#slightly unsettling watching him just completely fall into bloodlust | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

xo-cuteplosion-xo · 3 years

Text

Falling from grace for you.

(this wasn’t requested, and I should probably be catching up on those XD)

|Dazai x Female Reader|

This is a darker (that’s an understatement…) and longer (very long) piece than what is typically written on my account. It’s taken from one of my current ongoing fics.

Warnings: Dazai’s typical antics (his jokes of suicide, making light of suicide, disturbing thoughts) depictions of severe gore/violence. Mentions of darker themes: torture, implied abuse. Some slight out-of-character actions. A large amount of insanity, questionable thoughts, and in the end suicide. Seriously, I warned you this piece is dark as hell

Heavy angst without a happy ending. (starts getting very dark/disturbing/unsettling under the cut.)

~You have been warned, enjoy the angst love~

Words-5,081

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

Hiding behind clouds, scarlet red glared down in shimmering beams. The night was given a red hue, a contrast to the normal silver peeking past the darkness. A male, in his early twenties, fiddled with the edges of his coat. Its tan folds, keeping his body from feeling the frigid atmosphere. His finger lightly traced the white, slightly dirtied fabric of the cotton wrapped around his arms. As unusual as it was, most of the agency had stayed past its usual hours of operation. A feeble sigh remained stuck in the man's throat, a sigh that could tell the others he was troubled. He was a man of many mysteries and unsolvable puzzles. The empty hue of his coffee-stained eyes closed the door to what he felt. That was if this man was capable of truly feeling much at all.

Taking a seat on the couch, his mind trailed to the thoughts of a woman. If he dared to admit the wrongs of his life, maybe the situation they were all in would be… different. Maybe, just maybe, this case would have been solved in seconds. It seemed even Ranpo had met his match here. Of course, the only reason he had met a roadblock, was for the same reason nobody had claimed the pool of money placed on his past occupation. His name was Dazai, Osamu Dazai. Sure, by now, the people around him knew what dangerous job he had in the past. Ranpo had probably finally deduced he was somewhere up in the ranks. He doubted they knew just who he had been, doubted they knew the full extent of the crimes he had committed. If they knew surely Ranpo would have said something or given signs of distrust. If Kunikida knew there would have been insults thrown and judgments made. He’d probably be in jail if they truly knew the details about him.

His eyes self-consciously looked up to the clock, his eyes flicking with the smallest flame of confusion. His fingers ran to his pocket, pulling out a phone that wasn’t used for work. The way he rushed to check for a missed message caught the attention of several co-workers. They were all used to his slacking off, even when he was working, he appeared to be relaxing. For instance, this entire time, from the moments spent staring at the window, to the second leading to his hands gripping his phone, were all moments that involved his mind. A plan carefully piecing together. He happened to be the only one who could solve this case. After all, he knew you. The details of this case, the ones that had no evidence, nothing to deduct anything from. By now, he was sure Ranpo knew that too. The only reason he hadn’t been questioned was the uncertainty of how he was involved.

There had never been a day when you missed sending the nightly text. Now, he always received a text no later than 9 PM and no earlier than 8:45 PM. Every day for 6 years, he received the same question. You would ask him when he’d be home, what he’d like for dinner. No matter what the message was, you never sent a text shorter than 2 words. Never screwed the grammar up, nor did you ever leave a text unfinished. Not only was it 9:05, but the text was also missing. He was almost tempted to call you, feeling a panic settling in his stomach. The two of you had so many unspoken feelings between you. He knew you were not really missing, you had run away just over six months ago, after all, you had wanted freedom from the chains of your prison. That home, which had never truly been home. He restarted the phone over and over again, maybe he didn’t have enough service, maybe he was overthinking things? As much as he wanted to believe you were completely fine, he knew something had truly happened to you.

