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queen-haq · 3 years ago

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Fic: A Woman Reborn (Part 11)

Pairing: Billy Russo X Reader (from A Woman Scorned)

Rating: R / 18+ only

A/N: This is a sequel to A Woman Scorned and takes place a few years after the events of AWS.

MasterList (includes links to AWS and previous chapters here)

Summary: You and Billy are happily married when tragedy strikes, jeopardizing your relationship and everything you two have built together. Can the two of you find your way back to each other or is the special bond you once shared broken forever?

Gif credit: @benbarnesdaily

TW: Physical assault of a female character.

A/N - This looks at the events that happened in Chapter 9 and 10 from Billy’s perspective. You may want to refresh your memory by reading Chapter 10 again.

Blood seeped out of Billy, pain crunching through his ribs, fire burning his nerves. His skin singed with pain, every fucking part of him that could be damaged reveling in damage – but it wasn’t enough. Not enough close. If he thought being at the losing end of a fist fight with someone twice his mass would help take away the focus from the sheer anguish of seeing you with the goddamn lawyer – he was wrong.

Nothing helped.

The image of you – happy, smiling, enjoying yourself – it burned a hole through his mind. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. You were his and he was yours. That’s what you swore to each other, over and over again. The moments were so visceral and crystal clear in his mind, the images forever etched into his heart. And yet –

-yet, his mind had been a fucking blank canvas mere days ago. Memories that meant everything to him, defined him, made him feel loved for the first fucking time in this world, gave him a reason to live beyond just money and status, shown him that he was also capable of loving someone – all gone.

Slouched in an alleyway, bloody and bruised with a bottle in his hand, he took a swig even as blood dripped from his split lips.

The day he buried his mother, you were there next to him, holding his hand, giving him strength even though he tried to act like it wasn’t a big deal, like it was nothing that the one woman in this world who was supposed to love him hated his fucking guts. Yet you, a woman who had no reason to him offer him any solace had done just that. You held him, you comforted him. You loved him.

The night you finally opened your heart and told him about your parents – he still remembered the pain washing over your face. How much it hurt for you to share that part of you, and even though he’d known all along, it still felt like a punch to the guts to confront the abuse you lived through. You’d fucked him that night in the park, heart open, soul exposed and vulnerable, the two of you finally fully connected.

The same park where he’d followed you weeks ago, gun in hand, ready to end-

He shook his head, moaning not only from the physical pain caused by the vigorous movement but the sheer insanity of the asshole had tried to do.

Closing his eyes, he lolled his head back against the wall.

Images flashed through his mind, taunting him. Your eyes, your smile, the way you looked at him – in anger, in pleasure, when you woke up next to him in the morning, when you were riding him – the snarky bite in your tone when he said something to rile you up and you’d put him in place right away. Your hair, he loved running his fingers through your hair, grasping the stands tightly when he was inside you and fucking you and you were so, so, so close to coming, the soft gasps and moans when you finally did – he ached for you, ached for every bit of you.

Even the stressful moments lingered in his brain, reminding him of all the things you two had gone through.

After your surgery at the abortion clinic, he held you tightly in his arms, comforting you as the two of you walked to his car. You were pale and withdrawn for days while he took care of you, and he spent the entire time sick with concern that he’d pushed you into something you didn’t want to do. That you regretted the decision to end the pregnancy, that speaking his mind about not wanting a baby had probably cost him the very person he was desperate to cling to – but then later that week, just when he was ready to crawl out of his skin at the thought of losing you, you’d embraced him in your arms and given him the most tender kiss. It was your way of telling him you had no regrets, you two had made the right decision together, and he’d been overwhelmed with love and gratitude for having you in his life.

His home, his heart, his reason for living – you – you were all that and more and you were taken from him. Completely wiped out, because of a fucking accident. And now you were gone, lost to him, and all he wanted was to destroy the fucking world and himself along with it.

He managed to somehow stand up on his feet without falling to the ground. Alcohol numbed the pain from the beating but did nothing for his broken heart, if anything it felt worse, because all he could think about was you, and he couldn’t stop the memories of your life together from assaulting him. Drunk out of his mind, he found his way back to his building. And promptly passed out in the lobby.

***

Three nights later Billy was perched on a rooftop, sniper rifle in hand. He shifted a little in his position, and stifled the groan caused by the movement. He was still in a world of fucking pain – the beatdown by the bulky biker really did a number on him – but physical trauma he could deal with. Losing you, however, no. Absolutely not.

No one was going to keep you from him. No one.

Finally the blind fucker came into sight, walking down the street, heading towards his building. Unfortunately he wasn’t alone, a hobbit look-alike next to him.

Billy reminded himself to be patient. As much as he wanted to, he couldn’t just shoot the asshole with his friend beside him. So he waited while the two chatted, and then finally – fucking finally – the other guy left. He readied himself, watching, monitoring, as the lawyer turned towards the building entrance. Then, Billy fired the shot. Except the asshole swerved, as if he could hear the bullet coming.

There was no way in fucking hell that was possible.

Then the bastard turned around to look in Billy’s direction, like he knew where the shot came from. Humanly impossible considering Billy was perched a few buildings away.

Within seconds Billy disassembled the sniper rifle and quickly made his way out of there.

Something was going on with the lawyer, maybe even something that could hurt you, and he sure as hell was gonna find out what it was.

***

A few days later Billy picked the lock to your apartment – finding it way too easy for his own comfort, you definitely needed something more secure – and let himself in. He already knew he didn’t need to worry about you having any other security measures in place, you always hated the alarm system he had in the penthouse, finding it more annoying than helpful.

Your apartment was half the size of the penthouse, even smaller than your previous place, and lacking any homely touches. While he’d always preferred a modern décor, you were a fan of the bohemian aesthetic yet this place didn’t exhibit any of your usual taste. It was sparse and functional; it didn’t feel like you.

He sauntered into your bedroom, taking in every inch of the space. A queen bed in the north-east corner, unmade, pillows and comforter thrown haphazardly on top. A vanity situated on the opposite end of the room, your lipsticks messily lined atop, two bottles of perfume – one for special occasion, the other for daily wear – and some jewelry thrown in the mix. He pulled the lid from one of the bullet lipsticks, and he recognized the shade as one of your favourites. Ruby Woo. You wore it the night the two of you were married in a private ceremony, you in a red slip dress that matched the lipstick, so goddamn beautiful his heart was ready to snap out of his chest at the sight of you.

He opened the first drawer and found your underwear neatly piled inside. He picked up one of your bras, stroking the cups, raising it to his lips. It smelled of fresh linen, which was a disappointment. He’d hoped it smelled like you. Next his fingers ran through your panties, skimming along the various fabrics until he found what he was looking for. Purple lace panties. His favourite on you. An image of you in them flooded his brain, tantalizing yet painful. He folded the fabric and put it back in place.

As soon as he spotted the velvet ring box in the second drawer, that agonizing heartache returned. Jaw clenched, he opened the box. It was your engagement ring and wedding band, a symbol of everything you two meant to each other now hidden away from sight. His thumb caressed over the spot on his finger where his own thicker white-gold band used to sit. He hadn’t worn it in years yet his hand felt naked without it. Before the accident, he never took it off – which meant it was either damaged in the crash or they cut it off of him. Destroyed, just like him.

His fingers traced the engagement ring, remembering the sheer amount of time it took to find it. He’d sourced tons of jewelry stores, antique places, websites - but nothing seemed right, none of them felt like you. And then one day when he was a complete mess from a big fight you guys had and walking by a random Indian jewelry store, that’s where he spotted it. A blue sapphire stone bordered by small diamonds, the design so unique it instantly reminded him of you. And he’d bought it immediately, even though you weren’t even talking to him at the time.

He closed the box, slid it inside his jacket pocket. You loved this ring and it must have taken a lot for you to put it away. Stomach tightened into knots, he reminded himself when it was the right time he’d put it back where it belonged – on your finger.

Phone buzzing, he pulled it out to check his messages. It was a text from one of the janitorial staff at Anvil, letting him know you had left the office a few minutes earlier. That meant you’d be home in about ten minutes, probably tired after having to work on a Saturday. Exhaling a resigned sigh, he exited your apartment.

As much as he wanted to stay and wait for you, he didn’t want you to feel under attack by him. You’d have plenty of reasons to hate him anyway when he returned later tonight – but he didn’t care. Maybe there was a small part of him that understood why you slept with the lawyer but there was no way in fucking hell he’d let it continue. You were his. And the two of you had wasted enough time already.

***

That evening he returned to your apartment and found you napping on the couch, curled up on your side. His eyes inhaled you in, memorizing every inch of you and etching the image into his brain. You looked so soft and vulnerable, almost like a child, and his heart jerked at how much he missed you. You murmured in your sleep, shivering a little, and he looked around the room to find a throw. Not spotting any, he went into your bedroom and grabbed the comforter from your bed. Returning to the couch, he threw it over you, tucking in the corners so you wouldn’t be cold.

For a while he sat on the floor, simply watching you sleep, and then, unable to resist touching you, his hand smoothed down the messy curls of your hair. He kept his touch deliberately feather-light so as not to wake you, but just caressing your hair wasn’t enough. He wanted more, needed more, so he delved his hands under the covers and stroked down the length of your arm. You moaned, leaning into his touch, and he took that as a sign to continue.

“Billy,” you murmured in your sleep, your eyes still closed.

His heart soared, realizing you were dreaming about him. You still missed him, you still ached for him, the way he ached for you. No one and nothing had changed that.

As Billy sat there mesmerized at the sight of you, you stirred, groaning softly while his hand dipped under your skirt. His fingers found your cunt, your sweet fucking cunt that he hadn’t touched and tasted in so long and every part of him was dying to fuck you and make you his again. Drifting closer, he kissed you gently, the tip of his tongue skimming along your lips before sucking on your bottom pout. He was hard, so hard, and he was so desperate to be inside you, to immerse himself in the fucking heavenly perfection that was you, to remind you that you belonged to him – except you were still asleep.

After not being together for so long, he was frantic to see you awake when he was fucking you. He needed to see your eyes glaze with lust when he was thrusting in you, feel the heat of your skin as your fingers marked his back and your teeth dug into his shoulders, hear you screaming his name when he made you come. You had to know it was him inside you, not a fucking dream or vision, but him in flesh and blood.

Reluctantly he pulled his hand away from your pussy, and your forehead creased with disapproval. He smiled, angling forward to drop a kiss on your temple and then on the tip of your nose.

Soon you’d be awake and hating him again, so he chose to cherish this moment. The silence that hung in the air made it easy to pretend the accident never happened and that you two were still married. It was a regular Saturday night and you’d fallen asleep on him like you tended to do whenever he picked the movie. Clinging to that thought, he took a seat and waited for you to wake.

***

The apartment was empty as expected. Krista worked at a hospital two days of the week and Billy wasn’t expecting her to be home for another couple of hours. It only took a few minutes to find the key taped to the underside of the large filing cabinet in her office and then another hour to actually find her secret safe.

Then he started poring over everything she kept locked in there.

By the time Krista returned home, Billy was lounging languidly in the kitchen with a glass of whiskey in hand. At first she seemed surprised to see him but then a happy smile curved her lips and she slithered closer. Standing on her tip-toes, she wrapped her arms around him; he stifled the urge to push her away.

“You remembered,” she murmured. “I thought maybe you’d forgotten about my birthday.”

Billy smirked. He had no fucking idea. “I’d never forget that.”

Her smile stiffened. “We do need to talk about what happened, William. You’ve been avoiding me ever since you returned to Anvil.”

Withdrawing from her arms, he headed towards the whisky bottle sitting on the counter. “Want a drink?”

“You know I don’t enjoy that stuff.”

“More for me then.” He felt her eyes boring into him, trying to crawl through his exterior and burrow deep inside his brain. Maintaining his nonchalant composure, he poured himself another shot before turning around to meet her gaze. “You’re right. We do need to talk.” He gestured for her to take the lead, following behind her.

She walked to the living room and settled on the couch, patting the spot next to her. He didn’t take the seat, leaning back against the fireplace as he swallowed the rest of his drink and put the empty glass back on the mantle sans coaster. Oh, she didn’t like that. Not at all. As much as he wanted to grin at the hateful glance she shot him, Billy curbed the urge.

“You owe me an apology. I was worried about you,” Krista said in that extremely condescending tone she liked to use when talking down to others.

“Why were you worried?”

“Because reliving the past is the last thing you should be doing. It could unravel all the progress we’ve made, if it hasn’t already. William-”

God he fucking detested the way his name rolled off her tongue like that.

“-not everyone in this life gets a second chance. However, you did. You were given a clean slate to make something of yourself and now it’s all in jeopardy.”

“Is that what I’ve done, Krista? Put my future at risk?” he taunted.

Lips pursed, she stared back at him disapprovingly. “Yes. The more you entrench yourself in your past-”

“The quicker I’ll get my memories back?” He narrowed his focus, finally expelling the furious hate he felt. “And sooner I’d stop being your fucking puppet?”

She stood up, stiff, formal, ready to discipline him like he was a fucking child. “I will not allow you to speak to me like that.”

“Sit. The. Fuck. Down.” He didn’t yell or rage, there was no need to. “Now.”

She remained frozen, studying him through guarded eyes.

Billy pulled out the gun that was tucked into his back holster and noted the immediate fear in her eyes. Feet crossed, arm stretched out along the fireplace mantle, he adopted a relaxed posture and put on a smile. “I’m not going to ask again, Krista.”

Tense, she sat back down. “You have your memories back.”

He cocked his eyebrow. “Few weeks at Anvil and they returned just like that.” He snapped his fingers with his free hand. “Funny how that works.”

“Are you here to kill me?” she asked, trying to sound calm even though he heard the tremor in her voice.

“Depends on how this conversation goes.” He sauntered towards her, purposely taking his time as he pushed an ottoman with his feet and positioned it in front of her. He sat down on it, peering at her closely.

“I’ve been good to you, Billy. We’ve been good for each other-”

“Stop talking. I’m not here to listen to your bullshit.” He pressed the muzzle of the gun to her temple, holding it there. “There’s nothing I want more than to shoot you dead right now. I think about you’ve done to me, how you fucked up my life, and I just want to. Fucking. End. You.”

“All I’ve done is help you.”

He sent her a bitter smile. “Were you helping me when you asked me to hit Y/N? When you encouraged me to push her away? How about when we started fucking even though I was a goddamn mess and you were my fucking doctor?” Bile rose in his throat, making him want to retch but he kept his composure, refusing to get side-tracked by the intense disgust he felt for her. “You cost me the only woman I’ve ever loved.”

“I didn’t make you do anything you didn’t want.”

