#death mark x reader

[darkdevasofdestruction]

Hi, I really like your Spirit Hunter Headcanons! I saw you wrote one for NG with the guys reacting to reader getting hurt. Is it alright if I request a version of that but with the Death Mark characters?

I've got you~ And I'm very happy to see more Death Mark/NG requests <3

・┆✦ʚ Mashita Satoru ɞ✦ ┆・

🚬 One would think Satoru is the most apathetic of the bunch, but in reality, his sense of justice and moral compass are still up there.

🚬 At his core, he will always be a policeman, and any wrong-doing will anger him internally.

🚬 He has lost everything during the Honey Bee Cult case, when his mentor was killed, and he got so close to the truth that he was kicked out of the police force under sexual harassment allegations, and his credibility and job opportunities were denied.

🚬 In spite of all this, he found a friend in Yashiki, and he treasured you more than anything in life.

🚬 You were there for him through all the hardships he went through, and he is infinitely grateful for your endless support and love.

🚬 That is why I say, when he finds out you've been cursed, he is devastated, as though the sky fell on him.

🚬 He found you on the ground in the forest while he and Yashiki were searching around for Shimi-O.

🚬 He couldn't believe his eyes when he saw you - He left you at home, why were you here? He couldn't be hallucinating, could he? So what is going on?

🚬 What's worse, not only did the Death Mark flash brightly on the soft neck of your skin, as if to taunt and mock him, but your clothes had subtle tears - But what is worse, they were bleeding.

🚬 He's not one to panic quickly under pressure, but you can bet Mashita is livid.

🚬 If it weren't for Yashiki calming him down and suggesting to get you back home to Mary and have Christie look after you, while the two of them purify the ghost and make sure everyone is fine.

🚬 Satoru held you dearly in his arms all the way back to the Manor, his grip a little too tight - He was afraid, deathly afraid, but not for himself, but for you.

🚬 He'd never forgive himself if he allowed you to die, when your life was in his hands like that.

🚬 What kind of reliable policeman would he be? His mentor would be disappointed if he failed you and himself like that.

🚬 He placed you comfortably on the bed he slept on while Yashiki told Christie not to tell you anything about the Mark; There was no need to worry you for no reason, especially as the scar was in a place you couldn't notice easily.

🚬 Though he knew he had to worry, Mashita lingered for a few minutes more - He couldn't stop looking at you, he felt weak, he blamed himself for dragging you into all of this, especially as the only reason you got cursed was that he forgot his gun at home.

🚬 Not only was it incredibly irresponsible of him, but he also willingly got himself in this mess, in hopes of unveiling the truth behind his mentor's death.

🚬 After tucking you in bed, Satoru kissed your forehead and took one last look at you, before pushing himself off the bed and quickly leaving the room, before he'd feel tempted to just get next to you and hold onto you until Yashiki solves the issue by himself.

🚬 He was much quieter and snarkier with Yashiki, even he was well aware he was much more of a menace than usual, alas there was nothing he could do about it.

🚬 Your well-being was above anything else, for him.

🚬 His rage, complimented by the extreme memory loss caused by Shimi-O, made for quite a weird iteration of Mashita, but regardless, with a simple slap, he was capable of helping Yashiki to purify the ghost.

🚬 Though Kazuo himself wasn't rid of the curse, you and Mashita, along with Shou, were able to return home with no more issue.

🚬 You didn't know why exactly your boyfriend was so clingy and mellow, but you didn't mind it one bit. It was a lovely change of pace, for the otherwise teasy man.

🚬 It would take a few days before he confesses to you the truth of what happened that night - And more than that, he thanks you dearly for compromising your life to bring him the gun, as without it, he and Yashiki wouldn't have been able to defeat the ghost.

🚬 He'd get very annoyed if you got smug with him for being so tender - But he'll get over it fast, don't worry - You just need to bat your pretty lashes at him and kiss him like there's no tomorrow.

🚬 He won't necessarily get overprotective after this encounter, but he will take all proper precautions going further into his and Yashiki's little 'Ghost Hunting Business'.

🚬 He might be reticent to you joining them for field work, but he'd be more than happy if you were to help with intel. You're safe, and he's reassured. Perfect!

---

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ Daimon Shuuji ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ♡ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

🩺 By the time Daimon gets cursed, he's already 44 years of age and chronically single and ill, so he resigns himself to the idea he will remain forever married to his work and succumb to loneliness and sickness.

🩺 When he gets cursed, however, he finds a new will to live - It's the human's natural response to danger, right? Fight or flight - Or at least, that's how he rationalises it.

🩺Not only that though, but also, his morbid curiosity with his grandfather's work in the Engineering Lab during WW2 and whatever atrocities happened down in the bunker hidden in the sewers of the city.

🩺That - And he's always been impressed by the supernatural, and now, he gets to experience it first hand - If only it wasn't life threatening, it would be much more enjoyable.

🩺It was here that Yashiki introduced him to a scientist women called Hiroo Madoka, whose grandfather was also involved in similar work to his own family... Though she's rather annoying to deal with, and thankfully, in spite of his kind demeanour, Yashiki is also of the same idea about her.

🩺But there was one more - He met you - Someone closer in age to him, who's professionally accomplished and so very beautiful; Not only beautiful, but so very and sweet, while also being effortlessly confident and radiating an aura of reassurance like the Sun.

🩺He couldn't help but feel attracted to you like a month to the light, caring little about getting burnt in the process, like the fool Icarus, flying towards the Sun with his waxed wings.

🩺How could he not gravitate around you, when you made him feel revitalised, no more the zombie of a man he accepted to being for so long.

🩺You worried for his health, told him to take better care of himself, even threw an off-comment about cooking him a nice soup and cutting up a fruit salad so he'd get more energy.

🩺Daimon was flabbergast - Did he truly deserve any of this? He knows he's not the most amicable person alive, yet you don't seem to be offended or intimidated by his coldness.

🩺During the whole investigation, you are the reason he stays sane and has hope for the future - A future with you.

🩺You weren't overly assertive, yet through your kindness and positivity, you made your intentions clear; He loved just how well the two of you understood each other, without the need of words.

🩺He was absolutely mesmerised by everything you did.

🩺From the time when you braved through the hypothermia and drove him back home - Only to see that the heating and water were being closed for the week because of reparations - So you invited him to sleep over at your home because it's extra warm.

🩺And how you nonchalantly told him you have a single bedroom, so you'd have to sleep together - All that, while he was suffering a bad case of tachycardia and his face had a feverish colour from too much emotion felt all together - But you? You were so nonchalant about it, wearing your pretty lingerie pyjamas, leaning on the heater and drinking a little alcohol to warm up, and inviting him to do the same.

🩺In those few days he got so used to living with you, that he almost felt disappointed when the day of the encounter came by and you got rid of the curse and had to part ways.

🩺He was there to watch you take the Suzu Bells and step up, confronting the Kannon Soldier all by yourself - He didn't know whatever Shinto or Buddhist mantras you chanted there, but by the time you started yelling at the ghost in Chinese, and ended it by slamming the wand into the side of its head and it disappeared into a splash of brightness, he felt as though he just watched a movie, because everything felt unreal.

🩺For the next two years, the two of you have such a domestic bliss, Daimon feels it's unreal that someone thinks he's not as unsufferable as he thinks he is, and by the way you smile at him so sweetly, he believes you are just as happy as he is, living together.

🩺Though when Yashiki goes ghost-hunting again, both of you are willing to help; Daimon remains in the hospital to care for Hiroo and Banshee, while you go on-site to aid him and Mashita with investigation.

🩺He knew both men would take care of you, and he knew you were strong and witty enough to take care of himself and succeed in this new case;

🩺Alas, when you are brought to the hospital, in full hysterics, Shuuji panics for the first time in his life - What in the world could have shaken you to such degree, that you lost your cool?

🩺After Mashita explains the three of you were blocked in an elevator filling up with a bunch of huge spiders, even he cringes, especially knowing your clear aversion and disgust towards them.

🩺As much as he cares about the two special patients in his care, he's going to take the week off to take care of you.

🩺He'll hold you close and try to reassure you to the best of his ability; Though he's known as not having the best bed-side manners, he's so unexpectedly tender and sweet, that Yashiki thought it was another person altogether.

🩺He'd make you warm honey tea and suggest watching any of your comfort tv series or movies, and he'll kiss your face so gently.

🩺There's not much he can help much to help you relax, except get some sedatives if you're going into panic mode again, but regardless, there's nothing he wouldn't do for you.

🩺When you're finally better, he'll feel so relieved - He was so worried for you and your mental state, that he'll be fussy over you for a long time going on.

---

⋆˖⁺‧₊☽ Yashiki Kazuo/Kujo Masamune ☾₊‧⁺˖⋆

🐇 It's needless to say, you and Yashiki went through a lot together.

🐇 From the day you got cursed, until you managed to purify the ghost with Yashiki's help, and got all better.

🐇 You decided to stay until the very end to aid your partner with the curse - But if not even the Kannon Soldier cursed him then... Could it have been Mary...?

🐇 Yashiki was protective of all the mark bearers he encountered, you most of all, so when he regained his memory, he made sure to keep everyone at a safe distance so he can deal with Mary himself.

🐇 You were the only one who knew the truth of the Doll, so of course, you worried over his well-being; But he still wouldn't step back and allow you to help him, it was far too dangerous for anyone else.

🐇 So, to reassure you, he promised to take you out on a date by the time he's some with the Doll; And he vowed to also tell you the truth and his memories.

🐇 Thankfully, that evening, you receive a text from Yashiki, with the details of your date the next day, namely the time and place.

🐇 You're so excited and happy that he's alive, that you can't contain your joy, and you call all the mark bearers to tell them that Yashiki is alright and he finally got rid of the curse - And decide to celebrate together, of course!

🐇 What was supposed to be a private date became a private party for the Death Mark survivors - And although he was bewieldered, Yashiki was beyond touched by your act.

🐇 Still, you still had to go on that date - And when you finally did, he told you all about his real identity, as Kujo Masamune, about his sister, about the Doll Mary, and what not.

🐇 And for the next two years, you had a beautiful relationship, with Mashita as the wing-man.

🐇 But when the two of them went to investigate the Masquerade Love Hotel, you got worried; Can't he stay out of trouble, for once? Those two are searching for an early death sentence.

🐇 So of course, from your worry stemmed overprotection, and you insisted in joining them in the investigation.

🐇 Unfortunately, because of your personal relationship with Yashiki, and your spiritual-proneness, you were the first prey of the Jirogumo spirit.

🐇 Not only were you forced to experience first-hand the memories of the poor, tortured girl who was forced to ingest a living spider crawling down her throat with those furry legs, but you felt all of her horrors.

🐇 Once you came to, your mind was in shambles, and you shrieked, running the hell out of that perverted torture den, aimless and confused;

🐇 Thus, you ended up wearing only your pretty lingerie, on a dusty bed, slamming your boyfriend on the bed to seduce him into sleeping with you.