It was his fault, in the past, he had been such a bastard, there were people all over wishing to find a spot in his inhuman mind that would cause him to bend down like a dog; he hated dogs. If somebody ever found that he and you had more than just a business relationship, there would be hell to pay. Having known each other since his mafioso days, you were always a danger to be caught around with. He still remembered the way you had met, the only woman who had not given in to his womanizer ways. The only person on this planet who understood his mind. Your ability, as long as he didn't touch you, told you everything that his mind was reeling under. The pressure of his deepest regrets, the dying, screaming agony that wrapped his heart. So, it was only natural that in his new world of light, he had come to see you differently. This woman who had impacted his life just as much as his dead friend never ceased to surprise him. The way she stayed silent about her own troubles, the way she revealed only what she could with him. The way she remains smiling, like him, despite sharing the same pains that crushed him. He had asked her once, a few years back, to join him in a double suicide. It had been a joke, but the laughing, smiling expression that you wore as a mask had fallen. Those eyes he came to adore fell to replicate his own expression. So used to the word no, his heart nearly shattered when you chuckled darkly and ran a finger over the sleeves of your shirt. The way it acted like it traced scars broke him. The simple sure that whispered from your lips led him to stand shocked. Few people in this world managed to surprise him, so seeing you turn his thoughts into scrambled letters in a scrabble game had him panicked.

Just as he was about to start panicking over your lack of a text, a simple ding echoed in the silent room. The breaths of every agency member halted, it seemed even Kunikida paused to see what this man was up to. For what felt like the first time in his life, that unsettling pit of despair that laid deep within his gut overtook his consciousness rationally. His fingers expertly unlocked his phone, dragging the notification bar down to click on the text that came from your number. That pit that he had been feeling since he left the apartment today rose to consume his mask. Pure, discernible fear placed itself within his irises. The dilation of his pupils, followed by the sweat that fell from his forehead, gathered a panic within every member. Laying on his screen a simple message that he’d never wanted to see; a simple help. The time was now 9:15, Dazai’s hands shook as he tried to remain calm, keep that personality of his from rising past the new him. There was nothing he wanted more than to slip into the darkness of his alter-ego, the original him.

When things that belong to him, things that he deeply connects to are hurt or taken from him, he can’t help but become a monster to protect such things.

Another text followed as he tried to keep himself together. If you want to see her alive, find us within the hour demon prodigy. To send such a thing from his belladonna’s phone created another crack in his expression. Unfiltered rage poured from his eyes in fiery streams. His hands nearly cracked the delicate glass of his phone. Clicking the phone off, he set it down. Walking to his desk, he slammed open every drawer. Nobody spoke, they only watched this man rummage around his desk. His stoic eyes were now full of dreadful emotions. The aura this man was giving off dragged the somber room into a dark state of horror. It was as if a serial killer had walked into the home of its unsuspecting victims. The only thoughts with their heads were of concern for the coworker, whose laid-back attitude had disappeared in seconds. Was this how he was in the mafia? That question suddenly popped into some of the heads turned towards him. One girl sat next to an older boy. The teenage child tilted her head at the recognition of the room's mood. The mood resembled the still air that she’d experienced in the mafia. When she was nothing but a worthless assassin, she had seen this happen before. Whenever a high-ranking mafioso walked into a room, one known for their bloodlust and demonic ways, such as Akutagawa, the room felt heavy and sticky with fear and worry. While this was different, it had that same tingle.

Dazai pulled out a pistol, why he still had this was a question even he couldn’t answer. It had been the one he used in the mafia. Slamming it on the desk, his hand traveled for other items. Grabbing a container of pins, he set that down along with pens in both black and red ink, a notepad about the size of his palm, a file, and lastly, the girl's photo. He grabbed his phone again, this time walking to a computer and downloading information from it. It was easy to get the location of which the texts were sent. If the GPS was correct, her phone was currently several blocks from the house, after moving within the three minutes, it took him to search the drawers. The text had been sent from inside their apartment. Popping the pen lid off using his teeth, he rushed to a map. His mind had blocked all consciousness of the world around him out. The unadulterated need to find you and save you from harm, or in the worst case, death, controlling him. Never in his life had he felt this way for anybody. No subordinate, no friend, no co-worker, no enemy had ever filled his body with so much emotion at once. A man normally dragged on by only logic, a man who discarded his heart for his mind now laid within the opposite. His emotions controlling his thoughts, his heart pumping within the hundreds as he raced against the clock. Marking every move possible in his head, he scanned over the map once, twice, and even a third time. His lips curled into a nasty snarl as he realized how you had been caught.

