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yanderestarangel · 7 months

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⸺:･ﾟ✧ CRYBABY | BI HAN X AFAB READER

TW: unreliable narrator, mourning, blood, death, smut, mentioned death, hallucination, angst.

Everyone in the Lin Kuei wondered if Grand Master Bi Han ever had any type of feeling, besides hatred, anger and a sadistic and morbid pleasure in power. And the answer was yes, but no one would ever know, no one could see the hard, well-built shell he had made of himself for so long.

But, one person knew and that person was you... Or better said, it was you.

The fog of the cold winter corroded anyone's bones, but Bi Han felt nothing, being with you there, beneath him, making hot and passionate love with bodies drawn in a divine brush and venerated by mortals. Bi Han shed some tears, as always, he was a crybaby but only you knew that. The emotions so guarded and engrained for so many years, all the rapturous encounters of lust stood out.

"-Why are you crying, Bi Han?" -You asked in a soft voice, bringing one of your hands to meet the smooth skin of the man's face above you, staring at the brown immensity of his iris, while more tears fell from his eyes, eyelashes stained by salty drops as he whispered "sorry" softly moving his hips again, moans were heard, echoing through the dark and freezing night of a dark winter.

"-I'm alone, without anyone... Without anything, you're my last hope, you know me like no one else (Y/N)... I want this to last forever I-" -Bi Han spoke with a voice weak and vulnerable, it was one of the few moments that he allowed himself to be himself, when he was with you, he didn't have a cold and cruel heart, he was just angry with the future and present, the present was painful with the death of his mother , with the guilt of having let his father die for the greater good with the fear of the future, losing you... You.

Bi Han continued moving, skin on skin, the wet sound resonating through the walls, a touch of love and possession and fear, the feeling that gnawed at the man's already shaken heart and soul, he groaned as he felt your warm touch on his cold skin. Of him, he couldn't tell you how much he loved you, how afraid he was of losing you, he wanted to be the perfect man for you but he knew he was just an assembled reflection of what he once was.

"-You're a crybaby, Bi Han..."

You smiled, that smile that always warmed him, drying the tears that still insisted on falling more and more, making him place a chaste kiss on your forehead, while placing his lips to yours, whispering more and more uncertain promises that were lost by the wind that now let the requiem play, purifying your soul, distilled by a man who once loved you.

He still kept his wedding clothes, locked in a box in his room. Bi Han always arrived in the room after training, picking up the fine fabrics with a little dust, but even that didn't stop him from bringing the clothes up to his nose, feeling your perfume already spreading in the air while he felt his heart beat and ache, the Longing rotted him inside. His brothers always saw Bi Han reciting his wedding promises and vows to himself as he walked around the house, a daily habit that no one dared question.

Everything was so fast that night, but Bi Han remembered it well... After all, he was the one who killed you, he knew it was an accident, but that would never cancel out the guilt of having your blood on his hands, not even in the worst hellish nightmares drawn By the worst devils, he would think about killing you, but he did.

He remembers... The poorly lit night, with only the blessing of the moon's rays guiding the way to one of the villages that was being attacked by some beings from the outer world, you insisted on going with him, after all, you were a Lin Kuei ninja too and he blames himself for letting you convince him so easily. He was distracted for just a few seconds, which led you to try to stop some invaders alone, but it didn't work, you were cornered and killed.

Killed because of him, a cruel and fateful accident.

He remembered the screams of agony and pain of the villagers, but everything had become silent from the moment Bi Han found his body, bleeding, with cold blood in the middle of the snow, he fell to his knees, breathing and feeling the world. He fell when he saw your lifeless eyes, the smell of blood entered his nose, while he picked you up, he wanted you to wake up again, tell him that everything was a bad joke and that he was a "crybaby" as you always called him, but now, your voice was mute, quiet, empty, there was no longer you in existence, just a pile of flesh, of what you once were, a lifeless piece, of what Bi Han once loved , a dead doctrine.

It was his fault, he shouldn't have given in, he shouldn't have let you go, he needed to be colder and stronger... But at what cost?

The shadows now haunted Bi Han, the quiet stillness, cut by the sound of running water that the man used to wash his own hands, he still smelled his blood, he felt dirty, he felt guilty, he wanted When that stopped, he couldn't even cry anymore, yours echoed in his mind, disturbed by endless mourning and punished by some mocking divine being. The grand master always returned to the same blizzard that your body was in, he looked at the ground, now clean and covered by a new layer of clean ice covering the sad reality that he saw on that red and unhappy night, he heard your voice, he saw your shadow, or something that his mind designed to be you.

"-It's okay... I can be real for you Bi Han."

"-Real to me...? You... Not real... Angels call (Y/N), return your night, go, don't stay in my chaste shelter, my chest is already sore... Go in the infernal storm that threw you here..." -Bi Han whispered, making the shadow disappear, a malicious joke from the man's own mind, death, grief, guilt and cold consumed him, the great master, was ultimately,a crybaby, but the little humanity he had left with you.

©YANDERESTARANGEL 2023

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mari-lair · 10 months

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For @kittytheartist-rambles

(Kannagi AU: Part 1 . Part 2 . Part 3)

Akane desperately tried to hold on for any hope that Aoi can still be saved but Teru destroyed any solution he come up with, holding him down when the constant denial makes him hysterical and repeating the message until Akane finally accepted that the pit Aoi was thrown on is the point of no return.

Akane shut down, not drinking the water Teru had given him or moving from his seat on the cave ground. Is like he is a shell of himself.

Teru asks how many times he used the cursed clock and it takes some insistence for Akane to pay enough attention to process his question and admit that he used 15 minutes with Teru and 17 with various monsters on their failed escape, losing 32 years of his life. It’s a marvel such a reckless boy would get so much to live in such a dangerous world, though Teru supposes Aoi’s sacrifice brought safety for everyone, which made Akane's previously long lifespan possible.

Akane feels more grounded after a while and asks why did Teru told the village he was dead? Why couldn’t he lie to save Aoi too? Why only save him? Teru gives him a logical answer, about how her death means years of safety while Akane’s is unnecessary. It feels cold, borderline cruel, compared to Akane’s raw pain so he grows agitated, demanding to know why Teru let him talk with Aoi when it went against the village orders, why Teru played the part of Aoi’s friend if he was going to kill her.

That crack some of Teru’s control, and he baits Akane into a fight, it became a fistfight. Akane hoped doing something would help but he still doesn’t feel better when he lands a punch on Teru, or when he is beaten. What is the point in anything? It won’t bring Aoi back.

Teru notice he isn’t nearly as much of a challenge as usual, and kicks him when he falls, expecting Akane to yell for a rematch but the boy doesn't move from the ground, admitting he has no motivation to fight when he knows Aoi isn't here to bandage him. Teru gets angry at him for giving up, because fighting does help him feel less overwhelmed and Akane was taking that from him, but he ends up falling in silence with Akane again.

They stay alone with their thoughts for a while, and it starts to rain, the heavy rain grow into a storm, and while Teru isn't affected by it, he doesn't trust Akane to take care of himself. Terus no longer needs armor in a world with no supernaturals but he compensates for the loss in weight with many kimono layers (it makes him feel safer), able to spare the outer layer of his clothes to Akane, wrapping it around his shoulder.

Akane is tempted to throw his stupid kimono into the rain, wary of any show of kindness, but shut up when Teru shares the promise he made with Aoi, of looking after him. Teru notices how it get his full attention and tries to use Aoi to make Akane get his shit together, claiming she would want her best friend to live life to the fullest, at least try to find happiness, not waste away. Akane disagrees, claiming Aoi is the type of girl to say “I wish you find happiness.” when she is at her most depressed and spiteful, tired of watching others be happy without her. Teru thinks about the way she tried to drag him with her to the pit of death, how she wasn’t crying when she did it, and feeling unsure if her cold look was because of the drug or because Aoi genuinely wanted him dead after ruining their escape.

Teru never saw her cry for him, but she got misty-eyed when he first beat up Akane, fearing he would die, and when she was dragged out of the cave. Worried for Teru at times, but only in tears for Akane. He feels bitter about it so he tries to hide it by teasing Akane for it, surprised to learn Akane had never seen Aoi cry before their failed escape, not even when the village threw rocks at her.

For a full week, that's how any interaction went, leading to silence or to talking about Aoi. Failing to comunicate what they want or not sure what to do when they catch how the other is feeling.

Teru spend most of his time with his siblings, pushing his grief down, but whenever he reached Akane’s cave with food or blankets, he is always there. Something about Akane still felt strange, not as full of fire and determination as usual, but at least, he started to be more active, telling Teru he discovered a river he can get water while he was with his family instead of wasting away in the cave, and asking for Teru’s help learning what plants are edible and how to hunt certain fishes, always indulging in spars, slowly starting to fight like usual.

“If you move to the next city, i’ll make sure to visit you, you don’t need to stay in this cave” and Akane nods but he still doesn’t leave the cave.

Teru has been good at bottling up his emotions, at dealing with loss, but he was eventually forced to attend to a big party to celebrate Aoi’s death and was forced to use all his self-control to remain silent at everyone’s comments about Aoi, and occasionally even Akane. He had arrived a bit late to his meeting with Akane, and his moves are too reckless when they spar that day, hurting his palm by something stupid. Akane notices something is off, forcing him to sit down, and cleaning his injury. It leaves Teru feeling too much and he hit his breaking point, hiding his tears with his arms. It startled Akane, having been convinced exorcists can't cry. It’s awkward as hell, but Akane hug him, softening when Teru eventually clings to it, not nearly as gentĺe as Aoi, frankly, the way Teru claw his back hurt, but Akane understands.

#tbhk #toilet bound hanako kun #jshk #kannagi au #terukaneaoi #i actually wasn't going to write more #but your tag comments hyped me up again!

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edgyandoverzealous · 1 year

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Consider this, all of rottmnt brothers are the medic. @moltenatlas just in case you were still interested in that all the rottmnt boys are the medic post we talked about ages ago, this is it.

Mikey is starting as patient 0 because I am a firm believer of accident prone Mikey, it's primarily self-indulgence at this point but hush I have fragments of evidence. He's a skateboarder is the main point of said evidence bc he's going to be covered in injuries at some point. That's the way of skateboarders. Additionally that kid had his nose in some kind of fiction/comic book or Sketchbook too often to not have tripped or ran into a wall, and no you cannot tell me rottmnt Mikey didn't read anything he was definitely raised on one of the main four fantasy fiction pipelines, meaning harry potter, warrior cats, percy Jackson and the Olympians (me), or the hunger games pipelines. I am not accepting criticism. He's also way too good at cooking to not have been doing it for years and little hands make many mistakes. Also Raph being increasingly worried about Mikey the first time he goes out, ignoring the obvious mother hen instinct, indicates that Mikey is at the very least a little clumsy or accident prone I mean he even has knee and elbow pads he wears consistently ffs. Due to these many possibilities I believe each of the other brothers have a fair knowledge of first aid and medical aliments.

Raph's-

Raph learned first. Obviously. The oldest of four and babies are bound to get a few bonks as they try to learn how to do basic motor functions. Such as walking and talking, having those bonks himself he picked up what to do from Splinter and put them into practice when Splinter was going through one of his rougher more absent patches. (I am a depressed/body dysmorphia rottmnt splinter truther tm and as someone with active and diagnosed chronic depression and also suffers from body dysmorphia taking sometimes taking care of yourself feels impossible let alone four young kids so I'm a firm believer Raph had to take over some responsibilities sometimes. Not all the time, because I also believe splinter loves his sons to death tm and he tries his best, but sometimes.)

Donnie, upon seeing Mikey cheating the crawling system by popping in his shell and ping ponging around the house, tried to copy and ended up somersaulting into a chair leg leaving his entire being aching. Raph having crashed a few times himself mimicked what Splinter had done previously and whipped up a warm bath, children's bubblegum Tylenol, ice packs, and firm back scratches to help ease his brother's pain. Help which the tot insisted he didn't need though the last words, or chirps rather, as he fell asleep were a clear thanks.

Leo so badly wants to play sports-ball with his big brother, who was bouncing said ball on his knee, ran to tackle and got kneed in the gut followed directly by a ball to the face. He let out a loud "oomph" and the saddest and most distraught chirps and clicks Raph had ever heard. This insight made Leo's twin, who was peeking in front behind a nearby corner, to also start crying after he scooped Leo's face and tried to chirp a form of consolation before refusing to leave Leo's side. Feeling awful Raph brought him ice packs and snacks as well as asking simple questions and checking his eyes to make sure his brother didn't have a concussion as the twins sat, snacked, and watched movies to avoid scrambling more of their insides. Luckily he didn't, just a few bruises, a black eye, and a very worried twin.

Mikey, poor Mikey, got bumped and bruised far too often, his ping-ponging ended up with the tot popping out too early and getting a mild concussion, scrape, rug burn, or bruise from impact. It got to the point where Raph stopped knowing what to do and was running out of bandaids. Raph eventually duct taped pillows to his little brother who, like a dog, thrashed around until he was free. I'm also a firm believer that Mikey is accident prone as all hell and could bruise his knee getting a juice box, which he has.

The Disaster Twins-

I will not be swayed. I don't care who I have to fight they learned around the same time for exceedingly different reasons.

Donnie was already leaning into self-experimentation/running experiments solo. This means more unpleasantries could arise such as injury and seeing as Donnie likes having working motor functions and not being coddled by his other siblings. He cracked open all the books he could get his hands on and figured out how to cure anything from a paper cut to cardiac arrest. He learned how to do all as painlessly as possible as well, used simulated situations and robots, to ensure that he could. Once he could he immediately chipped his brothers as well as himself.

Donnie took a more anatomical and medicinal approach to learning. He learned how the body is built and designed to react to stimulus. For example he built an x-ray machine with adjustable levels to figure out the differences between his mutated muscle and skeletal form and the ones of humans in the books he found. He'll also learn why specific injuries or illnesses occur and focus more on prevention above solution for when it occurs but he's well versed in solutions should it come to be despite efforts.

Leo is a mischievous little thing. He does things he's not supposed to and more often than not ends up in wild situations. Such as chipping a tooth or losing a tooth. That hurts but he refuses to explain to his brother's and chooses to ignore the pain instead. He understands that this isn't practical so he also picks up every book he can get his hands on and learns how to handle anything from a paper cut to resuscitation. He really gets into it once Mikey and Donnie got involved in his shenanigans, Mikey in particular being accident prone meant he, as an older brother had to make sure he could take care of him.

Leo took a more situational and medicinal approach. Leo thinks that injury in his shenanigans is bound to happen eventually. He is correct because he's canonically self-destructive and self-sacrificial, that at very least, gets him hurt. So he is less interested in the why and more interested in how to negate the effects of specific accidents that may happen. IE: "I fall from a tree and land on my arm funny. It bends the wrong way what do I do?" Or "Mikey falls of the wagon as we take a sharp turn in the tunnels, he slid across concrete, and his leg is covered in blood" he thinks of specific scenarios and then learns as much as he can about the injury and how to make it better.

Mikey -

Mikey learned to repay his brothers for everything they've done for them.

He thrives to be someone his brothers can rely on as well so he started watching when he was little. He saw everytime someone else got hurt and often provided comfort cuddles. As he sat in their laps. Mostly Raph, would explain what he was doing, and how it would help as he helped with various ailments. So that's how he primarily learned.

Additionally Mikey is quite independent, don't get him wrong he loves his brothers to death, but he also doesn't like being coddled. He likes to do things his way and on his own. So he observed his brothers everytime they helped him with an injury or got injured themselves and acted as "nurse" for whoever was helping the others.

Eventually he started patching himself up when he got hurt. (Raph cried the first time he saw Mikey patch himself up because his littlest brother was all grown up tm)

Mikey is nowhere near Leo and Donnie's expertise but he can handle the basics plus having extended knowledge in burns and cuts which are commonplace accidents in the kitchen where Mikey spends a lot of time.

Mikey has fun/colorful bandages designated to each of his brothers for the rare occurrence of his brothers getting hurt around him/during family times. One time when they were little he got Jupiter Jim ones on a trip with Splinter to a local convenience store and his brothers almost seemed to get hurt on purpose to get them. Needless to say he got more but those are only for special occasions and his brothers don't know he has them.

Mikey also knows how to lower a fever better than the others because he and Raph got influenza when they were little, not tots but young kids, and both run h o t. The both of them had 104 (or equivalent for turtles idk) fevers and Splinter spent three sleepless nights monitoring them and trying whatever he could think of to lower it. So Mikey and Raph know how to lower fevers at a near expert level.

Mikey is also good with Migraines. Because the Hamatos all suffer from migraines for one reason or another I've decided actually.

#rottmnt headcanons #rottmnt #rottmnt raph #rottmnt leo #rottmnt donnie #rottmnt mikey #disaster twins #they're all the medic actually #leo and donnie are basically doctors at this point #but they all take care of each other

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starlightandsouls · 2 years

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Azriel Week Day 2: Tragic Backstory

(Yes I used a Bryan Adams song as inspiration fight me)

Centuries passed and he still hadn’t understood it. Why they had done it? His apparent insomnia had kept him up nights on end. Then, riddled by loneliness, he would descend unwillingly into the chasm of those wretched memories. No matter how hard he tried, no matter the amount of mind stilling techniques he went through, his mind would inevitably end up dragging him back to that day in the cell. The day that had changed his view of the world, of the Illyrians completely.

He had just been ten years old, still a child. A weak, lonely child. One that lacked many of the skills that regular Illyrian children would have. Such as social interaction, freedom, the ability to fly. That last one had felt like a personal insult, a taunt that his so called father threw at his face every day. His Illyrian instincts begged him to take to the skies, to feel the wind beneath his wings. Some days it felt like he was going to combust from the suffocation, from the lack of blue skies above him.

