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stickyspeckledlight · 1 month

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Sunrise, Sunset, My Destroyed Body in the Onset [Yan!Aventurine x GN!Reader]

The cotton in your mind protects you.

Ao3

word count: 11.4k

TW: Stockholm syndrome, implied/referenced noncon, suicidal thoughts (not detailed but reader does mention having them and thinking about the act), mild gore (little actual gore but the prose uses gory language), reader goes through it and let’s just say aventurine is a terrible influence, tonal whiplash for my own sanity, wow aventurine are you really this emotionally constipated

Note: My first ever yan work! This is a bit of a mess, but I’ll bet five dollars and janitorial duty at Taco Bell that it’s a good mess 👍

(Written before 2.1)

The sun sets as you both bask in the afterglow. Clouds streak the baby blue sky, hued in soft yellows, calm oranges, and blushing pink.

(And it reminds you of his eyes)

Sights like these made nights spent in a casino a bit more bearable. You take a deep breath, sighing in contentment and exhaustion, and you wish you could shut your eyes and stretch this moment for an eternity. To remain in the setting eye of the sun, softly breathing as you press against the gentle beating of his heart. To have his hand lazily draped over your waist, the other caressing your head, fingers softly entangled with your locks. Your tears have dried, too. Yes, you’d like to live in this singular moment, divorced from everything else.

But as you’ve learned during your time with Aventurine, time is a rapid to move with.

You shiver a bit. Noticing this, he pulls up a thin blanket. The difference is small. But still, the serenity of the moment is shattered. The soft silk is meant to cage you in for whatever happens next. You don’t mind, anymore. Or, when you’re more lucid, when you let the torrent that is your mind flow, that’s what you decide.

You’re not stupid, but you wish you were. If you were stupid, you wouldn’t ever be forced to trek away from your home. Wouldn’t grab the attention of anyone smart and shrewd (though you did hear about one ‘Dr. Ratio,’ committed to remedies of ignorance). Even if you somehow did and ended up where you were, maybe your mind would be filled with cotton rather than thoughts. That you could enjoy everything all the time.

But you’re not stupid, nor are you a genius who could hope to outwit the man who holds the aventurine of stratagem. Knowing how normal you are compared to him only makes you more hopeless, so you do your best to fill your mind with cotton again. You feel your inner voice berate you for your willing ignorance but it also cries at its necessity.

Cotton. You needed to fill your head with cotton, because if you didn’t in time (and that time was short when you were with Aventurine) you might just sob again then and there. You think too much. So you won’t think. At least around him. Because…you still don’t want to acknowledge it in your mind. You protect yourself from the brunt of it and effectively live a lie.

“You’re clenching your jaw,” Aventurine’s voice possesses a perpetual drawl, but in moments like this it softens a little. Almost like he’s talking to a person and not something to use. “Just what could it be you’re thinking about?”

Could you even be called a thinking creature right now? Cotton absorbs color, and right now the sun, so big it could engulf you, is so beautiful. You tell him the truth. “The sunset’s beautiful. Really, really beautiful. A lot more beautiful than the others.”

He hums. He knows you’re not lying, but you haven’t answered his question. “You’ve made your affinity for the sight quite clear,” he says, and you only notice that odd edge in his voice from your sheer exposure to the man. Whatever Aventurine has against this sight, you’re not sure. He seems to like sunrises, though, if you can trust the times you’ve woken up and see him watching it. And whenever there is no sun, you wake up to him gone or kissing you awake. Though lately, you’ve been steadily receding from your habit of oversleeping, so you more often wake to the sound of his morning rituals. The hand in your hair tightens, and there’s a small tug, firm but not painful, at your roots. He still wants his answer.

Your mind, chosen to be wrecked with cotton, doesn’t know what to think. You say the only other thing in your absent mind. “This one looks like your eyes.”

You think he likes that because you feel him shift to look at it. You can’t see his face, but you assume he’s taken off his usual smile. Smiling all the time sounded torturous, and you rub your cheek at the phantom pain of your own imagination.

“Hmm…” and you feel him shift again, and you really have no idea what he wants. From the intonation, he’s about to do something either mischievous or ‘flirtatious.’ “You know, sweetheart,” he purrs, the word heavy on his tongue. He shifts, so you lay on the bed and he lays directly across from you. If this were earlier in your relationship you’d fantasize about ripping his throat for robbing you of the sunset; and he’d tut and make sure to evaporate those thoughts. His hair is messed up, his smile soft but still unreadable. The sun shines on the mark on his neck, and something about the sight makes you a bit…happy. And angry. He takes your face in his hands and locks your eyes. You tense a bit out of instinct. Aventurine’s full attention on you was intense and overwhelming, like a bright sun and a feral beast; the bit of dried blood on his lips is proof of it. You make a note to yourself to do more work on hammering your justified instinct away. Your heart feels like it will burst, as his gaze bores into your own. From apprehension or anticipation, you’re not sure. “If that’s the case,” one of his hands trails down your jaw, the ghost of his touch fluttering against the marks he’s painted on your neck. He’d have no issue finding more all around your body. He softly, lovingly holds your neck like he’s prepared to snap it and equally prepared to drown you in his affection. His thumb finds and lightly presses on a mark, one he drew blood from. “Why not take in the real thing, hm?” His thumb presses harder, and you blink back a wince at the pain. He notices, eyes softening impossibly further before relinquishing his thumb and kissing the irritated skin. “Sorry,” he says, but it’s said the same way a cat licks a mouse’s carcass. But you don’t mind. You’ve made sure you don’t mind a lot of things, and it’s made you equally content and miserable. Maybe you hold onto that latter feeling in stubborn defiance, because losing that shred of yourself would turn you into something that You wouldn’t necessarily hate if it were anyone else, but when it’s You becoming that—that, that, You hate.

But you do enjoy being close to someone like this, and hum contentedly to try and focus on that instead. But Aventurine is perceptive, and though his head is below you, you feel as if you’ve been chained up when you once again lock eyes. “I can hear your thoughts, darling,” He returns to his former position, “I hate seeing you all stressed out,” he says, as if his veins weren’t running with anticipation when you were saddled with debt and when your parents got hit with unfortunate ‘accidents’ that insurance couldn’t cover and he didn’t love the day you became his. “Didn’t you say that open and honest communication is important in a healthy relationship? I’m rather fond of our little romance, and I’d hate for it to crumble.” He nearly pouts—doesn’t surprise you much anymore, but there’ll always be a little bit of whiplash that doesn’t quite go away. Though, You feel a slight hint of bitterness—‘crumble?’ Some cotton burns away. Did he mean that for himself? …Or might it have been a vague threat to you…? You think, but you’re quick to fill your head back up with cotton. The process isn’t immediate, however.

“Our relationship is the furthest thing from healthy,” you point out. You don’t add in that you never sought out romance in the first place, “and it hasn’t exactly been built on a sturdy foundation.”

“You’ve got me there,” He chuckles. “Well, let’s put it like this,” he brushes a lock of hair from your face, “I see that my lover’s been saddled with all these thoughts, and it’s gotten them so awfully quiet,” Lover? No, that’s hyperbole. He tucks his fingers underneath your chin, stroking the soft, unmarked skin; the only area spared from his assault. “Makes a guy worry, you know? The last time you were this quiet was when you first moved in.”

Yes. It was mostly because You spent the majority of your free time sobbing, leaving your voice all but spent by the time he got back. And it wasn’t like you could be the goofy and sometimes witty and sometimes not buffoonish person You were when You were so miserable. When you wanted to do everything you could to retreat into your own skin—but Aventurine simply ripped you out, exposed, bloody, and sniffling. After that thought, the cotton has completely grown back.

“…And…?” Through the cotton, you can only wonder what he’s talking about.

His smile becomes sharper, and you wonder if he might feel insulted. Does he think you want to leave him, see him get what he deserved and some actual help like You used to? “C’mon don’t you…” you blink a little vacantly, and he seems to realize something. “Or, maybe you’re…” but his voice suggests something knowing. Suggests experience. And the gears in his mind click. “Oh, I know that look!” He laughs, delightedly or derangedly, you don’t bother to differentiate. Either way it makes you shiver.

“Huh? What look?” You asked, filtered through cotton. He doesn’t answer and cuts to the chase.

He playfully flicks your forehead, and you imagine a bullet going through it, “Riddle me this: what do you want, sweetheart?”

You blink. What do you want? When you first got here, it was security and his or your death. After some time had passed, it was peace. But now…you want whatever storm that’s inside of you to stop. But he doesn’t need to know what you want deep in your soul. So you tell him the truth, filtered through cotton.

You do something that would’ve been unthinkable to You, and worse, it’s subconsciously without a second thought. You push him back down on the bed by laying on him—flopping on him like a fish, You think, for your mind is such a silly little thing—lay your head over his heart, and take in the sunset. The sun’s nearly below the ground. “…If it’s fine, and only if you want…” you ask, because You detest the idea of being controlling, “I’d like you to…” you flush, “…h-hold me, um, like you are right now, until the sun’s down and, um…” your heart is going to burst and there’ll be a hole of viscera through your chest and maybe Aventurine will admire your pathetic, desperate corpse before burning it, “we can take a bath. And,” you look up at him, “I’ll look into your eyes, as much as you want…” You tell yourself it's because you need to appease him. But you know of the primal thing that lives in your chest.

It’s true. But Aventurine puts it perfectly.

His smile speaks of years of clawing his way up with honeyed words and masked expressions. “You’re not lying. Thank you. That’s such a sweet wish,” he says kindly (you’re no longer scared of his kind voice), stroking your head like you are an obedient dog, one that he adores and veers on despising, and then wraps his other arm beneath your thighs, “but you know I’d like the truth.” He then says, primally, ready to carve out a space in your body to inhabit, “To know what storm’s brewing in that little head of yours,” he takes in a shuddering breath, and his eyes light with perverse excitement, “if it’s begun to…crack and burn up.” He sits up and carries you away. You’re slightly disappointed you won’t be seeing the sunset in its entirety, but you’ve gotten good at forgetting. Aventurine sighs wistfully. “But…” he grasps your chin, forcing you to look at him, “I don’t mind that second proposition of yours,” his voice is husky, and he kisses you. You flush, and the cotton is the only thing that prevents you from tearing into him with your canines.

As the sun moves further and further away, You think yourself a fool for thinking it would engulf you. Aventurine wouldn’t leave anything left of you, whenever he decided he was done with you.

—

This is your only choice, and it was everything you could do to not shut down the instant you realized.

You were in denial, at first. It was all just a coincidence, right? You’d always feared this sort of thing—financial struggle—and so getting hit with it should be something you take in stride, and come out of it either in a wreck or just barely getting by. And, if you wanted to get a little nerdy, capitalist economies have to crash into recession eventually, so maybe now was just that time of the era. No place was hiring you, and your parents were getting buried in bills they couldn’t pay.

But, if anyone with half a brain took a step back, they’d call out the bullshit excuse you concocted in your mind, to deny the ridiculous truth. Because whatever recession was happening, it seemed to only affect you; not to mention that this wasn’t even how recessions worked. The truth that you, you, were the apple of someone’s eye (for lack of a better term—you aren’t delusional—you’re just as disposable as the next person, as much as you wish for the universe to cease operating like it).

Preposterous! Scandalous! You, a complete idiot, catching someone’s fancy? How the fuck did that happen?! Were pigs flying now? …You take that back, there are indeed flying species of the hog persuasion gallivanting about in the cosmos. But this does not detract from your point. One might say “bimbo vibes,” but you know for a fact, even taking into account your own bias and self-perpetuation of your self-esteem issues (which makes you still having them even worse, but you’ve already gone down that spiral more than you could count), that you do not have anywhere near enough bimbo energy to attract anyone with that kink. Or the looks. This was your knee-jerk reaction to the situation. And to an extent, still is, because thinking about it like that gives the situation a bit of levity you desperately need. You can’t wrap your head around it in the slightest. But you can’t dispute fact. And the fact is that you are wanted by someone else, and you can’t even begin to understand why. Least of all the person who wants you.

The man who hides behind the name ‘Aventurine.’ That fact alone already makes you not want to be so closely associated, and it makes everything more insane and stupid. An IPC executive has no use for you. If he wants to extort you for unpaid or cheap labor, he’s already got a vast selection of underpaid grunts to do his bidding. If there’s one thing the IPC knows how to do, it’s keeping those desperate enough or arrogant enough trapped. You’re not either of those things; though you admit you’ve adapted the former trait in light of recent bullshittery, but you digress.

Most of what you come up with is met with an easy counter. Aventurine, a sleazy businessman obsessed with sex? He has money—he can just hire a prostitute; hell, you’re sure there are plenty of people who’d throw themselves at him for no charge. Sure, most of them would be coming into it with their own agendas, but he’s sharper than that. Aventurine, a man with insatiable greed? Again, he’s already rich as fuck, and the only way he’s getting any more money is if he looks up the pecking order. Whatever wealth you offer as an asset (the thought churns your stomach) is barely a drop in the bucket. Aventurine, a gambler who loved seeing his opponents fall into ruin? That was actually plausible to some extent, but you’ve made it very clear you’re no gambler (not in tangible matters at least, but you keep your card close to your heart). Then maybe he wants to try and push you over the edge? Try to make you take a risk bigger than yourself?

So, you’ve settled for this: Aventurine, a man who cannot stand to be sober from the drink called “power.” Desiring complete domination over someone. A personal matter, and briefly you hear the echo of a quote: “We desire that which we do not have.” What doesn’t Aventurine have?

…A relationship? Well, you shoot that down easily. Whatever kind of relationship this leads to ends with you ruined and him hunting after his next prey.

He’s a bit like a serial killer, you muse, and you just so happen to meet his criteria for victimhood. But unlike a killer, he’s merely going to make you wish you were dead. If you wanted death, it’d have to be at your own hands. If he gave you that option at all. Another thought you have is that he might use you for snuff or something else equally or more horrific. That’s…you haven’t pursued the thought any further.

You’ve been robbed of much of your control, but you still control the hand that knocks at the door. If you’re going down, it’ll be on your own terms. This is your last, desperate attempt to pretend you have any control at all. You make sure your bangs cover your eyes.

You just wish your heart didn’t feel like it would explode. You wish that you weren’t actively holding back from breaking down into a sobbing mess. You wish you were made of the same steel heroes were, but you cannot be what you are doomed to not be.

Aventurine opens the door, giving you a grin that makes you retch. He’s dressed in his usual peacock-esque finery, and something about it makes you frown. Maybe it’s because he’s dressed in the colors you love—forest green, the blue of the sky, the black of where the moon does not shine—and it feels so wrong for something that wants to destroy you to be clad in them. “Sweetheart!” he coos out the wretched (and cringe-worthy) pet name with faux surprise; it propels you to roll your eyes even now. He knew you were coming; otherwise, you’d be detained by hotel staff. It didn’t quite help that you didn’t really bother to dress up either. It made you stick out like a sore thumb, and you’re glad that this is the only time you’ll be at a gaudy hotel. “You’ve come to visit little ol’ me! I’m charmed. Aren’t I a lucky man?”

You fantasize about his guts strewn about on the floor, accompanied by your maniacal laughter and sobs of elated despair. “...You could say that, Mr. Aventurine,” you aren’t foolish enough to be curt, so you settle for polite and cordial. Professional and businesslike, though you know that gives him a slight advantage. “There’s something I wish to discuss with you. I think that’s best accomplished behind closed doors.”

He clicks his tongue playfully. “No need to be so cold. We’re friends here, aren’t we?”

“I suggest you drop the ‘sweetheart,’ then. Friends don’t call each other that, Mr. Aventurine.”

He raises his hand in mock surrender, and you want him to get to the fucking point before you lose your nerve. “Oh, fine. Then,” he gestures to the lion’s den. If only he were the gentleman he was pretending to be. “Walk on in, darling.” You cannot suppress the groan that comes out of you. His smile widens; you're sure he gets some kick at riling you up.

You don’t have the energy to deal with him, and you certainly don’t have enough to suppress the sigh of irritation you let out. He seems to look like…some sort of positive emotion that you don’t know what to name. You’re not sure if you want to name it.

The sunlight catches his predatory yet enrapturing eyes. His eye twitches, clearly trying not to shut. Maybe, you muse, the sun hates him as much as you do. It brings a weak smile to your face. You make sure to take your sweet time to enter. You won’t take off your shoes, either. He can deal with a bit of tracked dirt, you think, but then you notice that he’s wearing his shoes as well. In his own place. And here you thought he was monstrous enough.

But when the door shuts, any semblance of levity you could summon dissipates, and you’re reminded of what you’re here to do. Aventurine’s hand snakes up on your shoulder, and you want to rip it off and feed it to the birds. Thankfully, he just leads you to the living room. The sun is cast overhead.

“So,” he circles till he’s in front of you, “What could be so important that you’ve come to see me this time of day?” The cat purrs to the mouse, petting it with claws retracted; for the time being. It makes you abandon courtesy for curtness.