On your way back from working that bar, you had been followed into the apartment, heard the noises, and texted him a quick plea. You're meant for it to be longer, but hardly had time to send help. No capitalization, no punctuation, and help had been misspelled. A simple typo only your terrified fingers could manage. Then when they realize your phone is unlocked and laying on the floor after knocking you out, the attacker had sent him the warning. With that scenario, he became completely encased in displeased anger. His eyes scanned the map with frustration, trying to narrow the possible routes down. He used the black pen to mark the important events with times. He marked everything from his leave to the current second. Using the red pen, he sketched a draft of the route being used. The phone had been carried as a distraction. Any person of his mind would instantly disregard that route. But without Ranpo needing to point out which route was most likely, he tapped it with his finger. Crossing out certain marks as he intertwined all three routes to come across the place he’d met you. An amused, almost ironic snicker parted his lips as he tugged his jacket tighter around his body. His hand using the small notepad to jot down the location. Not for himself, but for the others in case they decided to follow him.

Walking to his desk, he grabbed the pistol, its weight nearly disgusting him. A conflict parted through him, his promise to Oda, then your life. Looking towards the ceiling, he sighed. He’d visit his grave later to apologize for breaking his promise. He had all intention to kill, whether it’s called for or not. “Dazai, what is going on.” Kunikida's cold voice cut through the heavy atmosphere.

Snapping back as if only now realizing the other existed, he fell to look at Kunikida. The look he gave was full of nothing but emotionless despair. With a simple response, he walked over and dropped the file on the desk. “Taking care of this case… alone.” The last word was spoken with an emphasis as if to warn them. This case was tied to his past actions.

Making a full 180, he dramatically raised his hands and spoke with nothing but a childish facade. “If I’m not back before midnight, my dreams have come true!” he hummed before walking out of sight.

Now that he was alone, that facade dissipated, and he sighed walking briskly down the streets. It didn’t take him too long to arrive at the building. An abandoned shipping room that provided a perfect height for suicide. He smiled slightly at the thought. Yes, that would be so much more relaxing than this. Simply taking your hand as the two of you fell gracefully in each other's arms. Then with no pain, the two of you would part from this meaningless life and find peace. His hand touched the door, pushing them open, the red glimmers of light, provided by the blood moon, filtering in through the now open doors. He whistled to signal he was there, and as his feet stepped inside, the doors closed and latched behind him. A trap well fit for him, but he already predicted such. “You really did go all out to catch me off-guard. It’s too bad this really isn’t much~.” he purred the words calling out to whoever laid within the shadows of the building. Tracing steps of the two men behind him, he ducked before grabbing two fists of hair and slamming their heads together. “Now, I suggest you give her back.” His voice became cold as he held himself straight, brushing his hands against the tan fabric.

Instead of a vocal response made of words, there was only a light laugh. With a sudden glare that nearly blinded him, the light turned on in only one specific spot. The middle of the room glowed with vibrant white light. Revealed by the sudden change was a body. Slumped against a chair with the smallest rising and falling of the chest. A piece of cloth wrapped around both your eyes and your mouth, successfully gagging and blinding you. Around your waist lay a thick rope that was most likely tied in the back, and was coated in duct tape to keep you secured to the chair. He assumed your wrists were bound behind the chair, judging that they were not loosely hung by your sides. The rope around your ankles was wrapped around several times. Already your body was showing forms of bruises. Blood trickled from your nose and your head. Your clothing was in tatters, the white lace of your bra showing in parts. It was as if your attacker had tried inflicting as much pain as he could. Perhaps you had woken up from the pain before passing out. He could see the wet stains on your cheek, probably from the feeling of pain. He went to take a step forward and pull out his gun, but before he could make much movement, a gun aimed itself at you. His eyes flared, and he looked to the man who had taken you. The time was now 10:05 PM. He had arrived exactly at 10 PM. within the hour the text had said, so logically speaking he had 10 minutes until an hour from when the text was sent to now.

So where had he gone wrong? Why did that gun fire at your stomach? It missed anything vital, in fact, it was a spot he knew well. Fyodor had once had a sniper shoot him in that exact spot. He knew it wasn’t lethal, but the blood loss could kill you. That death would be slow and painful. It was pure luck that you had been shot there, that gun was meant to put you to death.