🐇 At first, Yashiki was shocked out of his mind - What the hell happened to possess you like that? You were never this straight-forward, let alone to do something so vulgar and lustful in public; But then, he noticed the spider web sticking to your back.

🐇 As soon as he ripped it away, you fell limp in his arms like a marionette, deep into a coma that he knew wouldn't get away unless the ghost was exorcised.

🐇 He quickly dressed you back in your clothes and called for Mashita to help him get you to Daimon under constant care.

🐇 The whole time, he was out for revenge - Yes, he pitied the poor ghost girl, but he pitied you more; Not only that, but were it not for Mashita, he also would have died, plunging out of the window.

🐇 Who was going to take care of you, if he dies?

🐇 He was going to fight even God himself, if it meant saving you; So there was little a silly little malevolent ghost could do, that would deter him from his path of purifying it.

🐇 Even Mashita hadn't seen him so on-edge and boiling inside from rage for allowing you to get hurt and possessed like that.

🐇 The otherwise moral compass and spine of the group was almost shaking with anger, and it was terrifying.

🐇 He even cursed once! Yashiki - Cursed!

🐇 When the whole charade was finally over, he rushed to the hospital to see how you were doing.

🐇 Thankfully, you didn't remember a single thing of those traumatic encounters, and he wasn't going to tell them to you either.

🐇 He just told you you collapsed suddenly because of low blood sugar, and Daimon gave you some glucose IV and a good rest.

🐇 Though you didn't fully buy it, it was clear he wasn't going to tell you the truth, so you let that be.

🐇 Surprisingly though, he asks if you want to go on a date with him. At home, watching a movie and drinking hot chocolate by the fireplace.

🐇 He's as much of a gentleman as always, or even more so.

🐇 Although he's sometimes awkward when expressing himself, holding you tightly to his chest does wonders in non-verbally telling you how terrified he was for your well-being.

🐇 For his sake, you don't ask about the investigation, just settling to being happy it was over.

🐇 Instead, you decide to promise him that you're not going anywhere - You're a tough cookie, and will always be by his side.

[emberstoriesandtales]

Characters I will write for in the Spirit Hunter games

For now I only have characters for the first game on the list because I only just finished the main game and working on chapter 6!

Death Mark:

Kazuo Yashiki/Masamune Kujou

Satoru Mashita

Shou Nagashima

Christine Arimura

Madoka Hiroo

Shuuji Daimon

NG:

Coming soon

Death Mark II:

Main crew:

Kazuo Yashiki/Masamune Kujou

Satoru Mashita

Shou Nagashima

Madoka Hiroo

Shuuji Daimon

Konoehara Academy Students:

Himeko Douryou

Michiho Kinukawa

Naomi Horikoshi

Hanako Akai (au where she is still alive)

Toshihiko Izumi (au where the reader stops him from bullying Hanako anymore, so he may be a bit ooc)

*will add more soon

[mxqdii]

Hi! Can you write something about how Mattheo or Theo would react to someone yelling and being really mean to y/n? It can be fluff or smut I will leave it to you❤️

what i was made for - m.s

pairings: mattheo riddle x reader

summary: mattheo comforting reader as she breaks down

warning(s): violence, comfort, mentions of killing curse, cursing, very sad ending (prepare yourself)

a/n: so originally, i was doing the request. but i ended up getting carried away with ideas.. and so if anybody wants me to make this a series i can !!

not proofread

it's been a really bad week.

everyone found out about my dad being a death eater, causing me to loose friends and people just viewing me differently

i get dirty look walking to class, whispering all around me, people gossiping and spreading lies.

it's hell

thankfully, i still have my friendgroup in slytherin, because at least they'll hear me out.

i also have my boyfriend mattheo

he's been nothing but sweet while everything has been chaos

he's helped me a lot, more then he'll ever know,

although, recently i've been more distant.

thing's have been getting harder, and i can't help but feel weak.

i don't want mattheo fighting all my battles for me, and also, it's just overall embarrassing

as i walk to potions, a group of girls stop in front of me.

i sigh, recognizing them instantly

they've been tormenting me this whole week

"what now" i say with a groan

"well, we just wanted to say we're sorry about what we said" one of the girls says and i keep my annoyed expression

"no you're not" i laugh

they all scoff and walk away, except one.

"go on now" i say, voice slightly raised.

"no, because you see.. they don't like you because of your dad, me on the other hand? i just don't like you." she says

i can't help but admit, her words caught me by surprise a bit.

"okay... why?" i say and she grins

"you don't remember me do you?"

i examine her face, trying to find the familiarity.

and then it hits me

"jasmine.." i mumble and she nods

jasmine was a girl in my class third year, she ended up leaving the school because of her ex.

"the look on your face? priceless. honestly, it was one of my reasons to come back" she says and i scoff

i see her tie her hair up

"you- you wanna fight me?!" i shout and she grins

"cmon, one way to settle this, you win? i'm gone, for good this time" she says nodding

next thing i know, jasmine is on the floor with a black eye and a broken nose.

i run back to the common room, getting stopped before i get there.

cormac.

"what happened? you finally get what you deserved?" he says, all his friends laughing

"fuck off" i say, trying to walk away

he grabs my wrist and i try to break out of his grasp but fail.

"let go of me!!" i shout, still trying to break free.

he abruptly lets go, making me fall.

him and his friends laugh and i stand up, tears filling my eyes.

i push him up against a wall, pointing my wand to his throat.

"you fucking mess with me again i'll avada kedavra your ass you understand?" i yell and he doesn't say anything, eyes widening

"do you understand??" i yell louder this time and he nods in fear

i loosen my grip, my wand now not being so pushed up against him, looking around i see all his friends looking at me terrified, looking the other direction i see mattheo.

i put my wand away, walking to my dorm, looking down the whole time.

closing my door, i break down completely.

i threatened someone with the killing curse

it hits me then suddenly,

i'm becoming just like my father.

i hear a knock on my door, not bothering to answer.

the door opens anyway, making me wipe my tears and any possible blood on my face

i'm met with mattheos soft gaze, the concern and worry in his eyes.

"get out!" i yell

"no" he says, walking closer to me

"mattheo.. GET OUT!!!" i shout

he's now inches away.

"get out, get out, get out." i say repeatedly, hitting his chest.

"let it out, it's okay" he mumbles softly

i eventually give up, just falling to my knees sobbing

he pulls me into a hug, stroking my hair.

after what feels like forever, but what was probably only a minute, i wipe my tears and sigh.

"sorry, i'm okay" i say sniffling

"stop telling me you're okay, you're not." he says and i look down in defeat.

"cmon" he says, grabbing my hand and dragging me to the bathroom

he grabs q-tips and hydrogen peroxide, cleaning the cuts on my face

the stinging doesn't phase me at this point, being too numb to really care.

"i'm becoming my father" i mumble and he stops his actions

"what? no you're not" he says and i scoff

"i threatened cormac with the killing curse mattheo, thats not something someone says in a civil conversation. i'd be surprised if i dont get expelled" i express

"i'll talk to mcgonagall about it okay?" he mumbles and i nod

after cleaning my wounds, we head into bed.

he wraps his arms around me, feeling overwhelmed by his warmth, i fall asleep.

i wake up in the middle of the night, gathering a sweater and my shoes.

i tiptoe out of my dorm to the astronomy tower.

i think about everything thats happened this past week

people finding out about my father, people hating me, threatning cormac.

it's that moment that a flip inside of me flips

a moment of clarity, realization.

i hear footsteps behind me, turning around and seeing the exact person i called for

"i'm ready" i say to him, walking closer.

in the end, all of this, it's all apart of the journey. because i am my father, and i couldn't come to terms with it before, but i am now, i can't deny destiny.

"you will be great, just as your father is." he says and i nod

"thank you, my lord" i say, looking at my wrist seeing the deatheater mark.

looking down at it, i smile, i feel complete.

i liked the power i had over cormac, the rush, the adrenaline. i liked fighting jasmine, that feeling of control.

about jasmine by the way, forgot to mention.. she was my ex. and she left because of me, she found out about my father and i told her to leave, and if she ever came back i'd have him kill her.

that was the start, where everything started going wrong.

i hear footsteps coming up the stairs, seeing mattheo.

"baby why'd you-" he starts speaking, but i notice his gaze shifting to my wrist

his eyes widen and fill with tears

"no... you didn't" he says in disbelief

"th-thats not fair.. i did what i was supposed to do..!" he shouts

i look at him in confusion

"i tried so hard, so hard. to make sure you never got the mark, i did everything, begged him not to" he explains

"mattheo, i did this, it was me."

the look on his face changes, changes to digust and shame.

"you wanted this?!?!" he shouts, tears falling down his face

"who.. who are you?" he cries, looking me up in down with that disgusted expression.

"mattheo.. think of how great we could be, we could be a team. do this together-" i start

"together? together?!?!" he yells

"you want me to- how long? how long have you been planning this?" he asks

"you don't want me to answer that mattheo." i say in honesty

"i hurt people mattheo, it's all i'm good at. i'm sorry you were the one to love me, when i told you not to, you should have listened" i added

"you were right, you are your father." he says in horror and i smile

"takes one to know one" i say, adding on a final goodbye,

"goodbye mattheo"

a/n: could make this into a potential series if anyone would want that, lmk!!

TAGLIST:

@strniolo @stargirlv0id @annaisabookworm

[grimmylilsunshine]

Let it be known that I love to bite people I love lots. So Grim will be getting the loving bites from me, and I can see him just moaning/whimpering from it all. Which only excites me, to bite him more~. 💕

[rreeaahh]

O N E W A Y T I C K E T | R. A. B.

Pairing: Regulus Black x reader (slytherin, pureblood)

Tropes: academic rivals; enemies to friends to lovers; fake dating; she fell first, but he fell harder; marriage of convenience

Warnings: angst; possible smut; slow-burn; family problems; smoking; drinking; mature language; (that's all i can think of right now)

It’s always “Y/N is such a good child, making her father so proud by being at the top of all your classes! When will you do the same, Regulus?”, or “I can’t imagine a greater pride than having a son like the young Black boy – Orion is lucky to have at least one reason to be proud, while I have one big disappointment!”, but never outside of the closed doors of the manors. At the gatherings of the pureblood society, both the Black and the Lestrange families are the proudest parents.

Forced to like each other in public, the two young wizards hide their mutual hate. They bottle it deep inside their angsty hearts and only set it free during their academic activity, because that seems to be the only accepted form of rivalry between them.

But when you’re trying so much to pretend that you like your enemy, you’re shocked to find that he’s the only one who might understand what you’re going through – because he’s just as scared and furious as you are.

And maybe, you're not only two people who hate each other, but also each other's ticket to freedom.