“Don’t act like you didn’t cancel some business meeting to make this happen.”

“Oh! You’ve got me!” he chuckles, “My, you’ve already gotten to know me so well. Don’t you think we’re like two peas in a pod?” He teases, and you know he specifically means for it to piss you off. Not to mention it’s an incredible reach. But to his credit, it works.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” you spit, and his hand lets you back away from him. “I was thinking about…” you take a sharp breath—you can’t lose your nerve now, “...the ‘deal,’ you gave me a little while ago. The gamble, to be more precise.”

His smile stretches so wide it seems to crack his face, and you feel phantom pain radiating along your own mouth. His eyes, those alluring and dangerous rims of pink and electric blue, are spiked with adrenaline. You wonder if his eyes are dilating, but you don’t want to look at his eyes any longer than you have to. “I knew you would come around. But I see it in your eyes—you want to discuss the terms, right?”

He’s right. “Yes.”

“Admirable,” he says lazily, “but before you start, you should know that I’m not budging on my reward.”

“I know,” you bitterly say, “this is about my reward.”

Interest ignites, burning the blue of his eyes hot with intrigue.

“If I win, then I want you to reimburse my family, and then some, for all of the shit you’re making them go through. And then I want you to leave them the hell alone and not harm them.”

You can’t tell if he looks more interested or disappointed. “That’s hardly different from our original deal. The only difference is that you’re not getting any compensation.” At least he doesn’t deny that he’s the one the source of your family woes this time. Likely because you two already jumped through that point. You may not be sharp, but there are things even you can’t be gaslit on, and you think Aventurine realized this and decided not to bother. “Do you really hate the idea of getting money from me? You do remember that I told you that you can use me however you want, right?”

Money that’s sourced from less than savory grounds, you think. You hate how he wants to use you, and you equally hate using anybody. “Yes. You made that very clear. I know what I’m doing. Now, come on.”

“Don’t be so hasty. I’ll have to modify my will so—”

“No need. Get the gun already.” You aren’t too worried anyway. Businessmen like him know to honor their deals. He’ll probably dismiss it easily and assume you’ll either donate it to charity or give it to your family.

He laughs, not so dissimilar from nails digging into a chalkboard, “You’re that eager to kill me? And you were so against it too! I wouldn’t have expected your morals to shift so quickly.”

You bite your lip. “You don’t seem to be all too worried about dying,” you point out, “You were the one who proposed this in the first place.” Another reason you don’t want to associate with this man. He treats his own life far too callously, and it doesn’t take a genius to know that whatever there is to unpack, it’s bursting at the seams. Normally you would’ve been sympathetic, but this is the manner of man that wants to seize you. You don’t want to know what would happen to you, under his dominion.

Still, at least you know that he prizes adrenaline above all else. Why else would he risk his life for a hit of it? It’s useful info and also the only wrinkle in your plan…but you’re not banking on this entirely.

Aventurine doesn’t respond, but his eyes accentuate his mirthful grin. It reminds you of yourself, muttering a joke under your breath. You do like inside jokes, but you cannot say the same for the ones you’re left out of. No matter how demented this man’s humor is, knowing what he finds funny would at least give you more to glean on him. A part of you does enjoy piecing together puzzles, even ones you can’t solve.

He produces a simple revolver from his jacket. Sleek and as dark as a moonless night, even you can tell that its craftsmanship is more than deserving of admiration. But it spikes your anxiety. You want to dig a hole and suffocate, to feel your lungs burn like lava and to have your fingers raw when you have second thoughts and desperately try to claw your way out. You blink back tears, but you know what you must do.

He takes his sweet time with the gun, but you don’t pay attention. Your eyes are trained on the ground as you try and fail to psych yourself up. You know what you're doing. Your parents would tell you this was a bad choice, and you agree, but you weren’t given very many good choices.

A shot rings out. Glass shatters from behind you. The coffee table. Your breath halts. Something searing and hard digs into your chin, forcing you to look up. Your gaze is misty from the pain, for you’re more resilient to the cold, not the heat.

“Sweetheart,” he smiles kindly, “I don’t like being ignored.” Despite your best efforts, a tear has rolled down your cheek. Your chin feels like it will be seared and forever be fiery hot. You need to get this over with before your mouth starts to uncontrollably twitch into a frown. He roughly lodges the gun from your chin, but replaces it with a kind touch that sends spiders crawling down your back. “Aw…” he coos, his cheeks faintly dusted with pink as he begins to lean in, “there’s no need to cry, dear.”

You can’t stop it. You let out something that sounds like a growl, and shove him off of you. “You don’t get to touch me,” you hiss, a sound you didn’t know you were capable of, “Hands to yourself,” For some indiscernible reason, another tear falls, “you haven’t won anything yet.”

He’s not fazed. “Ah, I suppose I’ll have to concede there,” for now, “Here you go then, friend,” Despite his claim of concession he yanks your arm up and forces it in your grip, “Let’s see who luck favors.”

You shake, a little, but you’re not shaken enough to lose all your rationality. “Is there still a bullet in here?”

“Yep,” he pops the p, like you two were old pals, “though I suppose I should roll the chamber again. Give me a second.” He takes the gun away and gets to work. You’re both thankful and sobbing on the inside. At this rate, your ribs will be dust from how your heart hammers into them.

It’s back in your hand after what feels like an eternity and a microsecond. “Now there shouldn’t be any problems. Feel free to start shooting,” he purrs, adjusting it to point toward his chest. He moves to secure the barrel to his chest, and you must act now. You’re shaking and you want to die—

Ah.

Good.

You won’t lose your nerve then.

“Actually,” your words shake with imminent tears and ramping fears, “there’s another term I wanted to discuss.” Your words aren’t threatening, but it’s ominous enough to give Aventurine pause. Now that he’s given you the inch, you’re taking the mile. You take a deep breath. It could be one of your last.

You’ve forced the barrel against your forehead. You’ve either gasped or Aventurine’s breath has hitched. You feel tears welling up, but you’ve made it too far for things to end here. You will yourself through your terror. “If I get shot, I win. If I don’t, you win.”

A tense silence whistles about. The air is almost electric from shock. But you know what you’re doing. You know it’s stupid, but you’re hopeless and this is the closest thing to a shred of hope you can grasp. See, you did a bit of research (on a library computer; you weren’t taking your chances). You found out that there are a few stories (very few, buried underneath the announcements of a music video and interviews and what-have-you) about Aventurine playing roulette—and even more about how he’s made numerous casino goers lose everything. In other words, he’s a lucky bitch.

And you’re not that lucky. You doubt your luck is good enough for a regular gamble, but for your life? You treasure it, and sealing the gun to your head leaves you on the cusp of a breakdown. This is what you’re banking on: you’re not lucky enough to win a gamble, but you’re unfortunate enough to lose your life over something so inconsequential. Your parents would murder you if they saw you. Say you owe them nothing, and you do agree—but you can’t shake your habit of overpaying them. You’ve left a note at home for them to dig up, but it wouldn’t be an apology. If there’s an afterlife, you’ll apologize for eternity. You think the only way you can apologize is by searing your soul in the hells till nothing is left of you.

You do have a more selfish reason for taking this approach, but it’s also incorrigible and unreasonable. You don’t need to dissect it.

You think he’ll take it up. Sure, maybe the adrenaline he’ll get won’t be as great if he were the target, but so far he’s been the type to take pleasure in pushing others down a peg. He smiles at your distress, after all. So surely your quivering, sniveling form is giving him a kick? And surely, surely he’ll want to see your eyes glassy, your expression forever contorted in a fearful, desperate sob?

But Aventurine’s voice is missing its usual lilt. It’s hard, no longer deceptively light. Not playfully pushy but demanding. Maybe this is how he speaks to his enemies, you think, suppressing the urge to crawl into yourself. “…What?” A shard of ice is lodged in your back and makes your heart skip a beat from the surprise. But you can deal with the cold. It helps that it numbs the piercing pain in your back.

“I said what I said,” you push the terrifying thing harder into your skull, “these are my terms.” You’re more adamant than ever to not look into his eyes. You fixate on your shoes. You won’t speak more than necessary.

He seemingly contemplates for a moment. You’re about to push further when he finally speaks. “Do you remember what I said when I first proposed this gamble?”

Your mind is too fear-stricken for recollection. “You say a lot of things. C-can’t remember all of them.” Shit, your mouth has twitched a bit.

Shockingly Aventurine doesn’t poke fun at that, and is unusually focused. “I don’t take deals where I’m on the losing end. You’ve skewed this far too much in your favor.”

No. Oh, no. You were wrong about something. Lava starts to sting at your eyes. If you were wrong about this, then what else were you wrong about?!

“W-what? You’re not the one risking your life!” You exclaim, and it makes you look up at him, “How are you on the losing end?!” You shriek, because you aren’t a composed person at heart.

His eyes, lifeless and intense, widen as they bore into your own, pinning you down. If you squirm, you think he would stab knives in them to keep you down. You’re afraid of even blinking. He isn’t smiling and your knees want to shake. “Let’s go through this one by one, so you understand. One: what do I want?”

“W-wha?”

He repeats himself, harsher. “What. Do. I. Want?”

You settle for the safest answer. Your heart feels dead. You’re sure it will wither to dust. “M-me?”

“Bingo.” It scares you that he’s not saying that with a lilt. It scares you that he’s not trying to manipulate you. It scares you how there’s only a thread between him ripping you in half. “And here’s something very, very important to know about me,” his hand caresses your cheekbone, positioned to catch any tears that fall, or to crush your skull, “I do whatever it takes to get what I want.”

“Then how is this different?! You’re still taking the risk of not getting what you want no matter how you slice it!”

The smile he gives you is all at once angelic and biting. “I don’t like it when I don’t get what I want.” His pupils dilate. Your eyes well up looking into the malice and…something, that plunges you in ice water. “If I can’t get what I want…hm, how do I describe it?” his voice begins to regain its lilt, fueled by your increasing distress. He smiles like he’s teaching a child a lesson, but you swear his eyes are growing duller. “Well, it’s like being trapped in a land without dawn,” his other hand softly holds your shoulder and it feels so wrong because you swear he’s holding back from brutalizing you, “there are chains around your neck, ankles, wrists, waist, eyes…” he chuckles sardonically, and a vindictive grin spreads as he leans in, till you can feel the ghost of his breath, “your life is a living hell, but the cold of the metal seeps down to your very bone.” You yelp; his grip has tightened. “Something stirs in your chest,” the hand caressing your face comes to rest over your heart, “begging to destroy everything and everyone that’s made you suffer.” His fingers dig into your chest, as if he’ll rip out your heart. “Tell me, my friend, do you want a man like that alive?”

You want to close your eyes so badly. Your mind is an inky landscape, blackening every single thought you hold. A soft flutter to your cheek knocks you out of your stupor. You register expensive perfume, something tickling your skin, and soft lips kissing away your tears. Immediately you shove away the opportunistic beast and stumble in your escape.

You’re in too deep. You need to make this work, because as much as you're terrified, something deep within you purrs at the weakness he’s given you.

But it’s good to know how spiteful he is. You already feel much better about your own plan. Both parts of you purr in delight: one knows you must twist the knife, and the other has been waiting for the opportunity.

“Coward,” your mouth is faster than your mind, “you coward!” Your meager wit and anguish over the past few months begin to tumble out uncontrollably, “I don’t care about your shit—you’ve hardly given me any say about anything. You’ve had the upper hand this entire time, and now you want to backpedal? This is too much risk for you?!” You heave, and you’re too enraged to care about how disgusting you must look, “You said to me there’s nothing you like more than a good gamble. Well, I’ve got a GREAT gamble for you, and if you’re upset you’ve got no one but yourself to blame! You wormed your way into my life, you orchestrated its steady decline, and you pushed me right here! You don’t get to back out of this like a coward!” You’re breathing heavily, and your vision is watery red, and you throw the gun in what you think is his general direction, and your vitriol spills out of you, “Take it and take whatever fucking risk exists! Languish for a month or a day or an hour because you didn’t get what you want like a little baby! If I’m going down, you’re coming down with me!” You’re heaving at this point, and you absently lean on the couch so you don’t collapse. Your composure is in shambles, but you’ll try to save a complete breakdown for when your choices catch up to you and you’re choking on your own blood.

You hear a slow, rhythmic clap, and it shocks you that your ears aren’t flooding with blood at it. You hesitantly look up to see Aventurine grinning like a beast.

“You, dragging me down…” the lilt has come back, and you realize that he likes something about this; that he’s schemed a part of it, “...so I see.” He drawls. He tilts his head, regarding you with the interest one has in an animal displayed in a zoo. “I’ll admit,” each slow step he takes toward you makes you sink further into the couch, “I was expecting you to cave with that. Yet you still insist…sweetheart,” should you be glad he’s calling you that again? “Let me be the first to tell you that it’s a great honor to push people like you into a corner. You were correct to fear me to try and avoid this.” So you were right on one thing, but it’s only a single thing. He’s inching ever so closely, and before you can start getting away he’s pounced on you.

You yelp in surprise and begin to thrash, “You—get, get off of me!” You attempt to be intimidating, but your intense terror makes you seem like nothing more than a child scared to get a shot. Perfume burns your nostrils. More tears are shed, but he’s merciful enough to not lap them up just yet.

He giggles and just pins you down. He waits until you're humiliated and exhausted before continuing. Your mouth twitches, and against your better judgment a sob brews in your chest. Your mind floods with ink, now. You try to tell yourself to keep it together, but the more you repeat it the more terrified you become. “I wouldn’t have thought you’d change the terms like this,” you squirm and look away—you don’t have the bravery to look at him directly right now. He lets you. “I was sort of expecting you to try and stand up for yourself, or maybe even demand I put in two bullets…but, you’ve run counter to my expectations. For one, I didn’t have you pinned to be this spiteful, nor this willing to give up your life.” You flinch and make a hateful sound as he starts to pat your head, continuing on as if this was the most normal conversation in the world, like he was the most normal person in the room, as he smiles so warmly—you’re a frog being boiled, but you’re too tired and afraid to retort, “Heh, this must’ve taken all of your guts to do, right?” The affection in his voice forms a lump in your throat. “I’m proud of you. Take pride in that,” he wipes away a tear, “and you’re right.” Suddenly, all warmness is gone and you’re blasted with heat. His grin shows his teeth, and for a moment you think you’ve really died. “I’ve always loved the thrill of going all in.” He laughs, a depraved sound of hedonism and complete despair, “If I win, it’s the jackpot. I get you, and you get me.” Get him? “And if I lose,” your head is tipped up by the cooled barrel of the gun to look into his eyes—

You whimper. The only thing that registers in your mind is that you’ve found yourself in a fox’s jaw about ready to clamp down.

“I live with my loss at the hands of a nobody. And it’ll gnaw at me from the inside…” he says breathlessly, “Yes, that’s a risk I can see myself getting behind,” Ink has made your soul quiver further. “And only taking deals on the winning end…I do that enough for business. That's to say…” he suddenly pulls you up, causing you to stumble and lean into him. He chuckles as your addled mind and body reorient, but the arm slung around your waist prevents you from straying too far. It’s the pillar you must rely on, but one wrong step and it will crumble to dust.

It scares you.

But.

There’s another side to your fear. What sort of things do we fear, you think? These months have taught you that people hate that which they fear. When the fear amps up, so does the hate. You aren’t blind to how he looks at you. He’d vivisect you if it got him what he wanted. Your teeth grind. Oh, you hate him, you hate him so much. But your hate doesn’t burn, nor does it freeze. It’s a part of you; it hums through your veins; it thrums with the beat of your heart. There is nothing special about what is merely a fact of life. You are its vessel, and for that it sustains you.

You won’t see the fallout of your victory, but the mere idea sends a wave of ecstasy through you.

The barrel of the revolver presses against your heart.

“I accept your terms.” His voice edges with adrenaline and delight, but, and rather exquisitely, your instincts think, an edge that he must be the one to win this gamble—that in this moment, for him to live with loss is completely undesirable. It pleases you greatly, that you seemed to have ever so slightly peeled off his mask. But unfortunately for him, you’re not lucky enough to avoid a stupid death. You quiver, but not with fear; not entirely. Still, a part of you wonders if he’s just been testing you with his easy agreement. Should you be glad if you got full marks? Or should you hope you’ve failed?

Still, a brief feeling of levity blooms in your chest, and you seize it immediately.

You did it. And unexpectedly, rather than further terror, relief washes over the heat and ink, because now that you’ve felt dead so often in such a short time, death is salvation. But just as quickly as the water came, a blizzard freezes the sea.

Click. His lips are against yours.

Of course. He wouldn’t let your final moments be pleasant.