Never in his life had he lost to his emotions. Even in his moments of insanity, he had never acted rashly. Even when he shot a dead body over and over, he had not been completely lost. He had relished in the enemy’s pain, but he was not lost. He understood his surroundings. Even as his lips parted and cusses left his lips and insane demonic laughter parted his lips, he tried keeping his mind together. His left hand covered his eye, the eye he had once kept bandaged for no particular reason. His right hand fumbled for his gun, before snapping his eyes back to the enemy. “You really shouldn’t have done that~” he hummed taking steps closer. “Were you expecting me to fall and weep? If this is revenge over something I did in the past, I hate to tell you… I don't remember a single one of my past victims. I mean that would be a ton of people to remember. Between the murders and the blackmail along with all the other crimes I’ve committed, I would never remember anybody who held no importance.”

With the room's descent into a hellish atmosphere, your attacker tripped falling down. Dazai walked to you and brushed a finger over your cheek. “It’s alright, I’ll save you.” Maybe this possessive protectiveness this event had induced could be classified as slightly yandere? He would never lose you, your happiness was of course important, but this feeling was beyond normal rage. He walked up to the cowering form of your attacker. He guaranteed the man's death would be painful. He normally wasn’t this violent, even in the mafia he carried out his assignments and assassinations quickly. He hated pain himself, so it was natural to show some pity when it came to physical pain.

All that went forgotten as he approached the shaking male. He fiddled with the trigger of his pistol, before shooting both of your attacker's hands. Watching as crimson carefully spill and the shriek of horror, that twisted Dazai’s heart with pleasure, echo within the walls, he smiled. The smile was created from pure insanity. Without a shred of remorse, he glanced at you before his foot lifted to slam against the male's jaw. He did it once, twice, and thrice. When his foot shoved the man's skull down to the cement flooring, he laughed trying to keep control. His emotions were slowly wrapping dark webs around his reason. He knew that was enough, that he should stop and lay down a final blow. He knew he should do the right thing, which would be to slam some cuffs on this man's wrists. Yet, in the back of his head lay a voice telling him this man deserved a punishment far worse than a jail cell he’d likely be out of in a few years. This man deserved death for hurting you. There was only one light in his life, that light was you. Losing that light would break him. There was one fear for this man, that fear was losing all hope. Plummeting into true pain, a life without you would be empty. It would be too much to go on. He’d toss away his ideal death to escape the chains of this mortal world. He’d accept death, whether there was an after-life or not. As the thoughts ran rampant inside his head, his decision was made. No, this decision had been made the moment his slender fingers touched the metal of this discarded pistol.

Kneeling down, he got into the man's personal space, his hands clasped behind his back as if this were one of his many interrogations. “Tell me, when you laid the first blow on my belladonna, what were you expecting would happen? Was it A, you thought you would manage to bring me to my knees? Or maybe B, you thought your actions would have no consequences because the feared demon prodigy was now an ex-demon prodigy? You thought you would be able to act out revenge by taking the one thing he clings to. People are easy to read, when they are terrified for their lives their life story is portrayed through their eyes. I wonder, would you beg for mercy if I gauged them out?” the sadistic curl of his lips leading to the crack of his fingers echoed in the room. The only other sound to challenge such a disturbing noise lay the whimpers and shaking chatter of the enemy. “If you want forgiveness, then beg for it.” Dazai's lips quickly fell to a snarl as his finger ran from the man's cheek up to the base of his eye socket. Already pushing with pressure, he waited. Just before his finger could start any damage, the man's words leaped.

“I’m sorry, spare me!” he would shout more and more pleading for his life. Dazai merely laughed, running his other hand over the man's lip before dragging it down over the man's neck, imagining the sight if he were to take a pin and drag it along the skin.

“Did she plead for you to stop? How many times did she beg you not to hurt her? Did you do more than simply hit her?” he knew the answer to that already, which is why even if this man pleaded and begged and swore his life to Dazai, he’d never make it out alive. “If you're honest, I may… be gentle.” A lie, a believable cunning lie all for you. He was doing this for you, all to take revenge for you.

“No!” the man screamed for only a moment before Dazai dug his finger into the socket, letting blood soak the tan of his coat. Flinging his hand to the side, the excess blood splattered.