He pushed the muzzle so that it dug into her skin, making her wince. Good. He wanted her to suffer, to feel the same kind of excruciating pain she’d unleashed in his life.

“From now on, you’re gonna leave Y/N alone. Permanently.”

Despite being afraid, Krista glared up at him defiantly. “No.”

There was a beat of silence. And then he slammed down the grip of the handgun on the side of her head. Hard enough to hurt, but not permanently damage.

She screamed in pain, clutching the spot as blood gushed out. Grabbing a throw, he handed it to her. “Use this. Or you’ll get blood everywhere.”

A swirl of fear and anger brimmed in her eyes as she took the cloth from him hesitantly.

“Are you ready to listen to me now, Krista?”

Although she didn’t respond, tending to her wound, he recognized that she was fully alert and focused on him.

“Only reason you’re not dead already is because of your corpse. My connections no longer exist thanks to you, and I can’t exactly just leave your rotting body here. There’d be too many questions, an investigation. It would get too messy and I don’t want to deal with the goddamn headache.”

Of course that wasn’t the entire truth. He was still planning to kill her - but he needed to find a way to clean things up without arousing any suspicions. Until then, he just needed to wrangle her under control.

“So I’m feeling generous. As long as you listen to me, you get to live. If you go after Y/N, you so much as glance in her direction, those special patients of yours-”, eyebrow raised, he regarded her closely – “the ones from the mob who don’t want you to use any recording devices during the sessions? They won’t get to find out you’ve kept very vigilant notes about every fucking thing they’ve told you in confidence.” The surprise on her face made him snicker. “Yeah, I found the key and your super-secret hidden safe. And I have the files.”

Panic flitted across her face, reaffirming his suspicions.

“The deal was no recording devices and no documents, right? But you broke the deal, Krista. And something tells me the mob won’t be as generous as I am.” He stood up, glancing down at her with a cold, hard look. “So what will it be? Do I throw you out the window now or will you behave?”

Still bleeding, she looked away. “I’ll leave her alone.”

“Good.” He smiled, tilting her chin up so she could see he wasn’t fucking around. “And before you come up with any ridiculous idea about coming after me, you should know I’ve made arrangements to have all of that shit released. If I don’t check in everyday, your special patients will get everything you have on them within an hour. So tread lightly, Krista. And don’t piss me off.”

She yanked his hand away, staring straight ahead.

“Do we have a deal?” he prodded.

“Yes.”

“Good. Then I hope our paths never cross again.” He offered her a salute before exiting the room, eyes fixed on her reflection in the mirror that stood in the hallway. “Happy Birthday, Krista,” he called out before slamming the door behind him.

Relief surged through him knowing you weren’t in immediate danger anymore, but that didn’t mean you were safe. Krista was a fucking bitch and even though he’d managed to get her under control, it didn’t mean she wasn’t going to retaliate. He needed to kill her, soon, and do so without getting caught in the process, and that wasn’t going to be easy when he didn’t have the same resources as before. But that didn’t mean it couldn’t be done, he just had to be smart about it.

Once the bitch was gone for good, the two of you could finally move on and restart your life together.

A/N - Thoughts? As always, truly appreciate and cherish every feedback and messages that you guys leave me.

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#billy russo x reader #billy russo #ben barnes #billy russo x you #the punisher

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naturedust · 4 years ago

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The Arcana characters during the Covid-19 pandemic: Part 1 (Asra, Julian, Valerius)

hi everyone! i felt really happy whilst writing this. in each set of headcanons, the apprentice lives with that character! i don’t specify if there’s anything romantic or sexual going on between them though. this is VERY detailed, i’m still writing out muriel, nadia, portia, and lucio’s headcanons so they’ll come in part 2 <3 i hope you enjoy!! AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27529276/chapters/67324228

Asra

asra hosts weekly magic workshops (covering very very basic magic) with the apprentice over microsoft teams 💻 each workshop has a small fee, with all proceeds going to local vesuvian charities like mask suppliers, and food banks (who he tries to donate extra food to every week) supporting the poorest amongst their population. it was the apprentice who first suggested he do this, on a day he was feeling really afraid in the face of the pandemic.

i think he has days when he feels really helpless and trapped – and it runs a little deeper than cabin fever and restlessness. other than the pain he’d experience if he lost the apprentice again, being unable to do things freely is the worst situation he can think of... as much as asra prioritises the apprentice’s mental health, he doesn’t practice emotional expression a lot. he truly strives to be there for the apprentice and even when he remembers how they suffered after coming back...asra only cries silently at night when they are asleep – when he knows they can’t hear him.

that’s part of the reason why he’s always seemed so mysterious in the game — growing up without his parents meant that he learnt to push down his fear and put on a brave face... and one of the reasons why he goes on trips without much explanation is to escape reality for a bit. he lets his vulnerability show only on the worst of days (like the day the apprentice died). on days where asra feels really afraid of the world and defeated, the apprentice takes over his shop duties and brews much more lapsang souchong than usual to comfort him. so much that even passerbys outside the shop are caught in the smokiness of it! unlike the red plague, every community in the world is affected, and there is nowhere for asra to escape to. this includes nopal. after vesuvia’s Covid-19 situation gets better though, he and the apprentice stay there sometimes as a mini vacation of sorts and it brings him peace 🏜

asra’s leading an effort to make high quality masks more accessible to vesuvians. in fact, that local mask provider i mentioned earlier is his initiative. he set it up after seeing people buy all the beaked plague doctor masks (the PPE of vesuvia) that actual working doctors need access to. he would never admit it but, when asra thinks about the doctors, julian is the first who comes to mind. anyways, the masks asra designs are stunning. he spends tireless nights testing their 3-ply efficacy, and they aren’t just plain blue or white – there are intricate details imprinted on them through his magic 🔮

i think asra would also be really into coming up with new herbal concoctions for customers, after he notices how tired people look from being indoors all day – for example, he’s developed an immune system-boosting drink that’s a gorgeous swirly purple colour 🍶 it’s similar to traditional chinese medicine. also he only uses ethically sourced, 100% local herbs (by local, i mean from nopal and the tarske forest, where muriel helps him collect wildflowers and herbs!!) 🌿 he uses spells to counter the toxicity of his favourite belladonna flower and it becomes a superfood staple of his concoctions

he goes out every couple of days just to gather herbs and ingredients for aforementioned concoctions, always prioritising the ones he makes for the apprentice and always making those sweeter, taking more time to create colourful depths in them that resemble galaxies. asra also makes particular effort to bring back a wide range of fruits from his local trips as it always cheers the apprentice up 🍈

asra invents the most effective, affordable, environmentally-friendly, non-toxic and skin-friendly hand sanitiser and because this magician is the sweetest person ever and cares much more about people’s lives than making a profit during the pandemic, he shares the recipe online for free & magicians all around the world recreate the hand sanitiser for their local neighbourhoods. he’s since been featured in a couple of “Top 10 People You Should Follow” lists in business magazines and there’s an online petition with over 200k signatures calling for his nobel prize nomination lol. asra insists he doesn’t care about fame but when the apprentice laughs about these recognitions, they always notice asra’s eyes crinkling

asra would also become a lot more active on his youtube channel. that’s right, he’s always had a youtube channel, he’s just had a million hiatuses because of all his adventures. he has around 20,000 subscribers (and a similar amount on instagram...his feed is colourful and full of pictures depicting his travels, the shop, and above all, the apprentice). since he’s decided to stay at the shop with the apprentice – who is actually a little more vulnerable than others to viruses, because of their “reborn” form – he has the time to post weekly videos again. i think asra wouldn’t want to show his face in any of the videos, and not on his instagram either... and it’s got nothing to do with his self-esteem – he just wants the focus to be on what he’s doing rather than how he looks. the videos vary from very domestic vlogs with titles like “what two magicians do in a day” to packed af guides like “🐍 SPELLS TO REFINE AT HOME 🐍” & “crystals that can calm you during these times” and his wildly popular “carving crystals i mined: in real time” ⏳ the apprentice is a permanent fixture in all of them <3 viewers always assume they’re together and whether they are or not...that’s for you to think about ;)

asra is big on healing crystals and gemstones. like really, really big on them. he always makes sure to inform his customers and audiences that they are alternatives and not substitutes, and that sicknesses need real medicine & they can’t just wear a crystal in place of a mask (bc that’s happened before and he felt so guilty for carving and selling the crystal in question) what’s strange is, even though he usually sources his crystals from other countries during his travels, there seem to more than ever all around the shop and the apartment upstairs..

when the apprentice asks about it, it turns out that asra goes mining alone in nopal! he doesn’t really like to mine the actual desert as he’s only ever dug up gold and silver there. one time, he accidentally stumbled upon a cave at the edge of nopal and – ever the curious wandering magician – he ventured deep within it and found amazing crystals and gemstones everywhere 💎 he never mentioned it to the apprentice because he always thought it was too dangerous for them to go, until they remind him it’s dangerous for him too. from that day onwards they go looking for crystals every weekend together :’)

if asra was living alone, he would be fine with just wearing a mask to go outside. but since he lives with the apprentice – and especially after what happened during the red plague – he’s not risking ANYTHING. he wears aviator goggles and eco-vinyl gloves when he’s in the market, just to be extra safe, though when he’s out foraging he takes off his mask because there’s usually no one else there & it’s way too humid. the apprentice likes to make fun of how steampunk he looks & the way the big goggles make his hair extra poofy 🤍

Julian

julian is on the frontlines of the vesuvian pandemic response. with his experience as a doctor – specifically, a frontline doctor during the red plague who discovered the cure (!!!) – he is revered by new doctors and nurses, most of whom are volunteers. when the pandemic first begins, there aren’t formal hospitals or medical schools set up in vesuvia, so he has to make do by reopening his clinic in the centre city, as an alternative to valdemar’s one in the palace – which, quite frankly is the stuff of nightmares for most of the population

as you know, julian is universally loved by the vesuvian people... so the waiting list of the hospital branch he works at is ALWAYS full. patients always report how gentle and attentive he is and how comforted they feel in his presence. even though he has to wear a hazmat suit and the plague doctor beak mask, he is known for visiting the most severely affect Covid-19 patients and holding their hands in their last moments.

the apprentice brings different flowers to put inside his beak mask every day (this is a headcanon that i’m pretty sure originated from the writer telanaris on AO3!!) to give julian some small comfort amongst all the death and suffering he’s witness to every day. they go out to the tarske forest or even to nopal with asra, or sometimes alone. because julian mentioned wolfsbane was his favourite flower once, the apprentice picked some without knowing that they’re poisonous. long story short, they blacked out and woke up in his clinic with an extremely worried julian nearly in tears launching into a self-blame monologue, about to black out himself from staying by their side the whole night

i also think julian would be featured in the news a lot and sometimes pretty randomly. he gives official weekly Covid-19 updates on the main vesuvian tv news channel – though the apprentice stands in for him after the first two weeks (he tries very hard to refuse their help because he doesn’t want to burden them, even though they assure him they actually want to relieve him of at least one of his burdens since he’s a full-time pandemic doctor – and because he almost fainted from exhaustion the second time. the apprentice kindly, but sternly asks him to take care of himself too, as he does everyone else)

he would just be on the news in general too...his random acts of kindness would go viral on social media – “Vesuvian Doctor Helps Elderly In Race for Toilet Paper.” ❤️ “Local Doctor Delivers Groceries for Struggling Families.” and his “grandmothers” in nevivon always get excited when they see him on the news and send letters to congratulate him (much to his embarrassment). julian would also go viral on twitter. one photo of him has 100k retweets: “oh my fcking god i just rounded the corner and there’s this really fucking t a l l man handing out free bottles of sanitiser. i don’t need to see him under his plague beak to know he’s hot af HELP” and the apprentice would retweet it saying “so proud of my bf” and the internet would go wild over this comment. it’s up to you to decide if they’re actually together or not hehe bc who knows the apprentice might’ve meant best friend 🤷🏻‍♀️

he sets up a youtube channel with no profile picture or description to upload a single video... “How to PROPERLY use hand sanitiser!” and all the comments are just about his looks and voice 😚 it reaches cities outside of vesuvia and because the hand sanitiser in the video is locally made (by asra!) it quickly becomes sold out by either those who don’t know how to do magic or people without access to the products being replicated by other magicians... because a lot of them actually marked up the price :( + even communities that are afraid of magic buy it because asra’s detailed method and julian’s instructive marketing combined are that effective. a power couple... in another life, perhaps 💫

julian would then be invited to do a city-sponsored video guide on how to wash your hands (the idea is helmed by nadia, of course, who recognises the usefulness of his newfound fame). not only would he be extremely exhausted from full-day shifts, he’d also be overthinking to the point of hyperventilation before filming starts – but he surprises the apprentice with how professional and clear he is in the videos. a true thespian at heart, instead of happy birthday, he improvises on set and sings an old tune from nevivon instead as he washes his hands for 20 seconds 🌊 lemme just say...his hands also go viral lol. also, julian could be a tik tok star if he wanted to. he’s certainly got the moves for it, and can easily achieve the e-boy vibe – plus, he’s gone viral on there several times already!

even though julian doesn’t seem to care when he’s in danger, he’s very meticulous when it comes to the apprentice’s safety. living through his second pandemic and working with patients first hand means that he is very aware of how severe the situation is. every morning he prepares a 99:1 water:bleach ratio spray to spray his shoes when he comes home. he refuses to even touch the apprentice (for fear of passing on anything from the clinic) before he’s taken off his mask, thrown it away safely – then showering and washing his hair thoroughly.

having grown up in nevivon, i like to think that julian is really environmentally conscious, especially with regards to the sea. he used to go diving in the sea to retrieve trash, and as a young man he made a habit of going to the docks every weekend to remove plastic containers and wires from around the necks of salt seals 🌫. so, no matter how tired he is, when he comes home to the apprentice, julian never forgets to snip the ear loops of his surgical masks in half, as he knows sea creatures can get caught up in them. i’m sure he makes a second youtube video at some point to talk about this issue. tldr julian is an environmental activist <3