Days turned into weeks turned into years. The cell had been the only thing he knew, having never seen anything outside its walls. The only people he had met was his father and his family, the guards... and his mother. He only met her once a week. She was as much at hid father’s mercy as he was. The desperation and pain clawing at her soul had been visible in her eyes even when she tried to hide it, tried to hide the tears as the guards would drag him away when the one hour mark was up.

Still that one hour that would be granted to him would be his reprieve, his heaven. The mother and son would be left alone in a room, locked. And they would embrace in a corner, holding each other so tightly as if willing the other to stay. An impossibility, but one they would entertain every time.

Each time Azriel would cry after hours of prior insistence of not doing so. He would crawl into his mother’s arms and cry to his heart’s content. Each time he would beg her to take him with her.

“Please don’t leave me here Mama. I’ll go with you. I don’t want to stay here anymore. I promise... I promise I’ll be a good boy and I’ll do whatever you say but please take me with me you. I’m so scared Mama. Its so dark in there... I don’t want to stay here anymore Mama,” he had cried out, hyperventilating from the overwhelming sadness and pure desperation of not wanting to go back.

His mother had tightened her grip on him and had hugged him closer, ignoring his begging, knowing any promises or comforts were futile.

“Azriel, my darling, my lion son, you’re brave than all of them you know? My son is stronger than all the rest. And such strong young boys don’t get scared of the dark do they? But I’ll tell you a little secret. Now I know my son is a warrior isn’t he? But... you know what I like to do when I’m scared? I just close my eyes... and sing. That��s what you’re going to do as well. And whenever you sing, just close your eyes and think of me signing right there with you,” his mother had whispered into his hair.

She had sang to him then. A melodious, silky voice filled the cold room and all of a sudden everything was alright. All the cruel, evil things were gone and it was just Azriel and his mama. Just the two of them. It was a song of the outside world, of freedom. His mother sang to him about the beauty of the world outside, a world far from the clutches of the Illyrians. A world that she promised they would see together one day. One day. These two words were the mother and son’s sustenance all these years.

I hear the wind across the plain

A sound so strong - that calls my name

It′s wild like the river - it 's warm like the sun it′s here - this is where I belong

His mother sang to him of the Summer Court. Of their endless, rolling blue oceans. Of their beaches filled with sunlight and sea shells. She had promised that one day she would take him there. Of how he could fly as long as he wants over the waves and swim to his heart’s content.

Under the starry skies - where eagles have flown

This place is paradise - it 's the place I call home

The moon on the mountains

The whisper through the trees

The waves on the water

Let nothing come between this and me

She sang to him of Velaris. The haven of the night court. Away from the Illyrians and cruel fae of the court of Nightmares. The city of starlight, of wonder, of abundance... of dreams. She told him of a night where the stars fell from the heavens to grace its people below. Where they danced and ate all night to celebrate the heavens above. ‘That will be our home,’ she had said. She told him of the future she had planned for the two of them there. A shop, a home, a school for him. She had said all this smiling sadly, deep down knowing it was just empty dreams.

everything I want - is everything that's here

And when we′re all together - there′s nothing to fear

She had promised him that she would never abandon him. That no matter how long it took she would come back for him and get him out of this cell. That they would one day have the life they both craved. Filled with happiness and joy and contentment.

In the end it hadn’t been enough to save him... all the promises, all the dreaming... it had all been for nothing. For what his step brothers had done to him that day... he would never be able to escape, even thought it had been centuries since he had stepped foot into his father’s land.

The two rascals, spoilt by unchecked freedom to do whatever the hell they wanted with him, had come up with a plan. An experiment, as they put it. They promised it would be alright, that it wouldn’t hurt. But Azriel should have learnt that promises meant nothing at all, just empty words meant to deceive.

The older of his step brothers had restrained him and tied his hands above him. Azriel had tried to resist but in vain. Not only was he younger than them, but he was also weak and malnourished from starvation and their meagre good. His step brothers on the other hand were packed with muscle and strength.

The younger of the two had then poured something over his hands. The grimy, rotten smell that would come back to haunt him even when he was a grown male. Oil. It was just for fun they said. They just wanted to see how fast Illyrian healing worked. A torch had then been retrieved and it was only then that young Azriel had made sense of what was happening.

His screams had pierced the cell as the flame was brought to his hands. Nothing could have prepared the poor child for the excruciating pain that would follow. He burned and he burned and he burned. And no one did a thing. He still remembered the looks of horror on his step brothers’ faces as they realised their little ‘experiment’ had gone wrong. They had fled the scene, too cowardly to face what they had done.

It felt like an eternity had passed before the guards made their way to his cell. By that time, his throat was parched from screaming. He couldn’t have made a single sound even if he wanted to. And he didn’t want to either. Azriel had surrendered to the pain, too numb to feel anything.

They had put out the fire but it had been too late. Vaguely he remembered being taken to a healer, if only to ensure that he wouldn’t die. Then he had been thrown back into his cell. Hands wrapped haphazardly in bandages, writhing in fever and agony. He had taken a peak at his hands though. The once plain skin was now marred with burns and scars that would stay with him for the rest of his life. And it was at the sight of his disgusting, scarred hands... that Azriel finally broke.

All the fear and frustration and pain came rushing out. The fever riddling his body made everything worse. He cried for his mother, begging her to appear somehow, to make it stop hurting so much.

In the middle of the night, when the fever seemed to burn hotter than the flames from a few hours ago, Azriel had become delirious with agony. His mind a mush of memories and nightmares, no grasp on time or reality. Somehow, amidst all that his mother had come to his mind and her advice as well.

He had laid shivering in a corner, limbs wrapped around himself in a pathetic attempt to warm himself as the fever raged. Tears flowed freely from his eyes, voice no more than a course whisper. That night he had truly thought he was going to die from the wounds on his hand, if not them the fever would surely kill him. Crazed out of his mind, he had done the one thing he remembered his mother doing, pathetically trying to comfort himself because he knew deep down no one else would. He sang.

everything I want - is everything that's here

And when we′re all together - there′s nothing to fear

He sang, in between bouts of coughs and hiccups from all the crying. Begging, screaming at his mother to return, to take him away to the city of dreams she had told him about.

But his mother never came. In her stead, the darkness took pity on him. And when it began to gaze back at him, when the shadows started singing with him... he only cried harder.

..............................................................................................

Taglist: @mooncleaver @cheshmetkoshgele @elegantranchcowboytree @azrielweek2022

#Spotify #aaahhhhhh #azriel #acotar hc #acotar headcanon #azriel imagine #azriel shadowsinger #azriel headcanon #azriel acotar #azriel headcanons #azrielweek2022

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kasienda · 2 years

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Right Behind You - Ch 10: Passing the Torch

Chapter 1: Scandal

...

Chapter 9: The End of an Era

Read on Ao3

Chapter 10: Passing the Torch

Adrien wasn’t crying anymore. And as far as Nino could tell, he hadn’t for the whole day. But he was so despondent, Nino almost would have preferred him crying.

Like this, Adrien felt so far away, and Nino had no idea how to reach him.

Maybe he couldn’t reach him. When his older brother had disappeared without a trace, Nino had retreated into a shell as well. He had stayed there for almost a year until Adrien had shown up as a new student in collège.

Until Adrien had needed him.

Nino hovered around anyway. He dragged Adrien out for lunch. Once he had tried a movie, but that had proven to be a particularly bad idea as Adrien had clearly not been able to stay engaged in it.

They were watching a comedy. And not a romantic one. Nino wasn’t a complete idiot. But it hadn’t been enough to distract Adrien from his thoughts if the tears slipping down his cheeks were anything to go by.

At a loss, Nino had called Chloé in for reinforcements. And Adrien had managed to smile and even laugh a few times as the three of them chatted over afternoon snacks in Adrien’s kitchen bar. Nino knew better than to bring alcohol into the situation.

When Adrien left to use the bathroom, Chloé whirled to him.

“What happened?” she demanded, her blue eyes boring holes into him.

“His heart was broken,” Nino told her.

“Gabriel?” she asked.

Nino shook his head. “Mystery girl.”

Chloé actually growled. “I’ve always hated her.”

Nino would have agreed not even a few weeks ago. But now he had context. The situation was far worse than Chloé knew.

But luckily Adrien returned and saved Nino from having to respond.

When Chloé left, Adrien had returned to his slumped dejected self, falling to the couch, letting his head fall back and his gaze stare blankly up at the bare ceiling.

“You seemed better when she was here,” Nino observed, taking a seat beside him.

Adrien shrugged, not meeting his eyes. “You know that I’m good at pretending.”

Nino sucked in a breath. “But you’re not pretending now.”

Adrien did look at him then. Warmth bloomed in Nino’s chest at the small smile Adrien cast in his direction. “You’ve always made it safe to not be okay.”

Nino searched for a response. Anything, but his mind was blank suddenly all too aware that he was the person where Adrien could drop all his masks. And Nino had already known that. But it was moments like this where he felt it so viscerally he forgot how to breathe.

Adrien likely had no idea what that meant to him.

If only he wasn’t in so much pain. If only Nino had some way to fix it .

Adrien’s head fell to Nino’s shoulder and Nino felt himself relaxing at the contact.

“I know it may not seem like anything you’re doing is helping,” Adrien said. “But I promise it is. It’s nice to just know that you’re here. With you here, I know I will be okay. Eventually. And in the meantime, thank you.”

“You don’t have to thank me for this,” Nino said.

They stayed like that for several minutes when an alarm on Nino’s phone went off. Nino didn’t move, not wanting the moment to end, but Adrien sat up almost immediately, his expression suddenly hard and completely distant.

“You should go. Don’t keep her waiting.”

“You going to be okay?” Nino asked. Marinette wouldn’t remember Ladybug by the end of the night.

“Yes!” Adrien growled. “ Go! ”

“But…”

“Plagg is here. I’m not really alone. Now get out of here.”

Nino dragged himself to his feet, gathered his things, and made his way to the door. He glanced back once toward Adrien on the couch.

“I’m fine!” Adrien insisted.

He wasn’t, and Nino knew it, but he also knew Adrien was right. He needed to go.

When he left, the sun was low on the horizon, coloring the sky with vibrant streaks of red and orange. The evening air whipped into his face threatening to take his hat with it.

He realized this was like the first moment he had been alone all week. Between Guardian lessons from Marinette, pretending to still do his job, and spending every spare moment trying to cheer up Adrien, he hadn’t had the space to breathe.

The moment he was walking toward suddenly felt world changing. It was like he had been hit by a train.

He was going to be the Guardian.

And it was for life .

Unless he was willing to give up a huge chunk of his memories, which he was not .

So it was for life.

He stumbled his way to his apartment on autopilot, made it through the door and immediately fell to his couch.

“It’s going to be fine, Young Master,” Wayzz told him. The kwami apparently knew him well. “I will support you, and so will Chat Noir. You will be an excellent Guardian.”

Nino buried his face into his knees with a groan. “You don’t know that,” Nino murmured.

Wayzz had the gall to laugh. “I do know that.”

Nino’s head popped back up. “But this is so much bigger than me! And it’s kinda forever, Wayzz! I’m allowed to freak out!”

“Of course you are,” he agreed, with a patient, measured nod. Nino still felt like the ancient kwami was laughing at him.

But before Nino could respond, there was a sharp knock on the door.

“Oh god! She’s here,” he said, ducking his head again, clutching his hat, and not moving anywhere near the door.

“Do you want me to answer that?” Wayzz offered, hovering just over his shoulder.

Nino giggled. It sounded hysterical even to his own ears. Because it wasn’t just anyone behind that door.

It was friggin’ Ladybug , the Guardian, the person who thought he was worthy of becoming her successor.

“I’ll get the door,” Wayzz said before darting away.

The door swung open a few seconds later.

“Wayzz?” Marinette greeted, her eyebrows furrowed together in confusion.

“He’s freaking out,” Wayzz said clearly.

Nino couldn’t defend himself. Wayzz was not at all wrong.

“Nino?” she called as she stepped into the room, closing the door behind her. “Are you okay?”

He took a deep breath and brought his head up. She had her purse and a bulging backpack on her shoulders. It was such an innocuous case for the power of over a dozen different miraculouses.

“Are you having doubts?” she asked.

The question shook him loose and he shook his head. “No doubts. Just straight up normal terror.”

She giggled, her eyes warm with understanding. She opened the front compartment of her backpack, and pulled out a small pink notebook. “I have something that might make it less terrifying?”

He took the offered pink notebook. “What’s this?”

“My diary.”

He stared at the notebook in his hand dumbly. “You can’t give me this,” he finally said.

She laughed. “Well, I can’t keep it. It would give everything away to myself. But maybe it’ll lead me back to myself one day? I left myself a final entry explaining why I chose to do this. Because I’m hoping maybe someday… when Hawkmoth is gone… when it’s safe, you’ll give it back to me?”

He took it, but he didn’t open it. “I’m not going to read it.”

“You probably should.”

A knot formed in his chest. “Nettie…”

She glanced away, pushing an errant strand of hair over one ear with two fingers. “Like, don’t tell me if you do. It’s definitely mortifying - especially the earlier entries, but that’s also where I processed my experiences as a hero and the Guardian. It could be useful to you.”

He opened his mouth to object again, but she cut him off.

“If you could call me up and ask me about things, maybe it’d be different. But I don’t want you to not use every resource at your disposal just to save myself some embarrassment.”

“But reading it would feel like an invasion. I would learn way more about you than I have a right to know and you wouldn’t even know .”

She took a step closer and put a hand on his forearm, lowering her gaze to catch his eyes. “Nino,” she said firmly, a small smile on her lips. She was so at ease, so relaxed in a way that he hadn’t seen her in years . “You already know most of it. It’s me dreaming about my future career aspirations, being ridiculous over Adrien, and freaking out about things that in hindsight didn’t matter. Before I became Ladybug, I was never really a secretive or private person. I just liked writing things down. Since I became the Guardian and knew I could lose my memories, I became more obsessive about it. There’s a lot in there about being Ladybug, and about choosing heroes because I knew that’s what I might forget.”

Her voice cracked on her last word.

This time, Nino caught her gaze. “You okay? Are you sure you want to do this?”

She nodded. “I’m sure. I'm definitely nervous. Being Ladybug has changed me so much. What if forgetting her fundamentally changes who I am right now?"

"You don't have to forget."

She shook her head. "I think I do though. I... don't know if I will survive if I continue. And if I don't forget, how will I ever get on that plane?” She glanced up at him again, her eyes glassy. “Especially knowing that it’s you and Adrien that I’m leaving all of this to."

“Do you regret turning Chat Noir down now that you know who he is?” he asked.

“No?” She moved past him and fell to his sofa. Nino took a seat beside her. “Maybe? I don’t actually know. I’ve been thinking about it. Like how things might be different now if I had let myself consider the possibility of saying yes to Chat Noir. When he revealed himself, I considered staying for a second. Like we could totally work things out, live happily ever after with three kids and a hamster.” Her eyes flashed with intensity, and she was smiling againg. “I do love him. Both of him.”

She glanced away, across the room and stared blankly at his television. “But… the idea of trying to keep going after I had already decided to give still filled me with dread.”

Nino didn’t know what to say. Nothing felt right.

Her hands writhed in her lap before she looked up once again. “I hate myself for wanting to leave, but I’m scared if I don’t step away, this is going to eat me alive. The advice that he gave me is that I have to do what’s best for me. And if I’m going to forget half our history… it’s not fair to ask him for a relationship.”

She paused, her eyes widening. “Oh god.” Her eyes snapped back up to him. “Nino, if I ever confess to him as Marinette, promise me that you’ll make sure he says no!”

Nino smiled sadly at her. “I can’t promise that, Nettie. You know I can’t.”

“But that would be so unfair to him,” she insisted.

He nodded. “I agree, but it’s his life. He knows what you don’t remember. That’ll be his choice if he’s willing to accept that cost or not. I can’t make that decision for him.” He considered her for a second. “Do you think you will confess?” he asked.

Her gaze turned away from him, and her fingers absently played with the bottom of her shirt. “I don’t know. Being Ladybug is what’s held me back for so long. And probably Chat Noir too because I felt something for him, and could never make up my mind completely. Because apparently I’m an idiot.” She laughed and he smiled back.

“I honestly don’t know how I didn’t figure it out years ago,” Nino confessed.

She grinned. “Right?”

“Like it’s so obvious!” he echoed.

Her smile faded and she shook her head. “This is not what we should be talking about right now.”

His eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “What should we be talking about?”

Her arms shot out and she gestured dramatically to the whole room around them. “We should be discussing, like strategies to use against Hawkmoth! Or, how to choose new heroes! How to interpret the recipes for power ups! Something important! ”

But they had already discussed all of that.

“Your heart is not important?” he asked softly.

She turned towards him with a sad smile. “You really are going to do so much better in this role than I did.”

He frowned. “What do you mean?”

She sighed, and stared at his television once again. “I mean, you consider others' well-being. I never could see past the current akuma. I think looking back, I would have done okay if I had trusted you all. If I hadn’t tried to do it all alone. If I had told Chat who I was and allowed him to do the same. Or if I had just reached out to all of you about my struggles as a hero and as the Guardian. Even if I didn’t reveal myself you all would have been there for me. I would have been a much better Guardian because I would have had support and I would have been better about supporting all of you in return.”

“Do you want to keep it, Marinette?” he asked, watching her face carefully. “Because you still can. Adrien and I will support you. You can choose to do things differently now.”

She shook her head, tears once again forming at the corner of her eyes. “I can’t! I want to. But it’s too late.”

He wanted to argue. It didn’t have to be. But he didn’t want to pressure her either.

So he pulled her into a hug.

“You’ve done so much for so long,” he said into her ear. “This city and all of us owe you so much. They will never know it was you. But I will know. And Adrien will know. And Marinette, I promise you it was enough. We will take the next shift.”