“Too bad, I knew you'd lie to me anyways. Humans are truly despicable creatures, aren't we? Was it fun? Listening to her beg for you to stop? Did she ask you to just kill her already? Did you keep her conscious just to traumatize her? Tell me, did you think I'd let you go?” lifting his foot, he slammed it against the man's chin, sending him into the wall. Watching the stone crack and small pebbles fall, he walked over with nothing in his eyes.

His thoughts were blank.

His expression is blank.

His mind blank.

His heart… full of anger and merciless vengeance.

His hands, despite lacking the same strength as some of his opponents in the past, snapped bone after bone. He tore through the skin until the floor was coated in blood. The game continued until the man bled to death. When Dazai noted there was nothing left, he stared and watched in satisfaction. That was until a groan made its way into his ears. Slowly, he turned around to look at you. Your head had shifted slightly, but small drops of crimson were now dripping down from your abdomen. Pulling the bloodied knife from the corpse, he rushed over to cut you free. Letting your body collapse into his he hummed. His mind was still gripped in insanity. He slid down to the ground, running his blood-stained hands through your hair. “I came for you.” A half-hearted smile lifted his lips, but your voice did not respond. Your eyes still remained closed as he laid you on a clean spot of cement. He lifted the tatters of your shirt just enough to view the wound.

With a hesitant movement, he grabbed your wrist. The pulse was seeming to slow down. “Fuck…” he cursed the word under his breath as he came back to his senses. As if coming from a trance, his eyes scanned around. A single drop of water left his eyes before more came crashing down. He grabbed your body and pulled it towards him. Cradling you as he whispered an apology.

It seemed as if an eternity had passed, but in reality, the time was 10:35. Hardly half an hour had passed since he arrived. You would last another twenty minutes before that tiny wound became a problem, and you died. He knew this fact, and so he searched his pockets for his phone. He’d disappear before anybody got there. He’d sound as if he were running. He’d stage something to hide what he had just done. Everything he’d worked for could be unraveled soon. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, hoping you'd wake up, so he could tell you what he wanted to say. Even as he gripped the phone and dialed his co-workers, all he wanted was to look into your eyes. The eyes that reflected himself. Before he could hit the dial button and start the call, those metal doors which had been sealed shut opened. Light filtered in from the moon and flashlights. The click of guns pointed at the two of you.

Dazai glanced to the side before hiding you behind him, still protective over you. Until he heard the sound of a familiar blonde's voice, he would not let you be exposed to danger. “Stand down, he’s… one of ours.” Kunikida yelled, before storming in with the other members behind him. They had all seen him rush out, the state he was in… it was only recommended by Ranpo they call in some officers just to surround the building. “Dazai...” Why was it so hard for the blonde to speak? Had he truly believed there was a shed of moral sense within his work partner? “Hands above your head… step away from the girl.'' It was a plea more than an order.

Hesitation wasn’t something he normally dealt with. Dazai looked back to you before realizing the smallest movement of your fingers. Immediately he grabbed your hand. A warning shot echoed missing his head by mere centimeters. It wasn’t like he cared though, a bullet could kill him right away. There would be no pain, so what if it wasn’t suicide. At this point, he was fed up with living in a world like this. He was tired of not having a purpose. The only purpose he had was to protect you. He’d managed to fail that too. So without any emotion, he waved dismissively. “If you shoot me, you know I won’t care right?” There was silence as a gurgled noise escaped your lips.

It was relatively fast, your eyes shooting open as your hands reached to grab your abdomen. Nearly screaming out in pain until your eyes adjusted and noticed Dazai. Relief flooded into you as your body weakly reached for him. He let out a relieved choked noise, similar in sound to a sob. He cupped your cheek with that feeling in his chest before another warning shot fired. This time missing him by even less and cutting it close to your hands. Terrified your body reeled back.

Dazai put your safety first before comfort. So despite wanting to kiss you and finally express the feeling he knew you were aware of, he stood up and raised his hands above his head. Walking towards the lights, he kneeled and hung his head. He was rather surprised with how gentle he was pushed to the floor. The feeling of metal clasping his wrists wasn’t new. He’d been caught many times before this. Of course, he always escaped, returning to you. If he tried that now, he knew he risked your safety. Yet your shrieks passed the air as you were grabbed by two officers. Watching from the sidelines with solemn looks stood the rest of his co-workers. Atsushi, a young male orphan, Dazai, had been saved from starvation and death, couldn't understand what was going on. “Why… Dazai, why?” he whispered far too soft to be heard.