Valerius

so it’s been a long while since valerius was freed from you-know-who. his personality has definitely changed a lot since then... he’s back to his old and real self (which we never really saw in the game) 🌄 he works side by side with nadia now, not only as colleagues but also genuine friends, and he oversees the health department. he sets up dozens of hospitals and more general clinics in and out of vesuvia, consulting experienced doctors in vesuvia like julian as well as officials from neighbouring countries and states. as a side note, valerius is actually a very humble person and the most attentive listener you will ever meet. people from neighbouring governments & royal households admire him immensely as a result <3

out of everyone, i think valerius would be the most careful during the pandemic. during the red plague he witnessed lucio’s illness up close and it’s had a profound impact on him. he worries about the apprentice, a lot. more than anyone who knows him expects him to. he’s always the first to notice and remind them if their mask is falling down their nose, or if they’re about to rub their eyes with unwashed hands. you will never catch him forgetting to wear a mask or touching his face at all when he’s outside. he takes the time to use disinfectant wipes to clean everything he brings back home one by one, and though valerius is adamant it’s not the apprentice’s responsibility (because most of the things are usually files from the palace he has to go through before the next morning or things he brings back from the market) the apprentice always insists they want to help out :’) so it becomes a nice daily evening ritual, sitting together on the floor after returning from the palace, cleaning their things in silence together 💜

speaking of things he buys, valerius loves the marketplace. he discovers it one day by accident when looking for a bouquet of 🌹 red roses 🌹 to bring back for the apprentice, who was particularly upset that day after helping valerius out at the new hospitals and not being able to help any of the patients as much as they would have liked with their magic. when valerius stumbles across the marketplace, he is absolutely amazed by the colours and smells that surround him. he spends a lot of his free time and lunch hours looking through jewellery stalls – especially hairpins and hair sticks.

anyone looking at him would be able to see how much care valerius puts into maintaining his hair. because he washes his hair every day (to avoid bringing any Covid-19 related germs into bed), and because being free from you-know-who has made him a lot more open to magic... not to mention because he actually lives with the apprentice now 💜 i think valerius would also consult asra about magical hair masks and conditioners, to keep his very long and thick hair healthy and soft, despite washing it every day.

he knows from accidentally overhearing asra a long time ago that the apprentice loves pumpkin bread, so he asks around for hours until he finally finds the baker’s stall 🍞 it takes hours because valerius is really bad with directions and gets lost a few times... it doesn’t help that he’s distracted by all the different foods and jewellery that he’s never seen before (he picks up a nice ring for the apprentice, and yes he’s so attentive and familiar with jewellery that he guesses their ring band size correctly). from that day onwards, once or twice a week, he wakes up a little earlier than usual to sneak out of his estate and buy the bread, so that the apprentice can enjoy it – freshly made, warm, and their favourite – for breakfast 🥣

yes, he has an estate (this mr. darcy-like headcanon is from jane_ways on AO3!!) and he treats his household employees very well, offering paid leave for all of them so that they can stay with their own families. in their absence, he proves to be an incredible cook, albeit a little rusty because he hasn’t cooked anything substantial since being under you-know-who’s influence and because he’s been too busy at the palace to eat anything that isn’t catered.

due to social distancing, the apprentice and him eat in a lot more – valerius is very ambitious and soon moves past making homemade dishes... he cooks blown out, elaborate dinners and prepares creative and (visually) beautiful packed lunches to bring to work 🍴 whenever the apprentice has to work late he brings them dinners inspired by the colours of the shop that day – he is hesitant to admit it, at first, but he’s always admired the crystals there, and he is often inspired by them in his food presentations. asra is ever perceptive and gifts him a few (polished amethyst because he used to be an insomniac, black tourmaline and selenite to keep you-know-who at bay 💎) soon after the apprentice frees him from the curse

i really see valerius as someone who against all expectations is really into hands-on work like welding and carving – things that can get messy. he’s slowly trying to get rid of it, but since he first started working at the palace he’s maintained a very prim and posh appearance. he really loves to weld jewellery like rings and earrings. before the pandemic began, he took a few classes in the marketplace – classes which are on hiatus now, of course. he's set up a little studio in his estate and wears a blacksmith’s apron and goggles and everything. it’s honestly quite the sight. whenever the apprentice is working longer hours at the shop making potions with asra, he goes into the studio to continue his projects. some of the ones he’s proudest of are: the pure-silver wine rack, the gold headbands and rings he makes for himself – and then for the apprentice too when they keep “borrowing” his – and his favourite of all is his first ever project: the cast iron skillet that took him over a week to weld. he hand engraved the apprentice and his initials onto its handle <3 you don't need to read any of this as a romantic gesture, because friends can definitely do the same!

i like to think that prakra managed the pandemic especially well, and that valerius sits down to have zoom calls with queen nasrin to discuss ways the two places can collaborate and help each other 👑 she becomes his mentor of sorts, as he’s still relatively young and inexperienced when it comes to governing a city-state like vesuvia. when nasrin visited nadia before at the palace, she was not a fan of valerius at all and was just as wary of him as nadia was. however she becomes very fond of him as a result of their collaboration, and even starts to see him as a son ❕ other than the apprentice, nasrin would be the second person valerius talks the most freely with. initially he is very reluctant to share anything about his life, let alone his past before landing the consul job – but he eventually opens up and nasrin plays a role in helping him move past his failures (his eyes are opened after the apprentice frees him, and he feels immense shame from how he didn’t lead vesuvia very successfully in nadia’s absence)

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yanderenightmare · 4 years ago

Text

YANDERE ! CHISAKI KAI

goodiebag WARNINGS: dubcon/noncon, yandere, abuse, anxiety, eugenics, kidnapping, abduction, manipulation, stalking

BREAKING VASES

“How are you feeling?”

His voice was a blur of sound she fought no battles to make out. Annoying in some sense, antagonizing the base of her skull, poking and prodding at the back of her mind. Yet she managed to piece together what he’d asked after deciding it’d be unwise to leave his query unanswered.

Having broken through the thick haze she’d momentarily been lost in, she didn’t quite know what to make of his words. It was an impossible question. It was an impossible question due to the fact that it had infinite answers. There seemed to be no end to what she was feeling. Robbed, estranged, vulnerable. She was given a robe, but it acted as a weak replacement to the smoke-ridden garments she wore before. Those scented with herbs, dirt, sweat and blood and culture. Those with holes and rips painting a story of the past few years of her life. Granted, they’d probably pose as nothing more but mere rags to anyone else, but to her they posed as something, out of a select few things, that truly belonged to her. Her armor. The piercings that once acted as her weapons, her axes and spears and swords and arrows, were gone too, stolen away, leaving phantom remnants to fill what empty punctures should have been left, however who had miraculously grown shut as though never even there to begin with. Sentiments of those occasions where she’d gifted herself with the cheap jewels; memories she cherished beyond whatever more money could buy her. The feathers and string woven into her hair, her shield, had also been taken, untangled from her locks, letting the dull tresses fall unenthusiastically down around her shoulders. Her scars as well, the blooming bruises on her knuckles and knees and elbows; gone, and the stories of her victories gone with them. Gone, not healed; removed from existence. She even missed the grime that used to coat her skin, the smudged mascara she never bothered to wash away, the soil beneath her fingernails and stuffed between the ridges in her skin. They were as much part of her as the blood simmering through her veins.

She knew she was exaggerating, thinking of her bath in antibacterial as an acidic Armageddon. She’d merely been washed, but it felt as though her spirit and soul had gone down the drain as well. Her body scrubbed to the point where she could have sworn her skin had been torn away, leaving nothing but blood and bones in their wake. She felt raw. She felt lonely. No, worse. She felt left. Reborn but dead in the same moment, yet she was still alive and the fact felt forever unavoidable by the presence of the man sitting before her. The man who looked like some heathenistic God she might have worshipped once if it were not for his demeanor telling tales of what felt like the onset of destruction. The man who demanded to know, what now felt like ages ago, how she was feeling.

He felt he was being generous with his patience, but that generosity would soon shift if she were to keep on being unresponsive to him. Granted, it was a simple question, a question with a mere two answer option. But she seemed to be weighing the world in her pensiveness. She’d answer for her disobedience sooner rather than later, nothing good ever came from delaying the inevitable. But for now, he would kindly gift her with more of his patience, even though it was running thinner by each second spent of his eyes taking in her presence. Her spotless and cultivated purity. He’d shined away for hours on what would seem like coal to the naked eye, revealing what he knew to be a diamond in the rough once he finished. Chipping away at the edges to create the perfect symmetrical shape he knew she could inhabit.

Her shivering didn’t go unnoticed by him nor did the way she averted her eyes from his peering gaze. She had her knees tucked up under her chin, her position placed picture-perfectly in the middle of the bed; her whole being speaking volumes of how alienated she felt being surrounded by the ocean of silk and cotton and pillows as large as herself. Newly washed hair splaying in thick meanders down her shoulders, legs and spine. Not wet enough to be dripping but enough to damp her clothing. A few dry locks irritatingly dancing across her face, making her nose impulsively scrunch up every now and again.

She was cute, he’d give her that. But being cute wasn’t enough to quench his temper. In fact, it merely aided in his frustrating. Spit rising, pooling under his tongue which writhed and lurched at the sweetness of it. Mere seconds away from starting to drool, similar to how a hound would react upon eyeing a slab of meat, and despite him not wanting to act like a wild beast he found more and more just how hard it was going to be to resist the brute force he was in capacity to use.

He'd at some point removed the bejeweled plague-mask, as she saw it now repositioned on a counter-top. Not daring to face the male, letting his frame remain a blur in her peripheral vision. “Naked.” Her voice was tender… meek. It took him a while to understand that it had been her answer. It had come such a long time after he’d asked and the answer wasn’t exactly orthodox. However, as curious as it was, it was at least more candid than he would have hoped, which made him… not exactly satisfied, but… let’s say… less displeased.

Not sure what to make of it, he figured he’d more or less ignore her retort. Refraining from explaining why his remedies had to be done, as he’s sure it wouldn’t help ease any of the woes, worries and feelings of sentimental loss currently flagging behind her eyes. He was never prone to establishing such ridiculous attachments to anything himself, therefore having a hard time understanding her catatonic sorrow, but he could at the very least make an effort to understand their complications. Thinking perhaps replacements were in order. “Would you want more clothes?” He wasn’t dim. He knew that it wasn’t the same type of naked she meant, but more clothes in exchanged for the translucent kimono she was wearing couldn’t hurt. Perhaps she’d even realize that it all was for the better. She couldn’t possibly prefer the filth she wore before above what precious materials he’d bestow upon her now that she belonged to him.

He was wrong, evidently. “I’d like my clothes, please.” There was a hint, a weak hint, of scorn in the request, but it was rather drowned out in timid timber of her soft voice. He enjoyed the caution she spoke with, as though she’d already assessed the situation and come to terms with her new role. Yet, the shy inkling of ire still caused the hairs on his arms to rise in frustration. Not so much because of her meek defiance, but more so due to the fact that the request was based in such silly audacity. The reason as to why she would ever want those cheap rags back was beyond him, and would hopefully soon be beyond her as well.

His brows flatlined to a nonchalant expression as opposed to the low furrow they’d been held before. “I burnt them.” It was still spoken through grit teeth, unable to hide his annoyance completely. She noticed, scurrying her heels closer to herself, trying to better hold onto her frame, not wanting to slip outside the self-made confinement. Her knuckles turning ashen with how hard she was hugging her body. Trying to better balance her fear in hopes of not causing enough uproar as to make the male sitting a mere meter away suddenly pounce like any other predator might. The feeling of her heart in her throat was choking, making her swallow thickly even though her mouth felt dry.

She flinched when he moved, squeezing her eyes tightly shut, trying to find comfort in the blinding dark behind her eyelids, however failing. The sharp padding of his leather shoes across the floor were intimidating enough on their own, enough to make the image of the golden snake-like slits he had for eyes rise up in front of her. His presence was closer when she dared peek a glance through her lashes. Tears glued them together and it was upon seeing it she understood she’d been crying without noticing, but come to think of it, she did feel the salt rivers sting on her freshly scrubbed cheeks.

He’d come back with garments in his hands. Lace she noted; white, expensive, luxurious, revealing lace. And a dress, just as clinically white, yet far from resembling any of the lechery as the lingerie. No, it was rather something she’d expect you’d dress a doll in. Thin shoulder-straps met with a sweetheart neckline which eventually strutted out into a short airy skirt. The fabric detailed in enhancement of the textile, bumps and ridges forming a vague pattern of roses across. In fact, it was so lavish and occasional that, if the skirt had been floor-length, she’d guessed it to be a wedding dress.

She couldn’t remember the last time she’d even worn a dress. She couldn’t even remember the last time she wore the color white. White, in its impracticality, stains too quickly, so granted if she ever even wore the color it wouldn’t remain that way for long. Nevertheless, she reached out. Dainty fingers, what should have been bruise-knuckled were it not for whatever procedure he’d put her through, stretched out in an ever so shy descent from its position atop her knees. But the movement was short-lived, killed with a gasp caught in her throat, for as soon as she brushed fingertips with the displayed fabrics was her wrist tightly snatched from its proceedings and brought forward in an action so rough it made her entire body tumble in the same direction. Promptly pressed firmly and snuggly into his chest as he made quick instalments to secure her new position in his lap. The roughness of his dress-buttons making abrasive contact through the silk of her robe, as the cool metal of his belt-buckle caused similar yet more intrusive discomfort to the place found in between her thighs.

“What do you want from me?” Was the only thing that made it past her quivering lips, granted it was the sole question that seemed to burn with a terror-fueled passion inside her.

“What good would come from stating the obvious?” He said as he cocked his chin to the side. Searing, golden eyes unmoved, or rather amused, by her prominent fear-stricken features. “All you need to know is that my name is Chisaki Kai, and how if you call me by anything but Kai, I will hurt you.” Her wrist felt cold in the pressure of his hold. Her other hand limply placed on his abs. “Do you understand?” Her chest seemed to tighten more and more with the knot tying itself in the pit of her gut, rendering her just barely able to even comprehend what he was saying. Unsatisfied with her blank expression, his eyes narrowed even further. “Let me make it a bit more clear.” His gloved hand rose from the position it had on her thigh and made contact with her face, pinching her chin in an effort to slant her head to the side. “You see that vase over there” He nodded in the direction he’d faced her in. The warm breath of his words tickling the shell of her ear as he spoke. “Watch closely.” She was too afraid to shut her terror-wide eyes, even with the sentiment he’d brought with his words, gently biting into her earlobe as he dropped her wrist. The hand repositioning, palm facing the vase he’d mentioned.

She wouldn’t have guessed it was a vase. Vases were for flowers, but this cauldron could roam at least three liters worth of water. She figured it must have been some ancient artifact, given its placement in the rich complex she found herself situated in. The texture decorating the shell of it resembling that of a toad’s back, bumpy and wriggly and swamp-colored. And it was because of the uneven appearance she didn’t quite catch the moment it all started moving. Ripples, waves, earthquakes seemed to run across the surface of it, before pieces started completely dislodging from the original assignment. Reanimating before his gloved fingers. The sight, acting as the onset of horror, had her guts in turmoil, her stomach folding in on itself, toppling in ways she hadn’t known were possible, as her tongue suddenly felt heavy and foreign in her mouth.