Chapter 1 - Lies Chapter 2 - Green eyes VS green badge Chapter 3 - We are both filthy now

[whore4hotdilfs]

how i plan to write costas’ characters! :

(Adding as I think of anything else, requests for characters also welcome)

- Mark Hoffman :

* bit of a mixture of hard and soft, 80% hard

20% soft

* when hard dom, he has little to no remorse.

this could involve pushing your limits, lots of

edging and overstimulation. brutal thrusts/

pace, tying toys to you and leaving you in th

your bedroom until you behave.

* he’ll more often than not spit in your mouth

when you’re being far too bratty than liked.

* when he’s soft, he’s slower, he likes to live

in the moment.

* soft praises. things like “that’s my pretty

girl”

* he always focuses on aftercare after every

scene

- Marco Poloni :

* he’s mostly soft, i feel like you’d have to ask

him to incorporate a few harder kinks into

your sex life.

* usually soft, quick thrusts but he still loves

to live in the moment

* he loves eating you out, could do it for hours

if you let him (you obviously do)

- The Warden :

* he’s always hard, never soft dominant. I feel

like that would be obvious.

* no remorse whatsoever, little aftercare.

* degrades you a looot, he’ll often use slut

or whore. he’ll praise you, but he’ll disguise

it.

* sayings like, “what a messy little whore you

are for me” and calling you his personal

slut.

* he’s heavy on the overstimulation, he will

push you to your limit until you physically

cant take another orgasm. even then, he

only stops when he’s satisfied.

[miraclecherryblossomsblog]

From my reincarnated sukuna's s/o drabble

Tw pregnancy (reader has sukuna's kid), death of unborn child, mentions of starvation

Seeing all these fics were suku tries to impregnate us made me think....

What if at that time reader was like pregnant when they died? Like even after sukuna's sealment urame tries to save sukuna's s/o and unborn child but the moment he finds them its too late, both them and the baby are already to gone to save. They find their body in a cell outside the villages, already thin and dry(???) from starvation, since that was the only way for the socerers/ villagers get rid of them.

But years later reader's reincarnated and so is the unborn kid, the lil one being reader's younger sibiling now, but after they encounter sukuna the lil one's hair starts to change color by the few weeks...from its original color to a pinkish color

Ya'll see where im going with this?

[mooncleaver]

it is my greatest honor, loving you

ღ  life may not be eternal, but your love for him surely is

ღ  pairing: percy jackson x gn! reader

ღ  warnings: very much angst, unrequited love obviously, major character death, graphic descriptions of wounds/blood

now playing ⇝ cardigan by taylor swift

my masterlist ♡

"why are you so reckless? you could've hurt yourself out there!" his voice sounded hoarse and tired, as if grains of sand ran through his throat as he attempted to calmly reprimand you. huh, that was ironic coming from percy. coming from a boy who'd sacrifice his own self for the sake of saving the people he loved.

now one might wonder how exactly you got into this situation, barely holding up while you clutched yourself, staring at the boy you came to love, arguing with him.

the battle of the labyrinth had been a tough and devastating one, annihilating a large number of demigods in the camp. it seemed that no one left the battle unscarred, whether physically or mentally.

perhaps one of the biggest losses was dionysus' son, castor, your fellow campmate. he was your friend,—a kind and fiercely loving one—often laughing and joking around together with him and pollux in the pavilion whenever you got the chance to. the earth had cried for him the moment he fell limp to the ground, soul whisked away in the arms of thanatos while the wine god's rage casted a mass of serpentine vines where he lay, the oblique, verdant greeneries prodding at his cold figure.

there were too many precious souls who were lost—among them being the ever-bright lee fletcher, who's light died when a giant brought his cruel demise—and the list only seemed to get longer the more you thought about it. you too, would be lining up for judgment soon enough, you predicted.

it was all too fast for you to fully remember, but one moment you were fighting off a giant and the next you had thrown yourself at a demigod from kronos' army intending to hurt an unaware percy. suddenly you were gripped so tightly on the shoulders, eyes widening with a quivering gasp while you looked down, only to see scarlet liquor leaking out of an obtrusive hole in your stomach, the twisted grin of your enemy patronizing your defenseless figure as you staggered back and clutched the liquid that flowed relentlessly. maybe if they didn't shuck it out as fast as it came in, maybe you would've lasted a lot longer. all you could do was choke out an amalgamation of incoherent sounds, knotting the flannel outer you wore around your midriff; the coil only flared the excruciating agony you were in.

you heard him crying out for you somewhere in the middle of it all, rough-hewn and distinctive among the clashing ores and shouts of rage and defeat. your stubborn head proved itself defiant when you'd ignored his pleas, his voice already fading away as he was dragged into another fight in the chaos. percy didn't see the folk puncturing you, only the aftermath when you stumbled back, your aghast reaction unmistakable to him. and maybe it was a good thing that he didn't know the severity of your condition. that only meant that he would bear much less of a burden than what he was already dealing with.

as dumb as it was, you kept fighting even after being heavily injured. your stab wound wasn't that bad, was it? if you could still stand—barely, that is—then you could still fight. the ringing in your ears only grew worse as adrenaline slowly numbed the pain, your vision turning into dizzy kaleidoscopes with every movement of your weapon.

you hoped your effort contributed something in the battle. somewhere in your mind you knew you'd end up at death's door sooner or later; there was no way you'd reach help in time before the immense blood loss took you away. but if there was one thing you knew, you wanted to be a hero before you died. you wanted to be able to leave a legacy behind, imagining an echoing battle cry before you fell with your dear sword beside you, or to die by protecting someone else so they could live a life fuller than yours. and you wanted to love someone completely, love someone so much that it leaves a searing inferno in your heart, to have a love that makes you go mad, a love that makes you feel alive. even if the one person you gave yourself to didn't want you.

it was something you'd never regret: being percy jackson's friend; loving him along the way, too. it has been your greatest adventure and your greatest honor to know him in this life, from the moment you stumbled upon his lonely figure near the muted docks of the traversing lake to the second you knew you cared for him in a way that transcended your own being. it was one of the most shattering experiences in your life: finding out that he didn't feel the same way about you. that intimate moment when he confessed his feelings about someone else right in front of your eyes; that would haunt you forever. if you could, you would erase that recollection from the depths of your mind, but you cared for him too much to forget that rare vulnerability shared between the two of you. you don't even think you have the will to erase any memory of percy jackson.

you'd cried yourself to sleep that night, wishing that it was all a dream when you woke up the next dawn. but fate has a funny way of working. each passing of her name on his lips chipped your heart away bit by bit, till it turned into a dilapidated mess that barely resembled what it looked like when the youth of discovering your first love coursed through its veins.

but no matter how much heartbreak hurt, loving someone is never a waste.

the two of you would never happen, no, not in a million years you thought. he had already given his heart away to someone else a long time ago, someone who you knew couldn't accept his love right now. it was just agonizing too see the way he would continue to pine after her and end up in the dust when reality came crushing in. still, he never gave up on her. because you simply don't give up on love.

that undying loyalty of his—the one you grew to despise and admire at the same time. you watched the way he chose her over you. every, single, time.

you understood it to a certain degree; you can't choose who you fall in love with. but that didn't make it hurt any less. so here you were now, left with a barren heart while you helped him pick up the pieces of his own.

percy's cry broke you out of your miserable thoughts, befuddled at how you were so accepting of your predicament. of course he would be. he didn't know you did it for him. "σκατά, y/n, you can't just- you can't risk your life for someone else!"

"but i did it for you." the silence became a little too loud, ringing in your ears like a haunted pendulum.

"what?" was his breathless response. his jaw was slowly opening, moving without a sound as if he didn't know what to say. you saw the way his brows scrunched up together, the way his jaw clenched and unclenched.

you repeated it again. "i did it for you."

your face looked soulless, blotches of crimson blooming in petalled coteries on the ivory ribbons wrapped around your body. you had a cut on the vermillion border of your lips, blood slowly seeping back out the more you talked. it was becoming more difficult to open your eyes. your body was screaming at you to lay down, aching with a heaviness in your bones that could not be salvaged. you just wanted to rest, but you wouldn't leave him hanging like that. even if the closure was a painful one, it would be cruel to leave percy without telling him the truth of your heart. at least, that's what you thought. if you were going to die, then you were going to take one last chance of happiness than conceal it and close your eyes with only the memory of sorrow long lasting.

it was almost pitiful, really, the way you were still willing to entertain him even in your detrimental state. your eyes were sunken in deep exhaustion, still laden with mist that glinted as it caught the effulgent flicker lighting up the back of a cabin you could not bother to recognize.

he raised his voice at first, utter confusion and frustration unfurling in his tone until it dimmed out to something much softer, like the barely contained hurt was still lingering. "why?!.. why me?" his timbre earned a softer edge to it, fading into a sotto voce and if you let your hopes get a little too high you might've thought there was a hint of care in it.

you knew if you tilted your gaze the slightest bit at his direction you'd cave into the look in his eyes. it was too easy, too easy for percy to worm his way into your heart no matter how much he hurt you.

..why him?

why not him. it was the easiest thing in the world to do anything for percy jackson. you didn't understand why it was so hard for him to acknowledge the fact that you would actually walk to the ends of the earth for him and retrieve the stars from the sky if he wished. it was him who taught you that love was just as fragile and destructive as it was wonderful and invaluable, him who helped you open your eyes to a world much beautiful than what you'd made of it. and that in itself was worth far more than any materialistic attainment you've ever received. was it because he was questioning his place in your heart? how much you cherished him?

anger and sadness were a dangerous pair, and the pain you felt turned into something that blazed the walls of your heart, burning a path through your line of thought until frustration marred each corner of your mind. why couldn't he understand what your heart was trying to say? was it not obvious the way you were so painfully enamored by him? how dare he question his worth to you?

they say the eyes are the windows to the soul, bearing the deepest and obscure feelings one could have.

if percy wanted to know and wanted to see what you felt so badly, then you would show him exactly that. you looked up to him, arms clenched around your midriff with eyes carrying the heaviest spectacle of sorrow and longing; eyes that bared the weight of a burden held far too long and at that moment he finally understood. understood the utter pain and hopelessness you had repressed, understood why you were so willing to give your own life for him.

"because i love you, goddamit! i love you.."

the tension was more than palpable after your passion-filled declaration. you saw the way he faltered, staggering back almost with the brunt of what you just said. his breaths grew ragged and his eyes moved wildly as if he was searching for any bit of a lie in you.

"take that back.. please we can't- i can't-"

and then finally the words you've dreaded were spoken out of his mouth. a defeated breathe was knocked out of you the second he finished that sentence, burning through your nostrils while it flared the fountain threatening to cascade from your heavy waterline. no amount of mental preparation could've supported you in this moment. you already knew what he was going to say, unfortunately. you saw it in the way he refused let go of her despite the tribulations he faced. it just hurt knowing that your heart thought if the uncertainty of tomorrow was looming above, there might have been hope somewhere in there.

