've held back when he grabs your hair and yanks your head back to an uncomfortable angle. 

“You just don't know when to quit, do you?” He growls.

Donnie wipes your spit off of his face with two fingers and then shoves them in your mouth. He pries your jaw open and returns the favor, spitting directly onto your tongue. The sensation makes you gag, but he forces your mouth shut and holds it closed. 

“Swallow it.” 

“Mmph!” Indignantly, you stare him down and shake your head as much as his grip allows you to.

“Swallow. It.” Donnie growls into your ear.

When you blink at him and make no indication of following his orders, it must push him over the edge because that's the moment he finally snaps. He lets go of your jaw only to rip the knife from your thigh.

This time, he doesn't hesitate to plunge the knife directly into that aching chasm in your chest. You gasp, but only briefly, before your blood starts to flood your airway, causing you to spasm and choke. 

There's no burst of energy for you to panic with, no sudden strength to overpower him. It just… hurts.

Your blood pours out of your body, coating his knife, making it too slick for him to handle. When he goes in for another stab, his hand slides down the handle onto the blade and he slices his palm on it. 

“Goddamn it!” He curses.

He wipes the blood from his palm onto your stomach, and lets go of your hair. With a deep, frustrated breath, he reaches above you and saws his knife against the rope holding you until it snaps. You hit the ground with a thud, landing on your back. 

Donnie towers over you while you choke. You try to call his name or plead for help, but nothing comes out except for a mouthful of blood. With a chuckle, he rests his boot on your stomach and from this angle you finally notice the tenting in his pants. 

“You look good like this,” He says as he digs his boot deeper into your stomach.

You want to laugh at how ridiculous you feel for allowing this to happen. Everybody told you it would end up this way. You knew how this would play out and you took your chances anyway.

Coldness finally starts to overtake your body as Donnie takes a step back from you. Time seems to crawl on, each breath shallower than the last. You've always heard that your life would flash before your eyes before you die, but the only thing you can see are bits and pieces of your life with Donnie. Every mistake you've made up until this point becomes glaringly obvious: agreeing to that first date, ignoring every red flag in favor of seeing the best in him, forgiving him for the first time he hit you, every fight that ended in you bloody and apologetic… It all guided you here. 

At least you don't have to do this alone, you tell yourself as you feel Donnie kneel between your legs, spreading them open wide enough for him to slip himself inside of you one final time. 

You know he's fucking you, but you can't feel it anymore. Thankfully, you're comfortably numb. It's almost peaceful. The fire in your heart is long gone as he takes everything from you, right up until your last breath sighs from your chest. 

Slowly, as your blood mixes with the dirt, your consciousness flows out with it. There's something poetic about returning to nature, becoming one with the Earth… 

But, unfortunately for you, this won't be where you get to finally rest in peace. 

Of course, you don't know it, but Donnie is going to load your body up in his truck and drive you back home. He's going to keep you under the bed for a couple days until he can decide where to put you. 

In the meantime, he's going to drown his sorrows in alcohol and hopes it helps to wash away the guilt that tastes like acid in the back of his throat. He's going to bring home some sweet, young thing from the bar, and fuck her in your bed. 

As he basks in the afterglow of his latest conquest, he's not going to notice her searching for her clothes on the floor and accidentally knocking her hand against yours underneath the bed. 

When she screams, he won't ask what happened because he already knows.

[bree-peasant]

One for the Ages - a Kakashi x fem!Reader fic

Chapter 3/5

(Back to Chapter 1, Chapter 2) (Jump to Chapter 4)

Author's note: Oh the angst!!! I swear the next chapter will be sillier and lighter, but there's a little treat in this one too. For anyone new - this is a reader self-insert, slowburn fic, but the reader has a pre-established past, which reveals itself along with the story. Looking like there'll be 5 chapters in total, unless my hand slips haha

Word count: 3.1k

Summary (from part 1): A new shinobi joins the Konoha ranks and Kakashi finds himself inexplicably drawn to her.

Warnings: mentions of blood and suicide

Enjoy! ♡

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She woke up in a foreign bed, with all her strength drained. The afternoon light was coming through the window.

It took all the energy she could muster to pull herself off the mat. As the cloud over her mind began to lift, it was filled with images of what had happened. The mercenary ninjas, Kakashi - trapped and then... She threw her bruised hands over her eyes.

"No... what have I done?!" She wept almost silently, coming apart at the seams. She'd made a terrible mistake, she should've never gone back to this life. And now, it could all go awry. When she'd finally managed to pull herself together, there was a faint knock on the door.

"Come in." She struggled to keep her voice from shaking.

The door slid open to reveal a grave looking Kakashi at the entrance. He kept his gaze downward cast as he spoke.

"I heard noise and assumed you were awake. How are you feeling?"

"Exhausted..."

Kakashi walked into the room, shutting the door behind him. He stood by the window, barely facing her.

"What happened? Where are we?"

"We're in the Sand Village. You collapsed and I carried you the rest of the way. The mission is complete."

Y/N remained silent for a moment, trying to put her thoughts in order. Suddenly, she was struck by an awful awareness.

"Those men... their bodies... if anyone were to find them, they could...they could realise it was me!"

"I burned their bodies." Kakashi's voice was low and cold.

Despite the relief of that knowledge, she felt the tears well up in her eyes again. But no, she would not allow herself to crumble. She was stronger than that, and she only had one choice. To tell the truth.

"You can't even look at me anymore, Kakashi. Are you that repulsed by me?" She spoke again.

At her words, he turned around forcefully, his dark eye locking in with hers, he looked angry and tired.

"Don't you understand?! I feel betrayed! This whole time, I had no idea who you were!"

"Please, just let me explain. I will tell you everything, I swear."

Kakashi shook his head, but remained in place. Y/N took the opportunity to speak, before he could change his mind and storm off.

"My clan, we possess the kekkei genkai to bend our own blood. If mixed with others', we can take our foes down in an instant. In the olden times, we were revered and respected, keepers of the peace. But as the clan grew, so did their thrist for power and riches. People from my clan sold themselves to the highest bidder, they fought wars on the wrong side, committed assassinations, we became feared and loathed for our kekkei genkai. We were deemed...unnatural."

"And your clan was hunted and killed for it. I've heard the stories. But there wasn't supposed to be any survivors remaining."

"My father, the last living member, escaped our village and started a new life. He married my mother and had me. They brought me up in secret, and when my ability became too difficult to maintain, he trained me in secret. But he was found out..." Y/N paused, taking a deep breath. Kakashi had leaned his back to the wall, avoiding direct eye contact.

"Found out by whom?" He asked, not lifting his head.

Y/N pondered her response. It was difficult to say his name out loud. After a moment, her voice came out, quiet, broken.

"Orochimaru."

Kakashi's whole body sprung up at the mention of that name.

"At first, he approached my father with a proposition. To take me on as his pupil in exchange for great power. By this point, word had spread about his betrayal of the Leaf Village and his dark dealings. My father knew he wanted me as a potential vessel, so he could use my kekkei genkai for his own purposes, so he refused. This angered Orochimaru and he swore to obtain our power by force."

"But that's impossible!" He interrupted.

"You of all people should know that's not true, Kakashi of the sharingan."

He involuntarily touched his covered eye at her words. They had never spoken about his history with Obito, but the rumours never ceased to float around him.

"I was given this, I did not take it." His voice was full of sorrow at the memory.

"Yes, but if it can be given, it can also be taken brutally away. Orochimaru has found a way to do this at the brink of one's death, by sheer force."

Kakashi's head fell solemnly.

"He went after my father first, he was relentless and strong. So my father did the only thing he could, before Orochimaru got to him..." she pasued. "...he killed himself."

Her words caught in her throat, her hands were shaking. She hadn't spoken this out loud in so long. The burden of her past, which she had carried for years, alone, in hiding, it was too much to bare facing it again.

Kakashi had his own demons to face at those words. Flashbacks of his own father's fate haunted him every day; seeing his body, the realisation of what he had done. He understood the heavy weight of what she was telling him, like few others could.

He let her collect herself, his exterior softening somewhat. He'd heard stories of her clan throughout his life. Of their ruthlessness and obsession for power. Their fate wasn't just a cautionary tale, they were viewed as beasts among men, and loathed for it. It was difficult for Kakashi to bring that image together with the woman he had come to know and care for. Was it possible that the stories were false? But no, hadn't he seen something in her eyes back there with the black ninjas? A certain hunger, a deadly fire. Could she be trusted?

"How did you escape?" He asked, unable to make any decisions yet.

"I faked my own death." She exhaled, summoning her strength to continue. "My father had managed to buy me the time needed to prepare. I made it look like I had drowned. And then I ran."