“Do you understand now?” His voice was soft; calculating, yet so very grave in its nature. Turning her head back to face him, fingers making a move to sharply cling to her cheeks yet again, keeping her chin in the palm of his hand. Wishing for a moment he’d removed his gloves, but the regret was too weak to battle the feeling of pleasure at the sight of seeing her lips puckered together between the force of his fingertips and the swimming look of hopelessness displayed so deliciously less than an inch from his face.

“Yes…” The word was only barely audible amidst her quivering, and the display, though brought him great pleasure, didn’t seem to satisfy him. Therefore, quickly adding his name to further her understanding of the rules she’d been giving. “Kai.” He felt his well-fitted pants tighten at that, his member growing hot and heavy, being sure she felt it too.

His hands sank from their endeavors of holding her face in place and of rearranging the vase, and, whence lowered, was placed back on her thighs, stroking a path upwards as to push the silk away from her skin, exposing the cooling soft skin. Soon pulling at the end of her belt, which easily fell away, opening the curtains so that he could peek more clearly at what was found inside. A chill wafted flush against her skin, goosebumps springing to the surface of her breasts; nipples perking as the soft material rubbed across them before being removed. His hand wandered further, inside the kimono to untangle the last tie found by her waists.

“Are you gonna kill me?” Her words lacked momentum, void of purpose, laced with defeat instead, as though she’d already answered the question herself. And if he at all heard what she’d said, he didn’t feel the need to show any indication of it. “Once you’re done with me?” She furthered the question, and at that the man seemed slightly shaken.

She had no doubt what she was there for. If his current actions weren’t any indication, the past hours certainly were. She’d been prepared for him. Groomed to fit his idea of perfection. It was all evident now. His eyes still trained over her body, never once showing any further acknowledgment for her words. “What makes you think I’ll ever be done with you?” It was as though he weren’t even speaking to her. It looked more as though he were speaking to himself, ignoring the growing terror he was increasing by the second. His hands exploring with his full attention at their disposal. Gloved fingers running over smooth skin, having the new foreign urge to remove the protective garments.

He moved slowly, controlled, yet she could see the fidgety urge he possessed to get the gloves off as quick and effortlessly as possible. Pulling each gloved finger halfway off. The act soon became a strange type of clumsy; childish, as if he couldn’t quite do it fast enough. However, despite his hurried movements, whence the gloves were fully removed he took the time to place them neatly beside him, as though they were of outmost importance, too good to be thrown on the floor in the fit of his impatience.

Momentarily mesmerized by the strange actions of the golden-eyed boy, she shook out of her stunned state. “Toys break… and broken toys are no longer fun to play with.” She didn’t know when she gained back her confidence, perhaps somewhere along perceiving him nearly trip at the mere strive to remove his gloves.

“That’s true.” He stated, naked fingers hesitantly making first contact with unresearched, untested skin. Yet, once his fingers only barely brushed past the thin peach-fuss found on her hips, unscathed in their venture, there seemed to be nothing keeping him at bay. “Only… you’re not a toy.” It was hard to believe the sentiment when he was poking and prodding and playing with her flesh as though she were some type of doll. Still and withal, despite it being unwanted, the touch wasn’t unpleasant… at least not for now as he went on with the tender cautious ticklish strokes of a child. As if in reverence or savory or relief or all of them at once. Though, it would soon turn into possessiveness.

His hands were soft, to her great surprise. Just as soft as the silk she wore before. His nails were long, sharp, groomed, manicured. The talons sinking into her skin more so than his fingertips, in an amateurish fashion, giving off the impression he hadn’t ever done such a thing before or that it had been a very long while since he had. He seemed confident despite it, or… any grain of angst was thoroughly outmaneuvered by his curiosity.

“What am I then?” She feared the answer as she eyed the growing lust in his starry irises, as his pupils seemed somehow a darker color than black beside the godly glow of gold.

He had half the mind to repeat the answer she’d first given him, given that it was now true in all its information, but decided against it. It would be wrong of him to mock her when he was the one nearly drooling at the sight of her in such a state. He took a breath, surprised to find it uneven. “Perfection.” It was only barely above a whisper. Frightening adoration and unwanted worship over-seasoned the one word.

Her brows furrowed at the endearment, it feeling so foreign an adjective to describe her of all people. Confusion wafting over her, nearly replacing the fear. “I think you’ve kidnapped the wrong person.” She didn’t exactly think he’d stop, yet the light-hearted smirk that soon quirked at the corner of his lips still came as a surprise, it serving as a convinced resolution, disagreeing with her foolish accusation. She guessed it was the certainty that surprised, or scared, her more than anything. The way he acted as though nothing was out of place, as though she was exactly where she belonged, just another relic, quite like that vase, he’d get to manipulate to his will without her having any more courage than ability to stop him. “I’ll disappoint you.” She said, more as a warning than a fact. He eyed her as though she were some sort of angel on earth, still with his entitled godlike gaze, yet she knew she was no less human than faults themselves. She was far from perfection, far from wanting to be either.

She sucked in a breath, her hands crinkling into the bedsheets as a thumb rubbed across the nib of her breast. “Impossible.” He spoke with resolution now, yet again eliminating her doubts with more grave timber added to his already gravelly tone. “Besides…” It was the first time in a while where he re-gifted her with his gaze. Sharp, golden eyes fixated onto her teary orbs. “I fix things just as easy as I break them.” She was reminded of the vase and how it so eerily represented her situation. Images of it being her demise spilling, flooding her mind, causing her brows to rumple. It was no question to it being a threat and if she’d been standing she was sure her knees would have given out under her. Especially as his chin prodded forward and hers was once again caught firmly between his fingers. The action stopped in its tracks upon her pouring words.

“I don’t understand, this makes no sense, you’re…” She shook her head as she spoke, words tumbling from her lips like speedy rain, as though she were shaking them from the confines of her mind, however pausing in her process, biting her lip as if what she was about to say were too insensitive, as though genuinely not wanting to hurt the feelings of the brute man before her. “Not to sound superficial, but…” She bowed her head in apology for her next words. “You’re…” She looked around, at the expense surrounding her. “Rich.” Her eyes found his again, as though searching for something her words had aggravated, but found nothing but attentive eyes staring back at her. “And you’ve pretty lashes.” She added, more on a spur than anything. Shaken out of her puzzlement for a brief second before finding her way back to it. “I don’t... I don’t understand… why go through all this trouble?” Her body shifted as she spoke, and the movements did not go unaccounted for by Chisaki. However, the current bewilderment strewn on the girl’s face called for more entertainment. “You can have as many girls as you wish, willing girls who’d love a rich guy like you-” She was stopped, her sentence caught in the air, unable to finish.

“It has nothing to do with quantity.” She had to think for a second to remember the meaning of the word, finding she felt uncertain by what she decided upon. ”But everything to do with quality.” That word she knew well enough, yet it left her even more puzzled than the confusion his previous statement gifted her with.

“If it’s the acid bath you’re talking about…” She queried cautiously. “You’d be surprised how much people will put up with for cash.” He wouldn’t, he knew very well of people’s adamant desperation. How often it made him sick.

His head tilted, giving her words more time than they needed to breathe. Yet, time he needed to evaluate and admire the freckle adorning her neck. “You possess something other people lack by lacking something everyone has.” His hands felt heavy on her thighs as she was once again left puzzled beyond comprehension, leaving room for the pressure in his grip to come to mind as she rummaged her brain for the meaning of his riddling words.

“A quirk?” She said it with too much enthusiasm, caught in her split-second satisfaction for cracking the mystery, before reeling herself back into reality. “You want me ‘cause I’m weak?” Her nose scrunched at the thought, gut winding like livid snakes. “That’s sick.” She hiccupped in her oncoming cry, feeling the desperate hopelessness of her situation hanging around her, the air itself becoming suffocating to take into her lungs.

His hands made a sharp stir at her words, nails briefly poking into her skin at how twisted her reality was. “I desire you because you’re pure.” He didn’t let his guilt shine through in his tone, making it sound ridiculing instead, as though she were stupid to question his intensions, despite her suspicion being nothing but unfounded and sound. “Quirks are a disease not a blessing, you’re spared from its corruption.” He spoke so matter-of-factly, lecturing her as though she were clouded by some ignorance he saw past. It was the tone more than the words that had an effect on her. The lump in her chest, resembling that of shame, rose in her throat. Though, she weren’t stupid; the undeserving condescension vanished once awareness of his manipulation came as a realization in her head. Clarity of the situation soon finding its footing in her mind, no longer feeling insecure in the clouds of his judgement.

She decided to play his game. Having a strong feeling that no amount of questions or arguments would have her leaving her current imprisonment in the house, let alone her position on his lap. “I have conditions.” She quipped quickly, trying to sound assertive in her command, however it playing off as what it actually was, which was insecurity.

A curious glint flashed in his golden orbs as well as a humored tug at the corner of his lips. “You have conditions?” He had half the mind to inform her she was in no such position to demand anything, but he figured there’d be no harm in hearing her out. “Amuse me.” A brief and terribly low chuckle erupted from somewhere deep in his throat, a noise similar to what she’d imagine an old heavy door creaking would sound like.

“I want a garden.” She said first and foremost and what would soon be revealed as last.

Although he didn’t enjoy the messy past-time of hers, some part of him had understood it was something more than that in his time stalking her. How he’d seen her treat her plants as though they were something precious above being mere dirt. “Already provided.”

“Really?” She looked astonished, happy even. “Well, uhm…” She skimmed her brain for more commands, more because of a yearning to exercise the power to command than actually having anything further to request.

“You have nothing else to ask for, do you?” He gave a knowing look. A look of content endearment. “Such a humble creature you are.” The smile, though rather flat, still exuded an inane amount of awe, so much so it made her feel even more exposed than what she already was.

“Don’t call me creature.” She said, more as an attempt to wipe whatever frenzied state he’d escaped to than from actual discomfort by the word itself.

Her attempt didn’t seem to do the trick. “Hmm, anything else?” He started leaning toward her again. Her lips trembling from his exhales. “No?” It would be wrong to say she had no more desires, however those which she had seemed out of reach or strangely punishable if mentioned. “Well, if there’s anything you might feel the need for, do not hesitate to ask.” She most certainly would hesitate before asking for anything from the man, however… she figured it was more or less a purposeful joke than a genuine sentiment.

He hesitated once again as he did when he first touched her, lips only barely brushing over each-other, hovering in the presence of one another’s breath, before primly pressed together. It felt like fire against her freshly scrubbed raw and swollen lips, but she made no effort to stop him as he pressed on. Teeth seemed like fangs as they tugged at the sensitive chunk of flesh, grinding it between them, his tongue soon accompanying her own inside the comfort of her mouth.

It was strange; foreign. She’d kissed, been kissed and shared kisses before, yet the sensation was always adorned with the scent of smoke in the air and on her breath, and the taste of bitter beer swirling and pooling on her tongues. But this, this transaction of something that was purely them, left her feeling barren and at a complete loss for words. With nothing else to cling to sept for the taste of him on her and the even stranger feeling of him desperately trying to taste her.

She felt like a rag-doll, a toy more or less, as she made no effort to move; limp and only barely lively as he laid her beneath him on the bed. Lips caught in each-other’s embrace all the while. His hesitance diluted quickly, turning rougher and painful in a sense, as though he were in some sort of hurry, or as though he couldn’t quite satisfy whatever yearning had awoken in him as fast as it was building. His large hand wrapping around her throat, squeezing to paint a clearer point of who it was that were in charge. “Look at me.” The talons made their presence known, digging crescent moons into the delicate flesh of her spine. Growling accompanying the act, beckoning whimpers from the small thing beneath him. His other hand helping him hunch over her, acting as a pillar for his weight to rest upon. One of his knees soon diving between her legs, prompting her thigh on top of his, preforming the same maneuvers with the parallel leg. Having her knees spread to either side of his hips, nuzzling between them. Her windpipe seemed to bend more than break beneath his viscous hold, yet the sensation felt no less painful.

As lips continued to clash and teeth started to do more than just graze, small hands made to push at his tough chest. Not in an effort to shove him away but to subdue whatever frenzy had taken ahold of him, as a weak attempt to get her discomfort across. He didn’t seem to notice how he’d started biting, or of her rather obvious distress, and if he did it would seem he’d elected to ignore it all, as his weight remained unmoved by her desperate actions.

He didn’t know what he was fussing about before. She clearly respected his authority. How could he ever think that a creature like her, quirkless and infinitely vulnerable, would ever have the heart to disobey him? The mere thought of it was laughable now, as she made such feeble attempts to simply soothe him and not at all in an effort to make him stop. Too kind in her nature to ever want to deliberately upset him. It would be cruel of him to not answer to her prayers of making the ordeal more comfortable, especially when she was being so sweet in her request, in her begging. She should be rewarded, not ignored, he resonated, deciding to go slower, softer.

His hand moved from cramping around her neck to cupping the side of her cheek instead, fingers spreading to either side of her ear. The hand keeping him in a menacing stance, towering over her petite frame, bent at the elbow, lowering him down to rest more intimately against her chest. Feeling her hands move instinctively away from his chest to grasp his shoulders instead, an inkling to perhaps tangle them behind his neck burning in her thoughts, but she was left at a loss for how far she was willing to sell her freewill, but also because she had no way of knowing if such an action would please him. The doubt was soon answered as he assisted in placing her hands above her head, one large hand securing her wrists in a firm yet strangely delicate lock.

Newly free of anything to do, his other hand repositioned to grasp her breast. Lips soon joining as he slobbered a wet path down to her exposed nipples. She fought the urge to scurry away, knowing there was nowhere to go and how nothing good would come out of it, or if it would at all change the events of what was currently in motion. She wasn’t sure just how far his temper reached, but she wasn’t at all that inclined to find out. Besides, he’d already installed the measures to keep her from doing anything of the same caliber of foolish, her position unmovable beneath the inescapable presence of him.

He was broad. Not thick, but thick with muscle to a sense where her legs where thoroughly spread by the mere diameter of his torso. Her knees tightly hugging him because of it, unable to spread even further without it becoming an uncomfortable stretch.

She felt strange. So unavoidably naked. She’d done it before, shamelessly more times than she could count, proudly shared her body with past lovers and friends, yet this seemed a strange type of surrender more than an understanding. Perhaps because she was fully naked whereas he still wore his black suit-pants and matching black dress-shirt with the contrasting white tie. Or, perhaps being naked had nothing to do with it, and the explanation laid solely in the fact that he had taken her from her home without hindrance from both herself and the law it would seem, bathed her and groomed her and dressed her and taken claim of her as some type of belonging all without her being able to object. She was powerless. He was living proof of her hopelessness, helplessness, weakness. Weak and fragile and infinitely exposed beneath him. Inferior, but… it would seem… desirable to some unfounded extent as his golden attention locked on her where nothing else seemed to be worth any significance.