He takes advantage of your inexperience to entangle your tongues, and his hand against your head pushes you deeper and deeper as he tries to devour you. You gasp and tear up when he bites and bruises your lips. You’d like to fight back, but you want to get this over with. Even if it means being taken advantage of in your last moments, mother death’s repentance is merely a chamber or two away.

But still, no matter how demented you are in the moment, you are human, and the instinctual desire to survive makes you recoil. The eye contact exacerbates it. His eyes hold a sea. On the surface, you can freely see the coral and starfish, difficult to understand but beautiful. But deeper, where the sunlight does not shine, the predators have taken to hunting one another, having wiped out the prey. And when only one is left, then it can only move up and up, until it’s the only thing left standing. And now it looks to consume you to satiate its unending appetite. Your lungs burn.

You’d love to shut your eyes, but doing so feels like losing. At least when you do so, you can see yourself be devoured. Your awareness of yourself is the only agency you have right now.

Click. He pulls away, and you take in a greedy breath. You feel a deep imprint on your lips; a bite, just barely not drawing blood. Your heart beats and a tear trickles; you’re not dead yet. That’s ok. You’ll be dead in a moment.

“You look so certain you’ll win,” he observes, “it’s a good look on you.”

You scrunch your nose. “Pull the trigger. I’m getting sick of looking at you.”

“But, if I do, then you might breathe your last,” his eyes narrow, though you’re not sure if it’s predatory or softening, “can’t I take the sight of you in?”

“Ha!” You cough it out. “For a man who dresses to the nines, you sure have bad taste.”

“Aw, don’t demean yourself like that,” he mockingly reassures, “I’ll have you know you’re perfectly enchanting.”

You decide to play along because banter is banter, and no matter how spiteful you are, you’ll take comfort and levity where you can find it. “And you’re a Knight of Beauty.” Absently, you wonder how terrible you must look. You feel your eyes still well with tears, still sniffling back bits of snot every now and then.

You’re not sure if everything’s just catching up to you, or if the thought has propelled you to the realization, but you’re so, so, so tired. It does make your tears dry, a little, and your muscles relax.

You see he’s starting to lean in again, and you immediately put a hand between you and his lips. “Don’t.” You growl. “Just…just shoot,” you sigh in exhaustion, “I’m tired. Just shoot. If you’re not satisfied, then you’ll have my corpse.” The implication is disgusting but he’s disgusting, and you really just want to sleep. You’re pretty sure he would’ve done it even without you saying.

His hand drifts down to your waist. “Can’t say the image is pleasant.” Is his voice colder? Tired? Distant? Or are you finally losing it?

“I’m already a teary mess. It’ll just be colder and a little stiff.”

He scoffs, “If I wanted someone steely, you wouldn’t be here.” True.

You bite your cheek and look at your feet. “Shoot.”

There’s a pause in the air. You wonder if he’s contemplating on saying something to you, or just getting it over with. Both would make sense. You close your eyes. You will yourself to not think, because you know if you do that your life will just flash before your eyes. And if that happens, you’ll die completely miserable.

Click.

You’re breathing. His hand is on your waist. The gun’s pressed to your chest. Nothing’s changed. Why aren’t you on the ground choking on blood?

“I win.” You hear. You shut your eyes when sunlight gets into them.

Oh. Oh. Oh.

You’re still here.

It didn’t work. It didn’t pay off. Your knees give out as you finally are no longer able to keep your tears at bay. You feel fluttering around your eyes, and you dare not open them. Shhh, shhh, you hear, but you only cry more. Everything has come to impale you, and you cry as you feel your organs spill. You’re his. You’re his. You want to die. Everything is coated in ink. You process nothing but the terror and rage and fear and despair and laughter and anything and everything you’ve ever experienced. You try to curl in on yourself, but you’re stopped by a beast’s hold, warm and predatory.

“Shhh, it’s alright…” a hand strokes you to soothe, but it’s more akin to sandpaper rubbing on raw skin, “Let it all out…we have plenty of time. I don’t have to hold back and neither do you,” he reassures. It makes you sob harder.

You heave and sob. All you can think about is the unknown future that awaits you. You barely register being placed on a plush surface.

When your sobs finally quiet, you’re forced to look into his eyes. There’s a flush on his cheek, a slight inconsistency in his breathing, and his eyes have dilated with adrenaline and…and…you’ve never seen that emotion before, whatever it is.

You wonder what face you’re making, as he smiles ferally. “You were right. That was great,” he hisses with elation and laughs. “Oh, you’re beautiful.”

The world spins. You’re lying, and he’s on top of you.

Oh…oh no…You begin to flinch and twitch uncontrollably. You aren’t thinking. You flail, kick, and cry even as you exhaust your meager energy, but he doesn’t budge. You need to get away get away get away get away—

“One last thing, to really seal the deal,” he smiles, insidiously kind and horrifying, “to commemorate my victory and your defeat.”

He bites into your neck, and you scream.

The fox swallows you whole.

—

He lets you roam freely, whenever he’s gone. To say you were baffled and suspicious was putting it lightly, so you refrained from taking advantage of it for a long, long time. In fact, when you found out his spaceship-apartment-thing was mounted with surveillance in every nook and cranny, rather than walk out the door, you found a cramped closet to hide in for a few days. Curling into a ball all day wasn’t easy on the joints, but you were taking any semblance of privacy you could get. But Aventurine, petty and cruel, forced you to seal off your haven with your own hands before he tore into you. If he wants you in his sights or roaming about, he should just make up his mind already.

But, for this one occasion, you choose to abuse this privilege. You usually come back around the same time he does to appease him, but you finally decided you needed a vacation after he forced you into one of his stupid gambles and forced you to fulfill another of his especially perverted fantasies; on top of forcing you to help him get acquainted with a gacha you played—and he’d be the direct cause of your cake turning out burnt. Sure, there are those big moments where lava and ink converge, but it’s the little things which sting and nick that pile up. The real kicker was when he forced you two to share a plate of pasta one night and when, of course, you two landed on the same noodle, he had the brilliant idea to suck it up at the speed of light; likely hoping it would get him to your lips sooner. How romantic, making out while you both had half chewed food in your mouths; you truly could not commend this man’s genius enough! Unfortunately for his plans and your sanity, you couldn’t keep up, and that is why you know what it’s like to have tomato sauce in your eyes. Not to mention that there were pepperoncinis in there. You were washing it out for days. At least he seemed genuinely apologetic over it, but copious amounts of jewelry don’t supplement how he never asks if you even want or like it.

So, yeah, you’re no fan of how he fucks with you. You gladly made this choice, and all the risk it came with.

“So, this is where you’ve been.” You think he’s still a little surprised, just as you are. You haven’t done much in the way of defiance, both because you wanted nothing more than to remain within yourself, and because you feared his retaliation (very, very much). The few risks you have taken never pay off. Even this one didn’t pay off in full: for you didn’t even go to see your parents. You tried to tell them the horrible truth and because they deserved to know their child’s fate, but every time you approached their house, something stopped you. Shame, fear, embarrassment, sheepishness…you don’t know. You almost laugh. To think, a quarter of why you’re here is because of the danger they were placed in, yet you can’t even muster the courage to talk to them. Maybe you want them to think you’re dead, because then that’s the version of you that’ll be eternal in their minds: loving, goofy, brimming with potential and optimistic pessimism; and not the pathetic wimp you truly are. The mere risk of seeing disappointment shine in their eyes (they wouldn’t but what if they did? What if?) was enough to scare you off. You dismiss them from your mind because you have to deal with Aventurine, unfortunately. You wonder if you’ll forget them, if you cast them out of your mind enough. “I’m charmed. Our special place.”

You scoff. “Don’t flatter yourself. This was mine before you ever came here, and it still is.”

You met each other here on a moonlit night. You couldn’t see each others’ faces, but it didn’t stop you from conversing. You don’t bother to think about it more, because what started as a memory that made you feel warm now enshrouds you in a volcanic blizzard. You’ve already mulled over it plenty anyway—on how such a mundane conversation started all of…this.

Now, the sun is setting. It calms you down.

“Darling, this is a national park. You don’t own it.”

You tsk. “Shut up. I don’t feel like dealing with you right now. And you literally called this place ‘ours,’ you conniving bastard.”

“Unfortunate,” his arm slings across your shoulders, “because it’s been such a lonely week without you…” you don’t share the sentiment. His other arm cages you by the waist. You imagine his body rupturing and exploding, showering blood and guts that you’d dance in. Or would you soak yourself in his organs, to savor his defeat? Maybe you’d open your mouth, let your mouth and throat be coated in his blood so you—

Huh. Something’s off again. You are no stranger to violent thoughts, but lately, at rare times, your fantasies get accompanied by something strange you can’t quite put your finger on.

You make a face, as you look at him over your shoulder with a deadpan glare, “And you’ve let me parade about.”

He giggles. “What? I had no clue you were here till a few hours ago! Honest.”

“Says the surveillance freak.” You wave your phone, “Not to mention I’ve so conveniently kept this tracker with me.”

He drops the act. “You didn’t even try to cover up your tracks.” He sighs, “I must say, your defeatism is probably the least attractive part of you. Can’t say I really understand.”

Then why does he still keep you around? It’s already been nearly half a year.

“You and I have no illusions that I can escape you, and I lost a bet. I try not to be a sore loser.”

“And yet you so often cry when you lose our games. Kick and scream sometimes.”

Your chest feels hollow, and you hate the feeling so much that you want to die right then and there. “What, should I be jumping for joy when you rape me?”

Silence. You can almost think he’s a little remorseful. But then his fingers snake up to pull at your collar. Peeling back your skin, to try and coax you out of it. More like tear you out.

You scoff, but your eyes heat up. “Seriously?” Your voice carries a mix of disappointment, anger, fear, and despair. It cracks, “Hardly three minutes and right after I—”

“Relax,” he’s so soothing that your muscles tense up and your heart beats to the nines—what a reassuring boyfriend! He continues his ministrations until he has a good view of your neck, and hums in pleasure, “I can’t say I’m entirely peachy with what you’ve done, but you haven’t been that bad—” you feel yourself slightly relax, “—so we’ll get a room first.” And your heart drops, but you did expect this. He hums, and you can practically hear the grin in his voice, “Unless…you’d like to really make this our special place?”

No. He can’t he can’t he can’t he can’t he won’t—The slightest bit of life crosses your relatively lifeless face. “Don’t you fucking dare—!”

He covers your mouth, silencing you, and squeezes tight when you try to speak; you feel something in you wither. “Alrighty, I get the idea,” He casually concedes, but you doubt he was all too adamant if he dropped it so easily. “We’ll both save ourselves for later. In the meantime, let’s keep quiet, mhm? We really wouldn’t want anyone to just interrupt us.”

You seethe, but then his grip becomes near painful. Humiliation wells in your chest, as the muzzle tightens. You forcibly relax, and reluctantly nod. Fresh air has never been sweeter. A drop of sweat trickles down your face.

“Good. Very good,” he purrs. “You’re always so good; thank you. I’m glad you see the mutual benefit in doing so.” He brushes a spot at your neck. It’s the spot he first bit you in, and thinking about it still makes you shake in pain. And he’s always sucking or biting at it to stake his stupid claim. You brace yourself. And right on cue he’s latched on, and your scream is muffled by your hand. You’d like to say you’ve gotten used to it, but you’ve never had a good tolerance for pain. Against your wishes, tears fall. Aventurine lunges at the opportunity, sensually licking them and leaving behind a disgusting trail of slime to dry. He kisses your cheekbone, leaving behind a weeping crimson flower, “You really are a crybaby…” his voice sends spiders crawling into your ear.

You desperately wipe your cheek with your sleeves, mostly because you know shoving him away doesn’t work when he gets like this. And then your short lived adrenaline fades.

“Shit!” He’s drawn blood. Again. And you liked this shirt! But you can see why he doesn’t—it was a high collar and a long sleeve, able to cover the mural of bites and bruises he leaves on your body. The majority were faded, but some of them were just a little more permanent. You briefly wonder why he’d ruin your shirt; he’s made it very clear that the mural is for his eyes alone. You suspect he wanted to create an excuse so you’d be forced to wear some jacket or shirt of his.

“Sorry,” he kisses the spot, but each kiss burns you. You don’t understand why he bothers to say the word when you both know he’s not capable of feeling remorse, at least, not for you. He keeps stinging your tender flesh.

You groan, blinking back mist. “You’re making it worse.”

“Sorry,” he repeats, giving you a bloody peck on the cheek, “but can you blame me? You’re not wearing any of my gifts. Makes a guy a little jealous, y’know?” He kisses your cheek again, firmer to imprint his bloody kiss.

“Yes, I can blame you for making conscious decisions,” you coldly snap, but you’re already tired, “Once again, jewelry is overrated and I reaffirm that your taste is shit.”

“I recall my jewelry and clothes were some of the first things you complemented.”

“Aye,” it’s true, but you see an opportunity for levity and take it, “but I have since evolved from my follious self.”

He’s getting that feral look in his eye again. Why?! You didn’t even do anything! You snap. “What is it? Spit it.”

“You’re doing it again.”

You can’t stand his touch any longer. “Doing what?” You hiss, shoving him away from you so you can face him. But you almost wish he didn’t let you, because there are few things he would trade for you in his hold.

He whistles. It feeds your frustration. You assume that it’s what he usually wants from you. “If this is some weird sexual innuendo then it’s fallen flat on its ass, you affluent horndog. I thought you said to wait later, anyway.”

He blinks in brief shock, before laughing—his canines shine in the orange sunset, “No, no no, not this time around. Let’s put it this way, and I’ll be very clear, just for you,”

As he calms down, an angelic smile spreads in his face, and you know you’re looking straight at damnation.

“I’ve learned that defeatists succumb to themselves. Pushing them past their limit helps, but it’s not entirely necessary.”

…In the back of your mind, you make a horrific realization.

You have tilled fields, so You may eventually sow them with cotton.

—

What does your face look like, right now? If you hazard a guess, it might be bestial. You only know your eyes are wide open and not flooding.

In an unexpected subversion, it is you who pins Aventurine to the ground. You don’t pay much mind to his expression: parted lips, breathless, glimmering interest and fulfilled desire in his eyes; it’s unusual and you would’ve drank it in if not for the tornado in your mind. It’s torn through some cotton, leaving the field barely clutching to life.

“What. Were. You. Thinking?” You do not recognize your own voice. You feel your body shaking and find that you’re breathing heavily.

He smiles. “You watch me gamble all the time, dearest.” His head tips in faux questioning, “I don’t see how that’s gotten you so worked up—and you’ve been so sweet lately.”

You grind your teeth. He hasn’t answered you. “You played Russian Roulette.”

The body of his opponent is slumped on the table across from you two. Their blood continually drips, crying out in defeat. You couldn’t care less about that, because there’s a thought playing on repeat in your mind.

That could’ve been his body.

His eyes twinkle as he smirks, “Are you jealous?” He cruelly teases, “Did you want to kill me, or were you hoping to take the bullet yourself?”

“No.” You’re not being sensible. The cotton in your mind is shredding. You want to balk at the idea, and You want to jump at the opportunity. “Answer my question.”

“Mmm,” he hums, and his nonchalance makes you shake, “well, I suppose I’m in no position to refuse. It was a good gamble with a good thrill, of course! I thought you knew this.”

He’s right. You know just how much pleasure he takes in putting everything on the line. Your question is answered, but for some reason it’s still not satisfied. The few surviving patches of cotton are still in your way.

That depraved feral look in his eyes only grows at your internal battle, and his gloved hand cups your cheek. “What’s wrong?” He goads. “Or have you finally come around to just how irresistible I am?”

For a moment, the cotton has come back, regrowing into a beautiful field. But then the scent of blood wafts to your nose, and all of your senses have increased tenfold. The drip of blood sounds like pouring rain, poking numerous holes; the tile below your palms are lifeless slabs of ice, sticking itself to you so you’d have to rip your skin off to get away; blood and perfume and spilled champagne root themselves into your sinuses, bleeding

them out; chocolate and salt roil on your tongue, scraping along like a rusty iron blade; and Aventurine, beautiful, cruel, loving Aventurine, has never looked clearer, so enthrallingly vivid and colorful you are tempted to sob at the beauty alone.

Hell hath flourished, and it burns the cotton to dust.

You begin to unravel.

“I want to hollow out your chest.” You admit maddeningly, and you wonder how much your insanity bleeds out. “And burrow into it, so I can listen to your heartbeat and feel the expanse of your lungs pressing into me with your every breath,” you think your breath has grown more erratic, “I want to breathe in your blood, taste your heart, blood, sustain myself on nothing, on nothing but you!” You’ve leaned closer till your breaths fan over each others’ faces. Small patches of water begin to drop onto Aventurine’s face—his face that is so breathtakingly and satanically beautiful without the cotton obstructing it—your breath hitches and your mouth twitches, as you take in a quivering breath. “If you die…I might just join you, because…there’s really nothing else for me…” and then something ugly sparks in your chest. “If you die…I’m pulling the trigger, not some random sap in a casino.”