Her body crumpled against his chest and he held her tighter. “Th-Thank you, Nino.” Her voice wobbly with threatened tears. “You have… no idea how much that means to me. I know I’m not going to remember any of it. Thank you for letting me talk this all out with you regardless,” she said before pulling away and looking at him dead in the eye.

“Please promise me that you’ll learn from my mistakes,” she told him firmly as tears streamed down her cheek. “You absolutely do not have to live by the old Guardian’s rules. You have to do whatever gives you and your team the best chance of getting through in the long haul.”

He nodded solemnly. “I will do my best.”

She pulled away from him completely, turning to the backpack she had brought with her. She pulled out the tablet that held the grimoire they had been studying from all week, handing the device to him. He took it reverently as if it was an ancient relic, and not a modern piece of technology.

The large red egg with black spots came next. Nino swallowed, feeling nervous just looking at the vessel. He had seen it before of course. Marinette had introduced him to every kwami and showed him how it worked for her, though she had warned him that when she passed it on to him, it would take a different form. The container didn’t look that impressive, but he knew the power within it.

Power that she was entrusting to him.

She opened it, putting all the miraculouses on display. His eyes lingered on the Ladybug, all too aware that protecting it from Hawkmoth was now his primary responsibility.

Marinette looked at him again. “Do you have any last minute questions?”

His mind was suddenly blank. He felt like there should be something . This was his last chance to ask her anything. He was no doubt forgetting something important, but he couldn’t for the life of him think of anything.

They had discussed so much over the past week and a half and he knew it wasn’t enough. How much could he learn in just a handful of days?

But would anything he could ask her now in the space of five to thirty minutes make that big of a difference?

Eventually, he shook his head.

She smiled. “I really do think you’re going to be amazing at this.”

He made himself smile, wishing he shared her confidence.

She turned back to the open miraculous box and allowed her fingers to trace over each miraculous. More than a dozen kwamis manifested in front of them one after another in flashes of colored light.

They all hung in the air, giving their whole attention to Marinette. They didn’t move, they didn’t speak.

Tears welled in her eyes and she held her arms open. They all instantly darted forward, each nuzzling into her cheeks, neck, and shoulders. She cradled each of them one at a time.

“Our time was short, Mistress,” Sass said. “But we are grateful for the care you have given us.”

“We hope this change allows you to find all the happiness this life has to offer,” Daizzi added.

Nino felt like he was intruding on an incredibly personal moment as each kwami came forward and offered their well wishes to their current protector. Tikki was the last, offering a bright smile.

“I’m so proud of you, Marinette,” Tikki said.

Marinette burst into tears. Tikki wasn’t phased. “You have been so strong for so long. You have been one of the finest Ladybugs I have ever known. You have taught me so much about creativity and the love that can be found in this world. I will treasure your memory for the rest of my existence.”

Marinette cried harder. “I w-wish that I could say the same, Tikki. You have helped me through so much. You have been my guide and helped me remember who I am when I couldn’t remember. You have made me better, and I wish I could say that I will miss you.” Marinette’s voice choked off.

Tikki nuzzled her cheek. “You can forget names and events, Marinette, but love cannot be forgotten. Know that. Some part of me will always be with you even if you can’t explain it. I promise you.”

Marinette nodded, clearly no longer capable of words. Nino had to wipe his own tears away as well. He hadn’t gotten to give Wayzz a proper good-bye when Ladybug had confiscated him, but he had at least known that he would remember all their time together. That Wayzz’s impact on him could never be forgotten. He couldn’t imagine having to say good-bye knowing he wouldn’t remember the little guy.

It wasn’t fair that Marinette wouldn’t remember Tikki anymore.

Maybe that’s why they all let him bear witness to this moment, so that someone else would remember.

Marinette turned to him, tears still streaming down her face. He instantly pulled her into a hug. Her head rested quietly against his chest and shoulder.

“Take care of him for me?” she whispered. And she didn’t need to clarify.

“ Marinette, you don’t have to ask. You know I would move heaven and earth for him.”

She nodded into his shoulder. “But now you have to do that for both of us.”

“I will,” he promised solemnly.

She pulled away and looked into his eyes. “Thank you, Nino. For everything.”

She pushed herself to her feet. “We should do this before I chicken out.”

“You’re allowed to… if you want,” he said. He knew he sounded like a broken record at this point, but he wanted her to know that she could change her mind.

She offered him a smile. “Thank you Nino, I appreciate that.”

Before he could say anything, she turned back to the miraculous box. “I, Marinette Dupain-Cheng, hereby relinquish the Miracle Box, and name Nino Lahiffe the new Guardian.”

He gasped as warmth bloomed in his chest and spread to the top of his head and to the tips of his toes. The sensation was gone as quickly as it came, making him doubt he had felt anything in the first place. The miraculous box itself glowed before it flipped in on itself - turning from the red egg to an ordinary looking cardboard box with another box inside it with fake wood paneling. It sat next to all his other boxes of recording and sound equipment. It was uncanny how well it blended in with the rest of his scattered apartment.

All the Kwamis darted away, out of sight.

Marinette dropped to her knees with a moan, clutching her head with one hand.

He kneeled to the ground next to her. “Marinette?” he asked. “Are you okay?”

“Nino?” She blinked at him for a moment, and the her gaze glanced across the room. Her eyes slid right past the miracle box without any recognition. “What happened?”

He didn’t know what to say for a moment. “We were uh… just talking about… your leaving,” which was even true, “and you just fell to the floor. Are you okay? Do you feel dizzy?”

She brushed him away as she rose back to her feet. “I’m fine. Probably just stood up too fast. Thanks for letting me come over tonight.”

“A-anytime,” he stammered.

“I know Alya and my parents are putting together a party, but it’s just nice to be able to say goodbye one on one, you know?”

“More personal,” he agreed.

She grinned brightly, all evidence of her earlier tears absent. Like her eyes were bright and clear - not red and puffy. Could the miraculous box have done more than erase her memories? Could it have actually altered her physical state? He supposed it wouldn’t be that crazy compared to what miraculous ladybug could do.

“Exactly!” she said.

He found himself smiling back, relieved at how happy and carefree she seemed in this moment.

“Anyway, thanks for sharing. I really don’t know what you’re worried about. I think it’s amazing!”

“What’s amazing?” he asked, his eyebrows furrowed together in confusion.

“Your song in progress!” she exclaimed.

What?! They hadn’t listened to any of his music.

“I know you said you were having trouble with the bass line, but I really can’t tell. Not that I’m qualified to make that call,” she rambled.

She had warned him she would forget. But were her memories of the miraculous just erased or were they rewritten?

“I’m going to miss getting the sneak peeks once I’m in New York,” she said with a wistful sigh.

He smiled back. “You don’t have to miss that. I’m happy to send you snippets whenever I have them. Especially when I’m stuck! You might be able to help me!”

She smiled again, her expression just genuinely open and warm like it used to be so often when they were younger. “I doubt I’d be much help, but I’d love that just the same.”

“It’s the least I can do after everything you’ve done,” he said.

She frowned. “What are you talking about?”

“Nothing in particular,” he lied. “You’ve just always been a really good friend. And I’m going to miss you.”

“Don’t worry!” she said, leaning into another hug. “I promise to be better than Alya at staying in touch.”

He laughed. “Sounds good.”

“Have a good night, Nino.”

“You too, Marinette. Glad you were able to stop by.”

She gathered her backpack, now mostly empty, and left.

Leaving him alone in silence with a box full of magic jewelry.

The moment of silence did not last.

Fourteen kwamis were suddenly darting from one corner of his apartment to the other, exploring the space. Excited chittering followed them as doors and drawers were opened and closed as the colorful sprites sifted through everything he owned without care. Within moments half of them were demanding food and the other half blinked at him from tiny crevasses and hiding places.

He fell to the couch heavily, clutching his head, not bothering to try and wrangle any of the chaotic creatures. He pulled out his phone instead.

Nino:

[00:51] what the hell was I thinking?

[00:51] i have no idea what I’m doing. Youll help me right?

But there was no response. Adrien was likely already asleep, or very purposely avoiding his phone.

Wayzz hovered at his shoulder. “Are you okay, young master?”

“I have no idea,” Nino said. “Ask me tomorrow.” He let his head flop backward on the old couch. He stared blankly at the ceiling above and didn’t move until his fatigue was finally enough to overpower his anxiety.

He started awake when his phone buzzed multiple times against his leg. He fumbled for the device in the darkness.

Adrien:

[04:02] You were thinking that someone had to step up. And that it might be worse if that person wasn’t you. And I want you to know, I don’t think there’s anyone better.

[04:04] Have any of us ever known what we were doing in all this?

[04:04] And you don’t even have to ask! Of course, I’ll help you!

[04:05] I can come over today after class if you want. You can introduce me to your new charges.

[04:05] I can even help babysit!

Nino read through messages multiple times, each time serving to remind him why he had chosen to do this and that he wasn’t alone in it either.

It took him another second to realize that Adrien had also invited himself over. He was going to be here without Nino dragging him out of his apartment! And it was just a text, but it was the biggest sign he had seen of Adrien maybe coming out of his slump since Ladybug had told him she was leaving.

He rapidly typed out a response.

Nino:

[4:11] YES!

[4:11] come over I mean!

Adrien:

[4:13] Go back to sleep! I will bring breakfast around ten. Craving anything?

Nino grinned. He was going to be okay. And more importantly, Nino was finally confident that Adrien would be, too.

…

#Miraculous Ladybug Fanfiction #Nino Lahiffe #Adrien Agreste #Marinette Dupain-Cheng #Adrino #Friends to Lovers #Slow burn #SO SLOW #Guardian Nino #My Own Content #Right Behind You

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casspurrjoybell-22 · 5 months

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Master - Chapter 63 - Part 3

*Warning Adult Content*

Malcolm's familiar room is nothing like it itself, barely lit and overcast by shadows.

The only light came from the wall of stained windows, which wasn't much in the section of the castle.

Usually, Malcolm had candles lit all about, bringing soft light and warming the room but now there was just the unforgiving cold.

In the form of a lump at one side of his bed, Malcolm lay unmoving, he didn't shift to see who entered, didn't try for a greeting.

He didn't do anything.

How had such a force of happiness been wiped out so completely?

It didn't seem possible, it shouldn't have been but there was no denying the sadness hanging in the air.

My steps stagger for a moment before I circle the bed to see my friend.

Only Malcolm's face shows above the sheets, his grey eyes empty and unfocused as they gazed out of the windows opposite him.

His eyes were wet, the source of the fresh tears trickling over his nose but he didn't wipe them away.

He couldn't because that would require moving his hand and Malcolm's fingers promised to remain forever locked around the collar on his neck.

"Malcolm," I try as I sit at his side. "Malcolm."

It takes a painful amount of time for Malcolm to shift his eyes over to me and by God, the misery waiting in them was overwhelming.

Agony and longing reigned unabashed, haunting the wonder that was supposed to be there.

"Mal," I whisper, not knowing what to do or say.

I wanted to tell him it would get better, to promise him that time would heal this but we both lived long enough to know that some wounds were eternal.

And by the look in Malcolm's eyes, I could tell this was one of them.

This would not get better, it never would.

In the silence that follows my incompetence, Malcolm lets his gaze fall back to the stained glass.

Drained and broken, he does nothing but trace the length of his collar with one finger.

I stifle a frustrated groan as I stare at him, painfully helpless and lost.

God, how had Malcolm ever done this?

How had Malcolm helped people grieve and heal all at once?

How had he put a smile on and tried time and time again to make things better for so many when they were little more than a shell?

He'd done it for Wenquie and he'd done it for me but now that it was my turn, I didn't know what to do.

I didn't know what to do or say when just looking at him turned my gaze misty.

"I wasn't enough," his whisper is so quiet, so broken, that my ears almost miss it.

"I tried but..." more tears topple from his stormy eyes.

"I wasn't enough."

"Don't say that, Malcolm."

"I'm never enough. I've never been enough," he continues, unseeing.

"If I were, then someone would stay but nobody ever does."

"That's only evidence that not everyone has common sense. They're idiotic people missing a good thing," I insist as I peer at him but he doesn't even blink.

"You're more than enough, Malcolm, more than anyone can ever deserve."

"I was never enough for them and I'm not enough for h-him..." he croaks as if I hadn't spoken at all.

His shaking fingers tighten around his collar, its clasps straining as his tears fall.

"I could never be enough for him. I don't know why I ever thought..."

Malcolm closes his eyes, visibly trying not to break down again but he was already in pieces.

He tries for a breath, to make some part of him work but it turns into some awfully wounded cry that breaks my heart.

"That's not why he left, Malcolm," I promise, pulling closer in a feeble attempt for him to head my words.

"It's why he didn't stay," Malcolm whispers as he leans into his pillow, trying to quiet his sobs.

"I wasn't enough to make him stay."

"No, he didn't stay because he never could and that's on him," I correct, failing to keep my anger caged in the face of his raw, undeserved pain.

"That is on him, not you."

Malcolm stays achingly quiet, the words having no effect on him whatsoever.

He'd convinced himself that this was on him, that somehow he hadn't been enough.

It hurt like nothing else to see, especially when I knew how hard Malcolm tried.

Whenever he fell into a relationship, a chance at love, he gave it his all, despite all past hurts.

He tried to be everything the other could ever want, ever need, to the point where he sometimes forgot himself.

With Arias, I thought it was different. I'd honestly thought that finally, someone had seen the wonder that rested in Malcolm.

I thought the Elf, for all his faults, saw that Malcolm was a treasure others had foolishly passed up on.

I saw how Malcolm smiled at him, holding nothing back, saw the way he was open and honest with himself, his wants... his love.

I thought it would be different, that Malcolm had finally found the love of his life. In some ways, he had but that love hadn't been what either of us had thought.

"Malcolm," I start only to quiet as the weight of my own sadness and disappointment rises.

"You could not have stopped this. There was nothing you could've done to keep him here. He was always going to leave."

Malcolm stays quiet, staring tearfully ahead as I feared he would for a coming lifetime.

"I thought he loved me."

It's a strained confession, one I could tell takes the world of him to get out.

"I thought... I thought he didn't want to say it but that he showed it to me in different ways."

He laughs a little but the brittle, scarred sound crumbles on his trembling lips.

"But that was just wishful thinking. Foolish, hopeful thoughts. He never loved me."

I pause.

I didn't think Arias did, someone who truly loved another would never purposefully cause them this much pain but to hear Malcolm say the words aloud was more excruciating than I'd ever imagined.

"'This collar is made of magic but it's sealed by love'," Malcolm says softly, each word a fragile recount of what was clearly, one a treasured memory. "'It can only be removed if no love exists between us' that's what he said."

As Malcolm trails his shaking fingers along the length of his collar, a fond smile creeps onto his lips.

For a moment, he was back there.

I could see it in his eye, the spark of joy that soon splinters, collapsing as quickly as it had come.

"I thought it was his way of showing me that he loved me," he rasps, his face crumpling as reality tears the memory apart.

"This was my proof that Arias loved me but it's not. It's proof of my stupidity."

"Mal..."

"He never said it took two, just that it was sealed with love," Malcolm carries on despite the way his voice cracked, just like he does on the inside.

"It's still here because I still love him. Even now, I still love him, so it's here... it will always be here because I will always love him."

Malcolm's eyes focus on me for a moment, exposing all the taunting misery to me.

"I thought he'd show me in the end. I-I thought he'd showed me that he cared about me when it really counted but I was wrong, Lincoln," Malcolm says, shaking his head as his tears come faster, his building sobs making him tremble.

"I-I was wrong about everything."

Malcolm sinks into the mattress, trying to hide his bleeding heart from the world and the pain but there was no way to escape this.

This was pain.

Real and terrible pain that was too deep inside for me to fix.

My mouth parts, searching for something to say but every word was insufficient. I couldn't fix this with words or actions.

I didn't think anything could ever fix a heart broken so cruelly, especially not one as big as Malcolm's.

I didn't think there was anything one could say, so what else could I do?

********

"Why do you keep him when he doesn't even talk to you?" I'd asked Malcolm once, centuries ago, when it had only been the two of us.

Malcolm had stopped short, tilting his head with a frown as if I'd spoken in a tongue he didn't know.

"If this 'Wenquie' is as broken as you say, why do you try?"

I'd clarified but the confusion hadn't left Malcolm's face.

"It's pointless."

"You're pointless," Malcolm snapped back, earning a glare from him that made him smile giddily.

"Just because you can't see its value doesn't mean it's pointless."

I remembered staring at him, wondering how such a foolish thing had survived for so long and as if reading my thoughts, Malcolm had laughed heartily.

"Sometimes people just need to know they're not alone, Lincoln," Malcolm replied as he placed his satchel over his shoulder, his ever-present smile somehow growing even bigger.

"We don't need to talk for me to help him. I think just having somewhere there makes it better."

********

Back then, I'd thought Malcolm was naive and far too giving for someone so consistently betrayed but now, as I looked down at what was left of that sincere, loving man, I recognised the strength I'd missed for so long.

Malcolm had been there, that was all.

He'd been there and that was enough.

Mustering up my own strength for a man who deserved the world, I climb atop the bed and curl myself around Malcolm's back.

I draw as close as I can, wrapping my arms around as much of him as I can reach.

Malcolm's shaking doesn't stop and neither do his cries that were tearing my soul apart but I hold on.

I keep him close and rest my hand atop his so he knew without a shadow of a doubt that he wasn't alone, that I was here and that I always would be.

It wasn't much but I hoped it was enough.

Time passes, promising no aid as Malcolm's cries grow.

The tears never stop, the evidence of his pain excruciating but I hold on and slowly, his hand closes around mine.

Fingers intertwined, he clings to me, using me as his only anchor while his heart struggles to make it through the storm.