As Dazai was pulled to his feet and led away, you were left to scream and ignore the pain of blood gathering in your throat. No matter how much splattered from your lips you screamed for him. You struggled weakly against the arms of the officers. The blonde who had cuffed Dazai walked to you. Kneeling to your level, your eyes moved to read him. Using your ability to see his emotions, personality, and troubles. He was a good man, one who had strong morals. Only at that did you react and calm down. Letting a woman who shared his presence and whose aura you trusted heal you. “This is… my fault,” you whispered, finally feeling warmth fall down the soft skin of your cheeks. As a brunette looked over the crime scene with anger and disgust, he deducted everything within minutes. It was done by Dazai, and there were things he didn’t understand, but he knew enough to locate why this had happened.

“Please… don’t lock him away! If I had been stronger... if I had listened to Dazai’s advice none of this would have happened!” Despite being the victim of all of this, you couldn’t help but blame it all on yourself. “We still haven't gotten to try out the method I found.” gripping the sides of your arms, you looked up with the same expression Dazai often wore. The startled expression of his co-workers was expected. “We may have succeeded this time.” You whispered the words softly in your head, before passing out from exhaustion once more.

Dazai never ended up in prison, he’d slipped away the moment he could. All of this had been in your line of expectations. Walking into the apartment to see Dazai reading the suicide book had you running over to express your love in the form of asking him the question he always asked you. “Shall we commit a perfect, flawless double suicide?” you asked before seeing an excited glimmer in his eyes. Taking your hands in his, he nodded.

On that fateful night, two months after your abduction, two bodies were found. Cuddled close together under the sheets. Their bodies cold and pressed closed. A swift easy death within slumber.

#bsd #dark bsd fic #bsd x reader #bsd angst #bsd x reader angst #bungo stray dogs #bungo stray dogs x reader #bungo strayd dogs angst #bungo stray dogs x reader angst #dazai #dazai x reader #dazai angst #dazai x reader angst #dark dazai fic #dazai x y/n #slight dark content #mentions of abuse #heavy gore #seriously this is dark

129 notes · View notes

amayamiyaki · 4 years

Text

Artwork by @emilyisnursebaymax

Characters/Pairing: Shisui x Sakura; eventual Uchiha x Sakura; Sasuke

Title: Bewitched [Part One]

Rating: General

Bewitched

The woods surrounding Konoha are beautiful in every sense of the word.

They lie friendly in the day, with their evergreen needles and their redwood trunks. But at night, they’re darkly ominous. The endearing chirrups of gold-winged sparrows are nonexistent, instead replaced with the trills of crickets and the rattle of cicadas. A low hanging fog settles in, swirling mischievously at Sakura’s feet, while pathetic streams of moonlight dapple through the thick canopy. It's so dark now that the pitiful flames of her lantern are nearly swallowed whole and the only thing keeping her from stumbling are the outstretched hands of the surrounding trees and the unsettling churning in her gut.

To step into the embrace of the woods so close to the witching hour, is to welcome darkness, because these woods are thieves. They rob visitors of their senses—blinds them in exchange for the ears of a wolf and the nose of a rat. Envelops them in a claustrophobic entanglement of shadows and susurring branches. And sometimes, if the woods feel impish enough, the woods take more than that.

Ignoring the anxiety constricting her chest, Sakura carefully reaches for the holster draped at her waist and pulls out her panflute. The woods grow hushed as the first notes of her song carries through the void. There are no more crickets, no more birds. Not even a whistle of wind. Only her footsteps and her melody. Her song is low, ominous like the entirety of the woods, with quivering down notes and eerie high ones, and to the untrained ear, it nearly sounds like true fairy music.

Sakura diverges from the rutted path, turning right then left; her cloak sways with her movements, its frayed ends dancing around her protectively. She can feel the dirt packing between her toes as each step sinks the soles of her feet into the earth, and while jagged roots bite into her skin, it's nothing she isn’t used to. And the deeper into the woods she goes, the more she feels like she’s being watched. Her cloak brushes against bodies that may or may not be there, shadows morph and wings flutter.