The puddle of blood begins flowing toward you.

It completely burns the cotton, and that is the moment You are no longer safe. But hell is beautiful, you find, and you so gladly drench yourself in its flames. You are still painfully aware of how wrong it all is…but, the storm within you is starting to calm, you don’t cry with your every free moment and you no longer agonize about your parents. You…you think this is peace. To harbor obsession for the man who trapped you in this hell and tortured you and then drowned you in affection and obsession.

You sob, a sound of euphoric despair, and you confess the terrible truth,

“I love you, Aventurine,” you take in a shuddering gasp, “I love you…” you cough, no longer able to hold back as you break down, “I love you, I love you,” you hiccup and sob, “I love you I love you I love you I love you!” You’ve collapsed, curling in on yourself but resting your head atop his heart. “Don’t throw me away…don’t l-leave me…I need you, and it’s your f-fault I’m like this…please, please Aventurine, tell me you love me and won’t ever let me go!” Oh, you feel so ugly and you feel so much lighter and, and—

His breath shudders, and then swiftly takes you in his arms. You flinch out of your daze, but his grip doesn’t cease, like he wants your bodies to meld into each other. His grip is tight, almost biting, but in your mind free of cotton, it feels secure and adoring. He sits up, shifting so you straddle him. Red dusts his cheeks, a similar shade to the crimson pooling beneath you two. His eyes hold a hunger satiated and a new voracity, gleaming with animalistic intent that makes you shiver.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he shudders, grounding himself to hold back, “that was beautiful—you’re beautiful,” he’s panting, “how could I refuse such a heartfelt and adorable confession?” Your heart soars. “You’re so perfect. You’re the other side of my coin…yes,” he groans, “I’d love to bring you down with me, and to tear you apart if I’m back in that dawnless land.”

As the dawn shines on you both as he kisses you, it clicks.

He wanted someone just as desperate as him.

The whisper against your lips is almost reverent, “I knew you were the one,” His eyes are like a meadow, where you dance and sing and never leave, even as your feet howl in pain brushing against poison ivy and oak hidden amidst the grass and flowers. Now you recognize the emotion that drowns in them: an all consuming affection which threatens to erase your existence to everything but him. “Thank you, for destroying yourself for me. It’s truly an honor, sweetheart.”

Your tears flow, but the corners of your mouth twitch upwards. Insanity has sunk its claws into you, your stress and limits explode in a desperate supernova, and your very being trembles with ecstasy. Aventurine joins you, standing up and spinning you around in his firm hold as you both laugh and laugh in the dawn’s sunlight, with red not trailing too far behind. This is a spectacle you burn and freeze and drown in, witnessed by your spectator in rot.

Then you're devoured, but you’ve grown your own claws and fangs.

Driven by nothing more than instinct, in the throes of your tryst, you bury your head in the crook of his neck,

And bite.

#yandere #Yandere aventurine #yandere hsr #yandere hsr x reader #yandere aventurine x reader #aventurine x reader #yandere honkai star rail #Yandere x you #tw noncon #if you’re this far into the tags then hello welcome to hell #How are you? I’m chillin out it’s pretty nice #Dreading the day I must finally become a proper tool in capitalism (re: get an actual job so I do not starve to death and deprived of—#—basic human necessities. Like nestle water)#Ha didn’t expect capitalism depression in the tags of a yandere work didja well to that I say SIKE BITCH I’ve got you #But also every other post has espresso depresso abt capitalism so it’s kinda the norm at this point #Marx is rolling in his grave #Anyway go get a drink of water it’s very very important to be hydrated #Also you do not know how hard it is to not write good girl/boy in this FR—#Destroyed Onset

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gloriaregalisblood · 11 months

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Warning: unhealthy relationships; the reader is a student of theatrical art; yandere!Leon; affectionate nicknames; mention of forced pregnancy.

synopsis: Like a delicate flower that appeared before him after hell in China, Leon can no longer get you out of his head... The cute waitress who was just chatting with him while he was finishing a bottle of whiskey occupied all his thoughts and drove Ada Wong out of his heart. Even if you never had such an intention.

There seemed to be no end to this hell... When you kill one bastard, another one comes in his place, destroying the lives of millions. Raccoon City, Tall Oaks, Lanshiang and many other small towns and villages are becoming a hotbed of zombies and other bioweapons. Leon pulled Ada's ill-fated compact out of his jacket pocket, tossing it in his hand when his glass was finally empty and the bottle standing next to him glittered silently in the light, suggesting that the whiskey in it would also soon run out. He sighed heavily as he looked into the small mirror in his hand, thinking only about how many times he had used it and whether he had used it at all? The thought of the elusive spy who sometimes visited his house or sent short messages to his phone caused strange feelings. There is not much in his life that he can control.

Spending the nights with Ada is already pointless.

Leon isn't sure he ever really loved her. She just brought her share of excitement into his hectic life by periodically visiting his apartment or sending him a spontaneous message, and then always disappeared again for a long time. No fucking stability. There is no family that he has dreamed of since childhood. He still keeps her compact, although he's not sure if Ada ever used it at all. They had passion, their share of madness, but really, if you think about it, nothing more. They were simply connected by Raccoon City, and Ada still sometimes uses it for her own purposes, even if she helps him.

It's just a part of his crazy life that he can't escape from. Something has done to his brain, causing him to despair that there is little in this world worthy of salvation. In fact, it's a waste of time. One psychopathic terrorist will replace another.

And then you came. Leon doesn't believe in God, but you were definitely someone's blessing from above. Too innocent for this world, too beautiful and sweet. Your delicate fragrance still envelops his sense of smell, spreading like poison throughout his body. Just a nice girl who briefly brightened up his drunken evening at the bar with a meaningless conversation and accidentally blurted out that working as a waitress is only a temporary phenomenon that helps you pay bills, and in general you hope to make a career in the theater from childhood and sometimes you are even given roles, like next week. And this time you are even very lucky to play the main character who in the end will have to die at the hands of her beloved.

It was a simple performance, but with quite beautiful scenery and outfits. You invited Leon, unsure that he would really come, but he came and ... the whole performance you didn't know that yet, but it was literally a retelling of your later life in modern realities. Because you were too perfect for this world, just like your heroine. Sweet flowers in your hair, a long dress and a sad look at the end when your lover takes you away forever depriving you of light forever settling next to him in the kingdom of darkness. The story is somewhat reminiscent of Hades and Persephone, but only taking into account the fact that those two kind of loved each other and Persephone wanted to return to Hades, unlike your heroine, who was just a bird in a golden cage.

He was older than you. You didn't know anything about Leon except his name and that he had a pretty hard job. But after the performance, someone sent you a luxurious bouquet of flowers directly to your small apartment. Of course, some people celebrated your talent, but they gave you gifts after the performances and no one organized home delivery for you. At least it really bothered you.

However, you never thought it was him. Leon seemed like a good man to rely on, although it seems he had some problems with alcohol, but the more time you spent together, the better he seemed to you. Gifts in the form of cute key chains or spontaneous flowers when the two of you were walking together. Leon was a real gentleman, which is why he quickly aroused your confidence in himself. He looked after you so beautifully, always held your hand tightly, twining your fingers together and always hugged you tightly when he saw you off at the apartment door.

He said you were his little angel to take care of. And that was probably the first red flag you should have seen.

And then your phone accidentally disappeared. You were sure it was in your pocket, but maybe someone pulled it out? You didn't have the money to buy a new one, besides, all your contacts were there, and all you thought about being out of touch for almost 24 hours was why some psycho stole your mobile when it was practically worthless!

"Leon Scott Kennedy is in a hurry to help," with a smile on his face, he handed you your phone, and in desperation you picked it up by pressing the side button, seeing that it was locked. “Yesterday, during a walk, you left him on a park bench. Are you seriously using this antiquity?"

"Yeah, I don't have money for a newer model yet," you answered him, being absolutely sure that Leon wasn't digging into your phone.

"Well, sweetheart is an easily fixable case"

How could you know that hacking your phone is a trivial matter? And that it was Leon who stole it unnoticed? He really didn't have much trouble checking all your correspondence and social networks and connecting your phone to his to know what you were thinking. Although he didn't have much time, he hoped to give you a new one so that you would be even more secure in his understanding. However, so far Leon did not want to scare you off with his excessive attention and overly gifts, which at the beginning of the relationship will still be completely out of place.

you were his sweet and innocent angel. All Leon wanted was just a person he loved and could care about. His real family, which was taken away from him as a child and which he could not create after the police academy. You were so charmingly worried talking with a friend discussing Lanshiang, you were throwing different links and eyewitness videos to each other, some reports and everything that Leon wanted from you at this very minute so that you would stop doing it. He believed that you should not see this part of the world that could scare you because while he was still not close enough to you that his shoulder could become your support.

Then you finally left this topic. Leon carefully monitored your correspondence thanks to the connected tracking program, watched what you want and then, as if guessing, offered you exactly what you wanted so much, making himself in your eyes a handsome prince who always knows what his sweet princess wants.

"So chocolate cake, princess?" You beamed with joy when Leon brought you a box from your favorite pastry shop. You thought he was such a wonderful man. Such people are usually shown in beautiful melodramas and while you were talking about getting ready for a new performance playing Francesca, he lazily poked the cake with a fork looking around your apartment, which could not be called an apartment. A cardboard box - he found a suitable definition for this. Too dysfunctional area, too bad apartment in which there are frequent interruptions with light and you are too defenseless.

You literally became the light of his soul in a short time. Among hundreds of thousands of people, he may have been looking for you all his life. When Leon puts down his fork, he just looks at you with such a penetrating look that you feel uncomfortable and you freeze in an almost deathly stupor when his hands gently take your face closer to him, tasting what your lips taste like.

And you really are too beautiful for him. His favorite little angel. Leon kisses your nose, cheeks, eyes, forehead and all he wants from you is a long kiss in return.

While your brain is bathed in hormones of happiness, reacting to Leon's gentle touches and his sweet kisses, he has long thrown a noose around your neck, starting to tighten it.

Leon doesn't like to manipulate you, but he thinks that sometimes it's necessary. He chains you to him. Makes you emotionally dependent on yourself so that you can't feel safe without him. He needs you to always be in his line of sight because that's the only way he can take care of someone he truly loves.

And of course he will be the one who will comfort you when your friends all abruptly block you by ceasing to communicate for no reason or explanation. You will cry on his chest while he strokes your hair, kissing your temple, saying that such a beautiful girl should not shed tears because of such shitty people.

"Look at it this way, Sweetheart. The garbage took itself out." However, you were hurt by misunderstanding what happened between your company. You didn't see Leon smiling because you were so absorbed in your negative emotions, but he so comforted you by laying you under him and whispering in your ear that no one is worthy of you except him.

It was your first night. Very gentle and long filled with loud moans and multiple kisses with praise when Leon crashed into you tightly squeezing in his arms whispering that from now on you are only his. He grabbed you by the face, forcing you to look at him, digging a demanding kiss into your lips.

"You are mine" from his lips it sounded too intimidating that the passionate obsession immediately subsided. "Now only mine"

Cry or scream, but Leon was the one who completely trapped you in his trap. There are marks from his hands on your body and later analyzing his behavior you will be able to be horrified by what kind of monster is sitting in his soul, although it no longer matters when he presses you to him because this beast needed you alone and no one else. You should have run away from him earlier, but now there was no way out. He didn't beat you, didn't humiliate you... No, Leon will never hurt you. He loves you too much for that, but that doesn't mean he didn't break you in another way.

In his understanding, you are like Paolo and Francesca, whom you were supposed to play, but you literally got into the skin of the last heroine that you played on stage. He persuaded you to move in with him, persuaded you to quit your low-paying job and just do what you love, he will take care of everything else. And the puzzle slowly began to take shape when you found his government agent documents. This explained some paranoia and his frequent business trips. Of course he said that he worked for the government, but it was a bit vague and even finding documents in his office where he forbade you to enter it didn't give you many answers. In the end, you didn't dare to get into his laptop in search of additional information. Especially since he had a complicated password. In fact, you put everything back in place, hoping that Leon wouldn't notice that you were going through his stuff.

When he got home, he didn't really seem to notice. All the news was trumpeting about another terrorist attack with the use of biological weapons, and while you were watching TV, it suddenly went out, leaving you completely at a loss thinking that something might have happened to the light, but the touch of familiar lips to the back of your head made you understand that it was Leon who pressed the button remote control.

Throwing his gym bag on the floor, Leon frowned at you, as if he was angry about something, and his prolonged silence, along with a slightly angry expression, began to frighten.

"You won't watch this shit" was all he said as he walked into the bathroom where the water was very noisy. You didn’t risk turning on the TV again, instead just deciding to rummage through your phone for information and when Leon got out of the shower he first looked at his phone and then again with the same cold-blooded look already at you when you set him a plate of warm dinner. "I think I told you not to watch this shit"

You stared in fright, not understanding how he knew about it. But a guess still flashed through your mind... Was Leon somehow able to track your cell phone?

"What do you mean?" your frightened voice did not touch him. Leon just took your phone for no reason.

"Angel, I don't like repeating myself. Just listen to me and we'll both be happy and don't you dare deceive me!"

He calmed down only an hour later, putting you on his knees, thinking about something when he untangled your long hair.

While you fought the urge to ask about his work, Leon's hands stroked your thighs, pushing you towards intimacy. You have long ceased to seem that your relationship was normal. His pathological mania for controlling your life made him an unbearable partner, and it wasn't the same Leon you met. However, somehow you ended up on the floor underneath him again as he greedily fucked his lovely angel leaving bruises on your soft skin whispering that you were taking him so well. Usually Leon uses condoms, but this time everything turned out so spontaneously and quickly that you didn’t even have time to object as his cock was already inside you. By and large, evening sex after his arrival left mixed feelings. You still didn't understand what was happening to Leon, but you gasped with pleasure when he made you come.

"my angel..." his lips found yours, digging so greedily you almost felt pain. "So pretty, sweet and only mine. You're such a silly girl, but I'll take care of you."

You tried to tell him to be careful, as he started to approach his finale then Leon just held you so tight, grabbing your neck and thigh, cumming inside you that you could feel him filling you up.

"That's how my girl" he ran his finger along your bottom lip. "Take it all. No more theatre. You are now only here with me. You don't have to be any actress. God, I have to protect you from all this fucking shit. You will only carry my child and make me happy".

You didn't want children. Not so early, but Leon didn't even ask you. You burst into tears almost immediately, but he only whispered that he would make you such a good and beautiful mommy, that you would finally give him the family he always dreamed of and how he can no longer wait to cuddle up to your big belly. Leon didn't ask your wish again. You tried to push him away from you, to leave him after this act, saying that you were tired of his control. That he does not have the right to manage your life and that you have your own dreams and goals, and they definitely do not include motherhood now when you guys, have been dating for a little over a year. But he just roughly threw you on the couch so that you hurt your back before you even realized what happened. He did it so easily, like you weighed nothing.

"Ungrateful girl!" you cringed into a ball at his sharp voice but Leon grabbed your shoulders painfully pulling you to him "You don't even fucking understand what world you live in! I fucking care about you and all you have to do is be a good girl and listen to me! I'm a lot of I beg you?!"

"Stop that!" you begged trying to break free from his grip despite the hot tears streaming down your cheeks "I don't want this relationship anymore!"

Leon turned you around roughly and pressed his chest against your back as you thrashed frantically, trying to break free of his grasp.

"Really? And what kind of relationship do you not want? Am I hitting or humiliating you? You just don't see the horrors I face at work almost every day. Do you really think I'll let you go?"

You went limp in his arms. Because you actually had nowhere to go. No friends, no job, especially since you've already moved out of that apartment and Leon has infiltrated every corner of your life, making it his own. Still sobbing, you eventually calmed down a little and Leon again, as if nothing had happened, took your sluggish body in his arms, taking it to the bathroom, where he carefully washed away all traces of a short quarrel and passion from you.

Like a weak-willed doll in man's hands. Leon carried you to the bedroom and started changing into his own clothes. the usual spacious shirt and he put him to bed with his hand on your belly.

"So that I don't hear anything like that from you again," he whispered insinuatingly into your ear, wiping the tears from your cheeks. "I provide for you perfectly, you don't need anything. Just do as I tell you to do well?" a light kiss on the temple made you flinch.

And from that moment on, you really begin to analyze his actions from the day you met.

If you had run away, he would have found you right away. Not that Leon kept you locked up at home, but you could only go out for a walk with him. Movies, shopping for food or clothes ... he should always be there and you in his field of vision. In fact, he didn't even let go of your hand.

A dying bird in a golden cage. Good definition for you. You immediately remembered that role of yours and was surprised how cruel fate can be. Leon was your warden and when you managed to convince him to tell about his work, but it scared you even more because the evil fate literally hung a "no way out" sign around your neck.