"Why did you come to Konoha and join our ranks? Why did you not remain in hiding? Surely, you must've known that something like this could happen!"

"I hid, for a long time! And in that time I saw so much suffering and indifference, so much blood and hurt. I have these abilities, I was trained as a shinobi, and to let things happen, things that I could put a stop to... I couldn't do it anymore! So, I made a decision, hoping that Orochimaru would never believe that I could be so close, so out in the open, even if he ever began to suspect I was alive."

They both remained silent for a moment. Y/N's heart was pounding so loudly, she was sure he could hear it. She broke the silence first.

"That's it. That's my story. I am at your mercy now."

Kakashi didn't respond immediately, weighing his response carefully.

"Does the Hokage know?"

"He does."

At that, he made a move towards the door. He stopped at the entrance with his back still turned to her.

"Rest. We'll head back in the morning."

Y/N was left in the room, her fate still uncertain. Would Kakashi accept her past and keep her secret? Or would he expose her to the ANBU, demand the Hokage shun her from the village? Or worse, deliver her to the people that wanted to see her clan erased from existance.

When she woke up early next morning, she'd regained some of her strength back. But her mental state was still shaky. She packed what few possessions  she had and left the house.

Kakashi was waiting outside. They began their journey home in silence. Y/N would give anything to go back to their conversations from before. Despite her weighing concern, she couldn't help but feel some relief knowing that the truth was out in the open. Whatever happened next, at least she didn't have to hide from him anymore.

They walked this way for some time, keeping a calm pace. Now that the mission had been fulfilled, there was little danger threatening their return. When Kakashi finally spoke, his voice came out almost casual. There was just a slight hint of strain in it.

"I never said thank you for saving my life back there. It seems I owe you twice now." A faint smile lingered on his lips, hidden by his mask.

"Kakashi, you must know I would never do anything to harm a comrade. And I will always stand by your side." Her gaze intensely focused on him.

His silence hurt her more than she was ready to admit. Of course she knew things could never return to what they were, but she hoped he could accept her.

"I just need time, Y/N." He said, as if reading her mind.

It was a painfully slow journey, wrapped in a cumbersome silence. She forced herself to be patient and give Kakashi his space, only venturing to speak when required. They made camp during the night and she kept watch, although it wasn't necessary. She gazed at his sleeping figure and her heart broke at the thought that she might lose the little they had built so far. Now that everything was on the line, Y/N began to realise how attached she'd grown to the gray-haired ninja.

The next day they increased their speed, eager to get back to the village. In some ways, running through the trees, jumping and swinging from branches, brought relief to both of them, as it didn't allow for much conversation. They made good time this way, aiming to be back in Konoha during the night. Nearing the village, Kakashi made a sign to stop. He swung down from the trees, landing with a thud on the ground, Y/N following.

He stood facing her for a moment, hesitant.

"I will keep your secret. If the Hokage has deemed this plan acceptable, I won't be the one to challenge his decision."

"Thank you." She replied with sincerity.

Kakashi nodded, preparing to continue, but stopped at the sound of her voice.

"And us? Are we still friends?" There was so much hopefulness in her tone, which she didn't care to hide anymore.

"Yes. We're still friends." He said after a brief pause, but avoided looking at her.

Continuing on their path, Y/N was unconvinced.

Days passed and life seemed to return to normal. Y/N was back to training her team of genin, the memory of the unfortunate mission fading. The only thing that still weighed on her mind was her relationship with the copycat ninja. She was sure he was avoiding her, as she hadn't bumped into him since they had come back, only seeing him in the distance ocassionally. She dared not approach him directly, hoping that he'd eventually come round, if only she'd give him enough space. But it was becoming increasingly more difficult to do so.

When the chunin exams came around, Y/N confidently put forward all three members of team 8, although deep down she was concerned for them. She felt protective over those kids since the first day they trained together, and Iruka's speech hadn't helped to ease her anxiety. Hearing Kakashi's confident words, she was reminded of the way they used to speak; how they would argue on various topics and his ability to shift her opinion. All she wanted in that moment was to talk to him, to voice her concerns and have him soothe her.

After they had seen the Hokage, she waited for him outside and approached him for the first time since their mission together.

"Can we talk?"

"I've got some business to take care of." He replied, not unkindly.

Y/N was about to give up, regretting following her impulses, but he intervened.

"Tonight. I could swing by your place. That is, if you don't mind."

"Not at all. Tonight then." They seperated, her heart both excited and terrified at the prospect.

After handing team 8 their sign up sheets and delivering the news of the exam to her eager students, she returned home. She made a point of tidying her place and making herself look somewhat presentable, without trying too hard. After all, this was just two friends chatting, which was perhaps the best case scenario she could hope for from tonight.

When she heard his knock, her heart skipped a beat. She was almost annoyed at herself for being so affected by him.

"Sorry for being so late, things took longer than expected." As always the mystery man. She knew better than to ask what his business had been.

"Would you like some tea?" She asked, closing the door behind him and leading him into the kitchen.

It was strange being back here for the first time, since she'd patched him up. Kakashi felt unsure of his legs, so he took a seat in one of the chairs.

"Perhaps something stronger, if you have it."

She smiled, turning away from him and pulling a bottle of sake from one of the cupboards. She produced two small cups and placed one of them in front of him, filling it up. He drank it in one big gulp, without looking up, putting it forward to be filled up again.

"Long day?" She asked, obliging him.

"Long life." He sighed.

"You've been avoiding me, Kakashi." She took a sip from her own cup, her eyes cast downwards. Her expression was calm, she'd given up on waiting around for him to make up his mind.

He stared at her with his one visible eye, pondering his response. With resignation, he decided to be truthful.

"You're right. I've been finding it difficult to face you since we returned from the Sand Village."

"But you agreed to come here tonight."

"The truth is, Y/N, I found myself missing this. I thought I could get over the feeling if I stayed away, but it has persisted. I've come to... value your company more than I expected." Kakashi searched her face for a reaction, but her features remained the same. Only her eyes lifted to look at his, a certain glint in them, or so he thought.

"Does this mean you can come to terms with who I am? The people I come from?"

"The more I know you, the more I want to try." Her hand was resting on the table by her cup and he wanted nothing more than to place his own on top of it. But something in him wouldn't allow his body to move.

"I'm so worried about the chunin exam. I don't want to see any of these kids get hurt." She sighed, glad to speak her thoughts out loud.

Kakashi leaned back into his chair, feeling the ease of being in her presence take over him like it used to.

"Hurt is part of this life they have chosen." He started. "I know what I said to Iruka, but truth be told, I worry too. Perhaps, we don't give them enought credit, they have proven to be more resilient than most."

The conversation went on like this for some time. They kept drinking sake until their cheeks warmed and their tongues loosened. Kakashi dared to ask more about her past, returning her honesty by answering her own questions in more detail than ever before. He told her about Obito and Rin, about his great shame and his many regrets. He surprised himself by talking so much about his own past. He was glad to be met with understanding, rather than the usual pity or shock that followed him around. All the cards were on the table and they were both revealing their broken and twisted lives to one another.

"I've never told anyone these things." He sighed, feeling lighter than he had in years.

"I'm glad you could tell me." Her hand moved to rest on top of his, the same thing he had wanted to do earlier. Her skin was warm, he could feel the calluses on her palm, a reminder of the difficult shinobi life they had both chosen. Was it possible that it didn't have to be so damn hard and lonely all the time?

For once, the usually careful in calculating his every move jōnin, stopped thinking and just let his body move for him. His other hand gently grabbed her forearm, pulling her into him. Met with no resistance, he closed his eyes, pulling his mask down and parting his lips to clash with hers. He embraced her, holding her ever so close, their bodies leaning into one another. She felt so soft and tender in his arms, for a second he forgot anything and everything that had happened before this moment.

When their lips finally parted, they remained close, starring into each other. Y/N's head was spinning, she felt his coal eye bore into her soul like the first time he had looked at her. She felt vulnerable, yet she wasn't afraid. Seeing his face fully exposed, he was more beautiful than she had imagined.

Suddenly, Kakashi's mind was flooded with a myriad of emotions. He pulled back sharply and stood up, leaving a distressed Y/N behind.

"Kakashi, what's wrong?" She spoke hurriedly.

"I can't do this." He refused to turn back and look at her.

"Do what? What do you mean?"

"Y/N, I can't be this person for you. You heard about my past. Half of me is already dead. I can offer you friendship, but nothing more." His head fell, his body felt like lead. He pulled his mask back on.

"Please tell me you understand." He pleaded, still not looking at her.