"cant what, percy? accept the love someone has for you when the person you're chasing after so clearly does not give one shit about you!" for a moment you watched the pain morph onto his face, and you knew you'd hit a nerve when you said that. it felt wrong.. so wrong to hurt him, but your anger and desperation got the best of you this time.

"i love you so much that it hurts," you pointed at your chest, borderline hurting yourself as your fists bunched up and tugged on the bloodied orange shirt that sheathed your wounded skin. "it hurts to see you in pain, to see your heart breaking apart when i can't even do anything about it. and i would.. i would do anything for you, but you-.. you don't want me.. and that's okay!" you laughed humorlessly, the sound so harrowingly hollow that it almost made him flinch.

"i'm okay.." you whispered and it sounded as if you were trying to convince yourself that you were not already crumbling.

"but that will never stop making me care about you. that's what love does to a person, percy, and i cant just take it back.." you wiped away the defiant tears that managed to flow down the planes of your face, sniffing the waver in your voice away and trying to look strong so he wouldn't feel so guilty over something he couldn't control.

"no, i wont take it back. because for me.. for me it's enough to know that i've made a change in your life—big or small. i could never regret loving you, percy."

and for the first time percy jackson truly felt like a coward. a coward to walk away, a coward to leave you with a broken heart, only shattering it more when he stepped out of that damn balcony. he felt like a coward for pushing away the unimaginable.

he didn't know that a few minutes later you'd collapsed from excessive blood loss, clutching that untreated wound on your stomach in a last attempt to get to the infirmary. he didn't know that this would be the last words he would hear from you—words that were so incredibly impassioned and sincere. he didn't know the exhaustion the apollo kids felt the minute you were carried in,—battered, mangled and barely pulling through—knowing there was yet another valiant soul they could not save. he did not know that till your last tattered breath you'd thought of him, a serene smile soothing your face as you surrendered to the familiar arms of reclamation that cradled your weightless body while the light slowly faded away.

percy jackson didn't know many things that night. he didn't understand how something so important to one could be snatched away so easily like that, didn't understand why everything always happened the way fate planned it to be. but he knew he'd just lost the one constant love he's ever known; the one that was right in front of him the whole time, offering their heart on a silver platter only to be left decaying the moment you finally decided to choose your own happiness over the resolute of resignation.

FINALLY going back to my roots and writing unrequited love my beloved 🥰

imagine the disbelief and elation i was in when i found this in my wip files.. i don't know why i suddenly abandoned it??

σκατά : shit

[writeshite]

You’re Not So Quick To Love Again

Summary:

You try to ignore the apparent looks of curiosity you garner from the rest of the staff; word of your possible reconciliation has no doubt already become the top story  - it’s more monotonous; if anything, there are moments when Mark almost does something out of habit but stops himself almost immediately. You almost fall into familiar patterns as well, and by the end of the first day of the trial run, you’re adequately exhausted.

Pairings:

Mark Sloan x Male Reader

Tags:

Angst | Guilty Feelings | Therapy Sessions

Words: 2499

Author's Note:

The amount of shit I read for this fic has made me realize my grasp on English is hanging by a thread 😭.

Previous | Series Masterlist

30 days.

30 excruciating days.

It’s awkward, to say the least when you and Mark start the trial run - at the very least, you don’t immediately turn to hostility - that’s not to say everything is peachy keen. Derek, for obvious reasons, is a little skeptical, more so with Mark than with you; George is very much in the same camp as him, Izzy is happy that you’re working things out, and the rest of the staff seems to be divided into either camp or in most cases, neither - simply watching the events unfold. The counseling sessions don’t stop, of course; they carry on as is, but included every so often is a catch-up on how things are going.

“Good morning.”

You’re also talking again, albeit more so prompted by the trial run than anything else. “Good morning, Dr. Sloan.”

“Nice day,” he mutters.

You nod, hmming in agreement as you make your rounds; there are no emergencies for now, and hopefully for the rest of the day. You try to ignore the apparent looks of curiosity you garner from the rest of the staff; word of your possible reconciliation has no doubt already become the top story. You don’t bump into Addison much, even now, and you don’t know if you should be relieved or saddened - it’s more monotonous; if anything, there are moments when Mark almost does something out of habit but stops himself almost immediately. You almost fall into familiar patterns as well, and by the end of the first day of the trial run, you’re adequately exhausted.

The dogs are more rambunctious; it seems; Atlas practically swamps you when you step through the door, Gumdrop not far behind; the usual walk doesn’t do much for them, so you stay out a little longer. It’s not too bad. You ignore the essay-long lectures filling your inbox from Zoe and the phone calls over the week. By the end of said week, you don’t feel less likely to shove a scalpel into Mark’s neck, but at the very least, you can exchange some words somewhat less maliciously.

“How has the first week been for you?”

Dr. Saltzman doesn’t seem to show much emotion in favor of either you or Mark during the sessions - though you think he might be more in favor of you, but that may just be you. “It’s been alright,” you respond, “I’m still angry, but I feel I can somewhat co-exist peacefully now.”

“That’s good.” He says.

“I mean, I’m not over it, but I’m still unsure if I want anything other than whatever this is,” you tell him. “A part of me doesn’t even think any of what we had before was genuine, it felt genuine for me, but I don’t know if it was the same for Mark.”

The creeping thoughts never left; with this reconciliation stage, they returned, you couldn’t even look at Addison without your throat constricting and the memories hitting you back full force. “Do you see your relationship before this as tainted?”

You shrug, “Not all of it….a few moments, maybe…I don’t,” you groan, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize; you’re well within your right to be uncertain; most betrayed spouses can never look past that hurdle and ultimately break things off for good.”

“Should I break things off?” You ask, hoping he’ll tell you what to do, but that’s not his job; he tilts his head and redirects the question back to you. You slump back in your chair and run a hand down your face. “This’d be a lot easier if you just told me what to do,” you quip.

“It would,” he responds, “but then, you’d no doubt come to depend on me for other decisions then, wouldn’t you?”

You groan, “Before, my feelings about him were pretty angry, but the stupid optimistic side of me is resurfacing again; I hate it.” You don’t look at him when you speak further on the matter; the soft spot Mark managed to carve back into your heart is whittling away at your anger. “I miss him,” you can admit that much freely, “I miss his stupid face. I miss the little moments between us, like when he used to wake me up by rolling all his weight on me.”

“Marcus Sloan, I swear to go —”

“My name’s not Marcus,” he remarks, still not moving from his apparently comfortable position. “It’s Mark.”

“Mark…get off…” you try not to laugh, but it is, at the very least, entertaining. 

“I’d push him off me, and then we’d wrestle before getting up to make breakfast,” you recount fondly. “There are times when I’d do something with the dogs, or just mundane, and then I’d turn to talk to him, and I know it’s him because I’d call out for him before….”

It hadn’t been anything major; Atlas had tried getting into the cupboards again, “Mark, get your dog out of the —“ you’d paused, placing a hand over your mouth and shaking your head, then ushered Atlas away yourself. It had been a running joke - when the dogs would make mischief, they’d be Mark’s dogs; you hadn’t done this in so long. 

“Ever since I started this trial run, I’ve been falling back into habits,” you say, “I hate it. I hate myself for getting so hopeful and happy around him again.”

Mark doesn’t think the past week has been anything but good, and he responds to Dr. Saltzman’s question with that. “I’m hoping it’s the same for him,” he adds on.

“Why?”

“Because —sometimes I almost reach out like I used to, but I don’t think he’d appreciate that.”

“True. Have you at all confronted or discussed the affair since it happened with Addison?”

Mark shakes his head, “We…we slept together once after…when Gabriel was around, I think….”

“How did that turn out?”

“When I woke up beside Addison, I remembered the night of the affair,” he replies, “and all I could think about was his face when I saw him again at Seattle Grace —I couldn’t —we agreed never to do it again.”

“This agreement was mutual?”

“Yeah,” he nods, “I haven’t seen much of her anyway.”

“But given your job and circumstances, there will come a time for you to interact with her,” Dr. Saltzman points out. Mark knows this; he and Addison’s specialties don’t correlate that often, but when they will, eventually.

In your next joint session, the topic of Addison is brought up again. Realistically, she can’t quit and love a hundred thousand miles away from either of you, and you can’t ignore her all that much at work if and when you have to work together.

“Since the usual options are out of the question, I suggest a meeting between the both of you, Addison and Derek.”

“Derek?” Mark interrupts, “What does he have to do with this?”

“He was also a betrayed spouse if you remember,” Dr. Saltzman responded, “he’s just as involved in this as both of you.”

“Isn’t that unfair?” You ask. “Derek looks happy; why should we drag him back into,” you gesture between you and Mark, “this?!”

“Would you rather it just be you, Mark, and Addison?”

Ah, so Derek would be a buffer for you, Mark watches as you catch on to the same train of thought, and your expression catches a slight hint of guilt. He wants to assure you it’s okay but doesn’t know if he should or if he’s allowed to. You both stand outside the building after the session ends; you stare at the sky for a second and take a deep breath before bidding Mark goodbye.

Mark isn’t looking forward to work the next day, he’s tempted to call in sick, but he doesn’t - slugging into Seattle Grace, the usual stares and whispers accompany him. “Good morning Dr. Sloan.”

“Good morning to you as well, Doctor,” he greets you. “How are you after yesterday?” You don’t usually exchange more than a brief greeting, but Mark thinks he should at least ask after you; your response is twofold - first, your expression is shocked, then tired, and second, you respond, voice laced with equal exhaustion.

“A little tired,” you reply, “should have called in sick.”

“I wish I had,” he remarks.

You respond to that with something of a snicker, shaking your head lightly. It’s not much, but Mark smiles a little in kind. Your happy snicker replays in his head long after that, and his memories decide to make an appearance - moments between the both of you start to replay, but only the happy moments, the kind that has the guilt trickling back in. When you smile at him again or talk to him without malice, he feels it amplify, accompanied by another feeling - fear. The same kind he’d felt when he’d woken up next to Addison the first time - what if he fucks it up again? There are moments where he asks himself if it's worth it, his part is far less painful than yours, and he wonders if it is better to cut this off and remain familiar acquaintances. But a selfish part of him doesn't want to let go; those feelings of inadequacy Dr. Saltzman had mentioned feel like they’re choking him. 

There are nights he considers just emptying his pockets at Jo’s, he almost does, but Jo practically shoves him out the door with a warning, “No drinks until you get yourself sorted out.”

He’d like to thank the man but is mildly irritated by the gesture; the temptation of losing himself in a drink or two isn’t quite as overpowering, unfortunately, so he opts for lying face-down on his couch. Which, of course, leads to him overanalyzing every little interaction between you and him.

You’re happy, he thinks, but would you be happier if he ended things? You had Gabriel, but that doesn’t look like it’s going anywhere, or could it? He can’t ask Gabriel, and he doesn’t know how you’d react if he asked you, so he shelves that away.

“What if he can never trust me again?”