You are like his favorite songbird that he sometimes releases to fly in his field of vision, but if you fly too far, he will just catch you and break your neck. Not literally. Because how can he harm the woman who is carrying his child?

hopelessness when they saw two strips on a pregnancy test. Leon was happy for you, although you knew that by buying a house in which the Kennedy family would live, you would really be incarcerated. Because the more Leon encounters bioweapons in his work, the more his personality becomes distorted.

Now there really is no way out.

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jinuaei · 10 months

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Would puppy Leon like it if Y/N put a collar and a leash on him?

Oh definitely! Whatever type or design that collar is he would love it all the same.

A collar means you own him, and he doesn't plan on leaving. Tug him around with the leash and he will follow, just don't tie him where he can't follow you, it would upset the poor puppy.

You have to be careful though, he seems really, really excited with the gift you gave him.

#puppy leon kennedy #leon kennedy #leon s kennedy #leon x reader #yandere leon kennedy #ask #puppy!leon #yandere re2 #re leon

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i-cant-sing · 2 years

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What if teen reader was blind? Like her eyes are just crystal clear, BUT she’s blind. And shitty father Ethan probably doesn’t notice or refuses to acknowledge that his daughter is LITERALLY stumbling, tripping, bumping into shit and at one point, falls into the lake and he’s like “qUiT sCrEWinG AroUnD wE hAvE tO FiNd rOsE”

Now with uncle Chris, he probably has some kind of leash around her wrist for him to either gently pull her along, hold her hand, or she just stays behind with uncle Leon while he talks about his days as a cop to her to keep her mind occupied from her shitty father and Rose

You know what? You're so right. Because Ethan would 100% tell reader off for "fucking around" and Mia keeps telling him that this is just your way "seeking their attention" so poor reader is just getting gaslight her whole life.

When she comes to the village, and Ethan abandons her to look for Rose, reader is just so very scared as she stumbles with -100 vision, all while sniffling and trying not to break down. Since she heavily relies on her hearing, sometimes reader will just run straight into a tree if she hears something. Fortunately, she has Handsome now to save her.

Chris is just punching air as he looks at you through his binoculars, telling his team to keep their eyes on you as he decides to go and fetch you himself because at this rate, you're gonna be dinner for those monsters.

I can also imagine the Lords looking at reader with sympathy as she aimlessly swings a tree trunk around to fend monsters off. Heisenberg probably just grumbles under his breath before grabbing you by the scruff of your neck and telling you to "calm down. I'll help you find your sister." before dragging you towards his factory to give you some food and a bed to sleep (and maybe his jacket, poor thing has just been one shiver from hypothermia)

I can also see Lady Dimitrescu just taking one look at you and going "this. This is my child now." Before picking you up from your armpits and carrying you to her castle, softly hushing you as you try to break free.

In general, I think they would all treat you like a frail kitten they found abandoned in the rain rather than an actual human being. And as much as you deny it, you do enjoy the warmth and care they give you.

I don't think Chris would put a leash on you. Maybe a tracker or just holds your hand as he guides you through the woods, but not a leash. That's more of Ethan's thing, especially when he becomes a yandere for you and realises you weren't actually faking any of it.

Now he's got those kiddy backpack leashes you for you, plus Mia put a tracker INSIDE your body surgically (yes, you were not willing so she knocked you out). Now they know where you are 24/7.

Be happy they don't make you wear bell around the house. (They just might in the not so distant future)

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lawlietscaramels · 4 months

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Yandere ╾ L Lawliet

Because apparently I fell into a yandere stage and this is my tunnel out.

CW typical yandere stuff (stalking, obsession, overprotection, manipulative, worship, dependence, monopoly, killer)

　★━━─・‥…━━━☆

Yandere L is interesting because I think yes, he could absolutely be a yandere

canonically too

BUT only if you defined a yandere by "do they have the traits?" as opposed to "what do they do?"

so first: what KIND of yandere is the detective? top five traits incoming.

STALKER

Let's just get this one out of the way

He obviously to some degree "stalks" people just for his work, through cameras and policemen if not in person

he's a stalker guys. that's it.

so he wouldn't have a problem just turning up wherever someone who interested him was

again

and again

and again...

He's pretty hard not to notice because of his peculiar mannerisms, but he's also literally black and white enough to blend into the background.

So if he was careful (he is) it would take a while before you noticed you were seeing him everywhere you went. And by then you wouldn't be able to think of a time where he wasn't sitting quietly somewhere in the background.

L knows this.

he knows you're going to assume he just happens to live in the same area as you, or something like that.

I don't think he'd actually follow you into your home but he would go when you were out someday to set up cameras

and I think L would genuinely believe himself to be a good person

what if he goes away and you get in trouble? you don't always have a roommate, who would notice? well, now L will, and he is quite able to get you back to safety. but back to the stalkery.

oh man he's gone through your stuff. your closets your phone whatever. he wants to know about you

one day he might just arrange for a little... near accident somewhere you both frequent

and oh my oh gosh oh diddly darn

guess who just happens to be there to save the day

(L. it's L. notice him please?)

OBSESSIVE

There are two things that L is canonically obsessed with: work and desserts

but if he found a romantic interest that list suddenly has a third item: YOU.

especially if you bake him cakes or help him in cases. because then he ties those things he loves to you.

and I'll just quickly mention these traits are always a little bit in his personality but the order I'm writing in is the order they come out more strongly around you.

Obsession is also tied with stalking.

Some days he watches you and dreams about you smiling at him the way you smile at the rain and the sun and the world.

he imagines how everything will work out. you're a distraction to his work: he would have to find a way to integrate you into his life in a way that allows him to be close to you and not distracted. he imagines he imagines

you'd find a way to fit into him while he was sitting, your body pressed up against his torso, legs pulled up, head on his shoulder.

he could play with your hair with one hand. you could feed him sweets.

L is for the first time not in control of his own thoughts. it's new and unpredictable so it's completely terrifying to him, and for a while he'll slink away into the darkest recesses of society and draw away from you.

but it doesn't stop. it gets worse.

he can't look outside without wondering if you're looking at the same skies. can't eat strawberries without wondering if you like them.

so then he does a full 180 and will devote all of his available attention (some must be spared for work) to you. if you don't already work together or if he hasn't made contact during the stalking at all, this is when he does it.

he reaches out to see if you'll take him.

and when you do (it's not a question of if, see manipulative) he will calm down a fair bit.

but he is still, quietly, obsessed

OVERPROTECTIVE

what can I say?

gosh he just wants to keep you safe.

He's seen every bad thing about the world through his work, he knows bad things constantly happen to good people.

but. not. to. you.

L just won't let it happen. he can and will secret you away in a hotel room. never enough for you to become suspicious, to rattle at doors and windows. And you move with him, every couple of weeks, so it's just an adventure, dear.

also I think he'd use darling in a sweeter sense. dear or maybe doll is his yandere pet name for you.

He probably has several trackers somewhere on you. probably not IN you... probably...

also you know that nail polish they developed that changes colour when it comes into contact with common poisons in drinks? he makes you use stuff like that. for your safety.

hate hate hates that he can't be with you all the time. you tend to find yourself with reasons to stay at home when L's not around. once again see manipulative.

he does trust you, he really does. but he doesn't trust the world. men in particular are often disgusting. it's just true. he's seen it time and time again as a detective. who knows what scary things could be out in the world? and if they knew you were dating, that you had ANY relationship with the world's greatest detective? L's afraid he's putting you in danger. please just humour him and stay home for a week, dear. you can work on your baking.

if you started getting really rebellious, thought you were being chained up, whatever, L would let you go and do whatever you wish. He doesn't want you to feel like that! He loves you! he may or may not have organised for a brush with death for you so that you realise how right he is about the horrors of the world and want to stay home like he asks you so nicely to.

you're just so pure. so innocent.

there, there. he won't let them hurt you.

he'll even close all the blinds so the darkness of the world can't reach in to taint your beauty. isn't he the best?

MANIPULATIVE

IT'S CANON.

I can't think of any particularly specific examples but he lies about everything. Whenever he throws out a number (5%) it means he suspects someone over 90%

so he has no issues bending the truth

sigh if L's manipulative side is triggered it's triggered ALL the way. one one hand he hates doing this to you

but on the other it's for your own good and you're being stupid.

He will do ANYTHING to make you believe him. he will manipulate you into thinking he's being manipulative so he can get upset at your lack of trust in him so he's able to manipulate you

did that make sense...

can cry on demand.

but it's not all about making himself the victim, he will also just.. isolate you if you're starting to drift away from him. Suddenly your friends find other interests, your family are renovating the house or your parents won a radio prize for a vacation.

and L is the only one left. and he himself is distant until you cry and plead and apologise

the isolation thing is actually a yan trait itself and the scenarios above are also kind of training. but they're only a part of the bigger trait.

he will also manipulate situations and other people, not just you.

L just wants what's best for everyone

(coincidentally this always aligns with what is best for L.)

he's so smart though. it's really really difficult to realise he's manipulating you unless he wants you to.

WORSHIP

you're so pretty, the most perfect thing he's ever seen

you're an angel, really.

and people who don't respect you as such are going to get a subtle but clear message from L to STEP AWAY.

cold glares.

he will literally turn his head 180° like an owl to stare at them while he walks you away

they might end up fired. I mean someone who can't see what's right in front of their eyes doesn't deserve whatever job they have...

he just wants to spoil you sometimes and he has the resources to do it and more.

sometimes this gets a little suffocating but it's sweet. mostly.

it's nice to have time with your boyfriend instead of big, grand, empty rooms. L just doesn't have a lot of time. He does his job to protect you, protect you from everything in this world because it is all inferior to you.

I do not like to think about how he would react if you happened to meet Light...

I wasn't sure about whether or not to put this in the top five because I don't think he'd see himself as inferior. his IQ is big. but you could still jump from his ego down to his IQ and fall for hours. he thinks you're more good than he is but he's under no delusions about your relative intelligence or anything.

but yeah, I think he's a worshipper.

Just... a quiet worshipper. all his yan traits are kinda quiet tho haha

L wants to give you the world. he would sacrifice anything for you.

he would take a bullet for you

his work makes this a good possibility. he'd prefer not to get shot but he'd still do it for you.

probably the most harmless of his yandere traits. this one comes out when he decides this is it, you are it, forever.

HONOURABLE MENTIONS

really quickly a couple of the other traits L might have and express are:

dependence (mostly for manipulative purposes. he will cry if you ever fight. L is honestly quite dependent on you, he might die without you-- or more likely just force you back into his arms-- but he puts on a lot of an act, a puppet master pulling strings behind the stage. he wants to be seen as vulnerable, not just a stoic and brilliant detective. because which one is it easier to lose your heart to? and you must lose your heart. you stole his first.)

monopoly (when he has time, he needs you to have time for him and only him. he doesn't have a lot of time. will manipulate you into spending time with him but it's more of an occasional pest thing than anything. quite harmless. especially because he works a lot. you have plenty of time without him, which makes him sad, but he can't help it. and you wouldn't love him if he stopped you from seeing your family and friends...)

killer (yeah... not in the top five by any means but if someone tries to hurt you? god forbid, if they SUCCEED? you'll be stuck at home for a couple of weeks while L frets over you. and sometime in that couple of weeks.. well.. maybe that someone who hurt you finds themself in trouble with a gang. L's not doing the dirty work himself but he's behind it and you will never find out. if they only TRIED to hurt you L won't be able to justify killing them to himself, but they'll quickly find themselves in jail.)

YANDERE?

so back to what I mentioned in the first part: L is a yandere, IF you're only basing the classification on the fact that he has these traits and the ability to act on them

but as anyone who's watched police or court drama knows, you need more than means and opportunity:

you need MOTIVE.

this is where I can't base my thoughts on canon so much anymore. the only people who we really see L caring about the death of (spoilers‼️) are: the FBI agents (though not on a personal level); Ukita (pretty sure that's his name); and Watari (though L himself dies too soon after for this last one to be useful)

so. Ukita.

L probably wouldn't care enough for the guy to go yandere for him LMFAO but we do see him refusing to rush in and take action without thinking, something which a yandere might be more inclined to do if they cared about someone.

HOWEVER we also see he's trembling. like he's a little in shock about the death and what it means, but also he wants to do something about it.

a yandere urge, brought out by something bad happening to someone he cares about.

My point being?

L has the traits of a yandere, and has the ability to act on any of them any time. he's smart, he's rich, and he has the trust of the entire world (or respect at least)

but he doesn't act unless triggered.

and ofc because he doesn't have a canonical love interest, we can't prove either way what he would do for/to them.

but I think he is more deredere (love) than yanderu (sick).

anyway, L is smart enough to realise that the yandere doesn't usually win the game of love, and that the things are not things you should be doing for/to someone who trusts you. not things you should be doing to someone you love.

but sometimes, when his emotions are high and so is the danger to you or your relationship,

his control just slips

and you might just find yourself locked in a hotel room while he works on the Kira case.

SO IS HE A YANDERE?

no. I'd say that he's a kuudere.

cold, cynical, sarcastic sense of humour, views feelings as a weakness but DOES have them and will open up over time.

but oh...

wait...

according to the dere wiki...,

"Due to the way a kuudere acts, a yandere can easily pretend to be a kuudere when not acting insane."

...

so, what do we think?

　★━━─・‥…━━━☆

but hey that's just a theory... a DERE theory! aaand cut.

𝖎𝖋 𝖞𝖔𝖚 𝖑𝖎𝖐𝖊𝖉 𝖎𝖙 ˏˋ⋆˖⁺˖⁀➷ 𝖕𝖑𝖊𝖆𝖘𝖊 𝖗𝖊𝖇𝖑𝖔𝖌 + 𝖋𝖔𝖑𝖑𝖔𝖜

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issa-pheonyx · 8 months

Text

Yandere!Lord Dimitrescu&Sons X Fem!Reader [Part 1]

𝗧𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗺𝗮𝘆 𝗯𝗲𝗰𝗼𝗺𝗲 𝗮 𝘀𝗲𝗿𝗶𝗲𝘀 𝗱𝗲𝗽𝗲𝗻𝗱𝘀 𝗼𝗻 𝗵𝗼𝘄 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗳𝗲𝗲𝗱𝗯𝗮𝗰𝗸 𝗴𝗼𝗲𝘀 𝗶𝗳 𝗽𝗲𝗼𝗽𝗹𝗲 𝗲𝗻𝗷𝗼𝘆 𝗶𝘁. 𝗜𝗳 𝗶𝘁 𝗱𝗼𝗲𝘀 𝗜 𝘄𝗶𝗹𝗹 𝗯𝗲 𝗮𝗱𝗱𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗺𝗼𝗿𝗲 𝗽𝗮𝗿𝘁𝘀. 𝗔𝗹𝘀𝗼, 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿 𝗵𝗮𝘀 𝗮𝗯𝗶𝗹𝗶𝘁𝗶𝗲𝘀 𝘀𝘂𝗰𝗵 𝗮𝘀 𝗵𝗲𝗮𝗹𝗶𝗻𝗴 (𝗮𝗯𝗹𝗲 𝘁𝗼 𝗻𝗼𝘁 𝗳𝗲𝗲𝗹 𝗽𝗮𝗶𝗻), 𝘀𝘂𝗽𝗲𝗿 𝘀𝘁𝗿𝗲𝗻𝗴𝘁𝗵 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝘀𝗽𝗲𝗲𝗱, 𝗿𝗲𝗴𝗲𝗻𝗲𝗿𝗮𝘁𝗲 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝘄𝗮𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗱 𝘁𝗼 𝗮𝗱𝗱 𝗮 𝗯𝗮𝗻𝘀𝗵𝗲𝗲 𝘀𝗰𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗺 𝗰𝗮𝘂𝘀𝗲 𝗜 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝗻𝗸 𝗶𝘁 𝘄𝗼𝘂𝗹𝗱 𝗯𝗲 𝗶𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗿𝗲𝘀𝘁𝗶𝗻𝗴 (𝗜'𝗺 𝗮𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗲 𝗜'𝗺 𝘂𝘀𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗹𝗮𝗱𝘆 𝗱𝗶𝗺𝗶𝘁𝗿𝗲𝘀𝗰𝘂 𝗴𝗶𝗳𝘀, 𝗯𝘂𝘁 𝘁𝗵𝗶𝘀 𝗶𝘀 𝗮𝗹𝗹 𝗶 𝗴𝗼𝘁)🤭🌚 Part 2

▌│█║▌║▌║ L̳͈͉̅̊ȍ̸̢̢̮͚̐̚v̸̵̝͙͆̈ͤę̷̵̧̖̫̗̆̊ M̶̷̲̊ͥ͋͟ę̷̵̧̖̫̗̆̊ L̳͈͉̅̊ȍ̸̢̢̮͚̐̚v̸̵̝͙͆̈ͤę̷̵̧̖̫̗̆̊ M̶̷̲̊ͥ͋͟ę̷̵̧̖̫̗̆̊ L̳͈͉̅̊ȍ̸̢̢̮͚̐̚v̸̵̝͙͆̈ͤę̷̵̧̖̫̗̆̊ M̶̷̲̊ͥ͋͟ę̷̵̧̖̫̗̆̊ L̳͈͉̅̊ȍ̸̢̢̮͚̐̚v̸̵̝͙͆̈ͤę̷̵̧̖̫̗̆̊ M̶̷̲̊ͥ͋͟ę̷̵̧̖̫̗̆̊ ║▌║▌║█│▌

It seems like being the only daughter came to an end when Rosemary was born and developed a quick favorite too. You wanted to hate your sister so much, but you couldn't. She wasn't at fault it was Ethan and Mia (so you thought to be...). Maybe it was, because you were the easily ill type in which your mother, Mia, was giving you medicine. Lots of vaccine shots. As a child you didn't think much of it, but as you grew older. Now hitting your eighteenth. You realize it was very strange. You didn't need that much vaccine shots as a child. Mia always told you that you were just built different. I mean just let it go and believe it. She's your mother, she's always telling you the truth...right?