Y/N stood motionless. Her instinct was to argue, to be upset, to make him change his mind. But deep down she knew her efforts would be futile. Because she did understand, better than she cared to admit. After all, wasn't she herself only a ghost in this life. But with him, she had felt like she'd had a chance at happiness. Perhaps having his friendship would be enough. It sure was better than the agony of the last few weeks. She sighed.

"Friends then." Y/N replied, forcing a smile.

Kakashi finally dared to look at her, his gaze focusing on her reddened lips for a moment. He shook himself off and crinkled his eye in a small smile.

"I promise I won't avoid you again. We can try returning to normal."

Y/N nodded, although she knew things between them had changed forever.

@junksmah @duckingmetal <3

"I should go, let you get some rest. There are big days ahead of us. Goodnight, Y/N." With that, he was gone and they were both alone once more.

-------------------------------------------------------

Next chapter

[wolfiesmoon]

Binding the book

duke!gojo x fem!reader

This is in a manhwa au?? I don't want to call it a royalty au since neither of you are royalty but its essentially your average manhwa plot

I've decided to write something completely unrelated to the canon plot of jjk since I'm still in the process of watching the anime lmaooo

i feel overwhelmed by this anime tbh someone save me , i might just skip to the second season since i've already seen the first one back when it first came out but lowkey forgor everything😵

He's talking to her with that smile on his face again. You really shouldn't be bothered by this anyway, so why do you keep staring? You know how this story ends for you anyways.

You quickly turned around, not wanting to invade upon Satoru's buisness any further. You weren't outright bothering him, but you have a feeling he wouldn't enjoy you staring at him from behind the corner like some stalker. Not when he has better things to be looking at.

You've been married to Gojo Satoru for exactly 3 months now. It was a marriage born of neccessity, pure interest to stop marriage pressure from your families. Atleast on his side, it was. He made that clear during the marriage proposal.

"Well, I'm mostly just doing this so mom stops nagging me about finding a wife already. I'm sure the same applies to you."

Those words have been replaying in your head for a while now. You've known Satoru only for about a year at that point, and even then it was mostly through social events you attended that he also happened to be attending.

So needless to say, it was simulaneously a complete surprise and completely expected when he suddenly gave your family a surprise visit to offer his hand in marriage.

You knew there was zero romantic feelings involved from the very beginning, so you know you shouldn't be surprised if Satoru wants to leave you for Lady Ichikawa, the girl he talks to almost every day. But your heart can't help but clench at the sight, and you wish Satoru could...

Nevermind.

You should be attending to your duties anyways.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You sighed, practically collapsing on your bed. Finance is not fun, to say the least. Being the Lady of the house is a suprisingly tiring job, and definitely gives you more respect for your mother.

The servants had already helped you change into your night gown, and you were perfectly ready to hit the hay right now.

As the servant put out the lights in the chandelier, you thought about Satoru again. The guy is an annoyingly persistent thought in the back of your head, that's for sure.

You haven't even talked in a week.

Sure, the two of you tend to get busy, but this essentially just proves to you what kind of marriage this is. If he did care about you, he would've checked up on you atleast once, wouldn't he..? You don't have a right to complain about it anyways, since you were the one who agreed to the marriage in the end. You should be grateful you even had a say in it.

As the servant closed the door behind you, you clutched the pillow in your hand. Maybe if you keep being useful, he won't discard you. You've only been thinking of yourself up until now. You just now realise that if he leaves you for Lady Ichikawa, you'll lose your family face.

This is shaping up to be a nightmare.

Suddenly, you hear a knock on the door. "Oiiii, can I come iiiin?"

Well, speak of the devil. You would recognise that voice anywhere. "Sure, come in." you said so, but did you want to face him right now? You felt conflicted, both really happy and really nervous.

As the door opened, you turned your head, his silhouette, illuminated by the lights in the doorway coming into view. "Man, it's dark in here. You're going to sleep so early?" he said casually as he turned on the oil lamp on your table.

You only nodded in response, looking at him with half wonder half suspicion. Why is he paying you a visit all of a sudden? "What..? Can't a husband visit his wife?" Satoru furrowed his brows, noticing your dimmly lit expression and sitting down on the edge of your bed.

"I'm happy you're here." You assured him. And you truly were.

"Right, of course you are." Satoru smirked boldly at you, but somehow, you could tell that he was relieved to hear it. He looked in front of him.

"I got you this." he said a little more quietly, handing you a book as you sat up in bed. But it wasn't just any book. "No way... how did you even get your hands on this?!" you blinked multiple times in the dim light, making sure your eyes weren't playing tricks on you.

When you realised how loud you just were, you quickly covered your mouth, and Satoru laughed at you for a bit before saying "I have my ways."

"That... doesn't answer the question. How much did this even cost?"

"...You shouldn't worry so much."

That idiot... You took another look at the book in your lap, the rare book you were trying to get your hands on for 3 years at this point. You can't help but wonder if the emergency finance work you had to do today has something to do with this.

"...Why?" you looked back up at him.

"Why what?" he flashed his usual smile at you, his white lashes fluttering as he gazed at you. This all seems... odd.

"Why did you get this for me? Why would you spend so much money on me? How did you even know I wanted this? What are you trying to do... here..." your last question died off as you saw his expression slowly shift to one of concern.

"You're... my wife? And I happen to know you want this? What kind of questions even are those, seriously." he scoffed, shaking his head.

"But... Lady Ichikawa..." why would he spend money on you when he could be putting it towards his future with Lady Ichikawa? Wait, why did you even start assuming that he'll leave you any minute to begin with? Gosh...

"Oh, her? Wait... are you jealous?" he raised his eyebrows playfully, leaning back. "Not really, I just thought that you... like her more than me." it felt strange finally admitting this to him.

"Ehhh.... She's just a friend, ya know. And I actually mean it. Why would I like her more?" Satoru looked as unaffected as ever, smiling at you. But beneath that nonchalant attitude and those shining blue eyes of his, you could feel confusion, doubt, and something else.

"You said in your proposal t-that... So I thought Lady Ichikawa..." all the turmoil that had been building up inside you for the last three months finally let loose, with you trying your best to speak through your tears. Isn't this pathetic?

"Shhh, I know what I said back then. But now that I actually have you, I dunno anymore. I wanna try out this whole love thing." Satoru moved up on the bed, moving over to your side and gently petting your head.

"In other words, you can stop crying now. Because I'm not letting you go anytime soon."

i dont like this one all that much I'll be real, but then again when do I ever ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

this is actually based on a very specific manga plot, if you get it right I'll give you a gold star ⭐

[konstantick112]

So far, everything can be fixed

My version of the ending of the second season of the series based on the interview with the vampire . Because I love Armand very much.

Louis throws Armand against the wall, his eyes burning with predatory fire. It seems that something like the ceiling or Daniel's psyche is collapsing on the floor below (It's his own fault).

Armand shouts something, but no one listens to him. Of course, who would listen to a five hundred year old vampire? No respect for elders. Unable to stand it, he finally stops time.

— Just don't do any of your tricks, – Louis says, turning black with anger even more, but he can't move, this magic is too strong for him.

— You have to listen to me, Louis! – He hung in the air like a majestic angel from ancient frescoes, now you had to look up at him.

— I don't want to listen to you!

— Would you really believe some mortal journalist? Why would I do that to you, in your opinion?

— God only knows.

— Only there is no God. Let me show you.…

Armand snapped his fingers and the familiar room disappeared in an instant, replaced by some painfully familiar place. Semi-darkness, a half-empty hall, a rehearsal of some kind of play. Louis knew which one.

— What did you do?

— I'm showing you the past.

— You never said you could time travel.

— If I can stop time, why can't I do that? Armand chuckled. – I can get any information from anyone's subconscious, and I can show it.

— But I didn't see it…

— It's mine.

They fell silent and continued to watch the rehearsal.

Armand stood at the stage like a preacher. The script was really in his hands. He's the director, but he doesn't decide anything else here. Santiago smiles with predatory fire, a real devil's spawn with the appearance of a SHAMAN. Armand writes something in the margins-it's his responsibility. But his appearance is more like that of a man with a gun at his temple, rather than an evil ruler of fate.

— I had no choice, — Armand suddenly cut into the silent scene.

— That's what you always say.

— They could have locked me up and then killed all of you!" I had to do something!

— But you didn't do anything!

— What about it? Do you think this is all Lestat's doing? Are you going to believe some mortal journalist?

Armand made some kind of mental gesture and the picture of the scene disappeared. Another, even more terrifying one appeared. Louis remembered that moment perfectly. This time, Armand shows him his memories.

The crowd is noisy, the spotlight is in your face – this is how the death sentence is pronounced.

Pain in the legs, pain in the eyes, pain in the soul. Of course, it's just a memory, but experiencing it a second time was just as hard as the first time.