Dr. Saltzman purses his lips, “While I hope it doesn’t come to that, you might have to continue assuring him long after reconciliation.” Mark feels himself deflate; he wants to cry, but why should he? He’s the reason things are like this in the first place. “As I’ve told you, communication is key, Mark. If you don’t feel like you can do that, then communicate that, and alongside that, be patient.”

“He was hurt; he may not feel ready to be intimate or close to you in any way, but that also applies to you. You may feel ready to be with him from the get-go, but guilt is a very powerful emotion. Don’t put your own needs on the back burner, either.”

“But I was the one that cheated —”

“Bending over backward is not the way to earn forgiveness,” Dr. Saltzman sternly reiterates.

Mark runs a hand down his face at the memory. He’d had the words practically at the forefront of his thoughts, “Bending over backward is not the way to earn forgiveness.”

“Bending over backward is not the way to earn forgiveness.”

“I don’t think I deserve a second chance.”

Dr. Saltzman does a pretty good job of keeping his face neutral enough to assure Mark, and curious enough to coax further details from him. He would love a second chance - to shower you in kisses, draw you close again, and just be able to be yours again - but he doesn’t feel like he deserves it - he’s had your expression practically printed in his mind. He can’t even begin to imagine what your expression must have been like when you’d gotten the news of his infidelity. 

“I think –I think he could do better,” he begins, “I’ve seen it, he’s amazing and kind, and any guy would be lucky to have him. I had him, and I fucked it up.” The words sound more like Gabriel’s than his, but it’s true.

“You’re a lucky man, Mark, a real lucky man. Congrats on the engagement,”

Maybe he should take up Estelle on her offer of conversation or something; aside from Dr. Saltzman, he hasn’t talked to anyone else about this - not that anyone’s gunning to be his shoulder to cry on. 

“Don’t make a decision for him either, Mark; you might think you’re in the right, but you won’t be.”

Easier said than done, the temptation to just drop off the face of the earth is tempting - you’d be free - the feeling surfaces during the next joint session. “Did you ever sleep with her before then?”

The answer’s no. He had never dreamt of it before then, and even with his words being true, he was not a fan of answering some of the questions. “Was she the only one?”

“Yes.”

Your eyebrows furrow and you appear doubtful, glancing away for a moment. “What happened that day?” Mark’s now confused; you know what happened, he says as much, “No, I mean, tell me what happened,” you demand.

Mark’s not proud that he ran out of the room; he’s not proud that he called in sick and practically lies face down in his bed. He was sure he’d be able to do this without stumbling over himself, but hearing you ask about the affair had somehow made his shut down - palms clammy and mind racing as he tried to find the words. He’d spoken of it before with you, but those conversations had been full of rage, and he’d only ever had to divulge as little information as you could bare, but now, you were demanding everything. He thinks most of it is tucked away somewhere in his mind; he’s even less proud of the fact that he calls up Addison for the first time in who knows how long. 

They meet up at some cafe out of town, miles from you, Derek, and anyone else that might think they’re reconciling. Addison looks downcast, picking at her nails as she glances anywhere but him, “We need to talk.” There’ll be another talk besides this, with you involved, but this one’s more to help Mark, help him piece everything together and have it ready for when you ask him again.

“He asked me to tell him everything about that night,” he begins, and Addison lets out a shaky breath. “But I ran away —I —Addison, I need your help to —” There’s no easy way to ask your affair partner to help you piece everything about said affair so that your betrayed partner gets an answer with no contradictions. 

“We slept in mine and Derek’s room….”

They go over minor details repeatedly, details he’d never thought to have been important; he types it all down and makes a copy in case the original is lost. He reads it over and over again - until the words are intertwined in his thoughts until they paint his eyelids, and they’re all he can see when he blinks.

End Note:

This chapter was the death of me istg. Stay Hydrated.

[ijwrff]

Are you still taking requests for stuff? If you are do you think you could maybe write a Yandere Actor Mark x reader?

I despise him. So much. But also??? He kinda fine??? Final verdict is he's a nasty man no one should love. Yet most of us (cough cough maybe me) can also love him.

Word Count: 1,225

Everything about him, his smile, his cheesy jokes, the way he always brought roses of your favorite color to your dates…just enticed you. He was kind, and you fell for Mark hard after a good while of dating. The dances, candlelight dinners, cooking together and even just relaxing at the park. 

He was perfect. 

Today was like any other, and you decided to stop in and surprise him. You’d been working out of the city for a week or so, and weren’t due to be back until the week following. You shared a place, but you often traveled for work. He was all over the place as well, but he had sent a snap that day while he was on a jog in the neighborhood you lived in, so you knew he was home. A good day as any to stop by and surprise your boyfriend! 

It was getting dark when you got back, but there were a few lights on in the house. Mark was always so bad at turning them all off. In his words, “We don’t need money. Why should I bother with lousy electricity bills?” That was always followed by a cute laugh. You adored this man with all your being. 

You wanted to surprise him, though. That was the whole point. He scared you by sneaking up on you every once in a while, and laughing when you jumped. This was only payback! If he could do it, you could too. At least that’s what you kept telling yourself. 

You walked through the house, knowing one of his recording rooms was in the basement. He said it was easier for sounds to be picked up on his microphone in there, which made sense. You turned off the lights as you went, checking every room but the basement knowing he’d be in there. He tended to be a very loud man, especially when he was excited. So knowing that, you knew right away he wasn’t in any of the upstairs rooms. 

You weren’t prepared for what you were about to see, but really…who would be? 

Entering, you heard a weird sound. If you had to describe it, it would be something akin to tearing open a watermelon. His laugh broke through the silence, so you didn’t think anything was wrong. But something about his laugh had you second guessing everything in your relationship. It sounded ominous, dark. Cruel. 

As soon as the door closed, all the noises stopped. “Mark?” You called, carefully walking down the stairs. They were positioned against a wall, with another on the other side. So there was no way to see anywhere else in the basement until you were at the very bottom. It took a lot of courage to walk down those stairs, calling out his name once more. 

You should have never gone down there. 

He replied in a surprised voice, “Oh baby! You’re home! Go ahead and get comfy up there, I’ll be up in a bit!” And he was completely silent after that. No noises. No remotes clicking, no talking, no footsteps…nothing. It struck you as very odd. 

But it was too late, you were at the bottom of the stairs. You turned the corner to see what he was doing and the scene before you…gave you the feeling you wouldn’t get the chance to live long enough to forget it. No matter how hard you try. 

Body parts, presumably from multiple people, were laying all over the place in that dark and cold basement. Some stuffed into big trash bags, and readily prepared cement blocks with ropes tied to them filled the room. The smell was something you never thought about when you watched a horror movie, but it stained your nostrils and you felt the urge to vomit. 

“MARK! WHAT ARE YOU-” You couldn’t see with all the tears in your eyes, and looking at him, you saw an expression you’d never seen on him. Half lidded eyes, and a wicked smile on his face. 

“Oh…you stupid, stupid bitch.” He laughed, although it was anything but the pleasant laugh you had come to love. It made your skin boil, and the hairs on the back of your neck stood straight up. Everything in you was screaming to run, but you were frozen in place. Looking into those eyes you used to stare at, even from across the room. 

He stalked closer, and there was really no better word for what he was doing. Calculating, almost dancing to an intricate tune that only he could hear. It was as if he was giving you a chance to run, but with the knife in his hand, you knew that was never an option. He was tall, lean, fast, and above all…he knew you better than anyone. He knew that you’d never want to upset him. Even…if it meant there was a detriment to your own health. 

“Now why did you have to go and ruin my fun, huh?” He reached you, as you were frozen in place. He trailed the blade along your cheek, and thrust it upward, prepared to strike you, but all he did was hold it there and laugh when you flinched. 

“It’s alright darling…You were always fun. You’re gonna love what I have in store for you.” He cradled your head in his hand, before shoving you backwards into the wall. It hurt, but the little bumps and bruises it would have left you were the last things on your mind. You were going to die here. That look in his eyes told you so. 

“Mark…why?” It was all you could make out. “Was everything we had…nothing?” You wanted to look at him, but after all he had done he didn’t deserve that. You wanted to see his kind eyes and smile one last time, but there was no possible outcome that would ever allow that to happen. Those eyes were gone. 

“Why, why, why?” He mocked you and laughed, as he knelt down before you to be on your level. “Because it’s fun.” It was cold, simple. Coming directly from a psychotic bastard that had you fooled this whole time. “You wanna know something?” Those final words were sweet. In the tone you loved. Happy, carefree. 

You looked at him this time, and it was like some kind of scene out of a scary movie. Surreal. Immeasurably heartless. “It’s all an act, sweetheart. It always was.” He stood up, and spun around for dramatic effect. “Do you know how many different ‘partners’ I have in how many states? Nearly all of them. Always saying,” He used air quotes, “Let’s keep it between us, I don’t want to pull you into the lifestyle” he continued, “Yada yada yada.” 

“You aren’t special.” He turned to you, and sighed. “But you were fun, I’ll remember you. Might even go after someone who looks just like you, and I can remember aaaaallll the fun we had in this room tonight.” He stepped closer, and if you could recoil back anymore you would have. 

“Now…” He took the knife, and he placed the tip right below your eye. “I always liked your eyes. A real shame they’re about to lose all their color.” It crept closer, and you closed them. 

You didn’t want to see what he was about to do to you. 

[darkdevasofdestruction]

Ahh!~ You have no idea how happy I am to see someone write for Death Mark. For such an interesting game, it's seriously underrated.

Anywho, could we get Yashiki and Mashita's reactions to their s/o waking them up to some breakfast in bed, please? 💚

This is S U C H an adorable request, I’m in love!! <3 Also, yes, I’m so happy whenever I see people who love the series! It’s so, completely underrated, but soooo good! <3

MASHITA SATORU

He’s so tired all the time, always on the go, always puffing on his cigarettes, that I’m pretty sure Mashita forgets to eat 90% of the time.

And if he DOES it, it’s most likely something he bought from a gas station in a rush, and only if he felt faint and the coffee wasn’t keeping him on his feet anymore.

Definitely a disaster man, though he wants to keep the facade of keeping things together like a responsible adult, still up and running.

But he’s not fooling you, of course.

Because he’s always up so late at night, he hates waking up in the morning - And considering he doesn’t have a job anymore and he’s a freelancer private detective, his schedule is pretty much flexible.

So sleeping in it is!

It’s perfect for you, especially if you have a more stable time-table with work or studies, because in the morning, you can always leave him a little surprise...

Even if you’re just as much as a disaster as he is, waking up in the last minute and just washing your teeth, brushing your hair and putting on some clothes and running out of the house, 15 minutes on the watch.

During the rare times when you actually have the energy to wake up half an hour earlier than needed, you make a coffee and put a mug by his nightstand, hoping that it would still be a bit warm when he wakes up. If you’re feeling extra good, you’ll even make a sandwich for him -- And hopefully one for yourself as well!