She can taste the mischief in the air.

Carefully adjusting her basket and lantern so they dangle from the crooks of her elbows, and with her grip on the flute tight, Sakura allows her free hand to float at her side as she walks. She caresses the outreaching brambles and low-hanging leaves in hopes that her touch will appease the woods’ growing apprehension of her, stopping only when the rocks and dirt make way for fairy rings.

Her melody soon lifts into a more tranquil tune as the woodland fae giggle and sing in approval. Their fairy music joins her own, accompanied by the fluttering of wings and the appearance of squirrels; she doesn’t look down as the fairies breach from the chests of their hosts, fully aware of the danger she’s now in.

Because as beautiful as fae folk are, they’re ten times as dangerous.

Carefully, as not to break her song, Sakura sets her basket and lantern down, exposing the blueberries and quartz she brought as offerings, while scanning the void for any signs of life. A crow watches her, its head jerking curiously as it observes her. Decayed leaves crumble beneath heavy paws. A thousand eyes weigh her down while a million whispers ghost her skin.

She plays on, ignoring the playful tugs to her rose tresses and to the scarlet threads of her cloak, and she doesn’t stop even as magic scents the air. It compresses, fluttering around her with moonlit glitter, kissing her knuckles as she plays. Splashes of watercolor and silk constellate her vision, making her nose twitch and her belly drop, but she refuses to fall to the fairies’ mischief.

It’s only when the flame from her lantern abruptly dies away that she ends her song. Her breath shakes but she doesn’t show her nerves; Sakura stands tall with her chin tilted high and her shoulders straight.

Because the woods has accepted her offering.

“I call upon the gift of air,” She begins, bringing her hands to float at her sides again. A trickle of air intertwines with her fingers. “Gusty winds and breezes fair.”

Sakura smiles to herself a little more confidently as the tails of her hair tickles at her nose, kicked up with the breath of wind that drew by. The leaves shudder overhead, scattering decayed slivers of orange and red amongst the void. She closes her eyes, and says loudly, “Carry this witch’s greeting across distant lands—take flight! A hearty welcome for a familiar, I invite.”

A crow squawks and a wolf howls; the wind picks up, making her cloak lash out with a ferality that comes with an angry fae but Sakura is not deterred.

She furrows her brows and huffs defiantly, brushing aside the amused songs of the surrounding fairies as she continues, “Fae of the forest, hear my plea. Come forth and seek me, and equals we will be. Not master to servant, but familiar to familiar. To protect and honor, always and forever.”

The woods are alive with the presence of fae folk. Gold eyes appear from across the void while fairies creep from the bodies of their birds and the bark of trees. But no one approaches. And in the blink of an eye, the woods becomes just that—woods. Just knobbed trunks and crickets.

The fae are gone. The wolves disappear. The crows are silent.

But Sakura waits. She waits and waits and waits until she can’t anymore and it infuriates her because she knows the spell was correct. The fae acknowledged it. They heard it, responded to it. So then why—

“To protect and honor, always and forever, huh?”

Sakura stiffens, startled at the sudden voice around her and tries to whirl around only to find herself frozen. Hands settle on her shoulders for a moment before one slowly drifts down her arms with a feathery lightness that evokes chills in their wake. It travels to her wrist, encircling it, keeping her just out of reach of the dagger at her hip while the other hand ghosts along the curve of her neck.

She tries to ignore the breath on the back of her neck and the overwhelming scent of caramel and Hellfire that envelops her. “To protect and honor,” She reiterates, calm despite the fear winding down her spine. “Always and forever.”

Whoever—or rather, whatever—is behind her hums. “Forever is a long time, Witch.”

Sakura swallows the lump building in her throat. "I'll have you for however long you'll have me."

His responding laugh and the way he drags his fingertips down to her wrists raises a garden of goosebumps along her arms, and it's not completely pleasant. He opens a hand, palm up just below her own while the other lifts a strand of hair. "Your name?"

Sakura smiles to herself, shoving aside the uneasy shiver that threatens to crawl down her spine. She knows their tricks. She can hear the mishief in his voice. To give her name is to welcome trouble, because who knows what the Fae will do with it?

And the way his hand hovers, waiting like the hand of an expectant child, he's not asking out of formality.