However, after witnessing uncle Chris intruding the home and shooting your mother in front of Ethan distinctly traumatized you (you hid by the stairs watching below). Once they saw you take baby Rosemary away and Ethan trying to stop them. Chris declines his resistance and when he caught you watching he nods at his crew. You notice two of them were going upstairs. This terrified you as you were next to be taken away. "(Y/N)!! No, Chris what the hell-don't touch her!" How rare it is for your father, Ethan, to sound so protective of you.

But, right now is not the time to find it a warming moment as you whimper when they catch you. Both hooking their arms under your pits. "Got her, captain." Your eyes widen in absolute terror, body trembling, color on your face going lighter, and chills. You thought you were going to die. "NO!! Not her! Chris, please-" That's when one of the soldiers beside him knocked him out by the butt of his rifle. "Father!" You screeched. Everyone winced in pain and when recovering they became puzzled and concerned from that sudden impact of your scream. The bastards who attempt to maintain their grip on you, you budge your arms running to your father only to be knocked out too

You didn't know how long you were knocked out, but you woke up freezing your ass off. But, smothered in the snow. You panicked as you try to stand, but there was so much snow. You cried in fear and flail your body only for the snow to deepen. However, you made it out really quick...but, not for the others it seems like a major crash happened. Body buried deep in the snow, some were ripped to shreds-a bear attack? Of course not it is snowing. There's no way, they have to be hibernating at this point. "Rest assured, dear (Y/N). You are safe, but it is best if you follow me." A woman's voice was heard from afar

"Who are you?" You asked as the figure starts to walk away. "Hey! Hold on! Who are you and how do you know my name!?" You run your legs through the deep snow-more like speed walking as if it is nothing-that the wind grew more intense and the freezing gusts hits you as you had to keep wiping off the snow from your body. "Follow my voice. You will find the village quickly." Village? Located in a village?

The snow and wind itself deepens and worsens. You squint your eyes to focus hard on the vision of this mysterious shadow woman. The snowstorm goes stronger as you can't see her at all. "Hello!? I need help!" No answer as you let yourself down on your knees. You were tired of chasing who it was as the cold snow was making you sleepy. The last thing you saw and heard was the mysterious lady getting close to you and said,"Let the ceremony commence."

𝗧𝗵𝗮𝗻𝗸𝘀 𝗳𝗼𝗿 𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗶𝗻𝗴! 𝗜 𝗵𝗼𝗽𝗲 𝘆𝗼𝘂 𝗲𝗻𝗷𝗼𝘆𝗲𝗱 𝗶𝘁. 𝗠𝘆 𝘂𝗽𝗱𝗮𝘁𝗲𝘀 𝗱𝗼 𝘁𝗮𝗸𝗲 𝘀𝗼𝗺𝗲 𝘁𝗶𝗺𝗲 𝗷𝘂𝘀𝘁 𝗮 𝗳𝗮𝗶𝗿 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴. 𝗦𝗹𝗲𝗲𝗽 𝘄𝗲𝗹𝗹~🖤🫣

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yandere-wishes · 3 months

Text

𐙚 𝕬 𝕮𝖔𝖓𝖋𝖊𝖘𝖘𝖎𝖔𝖓 𝕷𝖊𝖙𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝕿𝖔 𝕯𝖗𝖆𝖈𝖚𝖑𝖆 𐙚

Wednesday February 14th xxxx

Dear Dracula:

I find myself pondering if, deep down, in the heart you deny possessing. There still exists a chasmic rhyme and reason for all which you do. They call you monster, fiend, abomination. Yet aren't they the ones that maim and slaughter for reasons as thin as thread? Thus why should we possess the burden of such an accursed name?

Valentine's is upon us. Maybe such sacrilegious festivities can be blamed for my intrepidity. We've yet to consort outside our nocturnal affairs, outside our world of half-spun truths and forgotten anecdotes. I pray you forgive my effrontery. I pray you comprehend my need for making such inquiries.

But my dear precious Dracula, I have to ask. Do you still remember your mother, your home, your heritage? Many deny that one as egregious as you could possess such mortal things. And yet aren't those the fundamental pillars of who we turn out to be? Isn't one man's evil another man's crusade?

So I, a mortal who believes she may have fallen for you in all your atrocious glory, ask do you remember being a son, a child? Being innocent and naive enough to believe every lie and fable? Do you still yarn for your mother in the dead of day? Recalling her scent and the bouncy curls of her hair, tasting nostalgia on your blood-soaked tongue.

What was it like in the sand, in the snow, in the green valleys and rocky outskirts? Did the coarseness of sand and the roughness of rocks and the tickle of flowers leave phantom pains across your body? Did you play with the snakes and climb fig trees? Did you laugh with others of your kind?

Do you recall your ancestrial home? The bronze walls of your mother's temple. Her fingers wafting through your hair as her smile radiates brighter than the moon. I zealously trust the visions that flash before my eyes on moonless nights. Images of a frail batling wrapped in kaleidoscopic blankets tucked under his mother's arm. Your mother mingled with owls, I wonder why she constructed you in the likeness of bats, of wolves, of snakes? Did she wish for you to serve as a cacophony to the detested, to those we so quickly forget? Did she wish for you something she could never have herself?

They seldom recall you are one of the sons of flames and stardust. Do they forget we share a legacy? One I believe you fought for. Both descendants of the divinely blessed. Both lost children arid for blood and retribution.

I too know of the darkly sweet tang of rich blood upon the tongue.

I too know the fragile elation of scraping blood from under one's fingernails three days later.

I too know the sensation of being a monster in everything but intentions.

I cherish the two lone bites you've left upon my neck. I cherish the cuts your claws have left upon my hips. You never say a word when you fall. When melancholy and memories obfuscate your judgment. I know you refuse to act human, to pretend and be something you are not. Thus I won't ask for sweet nothings from you.

Yet still I long to hear you call me "love".

When did you realize you were equal parts hellfire and shamshir?

When did you realize that humanity deserves to suffer for its every injustice?

My sweet, sweet Dracula, I regret to inform you that as of late my bones feel faulty and brittle, as do my thoughts. Can we still call ourselves holy? Do we still have that right? Can we still repent for our sins? Who decides what a sin is anyway? Will we ever be innocent to someone?

Are you torn too? Broken in all the wrong places? Do you feel the open wounds and amputations, when you stare up at the stars? I wonder if I owe you an apology. I wonder if you owe me one too…

Dearest Dracula, would you ever understand if I told you that I am tired of being a monster, a villain, an abomination? Would you understand if I told you I need to rest inside a glass coffin, to be rejuvenated and reborn into the world as something useful?

Would you believe me if I say I believe in you? That I lay the burden of my aspirations upon your unwavering shoulders. Should there exist any mere slivers of hope, I shall bestow them upon you in trim vials of gold.

Where did our obligations go? Where are they buried so that I may pay my tardy regards?

Dear Dracula,

I hope you understand every star I've spilled to you.

I hope you comprehend the love I harbor within my defective heart.

I hope you adore the blood I've penned this letter with.

I just hope you understand…

In your absence, thorn bushes grow across my cadaver. suffocating and desolate. Without you, voids grow inside me, where hope once flourished. Dracula what I've been trying to say this whole time is…

I think we're both monsters.

I think I could love you.

Sincerely me…

P.S

Think of me as you feast upon your latest victim. And I shall think of you as I fall asleep to the city's empty tunes.

I need an origin story for Dracula.

sorry for the cryptic love letter.

But hopefully this way everyone can identify with it in some way.

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ur-mousey · 9 days

Note

If you’re doing requests could you write smth smutty with jeffery from class of 09 x female reader w some dubcon

Benzo-Addict ~

Yandere! Jeffery x F! Reader

Part Two is in progress. Will contain heavy smut!

warning college AU, mature, non-con, heavy drug use, hostage situation, violence. 1.8k

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

** Choice ** Head home, hang in the res quad with the other losers, or hot box it in a classroom with Nicole and Jecka. * click *

>>>

"Nicole, what the fuck is a benzosexual exactly?" Your head whipped to the side at record speed. "Sounds... not good?" You popped a chip in your awaiting mouth. The salt and tang collided on your tongue. A moan then threatened to emerge with each solid crunch. But, you'd held it at bay.

"I feel like we had this conversation before..." Nicole mused through a hit of the shared joint. With a sigh, smoke mingled between the girls, whispering with the dust flurries kicked up through their shuffling.

The classroom you all snuck into felt stiff and desolate, a reminder of how teachers truly made the space. Professors rotate, and it's wholly evident. The walls remained bare through full seasons and multiple decades. Autumn fades without color and Spring rises to meet its end.

This educational prison stood in the glory of its bareness, except for the singular doodle of Homer Simpson on the whiteboard. And the desks were neatly arranged, bolted down into place. Only the chairs beckoned students to sit. They awaited for the next class’s arrival. However, it being a Friday afternoon meant that classes seldom came to these halls

"It's because we had." Jecka retorted before gesturing to you, "She just wasn't here for it."

Nicole scoffed, "Sucks for her that she missed all the pedophiles and rapists, and now we're stuck with molesters and rapists who don't go after minors' asses."

Jecka puffed her chest up before sighing dramatically. "Remind me, why are you still Hitler? Grow out of it."

“I’ve grown -obviously- because I can’t call every man a pedophile in relation to me. Your whore sister, in 6th grade, she’s surrounded by them by the dozen… See!? Development, bitch.”

"Okay, Nicole equals Hitler, but what's a benzosexual?" You urged the pair on. You felt your phone buzz in your back pocket. But you decided to ignore it for now.

"Someone attracted to the unconscious," Jecka twirled her fingers. A singular strand glowed too brightly in the setting sun. "There was just this dumb jock named Kylar at our high school who was constantly -and I mean it, constantly- putting weird shit in girls drinks."

"Isn't that illegal? Like, report him."

"He played lacrosse," Nicole muttered. "Reporting it wouldn't do shit. Sports players get molested all the time by their grimy coaches, and it’s the girl's fault.”

You reached for another glorious bite, munching on it with deliberate ease. "Truly the Pessimist," You hissed through gritted teeth. Nicole's stare momentarily flashed to your face, eyes redden and lazy, smoke swirling out her nose, before she leaned further in.

"It's Jeffery, huh?"

Your phone was currently blowing itself shitless. The silence whirled with a frenzy of buzzes. All from your ex-lab partner, you'd assumed. Not a single moment was left undominated by his insistence for your attention. Jeffery needed a response to whatever you didn't care. Up, the buzzing went, utilizing your spinal cord as a ladded. The vibration climbed through your veins, propping its feet between your bones.

You retrieved your phone. 20 missed calls and 50+ texts.

"Forget creeps like Kylar when there's Jeffery. God couldn't even keep him away from us."

Jecka cackled as she leaned her chin upon your shoulder. "Good luck playing into his fetish. Being his... mommy!? And all. Meow~"

You flushed all red, "Don't read it!"

Jecka teased you unabashedly about Jeffery. You made the mistake of defending him after the first week of classes. To you, he was just a smart guy, albeit a little bit socially awkward. Scratch that: he's a lost cause in social interactions. It wasn't horrendous or anything. It made talking to him before stress-free. Now it's a different story.

Jeffery was immensely helpful to your 90 average in Environmental Science. He demonstrated class problems repeatedly until you held comprehension of the subject. There were times he had crossed the lines of your acquaintanceship. One random Monday, Jeffery gave a hentai DVD to you and a notebook that explained his depraved inner thoughts; 'I love watching 40-feet cat women step on guy's penises. The sight made my hand go faster till total completion.'

And frankly, you didn't want to know that. Jeffery, the weird otaku obsessed with NaruParty13, whom you felt bad for, proved to be a complete freak.

With your first semester ending, you closed the chapter of being his lab partner. In came new housing, with your boyfriend and away from the dorms, and less frequent trips to the dining hall, which meant fewer interactions with Jeffery. For literal fuck sake, you shared zero classes together, nor were you a part of the same major. Your paths strayed from one another. You entertained small talk here and there when it felt inevitable. Any sane person would let this lack of relationship go. Not Jeffery.

"I'm not playing into anyone's kinks aside from my own." You stuck your tongue out, shoving Jecka away.

"And sometimes your sleaze boyfriend."

"Yeah, 'cause I'm perfect 10 with a high libido." You mocked, matching your pitch to Jecka's. "And Cody's not a total sleaze."

Nicole tapped your shoulder with the joint in hand, "He's as depraved as any other man. Hence the usage of the word total."

** Choice ** Snatch the weed, or confront Jeffery. * click *

>>>

You could deal with Jeffery another day.

You were like a kite soaring through the sky. Your mind fell far into a different plane of existence than your own, but you didn't mind. The world was spinning. And, if you were in a room, you couldn't tell. No amount of stable ground could keep your feet stationed. Your vision was decorated in fuzz and pixels. And, in a twist of fate, you thought yourself tumbling forward.

You had taken it. Nicole's shit- that joint was strong as fuck. The first drag knocked your chest back in reverie. Yet you kept ripping. By the time you had left campus, you were inflicted with giggles, and you'd remained starry-eyed throughout dinner.

Then came the Friday night club scene. You downed shots like a bad bitch. Ghandi would be proud.

>>>

You stumbled through the shared flat with Cody. Your lips entangled with each other in battle. His hands groped your hips and pinched its flesh with fervent joy. His lips were chapped and his tongue held the remnants of beer. You enjoyed its taste against the mint of your gum.

Your boyfriend pulled away. Your name breached passed moans and whines, sobering your tequila-filled belly slightly. "Babe, please grab the Percocet... In the cabinet." Cody damn near whined. You nodded furiously, and your brain rattled against your skull.

He smacked a sloppy kiss on your forehead before shooing you away.

** Choice ** Sober up with water, or take a dive into prescription pill wonderland. * click *

>>>

And down the hatch, the Percocet goes.

>>>

"You... you little shi- Fuck!"

Cody? Was that you?

His words felt miles away and your head ached. You knew Cody was crying really ugly. Was he talking to you? Were you dying? You were neither here nor there. And faintly, you registered the sound of skin impacting skin. It was unmistakable.

Cody screeched, "That hurts dipshit!"

"You ruined her. People ruined her," A disembodied voice spoke over you. You groaned, head swirling with more things than one. Could it be a dream? Where were you? How were you here? If you opened up your eyes, would you be able to see? "She was absolutle... Beauty! A perfect girl rivaling those of the anime girls in Doki Doki Daisuke.

It was as if God answered my prayers and brought her to life in front of me. That's who she is to me -perfect as the day I met her... Before she met mean girls like Nicole. And, before she allowed you to defile her."

"Fuck," Cody screeched. "What the hell are you talking about!? We were dating before that whore, Nicole!" Who are you talking to?

Cody? I'm scared. I can't... get out of my own head.

His voice continued. "Look man, she was never going to be with you. We started going steady in high school. You were some bizarre loser, a complete neet, who got assigned as her lab partner. For fuck sake, she would've ignored you still without me or her friends. You are just a nuisance who can't take no for an answer! Is this your final attempt to get her to look at you!? Huh... HUH!? Well? Is it working? Does she see you now? Fuck no -she's unconscious! Guess who you're talking to? ME!!!"

Fingers carded over your scalp, itching at your crown. You tingled all over, and the coldest breath ghosted over your cheeks. "I would treat her better. I would put her on a pedestal that rivals Yuno Gasai, whom I believe to be the sluttiest and most desirable anime girl."

Was that voice Jeffery? You managed to whine at that, and you were promptly shushed -consoled like a child.

"She's like this because of you. You're supposed to protect her. What boyfriend allows his girlfriend to get this drugged out."

Silence.

Cody? Are you still there? Like actually, there? I don't understand. Why is this happening? What even is happening to me?

After a while, your boyfriend tsked, "She's a fucking addict, and it is hot as shit. Imagine what a drugged-up slut would do to please you."