On the even rarer times when you have a laxer day though, it’s when the good things actually happen - Not only do you get to get some proper sleep, snuggled up in his arms, but when you wake up, you have enough time to admire that beautiful face of his and then prepare some proper, warm breakfast for him.

It’s times like these when you feel your heart swell with love and you can’t help but want to smother the man with all the affection you have for him, and just spoil him to death.

Whether you know how to cook or not, whether be it a heated sandwich, an omelette, some eggs and bacon, fruit juice or a coffee, all placed beautifully on a tray and brought over in bed.

You’d wake him up with a sweet kiss on his forehead and a whispered “Good morning, my love”.

Even if it’s not the first time you surprise him with a breakfast in bed, he’ll still be so shocked, but as the tough cop that he is, he would simply give a sleepy half-smile and even a breathless chuckle as his way of thanking you.

He knows that whenever he receives this kind of spoiled treatment, he gets to spend much more time with you, and he’s going to cherish it, and you, of course.

Completely different to his usual stoic and pragmatic self, he’d get quietly clingy, though not speaking a word to you unless he’s properly woken up - 

And when he does wake up, he’ll tease you here and there, yet still be more affectionate than during most days.

It’s only such moments when he allows himself to take a step back, keep work out of his mind and treasure your relationship properly.

After going through the whole Death Mark incident, he’s learnt, though only in his heart, that he should hold onto and appreciate the people dear to him, and even as a quiet protector type, he’s going to show you a bit more obviously that he loves you more than you can ever imagine.

And then, when you fall asleep in his arms, when he’s 100% sure you’re deeply asleep, he will plant a kiss on your forehead and tell you how much he loves you.

-----

YASHIKI KAZUO

With Yashiki, things are going to be a bit different than with Satoru.

First of all, though both men are complete disasters, Yashiki is even more of a scatterbrain - Responsible and well-intentioned, but still a scatterbrain. Before and After the Death Mark incident.

It doesn’t matter to him whether you’ve known him since his Masamune days, or during his memory erasure and you call him Kazuo - Since so many people call him Yashiki nowadays, he just got used to it and adopted both names equally.

Unlike Satoru, who forgets to eat because of work, Yashiki forgets to eat... Just because. He doesn’t even drink an excessive amount of coffee, or puff 10 packs of cigarettes per second... He just... Forgets.

Even more, if he knows that you’re not eating properly, he will go out of his way to make food for YOU - And NOT eat any part of it himself, because he’s a dumbass.

You will have to at least remind him to eat and drink some water, otherwise, who knows how he’ll survive... Honestly.

Still, he would often bring you breakfast in bed, so much that it’s almost like a daily ritual and it’s almost impossible, with your fixed schedule, to find a day when you can wake up before him and have enough time to properly pamper him as he so much deserves.

But when finally, that opportunity arrived and you were the one to steal that tray and fill it with so much food and various types of beverages, and even that single flower in a small glass trope, he was so overwhelmed!

Coffee, water, three types of fruit juice, toast, scrambled eggs, fried eggs, boiled eggs, bacon, small sandwiches, grilled cheese, milk and cereal, yoghurt with fruit and granola - All piled up with no empty space.

Don’t get him wrong, he’s so happy, but his eyes just can’t seem to tear away from all that appetizing food, and his mouth is agape, unable to mutter a single word.

It isn’t until you offered him a sweet “Good morning, darling. Hope you enjoy your breakfast.” that he finally wakes up and smiles up at you.

Still, there’s a ton of food, so he’ll get you in bed, snuggled to his side, the try in the middle of you so the two of you can share the meal... And hopefully, finish it, eventually.

He really enjoys getting this pamper-treatment from you, but even more, he loves spoiling you and having this intimate time with you - A serene bliss with no words needed - Just a peaceful and beautiful morning.

[emberstoriesandtales]

Can I request a male reader who is a client of Yashiki's giving him a small handmade charm as a thank you gift for helping the reader with the family ghost and promising to help Yashiki wherever possible.

Ooo ok, I did make these gender neutral headcanons cause I usually do gender neutral now for my writings and I was struggling with how to start the request off. I hope you enjoy these headcanons!

◇ After Yashiki purified the spirit of Hanayome, you were thankful that your mark was gone.

◇ However, when you saw Yashiki still had his mark, you wanted to stay with him and help him get rid of his mark.

◇ This didn't make Yashiki happy since he knew someone who had the mark before can get it again, and he didn't want you to put yourself in anymore danger because of him.

◇ Not wanting to leave, but did anyways at Yashiki's request, you decided to give him a charm as a form of thanks to him.

◇ You told him that if he needed any help, even if it's just research, that you are able to help.

◇ Yashiki would have to take you up on the offer sometime since you were a huge help in the Hanayome case.

◇ And the charm you made for him, he would tie it onto his bag as a lucky charm, so he would carry it with him whenever he goes somewhere.

[theknightmarket]

It is 02:03 for me right now, I'm scripting the second part to 'Mirror, Mirror', and I have lovely, conflicting emotions. 1) I am Tired. 2) I am so appreciate of the support I received and the want for a sequel. 3) I hate Actor. I hate him so much. He's just sooooooo, just, ugh. I hate him. I need to talk about this, but I don't want to spoil it, so just understand that he is so, he's a bitch.

[rreeaahh]

We are both filthy now | R. A. B.

Third chapter of "One way ticket" | Ch. 1 / Ch. 2

READ THE AUTHOR NOTE, THANK YOU.

taglist> @my-beloved-fandoms

pair> regulus black x lestrange! reader (slytherin)

summary> a birthday party means, for most people, a way to celebrate your existence - for purebloods, however, is a good way to spent time together with their master. regulus and y/n are not fond of the event, but no matter the traumatic experience they both go trough, they are still enemies - and y/n should've know that.

word count> 4.5k (wtf)

warnings> some type of angst; slow burn af; family toxicity; female discrimination; description of getting the dark mark; regulus hitting reader's hand; not proofread!

a/n> hi m'loves<3 do not forget that the tag list is open, feel free to ask to be added! im sorry for the long wait, it was one tricky chapter to write and from now on im gonna stop hunting the perfection, ill just enjoy writing. im more than happy to see all the notification from you on this series, and im beyond grateful - ill love to read your reaction, it makes me incredibly happy and helps me write. any comment is more than welcomed<3 any reblog helps this series to get to more people and it only takes a minute to do so. thank u for reading, ily all<3

Dear Y/N,

I hope my letter finds you well – your cousin’s pathetic owl is one lazy bird, let me tell you, but Rodolphus seems to be quite fond of it, and won’t let me get a new one.

Anyway, I write to you in hope that you’ll make me the pleasure to attend my birthday next weekend – I already spoke with Rodolphus and your father and they assured me you’ll come, but I still think it’s better to write to you personally.

We’ll also have a little meeting, besides the party itself, so I’m sure you’ll find it rather educative than a silly simple ball – do not worry, I know you tend to get anxious when surrounded by people you don’t know that well, but my cousin Regulus is coming too! I’m sure you two young purebloods will have all the fun you need.

Don’t worry writing me back, just come along with Regulus back from Hogwarts. Your presence if the only gift I need.

                                                                                                      Lots of hugs,

                                                                                                                                    Bellatrix L.

Y/N puts the letter on her desk and grabs the other envelope – this one also has her family’s wax seal, the L and the raven on top of it sending her chills on her spine.

            Y/N,

Don’t even think of not attending Bellatrix’ party. You cannot let this family down. Your cousin, Rabastan, will wait for you on the Platform 9 ¾, since me and Rodolphus have a lot of work to do for the meeting. Saturday morning, no later than 10 A.M. The meeting will be at our house.

                                                                                        Don’t disappoint me.

                                                                                                                        Cyrus Lestrange

She scoffs and lets the paper fall from her fingers. She was only a child when her cousin, Rodolphus, married Bellatrix, Regulus’ cousin. They were the youngest at that party so all the adults expected them to spent time together. Truth is, however, that Regulus was shy and quiet and only stayed by her side, listening to all of her questions and never responding back. After the wedding, when her father seemed to be so pleased with little Regulus, with his manners and his obedient nature, Y/N decided that she hated Regulus Black. He was just a little prick, and she decided that she’ll be better than him – always.

As her roommates are deep asleep, Y/N stays at her desk and watches the two letters. She grabs again the one from her father and watches how the flame of the candle on her desk dances on it, the paper getting warmer and warmer, until it’s lit on fire. She hates to keep her father’s letters – it’s like she’d want to ever see them again.

With the burning paper still between her fingers, she gets out of her dorm and walk on the dark corridor of the Slytherin Girls’ Wing and goes to the Common Room, where the fire seems to be burning with green flames. The Black Lake is silent behind the large windows, only the water’s movement being heard. She throws the letter in the chimney and smiles at the sight of the fire eating up her father’s words. It’s like she’s watching him get eaten up by the flames.

“It’s late, Lestrange.”

Y/N jumps on her feet and gets a grip of her night robes. The light green material covers her body now that she’s tugging her fingers into it. From the dark green sofa, Regulus Black watches her with a bored expression. He was reading a book and in front of him, on the small black table, is a cup filled with tea, she could guess.

“Always staying in the shadows, like a rat,” Y/N mutters and walks to him, staying on the couch in front of him. While she sits down, she lets the robe fall from her shoulder, exposing the skin. She’s dressed in a dark purple pajama set, made out of silk, and the little string of her tank top falls with the robe. Regulus seems to notice the bare skin just exposed and he gets his eyes to look at her face fast, before she could sense his gaze. He feels… disgusted.

“Always speaking like you own the whole place,” he talks back and smirks, “when we both know it’s nothing like that.” His voice is flat – no matter his facial expressions, Regulus Black always had a boring voice when he’d talk to her.

Y/N just watches him for a second. He’s still in his Quidditch equipment, even if the Slytherin team came back from practice a few hours ago. His hair is messy, his eyes are circled by a dark color, in comparison with his light skin, and he looks tired.

“Why aren’t you sleeping?” she lets the question escape her lips without even thinking.

“I could ask you the same thing, if I really cared,” he says and grabs his cup, drinking slowly from it.

“Don’t flatter yourself, Black,” Y/N laughs and puts her hands over her chest. Regulus notices that, too. “I’m sure you got an owl from Bellatrix.”

“Yes, Bella wrote me about her birthday. Unfortunately, if you’re telling me about it, it means she wrote to you, too,” he says in a quiet voice, letting out the air in his lungs.

“She’s part of my family, too, Black,” Y/N says and surprises herself – she never gave that much importance to the family relations. She only had herself, at the end of the day, no matter how much her father would scold her for being an absent member of the House of Lestrange.

Her father never really showed her love – he was meant to be her father, but he was just a kind of legal tutor who raised her and was responsible for her well-being, and her cousins looked down on her – she was just a silly girl, meant only to bear children and get more powerful connections for her family. Her uncle and her aunt were distant, and maybe that was better than giving her reasons to hate them, like the rest did.