Claudia's fate has already been sealed by the cheering crowd and the soulless screenwriter. All that remains is to wait for his own verdict. But the crowd quiets down…

Louis looks at his savior, Lestat, but he's completely unconcerned. The hall is controlled by someone else.

—Well? Are you sure? — Armand's voice sounded as if it came from somewhere inside, from the very brain and at the same time from outside everything. — Your human friend is just getting back at me for what I did to him back in San Francisco.

The painful memory finally disappeared and Louis found himself back in Dubai.

— Lestat says he loves you, but he didn't do anything to save you. He killed Claudia. Armand continued. And then time took its course and he flew into the wall. — And now I'd like to hear an apology.

Russian«

Луи швыряет Армана в стену, его глаза горят хищным огнем. Кажется этажом ниже рушится что-то типа потолка или психики Дэниела (Сам виноват).

Арман что-то кричит, но его никто не слушает. Конечно, кто же будет слушать пятисот летнего вампира? Никакого уважения к старшим. Не выдержав, он наконец останавливает время.

— Только давай без этих твоих фокусов – Изрекает Луи, еще сильнее чернея от гнева, но он не может пошевелиться, эта магия слишком сильна для него.

— Ты должен меня выслушать, Луи! – Он повис в воздухе словно величественный ангел со старинных фресок, теперь смотреть на него приходилось снизу вверх.

— Я не хочу тебя слушать!

— Неужели ты поверишь какому-то смертному журналисту? Зачем мне, по твоему мнению, так поступать с тобой?

— Одному Богу известно.

— Только вот никакого Бога нет. Позволь я покажу тебе…

Арман щелкнул пальцами и привычная комната в мгновенье испарилась, вместо нее перед глазами появилось какое-то до боли знакомое место. Полутьма, полупустой зал, репетиция какого-то спектакля. Луи знал какого.

— Что ты сделал?

— Я показываю тебе прошлое.

— Ты никогда не говорил, что умеешь перемещаться во времени.

— Если я могу останавливать время, почему я не могу делать так? – Арман усмехнулся. – Я могу доставать любую информацию из чьего угодно подсознания, могу и показывать ее.

— Но я этого не видел…

— Это моя.

Они замолчали и продолжили наблюдать за репетицией.

Арман стоял у сцены как проповедник. Сценарий и правда был в его руках. Он – режиссер, но больше он тут ничего не решает. Сантьяго улыбается хищным огнём, настоящее дьявольское отродье с внешностью SHAMAN'а. Арман что-то пишет на полях – это его обязанность. Но его вид, больше напоминает вид человека с дулом у виска, нежели злобного вершителя судеб.

— У меня не было выбора – вдруг вклинился в немую сцену Арман.

— Ты всегда это говоришь.

— Они могли закрыть и меня, а потом убить всех вас! Я должен был сделать хоть что-то!

— Но ты ничего не сделал!

— А как же? По твоему все это дело рук Лестата? Ты будешь верить какому-то смертному журналисту?

Арман сделал какой-то мысленный жест и картина сцены исчезла. Появилась другая, ещё более жуткая. Этот момент Луи помнил прекрасно. На этот раз Арман показывает ему его воспоминания.

Толпа шумит, свет прожекторов в лицо – так выносится смертный приговор.

Боль в ногах, боль в глазах, боль в душе. Конечно это лишь воспоминание, но переживать это во второй раз было так же тяжело как в первый.

Судьба Клодии уже предрешена ликующей толпой и бездушным сценаристом. Остается лишь дожидаться его собственного приговора. Но толпа затихает…

Луи смотрит на своего спасителя – на Лестата, но он совершенно беззаботен. Зал контролирует кто-то другой.

— Ну что? Ты убедился? – Голос Армана звучал как будто откуда-то изнутри, из самого мозга и вместе с тем снаружи всего. – Твой человеческий дружок просто мстит мне за то, что я сделал с ним тогда, в Сан-Франциско.

Мучительное воспоминание наконец исчезло и Луи снова оказался в Дубае.

— Лестат говорит что любит тебя, но он не сделал ничего для твоего спасения. Это он убил Клодию. – Продолжил Арман. А потом время пошло своим чередом и он отлетел в стену. – А теперь я хотел бы услышать извинения.

[dragonnan]

Secret

May Prompts 2024

Full disclosure this is a completed story on AO3. However this fit the prompt perfectly and this is not a story that has seen much attention so double bonus! Haha!

May 12: "Secret"

It had all started in Dartmoor.

It had nearly been 2am by the time they'd finished up at the field and had staggered back to the hotel. Sherlock had left hours earlier so John had offered to remain behind with Greg while they had filled in the local constabulary; a greying man a year out from retirement along with his replacement-in-training. Well out of his jurisdiction, and glad of it, Greg had suggested a stop at the hotel bar before heading off to bed. John had been more than happy to erase the evening in alcohol and they'd ended up having several drinks before finally splitting off towards their respective rooms. The room he shared with Sherlock was dark when John wrestled his key into the lock and swung the door. Opting to spare his vision, he switched on only the bedside lamp – filling a corner of the room with a warm yellow glow. The bed was empty, of course. The bar had been empty of everyone save himself and Greg so it was anyone's guess as to where Sherlock had wandered off. No doubt burning off the events of the night in his own way, John didn't dwell on the other man's fluctuating mood – moving instead towards the loo... only to find the door locked.

“Sherlock?” A double rap of knuckles met only silence. “Sherlock, you alright? Open the door.”

“John?” The soft warble of his voice was enough to pump a shot of adrenaline through John's chest – alarm pushing him to rap the door a bit more firmly. “Sherlock, let me in.”

“John? What's wrong?” The voice came from behind him, this time; Greg rubbing at his forehead and looking about as knackered as John felt and far worse than he should be feeling after just two pints. Granted, it had been preceded by drugged mist, explosions, and giant dogs.

“It's Sherlock. Not sure what's going on,” he filled in softly. Greg, for his part, moved to rubbing his eyes.

“Well, aye, he's probably just paggered.”

An odd scramble followed Greg's comment. And then there was the sound of breaking glass.

“Shit,” setting his feet, John didn't hesitate in throwing his shoulder against the door – forcing it open onto another shadowed room. More scrambling followed – like something hard scraping against wood – and then Sherlock gave a short yelp and the shower curtain collapsed just as Greg blasted the room with the overhead light. John winced at the retina blinding afterimage – groaning as he pressed his palms against his eyes.

“Christ, ta for that...”

Eyes slow to adjust with the near blinding, it took John a moment to focus on the figure wrapped up in plastic. The curtain, with its pattern of small frogs in sailor hats, jutted up in a way suggesting something sharp was tenting it. Now fully in the tub, Sherlock had curled into himself as much as the limited space would allow.

“Please, don't... I'm fine.”

“Bollocks, you're fine,” John muttered; reaching for the curtain and pulling it aside...

Greg actually stumbled back – knocking something over that John couldn't be arsed to care about because his focus was completely on the figure huddled before him.

It was Sherlock... or... what looked like Sherlock. But...

“Good Christ, are those antlers?”

John shook his head, hard, with eyes squeezed tight. That fucking mist. No doubt still in their systems and an evening of drinking couldn't have helped matters. “Dammit, we're still hallucinating.”

An unexpectedly wild giggle burst from Lestrade. “Oh, ya think, do ya? Naw, I was thinking Sherlock literally turned into a bloody antelope!”

“Faun.” Both of them, now, looked back to Sherlock who still had antlers and, from the waist downward, a heavy layer of reddish brown fur, a scattering of dainty white spots, and...

“Hooves. He's got hooves.” John made that statement with the observation of someone of whom fate had delivered into madness. Of course he had hooves. He was half a deer, apparently.

Groaning, Greg staggered back towards the main room to drop into a chair. “Is it normal for a drug to last this long? I mean, I've done a fair bit of reading on the effects of stuff like cocaine and marijuana and even methamphetamines but this just seems...”

“Potent...” John offered – still transfixed by the absolute realness of the fantastical nature of Sherlock's form; as well as the fact that, aside from the rapidly fading buzz of alcohol, he didn't feel the least bit high. That said, the drug they'd been exposed to was completely unknown and it occurred to him that all three of them should have headed straight for the nearest hospital to be placed under observation.

“John, you are not hallucinating.” Sherlock had finally managed to tear the curtain free from his – well his... yeah. He remained crouched in the tub, however; his hooves... feet... slipping on the smooth porcelain.

It was then that John noticed the streak of blood on the rim of the tub.