Pause.

"Besides, You aren't at all above it. Don't act like you're better than me. Ain't it true that you roofie bitches? Hehe, now you're coming after my druggie girlfriend. Some SHIT!!"

"Y'a know, you talk too much," Jeffery whispered. And you found the strength within yourself to peel your eyes open. You were home. The few nicknacks you displayed glared into your retinas. Once, twice, it felt unbearable to blink. Your gaze started at the carpet, swooping to the left then the right, along the walls, and down to center

Your boyfriend's stared back at you. Then came the...

Screamss

You hadn't comprehended the missing beats of Cody's responses until then. In that state of limbo, words tied together rhythmically. Now, each plea and wail came out differently past battered lips. He begged you to run through swollen tongues and lisps.

Each pause was a catch of breath. Cody's chest rose and fell in quick succession. His face was bloodied. Swirled vermillion, slathered by a pair of hands. Where the original wound is, you couldn't tell. It was all over the place. Ropes circled his chest, soaking up red, and kept him strapped to a wooden dining chair.

"Co-" You sputtered. You couldn't stop the onslaught of coughs that inched its way up your throat. Before you could say anything more, Jeffery's palm smashed against your mouth. He finally gained your attention, all while waving a knife around.

"My darling sweetheart," Jeffery cooed with adoration. "I'll handle the trash. Go back to sleep. I was just about to silence him."

You wanted to vomit. You hoped that the acidity would transport you to a reality where you were kneeling over a toilet. Or a bush, fuck it. It could be anywhere than this. You'll take on hang-over Central despite wanting to die. You'll say fuck drugs and then by next week, you're on it again.

You can't stay away from Percs and Robo.

Jeffery's appearance was dishevled, a stark contrast from what you were accustomed to. His hair was overgrown and unkempt with inky stands that poked from every angle. It was utterly impossible to look away. His crazed eyes darted across your face, searching within you for something you weren't sure you had to offer.

He turned from you, speaking to Cody. "Stop screaming! Or I'll gut you if you interfere before what's coming next."

** Choice ** Figure out what's next, or miss part 2, bitch. * click *

.............................. Thank you for reading! Please leave ideas in the comments! Request rules are here! I overestimated once again how fast I could write. And my new job is so exhausting, I'm constantly on my feet. But part two will be out soon 🥳 I promised a creampie, and that will happen. This is just the setup. I got too invested in the plot.

>>> NEXT CLASS OF 09' POST: Benzo-Addict part 2

Due to the nature of the game, I tried writing differently than what I consider normal. But I had so much fun writing for this fandom. It'll be so entertaining to write up my toxic lesbian idea next. 🫣 Hope you guys like my work, and go check out my pinned post for more fanfic!!!!!

#class of 09 #class of 09 the re up #jeffery class of 09 #nicole class of 09 #jecka class of 09 #jeffery x reader #yandere x reader #male yandere x reader #yandere smut #college au #yandere #yandere otaku #tw drugs #tw noncon

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peachedtv · 1 year

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Re-Fucking-Venge

﹂ Yandere!Dabi x Nurse!Reader ‘Come dance with me in hell, won’t you, Father?’ And boy did Dabi fucking mean it. Poor little you to have been his next ledge to mindfuck his father to shards.

﹂Genre: angst, toxic relationship, slow burn, 18+

﹂ Warnings: AFAB, female pronouns, Kidnapping, non-sexual hair pulling, paralysis, angst, drugging, profanity, descriptions of panic attacks, violence, slight horror, insults, broken family dynamic (both Dabi [duh] and reader's),

﹂ WC: 6.67k

﹂ From Redact: this will be continued! My motivation sucks so I'll try to promise a regular schedule.. I first posted this story at 2k words, then kept editing back to get it up to 6.67k, so I'm reposting it to let the people see the final copy incase yk. If you wanna be on a taglist tell me !!! I'd love to have one

Honestly, everything's turned into a fucking mess.

After the absolute devastation of Dabi’s theatrical exposing of Endeavour, your workplace was swarmed by furious citizens and questioning paparazzi. They were angry. So fucking angry. Angry for the fact that Endeavour had such cruel impositions on his children, angry that his actions caused the root of such a murderous villain, and angry at the fall of heroes being ironically unheroic. Day or night, their anger wouldn’t stop. The continuous flashing lights of cameras, the synchronized yelling, and the fists that shook in the air. With the mantra of harassment towards your hospital, one would think you’re caring for number one himself—the one Dabi framed as the center point for his villainous roots, the one who did most of the hurting. But, no. You weren’t caring for Endeavour. You were the main nurse for his wife, Rei. And that's what truly ticked your soul.

It absolutely baffled you. Why were such a mantra of citizens harassing a regular person? Can’t they properly think that if Dabi’s speech pointed at Endeavour, it’s mainly Endeavour’s doing? Article after article, you started to understand that many hard-luck Endeavour fans were convinced that the abuse Dabi had forsaken was all Rei’s fault.

‘She’s manipulative.’

‘What a fucking gold digger.’

‘No wonder Endeavour had to take out his anger on his children.’

Yet who was the one in psychiatric care? Are these people truly blind to the obvious victim here? It made your blood boil.

You kept Rei under your loving care for years. As someone who had their own fucked up family situation, you felt for her since her admission oh so many years ago. You knew who she truly was, and so, it made you enraged that these strangers yelled at her as though they’d known her all their ignorant lives. As if they had the entire situation figured out when even Endeavour had his own twisted narration of what happened. People believe what they want to believe, and you began to understand that. People protect what and who they wish to protect. It did not matter how morphed and wicked the twists on their perceptions may be—as long as they can justify themselves. As long as they can justify the wrong.

And so, here, Rei was not the object of the crowd’s protection. She was the embodiment of their malformed justifications. The receiver of their hatred, the one to hear the garbage and clunk of cans thrown against her window.

It’s during a time like this that you’re truly brought back. Brought back to the Rei who first arrived. The Rei who was constantly in a fight or flight response. For the first few weeks of her stay, she wore a horrid expression of absolute dread. Her eyes truly had no spark, and her body felt empty of any soul. She always looked down, her chin tucked near her chest as she zoned out into a singular corner of her room. Many of the doctors and nurses complained to the head, saying she was too much for our hospital to handle. Whenever someone merely grazed her arm while cleaning her room, she would scream out in horror—thrashing about as tears threatened to spill from her eyes. Thus, when nurse after nurse had quit being her caretaker, finally you came up to the chopping block, and you had heard a lot about her. Of course, none of which was positive.

‘She’s fucking insane.’

‘That woman makes me want to quit.’

‘Thank god I got switched out.’

‘Goodluck, Y/N, you’ll need it.’

When you first saw her, the barrier you had about yourself slipped. No, you didn’t see a manic woman, nor did you see some form of a psycho. What you saw, mesmerized you. You were entranced. She was truly beautiful. Her white hair gently framed her face, while the sunlight in her room had a cold, blue hue, that you didn’t feel was present anywhere else in the hospital. She had the aura of an apathetic beauty, a flower that was plucked - for even wilting roses had their charm. Her eyes, though, those wonderful eyes. You could tell her deep irises once held the spark of happiness, the spark of hope and care. Yet now, her eyelids hung low, dark circles beneath her lids dragging her visage lower, and her posture as an enervated slouch. It was in that moment when you first laid eyes on her did you truly see who was deep inside the shell of her abused being. She brought you back, brought you back to who you easily could have become—shown you who you would’ve been had you not fought tooth and nail against your resolves. And so, determination flared inside of you. You will help her. You will bring back her spark. No one should fight so alone against something a crowd can’t handle. Thus, even if you’re the only one by her side, you will still be there.

It had taken a couple of months for you to barely disarm her violently defensive walls, but you managed. You always knocked on her door before entering, peering through before stepping into the room. You set up a small stool by her bedside, and every time you came to her you would sit down before getting to your medicinal caretaking. You’d smile, greet her warmly, and tell her silly stories about your day. Tales of the warm old man across the hall, of those pesky UA kids that couldn’t help but fight a little too hard for others. You would go into detail after detail, eyes dancing across the empty walls as you lightly laughed at the memories or clicked your tongue at some of the peskier ones. Although she never responded, you made sure to speak to her every single time.

Furthermore, you were careful, you truly wanted the best for your patients, and she is no different. You were careful when you delicately held the flowers’ stems as you poured in fresh water. You were careful when you gently told her everything you would care for before doing it. ‘I’ll be checking your heart rate, is that okay?’ You’d smile, not even grazing her arm before a sign of confirmation. And it was these careful things you did for Rei that truly made her love you too. Soon, she began to speak. Her voice was delicate and raspy, as she hadn’t used her vocals in such a long time. But still, you smiled at her. Tears welling in the corners of your eyes as you listened to her very first request for a glass of water. Progress is progress. And you were determined to continue it.

From her vaguely written patient file, you had an idea that her husband was the main factor in her descent into your care. But, you were horrified once Rei trusted you enough to spill her heart's deepest sorrows—all caused by her husband. She cried, and oh how her tears fell so quietly it shattered a piece of you that you didn’t know was there. After she began giving you one-worded answers, to replying in whole sentences, her walls soon came down and a woman desperate for help and comfort revealed herself. It broke your heart remembering the number of overtime shifts you’ve spent merely hugging her while she gripped your scrubs. Her arms desperately clinging to you for any minuscule support, her body trembling in the fear that you’ll give up and leave her just as the other nurses did. Those silent tears fell, her muffled cries making you wish you could take away her pain if only for a minute. Every night, that was the scene between you two. And every night, flashbacks of her husband’s cruel words yelled at her from the silence only she could hear. Not only as a nurse, but as a human being, you truly cared. And Rei could feel that sincerity, thus, you two grew close.

Even after Rei exponentially improved, you still tried your best to give her some kind of comfort she could cling to in the emptiness of the hospital’s blank walls. You were so proud of her. She came so, so far in her healing process. And your soul smiled at the thought of her gentle nod whenever you entered her room—she had the misfortune of a hundred lives, and didn’t deserve a single crumb more of difficulties.

So why did fate have the tv running that day?

You ran to her room, the blaring of her EKG racing your mind with worry. It had been long, too long, since her heart raced so. You had gotten used to her health, to her improved state, so how the hell did this happen? When you burst through the door, Rei was slumped on the ground with her hand clawing into her chest as she hyperventilated, her eyes wildly ajarred as her gaze stuck to the screen with tears swelling the corner of her ducts as her lips fell apart in these broken attempts of communication.

'-was born as the eldest son of Endeavour.'

‘Rei! Breathe, breathe, I’m right here for you. Please, what happened?’ You held her comfortingly, rubbing your palm in circular motions upon her back. God, how did this happen? Sorrow wretched your soul when she began to cry harder, frantically looking from the floor before her and the screen upon the tv. She shoved you away with as much force her could muster, you stumbled slightly back, in absolute shock. It had been a while since Rei had a any miniuscle of violence in her outbursts—let alone having an outburst in the first place, and it broke your heart to wonder why it was happening. You could tell her conciousness was slipping from the rapid breaths she choked to take, how her movements became more sluggish. She began to scream, her hands tangling into the hair on the side of her head as she knelt with her face to her knees. You reached into a nearby cabinet, taking a deep breath as you thrashed around the contents until your fingers wrapped about a minor sedative. It pained you, you haven’t had to go to such measures in so long. Your hand firmly on her shoulder, you told her everything was going to be alright before injecting the sedative and keeping your comforting words.

'I was created for my father's selfish dream.'

‘It’s okay, I’m right here. Don’t worry about a thing, Rei.’ You spoke gently, and her eyelids began weighing down to shut, before she looked deep into your eyes and whispered: ‘T-tell him I’m sorry.’ Your eyes followed her as she tried to look towards the tv. Upon the screen, a man was sitting upon a vintage couch. Throughout his body, horrid patches of purple plastered his skin, barely holding onto his stature with the use of staples, you could see the dip in his surviving skin and the bruised purple from the awful staple job on his body. It looked so painful your skin tingled in discomfort. With such a blatantly iconic look, how could you not recognize the man himself? Dabi. His hair was a messy black, his chin picked up toward the camera, and a darkened gaze of determination and resentment filled his eyes—a stare that would pierce the soul of any viewer.

'-my father would force my mother to give birth to more off-spring.'

How long had his voice been playing in the background? You stared, stared at the TV. You listened, listened to Dabi apathetically recall every horrifying detail Endeavour put his pitiful children through. The same details that had you shaken to insomnia at night when you first heard it through Rei's exasperated cries during her mental break downs. It was awful, Endeavour's actions were horrid. The neglect, the abuse, his cold demeanour, hearing both Rei and now Dabi recount those awful memories made you realize just how cold the air about you became as well - a sudden contrast as though your physical environment darkened from the heavy words Dabi spoke out about. You felt their pain, but you know you could never truly understand it. Not until you had gone through something the exact same, and even then, everyone processes trauma differently. Thus, empathy is such a golden key. The very key that had your shocked visage brim with tears. There wasn't a hint of pain in Dabi's voice, not yet, at least. Yet, you knew that years before, and deep inside his battered body, Touya was will trapped. Crying, begging, trying to crawl his way out. You saw a reflection of Rei in Dabi. The reflection of someone who was in pain but built these sky-high walls to hide any form of vulnerability.

‘Using the blood Endeavour left at the fight in Kyushu,’ his hand propping up a document, ‘there was a 99.99% match.’

Truly, it took a while to understand what you heard. Your eyes carefully traced the screen, ears perked up in denial as Dabi described every moment that Rei had described to you. Endeavour, the pain, the abuse, the screaming, the yelling. He recalled it with an absent look of apathy glazed across his face. His eyes reflecting that of an apathetic beauty. A look you recognized from the Rei who first walked into your care. If it weren’t for his unforgiving injuries, he would have been a splitting image of his mother. As you gazed upon his grotesque features, his lips mouthed the same name of the son who Rei prayed so desparately for the return of.

Yet you don’t think her prayers were answered in the best way.

You stared holes into that screen, watching his careful movements, scanning the paper Dabi held in his hands, as you watched his mouth moved it was in that moment that you realized you couldn’t hear. A ringing was blaring in your head as the only sensory you had left was that of sight. Your vision tunnelled, the sides of your perception clouding into black as you silently watched Dabi continue to expose that wretched hero who caused his dear family such tremendous misfortune. Dabi was the same Touya Rei cried to you with gulit over for all these years. The same Touya whos only remains found was a jawbone from the burning forest he died in. The same Touya who fell apart for the sake of his father’s dreams.

How isn’t he dead? It didn’t make any sense. His jaw, how was his jaw found without the rest of him? How had it come off? How did he survive the temperature of those flames being enough to cremate someone alive? Your eyes watched the screen, watched Dabi’s speech continue, that ringing spiking a headache of throbbing pain. Nothing made any sense. And you put your everything into focusing upon the scarred man on the screen so why did this have to happen? Rei was doing so well, it’s not fair, why did this have to happen? She doesnt deserve this to happen she had trued so fucking much. She didn’t deserve this, she was barely healed–

‘Miss Y/N! Is Mrs. Todoroki okay?’

Your coworker’s voice snapped you back into reality, and you stammered an apology before carefully placing Rei into her bed and turning off the tv with shaking hands. From the expression on your coworker’s face, you could tell they saw the footage aswell, their eyes nervously tracing to the ajarred cabinet door to the sedatives, understanding the regress in Rei’s stability from this entire situation.

Sadly, Rei’s instability wasn’t as fleeting as you had hoped. It didn’t take long for Rei to fall apart into the hole she fought so hard to climb out of. With the mantra of angered ex-Endeavor fans accusing her of child abuse, along with the constant paparazzi that flashed bright lights toward her window and posted her tear-struck face all over tabloids, you couldn’t blame her. For days after the incident, you refused to sleep. Staying by her side as she couldn’t rest at all. Although a hospital never sleeps, it still quiets at twilight. But no, not anymore. For even night didn’t tire the fucking protestors. They screamed out, police desparately trying to control the situation, although they were smart. Hugging the gates, not actually on the property of the hospital. Thus, the police couldn’t pull any legalities on them.

You never left the hospital anymore, every break and after your shifts, you would sit at Rei’s bedside. The aura was both somber and panicked, darkened with the occational sniffles and choked sobs of Rei’s rasped voice. Unlike the usual, you did not speak. You knew the voices in her head had come back now, and if you added your own, Rei wouldn’t be able to hold out any better than she already is. So, the only thing you knew to do was to never leave her alone, and her arms never left your back. You held her in an embrace every night, neither of you sleeping, neither of you talking. Slowly, she began to loosen her hold, gently sleeping a couple minutes a night with her chin resting on your shoulder. Your heart lit with hope, glad she could finally sleep a wink. Before long, she was truly able to fall into a decent slumber, her body resting against yours for a couple hours before she would gasp awake. Slowly but surely, improvement had come. And once Rei’s sleep schedule returned to some extent, you traveled back home to your apartment for the first time in over a week to gather your own well-deserved rest.