His lips again finding their way up to her throat, his gelled hair tickling her chin and cheek before his breath splayed across the tender skin of her ear. “I undressed you…” He whispered matter-of-factly in the seductive tone, lips brushing against her earlobe at the sentiment. “Time to return the favor.” He shuffled back and made to kneel between her legs, helping her prop herself up with both hands at her waist, pulling her so close she was made to sit on his lap again with her legs cradling him behind his back. His hands serving as the only leverage in keeping her position upright and from falling back onto the bed.

It was selfish and greedy of him to want to test her obedience, especially when she was shaking so violently like a leaf caught in a hurricane. Her head bowed, afraid to meet his height, yet her eyes still peered back up at him through the thick veil of lashes.

She felt his hands tighten around her waist, fingers and talons digging into soft plump flesh as large, glossy eyes stared at him for far too long without her acting on his command. For it was a command. “Need I remind you of what happens when you disobey me?” The belt-buckle seemed a frozen or electric type of cold against her clit as the threat boiled in the back of her mind. She shook her head, or… that was the intention, yet her whole body seemed to quake with the movement.

Hesitant hands and fingers that seemed far too frail for this world reached out to undo his tie. Once he reassured himself she knew what she was doing he tilted his head to lean in for another kiss. He was sure she didn’t do it on purpose, yet he needed to inform her of her mistakes as she seemed to use his tie as some sort of rope that would keep her from falling as she leaned backwards away from his antagonizing lips. His hands once again digging calloused fingertips into the doughy flesh of her waistline.

As though shocked from her transgression she did the opposite action of averting his kiss and came back to meet him. Sniffling as she loosened the tie, reciprocating the unwanted kiss. The realization of how hopeless her predicament coming down on her, as well as the impending events of violation and perhaps unwanted stimulation wracking through her with a vengeance. She couldn’t help but start crying, only this time she noticed the tears as they streamed hot and heavy like silent waterfalls down her face and neck, dripping from her chin onto her chest and falling down further in soundless rivulets, streaking her skin with reddened irritation. He must have tasted it on her lips, for soon his kisses turned sloppier, as though elevated and somehow frenzied by the display of her struggle. His tongue, flat and all-capturing, soon licking up her cheek to better taste her tears, making her cry with increasing fervor. Clutching onto his tie in false comfort as though it were some lifeline. “Put it on.” He demanded as she lifted it above and off his head, hesitating for a second, scanning his eyes for humor but finding nothing sept for lustful impatience. She complied and the once false lifeline turned into a very real noose. She whimpered as one of his hands left her waits to grab onto the tail of the tie, pulling her closer to his face in a choke-hold. “Come on.” He growled against her lips, referring to the still movement of her hands, the hands that were supposed to be halfway done with the unbuttoning of his shirt.

She hurriedly undid the buttons, nimble fingers working precisely despite it. And, although he was under no illusion her hurry was a product of his threat, he could fantasize the rush was of the same desperation he felt festering inside him. However, it was hard to imagine when she finished unbuttoning the shirt, her hands hovering above his pants, left yet again at a loss for what to do.

With his patience running thin, he let his temper get the best of him. The last hand leaving her waist to grab her face with a growl. However, upon seeing the tearful, terrified look displayed swimmingly in her orbs, his snarling features softened. He could pretend she didn’t know how to unbuckle his belt. He could pretend it were some inconceivable contraption you needed to be familiar with beforehand to ever hope understanding. He was good at pretending.

She yelped as he dropped her back onto the mattress, his weight quickly followed suit as he kissed a trail down the valley of her breasts, before rising back up and admiring the sight of her in his tie and the blooming love-bites that had formed from his teeth’s last encounter with her skin. He decided, in his constant growing impatience, to go back on his command, granting her one mercy by removing his belt on his own.

Not wanting to see or find out if she’d disobey more of his clear commands, he placed one careful yet firm hand around her throat, strong fingers pressing into the sides of her throat as so to keep her in her place. Feeling her precious little heartbeats drumming against his palm. Eyes locked with each other. Fearful, tearful, spiraling eyes seemed to take up half her face as she searched his business like, monotonous features in a desperate scramble for hope or escape. Blotchy, red, screaming skin surrounded those gorgeous round eyes of hers. Tear-slicked lashes seemed thicker, hugging each other close for comfort. Nose a blossom shade of pink, nostrils flaring in the meekest of flutters each time she sniffled. She didn’t mean to whimper as Chisaki stroked his middle finger over her neck. She was reminded yet again of the vase from earlier. The vase that was meters away, yet broke apart easily despite the distance and how she was infinitely closer to his destructive hands. How expensive that vase must have been and how priceless in the sense of carrying no expense she was. The possibility of him breaking apart her anatomy similar to the vase was uncertain, on purpose or even by accident.

He made no further moves, just feeling up her pulse beneath his fingertips and watching her eyes go rounder and wider with fear of what he might do. She had completely lost her composure now, and he knew the sight should have awoken some form of regret inside him, some form remorse or guilt, yet the only thing he seemed to think was about how pitifully beautiful she looked in her helplessness beneath him, how undeniable his ownership now was, and how victorious he felt.

To her it felt as though he were oblivious to her discomfort, as though he didn’t even register the tears streaming down her face or the ever-present tremble in her body. How her stomach toppled in on itself, how she was afraid to even as much as move her hands from their places on either side of her head, how she felt as though the sheets swallowed her whole and how the whole atmosphere seemed too strange, too foreign. How the smell of bleach in the air had all five of her senses in utter turmoil, how the cleanliness of everything made her skin crawl, how the silk tie around her neck was both the softest and roughest form of embrace she’d ever felt. How the love-bites on her body represented bullet-wounds, how he’d poked holes through her skin into her very core, how she felt as though the remnants of her soul seeped out through them, spilling onto the fresh bedsheets. How his eyes oddly looked like the eyes of God despite her not believing in such things, how even in her fear she found herself wondering why his lashes were so long and why his skin looked like porcelain and why on earth would a divine creature like him ever show such a devoting interest in the likes of her.

The sharp clashes of an unbuckling belt weren’t enough to shake her from her rambling thoughts, nor was the unbuttoning of his pants or the sound of the textile being thrown on the floor. Fingers however, fingers easily brought her out of her own mind. Fingertips grazing tender, unprotected, wet skin. Slender-veined, long, striking fingers that reached farther inside her to that spot she couldn’t ever hope reach on her own. Fingers that easily entered through the slick of building wetness, pooling with the rush of blood that had celebrated by the countless accidental, conditional and intentional feather-touches she’d received throughout the events of her time in his presence. It felt good. Undeniably so, in spite of her fear, maybe even in product of her fear. Two digits buried knuckle-deep inside her, slithering, bathing, curling, stretching, molding her walls to their liking.

With his face inches away from her, with the fingers of his hand dancing curious choreography inside her and his thumb drawing careful patterns onto her clit, she couldn’t help put moan past the hand tightening around her throat. His hot breath fanning over her face she felt him grow restless at the lewd sounds she made. There was a still present stretch in the outer ring of muscle despite her growing wetness, but her insides fluttered, happily and welcomingly sucking on the guests taking up space within her. Her knees pressing harder into his sides in an impulsive desperate attempt to rub her thighs together, hanging onto every precise move his fingers made, wanting more, needing more.

“Look at me.” Eyes wrenched shut at the unwanted yet much enjoyable pleasure, peeled open at the threat of his words and the tightening enclosure of pressure her vocal cords sustained beneath the grip of his hand.

She had at a point tangled her hands around his neck, despite her dilemma with the movement earlier. Teeth adamantly biting down into her bottom lip as she proceeded in getting lost in his eyes and at the pooling sensation of his fingers pumping in and out of her. Un-allowed to look any other place but his eyes, un-allowed to move when his digits disappeared and the soft velvety tip of his cock nuzzled at her entrance, feeling warm and much bigger than the expanse of his fingers.

He made a sound. A low, guttural moan which reverberated through his chest and erupted somewhere deep within his throat; hungry in its conviction and greedy in its quest, making the girl beneath him whimper as his swollen cockhead kissed past the lips of her pussy, beginning to push through into her plushy walls. His hand soon finding its way to cover her mouth, muffling each pathetic little whimper that came with his throbbing cock tearing through her constricting walls with its monstrous girth frustratingly slowly, the small sounds vibrating, tickling him in the palm of his hand. The frustrating slow move letting her feel every ridge, every vein, every prodding rift on his bulging cockhead.

Nails belonging to small hands dig into the back of his neck as he thrusts the remaining length of his cock inside her, his pillow-like tip bumping into her cervix, bottoming out in one quick movement of his hips furiously slamming up against the underside of her thighs. She gasped at the intrusion, her velvety walls fluttering around the size of his, moaning whence he pulled out ever so slowly. He groaned blissfully, lolling softly into her. Her eyes once again closing, falling into the back of her skull, but that couldn’t be allowed. “Look at me while I make you mine.” It was hard to bring herself back, it was hard to even open her eyes and even harder to focus on keeping eye-contact as he continuously buried himself inside her. However, the throaty growls and moans and croaks, that somehow deafened the wet creamy squelching of his shaft driving into her sopping folds, served as enough a wordless threat to keep her attention tethered to him.

The pace was slow, agonizingly so, but he drove deep. And as the speed picked up, she couldn’t help that her needy walls began clamping around the girth of his length, sucking his cock right back inside her warmth each time he reared his hips back, as if he belonged there. Her struggle was unnecessary as he eagerly slammed his pelvis back into her, creating an ear deafening smack with each bone-shattering thrust. Her back arching into him as her warm walls seized up around his cock rapidly pumping in and out of her, feeling the early building fluttering of her orgasm closing in, chasing her in her bliss. His hand still tightly enclosed around her neck, the space dividing their faces nearly nonexistent as his hot breath fell upon her face each time he grunted and groaned with the thrusts of his hips.

She moaned his name, trying to find the words to warn him of her upcoming release, but between his thrusts she had had to prioritize breathing above anything else and as the feelings inside her spurred violently she was rendered unable to even as much as think about anything but the bliss. Her legs cramped around his torso, bringing him close and holding him there as her body convulsed in earth-shattering spasms. Moans slipping past the fingers on her throat, forgetting they were there for a moment. All movements stilled before she opened her eyes to find those weighty eyes staring back at her, feeling an inclination to apologize but having the words choke in her throat by both his hand and once again picked up speed, as he slammed into her with a newfound vigor. Her orgasm still ricocheting, pulsating, crippling her body in warm heat and fuzzy shocks, the tingling contrasting with his sharp and angled thrusts into her swollen walls, riding her through the feeling. Her crying had partially subsided, however started returning. His pounding so crucial and stinging she sobbed at the brutality of it, her throat feeling sore beneath his fingers.

He bit into her neck, stuffing her again and again with his cock, heavy balls hitting against her ass in wet slaps. He drove harder, making her hiccup and scream at the force of his shaft tearing a hole through her abdomen. She begged him to stop, but he was chasing his own form of release. Her hands slamming and pushing at his shoulder, but he was neatly and snuggly slotted against her, in no hopes of moving without wanting to himself. His hand descended to gripping the underside of her knees, spreading her further out for him to rut into. Face buried in her chest as he selfishly groaned and moaned and grunted like some animal, ignoring her spluttering cries. His noises grew louder, uncontrolled, building to one final croak, feeling his cock spur in warm twitches, ropes of white thickness sprouting from his pulsating tip into her, creaming up her walls and dripping out of her crammed hole.

He sighed contently, continuing to slot his cock inside her warmth however slowly, feeling his cum run down the length of his and she felt it smear her thighs in stickiness. Her hands shook, clinging to him for comfort from the relenting attacks, her entire body aching. He pulled out all the way only to fill her up again, his cock keeping its size and length without faltering in the slightest, she was afraid he wasn’t done, but he seemed content relaxing into her chest, eyes closed and resting. He lied there for a bit, cock going limp inside the comfort of her warm walls, before he rolled off. A large hand still left on her stomach.

Part of her told her to simply fall asleep. Her aching body begging to find rest in the soft sheets, yet the almost wild need to get as far away from the man at her side outgrew her need for comfort, as it usually did. She stirred from her position, slipping out from under his hand, yet the movement was quickly silenced with the hand coming to snatch her wrists instead. “Where do you think you’re going?” His voice was calculated despite groggy and tired, annoyed in some sense yet desperate in another. She opened her mouth to speak but the words fell stillborn on her tongue. “You’re not going anywhere.” He pulled her towards him again and she was sure he wanted to go another round, but found that instead of lining her up with his cock another time, she was instead firmly placed against his chest. One arm coming to wrap around her, whilst the other made to grab the duvet from its place at their feet, draping the both of them in sterile white cloth. “If you move during the night, expect to wake up to a punishment.” He added softly in her ear. His fingers delicately dancing across her cheek to brush a tress of hair behind her ear. His lidded eyes intently locked; admiring, the curves and slopes of her face, even as the red and teary confusion started back at him. He was glad to see no hints of hatred or scorn laced with her gaze, or perhaps he was just too tired to notice. Though, she did as commanded. Keeping her frame neatly placed where he’d positioned her. Her eyes scanning the man’s features until sleep as well soon brought her to her knees. And she would like to dispel the notion, but the truth wasn’t easily buried. Despite the burning swollen soreness found between her legs, the soft comfort of clean pillows and covers and sheets had her body relax more so than she knew she should. The smell of bleach accompanied by lavender and lilac soon aiding her in her relaxation as well. And when all was said and done, the warmth of Chisaki’s body was a strange type of welcoming consolation despite it also being the reason to her aches.

#yandere chisaki #yandere chisaki kai #yandere kai chisaki #yandere #yandere overhaul #yandere kai #yandere boku no hero academia #yandere bnha #yandere mha #kai chisaki #chisaki kai imagine #kai #mha chisaki #chisaki #chisaki kai #chisaki overhaul #overhaul

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imagine-that-r6s · 5 years ago

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Oh Baby [Tachanka (Alexsandr Senaviev) x Reader]

Requesting: Please put the genre (Misc, angst, fluff) as a letter (M,A,F) and the number. For headcannons, just tell me you want em! They can be a prompt list item. Special requests may have extra steps. Stay safe ya’ll, I love you guys!

Pairing: Tachanka (Alexsander Senaviev) x Reader

Warnings: Minor angst at the start (death mention), mentions of vomit, swearing, Tachanka is EXCITED

Genre/Word count: Fluff/2k

“They told me I’d died. They were wrong. I was reborn”

Your eyes instinctively rolled as he retold his famous line to the newly recruited rookies, who’s eyes widened in wonder and fascination.

“How many times must you tell this story, Alexsandr?”