“Damn, you're bleeding.” Pushing away all thoughts of deer people, John stepped forward to grasp Sherlock's upper arm – preparatory to helping him from the tub. This close he could feel the tremble running through Sherlock's body. He felt nearly hot to the touch and John cursed again at the realization Sherlock had been alone and sick while he'd been off making an evening of it. “Come on. Let's get you lying down so I can take a look at that injury.”

He refused to acknowledge the sensation of soft fur brushing against him as he helped Sherlock to stand. Between them, they managed to get Sherlock to the other room – Greg moving forward to help when the two of them emerged from the bathroom. Soon Sherlock was stretched out on the bed and John was examining the three inch gash across his right forearm.

“I cut it on the mirror when it broke.” His voice had resumed shaking – his whole body consumed with tremors.

“Yeah, well, its gonna need stitches. My kit is in the back of the car. Greg, do you mind?”

Grunting his reply, eyes still a bit dazed, Greg went to collect the bag while John gave the rest of Sherlock's body a scan for other injuries. Of course, this also forced him to confront the... less than human aspects.

“It's not real.” And maybe if he said that enough it would be true.

“I assure you it is. And had I the ability I would have changed back in order to avoid all of this. You weren't... humans are not meant to know of us...”

Cold bathed down from the crown of John's head to pour into his belly. “No. Nope. This is the side effect of a very powerful drug! Nothing more!”

“Do I look like a hallucination, John!” Sherlock roared – pushing himself to stand just as Greg returned from the car.

“Hell’s bloody bells...” Greg breathed.

Both men stood frozen as sobriety finally asserted that what they were seeing was actually, terrifyingly, real. And then Sherlock jerked, spun towards the nearest bin, and vomited.

An hour later, Sherlock sat, huddled and miserable, beneath the comforter while John and Greg finished up cleaning the bathroom of broken glass, scattered toiletries, and the torn remnants of Sherlock's clothes. Compartmentalizing had gotten them both this far but now, with no other activities to distract them, they were forced to confront the reality in the other room.

John could admit that he felt... well, terrified... Not of Sherlock, specifically but more... as though he had had the floor drop away – revealing a black and endless depth. It was apt that he felt he couldn't find his footing. Sherlock, for his part, had been very quiet during this time. Now, though, he sighed.

“Mycroft tried to warn me this would happen – eventually.”

John swallowed. Of course, Mycroft. He was one of these... these beings... as well. How many were there, then? Seeing the question on his face, Sherlock answered.

“There are more of us than you would think. As you can understand, however, it has been crucial to our safety that we remain hidden. If it weren't for what happened, yesterday, you would never have known about me.”

Trying, very hard, to get past the gut twisting wrongness, John moved to the chair directly opposite of the bed. Greg, for his part, still stood near the door. “You mean the mist?”

Sherlock shook his head; his antlers catching the soft light. “It's a reaction to coming face to face with a predator to our kind.”

John frowned. “Do you mean... the dog? I don't understand. I've seen you interacting with dogs, even patting then, dozens of times. Why would this...?”

“It wasn't a dog,” Sherlock swallowed, “It was a werewolf.”

Desperately putting the fur, antlers, and bloody hooves out of his mind, John scrambled for normalcy in the best way he knew how. By arguing.

“No... no I saw it. It was a dog. You said it was a dog.”

“Yes – I said it was a dog. But what did you see before I said that?”

He wasn't quite ready to accept that his flatmate was hooved much less that fairy tale monsters roamed the moors. But then the other part, of what Sherlock said, registered in his mind.

“Hold up – what do you mean by 'before you said that'?”

And here, Sherlock looked down, fingers pulling at the duvet. “I... our kind... we have the ability to alter perception. Not much – less so the younger we are – but enough to make you see a dog instead of a werewolf simply by speaking an absolute imbued with Power. It helps that you already expected to see a dog.” Here he looked up through his lashes. “Did you truly believe any drug would give everyone the exact same hallucination?”

John, though, still wasn't ready for all of... that. “That dog had an owner. Two owners – they admitted to creating this entire legend. Are you saying they had a werewolf and didn't know about it?”

“They knew exactly what they had. They thrive on trickery and no doubt were ecstatic over the chaos they caused.”

“So how did two, uh, humans end up in possession with that... that... that creature?”

Sherlock's eyes squinted shut. “They weren't human. They were satyrs. Similar to faun in appearance but far more powerful. They, too, can speak words of Power but unlike faun they can cloak their true nature from all creatures – including my kind. I didn't realize what they were until a short time ago.”

Hunched over his knees, John braced his hands on his thighs and breathed.

Finally giving in to the madness, Greg walked to the other chair where he dropped down with all the exhaustion of a man who hadn't slept for two days. Both hands scrubbed over his eyes. “So, what, you just speak one of these power words and we go back to seeing you as a human?”

Sherlock's lips pulled back, briefly, and John caught a glimpse of sharp canines. “No. At least not for a long duration given my form would merely be hidden from sight. The actual nature of my true body would still leave traces behind. As it is, faun are required to alter their shape in a manner which allows for full integration with humanity. It is, rather, a more physical process. And a painful one.”

At John's tipped head, Sherlock wrapped his arms about himself. “I can transform my shape. Well, once the adrenaline surge wanes enough to allow for it. It is not pleasant, however.”

“Does this happen a lot? Whenever you encounter a... well... a, ah, werewolf?”

Sherlock leaned back against the headboard – antlers tapping the wall. “Fortunately they are quite rare, nowadays. This is the first werewolf I've ever encountered. The last known sighting was more than sixty years ago.” Then, stretching, Sherlock swung his legs over the edge of the bed. “Now, if you don't mind, I need some privacy.”

It wasn't until he was back out in the hallway that John realized he'd just been kicked out of his own room.

Greg offered a pitying look. “I've a roll away in the closet if you want.”

John was about to accept when both of them startled at the sudden groan from the other side of the door. This was followed by what John could only imagine as the spongy snap of wet bone – immediately followed by a muffled scream.

“Jesus-” Without thought on the matter he immediately threw open the door and rushed back inside... to find Sherlock nude, soaked, and fully human, collapsed in a heap next to the bed.

Read the rest of the story on AO3

@totallysilvergirl @sgam76 @helloliriels @sevdrag

[olivialau]

Shadow's Embrace Ch. 14

Sukuna x Reader

Disclaimer:

This is a work of fanfiction based on the universe of "Jujutsu Kaisen," created by Gege Akutami. The original manga, anime, and characters belong to their respective owners and creators.

Notes:

This story unfolds in the Jujutsu Kaisen world, set in a slightly altered universe where Sukuna inhabits his own vessel distinct from Itadori Yuji's body, making him a separate entity.

Summary:

Ryomen Sukuna, the King of Curses, becomes fascinated with a female sorcerer rich in potential but lacking control. Initially seizing her for his destructive plans, Sukuna aims to bind her abilities through a contract. Yet, as he tries to dominate her, he finds himself intrigued by her strength and determination. Over time, his interest evolves from strategic advantage to a deeper, personal connection.

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CHAPTER 14 - Black Flash

Without further ado, Sukuna swung open the door at the bottom of the staircase. The sight that greeted you beyond was a chilling echo of the past.

Sukuna had manifested his innate domain in the space under the apartment. A grotesque landscape that was all too familiar. The pile of skulls, the damp, murky floors, and the jagged rock formations—it was the same domain he had taken you to on that first fateful night.

It was here that he had unleashed a horde of curses upon you, pushing you to the brink of collapse in a brutal test of your abilities.

As you stood at the threshold of Sukuna's domain, you were surprised to find that the usual chills of fear were absent. Perhaps the constant exposure to danger over these past weeks had hardened you, forging you into a more resilient person.

Or maybe there was a part of you that recognized the potential for growth in this twisted arrangement. Sukuna, in his own way, was offering you the chance to become stronger, to hone your abilities through his 'training.'

The notion of power as the ultimate currency in this world was not lost on you; it was a harsh truth that had been imprinted upon you from a young age.

Your parents' tireless efforts, their kindness and ambition, had been swallowed whole by a world that favored those in power.

And Ayumi... the thought of her stung sharply, a wound that refused to heal. Her lack of strength had cost her everything, and your lack of strength had left you unable to protect her.

That is why you had decided to become so incredibly strong that you'd never feel helpless again. Besides, it was the only thing that could be gained from the vow that was forced upon you—and you were determined to exploit the circumstances to their fullest.

With a steadfast stride, you passed through the threshold, following Sukuna into the gloomy domain.

Your feet splashed against the muddy ground, and you thought about how you had much preferred the openness of the abandoned factory over the dark, oppressive atmosphere of this place. Bringing it up would be completely futile though, knowing that the King of Curses couldn't care less about your preferences.