You wish you could say your return brought some comfort to you. But truly, the silence was eerie to say the least. Your mind was still worried. Worried that Rei would wake up in the middle of the night, all alone without you there. A part of you missed her already, but your boss became truly worried for your health after the bags under your eyes darkened into a bruise like hue. She demanded you at least go home for a night, and you relented. Truly, your body was giving up, and you needed the rest too.

Your keys twisted inside the lock as you pushed the door open, a familiar creak welcoming you back. You did not feel very welcome. The air was a piercing cold, with all the lights in your apartment off. The fact that it was late into the night did not help, with both an absence of light in your home and no twinkling stars to gaze upon. Everything was pure dark. You sighed, dumping your bag lazily by the door as you kicked off your shoes, taking heavy steps toward your room when you stopped. You stood still, so, so still. From the crack below your closed bedroom door, light bled into the dark hallway. You were scared, truly. You never leave the lights on before leaving, so what was happening here..? Why were the lights on?

A sense of dread filled your body, and you listened carefully. Nothing. No rummaging, no gentle thumps of someone’s steps, just the rays of light dauntingly brightening the floorboards and that white noise of ventilation. Quietly, you walked backward toward the front door, taking shaky breaths as your lungs quivered. You should’ve stayed with Rei. You shouldn’t have come. With how little sleep you had gotten, your mind felt as though you were floating. And obviously, you struggled to form any kind of rational thought about your current predicament. Despite that, you did have one thought. The thought that you must leave. Immediately. You didn’t care for your belongings, your jacket, nor your shoes and keys. All you cared for was to get the fuck out.

Every pore on the wall felt as though an eye was peering through, watching your pathetically fearful movements. Shivers spiked down your spine and every dark crack of any open door had an imagined silhouette peering through, faces tauntingly smiling to you through the dark. You were panicking.

Your hand gripped the knob, turning it slowly to stiffle it’s persistent creaks before you flung open the door to bolt outside. Your mind raced, breath hitching as steps slapped upon the cement. As you approached a corner, you turned your head back as you kept running—fully expecting the door to fly open and a figure to chase behind you. You couldn’t imagine why you had to have some burglary occur. You didn’t live in an exceptionally poor or rich area, and there were blatant security cameras throughout the building. The more you watched your back, the more you felt a little silly. Nothing came, and you nearly slowed down your bolt as a light chuckle of relief fell before your mouth. You’re safe, your apartment was safe. There’s no threat in your room, obviously, you must’ve forgotten to turn off the lights. You turned the corner as your bolt slowed into a jog. Yet, your momentary relief was short-lived the moment you roughly crashed into something in front of you.

You fell back, falling hard onto your ass with your palms scraping against the unforgiving texture of the floor. Gravel stung, digging into your open skid marks. Athough, that pain was nothing compared to the strike fear over who stood before you.

The very man upon your tv screen those days before.

The very man who single-handedly wrecked the top two heroes.

Dabi.

He looked down at you, a sickened gaze and smirk plastered over his graphic features. He looked manic, and he was manic. The way he demeaningly leaned down to you, hands dug deep into the pockets of his black slacks, the way he cocked his head to the side, it all made your throat starkly dry.

‘Why the long face, Y/N?’ You internally gagged, your name sounded so vile on his tongue, in the way his face stared at you with hatred. How does he know your name? What does he want? You stared up at him speechlessly, your jaw falling silent and eyes dropping wide with horror. Your mind raced in confusion. Jumping from one false hope to another, trying to relieve your fear that you might not survive this encounter. Your only connection with Dabi was as the nurse of his mother, was he extrapolating some revenge against her? But why? Endeavour had been the main perpetrator of the abuse, so why are you being dragged into this so mercilessly? You couldn’t think clearly, but you did know one thing. Both of you well knew Rei had barely anything to do with the harm Touya had endured. Yet, here he was. Newly born as Dabi, as the Dabi who stared down at you as though you coddled his worst enemy your whole life.

His hand shot toward your collar, the fabric ripping at certain ends from the sheer force he used to drag you closer to his face. Your hands grappled at his wrist, fingertips digging into his hand before your force hesitated when you latched right onto his staples. You were scared. You were really, really scared. The way his smile grew wider in response to those pathetic tears that welled in your eyes, the way he held you so tightly your windpipe felt as though it was burning in pain. You felt misjudged. Thrown into an undeserving cruelty that you hadn’t even sinned enough to deserve. But obviously, why would a villain care about whether or not you deserved their violence?

‘Why are you so scared? I’m only here to thank you.’ He quirked, eyes wide as he laughed at your pathetic expressions of fear and struggle. ‘You won't die, so don’t be too dramatic.’ He smiled, yet, you didn’t feel comforted. Heck, a part of you here realized how much you wish you could’ve died at this moment. Was living through whatever he was about to put you through better than hell itself?

‘You took care of my dear old mom ever since I left, comforting her all those nights, helping her recover from Mr. Number One.’ His grip tightened, your collar bunching up into his palms, harshly wheezing your throat as you struggled to breathe. You knew no amount of fighting back was going to drain him down to stop. Dabi had you stood completely upright, right up on the tip of your toes as he held the majority of your body weight up by your neck, still leaning forward to truly yell into your face. Even without the threat of his quirk, you’d never stand a fucking chance against him with how he towers over you. You could tell of the venom Dabi had in his recalling of your care as his mother’s nurse, his pupils dialating in fury. Had he felt things were unfair? That he hadn’t had the help Rei needed when he felt so much worse? You tried to be empathetic, trying to find a way so you could make it out alive. But the more Dabi tightened his hold on you, the more you realized you wouldn’t be getting out of this unscathed—far from it, actually.

‘I’m here to repay you. You know? You spent so many years caring for her, so I’ll repay your act of kindness.’ His voice dripped in sarcasm, venom seeping through as his spat out to you right in your face. Suddenly, his expression morphed, his smile churning so wide the staples holding his smile together began to rip at the corners of his mouth. ‘You know, that stupid woman isn’t the angel you keep treating her to be. Haven’t you seen little Shoto Todoroki? How do you think that scar on his precious face came to be?’ Your breath hitched as his grip tightened, your throat completely wrenched into his lone palm as heat began radiating through his fingers. Don’t listen to him, you told yourself. Rei messed up. She’s wasn’t the best mother. But no one helped her victim until she became the abuser. Shoto didn’t deserve that, neither did Rei deserve the cruelities of Endeavour, and nor did Touya deserve a crumb of the pressure he underwent. Can’t he understand that nearly everyone in this situation is some form of a victim? You felt frustrated trying to hold your tongue back against this man. He was blinded by rage, a rage that began rationally and morphed into something villianously sinister. It made you feel frustrated. He pitied himself too much. Everyone was struggling, Shoto and Rei too, so why was he so upset with you helping someone who needed to be helped?

‘You people disgust me. You save whoever the fuck you want, but leave the people who really need it out to burn up in a forest.’ You shook your head, shutting your eyes tightly in denial to his cruel accusations. You wanted to yell. Yell how stupid his words were, how tunnelled his thinking was. Dabi is being selfish. Yet, despite your anger, you were still striken with fear. You understood you were in no place to speak your mind, yet your words just spilled out in a frenzy.

‘You’re so linear.’ You said shakily, furrowing your eyebrows and trying to wrench your windpipe out of his grip so you could just barely breathe. ‘Rei was hurt too, she’s n-no angel, but she’s not such a demon either.’ You spoke quietly, but considered how you were choked up into the air it was remarkably impressive you could even get a peep out. Dabi seemed to only become amused, an upset form of amusement. Tears streamed down your cheeks, mainly from the physical agnoy, but moreso now that his palm began to luminate blue and heat up.

You were going to die over your fat tongue.

Your crying only seeming to fuel him even more as his smile ripped even wider. ‘I’m sorry— I didn’t mean it badly–‘ You panically wept. His eyes narrowed, a sense of absolute euphoria over the position of power he had. He felt so cocky, you know? He just ruined two of the top heroes’ careers and now he’s taking away the only support and comfort from his shitty mom. His revenge has just fucking started. He nonchalantly dropped your body onto the floor as he adjusted to stand straight. You crumbled to your knees, your hands flying to your throat as you wretched and coughed out. Your neck was painful to the touch, throbbing as you felt the bruise of his grip develop. Suddenly, he knelt down to one knee, looking at you with an unimpressed expression.

‘Don’t be so fucking dramatic. Be grateful you’re alive.’ He spat, his tone unforgiving. You sobbed, trying your best to sniffle your crying as you bit down on your lip and shut your eyes tightly—too stuck in horror to look at whatever the fuck your current situation was. From the fear of death you just had, you nearly wanted to thank him for sparing your life. Your hands violently shaking as you refused to look up to him, parts of you begging that this was all some bad trip. Suddenly, he laughed. He began to laugh, growing louder and more insane. You stopped breathing, opening your eyes to see him heaving in absolute exhilaration.

‘Don’t do that,’ He was profoundly euphoric, ‘you’re reminding me too much of how I cried to dear old Endeavour. What, are you trying to send me down memory lane?’ He finally calmed down a little, smiling at you as you knelt before him, fucking speechless. Your relief was immediately drowned out in the panic of what he was trying to do. He reached out, shoving his thumb into your mouth and forcing your jaw open. Taking his other hand, he forced two fingers down your throat without a shred of care. You gagged, grabbing his wrist and digging your nails into his skin as you felt a pill sink into being forced down into your body as he kept his fingers deep in your throat. Eyes wide as you tried to fight him off, jaw stiffening as you prepared to bite down on him. He stared you down warningly, his breaths deepening and hand warming on your jaw. You sobbed, relenting and loosening your grip on his wrist, shutting your eyes tightly. You felt a tear gently trickle down your cheek, it felt warm against your face. But not as warm as the threatening hand on your neck that wouldn't hesitate to burn. Dabi let go, standing up as you coughed out, feeling the pill stay stuck deep in your throat as you tried your best to ignore it. He lazily dragged his hand across your face, wiping your spit off his hand. You started to cry. Sobbing as quietly as you could as you heard. You could tell he was truly annoyed, clicking his tongue as he took heavy steps away from you - but still keeping a close enough distance to burn you alive if you tried to run away. You felt frustrated. What had you done to deserve this? What did he drug you with? Your panic made you hallucinate awful symptoms of the pill. The world began feeling dizzy, your head becoming light, ad your thoughts racing drunkenly. Although, rationally, you knew that you hadn't even digested the pill yet, so you tried your best to calm yourself down before the pill's effects would truly take place.

You didn't realize Dabi had taken his space between you two to take a quick call until he hung up, shoving his phone deep into his pocket before he looked back to you with a bored expression. 'Are you done crying?' He was annoyed. From the expression of apathy and boredom on his face, he resembled a tired dad sick of his children throwing a tantrum over every little thing. The way he looked down at you felt demeaning, and you felt your body shrink a little down into the core of your bruised heart. You wanted to stand up, your legs numb from being forced down to kneel this entire time. Yet, the fear you held over being burnt from any sudden movement kept you scarily still.

'Get up.' There wasn't a shred of care in his voice, but from the way he tangled his fingers in your hair, dragging you forward by it until you were knelt up awkwardly by his side like a dog, you weren't surprised by his verbal violence. Let alone his physical violence. You grabbed his hand, trying to ease the burning pain against your scalp. It felt as though your hair would rip from the root if he pulled just a little harder. Your eyes darted around, confusion to why he propped you up to him so closely. Was there some threat? Was something about to happen? You felt your heart pounding through your blouse, so loud it resonated inside your head. But, it didn't matter how much your scalp burned in pain. It didn't matter how your palms were still scraped open from your initial fall. It didn't matter how you had roughly fifteen minutes before that pill would digest. What did matter was that by the end of those fifteen minutes, you needed to be away from him and whatever he had planned for you. As though Dabi sensed your change in mood from fear to determination, his hand began to heat up.

'If you want to die, go ahead and try what you want. If not, stay down like the trash you are.' You felt the hope you built up crumble, maybe it was from Dabi's words. But mainly, it was from the literal crumble of the ground and roads in front of your apartment building. The way the earth caved in on the infamous stone-like creature that bulldozed through half of Japan—Gigantomachia of the League of Villians. His body was confined down so his brutish face was mere feet away from yours. His eyes were a glinted yellow, so much so they didn't resemble eyes in the slightest—moreso like large fragments of amber-filled or gold his sclera. You watched in horror as large rubbles of the road slipped down Machia's spikes, cracking their area of impact once they fell. Light after light turned on in your neighboring apartments, people opening their doors with pissed-off expressions darkened with eyebags. Looking to curse out whatever fool decided to make such a loud fuss in the middle of the night. Unsurprisingly, as the beast merely turned his head in their direction, and person after person ran out of their homes in wide-eyed fear.

Dabi rolled his eyes, unimpressed at their pathetic attempts at an escape. He raised his palm, flames bursting out from the center as screams of pain erupted. You stared in horror as the people you'd politely smile to every day burnt up before your eyes. You didn't plan it. Your arms reached up and grabbed Dabi's forearm to pull it down into our chest. You cringed when the flame lightly skimmed your shoulder, yet our grip on his arm remained iron. You refused to let people die right in front of you.

'What the fuck are you doing?!' He yelled, his flames dissipating as you watched a minuscule bunch run away safely. Dabi shoved you hard into the ground, glaring down at you in absolute annoyance. Yet you returned his glare, looking up at him with resentment. 'Fine, you wanna die? Go ahead.' He aimed his palm in your direction, a twinge of flames hurling out. Without a doubt, you were scared. You were scared of dying, scared of never seeing your loved ones again, and scared of the sorrow your death would cause. You hadn't had the impact you wished to have yet, yet here you were, about to die before barely making a dent of meaning in your life. But in that fear, you felt angry. Angry that you were being relentlessly harmed over helping someone who needed it, angry that Dabi would mercilessly burn the innocent without hesitation, and angry that he was mad at you over trying to save them. He was so unreasonable.

'God! Can you quit it?! I understand your pain, and I understand where you're coming from. But those people aren't Endeavour, Rei, or whoever else you hate! They didn't do anything to deserve being killed over, just like you didn't do anything to deserve what you went through as a kid. So why are you hurting them?!' You glared at him, adjusting your posture so you were sitting upright, a hand soothing the blistering burn on your shoulder. His flames fizzled out, and you saw his eyes widen. He was silent, still. As though for both of you, time stopped. You heard desperate steps fade away into the background, rubble from Machia falling upon the grass, and the sizzles of Dabi's flames eating away the fresh corpses that littered the scene about you two. His expression was apathetic, you couldn't read him. Yet, you felt his mind racing, before his palm picked up and slapped you, hard, right across your face.

'You understand me? Is that what you fucking said?' He was absolutely livid. You could hear the absolute anger in his voice, yet a soft smile spread across his lips. Your cheek felt stung, warm, and you were absolutely speechless. For some reason, him slapping you across your face felt more painful than the burn on your shoulder and the scrapes on your palms combined. It was the way he looked down at you. Down at you with absolute fury, as though you were a senseless fool. 'Don't you dare say you understand me when you haven't gone through what I did.' You could tell he wanted to kill you in that moment. You flinched when he reached out to you, expecting this to be your final moment. Instead, he threw you over his shoulder and jumped onto Machia's back, being dragged away to god knows where. You looked up to his face, catching a glimpse of his thumb wiping a droplet of blood from the corner of his eyes before wiping it onto his sleeve. Did he become injured? Or was that a common occurance? Truly, you shouldn't care. He had just battered you, violently dragging you upon the back of a rocky beast, and yet here your nursing instincts slapped you across the face to anaylze his aid.

Quickly, your brief confusion, or worry, for Dabi fell apart as you realized your legs couldn't feel the aggressive breeze of the wind against it's skin. You fought to move, to adjust your stature, yet you felt as though your nerves were burning, fighting against an invisble force that kept you scarily limp and still. Your heart began to pound in your chest, heavy breaths shaking your lungs as you nearly began to weep over what awful drug Dabi had foresaken onto you earlier. You felt constrained, uncomfortable, a distant tingle of pain tracing about the entirety of your skin as you tried to fight the stunt in your lower half. Your legs. Your legs were paraylzed. Your mind raced a mile a minute, heart dropping deep into your stomach. This isn't fair. It's not fair. You felt as though your life has fallen so far you couldn't even hear it's impact on the floor so down below. No resonating echoes, nothing. And that nothing was not at all what you deserved. You hand quivered, tracing across your shin to your thigh. It felt as though you traced your hand on another body, or a piece of your body that was no longer attached. You were disturbed, trying to keep your sanity together as your temples and eyes burned with frustrated tears. It wasn't until a tear hit your thigh, and you didn't even feel it, did you truly begin to break down.

Everything is a fucking mess.

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