His booming laughter flooded the room as he draped his heavy arm around your shoulders. His helmet was tucked under his other arm, allowing him to place a small kiss against your cheek. He said his goodbyes to his new companions as he dragged you away with him.

“You love the story, you just won’t admit it!”

“Clinically dead! Two whole minutes!”

“REBORN!”

You shook your head, looking down so he couldn’t see your small smile. You wrapped your significantly smaller hand into his as you walked together. You came to a stop at a walkway that connects two major sections of the complex. It didn’t have walls, just a small safety guard and a roof supported by metal poles.

You felt the raindrops whip around you, occasionally wetting your face and clothes while the deep rumbling of thunder in the distance indicated the worsening of the storm. The weather was putting you in a somber mood. You grasped his hand harder. His face contorted into a worried expression.

“What’s wrong?”

“Just thinking about that day.”

He waved it off, “A mission gone wrong, it can happen at all times.”

“That’s what worries me. The frequency of accidents and wrong calls. One day you might die and not come back.”

He sighed, pulling you close and wrapping his thick arms around you, suffocating you in a bear hug. “Do not think like that, Y/N,” he attempted to brighten the mood, “I won’t go down without a fight!”

You chuckled, feeling yourself relax. He pressed his lips against your forehead as he spoke again, “The same goes for you! You best be fighting with all you can in the field!”

You nodded, letting the sounds of rain and thunder comfort you. You both headed back into your shared room, where your stomach let out a roar of strange noises. He set down the heavy helmet onto the wooden dresser before turning back to you with a smirk.

“Did someone get sick? We were only outside for a second, how did you get sick that fast?!”

You shook your head, denying that you were sick. “Alexsandr, how could I have gotten sick? It wasn’t cold outside or anything.” You took off your shoes, heading to the bathroom to start your usual routine. You stared at yourself in the mirror. Your skin seemed to practically glow in the dim lighting.

You suddenly felt dizzy, you could tell something was wrong. As Alexsandr waited patiently outside, he heard a small thud, followed by your gagging. His eyebrows furrowed. He knocked lightly with his knuckles, “Y/N, are you okay?”

The only response he got was the contents of your stomach emptying into the toilet. He did not wait for you to let him in. He twisted the knob and pushed against the door, soaking in the image of you hunched over, eyes red and teary.

He quickly rushed over, patting your back and asking if you were okay. You covered your mouth with the tips of your fingers, replying in a trembling voice, “Yes, dear. I guess the food messed me up, it didn’t seem good to me anyways.”

You gave him a reassuring smile, hoping he would drop the situation. But he stared back with sadness in his eyes, “Maybe we should go to the medbay.” You shook your head, repeating once again that you were fine.

He told you to lay back in bed for a minute, telling you to wait as he set something up. You stood on shaky legs, heading back to the warm and inviting mattress. Your eyes drooped the moment your head hit the pillow.

You awoke to Alexsandr’s heavy hand shaking your shoulder. You squinted up at him, letting out a confused hum. He chuckled at the look of your messy hair and drool trickling from your mouth.

He put his arms underneath you, one on your back and the other underneath your knees. You wrapped your arms around his neck, taking in his scent as he carried you back into the bathroom.

He sat you on the edge of the tub, and you were able to see his work. He had gathered some odd candles and placed them around the room, he had drawn a bath, pouring in some bubblebath solution. You chuckled at the effort.

“I threw up once!” You didn’t think the situation was as dramatic as he thought. He pressed a small kiss on your forehead, He helped you undress, tossing the garments in a hamper nearby. He told you to step in the tub as he turned back into the bedroom.

You did as told, relaxing as he came back with a small chair. He grabbed your brush and started to work on your hair, at quite an odd angle. A contempt hum escaped your throat as he continued his loving touches.

“I’ll go to the medbay tomorrow, since you’re actually worried. It’ll probably be nothing.”

“You always worry so much about me, but you never take the time to worry about yourself, Y/N.”

You didn’t respond while you let yourself sink deeper into the tub, letting the sweet aromas fill your nose. He played some Tchaikovsky, a composer you had learned to love when you started dating the Russian operator.

Once the bath had run cold and you were all cleaned up, he had dressed you into one of his old shirts which was clearly several times bigger than your frame. He carried you back into bed, letting you rest your head on him. He pulled the blanket over the both of you. His lips met yours before you went into a deep slumber.

The following day, as you had previously told your husband, you went to the medbay. You greeted Doc as you waited patiently for him to examine you. You explained how you were feeling, and how worried your boyfriend was.

As Doc continued to listen, he seemed to become a little paler. At the end of your little rant of symptomes, he nodded and stepped over to a drawer. He pulled out a slim white box. He sat down in front of you, a small clipboard in hand.

“It may seem like a simple illness, but just to be sure, I want you to take this test. I’m sorry if I have caused an embarrassment. But I just want to make sure that you’re at the top of your game.”

He passed you the small white box, the bolded words caused your face to burst into a dark blush. Pregnancy test. Your eyes avoided Gustave’s. “Well-I mean… Is it possible I will be? Like what are the chances, huh? C-Can I really actually be…”

Your face stayed cherry red as you finished up your visit. You thanked Doc for the check up, telling him you would notify him once you had the results from the test. Your head was busy as you walked back to your room. What about your job? Will Alexsandr be happy? Or mad? Were you ready to be a mother?

Alexsandr. He was out for the next hour or so as he had a meeting for the next mission he was assigned to. You would have the results before he came back. You pondered about which result he would want…

The instructions on the box were simple. Pee on the end and wait twenty minutes. Okay, first step, done. Now for the hardest part. Just waiting. You sighed as you set the test down on the bathroom’s counter. You put a timer on your phone as you waited, scrolling through Instagram on your bed.

The ringing of your phone startled you. You stared at the contact name, it was Monika. Fuck. Last week you had promised her you would help test some modifications on her device. You stared nervously at the bathroom’s door. He’d be back in an hour, so you’d have time to help Monika.

You answered the call, saying that you were on your way and apologized for the tardiness. You tossed your phone on the bedside table and began your journey to the concrete room that Elena used to test all devices.

Alexsandr’s meeting ended early. The briefing had gone exceptional, for once everyone was in agreement of the plan. He was hopeful your meeting with Doc had gone well, that you were perfectly fine.

As he stepped into the cold and empty room, he was saddened to see you haven’t returned. He decided to shower before you came back, but he was stuck in place as he saw what was on the counter.

Should he pick it up? No, what if you wanted to know first? But you left it unattended. Did you want him to see? Where were you now? You left your phone here, so he couldn’t call you to ask.

His curiosity got the better of him. He picked up the test with shaky hands, letting his eyes scan over the results. He could practically feel his heart beat out of his chest.

He dropped the test, the clattering of the test onto the cold tile floors had brought him out of his stunned state. ‘Oh shit. Oh fuck. Holy fucking shit.’

His mind raced. He had to find you now. He bolted out of the room, looking around everywhere to see if there was any trace of you. He stopped at the medbay, cafeteria, even the meeting rooms. He was growing impatient of having to stop and ask if anyone had seen you.

But eventually, someone gave him an answer. They had seen you walking with Monika, visibly shaken up. Alexsandr’s panicked state had caused him to forget your promise to Monika. He gave them a quick thank you, scurrying to catch you at the testing rooms.

He eventually spotted you as you had tossed one of Maghan’s spare cameras up for Monika to later detect. Monika was nowhere in sight, he assumed she left to go talk to Elena about her electronics detector.

Without warning, he sprinted towards you, but his heavy footsteps alerted you. You turned in time for you to balance yourself into the tight hug he embraced you in. You let out a laugh as you hugged back, “Well you’re out early-”

You tightened up. If he was out early, he came to the room earlier. He had found the test. You released him, pushing back his shoulders to look him in the eyes.

“What are the results?”

He gave you a smile as his eyes let out some tears, “Two lines.”

Your own eyes started to leak. You bit down harshly on your lip, “You’re not mad?”

“Why would I ever be mad? WE’RE HAVING A BABY! Oh my god, I have to call off my mission, I have to stay with you!”

You laughed as you embraced him once again, your previous negative thoughts were washed away. They were replaced by new, exciting thoughts about the future.

You dismissed yourself from the testing with Monika after a few more runs. Alexsandr had waited patiently for you in a nearby chair. Once you were allowed to go, he simply could not let you go. He was over-the-top excited.

As you began walking back together, he couldn’t help but to place his hand over your stomach. “I want a girl.”

You looked at him with a playfulness in your eyes, “I want a boy.”

You stopped at the medbay once again, this time while holding your husband’s hand. Doc could easily assume the results, “I’ll start on some paperwork and help you the best I can. These times can be rough, but I’m sure you’ll be fine.”

After picking up some basic tips and plans from the hard worker, you and the Russian operator left. The day was beginning to end. It was 9:59, according to the digital clock that hung in your room. You both changed into more comfortable clothing.

You picked up the test that was forgotten on the bathroom floor. You snapped a quick picture of it, sending it to the Team Rainbow groupchat. The replies came in fast, varying in responses.

‘How’s his dick game?’

‘Congratulations, you’ll do wonderful’

‘I’m gonna spoil your kid.’

‘You should name it Max Goose.’

‘Ew why would anyone want that name?’

You chuckled at the texts before shutting down your phone, cuddling into your husband’s side.

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jcusnetworksba1002july2019 · 5 years ago

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Tattoo Narrative: My Skin, My Story, OUR Battle

Lee, A. P. (2017). A South Korean tattoo artist

Human history is full of stories, which usually are about people and passed on by people. Narrative is storytelling. The whole human history is like a magnificent web of networked narratives. Each one of us is like a shooting star in the sky of time, and our stories are those shinny moments in life that manifest how we see the world, but mostly important, how we identify ourselves (Brucks, 2019).

In recent years, distributed narratives have emerged as a new format, collaging pieces of information and ideas through different networks, conveying stories in time, space and authorship (Walker, 2004). One of the distributed narratives that especially resonates with me is tattoo narrative.

Tattooing is not new. The earliest record of tattooed humans dates back to 6,000 BC. Tattoos as a symbol of visual expression not only represent the identity of the inked person but also reflect the culture that person lives and believes in. Therefore, regardless of the decorative function, tattoos, in fact, convey a deeper relationship than it seems between the inked body, self‐identity and the society (Kosut, 2000).

For an increasingly growing number of women across the world, getting tats is a way of self-empowerment, owning unique individualities and battling the traditional patriarchal values imposed on modern females. In 2017, British activist Grace Neutral travelled to South Korea to investigate how younger generations use tattoos to challenge traditional mainstream beauty standards. In South Korea, plastic surgery is a billion-dollar industry but being a tattoo artist is illegal. Similar to other countries in East Asia, societies still keep women on a tight leash with homogenous beauty standards: females are defined as ‘beautiful’ with pale and pure skin, long straight hair, slender figure and other distinctive feminine features. However, along with other ‘comrades’, I believe that homogenous beauty standard is actually a modern version of female virginity obsession, a counterpart of slut-shaming, and fundamentally a form of patriarchal dictatorship and violation of gender equality (Leader, 2016). This is why tattoo narratives play a significant role in female empowerment. We break the shell of ‘purity’ and ‘perfection’, and instead, we bestow ourselves with reborn birthmarks on our skins.

Meanwhile, in more liberated societies, tattoos are not so much stigmatised as in Asia. In Australia, having tats is a way to express self-identity or commemorate a life event or beloved ones. It is almost as normalised as a fashion choice. Even a nurse I saw at a clinic in Melbourne has a large visible tat on her arm. As an Asian girl with visible tats, my experiences tell me that getting friendly complements from random strangers in Australia is probably as often as getting rude staring and silent judgements in Asia. Therefore, perhaps, the level of acceptance of tattoos can be considered as a benchmark to evaluate the diversity level of a society.

References

Brucks, P. (2019). BA1002: NETWORKED NARRATIVES. [PowerPoint slides]. Retrieved from http://learnjcu.edu.au

Doss, K., & Ebesu Hubbard, A. S. (2009). The Communicative Value of Tattoos: The Role of Public Self-Consciousness on Tattoo Visibility. Communication Research Reports, 26(1), 62-74.

Kosut, M. (2000). Tattoo Narratives: The intersection of the body, self‐identity and society. Journal Visual Sociology, 15(1), 79-100.

Leader, K. (2016). "On the book of my body": Women, Power, and "Tattoo Culture". Feminist Formations, 28(3), 174-195.

Lee, A. P. (2017). Inside the Illegal Subculture of Female Korean Tattoo Artists. [Image] Retrieved from https://www.vice.com/en_us/article/qv4zjx/inside-the-underground-subculture-of-female-korean-tattoo-artists

Walker, J. (2004). Distributed Narrative: Telling Stories Across Networks. University of Bergen, Dept of Humanistic Informatics, Brighton.

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botoxfillersblog · 1 year ago

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#reborn skin & hair clinic #botox treatment #best botox treatment in pune #skincare #Laser Treatment for Face

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magioftheseas · 6 years ago

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Variant

Summary: Nanami Chiaki has been revived and reborn, but she is not the same Nanami Chiaki as those that came before. That makes her wrong, right? Everyone else seems to think so.

Rating: T+

Warnings: Disturbing themes of identity issues and some questionable science. Relationships are gonna dubious and messy but giving specifics is difficult, sorry. I guess it could be considered, uh, creepily clinical at points.

Notes: I just wanted to write a fic where Nanami wasn’t perfectly revived and I ended up with this. It was fun to write but I feel like I could’ve gone harder considering the circumstances? Well, I completed it for her birthday, so maybe it’s for the better. This sure was experimental. Um. Please be kind.

***Alternate Ao3 Link***

Commission? Donate?

Gently the waves lapped at the shore. A girl named Nanami Chiaki already had her shoes and socks set aside and hiked up her skirt as she waded further into the water. Supposedly, it was cold. Supposedly, particles of salt would cling to her skin and skirt. Distantly, she’s aware that Hinata Hajime is going to scold her for going into the water.

He’s always going to be annoyed, I think.

With that in mind, Nanami Chiaki dove her arms into the ocean, taking clumps of sand and rock. Squeezing. Searching. She does that for a while, moving around her feet to try and help the search. Sand gets between her toes, and she bumps against either a rock or a shell. There’s a bit of a sting, but it’s easy to ignore. She doesn’t really care.

But he will. And he’ll be even more annoyed. I think.

She keeps looking, lips twisting as she does. And then, finally—

“Nanami-chan. What are you doing?”

She flinches, straightening her posture but still slouching as she turns to stare at Komaeda Nagito standing at the shore, just shy of the rolling waves. Dressed in his green coat as always, hair tied back, Komaeda’s head tilts. Curiously. Questioning.