Instead of assuming his usual position of 'towering dominance' atop the pile of skulls, Sukuna stood before you, only a few feet separating the two of you. He stared you down, his expression morphing into a scoff.

"You know," Sukuna began, his voice a low, menacing purr, "I sought you out because I'd heard whispers that Satoru Gojo himself had taken an interest in you. That arrogant fool claimed you possessed 'great potential.'" He spat out the words as if they left a foul taste in his mouth.

"But what did I find upon dragging you here? A weak, pathetic insect, not even worth the effort of squashing beneath my heel."

He took a deliberate step closer, his cursed energy pulsing around him like waves. "And yet..." Sukuna's voice dropped to a near-whisper, "that insufferable sorcerer isn't one to waste his time. So what could he possibly see in you?"

It was as if being in Sukuna's domain enhanced the weight of his presence somehow—it felt more suffocating than ever before.

You could barely focus on what he was saying, but Sukuna continued his monologue nonetheless. "It didn't take me long to notice it—that spark of potential he thought he could cultivate."

He took one more step towards you, closing the already small gap between you. The weight of his cursed energy now intensified exponentially, crushing down on you as your breaths became ragged, each inhalation a struggle against the pressure.

"It's laughable, really. You possess this power, yet you're too pathetic, too ignorant to even grasp the nature of your own cursed technique. What a waste."

It was as if a curtain fell away when he turned around and walked away again, finally giving you room to breathe.

Only now could you truly process his words. What did he mean by 'your cursed technique'? The very notion puzzled you.

You were still grappling with the basics, still trying to find your footing in the world of jujutsu, where a cursed technique seemed to be a must in order to become a powerful sorcerer. And all this time without a proper cursed technique had left you wondering if maybe you'd never develop one at all.

But now Sukuna was telling you that you already possessed a cursed technique? There was no way...

Though thinking back, this wasn't the first time someone had implied that there was something latent within you, a power you were oblivious to.

Gojo's remarks during your training with the bear-shaped cursed puppet suddenly resurfaced.

"That's amazing," Gojo had said, a rare note of surprise in his voice. "That thing you're doing with your cursed energy – it's quite impressive. Though a bit scary, too..."

His words echoed through your head. God, this was frustrating. Why couldn't you see?

It pained you to admit it, but right now you needed Sukuna—you needed him to tell you about your cursed technique. So you swallowed your pride and turned to him.

"Tell me," you called out, your voice firm despite the churning emotions within. "What is my cursed technique?"

Sukuna's laughter erupted suddenly, a harsh, grating sound that echoed throughout his domain. It was as if your question was the funniest thing he had heard in ages. His eyes gleamed with cruel amusement as he looked down on you. "You think I'd just tell you outright? Stupid little sorcerer...You'll have to earn it."

Of course, nothing came easy with Sukuna. He thrived on torment and challenge—what had you expected?

Sukuna spoke up, the laughter now subsided and his voice more serious. "I'll give you a clue, under one condition," he said, as he started circling around you.

"You must land a Black Flash on me."

Black Flash. You were certain you had heard that term before, but to be fair, you couldn't remember at all what it meant. Your confusion was apparent, and Sukuna's expression twisted into one of disgusted amusement. "You don't even know what that is, do you?" he sneered. "Pathetic."

The gap between you and him seemed wider than ever, a chasm not just of power but of understanding. Doubt gnawed at you—did you have any right to call yourself a jujutsu sorcerer?

Sukuna sighed, obviously annoyed that he had to bother with an explanation. "A Black Flash is a moment of pure synchronicity between your cursed energy and a strike. It's the mark of a true sorcerer's power and control." He stopped his circling, as he sought your gaze and locked eyes.

"If you can manage that," he continued, his voice low and menacing, "I might consider telling you more. But don't get your hopes up. Weaklings like you rarely achieve such feats."

You squared your shoulders, meeting Sukuna's gaze with newfound resolve. "Fine," you said, your voice steady despite the storm of emotions. "I'll do it."

Sukuna spread his arms as if welcoming you to attack him. "Excellent," he purred. "Then let's see if you're capable of anything more than being a disappointment."

Steeling yourself, you channeled your cursed energy, feeling it pulse through your veins. You launched yourself at Sukuna, aiming a punch at his face. But he sidestepped effortlessly, his mocking laughter ringing in your ears.

"You call that an attack? Put some real force behind it, woman."

Gritting your teeth, you whirled around and swung again, this time with more power. Sukuna barely moved, parrying your strike with a flick of his wrist. The impact sent a shockwave up your arm, but you pushed through the pain and kept attacking.

"Too slow," he taunted, his voice without any trace of effort, as he kept evading your hits. "Your moves are obvious. Make it less predictable."

You tried to take his advice, mixing up your strikes, but each one missed its mark. Sukuna danced around you, his movements a blur, his contempt palpable. Desperation gnawed at you as you felt your energy depleting.

"You're not focusing your cursed energy properly," he snapped, catching your wrist mid-punch and twisting it painfully. "Feel the flow—let it enhance your strikes, not hinder them."

With a grunt of pain, you wrenched free and tried to focus, feeling the cursed energy coursing through you. You aimed a kick at his midsection, infusing it with everything you had. Sukuna caught your leg effortlessly, throwing you to the ground.

"Disgraceful," he spat, looming over you. "Do you even understand what you're trying to achieve? Synchronize your cursed energy with your physical movements. It's not just power—it's precision."

Scrambling to your feet, you tried to absorb his words, feeling the frustration boil over. You closed your eyes for a brief moment, focusing inward, seeking that elusive synchronicity he spoke of.

When you opened them, you felt a faint but noticeable shift in your energy.

You charged at him again. This time, Sukuna's expression shifted ever so slightly, from mocking amusement to mild interest. You swung, and though he still dodged, it was by a narrower margin.

"Better," he acknowledged with a condescending smirk. "But still far from enough."

Breathing hard, you didn't relent. You pressed the attack, each strike coming closer to its mark. Sukuna's movements remained fluid, but you could sense his attention sharpening.

"You've got some fire in you, brat," he jeered. "But do you have the guts to finish it?"

Now he was just asking for it.

With a roar, you focused all your energy into a final punch, feeling a sudden, intense alignment of your cursed energy and physical strength. As your fist hurtled toward him, the air around it seemed to distort. For a split second, time seemed to freeze.

You felt an unbelievable sense of confidence. Everything came into focus—the flow of your own cursed energy, his. It was as if, for the first time, you could truly see it.

Sukuna's eyes widened slightly, and he moved to block, but your punch connected, a burst of energy rippling through the air. The force made the ground tremble, and you both stood still for a moment, the echo of the impact lingering.

Sukuna's expression shifted to one of mild approval, though his eyes still glinted with his usual menace. "Well, well, look at that—a proper Black Flash. Perhaps there's a sliver of worth in you after all, though it's hardly anything to brag about," he drawled.

God, you hated his guts, but right now, you didn't care about that. You felt a rush of exhilaration, high on the fleeting sense of power you had just experienced. It was intoxicating, and without a second thought, you charged at Sukuna again, driven by a surge of impulsive confidence.

But Sukuna was quick to remind you of your place. With a swift, effortless flick of his wrist, he sent you crashing to the ground with brutal force, leaving you gasping and reeling as pain flared through your body.

You struggled to push yourself up, casting a weary glance at Sukuna, who stood imposingly above you.

"Know your place and don't get too full of yourself, brat, or you'll find out exactly how powerless you are against me."

The impact of the blow shattered the exhilaration from your earlier success, bringing you back to reality. As you lay there, pain still radiating through your body, your mind fixated on one thing: understanding more about your cursed technique.

"You promised me information about my cursed technique," you said, forcing the words out despite the ache in your chest. "I need to know more."

Sukuna's eyes narrowed as his lips twisted into a mocking smile. "Oh? Still hungry for answers, are we?" he drawled. With a languid motion, he walked over to the pile of skulls and seated himself at the base with a relaxed posture.

"Fine then," he continued, surprisingly compliant for once. "Did you notice the flow of cursed energy during that Black Flash? Can you sense your own energy and that of others more clearly now?"

You nodded, feeling the residual effects of your earlier effort. "Yes, it's like I can see it clearly now."

A smug grin spread across Sukuna's face. "Good girl. Here's your clue: From now on, pay close attention to the flow—yours and others'—especially at the moment of impact."

He moved his gaze from the floor below him to meet your eyes, and somehow you found you couldn't look away from his crimson stare.

"That is where the key to understanding your technique lies."

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Thanks for reading! I appreciate the support 🙏❤️

Taglist: @sukunasthightattoos , @tomiokasecretlover , @6demonize6me6 , @blindbabycadder , @domainofmarie , @marcoschuitmaker , @geniejunn

If you want to be added to the taglist, so you don't miss any updates, please let me know in the comments or with a private message. Thankyou!