And he would make it through.

He had to.

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fadedflame · 11 months

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Rare-pairs Week: day 4

Summery: Day 4 of the rare-pairs week. Prompt: Injury/tears. Their lives were on track. They were happy. And yet, Captain Jeffery Fowler can’t help but wonder what would have happened if he had pursued a relationship with Hank when he had the chance.

On Ao3 or read below.

There wasn’t a word in the English language that could be quite so bittersweet as ‘almost’. At least, not that Jeffery could think of. And there were sure as hell days that it was more bitter than sweet.

In some ways, as much as he hated to admit it, things were easier when Hank was a drunken, fucked-up mess.

Jeffery hated seeing him like that, hated watching his friend dissolve into an unrecognizable shell of his former self. But at least it allowed him to mostly separate himself from the other feelings he had for the man.

Falling in love with Hank had been… inconvenient.

Jeffrey had known, even back at the academy, that Hank was bi. It wasn’t like he flaunted it or anything, but he didn’t try to hide it and it resulted in several backhanded comments and insults from their peers.

Even back then he’d had a ‘don’t give a fuck’ attitude when it came to what people thought of him, so he deflected or ignored it all with disinterested ease. It was one of the many things he’d admired about him.

Jeffery, on the other hand, didn’t have the luxury of ignoring other people’s opinions. He was already a black man. Despite steps in the right direction, society had a long way to go before that wasn’t something holding him back. It was hard enough to get the respect he deserved when people thought he was straight.

Still, at the very least, he knew he could trust Hank.

He did trust Hank.

He had planned to come out to him, let him know that he was also bi, that he liked men too. But that thought petered out when he came to the realization that one of the men he was interested in was Hank.

It was one thing to tell a friend you weren’t straight. It was something completely different telling someone he was attracted to that he swung their direction.

So Jeffery had bit his tongue and shut the fuck up about it while his feelings for Hank only grew.

Much to Jeffery’s frustration, everything the man did brought him closer and closer to falling head over heels for him. How he handled his cases, the way he was with the victims… police work shouldn’t have been the grounds for budding romance, but apparently his feelings were unavoidable.

He’d known for sure he had officially fallen for him on the day Hank had taken a bullet for him.

Hank’s body pressing against him suddenly was almost as disorienting as the sound of the gunshot. Chaos rained around them. Shouting, orders, return fire, but Jeffery didn’t pay it any attention.

No, all of his attention was on the bleeding man in his arms.

Those tense minutes had been etched into his brain, no way to erase them. Holding him, keeping his head off the ground, keeping him comfortable while the ambulance was on its way.

Hank was still joking and laughing despite being in so much pain and dammit if that didn’t just make him love him more.

“What the hell were you thinking?” he barked at him, pushing back the tears that threatened to betray how worried he was.

He had the audacity to smile, bright blue eyes undimmed by his injury. “You worry too much, Jeff,” he insisted. “I’ll be fine.”

“You sure as hell better be,” he snapped. Jeffery was not at all amused by how lightly Hank was taking this. On top of being shaken that the bullet had been meant for him and his head reeling from the realization that he had fallen in love with this man, he really wasn’t in a great mood.

“Hey, you’re not crying over me, are you?” His smile widened, but his eyes softened. “I’m gonna be ok, really. It hurts like a bitch, but I’ll be fine.”

Admittedly, Jeffery knew he was probably right. The wound was bleeding a lot, but where it hit was usually nonvital. “Don’t you ever pull shit like this again,” he warned instead of taking comfort in the knowledge.

“Yeah, no,” Hank laughed, wincing as the motion pulled on his wound. He opened his eyes again and there was something sincere in his expression. An openness. An invitation. It was nearly intoxicating. “No way I’ll promise that.”

The ambulance sirens echoed over the buildings as they came closer, but right then and there, it was just the two of them. Hank in his arms. Rugged, disheveled and bleeding, but still so unbelievably handsome.

Jeffery leaned even closer. Close enough he could feel Hank’s breath against his skin. So close he could almost taste him.

So, so close…

And then the paramedics arrived.

Hank was whisked away from him and their moment, their almost kiss was interrupted before it really even started.

Even now, long after it had faded into the irrelevancy of the past, Jeffery often found himself thinking about what might have happened if they had been just a few seconds later. If he had given in sooner. If he had kissed Hank like he’d wanted too.

He imagined that once Hank had healed a little, they would have talked about it. They would have started dating, moved in, gotten married, built a life together. They would have been happy.

But if he had kissed him, Hank wouldn’t have announced only a few weeks later that he was dating the woman that would eventually be Cole’s mother.

If he had kissed him, he wouldn’t have been the best man at the wedding. He would have never met his wife or had his two beautiful daughters.

If he had just kissed him, if that ‘almost’ had come to be, their lives would have been completely different.

Jeffery sat back in his chair, sipped at his coffee, and took a moment to stare across the bullpen at the man he’d never be with.

Hank was laughing at something or other that Chris had said. Connor, the reason he came back from the brink of disaster, was sitting on the desk beside him, equally amused but expressing it in a much more reserved manner.

He was happy.

It had been a fuckin’ rollercoster, but Hank was finally happy.

And that made Jeffery happy too.

Despite all the ‘what if’s’ and ‘maybe's’, he didn’t regret how his life had turned out. He loved his wife and daughters, he loved his job. He wasn't going to cry over what never was. But in the back of his mind, he would always wonder about that ‘almost’.

#dbh hank #dbh jeffrey #hank anderson #jeffrey fowler #hank anderson x jeffrey #DBH #detroit become human #dbh fanfic #dbhrarepairsweek2023

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jenniferdelgadowriting · 1 year

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Trying to Save My Father

Part one

My father had been having stomach pains for a few months before he eventually went to the hospital for those symptoms.The doctors at that hospital told him he likely just had an ulcer and sent him home, but worsening pain and nausea compelled him to head to another hospital emergency room. There he was told that he had stage four stomach cancer, and that he likely had less than a year to live. My twin sister was alone with him when the doctor told him that. She called me in a panic as well as my siblings and my mother to tell us what the doctor had said. My dad didn’t believe the doctor. He was in shock, as we all were. My dad was one of the healthiest and strongest people I knew. He had the strength of a bull like my cousin said, always full of energy, a hard worker, and resilient. He had never had any health problems in his entire life and rarely went to the doctor. I think we all had the sense that it was inconceivable that he had cancer, and he also was shell-shocked by his diagnosis. But my dad told the doctor that he was going to get better, that he wasn’t going to die in a year. He was determined to fight and get better in particular for his children, repeatedly saying to the doctors that his children still needed him. After finding out the diagnosis, my sister ran home the entire five miles from the hospital, crying. After that nothing was ever the same, and our lives became the seasons of “before cancer” and “after cancer.”

The medical drama that our life became felt like it happened both extremely rapidly and horribly slow. My father’s belly swelled up like a balloon, as the cancer had spread throughout his abdominal wall and gastro-intestinal lining; it was causing ascites, which was a buildup of fluid around his abdomen. It was awful seeing how taut his skin was, his belly straining against the tumors and cancer-filled fluid in his abdomen. This was extremely painful and uncomfortable for my father, as he felt constant pressure and pain in his stomach and it frightened him. He also had excruciating nausea, severe reflux, and despite having been such a lover of food all his life he could barely get anything down at all. It hurt me to my core to see my father struggle so much to just choke down one egg or one piece of fruit. My father, who had had the most voracious appetite and such a passion for cuisine, was reduced to being afraid to eat, afraid of the ensuing suffering that would result if he ate. We would take him to the hospital to get the ascites drained, but it would come back extremely quickly because of how advanced his cancer was. Thus, any symptom relief from draining it proved to be very temporary. My father and mother were told by the doctors that no treatment really works effectively for late stage stomach cancer; even chemo in their opinion was more for making him more comfortable and if he was lucky would allow him to live for a few more months. But my father loved his four children so much that he insisted that he was not going to die, that he would continue providing for his family, and he wouldn't let cancer take him prematurely when we still needed his presence in our lives.

At the time of my father’s diagnosis, I was somewhat still practicing as a Jehovah’s Witness, as was he and most of my immediate family. I was raised as a Jehovah’s Witness my entire life. Jehovah’s Witnesses have very strict beliefs concerning friendship and community, and what makes one deserving of being able to partake in the emotional support of a community. As Jehovah’s WItnesses, emotional support from our congregation and other members of the religion depended on our obedience to the rules set forth by the religion’s leaders, known as the Governing Body. In order to be spoken to, be able to attend social events, and have congregation elders and other members of the congregation visit you or give you emotional support, one had to follow all the rules once they were baptized. Failure to do so would result in the revoking of all aspects of community and socialization, and if they think your actions warrant it, it can even result in expulsion from the religion or shunning by the entire community and your immediate family. My father in the years before his death had felt compelled to start making a difference in his hometown in Mexico and to give back. He began volunteering with a local non-profit here in Chicago, called Los Guerrerenses. Through them as their Secretary, my father was able to do charitable work for his impoverished hometown in Mexico, including building a playground for local schoolchildren and helping with legal fees to reunite family members from his hometown with their family in Chicago that they had not seen in person for decades. This however was seen by the religion as taking part in a political organization, which is expressly prohibited in the religion. This led to members of the congregation slowly beginning to ignore and mistreat my father, and the social alienation he received from them just pushed him farther away and further into his charity efforts at the non-profit. They chastised him for being involved in “wordly politics” and admonished him that if he wanted to be accepted by them he would have to stop all of his political activities. My father refused to stop helping his village in Mexico, and he did not understand why it was viewed as something negative by the Jehovah’s Witnesses.

When my father was dying he asked the Jehovah’s Witnesses to come visit him. He wanted them to give him emotional support and pray over him, as the congregation elders as leaders of the congregation tended to do when a congregation member was hospitalized. However, they refused to help my father or pray over him or offer him any encouragement from the Bible, instead telling him that if he wanted those things he had to go to their religious meetings in person. They said this despite the fact that he was already in the hospital with organ failure and would never be physically able to step outside of the hospital ever again. I have never forgiven them for that, and it proved to be the last straw in my wavering membership in the religion. Even though I had been raised as a Jehovah’s Witness, as I grew older my doubts increased and eventually I could no longer drown them out into silence. For example, we were always told to never read any information that portrayed Jehovah’s Witnesses in a negative light or that spoke about them at all; rather, we should only read about Jehovah’s Witnesses from the religion’s leaders themselves. Even as a middle schooler I realized that this didn’t make any sense, because in school we learned that to get to the truth one must read and research both sides of an argument. If one side forbids you from reading the other side's story, how could you ever know the truth? Even at that age it implied to me that they were hiding something or that they knew that the more the members researched, the farther away they would get from the religion cognitively and emotionally. However, as I did not want to get shunned by my family and community and was too scared to shatter my worldview that I had been raised to believe, I decided to just ignore it and keep obeying.

Eventually in my first year of college, I got diagnosed with Lyme disease and panic disorder and agoraphobia, and this made me become extremely isolated and house bound. This enabled me to be able to see from a more distanced perspective all of the fallacies of my religion that I had ignored before. I could no longer ignore the fact that it did not make sense to forbid outside research, relationships or friendships outside of the religion, marriage outside of the religion, reading books about other religions or spiritual beliefs, certain clothing or hair colors or leisure activities, going to college, and many other things. I began to realize how controlling religion was, and how monstrous it is to try to control every single aspect of a person’s life, down to the color that they dye their hair and the people they are allowed to love. The social isolation allowed me to see the religion more for how it really was; the cult-like aspects of it began to show through the cracks, and as my friends from the religion all abandoned and forgot about me, I lost the fear of being shunned. I no longer hid from researching, as there was no point in fearing getting shunned as everyone forgot and had abandoned me already.

I began researching the religion online, and I discovered that the religion met many characteristics of a high-control cult. Slowly I devoured information online, everything from psychologists who specialize in cults breaking down why Jehovah’s Witnesses were a cult, to podcasts of people talking about their emotional recovery after leaving the cult, to researching the real history of the religion and background of its leaders. Rapidly the scales fell from my eyes, and I knew that in my heart and mind I no longer identified as a Jehovah’s Witness. I decided to keep it to myself untill my health was better, as I did not want to deal with my health issues and a religious crisis with my family at the same time. This was when my father got sick.

At one point when he was hospitalized, the hospital needed to give my father a blood transfusion. They said that he could die if he did not get it. Jehovah’s Witnesses do not believe in blood transfusions, and if no bloodless options are available, they are commanded to deny themselves or their children blood transfusions even if it leads to death. I always knew even before my mental schism from the religion that if a day ever came when I or a loved one needed a blood transfusion, I would never deny it. I always thought the rule was incredibly stupid with absolutely no logic behind it. I instructed the nurses to give my father the blood transfusion. I asked my aunts and uncles if that would be ok, as my dad was worried about breaking the religion’s rules and them abandoning him. They told me that it was my decision to make, which I am still so thankful for them saying, and when I told my dad that they said this I saw an immense amount of stress and relief come into his eyes. I could tell my father desperately wanted to live, and he wanted to do whatever it took to survive, but he didn’t want to be abandoned and left to die alone. It hurt my heart and enraged me to see him think that he had to make a choice like that, to see him think that he had to choose between living or pleasing God just because some old white men in expensive suits far away decided to incorrectly interpret the Bible that way. That was the moment that I knew it was over; I did not believe in the religion, and I did not want to ever return to it. And I have never gone back.

My religious upbringing made me think that a miracle could absolutely happen. I had heard of so many medical miracles growing up in that religion, hearing all the time in talks and publications of people with a death sentence recovering because their faith in God was so strong it made God heal them. We often discussed in our weekly bible meetings or read in our religious magazine “The Watchtower” stories about people experiencing all sorts of miraculous solutions to problems because their faith in Jehovah was so extraordinary. We were always constantly told of the power of prayer to give us God’s blessings. So even though a part of me felt utter, sheer terror, the scope of which I could barely comprehend and the understanding of which I could barely carry, I thought that if I just did what I was taught to do, if I just had enough faith and believed enough, my dad would get better too. They were wrong, and I was wrong. My father never got better.

My father had his first session of chemo at the hospital, and then he was allowed to go home and rest until his next session. Instead of making it to his next session my father got extremely ill after chemo. His skin became gray; my once powerful and brilliant and strong Papi lay in bed all day moaning, groaning, gritting his teeth and softly weeping. My father had such immense strength, I had only ever seen him cry once, when his father died and he shed a few tears. I had never seen him sick in bed in his entire 53 years of life. He refused to go to the hospital, but the day that he was due for his next chemo he felt too weak to even walk, so we called an ambulance. Once he arrived at the hospital the doctors determined that something was very wrong, and that he had gone into sepsis. Sepsis meant that the chemo had caused infection to ravage his body and go into his bloodstream due to his white blood count being so low after the chemo. This caused his kidneys and liver to fail.

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the-nysh · 2 years

Text

TAREOOO!!!! 🥺 Is for sure the bravest mvp this chapter (titled: "Greatest Hero")

The way he insists, absolutely sure and confident now, while vouching for his feats in front of everyone, how Garou is a hero. :'))

Uwaah!!! Even when Garou's growing rage & frustration mutate his defensive outer monster shell into further massive, unrecognizable forms....

Tareo STILL sees past that and goes to him. 🥺

Even when he's held back and hauled away onto the rescue boats by the other heroes, Tareo slips past them and swims back to the shore for him!

We even get the classic callback to when Garou saved him that time during the shed scene...

But this time, Tareo vows not to be scared or run away from him again, because no matter what he looks like on the outside, Tareo knows him and understands the truth! ;o;

"You were a hero all along!" Tareo's faith & bravery are so pure - aaa he's being strong for Garou by insisting this truth as many times as it takes.

;A; !!!! Destroy me now. Even when Garou still can't possibly believe or accept it (which is quite sad that his outlook on life, his identity & future have been crushed/resigned to such an extent that he can't see himself as anything but a monster) and asks him to take a good look - what part of him is a hero? Tareo replies it's the 4th time now he's always come to save him (which matches the 4 times this chapter he calls him a hero - 3 times to Garou's face: Garouuu you're his herooo!) so that's what matters to him. Because in Tareo's view of what's most important and meaningful, he knows it without a doubt: to him Garou is the Greatest Hero of them all. 🥺 (TITLE DROP!!!)

The way Tareo pleads with him to stop pretending because....he truly believes in Garou's goodness and doesn't want everyone to misunderstand and hate him. :')) (Which....Garou already knows how that feels; it's always been 'real' that way for him ever since childhood, even when he wasn't pretending, so now it's...become par the course to take all that scorn/cruelty/unfairness upon himself as a monster - he's already been ready to endure the pain of this role.) Tareo's tears for him come from a place of genuine care & concern on Garou's behalf, like he can't stand the thought of Garou mistreated over this, where it would be terrible to see the best parts of him wronged and shunned away via perceptions of him that aren't even true, and that's so.....;o;

Damn...but even still, Garou can't help those human feelings either (he's still soft/sympathetic/weak to that face...enough that he wants to...show Tareo - the crying bullied kid, in his own 'monster' way, something strong to be proud of little does he know, he already did make Tareo proud when he won vs the centipede monster earlier.)

That it's just....ah w-wait, hold on a sec there Saitama, we were having a tender moment right before intervening with those types of comments from the other direction....tsk, now it's become just as Tareo said - Garou's getting misunderstood (particularly for the perceived reason why Tareo's crying here...whoops;;)

*facepalm* Dammit...we were doing so well too, before the need to specifically provoke him and make things worse with those inciting words!?! D8 (Yup it's the same webcomic line, but now it's like, geez Saitama please read the room with an actual child there on Garou's side who's clearly pleading he doesn't want that to happen or lead to a fight.)