“Please, do not remind me – I still can’t get over that.” Regulus seems annoyed, bored, tired of her presence. And, yet, he stands there, face to face with her, watching each other – studying each other with such attention like they’re looking for a weak point.

“Why are you such a hypocrite, Regulus?” Y/N suddenly asks. He just smiles in the corner of his mouth, grabs his cup of tea and gets up from the sofa.

She feels him getting closer to her and in a second his breathing is hitting her face. “Don’t act like I’m the only one putting an act on, Miss Little Perfect,” he says amused.

Her brows drop. The skin on her forehead wrinkles and her eyes watch his, wanting to see behind them – they are empty. “I know you look up to me, Regulus, but there’s no need to remind me,” now she’s the one to smirk, and he’s the one to frown.

“Please,” he scoffs, “I wouldn’t look up to a pathetic orphan even if you’d be hanging out from the ceiling,” he mutters and gets back up on his feet, looking down to her. Regulus is not the tallest boy Y/N knows, but that position gives him a more decent posture.

“That orphan is better than you,” she whispers. “That’s why your momma always prays the ground I walk on, right?” she laughs and she can sense his body getting alarmed by her words. “My dad just wanted an heir, someone to get his name far – but Walburga wants more than that, right? Now that Sirius, your disappointment of a brother, left, she only has you, but she doesn’t seem to be fulfilled,” the air leaves her lungs when Regulus drops the cup of tea and gets on top of her. The liquid spills on the stone floor.

His hands grab her bare shoulders, his leg is between her hips and he presses her body into the couch. Her back is arched into the plush material of the sofa and her eyes widen at the proximity. His jaw is tightened and his breathing is deep while Regulus watches her face with a spark into his eyes. “Do not, ever again in your filthy, pathetic, good for nothing life, talk about my family,” he mumbles and his grip only gets tighter – his nails digs into the skin of her shoulders like he wants to rip it off.

Y/N shoves him away and quickly gets up from the couch. Regulus is on the floor, right into the tea puddle he made, and he seems to be caught with his guard off. “Do not, ever again in your pathetic, sad, good for nothing life, call me an orphan – I have a family, Black. The blood in my veins is just as pure as yours, and my name is just as important as yours.”

And she leaves him there, into the Common Room, to take a bath into his own mess. She needs to go back to sleep – tomorrow she has to go back home and get ready for a birthday party.

The whole night she tried to forget Regulus’ hands onto her skin – her shoulders felt like burning, like they got marked by his touch. She tried not to think about the anger in her soul the whole ride back to London, when she was forced to be in the same wagon with Regulus – apparently, they both wanted to travel into the Prefects’ cabin. At least, they both kept their mouths shut and didn’t even looked at each other.

She didn’t have to have a very warm welcoming back home – Rabastan waited for her at the station and kept his eyes on the road the whole time. He only asked about other Slytherin kids in her year and some older ones – he wanted to know if she was behaving well enough towards them. Once she got to enter the big mansion she called ‘home’, there was chaos – all the house elves were running left and right with platters, candles, flowers in their hands and all of them stopped to look at her and welcome her mechanically. She just got up to her room and closed the door behind her. When she dropped on her bed, there was silence – there was no longer Regulus Black, or Cyrus Lestrange or any other dumb man who made her angry.

Once she woke up, she started to get ready for the gathering she was forced to attempt. She got dressed in a dark grey dress, elegant enough not to make her father a fool and yet, simple enough not to make Bellatrix feel left out – it was her birthday, after all.

“There you are,” says her father as she gets out of her bedroom. “I thought you’re still asleep.”

“I was getting ready.”

Cyrus looks her up and down in a judgmental way – he points to her neck. “Make sure the chain is visible, nothing else.”

Y/N forces a smile and a hand travels to the gold flower at her neck. “Yes, father.” He gives her his elbow and the two of them go down, where the elves decorated the whole floor with black and purple roses and white candles. There’s a long table near a wall, right at the fireplace, where are plates with food and glasses of expensive champagne.

“Here,” Cyrus whispers and gives Y/N a red box, and before she could question his action Bellatrix is right in front of her, laughing happily.

“Y/N! I’m so glad to see you, how are you?”

Bellatrix Lestrange, nee Black, is a very… bipolar witch. Once, she’s loud, smiley, in a good mood, and then she acts like the Devil himself. Y/N could never figure out why her cousin, Rodolphus, wanted to marry her – there were plenty of purebloods who wished to be married to him, but all his attention was on Bellatrix ever since they were in school together, despite the fact that she didn’t show any kind of interest in him during those years. Now, Rodolphus would do anything Bellatrix asks without blinking twice.

“Happy birthday, Bellatrix,” Y/N smiles and hugs her in a soft manner. While giving her the small box, she can see her cousin behind his wife, watching them carefully.

“I told you there was no need for gifts,” Bellatrix says and gives Rodolphus the box to take care of it. “I assume you just got down here,” she continues and grabs her hand, getting her away from her father – he doesn’t seem concerned about that. Cyrus always said that Bellatrix was a good wife and that Y/N had a lot to learn from her. What he did not know is that Y/N really wanted to learn a lot from Bellatrix – she wanted to know more about the power a witch could hold.

“Yes,” she said and looked around her own house. It was full of wizards, all of them being purebloods and talking to each other with a clear superiority in their voice. “I hope I’m not late to the party.”

Bellatrix scoffs. “The true party begins only when he gets here,” she smirks and Y/N freezes, knowing who she’s talking about. Tom Riddle was certainly not her favorite person, no matter how much he convinced her father that she will be a good daughter for him.

“Wonderful,” she manages to say and walks beside Bellatrix to greet her guests. She smiles and greets Bellatrix’ parents and gets a deep breath when her aunt and uncle come to wish her a happy birthday.

“Y/N, how are you, dear?” Walburga asks and kisses her both cheeks. Bellatrix seems busy talking to her uncle about the upcoming meeting, while Regulus sits behind them and only listen. “How is school?”

“It’s good, wonderful, even,” she smiles and Walburga laughs happily. “I’m working on some essays for Potions and Transfiguration, maybe they’ll be published after I finish school.”

“Did you hear, Regulus? Y/N plans to publish some essays after graduation,” she scolds her son and now his attention is on them. He only smiles to his mother and she goes on with the talking. Neither of them seems to be truly focused on what she’s saying – they look at each other like they’d snap each other’s neck if they could.

“Regulus, why don’t you invite Y/N to dance?” Bellatrix pops between them and her aunt claps her hands satisfied with her proposal. “You know how much joy it brings me to see you two together, Reggie,” she continues and puts her arm around his shoulders. He looks at his cousin with doubt in his gaze – she made them dance together at her wedding, too, like they were some monkeys to entertain the adults.

With a silent scoff, he forced a smile in his cousin’s direction and looked shortly to his mother, who only seemed to tell him the same thing with her eyes. “Shall we dance together, Y/N?” he asks and gives her his pale hand.

No matter how much she’d like to hit it, getting it away from her, she grabs it lightly and smiles. “With pleasure,” she mutters and the adults all clap their hands and smile in their direction as they go to the center of the room, where other people are dancing slowly.

Bellatrix flicks her wand and the room is now filled with a more vibrant music – they smile to each other and Y/N’s skin is burning under her dress where Regulus’ hands touch her. He cups her hand into his and the other one rests on her back, bringing her closer to his body. She has a hand on his shoulder and they both move synchronically to the rhythm.

“You disgust me,” he whispers into her ear, sending shivers all over her spine.

A big smile appears on her rosy lips and she looks behind him, where her father is beside Orion and Cygnus Black – they all had firewhiskey glasses in hand and talked with serious expressions on their faces.

“The feeling is mutual, my dear Regulus,” she mumbles and steps on his foot, careful to put the heel right into his toe.

“Then, you could’ve save us both and deny Bellatrix’ stupid wish.”

“On her birthday?” she scoffs. “Yeah, right, you tell her no, I like to be alive.”

Regulus lets a small chuckle out and before she could look at him, he spins her away for a second. When her body is back into his arms, her vision is blurry. “You better keep your mouth shut during the meeting,” he says in a cold tone.

“Why, Reggie?” she mocks the tone Bellatrix used. “Scared the Dark Lord will see more potential in me than in you?” She’s joking. On Merlin’s beard, she’s only trying to piss him off.

“Tonight is my night and you better not do anything to steal it from me,” he spits the words into her ear. Her skin becomes ice cold and all her blood runs faster into her veins because of the way he presses his fingers into her back. “I warn you, Y/N, stay in your place,” he mumbles and when the music changes, he lets go of her and smiles, before going away.

After some hours, the chaos in her house begins to cool down – the guests start leaving until there are only the usual people. They all sit at the long table, talking about some things that happened in the Muggleworld and how unacceptable they were – for someone who said they despised the muggles, they sure talked a lot about them. The conversation dies when the chair at the end of the table is occupied by the tall, dark haired wizard. They all rise from their sits and greet him with joy.

“It’s good to see you too, my dear friends,” Tom Riddle, Lord Voldemort says and he shakes her father’s hand. Her lungs take the air in with great difficult, given the fact that there’s only a sit between the dark wizard and her. “I assume I need to apologize to Bellatrix,” he speaks and looks to his left, where the witch smiles from one ear to another. “I did not bring any gift with me, Bella,” he explains.

“You are my greatest gift, My Lord,” she says and from her left, Rodolphus and Rabastan just nod their heads. “Your presence gives us hope for a better future for us, the right titled wizards,” she continues and everyone agrees.

Bellatrix is one of the most loyal followers the Dark Lord has besides Cyrus Lestrange and the rest of his friends from when they were in Hogwarts. He saw the potential in her, just like he saw it in Y/N.

“Then tell me, which is the reason of this meeting?” Voldemort asks and looks at every face at the table.

It was not Y/N’s greatest pleasure to sit at that table from time to time – her father thought it was good for her future to assist those meetings, but they were incredibly boring. There were many parents of her housemates and from other kids from school, but not even a single person her age – that until Bellatrix brought Regulus to join her. Apparently, he was quite a fan of that man because of his cousin’s stories.

“We think it’s the time to welcome another wizard between us, as an official member, my Lord,” Lucius Malfoy speaks and his voice is just as annoying as ever.

“Oh, really?” Voldemort smiles. “And who might that be, Lucius?”

“My cousin, my Lord,” Bellatrix says and points to Regulus. “Regulus is one of the most dedicated wizards to your plans,” she continues and the air leaves Y/N’s lungs.

Looking over the table to Regulus, she could see Walburga smiling proudly while he just looks to Tom Riddle. “My Lord,” he says, “I swear I’ll serve you with every power I have.”

“Then come closer, young Regulus,” the dark wizard says and plays with his wand between his fingers. The boy gets up on his feet. From his right, Cyrus Lestrange clears his throat. “Yes, Cyrus?”