[prince0fpaints]

Ladies, Gentlemen, I welcome you to the first part of a story featuring my latest OC for my current fixation, Cookie Run Kingdom. Its been quite a while since I've last written, so feedback is greatly appreciated and encouraged. Please excuse any spelling or grammatical errors, I completed it at 1 Am.

A Heart as Dark as The Licorice Sea ~ A Dark Cacao x OC Fanfiction.

The Tragedy. The day Cookies nearly crumbled and masses of cake monsters fell. Their creator, Red Velvet Cookie the General of Dark Enchantress Cookies armies would lose a part of himself as he watched his beloved creations fall, becoming nothing but flooring to be trampled upon from the fall of the tower. Red Velvet Cookie held each and every single one of his cakes in high regard, caring for each one, seeing them fall was like losing bits and pieces of himself in the process. As the defense grew meager, the number of troops thinning, Red Velvet ordered the remaining to flee, to escape with what life they had to spare. In the ensuing chaos The General forgot one asset, a loose end left to unravel. A prisoner brought to him by the Modest members of the Cookies of Darkness Licorice Cookie and Poison Mushroom Cookie. A reserved cookie, almost reclusive in nature, even when shown hospitality by the General himself. “Have you considered my offer?” The simple inquiry was met with stony silence. “Dark Enchantress Cookie has promised us a good future. You should join the cause to provide it for us and all of cookie kind!” A brisk exhale was the only response from the imprisoned cookie. “I know being locked up like this is less than ideal but until you realize what we do is for the good of the future, you’ll have to remain here. Think about it.” The poor imprisoned soul, Dark Peppermint Bark Cookie, Simply sent to deliver a message to the Vanilla kingdom from their humble village, only to be plucked up and whisked away to a nightmare. One they soon realized was a dream come to fruition, an escape to become something greater than a simple messenger cookie in their fruitless past. Being a part of the Cookies of Darkness, they were worth something, respected, praised for the work under Red Velvet. With the Cookies of Darkness, Dark Peppermint Bark was a cookie with significance. That was, of course, until the tower fell. Moments passed like hours as Dark Peppermint bark pulled themselves from the wreckage, fearing they’d lose parts of their doughy body as they gasped for the air they so desperately needed. “General! General, where are you!?” Their voice was nearly shot, choking on dust and coughing as they stood on their own unreliable feet, still physically shaken from the walls collapsing around them. The sight they beheld after the smoke cleared was a sickening one, the hundreds of cake monsters crushed underfoot and under ruble, the smoldering remains of the oven where life was given, now completely obliterated, and the General nowhere to be seen and Dark Peppermint Bark thought the worst. Surely he was safe, he got out, escaped before the tower collapsed. Or rather, came crumbling down at the hands of Earthbread’s proclaimed ‘heroes’. Voices growing louder, Silhouettes shifting within the smoke.

. . .

Continued within a reblog...

[flame-of-tar-valon]

☠ - angry/violent headcanon ✿ - Sex headcanon ☆ - happy headcanon

mix n match answers for lleidspaer n vivimani n nero

☠ - angry/violent headcanon: Vivimani is easily the most difficult person of my wols to genuinely make angry. Lleidspaer becomes iron-cold, Nia'a usually channels it into fear, etc. but Vivimani when provoked usually just takes care of things without much emotional turmoil. Everything generally seems to slide off of him. Everyone always thinks his dark emotions are just brewing underneath the surface and are freaking out, worried about "the anger of a gentle man" when it finally boils over, especially bc he's such a powerful dark mage. When it finally happens, though, a surprising truth is revealed: when Vivimani gets super angry he just cries and sobs and wails for hours and can't access his magic at all. It only happens twice across the MSQ and both times are because of Urianger.

✿ - Sex headcanon: [Warning NSFW] Lleidspaer frequents the Lominsan whorehouses and brothels quite a bit. She always asks for the most attractive twink they have on staff, but does not engage with dirty talk or anything like that. She mostly just lies back and has the other person do all the work. Despite all that, she pays well enough and is respectful enough that the staff generally don't mind. She doesn't pursue romantic relationships at all until Severian starts courting her as soon as he's done grieving his first love. At first she doesn't show him any sexual attention at all because in her mind, sexual relationships and romantic relationships are separate things that do not overlap. He eventually changes her mind, at least a little.

☆ - happy headcanon: Nero tol Scaeva doesn't have the same internal compass toward morality as Cid and the other Scions. He doesn't care; if he were a Good Guy, he wouldn't be the best Good Guy so what would be the point, yada yada, you know how he is. BUT he's also not as villainous as he plays himself up to be. That's his way of pre-emptively compensating for not being good enough. He only starts working through this during the Omega raids after his injury and subsequent collapse, but his real epiphany comes from meeting Gaius again post-Shadowbringer. He still suffers from several Complexes in Endwalker, but by the time the Final Days arrive he's finally not battling the feelings of inferiority every waking moment. He of course talks about this in terms of a combat victory at first, and it's not until the role quest completion and vanquishing Nerva that he realizes he finally found happiness.

[spinchip]

Idk if you’re still taking prompts but maybe some nice emperor au stuff? Freaking love the au.as for the actual prompt uhhh…. Zanes first year vs his last year in the never realm maybe? Or ooooh some angsty post-staff collapse when he lost the staff and started falling apart

“The Emperor is a good man,” Sorla says, voice heavy with respect, “If your friend has come through his halls, he will have surely fed and housed him. And if he has not visited the Emperor then I'm certain he would do his best to help you find him.”

They’re sat around a large, crackling fire in Sorlas home, nursing tea and a modest dinner she’d prepared herself as they’d all warmed up in her living room. Akita and Kataru had delivered the letter they’d been sent with once Sorla had finished her own plate, and she was reading over the official document with wise eyes even as she spoke. The envelope had been sealed with dark blue wax, the emblem a simple snow flake, and the siblings that had found the ninja had been taking their duty to deliver it extremely seriously.

“What’s it say?” Kataru asks, trying not to peer over he shoulder to read along. Akita peers over her shoulder to read along.

“My presence is requested at the palace. He needs to put his affairs in order for an upcoming visit.” Sorla hums.

“Oh, who’s coming? The dignitaries from the Western Archipelago? The Emperor and I were discussing the trade offer they had sent us not too long ago, perhaps they've decided to come negotiate in person.” Kataru ruminates, “Or maybe it’ll be Lord Haoran.”

“Ugh, I hope it’s not King Desperate.” Akita throws herself back in her chair, “He needs to get the hint- Emp’s not interested! Move on!” she makes a shooing motion with her hand.

“He didn’t specify.” Sorla hums, “So I suppose I will be accompanying you all on your journey to the palace.”

The Ninja all exchange a glance before Lloyd starts slowly, “Listen, about that… it’s not that we don’t trust you, of course, and thank you for taking us in and for dinner but… it just seems…”

“Too good to be true.” Nya finishes with a wince.

Sorla laughs kindly, “Ah, I understand that. When he first appeared in our lands many years ago, i believed the same thing. A ronin with no lord to promise his honor... I was skeptical of his motives, but I assure you the Emperor has proven himself a thousand times over. He is a good man, and a steady one.”

Akita leans over the table into Lloyd face, “Want to hear how we met?”

Closing his eyes, Kataru grimaces at the memory, “Our clan had been displaced in territorial skirmishes with Vex around this period, chased off our land and living in temporary settlements. We were originally based in a village further north, but we chose to retreat past Mala-Wojira for the safety it offered-”

“We were Attacked!” Akita launches into the juicy part of the story, cutting her brother off mid sentence. “Vex sent the Krag out to destroy us! The were 20 feet tall, ready to wipe us out or force us to comply-”

“They were not- they get taller every time you tell the story!” Kataru claps a hand over his sisters mouth, “Krag are typically 9 to twelve feet tall, twenty is ridiculous- and it wasn’t just Krag, but also some of Vex’s loyalists who set fire to our tents and attempted to destroy our rations- EW don’t lick my hand!”

Akita takes advantage of Katarus disgust to pick up the story, “It was looking bleak until… the Emperor swept in! With a sweep of his cape he extinguished the fire completely! before chasing off Vex’s cronies with just a single, sharp look!”

They blink at Akita, the story sounding… less than plausible.

“We were just young kids at the time, and we thought we could help. We ended up getting caught in a really bad spot.”

“...Between a rock and a massive burning wall of fire,” Akita agrees, losing some of her bravado at the memory.

“The Emperor walked through fire to get to us. He saved our lives.” Katarus' voice goes light with awe and reverence, “He is amazing, okay? He’ll help you.”