*sighs* Alright...if Saitama's not going to be the one who approaches things soft or gentle here, then Tareo permits him to do what it takes to make Garou stop pretending as a monster, even if it (the task of finally imparting the truth and saving Garou from himself, while promising not to kill him!) has to be done the hard way...

#opm #tareo #garou #manga spoilers #commentary #long text post #continued more under the cut #i never want to see takes that tareo's role for garou should be replaced by another character ever again :')#man we were doing so well before whoops saitama kinda interrupted the tender moment #(in before the other heroes ignore saitama to dogpile garou like some wc reversal or something)

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dialovers-translations · 2 years

Text

Diabolik Lovers DARK FATE ー Carla Maniac [08]

[Prologue][01] [02] [03] [04] [05][06] [07] [08] [09] [10][Epilogue]

ー The scene starts in the bedroom of Mertz’ manor

Mertz: ーー A vessel for blood...huh? While it is a very fitting way to describe her...Something doesn’t sit right with me.

...If I recall correctlyーー

ー A flashback ensues

Carla: There is one thing I would like to ask you.

Mertz: Haah, haah...What would that be...?

Carla: I want to know the whereabouts of Menae’s daughter.

Mertz: Menae?

Shin: Don’t play dumb? We’re talking about the woman who joined the ranks of the Vibora.

Mertz: ...?

Carla: We have come here in search for her. Through one of the items Menae left behind, we were able to read her thoughts and trailed them all the way here.

ー The flashback ends

Mertz: ーー Right. They were looking for Menae...In other words, the Mistress of the Demon Lord Burai.

Menae is dead, and her daughter is Cordelia...of which the heart now resides in Komori Yui...

...Exactly. Why were they looking for Menae in the first place?

Cordelia rarely ever spoke of her mother either...

...Seems like I will have to do some digging around to find out more about Menae.

Most likely, there will be some hidden information to unravel. ーー Oi.

*Snap*

*Woosh*

Familiar B: Is there anything you need, Mertz-sama?

Mertz: I want you to look into Demon Lord Burai and his close relatives to find out more about Cordelia’s mother.

Familiar B: The Demon Lord Burai? ...However, that man...

Mertz: I am aware that he has retired after losing his interest in this World. However, you should be able to find him in the throne room of the Vibora’s Castle.

Familiar B: Understood.

Mertz: Meanwhile I will be on my way to Banmaden.

Familiar B: To the Founders’ Castle?

Mertz: Yes.

I find it curious how none of their alleys have shown up.

Something might have happened at the Castle. From when they were imprisoned after the Great War of the past.

Familiar B: Well then, if you’d excuse me nowーー

Mertz: I am counting on you.

*Woosh*

Mertz: I suppose I shall get going too. To the outskirts of the Demon Worldーー

ー The scene shifts to the underground dungeon of the Tsukinami manor

Yui: ーー ...

( Shin-kun will bring me dinner and they allowed me to get changed into a fresh pair of clothes too. However, I’m still stuck in here... )

Haah...

( I wonder...What will become of me...? )

Shin: ーー I honestly thought you’d be crying about, giving me one hell of a struggle, but you’re surprisingly calm.

Yui: Shin-kun.

Shin: If you’re doing it because you know that sort of attitude will only make Nii-san even more stubborn, then I might just have to change my opinion about you.

*Thud*

Shin: Here’s your food.

Yui: ...

Shin: You don’t want it? You haven’t eaten in forever though, have you?

Yui: I have no appetite...

Shin: Hmー Well, be my guest.

Yui: ...

Shin: I guess you finally lost all hope, huh?

Yui: ...Eh?

Shin: It’s painful to be in despair yet unable to die, isn’t it? After all, despair is a lethal disease.

Yui: I haven’t lost all hope or anythiーー

Shin: You have. I mean, you won’t even cry or eat...You’re like an empty shell.

Yui: ...! I...haven’t lost...

*Cling*

Shin: Oh. You’re gonna eat?

Yui: ...Ugh...

( I fought back out of my will to live as a human...So if I give up now, it’s truly over... )

( I have to eat... )

Uu...Cough...

Shin: Well, personally I think you shouldn’t push yourself?

Yui: Ugh...

Shin: Anyway, just how stubborn are you gonna be?

You should be well aware that trying to defend a Vampire will get you on Nii-san’s bad side.

Yui: ...What do you mean?

Shin: Out of all demonic species, Nii-san has a particular hatred for Vampires.

Because he loathes Karlheinz.

Yui: ...

( ...Is that why he seemed so insistent on getting me to speak...? )

Shin: Well, I don’t really know why either. But he’s like the archenemy to us Founders.

On top of that, you have ties to that guy’s sons.

Which is whyーー

ー Carla walks up to them

Carla: What are you talking about?

Shin: Woah there...That’s enough chit-chat for today. I’ll leave you in Nii-san’s hands now.

Yui: Ah...

ー Shin walks away

Carla: ...

Yui: Uu...

( Oh no...I’m terrified...Has he come to torment me again? )

Carla: Hmph. Are you afraid?

Yui: ...

Selection

→ No

Yui: ( If I admit to it, I’ll only end up fueling his anger again... )

N-No...

Carla: Do not lie. Your voice is quivering. How about you stop...trying to act so tough?

Yui: Ugh...

( Seems like this ended up upsetting him instead... )

→ Yes (♡)

Yui: ( It’s not like I could fool him... )

Yes...

Carla: Hmph. If you realize what effect your actions will have on my behavior, you should just spill the beans already.

Yui: ...

Carla: Come on, today is the day you will talk to me. I’m honestly fed up of playing your little game.

As if being fed up with cleansing alone was not enough...

*Creaaak*

Yui: I...will not talk...Even if you torture me...

Carla: ...

Yui: ...

Monologue

I am desperately fighting back, in this dark and damp dungeon.

Because the moment I give up,

and let despair (絶望) get the best of me, it’s game over.

However, it is difficult to keep one’s sanity,

when you have been imprisoned...

I’d be better off simply dead.

That’s what I end up thinking.

However, even if this costs me my life, I want to die as a human (人間).

ーー TO BE CONTINUED ーー

#diabolik lovers #dialovers #carla tsukinami #dark fate #diabolik lovers translation #dfcarlamaniac8

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demon-childe · 3 years

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Win or Lose | Childe x F!Reader

relationship - Childe x F!Reader rating - E - this is... pretty filthy warnings - spanking, praise kink, degradation kink, dirty talk, vaginal sex, use of c*nt word count : 3.2k ao3 - here notes - this has literally just been known amongst me and my friends as the “childe spanking fic”.... so yup, enjoy

----

In one fell swoop, Childe’s successfully pinned you to the ground.

You had gotten distracted when he winked at you during your sparring session (cheap tactic – you think irritably) and then stumbled over your damn feet and before you knew it, he’d swept you to the ground. The laugh he’d let out sent a wave of irritation through you.

When you clamber onto your knees to try and get back up, he drops down next to you, a hand pressing firmly against your back and pressing your face down onto the ground beneath you. You let out a discontented noise, squirming and his other hand moves to your wrists, holding them together behind your back.

“H-hey! Lemme go,” you complain, wriggling. The position you’re in is certainly less than appropriate – face down, ass up - and you squirm uncomfortably.

“I must admit, you do look quite good like this,” Childe says, sounding far too pleased with himself. You can feel your face heat up and send a glare back at him. This isn’t the first time one of your sparring sessions has ended questionably, but the way he teases you still sparks a whirlwind of emotion in you.

“Oh, shut up,” you shoot back, half annoyed and half embarrassed.

Without warning, you’re met with a sharp stinging sensation blossoming across the swell of one ass cheek and you choke out a noise of surprise – he actually just spanked you. Molten heat comes to life in the pit of your gut, fast, too fast, and you grind your teeth irritably.

“Now, now, is that any way to talk to the winner of our little match?”

“You didn’t win-“

You’re interrupted by another slap, your voice breaking off in a shocked gasp. He laughs at you, actually laughs and you feel frustration bubbling in your chest. Squirming, you try to wiggle out of his grasp but he just tightens his grip on your wrists, clicking his tongue in disappointment.

“You could stand to take your loss a little more graciously.”

He spanks you again. The pain makes you arch away from him, your body attempting to curl inwards but then you arch back, pressing your face against the floor, tilting your hips back as your control wanes. Dammit.

“Oh, good girl,” Childe praises and you want to melt away, shame fluttering through you when his words send heat curling in your belly and between your thighs.

“Sadist,” you snarl, and he laughs again. You can feel him shift next to you and you see his shadow move into the corner of your vision. His hot breath fans across your neck and he leans in, lips brushing against the shell of your ear.

“Masochist,” he counters and you huff in response, wriggling.

You yelp in response as a hand collides with your ass again, but this time his touch doesn’t relent. You feel his palm move in slow circles over your abused cheek and you can’t help but let out a small relieved noise, pushing back against the contact.

“Don’t you wanna be good for me?” He inquires and you chew on your cheek nervously, eyes flittering about. “No?”

You’re about to open your mouth to reply when he spanks you again and this time the noise that escapes you is neither shocked nor pained, but a soft whine.

“If you’re good, I’ll give you a nice little reward,” he singsongs, voice a tempting whisper in your ear. “Even though you lost. What do you say, huh?”

His hand slowly slides down the back of your thigh, then back up, fingers tracing a line inward, dangerously close to your center and you can’t help the gasp that escapes you. Nervously, you glance back at him and his blue eyes are trained intently on you, waiting for a response. When you give a shaky nod, he grins dangerously.

“Count,” Childe instructs you simply and before you can say anything, his hand meets your ass. You arch back at him and he grabs one abused cheek roughly before drawing back and spanking you yet again. You mumble. “Reward’s off the table if you don’t count.”

“One,” you say quietly. He does it again and a broken little noise escapes you. “Two.”

“Louder.”

“Two!”

Childe says nothing, but continues his punishment. With each smack, you feel need curl in your belly, your resolve wavering, voice tightening as the sting of the contact turns into something sharper, darker.

You whimper when he yanks your pants down your hips, shoving them to your knees. He takes your underwear with them, leaving your ass bare, and you feel the cool air against the heat of your core. Almost instinctively, you try to squeeze your thighs together to cover yourself and Childe responds to your actions with another slap.

“Should I leave bruises today, girlie?” He asks, almost absentmindedly, his gloved hand caressing and squeezing one abused cheek. A chuckle escapes him as you’re about to reply and you feel him slide a hand between your thighs, pushing them further apart. “Well, would you look at that?”

“You’re dripping,” Childe informs you before you feel a finger slide up your slit and he presses down on your clit a little too hard, earning a cry from you. A shudder overtakes you momentarily and you feel hot and cold in one fell swoop; lust clouds your mind and you can’t help but grind back against the contact. “Oh, look at you. So eager.”

“Childe – please.”

“I did say I would reward you, didn’t I?” He asks, soft but teasing and you whine when he stops touching you. “Good things come to those who wait, right?”

He spanks you again, gloved hand colliding with the tender, abused flesh of your ass and you feel your cunt clench desperately around nothing and all you can think of is how badly you want.

“Ah!”

“Count again.”

You start over.

One.

Two.

Three.

Your head swims, sensation overwhelming you. With each strike, the ache inside you grows and at nine, the pain threatens to overtake your arousal and as if he knows, he pauses.

“One more.”

The last slap makes you cry out, teeth digging into your lower lip as you try and bite back tears. “T-ten.”

You hear Childe hum appreciatively and he skims his gloved fingers softly over your tender skin. You wince for a moment, then relax under his gentle touch.

“What a good girl,” he praises you and you can’t help the desperate little whimper that escapes you. “Are you ready for your reward?”

You nod as well as you can with your face pressed down into the floor and cast a needy look back at the Harbinger. He’s looking at you expectantly, still running one hand over your abused ass. As good as Childe is at hiding his feelings, you can see his pupils blown wide with lust, and it sends a wave of hunger through you.

“Please,” you say. “Please fuck me.”

“Fuck you?” Childe repeats, expression splitting into a dangerous little smirk, one brow arching high. “You already need it that bad, girlie?”

“Childe,” you plead, your voice needy and quiet. You’re not sure you’ve ever wanted someone to take you so badly before – shame is out the window and all you can focus on is how aroused you are and the ache between your thighs.

“Hmm,” he murmurs. “Who am I to deny such an obedient girl her reward?”

His grip on your wrists relents and you bring them forward to brace yourself against the ground, swallowing nervously. You can hear the jingle of his belt as he undoes it and you glance back at him. You watch hungrily as his cock springs free from the confines of his clothes and you can feel your face flush, mouth watering and you suck your lower lip into your mouth.

Childe moves between your calves, knocking one knee against your thighs to spread your legs further and you arch up at him eagerly.

His cock presses against you and a gasp escapes your lips, one hand flying to cover your mouth and trying to stifle the noise. You blink and he’s already grabbed your arm and yanked it back.

“Oh, no,” he says. “You asked for this. Now you’re going to let me hear how much you like it.”

“Childe, I - ah!”

He presses into you without warning, filling you in one thrust and you let out a broken moan. The stretch is divine agony – your walls fluttering around him as your body struggles to adjust – and your breath escapes you when he sheathes himself to the hilt. Childe curses and groans, hands finding your hips and gripping so tightly you can feel his nails digging into you.

“Fuck,” he mutters, easing his hips back and sliding out of you almost completely. You whimper and look back at him.

“Childe…” He grins at you in response.

He thrusts back into you without warning and you cry out, arching back at him as he fills you again. You’re woefully unprepared for the way his cock stretches you – body stuck somewhere between aching and craving – and you whimper pathetically.

There’s no hesitation before Childe sets a rhythm, fucking into you insistently and fully, every thrust leaving you gasping.

“So tight. Such a good girl for me,” he says, interrupting your thoughts and you tighten around him at the praise. He pauses mid-thrust when he feels it, a chuckle escaping his mouth and his hands glide from your hips up your back, fingers dancing over your spine.

“Fuck, d-don’t stop,” you stammer, pushing your hips back against his. “Please.”

“Go ahead,” Childe speaks. “Fuck that pretty little cunt on my cock.”

Your eyes roll back as you start eagerly start pressing backwards against him, using him for your own pleasure. A whimper escapes you, one hand flying between your thighs to attend to your neglected clit. He grunts, a hand coming back to the abused swell of your ass and Childe spanks you again.

“Ah!”

Your pace stutters, hips canting at an angle and your walls clench around his length. He lets out a breathless little laugh when you do and you can feel the blunt edges of his nails dig into your hips.

“I didn’t say stop, girlie.”

If your body wasn’t strung so tightly, maybe you’d be embarrassed, but the way Childe fills you up leaves you stupid – eyes rolling back, a hot shudder going down your spine when you fuck back at him desperately. Your adrenaline is still so high from the sparring session all you can focus on is the pleasure building in your gut and the slick sound of you fucking yourself on his cock.

“Fuck,” the harbinger groans and you can feel him start meeting your thrusts, the pressure of your orgasm mounting higher as he hits deeper, harder, and you whimper. “What a good little slut you are for me.”

He presses back into you insistently now, fingers gripping you so tightly his nails might break skin, and the stinging sensation is lost somewhere in the hazy swirl of heat that coils in your gut.

“Yes – yes – yes, fuck, please, Childe!”

“Maybe next time I’ll fuck you in Foul Legacy form,” Childe pants, keeping his pace steady. “Really fill you up like you want, huh?”

You can’t help but picture it – the visual of him looming over you in his armor, caging you in with ease, claws tearing at your clothes as he splits you in two – and you’re gone. Your climax crashes into you and all you can do is keen, a hand flying over your mouth as your cunt spasms around Childe’s length. Loudly, he laughs.

“Did you just come?” He asks. His voice is cruel, taunting, and you feel a wave of shame wash over you momentarily when he stops fucking you. “How cute. You’re so pathetic.”

Something tightens in your belly at his words and you sob, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes. You open your mouth to reply, mind still lost in a haze of pleasure and then he starts fucking you in earnest – giving you no respite after your orgasm. He slams his hips to yours repeatedly, filling you relentlessly and you can feel your limbs going weak from the intensity of sensation he’s subjecting you to.

He changes angles and suddenly you’re too full, thighs shaking with the effort of keeping yourself together. The way he pounds into you has your head so fuzzy you can’t focus on anything but how overwhelming the feeling of him fucking you is, a cry tearing from your lips.

“T-too much, too much, please, fuck!”

“Too much?” He parrots back. “Tell me to stop, then.”

There’s a momentary lull in the pace of his movement and when you whimper helplessly instead, walls fluttering around him, he laughs. It’s cruel and taunting and so good and you moan when he resumes fucking you.

“That’s what I thought. You like when it’s too much, huh?”

He’s close – you think, maybe, but you can’t think straight - but the desperate way he fucks into you and the breathlessness in his taunts certainly makes it seem like his control is unraveling.

“Can you come again for me, girlie?” Childe spurs you on, leaning forward and down against you before snaking a hand between you. Fingers find your swollen, sensitive clit and he draws slick circles around it, eliciting a wail from you at the feeling of sharp, unrelenting pleasure. It’s so much, too much, and your body can’t decide between pain or pleasure, eyes welling with tears as your hips cant back at his and you cry out.

“Please!”

“Fuck,” he groans. “One more for me. One more. Wanna feel you come all over my cock.”

His words push you further to the edge and you blankly register the feeling of his mouth against your shoulder, hot, heavy breaths tickling your skin and then he fucks harder into you, hips colliding with yours and before you know it, you’re crying and begging.

“Close! Ah - ha, close, close, please – Childe!”

Tears cascade down your cheeks and you sob as the tension tightens unbearably in your abdomen. You gasp for breath, your cunt tightening greedily around his dick.