“My Lord,” he begins, “I was not aware that the Death Eaters were open to new members.”

“We always have free spots for the one who wish to serve our believes,” comes his explanation.

“In that case, I’m sure you’ll agree with me that Y/N is just as worthy of getting the mark as young Regulus is.”

Her heart stops beating. What did he just say?

“Right, Y/N?” his father touches her back, forcing her to look at him. His eyes are desperate. There is no way, in his opinion, that his only child will not be recognized as a worthy follower of Lord Voldemort.

All eyes are on her. She can feel them. However, she does not care about them – the only ones that matter are her father’s, and the one from across the table who looked down at her.

“Yes, My Lord,” she says that quietly that she barely hears her own voice. Her father pats her back and goes back to Voldemort. Y/N can’t gather the courage to look at Regulus.

“You said she was worthy from the first day you saw her, My Lord,” Cyrus says. “You said she will be a powerful witch, with a great future – how is she supposed to be powerful if not under your command?”

Voldemort smiles pleased. “You’re right, my old friend. Come, child, let me get a better look of you.” Her father looks at her and orders her to do as asked just with his eyes. Do not disappoint me, hesays with his burning gaze.

Mechanically, Y/N is on her feet and walks behind her father, in front of the sick looking wizard. His hands are cold, like he’s dead, when he touches her jaw. He looks at her like she’s some kind of animal that needs to be inspected.

“Are you willing to follow my orders, whenever you are needed, child?”

There’s a knot in her stomach. She wants to say no. She wants to leave that house and never come back. She’s scared.

“Yes,” is the only answer she can give in return.

“Very well,” Tom Riddle smirks satisfied and gestures to Regulus to come closer too. They are now next to each other. She can hear his breathing from her left and her knees are about to go numb. “Who wants to go first?”

Before she can say anything, Regulus already has his shirt lifted from his left arm and brings it closer to the man. Y/N can hear the soft scoff of his father.

“You need to swear to always serve me, boy,” Voldemort demands, the tip of his wand pressed into Regulus’ arm.

“I swear, My Lord. Whenever you’ll call for me, I’ll be there, ready to do everything I’m capable of for you,” Regulus speaks.

With a big grin on his face, Voldemort begins to press the wand deeper into the skin, until Regulus grabs his arm with his free hand. From under his skin is visible a dark smoke that lingers there, running like it’s chasing his blood. His nose is twitching from the possible pain, but besides that, his expression is blank. When the wand is lifted, the Dark Mark is on his white skin. There is silence, like the rest would wait for him to scream. His parents have a proud expression on their faces as Regulus watches the crowd with a blank, serious stare.

“Your turn, Y/N” Voldemort says after a few seconds and puts his hand out there to grab her arm. She lifts the sleeve of her dress and looks at her father – Cyrus Lestrange watches her with a demanding manner, like he’s forcing her to go closer to Voldemort. Which she does.

“I always knew you’d be a great witch, child,” he says with a proud tone in his voice. He wanted her to be his weapon. “Say you’ll serve me without question, Y/N. Let the others know that from today, you’ll become one of the most powerful followers of mine.”

“I do, My Lord,” is the only thing she says like she’s hypnotized – her body doesn’t listen to her commands, it acts on its own.

The wand is cold against her skin, but as soon as Voldemort presses it harder into her arm, a burning sensation hits her entire being – she needs to grab her arm in order not to get it away from the unspoken spell. The black smoke feels like venom and she wants to scream from the bottom of her soul. Instead, she just bites the flesh inside her mouth, the taste of blood blooming from her cheek. When the wand is lifted and the mark is done on her arm, too, there’s silence again – and when there’s no screaming, all the Death Eaters gets up and start to applause them, to congratulate them.

“That’s the best birthday ever!” Bellatrix laughs maniacal and jumps from a foot to another.

She still has her left arm in her right hand, looking at the black drawing on her skin. She’s too afraid to touch it, like it could burn her fingers. Two arms wrap around her in the noise and she’s hugged by her father. Cyrus Lestrange hugs his daughter, and a single tear rolls down on her cheek.

“Good job, Y/N,” he says in her ear. “Now you’ll show everyone what you’re made of.”

She gets slightly away from him and she can feel the vomit sensation grow in her stomach. While everyone clink glasses of champagne and laughs with joy, she excuses herself and leave the dining hall.

She could not see Regulus in the crowd. She needs to see him to be sure it was all real. And she finds him on the corridor near the bathroom, at a balcony with a view to her garden. His shoulders are moving up and down and his breathing is accelerated. If she didn’t know any better, she wouldn’t guess he was… crying. She stepped closer to him slowly and put her hand on his back.

“Regulus…” she said softly and tears started to form into her eyes, too. What have they done?

“You couldn’t contain yourself, right?” he screams and turns around to face her. “You got to be the center of the attention tonight, too,” his voice is full of hate, which she ignores when she sees his wet blood-shot eyes. Her hand tries to touch his shoulder, wishing to show him… empathy?

“Regulus…” she mumbles again and her voice is hurt. Maybe they are in this together; she just needs to explain everything.

“Don’t put your filthy hands on me!” he says and slaps her hand away.

Y/N doesn’t know what hurt more – the slap, the burning feeling in her arm or the fact that she thought that maybe, just maybe, Regulus was willing to show her kindness then, when it was clear that neither of them was feeling good with their actions.

She looks at his hand – the one he slapped hers with – and at his arm. His left arm.

“We are both filthy now,” she says with despair and turns around, leaving him alone.

[cozyenigma]

Blind Date

Word Count- 954

Request?- Yes!

Summary- This date was turning out to be one of the weirdest ones you'd been on. You had thought it'd at least make a good story for later but...

Tag List- @cookielover0001010 , @swag-droid , @watchoutforfrostbite

Warnings- offscreen death, unnamed character death

You were beginning to think you'd been catfished.

Not only did the man across from you Not look like the photos you saw online, he didn't act the same either. This guy carried himself way more confidently than you got on first impression. Then again, it was just texting over a dating app so you could have had it wrong.

"So, what do you do?" You asked just as your food arrived.

The smile was needle sharp and despite the bustling, lively restaurant, it put you on edge.

"Oh I'm an artist. Nothing noteworthy enough to make it mainstream but I've got my own loyal following, you could say."

"Yeah?" You tried to push past the anxiety anyways. "What kind of art?"

"Sculpture. And anatomy."

He took a long, careful sip of his wine. You thought he definitely looked the part of an artist. Black and dark red suit, perfect hair and dark sunglasses. Well, maybe an eccentric one. Deft fingers plucked a steak knife from the table as he studied his plate.

"What I'm more interested in is you," he points the knife your way before spinning it around in his fingers and cutting into his steak, "tell me everything."

"Oh, well," you were put off by the sudden change in topic, "I'm not all that interesting, really…"

His steak was very rare.

"Nonsense. Everyone has a story." He took a bite, taking a few thoughtful moments to chew. Despite the dark glasses hiding his eyes, you could somehow tell they were picking you apart.

"Everything alright?" He asks, smiling slightly.

You tensed, realizing that you hadn't said anything

"Sorry, just, saying to get prepared for a real mediocre tale," you tried to lighten the mood.

As you talked about yourself, the man across from you watched with rapt attention. He didn't even look away from you to cut his steak. You saw your own anxious eyes reflected back at you in his glasses. He didn't respond much. Just cut his steak into bite sized pieces and chewed.

You talked about your job. His knife scraped against the plate. He chewed thoughtfully.

You talked about your hobbies and interests. Scrape went the knife. He chewed longer this time.

You talked about where you grew up and your family. Scrape. Bite. Chew.

Finally the awkwardness started to get to you. The noise of the other diners wasn't enough to make up for the void that was sitting across from you. As you opened your mouth to ask him a question, anything to get more of a conversation, he spoke.

"Is it not good?"

"Huh?"

He lazily points his knife towards your plate with a smile. You'd hardly touched your food.

"No, no, it's- it's as good as always," you tried to keep under wraps how off putting this date was turning out to be. "How about yours?"

He hums and dabs at his mouth with the napkin. "Spectacular. I'll have to remember this place for next time, right?"

"R-right," you didn't know how to politely tell him there wouldn't be a next time.

With a smile, he leans onto the table a bit more. "I do have one question though… what exactly are you looking for tonight?"

Did he mean…? You felt your face heat up in embarrassment. "Well I mean- I don't know yet it's- not anything casual but- bit early to tell right?"

The man tilted his head slightly, bemused. "Right… I suppose so."

Just as he went to continue, you heard a phone ringing. From the annoyed look on his face you could tell it wasn't a welcome call. Your date silenced it immediately, setting it back on the table and getting back to the conversation.

"Anyway-"

Only for it to ring again.

Anger plain on his face, he checked the phone again and sighed. It was odd. You watched him almost drop the annoyance and anger like a mask.

"I'm terribly sorry but something seems to have come up. I'll call you next time, okay?"

You nod, having no intention of answering, "Right. Is everything okay?"

"Oh, only a small issue, don't worry," he sets a rather impressive stack of bills on the table considering the price of the meal. "Have a lovely night, darling."

With that the oddest date you've ever been on walked out of the restaurant without another word.

And that was the end of it.

You didn't think much of the date beyond a weird story to tell friends. Another odd adventure with online dating and all. He never did call or message you. You certainly weren't going to message him. In time you'd almost forgotten about that fateful night.

Almost.

Because you'd happened to see a news story. One of a body found in the back of an alleyway not far from the restaurant. The picture on the screen was the exact same one your date had had on his profile.

It didn't take long for the police to turn up and question you. On the surface it was just because you'd had the last known contact with him. Then it was all about that date.

His phone, wallet and keys were never found.

The thought that made your stomach turn was the apparent time of death. The detective had told you that your date had been dead for an hour before your meeting time. You still had messages from him after that.

Or at least from who you thought was him.

The thing that got to you the most, though this was just rumors, was how the body was found. Despite the blood and the decomposition, the corpse was posed very deliberately.

Almost like he was meant to be a statue in a museum.

[rose-edith]

Angst Drabble:

“I should have married you.”

The words fell into the air, hanging between him and the ghost of you. He was drunk, an empty bottle of bourbon hanging from his fingertips, dangling dangerously; no doubt he’d drop it in a moment.

He fell to his knees. The wet grass squelched and cushioned the heavy fall as he went down like a dropped sack of potatoes. The impact hurt, but buzzed by the alcohol, dulled by the raw grief Jethro didn’t feel a thing. Just empty. So empty.

“I should’ve married you. I should’ve saved you.” His words were howled into the darkness, swallowed by the thunder and the rain. Blindly his fingers traced the fresh lettering on the gravestone. He could almost feel the ghost of you tracing the tracks of his tears, brushing them away, but then it could’ve just been the slight chill of the wind. He was so heavy, so weary.

This was a loss that he would never recover from. An entire future gone. Gibbs didn’t know how he would manage to live on.