The ninja exchanged another glance, “You’ve convinced me.” Cole says for the whole of them, cracking a smile, “Maybe he really can help…”

“You wont regret it!”

“We’ll set off on the journey back tomorrow morning, once it has stopped snowing. For now, we should rest.” Sorla offers them each a blanket and pillow, and the ninja settle down quietly. Akita and Kataru apparently have a personal room here they typically use, but the rest of the guests are regulated to the admittedly soft carpet.

“Do you really think he’ll be a good guy?”

“With our track record? Probably not.” Jay comments dryly.

“We’ll just have to keep our guard up… remember, this is for Zane.” Lloyd laces his fingers worriedly over his chest.

Cole nods along with the others, “For Zane.” They all agree softly, before the night falls silent.

[theodorecanaryhood]

Heart and soul

Two one shot shorts with Mr Jason Todd x GN Reader

Warning: first one is a little dark and sad

Relationships are hard if not impossible at times, but they’re worth the struggle.

Robin was the best thing for you, along with Jason Todd.

The two of you were so in love and so strong, happy and healthy. The relationship was amazing, Jason was your soulmate and your best friend.

Then the news came from Bruce’s mouth that Jason had been taken, the Joker had taken him. Your love.

Your chest hurt, the tears never stopped flowing. The pain was too much, but you stuck with it.

‘I’m so sorry, he’s gone’ was all Bruce said, the pain in his voice.

The pain you felt in your chest, the twisting of your heart. You were in so much pain. You collapsed then and there, feeling like your heart was breaking.

Bruce cried through the phone, a cry of pure sadness as he walked through the manor. He couldn’t hear anything, Bruce was numb.

There was time that had passed by so quickly that no one was able to confirm how much, Bruce was in his own world.

Red Hood was a menace and the new threat in Gotham City. He was angry and his anger was being taken out on everyone.

Bruce was happy to have his son back after he found out who the Red Hood was. But, he knew there would be a part of Jason that would’ve gone once he knew.

Jason balled into his hands as he stared at the gravestone, your name carved in like a bittersweet poem.

A story that never got to be completed, Jason cried hard as he saw that you had been taken too. Your life ended simply because you had died of a broken heart.

You didn’t want to live without Jason, and he had to live again without you.

The Bands of Light

Jason Todd x GN reader and Dick Grayson

It was a pleasant day as the sun was out with a mild heat, followed by a slight breeze.

Jason was estranged from his family since his resurrection, only bumping into his dad or one of his brothers on a patrol.

Jason wasn’t one for allowing his dad into his life full time, but he wouldn’t be completely neglectful toward a Wayne.

Dick arrived and sat outside the coffee shop as he scrolled through his phone, hearing a couple across from his seat. Laughing and talking.

Dick spotted the man as Jason, smiling toward him as he saw Jason wearing a silver wedding band on his left hand. And spitting yours too.

Dick smiled as he locked eyes with Jason, who threw a smile in return. The two didn’t speak to one another, but they acknowledged their relationship.

Jason took your hand in his from the other side of the table, Dick smiled as he watched his younger brother, happy and married. Settled and living his life.

Dick didn’t say anything to either of you but watched sweetly and proudly as Jason had a life of his own.

Seeing as Dick moved back to Bludhaven and Jason was a solo hero, Dick respected that Jason wouldn’t have the need to tell anyone.

Jason leant over and kissed you as the two of you stood up, leaving together while hand in hand.

Dick held his cup up toward Jason, giving a final proud smile. Jason shooting a wink, as he held your hand gently.

[untitled5071]

I have a Lisa Frankenstein request! If you'd rather not, thats totally okay, but I'd love a modern au of them going to a my chemical romance concert. ^^ it's for me and for one of my friends too, and it would really mean a lot to us! Thank you so much for doing what you do!

I hope you like it!

🪦🪦🪦🪦🪦🪦🪦🪦🪦

“Oh my god oh my god, I think this is it!” 

Even though Lisa’s eyes were trained on the stage in front of her, her arms were busy shaking the daylights out of her husband, her hands on his shoulders while he chuckled adoringly at her enthusiasm. He wasn’t doing too good of a job at hiding his own, either; this concert may have been a gift for Lisa while they ‘traveled’ through Mexico as part of their “don’t get caught by the police” world tour, but he was excited too. 

They hadn’t been to a concert in a long time; after Lisa was reanimated and recovered, the two of them had gotten as far away from Brookside as they could potentially get, and once the dust settled, they decided to do a little traveling to see what the modern world could offer them. They had no end of potential date ideas, but they both particularly liked live music. 

Though their favorite of all time would always be the private one given in the living room of Lisa’s old home, they both enjoyed being among other music lovers and shouting lyrics like maniacs. Granted, he knew he wouldn’t be doing much shouting tonight in the sea of people they found themselves in-both because he knew he wouldn’t be heard and because shouting just wasn’t in the cards tonight, but it was all worth it for the sake of seeing Lisa so happy. 

Speaking of Lisa, her declaration that the show was starting seemed to be right on the money, since the lights were starting to dim, the anticipatory roar of the crowd was starting to get louder and cell phone flashlights were starting to flick on like illuminated eyes across the arena. The creature divided his attention between Lisa and the stage as the sound of a heart monitor was projected over the screams of the fans, and she grabbed his stitched-on hand in a vice grip when a gurney containing a covered body was rolled onstage. 

Lisa’s cheers joined that of the rest of the crowd when the body revealed itself to be the lead singer, clad in a hospital gown over his signature dark outfit and clutching a microphone. The first song was ironically called “The End”, and as the creature expected, Lisa sang every word at the top of her lungs, teased hair flying in every direction as she bounced along to the beat.

He knew buying her that second hand iPod Nano last year was a good idea. 

The first verse ended with Gerard Way ripping off his hospital gown as the biggest curtain they had ever seen opened to reveal the rest of the band, already whaling away on their respective instruments. They all wore black outfits and parade marshal’s jackets (which seemed fitting), and they weren’t the only ones who had dressed the part. 

Lisa had spent hours trying to pick the perfect combination of tights and tops for this concert (all black, of course), and had finally settled on black fishnet tights that she had torn and woven back together herself with more colorful embroidery thread (sticking heavily to purple and green to match her husband’s stitched limbs), a black tulle miniskirt and a black sports bra under a mesh top, complete with black and dark-gray striped arm warmers, to match the fashion of the time. He himself was wearing a leather jacket over a deep red shirt, and his best ripped jeans that Lisa distressed for him, in more ways than one. They blended in perfectly with the ocean of punks around them, and that was just fine by them. 

The band cycled through their set with infectious energy and an electric stage presence, and the creature was surprised that the stadium they were in didn’t collapse under the weight of the stomping and jumping the audience was doing. He was particularly fascinated by the mosh pit that had formed towards the font; it was mesmerizing to see all of those bodies moving in such a disjointed but synchronized way that anyone could immediately understand was dangerous if not done properly. He had to respect it, honestly. 

The biggest problem with it, on the other hand, was that it was blocking their view of the stage, and by the time the band’s most popular started (signaled by a single note that was almost drowned out by the crowd), the frenzied movements of the people closer to the stage got more intense, as did the noise level. 

Lisa was staining herself on her tiptoes to see over the screaming heads in front of them, and when her husband noticed this, he put a hand on her shoulder gently, shuffling in the limited space that they had so that his back was to her, and squatted down slightly. Lisa got the hint immediately and hopped onto his back, and he hoisted her up so she could see over the several hundred flip phones being used to record the show and get a better view of the stage. She was delighted by this plan, holding onto him with her thighs and one hand while waving her other hand in the air, mirroring Gerard on stage. And even though her voice was meshing with thousands of others, even that of the actual lead singer, the creature thought her voice was the clearest and most beautiful of them all. 

She must have been able to feel his adoring gaze somehow, because as the song ended in a shower of confetti and pyrotechnics, she bent down and kissed his right cheek first, then his left, whispering (or, given the noisy circumstance) said in a normal speaking voice, 

“Thank you. I love you so much.”

And though he was particularly tongue-tied that evening and unable to speak the words back, he hoped that the kiss he gave her amidst the crowd’s raucous applause spoke his feelings adequately. 

They stayed that way as the concert continued, the creature keeping Lisa safe in the arms collapsed around where she was perched on his back and Lisa sneaking little kisses or playing with his hair in between songs, and as the band played one of their slower pieces, the two undead souls swayed together, united in their love of music and each other. 

These are the eyes and the lies of the taken

These are their hearts but their hearts don't beat like ours

They burn 'cause they are all afraid

When mine beats twice as hard

'Cause the world is ugly

But you're beautiful to me