“Come - come for me. Come on. Be a good girl and come for me,” he hisses in your ear, humid breath tickling across your neck. A noise rumbles from his lips, deep and desperate and then you feel his teeth press into your shoulder and you crumble.

Stars burst behind your eyes as Childe pulls another orgasm from you, the tight curl of tension in your belly suddenly releasing, and your mouth opens in a silent scream, nails digging into the ground. You hear him curse loudly from behind you, pace stuttering as he gives you one last, forceful thrust, and somewhere between the immobilizing pleasure, you think you can feel the way his cock throbs, emptying himself inside of you.

It takes a moment for your senses to return to you, heaving deep breaths in the aftershocks of your climax, and when Childe pulls out of you, a whimper escapes you, the feeling of emptiness causing you to tense and tighten around nothing.

“Shit,” you mumble quietly, face stained with tears as you try to hold yourself up on your arms. Behind you, the harbinger grunts and you feel him run a finger up your thigh and to your cunt.

“Look good filled with my cum,” he comments, a little breathless, a little tired, and then swipes a line up your slit, pushing some excess of his seed back into your abused hole. Your hips jerk and you hiss, reaching back to slap his hand away.

“Quit it,” you complain. “Sensitive.”

“Whoops,” he breathes with a small laugh before pressing a quick kiss to your cheek and then he pulls your pants back up your thighs, his attempt at redressing you lazy, underwear sitting skewed across your hips.

Shakily, you push yourself up onto your aching knees, fixing your clothes and you glance back at him. Childe’s still flushed, the pink tinge across his cheeks just starting to taper off, fingers hastily redoing the buttons on his pants and he looks up at you once he does. He flops back onto his ass, propping himself up with one arm.

“C’mere,” he says and before you have a chance to respond, he tugs you into him, back to chest and his arms wrap around you. He nuzzles against your neck and you squirm. “You alright?”

You hum and nod despite the humid warmth radiating between the two of you. “What time is it?”

“Dunno.”

“Think we went past the time I reserved the training room for?” You ask, leaning to the side to look at him. He laughs and then shrugs.

“Maybe,” he says nonchalantly, but then his eyes narrow as he smirks. “Although I did preemptively dole out a punishment for you, after all.”

You hum and look away, sighing and glancing at your hands and the dirt under your nails. “Hm. And what makes you think I’ve learned my lesson?”

There’s a pause before you look at him again, trying to stop yourself from smirking at the surprise in his eyes, and then he laughs, throwing his head back, eyes crinkling closed. Once he stops you watch his mouth curl into a little smirk, head tilting to the side curiously.

“Is that so?” He inquires.

“Maybe.”

His response is to thread fingers through your hair and tug – just gently enough to pull you back and bare your neck to him – and a feeling flickers to life inside of you - warm, content, languid.

“Troublesome girl,” he murmurs, voice tinged with affection and you let a smile tug at your lips. His mouth presses to your cheek in a quick kiss before he lets go of your locks. “Lucky you look so damn good crying for me.”

A knock at the heavy double doors of the room stirs the both of you from your comfortable haze.

“Two minutes,” Childe calls loudly enough for whoever it is to hear before untangling himself from you. Tiredly, you lean on each other to stand and you can’t ignore the pleasant ache that radiates from between your thighs. Once you collect your things, the two of you wander to the exit. There’s four recruits standing at the door looking irritated, but when they see Childe, their expressions change.

“Sorry about the tardiness,” you attempt to offer.

“You’re thirty minutes over,” one of them complains.

“Ah, don’t worry about it – my fault, really,” Childe says before anyone else can interject. “I’ll make sure she’s properly reprimanded. Room’s all yours, recruits.”

They file past you quietly and you swear you hear one of them whispering to another about what kind of “punishment” Tartaglia would possibly dish out. When the door slams shut behind them, you give Childe a look.

“Reprimanded, hm?” You inquire.

“Reprimanded,” he parrots back. “Now how about you go get yourself cleaned up, girlie? We can work out the logistics of a suitable punishment later.”

“When would that be?”

“My office. Tonight. Say nine?” He suggests – and it’s not really a suggestion so much as a demand but you nod anyway.

“Yes, sir,” you acquiesce and you can see his gaze darken just slightly. He waves two fingers at you before turning to wander off and you do the same.

“Oh, and one more thing,” he says from a few feet away and you pause, glancing back at him. He grins dangerously at you over his shoulder, blue eyes flashing.

“Don’t bother wearing any panties.”

#genshin impact fic #genshin fic #childe x reader #tartaglia x reader #childe x female reader #my writing #nsfw.txt #genshin smut

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astaroth1357 · 3 years

Note

request: an MC thats very good w playing games or like,,, is proficiently skilled in all game categories or smrhn

alsp hi xander i love ur writing

and can i giv u a kith? if so: mwah 😚

Well I hate to tell ya, sweetie, but I’m not Xander. I’m Jazzy. Hello! I can see why you’d want something written by Xander, though. He’s mad talented (better at this than I am quite frankly) and he’s on the list of people I wish I could write as well as. I guess we can both take a moment to be sad that I’m not Xander… *sigh*... to be Xander… 😔

Oh well, I am who I am and I don’t begrudge that fact. Meanwhile, I’ve wanted to do more shout-outs so everybody go read @sevendeadlymorons! If you’re not… I mean… why not? He’s more than worth your time. In the meantime, I hope I can entertain you despite my not-Xanderness.

Brothers React to an MC Who’s Good at Games and Stuff

Lucifer

Honestly couldn’t care less about the MC’s game proficiency in most cases. So they’re good at games? Good for them, he’s sure they’re happy.

But when they’re playing against him on the other hand…

Well, Lucifer may or may not be skilled at whatever game you set him on (he’s a very quick learner so never underestimate him), but he’s whole new levels of competitive when he wants to be. ESPECIALLY if he already thinks he’s hot shit at something.

Video games? Not his forte. Table top games? One word for you: Chess.

Lucifer believes that he can and will whip pretty much anyone’s ass in chess. That includes Satan, Solomon, Levi, and even Diavolo. He is at grandmaster level.

So imagine his shock, no, his disdain to have lost a game of chess to the MC… The moment they said "Checkmate" he stared at the board in front of them for a solid five minutes trying to work out where he went wrong…

And he wasn’t having that.

He and the MC now have regular chess matches in which he wins some and loses some so the tally stays pretty evenly tied. Really it’s all good fun... (but if they think he’s going to let them go home when he’s on a losing count, they’re Dead. Wrong. He’ll drag them back to down just to play chess with him until the score is right again. He DOES NOT lose, you hear? 🤨).

Mammon

Guess who’s found his gambling buddy??

No, really. He and the MC can make a KILLING at a Poker or Blackjack table! He’s never seen anyone better at poker than they are!! They have nerves of steel and give nothing away, so he’s lost more than a few hands to them before...

Even past the casinos, they’re perfect for making bets on! He once arranged a Devil Cart competition between the MC and Levi and took bets around RAD for who’d win...

Naturally, everybody assumed the Devildom’s resident Super-Otaku would win hands down, but the MC had this insane last minute save with a blue shell and pulled ahead in the last lap!!

He was like, the only person that bet on the MC and he got soooo much money that MC found HIM crying and hugging a bag of Grimm after the match…

Any time they win a game that gets him money, he’ll treat them like royalty for the next week. Man knows not to bite the hand that feeds him!... and creditors at bay... 😬

It may get slightly annoying that Mammon won't stop telling them about gaming competitions where they can get him more prize money, but hey, at least he's supportive, I guess.

Leviathan

Oh they are either his best friend or mortal enemy… Sometimes both in the same day.

Our boy hates losing, can't stand it any better than Lucifer, you KNOW the second he knows there's someone out there who even has a chance of beating him, he gets serious. This is not a "friendly rivalry," MC.

When they’re playing any game against each other, he'll call them by their gamertag/online persona to keep himself focused (yes, even if they’re playing Monopoly). They can't be his MC right now, they gotta be the person he's going to beat...

He's NOT opposed to dirty tactics to win, either. Saying things that will get them mad or flustered mid-match? Check. Using his tail to distract or tease them? Check. Just being a general nuisance/annoyance in game for the hell of it? Guilty as charged!

He's both a sore winner AND a sore loser, so unfortunately MC, you really can't win here... He'll be obnoxious regardless of the outcome.

However… when they’re on the same team, it's really something special. They don't just destroy the competition, they bulldoze over them like an armored tank barreling through rush hour traffic!

These two are legends in the online gaming community and have even started a streaming channel on the side. Sometimes your worst enemies also make the best allies... Who knew? 🤷‍♀️

Satan

Is surprisingly impressed by their gaming prowess. Are they just supremely skilled or incredibly lucky, you think…?

That being said, he's not the biggest gaming man on the planet so he's not too competitive with them one way or the other.

When Satan plays a video game, he usually goes for story-based, single-person experiences anyway so it's not like he could compete with them even if he wanted to.

That being said, they do share an informal challenge of sorts when it comes to puzzle/detective games (a not so guilty pleasure of his). He likes to try and beat the levels first, so when they start playing a new one they'll both compare time spent and scores.

He even enjoys playing those Devildom-style AR murder mystery games with them! It’s pretty cute to watch Satan get into it, he dips into his inner Levi and cosplays as some of his favorite TV drama detectives for the occasion and insists they dress as his co-star (best just go along with him. It’s not a bad time, even if they have to carry around an old tobacco pipe for a few hours).

Asmodeus

Good at games? That sounds dangerously like they're another Levi… 🙄 What about party games? Oh oh, or drinking games??

Actually scratch that. How about ANY game while drunk? That sounds pretty fun doesn’t it??

Like Drunk Truth or Dare!! Oh that's a favorite of his… 🤭

To be fair to the MC, the booze does diminish their skills somewhat (because that's kind of what it does in general) but not by all that much… It's pretty impressive.

He once challenged them to a game of Drunk Twister figuring that they'd be too unsteady to actually win for once, but no. If anything, the alcohol must have numbed the stretching pains because they bent over him like a pretzel!

Not that he was complaining or anything… 😏

He likes to take the MC to parties where he knows a game or two will be played just to show off to the crowd and brag that they’re HIS lovely, talented human! You go, MC, beat that competition to a pulp! 😌

Beelzebub

Sports count as games too, right? Well, they aren't half bad at those either.

Beel found it surprising that he found a human who could actually keep up with him. His brothers rarely want to play practice games with him anyway so it’s pretty exciting to have a sports partner at home!

He likes to ask the MC to help him train with practice matches or to go over certain moves or maneuvers he’s having trouble with. It’s not uncommon for the brothers to come home and find the two of them tossing a ball around in the front yard or something.

And the both of them on the same team? Forget it. It takes the dream team of Lucifer and Mammon (who aren’t just arguing with each other for once) to even come close to a challenge for them.

He also enjoys playing the occasional video game with them, though he treats it a lot like playing with Levi and just assumes he’ll never win unless he gets lucky - which does happen from time to time.

He doesn’t mind losing that much as long as he’s having fun, and if nothing else he can always win against them in an eating contest… He’s got those on lockdown. Come at’em MC, he’ll pack away an entire fridge before you’re done with your first plate. Try him.

Belphegor

So Belphie enjoys a good game or two - video-based or otherwise - it comes with the lazy-bastard territory. He may not be as skilled as Levi, but he can hold his own in some genres.

But he’s given up on beating the MC looong ago.

Do you know how much practice it would take? How many hours that he would have to use?? The hours where he could be napping instead??? Yeah, no thanks. They can continue to be the reigning Super Smash Devils champion for all he cares.

Buuuut even he has to admit, it’s pretty relaxing to watch the MC play something in the background... There’s a certain sort of satisfaction to watching someone who’s good at a game just play it straight through.

If they’re set up in Levi’s room or the Common area then Belphie may come over, set his pillow up on the floor, and watch them play. He may even throw in a comment or two like, “You missed a health pack,” or “Better save now,” but other than that he likes to just let them do their thing.

The MC has had many an all-nighter with Belphie spectating until about 4am or so. Then he’s dead to the world and they have to work out how to get his not-exactly-light demon ass onto a couch…

Or they can just leave him faceplanted and snoring on the floor. Up to them, really cause he did it to himself. 🤷‍♀️

#obey me #obey me shall we date #shall-we-date-obey-me #obey me requests #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me beelzebub #obey me belphegor #obey me headcanons

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electric--blanket · 3 years

Text

a place where the heart rests

so, because @thekaiserroll drew fanart of my fanfiction i decided to return the favour by writing a long Wintersberg one-shot based off of her short comic! i hope you enjoy touch-starved Heisenberg.

warnings for death (not for main characters) and some angst.

read on ao3

Mama… I want mama. It hurts.

Where’s mama?

Karl Heisenberg always suffered from nightmares. Even before he was taken in by Mother Miranda — as a child, Heisenberg often experienced night terrors that had him screaming in his bed. There were distant memories in the back of his mind, where he’d wake from a terrible dream that had him screaming for his mother — and she’d always come to his side. In that terribly large, cold estate that Heisenberg once called home, it always felt so lonely. But, his mother always eased his fears; with her silk nightgown and the distinct smell of expensive soap. Her soft fingers would comb through Heisenberg’s locks of ashen brown hair, hushing him in a soft tone of voice — a voice he could no longer remember.

During the experiments, it was the only thing Heisenberg begged for when he felt the cadou infesting his body. It felt like a worm wriggling around in the wet soil during a storm, curling and writhing through his organs. He screamed for his mother, wishing she would save him from the pain and take him home again. A seventeen-year-old boy screaming for his mother to come and save him looked utterly pathetic from Mother Miranda’s perspective, and the feeling of fear only intensified when she stroked Heisenberg’s hair whilst he screamed. A soft whisper that uttered, “I’m your mother now, child.” It made Heisenberg nearly vomit.

That was the last time someone had ever touched him so tenderly. He’d not felt a loving touch since then and ducked away from Miranda’s so-called ‘motherly’ touches.

At first, Heisenberg coped with the intense trauma of his bodily changes by taking it in stride and calling his newfound power of magnetism a ‘gift’. He knew deep down it was the opposite: it stopped him from ageing, rendered him infertile and stripped away his dignity by becoming a slave to Miranda. It took a long time for Heisenberg to fully process what had happened to him. His father had left him in the clutches of a madwoman, and his life only got worse from there.

In a fit of rage — perhaps at the age of twenty-nine — he revisited his parent's estate to confront the man he could no longer call ‘father’. He had aged since Heisenberg last saw him, but those steel eyes he’d inherited were still as hard as ever. His mother lingered in a doorway just down the hall, but she didn’t dare come to greet her son as he snapped with a short, interrupted breath. Heisenberg had grabbed his father by the neck and pinned him to the nearest wall, knocking down a beautiful oil painting his mother adored. His fingers didn’t seem to stop, squeezing on the skin and bone until he felt a sickening crack vibrate beneath his fingers.

Heisenberg hadn’t meant it, not really. It was as if a demon had taken control of his body and sought revenge that barely mattered anymore. He didn’t realise what he’d done until he heard the sound of his mother screaming; distraught and fearful of her own son that she’d once coddled so long ago.

That was the last time Heisenberg saw his mother and father. The estate was quickly abandoned not long after, and from what he knew, his mother took her belongings and moved to Austria with some distant relatives. That large house teased Heisenberg every fucking day, with how it towered near the factory grounds and reminded him of what he’d done. Arson wasn’t exactly on his bucket list, but Heisenberg couldn’t resist taking a match to the place and watching it burn. Whatever childhood remained in that house was left in a pile of ashes, and he never looked upon it ever again. All of the silly dreams and hopes he’d had for his life were gone.

That was until Ethan Winters showed up. Nearly a hundred years later, Heisenberg felt something he’d sought after for so long — hope.

“Karl? Karl—!”

Mama. I want mama. Everything hurts.

Heisenberg forced his eyes open. It felt like his life was replaying in front of him whilst he was passed out; like watching an old film reel repeating itself and becoming more distorted each time. Up until that very night, Heisenberg’s life had been a series of traumatic events and unforgivable actions.

That night, he’d turned it all around just by laying his eyes on Ethan Winters. A man so incredible, resilient and insane… He’d do anything to get his little girl back. It was the man Heisenberg had oh-so wanted his father to be, and he admired that about Ethan. He’d never been so good at expressing his emotions honestly, or even laying out his ideas in a proper fashion to others… Oh, but Ethan was special. He’d shown Heisenberg patience that he’d not been offered before and decided to join him at his side to kill Miranda. Together.

“Karl… Fuck— Don’t die on me, asshole.”

Ethan… Ethan…

Above the metal remnants of what his mutated body had used as a shell, he could hear Ethan pushing the scrap aside to try and find Heisenberg buried beneath it. He could also hear the distinct cries of a distressed baby, something that brought him back to Earth. Heisenberg reached up through the metal until his bare, calloused fingers brushed up against Ethan’s soft knuckles. There was a moment of silence when their skin touched, but Ethan didn’t waste any time in grabbing Heisenberg’s hand and pulling him out.

The moment the pressure around his body ceased, Heisenberg felt the telltale feeling of sickening warmth seeping from many wounds across his body. The cadou inside him didn’t react too well to it, trying to cope with the trauma done by squirming and pulsating inside of him. Heisenberg drank in the expression of Ethan’s relieved face for just a moment, only until it warped into one of worry and horror. Heisenberg was weak, and his knees buckled beneath the weight of his torso before he fell back onto the ground.

The baby cupped carefully in one of Ethan’s arms began to cry again as Ethan jostled her accidentally in an attempt to help Heisenberg. A baby crying wasn’t really helping Heisenberg’s already distressed state, but it made him realise just how fucked he was. There was no way they would get away in time together, and Heisenberg was too injured to walk. The cadou might have helped to some degree, but it didn’t ease the burning pain in his body, and the loss of blood that was making him dizzy.