"You can't have my name," Sakura says. "But you may call me Sakura.

The Fae's chuckle is a warm one full of summer evenings and pine trees, thunderstorms and something dangerous. "Oh I like you," He laughs, brushing the pads of his fingers against her knuckles. "Then you may call me—"

He's interrupted by a loud snarl and the beating of approaching footsteps, but neither are human. Quickly, Sakura frees the dagger against her hip just as a large wolf jumps out at her, jaw unhinged and crimson eyes wild; but as quickly as she sees it, its gone, replaced by the heat of a body against her chest.

The snarl of the Fae enveloping her is otherworldly, feral—demonic—alighting Helfire all throughout her body, but it evokes a sort of comfort that Sakura can't say she's ever felt before. She blinks, cautiously moving in the grasp of the Fae to chance a glance at him, only to find her view obscured by a wall of feathers.

Wings.

Entranced by the glossy feathers, Sakura tentatively reaches for them, carefully skirting her fingertips along the jade sheen. The feathers sway, ruffling slightly at her touch, and piercing, scarlet eyes peek through so she pulls back as if burnt.

The wings lower slightly and the arm around her waist loosens, allowing Sakura a glimpse of fangs embedded into black cloth and blood on dark fur. The wolf's eyes meet hers, narrowing, and then there's a pained grunt as the beast's jaws tighten around the arm in its mouth.

"Sasuke," She hears. "Stop."

The wolf is reluctant, its hackles high and body vibrating with its rage, and it gives one last huff before releasing the Fae. Sakura feels him relax, and the softness of his touch compels her to mimic him.

"What the hell are you doing!?"

Gone is the wolf, replaced by a man—a man with skin like snow and hair like a raven's wings. His eyes are sharp, dark like a reflection of the deepest reaches of an underground cavern and sprinkled with red. But what makes her breath still in her chest, are the horns that stand out atop his head. They're tall, curving down once before shooting straight up and spiked on the bend, with scales colored an iridescent shade of indigo that makes her think of a slick of oil. And they're adorned with silver bands.

A demon.

Sakura feels her blood turn to ice, not just at the way the demon spat her title, but at the weight of the older one’s stare landing upon her. Fae are dangerous on their own, but Demons are something in a league all their own.

And she had spoken her name to one.

"Are you stupid?” The Demon-Fae called Sasuke hisses. “Entertaining the call of a Witch?”

She can feel the bloodlust radiating from the enraged Demon-Fae and considers running. She mulls over the incantations in her head—banishing spells, protection spells, binding spells—but ultimately, she finds herself rooted in place, pinned to her Fae’s chest by an arm and feathers.

“Is my baby cousin concerned about me?” He has the gall to tease. “How cute!”

Sakura pushes the feathers aside to look up at her Fae. His expression is calm, with only the faintest down-turning of his brows hinting towards his irritation. But his eyes, dark and murky, glow with mirth. He’s handsome, even more so than the Demon-Fae behind her, with strong features and moonlit skin; his hair falls in devious curls that part around his horns.

He has two sets of them—a testament to his age. One set curves out, then in and up, nowhere near as high as the former’s; while the other set curls down and straight back, their points just barely peeking out from the angle he stands. The shadows dull their color, unfortunately, but she can glimpse where the moonlight catches on the jewels draped along them.

And when he peers down at her, from beneath enviously long lashes, Sakura has to force herself to breathe.

Sasuke’s growl is predatory, so powerful that Sakura can feel it palpate in her chest. “Quit playing around! You know that fraternizing with a,” He pauses, glancing in her direction with his nose scrunched in distaste. “Witch is asking for trouble.”

The Demon-Fae straightens, his shoulders stiffening and chin raising, and then wings that gleam with a hint of jade outstretch. They spread so wide, they eclipse the moon and morph into the darkness between the trees.

“This Witch, Sasuke,” The Demon-Fae begins, and his hands come to rest at the base of Sakura’s neck and around her wrist. “Is under my protection. For always and forever.”

#naruto fanfiction #Sakura Haruno #shisui uchiha #sasuke uchiha #supernatural au #witch!sakura #demon!shisui #demon!sasuke #Uchiha X Sakura #fanfiction #itachi uchiha #madara uchiha #part one of who knows how many

40 notes · View notes