“I... Um...” Nanami hesitated, turning back to the ripping water. Looking at her soaked hands and picking out salt from her nails. The way Komaeda Nagito would usually do for her. “Mmm...”

“Did you lose something?” Komaeda’s tone was light, though still a little loud so that she could hear them over the waves. She glanced back over, and he, too was removing his shoes. He also lovingly hung up his coat on one of the droopy palm trees. Hiking up his pants, he began to wade into the water. “What was it? What happened?”

“...my game...” Nanami rubs awkwardly at her arm. “I... It’s probably broken.”

“Then Souda-kun can fix it,” Komaeda said cheerily. “But—Saionji-san really needs to apologize to you, so I’ll also talk to Koizumi-san, okay?”

Nanami perked up.

“I could tell from the footprints,” Komaeda added. “It’s a bit nostalgic, but you shouldn’t have to listen to me ramble, aha.”

And then, Komaeda reached down, metal hand whirling as its shoved into the water. He fumbled around, humming before letting out a soft sound.

“There we are,” he says, pulling out a soaked device. Nanami’s eyes went wide as he waved it in front of her. “Come on, Nanami-chan. We should go rinse off. I’ll drop this off with Souda-kun and...” He holds a finger in front of his lips. “I’m not going to tell Hinata-kun. Okay?”

“Is that...okay?” Nanami frowned. “He’s...really perceptive, I think. So he might...be able to tell.”

“He’s used to me keeping secrets,” Komaeda chirped and he offers his hand. “Don’t worry.”

She takes that hand tentatively. Compared to the sturdy metal arm, Komaeda’s actual flesh and bone is really frail. Despite that, Komaeda squeezes her hand as he leads her out of the ocean.

“Your hand is really cold, Nanami-chan,” he remarks.

“Is it?” she asks. “Well—I can’t tell what temperature yours is, I don’t think. Um. But he usually says it’s pretty cold.”

Komaeda scoffs.

“Hinata-kun’s built like a furnace, that’s why.” A pause. “You know, Nanami-chan, you can refer to him normally when around me.”

Nanami puffed her cheeks.

“You say that, but it still makes him mad.”

“He’s being childish,” Komaeda gripes. “Seriously—and he’s supposed to be a symbol of hope. So disappointing.”

Nanami hums noncommittally, and she doesn’t really understand but she does know how Komaeda Nagito feels. He feels strongly. She’s a little envious. Maybe.

“I... Oh.” When the two of them finally breached shore, it was then that Komaeda looked down. He cursed under his breath, but when Nanami looked at him, he hurriedly smiled. Said smile was tense at the edges. “Nanami-chan... You cut your foot.”

She looks down and sure enough, she’s bleeding. Even the sand is dyed. It stings. She supposes.

“Hinata-kun will notice that, unfortunately,” Komaeda sighs. “I’m sorry, Nanami-chan.”

“It’s not Nagito’s fault,” she says, parroting the words that she’s used to Hinata Hajime saying. “Honestly, it’s not a big deal, I don’t think.” She shrugs. “He’s never happy with me, is he?”

Komaeda is quiet, but he pats her head.

“Hinata-kun’s a stubborn jerk. It’s not Nanami-chan’s fault.”

“Nagito,” she says. “You’re the only one who actually likes me, I think.”

“...”

He squeezes her hand.

“Sonia-san likes you,” he replied serenely. “And the others are warming up to you. And if they’re stubborn like Hinata-kun or Saionji-san or anyone else, then that’s on them, not on you.”

You’re always saying that, but... The others are a bit happier when I act correctly. It’s only when they remember that I’m wrong that the mood fizzles. At least, I think so. Still...

“Nagito’s nice,” she murmurs. “You’re actually...really nice...even though everyone keeps saying you’re difficult.”

Komaeda laughs.

“Come on,” he says, tugging at her hand. “I’ll carry you to the showers. Even if you can’t really feel the pain, I’m sure walking would be uncomfortable, Nanami-chan.”

“Is that really okay, Nagito?” she asked.

“I’m a lot stronger than I look,” Komaeda said, beaming. “I’ve been exercising, too. I’ll only wheeze a little, I promise!”

“Mm...”

Nagito really is...nice.

He’s nice and he’s diligent, too, rinsing off her feet thoroughly, drying it with one of the towels and bandaging up her foot. Because of how accidents often happen around him, he carries those kinds of things around. He’s really careful, and could be just a little paranoid sometimes.

He pulls up her sock, slipping her foot into her shoe. He allows himself to be steadied on as she does the same with the other sock and other foot. She stumbles a bit, and he reacts quickly, laughing easily as he does.

“Don’t push yourself, alright?” he tells her. “I’ll get Souda-kun to fix your Gamer Girl in the meantime.”

“It’s okay,” she says. “It’s not that important. Um. I have...other game systems that I can play...”

Even though Gala Omega is on that one... I’ve been playing more and more of it, but...

Komaeda is quiet, likely in response to the expression that has twisted her face. She meets his gaze, and pushes up the corners of her mouth so that she can at least smile.

“Even if you’re not in the mood for it, it might be nice to have it as an option, later,” Komaeda says pleasantly.

“I guess...” Nanami shrugged. “Well, even if Souda doesn’t fix it, he would. But I cause him enough trouble.” She wiggles her injured foot. “Would Souda feel troubled, too?”

“Not at all.” Komaeda waves it off with such ease. “He enjoys having projects to work on, regardless of who it’s for. Because. It is his talent.”

“Talent... Okay.” She still doesn’t really understand but with how firm Komaeda is, she doesn’t want to argue anymore. “Thank you, Nagito. And tell Souda that I thank him, too.”

“Of course, Nanami-chan.”

That was that. Komaeda Nagito really was nice. Her smile, however, faded when she thought of the other person closest to her.

He’s going to be upset with me again.

It’s not something she’s unused to, at this point, but it’s saddening all the same.

Hinata Hajime is taking a rare break, slumped over a desk with a mug of coffee. Sonia brought him that mug—and it has his name on it. From the stains, Nanami can tell it’s seen its fair share of use today. He seems to be busying himself with an absurd amount of puzzle sheets. Even on break, Hinata busies himself.

She understands why, so she instinctively steps forward to act. She takes a blanket and places it over him. He stirs a little at that, and his smile, then, is soft and genuine. But his eyes are glazed over, unseeing.

She figures she needs to get it over with quickly.

“I went to the beach today,” she says. Hinata’s smile drops into a grimace. “I took off my shoes and socks and ended up stepping on something. It doesn’t hurt, Nagito bandaged it up, so it’s nothing to worry about, but um... I think you’d want to know... Hinata-kun.”

It tastes and feels wrong to call him that, but it’s the correct thing to do.

Even though Hinata doesn’t look terribly happy about it. Of course he wouldn’t.

“Nanami,” he says, sighing. “What were you doing at the beach?”

“Walking.”

His eyes narrow sharply, this time seeing right through her. Her shoulders hunch a little, but her expression remains neutral as it always does.

“Nanami.” His tone is just a little scornful. “I can tell there’s more that happened.”

“Mm...” She shuffles uncomfortably. “Well... I don’t want to tell you, I think...”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t like worrying you,” she mumbled, head lowering. “Because then you’d get more upset...”

“Ah. Did someone else do something?” There was a gleam, then, in that crimson eye. Nanami stiffened, and she could see it bore into her. “Saionji’s been shooting you dirty looks for a while.”

“It’s...” Because she’s not terribly good at lying, she thinks, she just swallows. “It’s no big deal. Nagito’s going to talk to Koizumi. You don’t need to get involved.”

Hinata still stands up.

“It’s not okay, Nanami. If there’s anyone that Saionji should be pissed at...”

Nanami is silent. Quiet. She remembers before.

“It’s so gross it makes me what to puke. It’s disgusting, absolutely disgusting, what Hinata did. You’re such an eyesore. Do you think all this is funny?”

A scowl. A sneer. She keeps her gaze on her game, until it’s snatched from her hands.

“At least acknowledge that I’m talking to you, you fucking freak!”

“She’s not happy with you either, I think.” She shakes her head. “Actually, she’s not happy with you at all. No one is.”

Hinata cursed under his breath, running his fingers through his hair. He looks so exhausted and the blanket she wrapped around him has already fluttered to the floor. She should pick it up, she should reassure him and smile the way he wants her to. The way she used to, apparently.

But instead, the question bursts out.

“Hey, um, why—did you create me, Hinata-kun?”

Hinata doesn’t answer at first. She keeps on talking.

“Why did you make me like this? I don’t think I understand. I’ve tried, I think, but I just...”

He still doesn’t answer. So.

“Do you resent me for being wrong? What am I still doing wrong? Or is it just my very existence?”

Because—even though Nagito is so nice to me, I know he doesn’t like that I exist, either.

“I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. I’ll do better. I promise. I just want to make you happy, Fa—”

Hinata’s hand slammed down onto the table at the time she realized her mistake.

“Don’t...call me that.” Hinata’s not even looking at her now, so she shrinks in on himself. “Nanami, how many times have I told you?”

“Many times.” She hangs her head. “Many, many times, I think. Um. I think... I’ll go to my cottage. Later, Hinata-kun.”

“Nanami...” Hinata sighs, looking so troubled. It just makes her sadder, so she doesn’t hesitate when he nods. “Sure, just don’t—push yourself.”

She’s well-aware of her status and purpose. She’s just not terribly keen on the details. Supposedly, there had been—complications in her birth, as Komaeda had put it with a facetious grin. She doesn’t know the details of that, either, except that the first expression she had seen on Hinata Hajime’s face was that of euphoric relief. He had cradled her and squeezed her, whispering her name over and over again.

The issue, then, was that she came out wrong. That she didn’t immediately step into the identity of Nanami Chiaki, and that she was initially quite confused on who that was supposed to be.

Hinata had been so patient at first. So kind, so gentle, doting on her and diligent on taking care of her. He even brushed her hair and fashioned a cute little pin into it. It was a strange pin, but seeing it on her seemed to make Hinata so happy.

She didn’t really understand a lot of things at first, but she knew that she liked seeing that smile on her creator’s face. So much so that she smiled in return, and that made him happier.

He really was happy—until she let that word slip from her lips.

“Father.”

Just like that, all warmth and light was sucked away, and Hinata looked deeply, deeply disturbed.

“I’m not...your father, Nanami.”

No? She didn’t understand. “But you are my creator, right? So wouldn’t that make you my father? Or, would you prefer I call you Master, instead?”

“No!” Hinata had shouted, then, so loudly it was deafening. “I... I-I’m... Do you really not remember anything?”

“What am I supposed to remember?”

She didn’t understand. She had just been born. She had built-in knowledge, however, but no memory of learning these things that she knows. All she remembers is Hinata Hajime, her creator, and how happy he had been until this moment.

Did I do something wrong?

“Maybe it’s latent,” Hinata murmurs, more to himself than to her. “But—given the complications, they may not have carried over. Shit... Fuck...”

“Fuck?”

“D-Don’t repeat that!” he yelped, so she shut her mouth obediently. Flustered, Hinata rambled on. “Dammit, dammit, dammit...! I really messed up, but...! But...!” He fizzles, just as easily as he got worked up. “But... At least you’re here, now, even if you’re not perfect.”

Not perfect.

“Um.” She holds up her fist. “I’ll try my best, I think. So please, um... Don’t get so down, um...?” She frowns deeply. “Mm...?”

“Hinata-kun. That’s what you usually called—should call me.” Hinata offers a weak, lop-sided smile. “Your personality is about the same, though. That’s a relief.”

You don’t look terribly relieved.

“Mm...” She fidgets. “Hinata-kun.”

“Yeah.” His smile widens, but his eyes remain largely unchanged. “Just like that, Nanami.”

Just like that?

“Hinata-kun, then.”

Well, if it makes you happy, then—

“Hinata-kun...”

“Hinata-kun is difficult.”

Irritated, she pulled the cheeks of her rabbit plush. For whatever reason, she imagined this making the rabbit cry, so she does stop, patting and petting it as if that’d reassure it.

“Father...is really difficult.” Nanami’s cheeks puffed out further. “I don’t like calling him Hinata-kun.”

“Father?” She remembers the amused smile Komaeda gave, and that it was twisted with something else she didn’t quite understand. “Well, I suppose it wouldn’t be inaccurate to refer to him as such. But I imagine he isn’t very happy to hear it.”

“He really isn’t.”

“Mm. That’s a personal problem, Nanami-chan. You’re not doing anything wrong.”

“...do you really think so?”

Nanami held the rabbit close, squeezing it hard.

The reason why he doesn’t like it when I call him ‘Father’ is because that wasn’t the relationship he had with the Nanami Chiaki before me. But truth be told, I don’t actually know what that relationship is. All I do know is that I make for a poor replacement, I think.

She has an idea of how Nanami Chiaki acts and how she should act in return. But she still fumbles in ways that aggravate those around her.

I make a poor replacement. For their sakes, I have to do better.

Frowning, Nanami sets the bunny aside and makes her way over to flick on a console. In times like these, games calm her down. They bring her to calmer times, where her creator was just happy to see her.

That game that Saionji threw into the ocean was the first one Hinata Hajime ever gave her.

Her fingers on the controller tighten as she selects start.

At some point, she falls asleep and only wakes up due to knocking on her door. There’s an ache in her neck and her eyes are dry and crusty. She groans as she pushes herself up, wobbling and yawning as she does.

“Iiiii’ll get it,” she slurs and shambles to the door, somehow managing to not topple over as she opens it. “Yes?”

“Ah...” Koizumi freezes up, smile stiff and fist still in the air, knuckles noticeably tense. She hurriedly brings her hand down and forces that smile wider. “Sorry, Chiaki-chan, did I disturb you?”

Nanami, still picking at her eyes, dutifully shakes her head and tries to straighten her posture. She ends up slouching anyway.

“Koizumi,” she says, swallowing. “Um.” She waves awkwardly. “Good...afternoon?”

“It’s almost evening,” Koizumi says, not unkindly. “But I’m here to bring you this.”

She holds up the handheld and Nanami immediately jerks more to attention. Koizumi is careful as she places it in Nanami’s hands, and she says nothing as Nanami holds it close.

“Hiyoko-chan...is still being really stubborn, so, I’m here to apologize for her.” Koizumi bows. “I’m so, so sorry she did that. It won’t happen again.”

“It’s...okay, I think...” She’s still clutching the device as though it were a lifeline. “Um. Is Saionji...still upset?”

Koizumi hesitates, picking at her cuticles.

“She’ll get over it,” she sighs. “Don’t worry about it, Chiaki-chan. I’ll keep talking to her, alright? Also...” Frown deepening, Koizumi fiddles with her hair. “Souda said, er, don’t hesitate in coming to him for help in the future. He wouldn’t mind building a wholly new gaming system or something... I guess? But he worked pretty diligently on your game so I guess he’s gotten a lot more reliable.”