Ethan’s horrified expression was pinned on an appendage from the Megamycete, which rose up from the cave systems like a flower bud in spring, ready to bloom. The small, red flashing light alerted him to the fact that Chris Redfield had succeeded in planting the bomb. They had to leave.

“Go.”

A silence hung in the air for just a moment, and Heisenberg didn’t realise what he’d just said. For the first time in his miserable existence, he was being selfless and urging Ethan to leave him behind. It was the last thing Heisenberg wanted.

Don’t leave me here. I’m fucking scared. I don’t want to die yet.

“Fuck you,” Ethan’s voice trembled with venom, “I’m not leaving you here now. Not after everything we’ve been through.”

Heisenberg let out a bitter chuckle, tasting the blood seeping from his gums as he grinned, “I don’t think we have any time to be arguing about this, buttercup.”

“No. I— Mia’s dead, Karl. I need you.”

That’s right. Heisenberg briefly recalled Miranda’s kidnapping of the not-so-innocent woman and the experimentation that followed. Unfortunately, her body gave in due to her state after giving birth and she died on Miranda’s operating table. Ethan’s wife was dead, and Rose was now left without a mother’s loving touch.

“I said go. Rose needs her papa intact, not blown to pieces.” Heisenberg insisted, slumping back against the pile of scrap metal.

“Damn it—” Ethan looked hesitant to leave Heisenberg. It was a truly sweet sentiment: to see someone care about him after all this time. After all of the terrible things he’d done, and the love he’d been deprived of… Someone cared about him. Maybe that was enough. Maybe it wasn’t so bad to die like this.

“Fuck.” Ethan stammered again, licking his dry lips and swallowing, “Karl… I… Thank you.”

“... Yeah. I know, Ethan.”

That was all he needed. A trembling, watery smile shot his way before Ethan held Rose close with both arms and turned to run.

He’s going to be a great father.

Heisenberg looked up at the plant-like form the Megamycete had taken, looming down upon the ceremony courtyard with writhing mold creeping closer to Heisenberg. It was then that he decided that giving in like this wasn’t who he was: he was a fighter to his last breath.

In a last attempt to preserve his life, Heisenberg parted the pile of scrap metal and shuffled beneath it all. He rolled his wrist, the cocoon of metal surrounding him and tightening. The metal creaked, drowning out the sounds of the mold writhing around the metal to try and get inside. Heisenberg closed his eyes tightly, gritting his teeth. I won’t die. Not yet.

The explosion that followed shortly after was deafening, causing the entire ground to shake beneath him and the metal to shudder against his body. It felt painful, rippling off his injured skin like that… But, fortunately for Heisenberg, the explosion wasn’t nuclear — the blast was enough to do the job and wipe out the mold and the Megamycete.

A silence followed the explosion, brick and ash collapsing against Heisenberg’s metal cocoon. Each noise made him flinch, and his fingers twitched instinctively as some final line of defence. He didn’t know how long it was before he felt brave enough to let his guard down and release his telekinetic grip on the metal. The scraps suddenly slumped, collapsing around him as Heisenberg pushed the metal off of his body and emerged like a phoenix rising from the ashes of its former self.

The smoke and dust still remained, causing Heisenberg to cough heavily as he took a sharp inhale of the air. He squinted through the dust and remains of what was left of his home town and realised how much he’d lost. It hit him all at once; his childhood, his parents and his fucked up little family. Even though he hated Miranda and his makeshift siblings deeply, they were all he truly had left to call ‘family’. It was over in the blink of an eye, and Heisenberg suddenly felt like a child all over again. Like a child waking from a nightmare, scared and alone.

Heisenberg’s fingers twitched into tight fists, clamping his mouth shut as tears threatened to spill down his face. Even after all this, he tried to will himself not to cry, to never let down the walls he had so carefully built. But, at that moment there was nothing left to keep the foundations upright. Heisenberg’s fists loosened, and he brought his hands up to cover his face instinctively. A knot seemingly untied itself in his chest and throat, and a guttural sob left him. Maybe — just maybe — it was okay.

Navigating the woods was even worse during a snowstorm at night. It was bad enough that Heisenberg’s body was weak from his healing injuries, but it felt haggard from his intense emotional breakdown. In a strange sense, he felt relief from it but at the same time, it felt awfully inconvenient. Heisenberg was sure he looked like a terrible mess; his clothes were torn and his hair was damp with clumps of ash hanging from his silver locks. Not to mention the blood staining his clothes, and his valuable dog tags that hung low on his chest.

In his many idle chats with Ethan before they fought Miranda, he could recall the other man mentioning he didn’t live too far from the village. It was a fair distance away, but not too far that it would be impossible to reach if your car broke down on the road between them. Still, it wasn’t a pleasant or short walk.

By the time Heisenberg even managed to reach a place that looked like a livable home, he was close to collapsing in the snow… But, he held out. The lights were turned off inside, but a motion sensor light on the property turned on once Heisenberg got close enough. The bulb blinded him briefly, and he held a hand up to shield his eyes as he walked up the porch to the door. Heisenberg sluggishly lifted his hand, knocking on the door as hard as he could and leaning against the frame. It took a few moments before he could see a light turn on inside from the windows, and the sound of someone walking down a wooden staircase slowly.

The person on the other side of the door stopped before they reached for the doorknob, and they spoke out.

“Who is it?”

Ethan Winters. That voice Heisenberg had missed so dearly; in all of its glory and full of caution. It almost made him laugh.

“Let me in, Ethan. I’m freezing.”

“Karl?”

“As smart as ever, Ethan. Can you hurry up?”

Ethan was quick to unlock the door and remove the security chain, twisting the doorknob and pulling it open. There, Ethan was standing in a pristine white shirt and some boxers that hung low on his hips… Along with a pair of comical slippers that seemed to resemble a cartoon dog. Heisenberg’s lips twitched into a tired grin.

“Oh my, too much skin, Ethan. Back in my day—”

“Shut up and get in here!”

Ethan grabbed Heisenberg’s arm, tugging him inside to shield him from the snowstorm outside. He slammed the door shut and quickly locked it back up, and the two men finally stood face-to-face. There was a silence that hung in the air, with so many unanswered questions on the tip of Ethan’s tongue, but none came. Without any further hesitation, Ethan threw his arms around Heisenberg’s neck and tugged him close for an embrace.

It was the first time Ethan had touched him in such a way. So full of affection and genuinity, it made Heisenberg’s fingers tremble with uncertainty. He didn’t know what to do with his hands: so overcome with the touches that smothered him. His brows creased into an expression of relief, and Heisenberg’s steel eyes fluttered shut as he succumbed to the hug. He wrapped his arms around Ethan’s waist, squeezing him carefully and burying his face into Ethan’s shoulder. The smell of talcum powder and formula milk permeated his shirt, giving Heisenberg the comfort he craved. He never wanted Ethan to stop touching him, and he was content to stay like this for as long as he could — to make up for all the time he’d lost aching after affection.

“I thought…” Ethan mumbled slowly, “I thought you were dead.”

“Mm.” Heisenberg hummed lowly in response, curling his fingers into Ethan’s shirt. “So did I. Turns out I’m hard to kill.”

Ethan snorted softly.

As it turned out, Heisenberg wasn’t too bad with kids.

It was a tough adjustment for the two men at first; Ethan had to keep Heisenberg a well-guarded secret as he was moved to a new location with Rose (courtesy of the BSAA). Heisenberg followed their steps at a safe distance, but he was never too far from them. Understandably, Ethan was moved into a smaller home: a humble bungalow in a quiet German village. Once the BSAA had left Ethan in peace with Rose, it didn’t take long before Heisenberg settled into the bungalow with them.

Ethan had insisted that if Heisenberg was going to stay there with him and Rose, then he’d need to learn to help take care of the baby. At first, he was extremely hesitant to do something akin to a parental figure… But, Rose was a surprisingly sweet baby. She didn’t fuss too much and rarely threw a tantrum over the little things. Rose was the right amount of responsibility for Heisenberg, and that made him a patient parent.

He’d been taught how to properly hold her (after many lectures), how to prepare her formula and change her. Rose was understandably unhappy with Heisenberg’s presence at first, perhaps longing for her mother that was no longer around… But, after a few months, she took to Heisenberg very well.

Because of Karl’s lack of mortality and infertility, he never thought he’d take the figure of a father like this… But, it wasn’t exactly an unwelcome opportunity. He’d even upgraded from sleeping on the couch to Ethan’s bed.

The first night Ethan invited him to bed, Heisenberg could tell from the flustered look on Ethan’s face that it took a lot of courage to ask him to bed. A sexual joke lingered on the tip of Heisenberg’s tongue, but he bit it back in favour of keeping the proposal on the table. Instead, Heisenberg had nodded with a cheeky grin and followed Ethan to bed.

There had been some nights where the loss of Mia hit Ethan harder than he’d liked it to — even after Mia’s work with The Connections was revealed, he had still loved her to a degree. Those nights were the hardest. All Heisenberg could do was hold Ethan in his arms and comfort him with nothing more than his presence.

This invitation into Ethan’s bed was far more intimate than a comforting hug. At first, they stayed a polite distance apart on either side of the bed, with Ethan turned on his side whilst Heisenberg stared up at the dark ceiling. In the darkness, his eyes created shapes that danced across the ceiling and warped before him. Much like the mold that infested him, it was as if it continued to taunt him with its presence. After a moment, Heisenberg finally turned onto his side and glanced at the lump that was Ethan with his back to him. That urge to touch returned to the forefront of Heisenberg’s mind. It was that deep ache in his chest, like a lump of flour stuck in a smooth dough that needed to be coaxed inward.

He reached out but stopped himself before he could touch, trying to plan the best way to move forward with what he wanted. Heisenberg pursed his lips, shuffling his body closer to Ethan’s back until he finally slid his arm over Ethan’s waist. He could feel Ethan’s body freeze and tense up a little, which made Heisenberg’s heart feel like stopping altogether. Had he gone too far?

But after a moment, Ethan relaxed, pressing his chest back into Karl slowly. It was all the permission he needed to slot himself fully against Ethan and quietly seek out his hand. Once Heisenberg found it, he carefully laced their fingers together as he held Ethan like that, tugging him close with his elbow.

No words were spoken in the darkness, but a silent understanding of what they both wanted. Heisenberg finally felt complete like this, closing his eyes and exhaling tiredly. His body suddenly felt tired, releasing all the tension it had been holding trying to psyche himself up to do it.

A feeling of affection swelled in Heisenberg’s chest as he held Ethan, finally giving in to the darkness and drifting away with their bond now stronger than ever.

“Are you fucking insane, Ethan?!”

Chris Redfield. A thorn in Heisenberg’s side, but not as bad as Miranda. His voice filling their home put Heisenberg on edge, but it didn’t really matter too much to him. It was around ten in the morning, and the couple had just had breakfast. The television was on, playing some cartoons in the background as Rose was sitting on the soft carpet of the living area with her toys, and Heisenberg sat close to her.

When Chris made an unexpected visit, and he spotted Heisenberg in the living room, the yelling began. Ethan had kept Chris just outside of the room so that Rose didn’t see her father getting angry, and Heisenberg made sure to keep her attention on her toys. Heisenberg was wearing a pair of tartan boxers, along with a button-up pyjama shirt with a white tank top beneath it. It wasn’t exactly the pinnacle of bedtime fashion, but it made him comfortable enough at night.

When the yelling only got worse and Rose seemed irritated by the noise, Heisenberg carefully brought Rose into his lap and crossed his legs.

“Hmm,” He hummed in feigned thoughtfulness, “Does ol’ Karl need to perform for little Rose again?” Heisenberg sighed dramatically, “Oh, the things I do for you.”

He turned his body subtly to the kitchen area, holding his hand out and focusing on one of the drawers. It slid open, a few tablespoons floating out from a cutlery tray. Heisenberg pulled his hand back, the spoons floating across to the living area and bringing them to a stop in front of him and Rose. With a simple, slow roll of his wrist, the spoons began to twirl and move in a circular motion above Rose.

Her eyes widened with fascination, the corners of her mouth opening into a gleeful smile. Absently, she reached up with her soft, pink hands and tried to reach for the spoons half-heartedly as they continued their motions. A soft laugh bubbled from her, causing Karl to smile softly.

“He’s a dangerous bioweapon, Ethan. He could hurt Rose!”

Heisenberg managed to hone in on those words; a sharp pain digging into his chest when he realised the implications Chris was trying to make. That Heisenberg was a monster. A bioweapon without feeling. A creature that would kill a child.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Ethan pointing wordlessly at the soft scene of Heisenberg with Rose in his lap, entertaining her with spoons. That was all he needed to say, really — without even saying it. Even Chris was at a loss for words, and he quietly relented. Ethan was surely in for an afternoon of lectures.

It made Heisenberg smile a little more, turning his head subtly towards Ethan and catching his gaze. It was his quiet way of saying thank you. It went beyond thanking Ethan for trusting him with Rose but thanking Ethan for listening to Heisenberg, taking him into his home and loving him. Even though they’d never spoken those three little words out loud, maybe they didn’t need to. Their actions, affections and closeness spoke those words loud enough.

Truly, after all this time, Heisenberg didn’t think he was capable of ever being loved or trusted. Now that he’d left that horrible life behind, he was now a father, a friend and possibly a lover. The trauma would always remain, yes, like the cadou and the mutations. That didn’t mean he couldn’t be happy like this, in this simple little life he’d started to build with Ethan.

Maybe it would be okay.

#ethan winters x karl heisenberg #karl heisenberg x ethan winters #heisenberg x ethan #heisenwinters #wintersberg #winterberg #karl heisenberg #ethan winters #resident evil village #resident evil 8 #resident evil fic #fanfiction #oneshot

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yanderenightmare · 3 years

Note

uhm, yandere Katsuki with a small reader... like idk how to explain but fluff fear? like waking up together but all she can think about is how loud he sleeps and how BIG he is, also him being a total bitch about how small she is?

yandere kidnapper ! BAKUGO KATSUKI

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goodiebag WARNINGS: dubcon/noncon mentions, kidnapping, abduction, abuse, degradation

PUFF

Waking up warmer than usual was something she’d gotten terribly used to.

It had only been a couple days. A couple days in a foreign house without anything to do except prance around in what lingerie Katsuki bothered to give her, or sleep the hours away. Where which the latter was undesirable, because she’d be risking getting snuck up on by the brute predator once he returned. So, she was left walking about, dragging tired limbs through barren hallways, stopping to take in the space of each impersonal room, half-naked and cold in the marble mansion, doing nothing but dreading the time her hero came home.

And in the absence of things happening, those moments where she was in fact preoccupied with something became so much heavier and longer than what they were in reality. Expanded, to the degree where she could pinpoint almost every single detail within the moment.

This was one of those moments.

She wanted to focus on the bed, soft material, caky and cloudy beneath her, but it was difficult to ignore the mass behind her. His nose poking into the top of her head, nuzzling in her hair, a good measurement of knowing how close his teeth were to her neck as heavy breaths ran down her neck like a chilling breeze, ticklish and disturbing like crawling mites. His chest, rising, pushing into her back, the beating of his heart rattling her ribcage. His hands, large and so very warm, warmer than they were supposed to be, scathed like sandpaper as they scratched in their presence by rubbing her hip, arms slung around her body haphazardly, caging her, suffocating her, pulling her close, holding her steady, trapping her.

Like a dragon protecting his treasure, she thought, but quickly discarded of the notion. It sounded too sweet.

Katsuki wasn’t sweet.

He’d come home yesterday, coated in smog, droplets of blood flecked on his sand-skin in no particular pattern. He didn't shower, he’d only grabbed her and walked off to bed. No words shared, only whimpers and dark, disturbing chuckles. She’d struggled, as much as she could against the brute, but it felt as though he enjoyed that more. Tightening his hold until she swore she began to hear her bones ache, bristle as he squeezed the air from out of her lungs.

She was happy she was spared his painful cock that night, but she was sure it would be a short-lived mercy.

His hold; though still strong, wasn’t as tight in the morning. She took it as an opportunity to create more space between herself and the fever-heat and blinding smell of caramel. She almost wished she could smell the blood and smoke instead, something bitter to disrupt the sickening sweet. She wished she could smell anything else, but even the smell of herself was overcome by him. She’d walked around the house thinking of it the other day, how it was almost as though he’d scented her, as though they were animals.

He didn’t take lightly to the disturbing of his slumber, grunting and growling, stirring that overbearing sense of fear inside her gut, her stomach folding in every possible way. She didn’t want to stop, she wanted to fight, she wanted to roar. He tightened his arms around her, squeezed her hip, planting her ass better against his crotch and she froze.

He smacked his tongue against his teeth. “Now what?” He coaxed. She expected his voice to sound groggy in the morning, but she’d learned in the past days, it never shed its ugly tone. “You gonna cry?” His voice sounding almost hopeful as he bit down on her earlobe, earning a gasp that along the way turned into a delicious little whimper. She tried clawing at his hand, his own nails digging into her skin. “Do yourself a favor and relax” All his taunting, patronizing overbearing words, dismissive to her discomfort, rather enjoying it, if only she could see the cracked smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. She kept struggling despite the obvious futility. “Yer’ not going anywhere, yer’ exactly where you need to be... exactly where you belong.” His tone was casual as he sucked in a breath, sighing with a grumbling growl, still sleepy, yawning behind her, comfortable when squeezing her plushie little form, keeping her close like child with a teddybear.

But he wasn't enjoying how her legs were kicking, despite the rest of her struggles being teasingly pleasurable.

Pushed down on her back, manhandled into position, he made to move himself between her thighs. Now, with more mistaken freedom, she tried pushing him away. Foolish fists hit against the stiff muscles of his chest, until he grabbed them by the wrists and pinned them above her head. His face so much closer now, but he didn’t kiss her, still longing to hear her speak up, to beg, to plead, to scream. But he remained close, knowing how every one of his words made her heart beat that much faster, and how those especially crude words made her quiver or better yet bleat, like a little lamb beneath him.

“Come on…” He hauled out. She barely made out the words, as far hidden in the growl as they were. His voice tickling her burning ear, his head resting its heavy weight on her arm. “I know I’ve been busy, but…” He spoke as though she wanted to spend more time with him. “It’s my day off.” His voice in singsong, as if she’d be excited, the tone sounding dreadful and wrong when coming from him, dark as it was. But it earned him what he’d been wanting, that soft and struggled sniffle, breath caught in her throat, an uncontrolled shiver breaking the sweet feeble noise.

Content with what he’d reduced her to, he rested his head on the pillow beside her face, his weight laid down upon her in a lifedraining fashion. He hummed, closing his eyes, enjoying her small frame beneath him. In her rightful place, he snickered. Eyes fluttering to look at her pretty face, hand covered in dried blood and smoke as it ascended to tug a lock of hair behind her ear, his thumb stroking over her lips when he made to retract it. The state of his skin made him cringe when he touched the fairness of her complexion. It felt wrong, he admitted.

They needed to find an even ground.

“Let’s shower, I’m dirty.” She could feel his lips on her ear now, but she was too shell-shocked to snap her head away, knowing what was coming.

In all honesty, she wouldn’t mind a shower. She’d been there a while and didn’t exactly feel clean with him spread, smeared all over her, inside her. But, he’d insisted on being so very close at all times, she was sure the same rules would apply in the shower.

She tried her best to fight, but it was all so easy to simply grab her arm and pull her with him, yanking on her like a child with a toy. Throwing her inside the large bathroom, with strength that almost had her falling to her knees.

“Take yer’ clothes off.” He commanded, having her backed up against the cold tiles of the walls. “Or… they’re not really your clothes.” He tugged at the black fabric of his shirt, one she’d put on after realizing her own clothes were far from wearable anymore, singed as they were.

Towering over her petite shape, enjoying how she had to tilt her head a drastic degree to stare up at him.

She was so tiny, it sent pleasurable shivers down his spine to look at her, small like a little pet. His shirt hung around her in the same way you’d expect a tent would, reaching all the way down to her knees, only barely fitting on her narrow shoulders.

She wanted to sound strong. “N- no.” It came out weak.

Snickering, he placed a hand on the wall beside her head. “I was hoping you’d say that…” His smile was so feral, she began wondering if smiles were ever a nice gesture in the first place. Katsuki seemed to do it simply to show her those large teeth stored in his mouth, teeth that could rip her throat out if he were dedicated enough. “Better you learn sooner than later just how helpless you are to stop me getting what I want.” He leaned in closer, stepping further into her space, threatening to crush her toes under the soles of his feet, his much too hot breaths striking her face on repeat. “Weak.” He spat the word, as though it were venom on his tongue. “Defenseless.” It disgusted him, distaste clear in the growl lacing his tone. “Fragile.”

He’d not gotten exactly what he wanted. He wanted her to scream, whether it was of rage or of fear, didn’t really matter. The tears were no less satisfying though, dribbling down her cheeks, eyes glossy and sparkling.

He grabbed the collar of the t-shirt. She felt the pull, but the tear still came as a surprise. The ripped fabric, now reduced to useless singed rags, pooling around her ankles, and she found herself regretting her wish to smell smoke because the burn of the textile at her feet was not the type of bitter like morning coffee, but bitter in the way that made her eyes sting. Her knees almost gave out when his hand neared her again, his other hand placed above her head, meaning to cage her in between his warmth and the freezing wall behind her.

Her nipples perked at once when he made contact, which made him smile, hand still hot, much too hot. He cupped one breast in his hand, much too small to fill it entirely. He didn’t seem to mind though.

“So soft…” The disdainful tone was gone, but she found herself missing it as opposed to what lingered in his voice now. “So delicate.” Lust was so terribly more frightening than his distaste. “So…” He licked his lips, a hot breath fanned over her face and goosebumps sprung to the surface of her skin. He hummed in response and she was sure she might just faint. “So sensitive.” She yelped when he pinched. “Mine.” His voice was low and rumbling, hot like raked coals. Tugging down her bottoms as well, she did little to prevent it.

Not that it would have mattered if she did.

Support me at KO-FI if you feel like it<3

#yandere katsuki #yandere katsuki x reader #yandere katsuki bakugou #yandere bakugo katsuki #yandere boku no hero academia #yandere bakugo #yandere bakugou

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lameghost · 3 years

Text

Scream blue murder.

Bonten! x yakuza! leader [part 3]

word count - 2,538

💿 - deathwish by poutyface, to the bone by j.t machinima

Warnings❕- angst + fluff+ suggestive. Mentions of death, sewer slide, drugs, physical and mental abuse.(slight hints of ptsd) Mentions of Izana x reader and others. Spoilers! Bonten arc. Blood and gore. (pinky cutting and mentions of gas poisoning, mass murder.) reader goes berserk! putting a knife in each other's throat? reader is freaky fugg. and also apparently, an expert at chemistry.

[part 1] [part 2]

“So, 12 years… You were gone, just like that and you aren’t gonna say anything, huh? Saying ‘I love you’ like that, ain’t fucking fair, y/n. I missed you for all those years. I searched for you like a madman. Fuck, you didn’t even come by to look for me or shit. You know how fucking miserable I was, after Izana was gone and you too!” Everyone flinched at the sight of the usually calm Kakucho raising his voice. You were surprised too, but you kept on an indifferent facade as you looked down, guilt overwhelmed you.

Kakucho takes a few steps towards you, “I wanna hate you for it but I can’t. You’re too fucking precious to me. The last one I have here, and I thought you were fucking dead.” You did no such attempt to avoid the slap which landed on your face as tears flowed down Kakucho’s face. You heard the faint gasp from all the executives of Bonten. You just kept quiet.

“Hug me, god fucking damn it. I missed you.” With no hesitation, you engulfed him in a hug, basking in his warmth which came into contact with your bare skin. You smiled, relishing the memories of your childhood.

“Fucking hell that was touching as shit.” Sanzu fake cries, deep down he still felt bad since he knew that you were as important to Kakucho as Mikey was to him. Losing you would have meant losing his entire world. In reply, you lifted your middle finger, sticking out your pierced tongue at the pink-haired male. He chuckles slowly.

“Holy shit, yer got piercings, that’s hot, dude.” You nodded at Rindou’s question .

“Show us, I mean your tattoos and piercings.”

“That’s a pretty specific kink you have, Sir Mikey. I mean, I know I look hot as shit but.” He snickered, signalling that he only wants your full identification.

“If you insist, your honour.” You fake sighed as you turned around and began explaining your tattoos.

“29 piercings and last I checked, around 18 or 19 tattoos. Got my first tattoo at 13, illegally. Thank god I didn’t die of infection or some shit. Dude was a nice guy, he even taught me how to take care of a new tat.” They all gasped, ‘doesn’t that shit hurt you?’. Ran and Rindou who were basically half covered in tattoos were also surprised by your ability to withstand the pain.

“Which one hurt the most though? Your tits or sumn?” Sanzu bluntly asks as he touches the tattoo on your left arm.

“Oh well, yer wanna see? Better pay money though.” You smirked and sent him a wink as you gave him a slight teaser of your tattoo, he blushed. Welp, you broke the dope peddler.

“You’re quite a mystery, aren’t you?” Mikey says, his voice dark and screechy, almost like he has been straining it.

“Your back. That ain’t a tattoo. Someone carved those characters into you.” He traces the Chinese characters on your back. You slightly flinched at the sudden cold touch of his finger. “Only the top brass of Yakuza has this, yeah? Which means, you’re the current hidden leader of the Yakuza. Working for them quietly backstage, is that fun? Don’t you wanna take the credit?” He was inches away from your face, you tilted your head slightly at his demise.

“Take credit? Pftt. Observant but dumb aren’t yer, pretty boy?” You cupped his jaw between your gloved fingers. “I fucking love it when people worship me, bow to me and praise me for all my work but I wouldn’t want my pets to go unrecognised do I? Plus, isn’t it harder to keep myself lowkey from the police that way? I have my plans, baby and I don’t like it when people question me.” You smiled and let go of his jaw, never in his life has he been this stunned by someone’s actions and indifference. This was a first.

“This carving was done by my dad. I was the only child who was able to take over the family business so, here I am. Healthier than ever!” You smiled, highlighting the dimples which brightened your eyes even more under the light which shone above you.

“So, you’ve taken a blood oath?” Kokonoi asks, curious.

“Oh that’s fucken bullshit. We don’t do those. We’re just old delinquents who don’t wanna follow laws, we don’t sacrifice ourselves. I mean that does sound cool though. The most we do is cut our pinky. I’ve cut 12 as of this week,” You sat back down, nonchalantly telling them. You put your suit back on, adjusting the tie.

Bang! A loud gunshot was heard from behind you, in one swift movement, you swooped Ran and Sanzu who were directly in front of you. ‘Top criminal organisers but can’t see a bullet coming their way? Great, fucking idiots.’ You looked down, the bullet grazed by your shoulder slightly. Thank god for that. You picked up the shell and the bullet which landed not far from it. You analysed the bullet, standing up immediately after recognising it. ‘Mauser C96. 0.45 ACP. Made in Germany. Oh fuck, why are they here?’

“Oi, you twinks. Came here to save me or something?” One by one, your members peeked their heads out from behind the oil tanks. Number 2, Tanaka Ryu. This kid has been behind you since juvie days. Once he got out, he looked for you and followed you till the very end even if it meant jumping into hellfire for you.

“If I couldn’t fight, I would have died to these hot dudes, you know? Do we need to practice again? Should I drill it into your brains?” All the members, a good 25 of them, stood at attention, weapons dropped to the floor with their hands behind their back.

“No, your honour!” In unison, their voices echoed one another. Bonten was too stunned to say a thing. Their mouths merely shut tight as your dominant aura overflowed through the entire warehouse.

“Good, and Tanaka, don’t mind, okay? Small mistake. I’m fine, n’ways.”

“Apologies, your honour. Take my pin-” You shushed him as you signalled everyone to get down and ready their weapons. Bonten, who was behind you, followed your command. You gestured for Mikey to come to your side, he slowly strides towards you.

“Mikey, listen. Now, your turf is being infiltrated. You heard that gunshot? Nagant M1895. That strong shit is only used by the Yakuza traitors. Those fuckers have been on my back for the last few months and I need a few extra hands so that I can alert my turf. After that, I’ll help yer. There should be at least 230 of them. 2 top heads and the other 8 executives. The rest are all their lackeys, bad fighting skills but good spirits. Now, we separate, I’ll alert your members too.”

You and Mikey, the leaders, moved into positions immediately. Working together for the first time but it almost seemed as if you’ve worked together for the past 10 years. You stationed Sanzu and your number 3, Haruto, right in front of you. These two are wild and have a few screws loose in their brains, so they make a good pair. They can slaughter some while you make a few alerts to your guards in your territories. You wanted to get it over and done with fast even if it meant, murder. So, you analysed whatever you had in your reach.

“Y/n-chan. What are you doing? I wanna smoke.” Sanzu said, questioning what you were looking at.

“Shush, let me think of a way to get rid of evidence fast and simple.” Haruto drags Sanzu back to their station as they both chat away, swinging the bloodied weapons in their hands. Psychos, I swear.

‘Benzoyl peroxide, TNT, fire extinguisher, bleach, ammonia and diesel.’ Fucking hell, they were making this a bit too easy isn’t it? You called Sanzu and Haruto over to help you. You took the empty tank, putting on your mask before starting and gesturing the two males to do the same. You poured the bleach into the empty tank followed by ammonia.

‘Do you think what you’re doing is right?’ The tiny voice in your head asks. ‘Well these people mass murdered 226 of the Yakuza members, isn’t it only fair?, ‘Of course, but can’t the police punish them?’. ‘What. They hurt me, not the police, I’ll make them save me a seat in hell. Especially that blabbermouth oldie.’, ‘I guess there’s no stopping you, y/n l/n. You’re a murderer after all.’ Wait, what the fuck? I’m not! They did it first, why is it me? Why am I to blame? Fuck, fuck you. ‘You’re a murderer by nature, y/n. That’s why your Mom and Dad passed this onto you.’ Shut up. They’re dead, they are just ashes, seeping into earth or maybe being swallowed by maggots. Those 2 are dead to me. ‘Your mom isn’t dead. Not yet.’ Well, I want her dead. ‘You gonna kill her, too? Like what you did to your old man? You’re naive, a pretty soul, one that I would kill to dirty but you already did it yourself.’

You halted your movements, Sanzu and Haruto stared wide-eyed at your face. Your face contorted with rage, aura screaming murder at them. This brings Sanzu back to 12 years ago when- nevermind. “Earth to y/n, we gonna continue?”

“Haruchiyo. Katana. Haruto, pass him your pistol, I’ll be right back.” ‘You’re gonna regret it, y/n.’

“SHUT UP! HOLY FUCK SHUT THE FUCK UP! UGH!” You let out an indignant roar, making Kakucho and Mikey halt their movements as they continued throwing punches to the opposing team. Kakucho ran towards you, covered in blood which did not belong to him.

“Hey, y/n. Hey, look at me.” You looked at him, tears of anger welling up in your eyes. (You can only cry when you’re angry but not when you’re sad.) He pats your back, telling you to kick some ass to relieve your anger. Well, that was your green light.

You swung the Katana out from your back which had a strap, tailor made for you to store katanas. As always, pecking the handle beforehand, showing respect. ‘About 104 left, gonna be easy.’ The rest of your members and Bonten members along with the executives gathered, wanting to watch you fight. It was almost like a playback of 12 years ago.

You dropped the katana to the floor, jumping onto the first person you see, hanging from the shoulder. You swung around, possibly breaking his spine and picked up two other men by their collars. Swinging them towards the tower of diesel tanks, you made your way to your next victims.

“So, pick yer death.” You smirked, but your eyes were empty and lifeless. Your bloodthirsty aura engulfed the entire warehouse, stripping the audience off any form of excitement. The male approached you, in a split second, he was inches from your face.

“HAHAHAAHA, you’re fast but you lack experience, sweetheart.” You caressed his face, voice coated full of sinister but in his ears, it was like honey. It gave his brain whiplash how contrasting your voice was to your actions. Without batting an eye or even giving him room to recover from your touch, your left leg flew forward. Landing directly onto the wound of his temple, plunging onto the floor. You took the chance to take a seat on his back.

You rummaged through his pockets, stopping when you found his phone. You dialed a number, the others stared at you curious. “I need about, uhh, 7, no, 8 ambulances, for the Shibuya area. The warehouse down the second turn. Thank yer!” You smiled and threw the phone across the room.

“Now, there’s only… let me see… 3 of you left. Rock, paper, scissors. Winner gets to pick the lucky one.” You signaled them to start playing, with trembling figures, the 3 males began playing. You placed the lit cigarette in between your lip, enjoying others misery.

“She’s kinda hot, though.” You heard Sanzu whistling and howling from behind you as you exhaled the smoke and took off your blazer, rolling up your sleeves. You sent a kiss his way as you made your way to the poor male - a prisoner of his own bad luck.

“Hey, mister. Long time no see. I’m bigger now, if you can’t clearly see.” You subtly flaunt, towering over the male before you. You bent lower so you could make direct eye contact with him. The eye contact sent cold shivers down his spine which made him froze, his lips quivered as you moved your gloved finger, gliding down his tattooed back.

“Oi, mister. I’m talking to you, it’s rude to not reply to your master, y’know? It kinda hurts my feelings,” You faked your sadness, pretending to sob into his shoulders. If he wasn’t already stiff, he is now officially the statue of liberty.

“Y-yes, your honour!”

“Good pet. Now, let me get my work done. You know what happens to traitors, don’t you? Perverted old man.” You removed the kunai which was secured tightly in the pocketed garter which hung from your thigh. You simpered, looking pleased at the amount of fear you could elicit from the pathetic man.

“AHHHHHHHH!” He writhed in pain, screaming blue murder.

“Okay, that was the last one! 12 plus 10 equals 22! 22 pinkies!” You giggled, cracking a smile from your scarred mouth. A horrifying sight, it was.

“Fuck, didn’t know you were capable of such cruel shit.” Ran sends a surprised look, scanning you up and down as you wiped the blood off your gloves and chuckled.

“Born and bred to do this shit.”

You knew you were done but there was some unsettling feeling that irked your senses, but what was it? Could it be you forgot something-

“We’ll take over from here, as an apology and a thank you for not murdering us.” Mikey said, a small smile on his face.

“Oh no, it was great working with you, Sir Mikey.”

“Don’t call me that, on god, I’ll put a knife in your throat.”

“Do it then, it’s not a threat Mikey. ” Your little bicker was put to a stop when Kokonoi seemingly ‘cleared his throat’ loudly.

“So, you’re a professional torturer, a sugar mommy, free show stripper, yakuza leader, a mass murderer, chemist and now, a hooker. What else do we not know about you?” Kokonoi asked, voice laced with curiosity. His eyebrows raised as his eyes searched for answers in yours.

“Oh darling, I’m a walking unsolved mystery. Yer wanna find out? Yer gotta dig deep into the layers of this earth. Yer wanna solve me still?”

“Yeah, I do.” The short, purple haired spoke up. (You forgot his name.)

“Oh then, put on a raincoat. This year’s theme is bloody halloween. Wouldn’t want blood staining yer expensive suits.” You stuck out your tongue, making a move as sirens filled the quiet warehouse.

‘Roppongi, Don Quijote, 31st October, 9 P.M. Be there or else you owe me candy.’ The boys chuckled, making a run as the police broke in.

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