“I see...” Nanami nods to that. “That’s really nice, I guess.”

But... I can’t help but wonder...

“Did he do that for her, too?”

Koizumi flinched. She likely hadn’t expected this turn in the conversation. Koizumi is always so considerate—she’s always the one who stops others from even mentioning the previous Nanami Chiaki in her presence. But under her expectant stare, Koizumi does shrug.

“Yeah, I think so. I do remember him doing that in...the simulation. But that wasn’t real.”

The simulation—sometimes they talk about the simulation. She was there, too. She wasn’t a perfect recreation either, right? But everyone still regards her so fondly. Actually, I was likely meant to carry on that one’s wishes, too.

How frustrating.

“Koizumi,” she says. “Is it alright...if I ask you what both of them were like?”

Koizumi jumps a little, but somehow, upon seeing the look on her face, Koizumi’s soft smile strains.

“Sure thing, Chiaki-chan.”

She’s not really sure what she’s getting herself into. If anything, this feels like a really bad idea. Maybe. But she’s avoided asking anyone except Hinata for the longest time, and that’s unproductive, isn’t it? Though he created her, Hinata couldn’t possibly know everything about her. Either her.

Koizumi is patient and considerate. She’s easy to talk to, similar to Komaeda. If she asked Komaeda, she might make him upset, and she doesn’t want that. She doesn’t want to upset Koizumi either, at least she thinks so, but—

Koizumi has pictures that she’s carefully stacked, fiddling with them as she does and looking weirdly sheepish.

“I was able to retrieve the photos I took in the simulation, surprisingly. I think this was around when Hinata was really testing what he could do with the NWP’s data...” She trails off, visibly uncomfortable. “I...have the ones I took while in HPA, too. It’s...kinda freaky, huh...”

Nanami sits there, silent and observing. Koizumi lays out the photos, giving her space as she looks through them.

The original Nanami Chiaki and the AI Nanami Chiaki are in different uniforms, but their expressions are largely the same. Nanami touches her own face, and notes that she’s definitely seen these two faces in the mirror. At least, she’s pretty sure.

For whatever reason, she doesn’t have it in her to ask Koizumi if she has a pocket mirror. And she doesn’t exactly want to get up and check in the bathroom right this moment.

But, she’s pretty sure she at least looks the same.

I just don’t know if I make these same expressions.

Regardless of the variant, Nanami Chiaki is smiling softly in most of them. She has a gentle demeanor, she supposes. Nanami Chiaki looks happy, and everyone else looks happy around her, too. When she sees Hinata, he especially—looks really happy.

Almost as happy as when she saw him for the first time.

“Chiaki-chan, well, that Chiaki-chan,” Koizumi says, plucking up one particular photo taken at what seemed to be New Years. “She could be a bit spacey but she really cared about her class, and she was really accepting of everyone’s quirks.”

Nanami takes notice of the wistful expression on Koizumi’s face.

“She often seemed exhausted, but she was always trying hard to get along with others. She loved games as much as you do, of course.”

“Why?” she asked, on impulse.

Koizumi shrugged.

“Ah, I—she just talked about how fun they were. The first thing that got her eyes lighting up was always video games. I think that’s—what she and Hinata bonded over, too. At least, in HPA, from what I remember. A lot of that stuff is...murky. You’d have better luck asking Hinata, probably.”

“Probably,” she echoed. “Na—Komaeda likes video games, too.”

“Oh, did he?” Koizumi perked up. “Oh... Right... He might’ve mentioned that...”

She had noticed Komaeda Nagito wasn’t in a lot of the HPA pictures. Or the pictures from the simulation. He was barely present at all, but always wore that same, serene smile.

Nagito has the same expression around me that he had around the two that came before.

“You’re a nice girl, too, Chiaki-chan.” Koizumi speaks up, suddenly. “You just have your own personality and quirks. There’s nothing wrong with being different.”

“So what’s the difference?” she asked.

Koizumi’s mouth opened, but no sound came out. She shuts it, chews her lower lip, and her head ducks, eyes hidden from Nanami’s inquisitive stare.

“...it’s... Well obviously you wouldn’t be the same person...” Koizumi seems to be speaking more to herself. “Chiaki-chan was human... And the AI recreation was based on all our memories... Hinata just...made you on his own... And things went wrong...”

Such as the fact that she lacked any of the memories, Nanami couldn’t help but think.

“I’m sorry, Chiaki-chan.” Even when addressing her directly, Koizumi seemed distant. “I think I should leave. Do you want to keep looking at the pictures?”

“Yes, please,” she answered. “Thank you, Koizumi.”

Koizumi does nod, upturned corners twisting as she stands. She shuts the door behind him. Nanami sits and stares. And then, her gaze flickers down to the pictures.

In each and every one, Nanami Chiaki wears the same hairclip that Hinata had given her. The same one that she always wore—and was in fact wearing right now. In several photos, Nanami Chiaki has the same handheld that Hinata had given her. The same one sitting innocently on her bed. Fixed. Good as new.

The appearances are all the same. Except that they’re smiling.

Nanami Chiaki pushes up at the corners of her mouth so that she’s smiling, too.

Saionji does apologize to her, but she’s not looking at her the entire time, and before Nanami can even respond, Saionji hurriedly turns away and leaves. Without another word. It’s a half-assed apology, but Nanami supposes she’ll take what she can get.

She’s not terribly interested in talking to anyone that day, so perhaps this is a good thing.

She doesn’t really play games, either, except to check her handheld to see if it worked. Hers.

It could’ve been someone else’s first, she thinks, touching her hairclip. Or a perfect recreation. Unlike me.

She pushes at the corners of her mouth again, but this time, they remain stiff and unyielding.

Some time ago, she overheard Komaeda and Hinata arguing.

“—so what are you going to do, then?”

“I... I don’t...”

“She’s practically a blank slate. Are you going to take advantage of that?” That high pitch of Komaeda’s upbeat question immediately drops to a low drone. “Pathetic.”

“S-Shut up! Of all people, I should not be hearing that from you!”

“Aha. Haha.”

His laughter is light. So light that it’s barely even perceptible.

“You didn’t answer the question,” Komaeda still speaks lightly. “What are you going to do? You brought her into this world. And she’s not the same. What are you going to do, Hinata Hajime?”

“I... She might... She might remember...”

“And if that’s impossible? Are you going to throw her out like trash and start again?”

“...”

“You went through all the trouble of making her human, too.”

“...I-I know...”

Hinata’s choked response was quiet enough that she had to strain to hear it.

“So.” In contrast, Komaeda’s tone was level. “What are you going to do?”

She thought about peering over the corner to see Hinata’s face. What expression he might be making since he didn’t seem to have anything to say. Instead, she ends up slipping away before she can be noticed.

It’s reasonable, she thinks. She’s curious about Hinata’s expression, but not so curious that she’d risk seeing whatever face he’ll make when he realizes that she’s listening in.

She still doesn’t want to see that face.

She wants to see him smile. Smile like he does in the photographs.

But... I don’t know if that’s possible. Because...

“You’re not the same as her,” Komaeda had said. “You shouldn’t try to be.”

She wondered if he said that because she was so bad at it. She doesn’t want to see what expression he’d make if she asked such a thing, either.

I just want everyone to smile at me. Perhaps that is impertinent. But they smiled at her and because of her so easily.

So, what was wrong with her?

...

The answer was obvious.

“She doesn’t remember anything? So, is she still the same, then?”

“But she has the same face! And the same voice! Everything else is the same!”

“But she doesn’t remember.”

“Look at that blank stare—isn’t it disgusting?”

“S-She’s human... She’s human...and her mental states... I-It’s...”

“Well, she will remember, right?”

“I-I don’t know...”

“What do you mean ya don’t KNOW?!”

“We should still try to treat her the same...”

“But...she is not the same.”

“Let’s treat her fairly anyway... She deserves that much...”

“She’s still human.”

“An abomination.”

“Dammit, Hinata, what the actual fuck were you thinking?”

“I just... I just wanted to see her again...”

“...we all did.”

“But...”

“That’s not Nanami Chiaki. Not the girl who died, not even the AI.”

“Nanami-chan, was it?” Komaeda laughs, clapping his hands. “It’s nice to meet you! My, you really are something else, aren’t you?”

Hinata is sleeping at the desk. Sometimes, that happens. He overworks, overstresses, overthinks, and then, he just passes out. This is when he should be ushered to his cottage for proper rest, she can’t help but think.

It’s bad timing. Horrendously bad.

But if she wakes Hinata up, there’s a chance. And so, she shakes his shoulders.

“Hinata-kun, Hinata-kun, Hinata-kun.” No response. She clears her throat and then, “Kamukura Izuru, maybe?”

A crimson eye flutters open. The glow of the iris causes the shadow beneath to look darker and heavier. The hazel eye is kept shut, but Hinata Hajime’s head raises, lips downturned.

“You are troubled.” It’s Hinata Hajime’s voice, but lower and colder. Nanami shives a little. “I can tell what plagues you. How boring.”

Nanami swallowed.

“You’re much more honest than Fa—Hinata-kun.” Even though you’re cagier, too. “So the best person to talk to about something like this is you... I think.”

“Boring.” The intonation doesn’t change. Nor does the expression. The gaze. That bores through her as it always does even when Hinata Hajime is in control. “I had predicted this. You truly are a pitiful creation, Nanami Chiaki III.”

“Mm...” Her frown deepens. “You truly are...a jerk, as Nagito says.”

Kamukura pushes himself up from the desk. With a creepily graceful motion, he brushes back his hair.

“You are hesitating, even though you have gotten this far.” That crimson eye is now piercing. “How truly dull. But very well. I suppose I should indulge you for a bit.”

She doesn’t respond to that, merely shuffling her feet awkwardly.

This is...my best bet.

“You really are desperate,” Kamukura sneers at her. “Pitiful. Pathetic. But very well. That said, I suppose I should give you a moment of pause so that you can reflect and reevaluate.”

He turns on his heel.

“Hinata Hajime does not truly understand his needs nor his desires. He really is such a wretched being. However, Komaeda Nagito is much more certain in his assertions, and he believes with abandon. Also so wretched. As for the others—boring. All of them. Their feeble minds could not hope to comprehend you in the first place. They still have not grasped my own presence.”

Nanami keeps her head ducked.

“...mm...”

“You are different from them, but also from myself. You are an anomaly. A true abomination. For that reason, I suppose there is a spark of intrigue in facilitating the routes you wish to take,” Kamukura goes on drearily. “Thus, if you truly wish to seek my perfect assistance, you may meet me in the labs. I will wait ten minutes. No more, no less.”

Just like that, Kamukura strides away, and when Nanami’s gaze finally rose, he was already gone.

Her shoulders slump.

I just...

The atmosphere was still cold, still heavy, still so unpleasant and bitter.

I want Father to be happy with me. This might...make him a little unhappy...

She can already see him reddening with anger, shouting at her for her recklessness. Hinata Hajime—didn’t like Kamukura Izuru. Even though they were one and the same body. Others felt the same. Unnerved and unsettled by Kamukura Izuru, who lurked in the shadows.

Who she knows had been utilized to bring her to life. Who she knows could fix her, as he would know what went wrong the first time.

The only person truly capable of returning that Nanami Chiaki they all lost and desired...

Nanami’s legs were shaking. She beat them a few times so that she could stumble forward. Once she was able, she broke into a sprint.

I want to give them what they truly want.

The labs are dark, and they’ve been collecting dust for a while. As everyone has woken up, there is not much use for the technology there anymore. Hinata sometimes tinkered with the machinery, as did Souda, but everyone else...tended to avoid this place.

Nanami had heard it compared to a tomb before. She never really understood why—she just knew this is the place where they woke. This was where she was born.

It really was gloomy and cold, and it got darker the deeper she delved. Eventually, she stood in the solemn room where she had been created, a little at a time. It had been cleaned up of the fluids, but there was still a rather pungent stench in the air.

Kamukura Izuru perks up, and he is accessing the monitor. The computers whirl to life, and several lines of data scroll past on the screen. Nanami turns her gaze from those codes to the pod that laid in the middle. There were many cables to step over, but when she opened it, the inside was clean save for that same scent.

She’s still trembling a little, but manages to still her hands with a squeeze of her fists.

“...will it work?” she asks, and her voice is soft enough to be swallowed by the cobwebs. “Can I really wake up as her?”

“It will be slightly more complicated,” Kamukura says airily. “I will have to strip you down of what behaviors and personality you have developed up until this point first to avoid psychological turmoil from splitting consciousness. It will be the same procedure from the Kamukura Izuru project, thus I am familiar with its workings, and even its faults which I have remedied. It will work.”

Nanami nods.

“...okay. I guess... That’s that, I think.”

She squeezes her fists again, but discards her hoodie first. She thinks idly that perhaps she should have undressed before she got here. But she likely would not have made it in ten minutes if she stopped by the medical faculty to grab one of the hospital gowns.

It doesn’t matter. She can strip here. And so she does, undoing the buttons of her blouse and letting it slip down her shoulders.

Her heart is pounding. She cannot will it to steady itself.

“You will be mourned, Nanami Chiaki III.”

She pauses. Kamukura’s voice remains cold, but clear.

“Even if her return is assured, there are those who will be dismayed at your sacrifice. Funny, I suppose, how bound to sacrifice Nanami Chiaki is. But, at least this time it is your own will.”

She blinks a couple of times. She steps out of her skirt.

“...I wasn’t supposed to exist like this in the first place,” she found herself saying, wrapping her arms around herself. There’s a cool breeze that stings her skin. Just a little. “Father didn’t want me. He—Hinata-kun wanted her. So, I think...”

Another whirl. She jumped.

“The system is ready,” Kamukura cut in, clipped. “You may now step into the pod. Once it has been closed, the procedure may proceed.”

“Understood.”

She lays down in the pod. It’s even colder there, with chilly metal and stiff cushioning. She shuts it, and hears it latch. She flinches but lies there, listening to whirling, beeping, and then a low, deafening hum. The hairs on her arms and nape are on end, and she hears her heart pounding, blood rushing in her ears. For a moment, her sight blurs and focuses. She tries to breathe and her chest nearly seizes up with the attempt.

“System start.”

Kamukura’s voice was so close that it was as if he were right behind her. She shivers even more, squeezing her eyes shut, trying to think of Hinata Hajime.

“It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s going to be okay.” Hinata squeezing her shoulders. Hinata smiling. Her Father, patting her back, gentle and reassuring. “Nanami... Nanami...”

“I just wanted to see her again.”

The pod begins to fill with fluid. Cables latch onto her, metal closing around her limps, her head, digging into her skin. She barely feels the prick. She thinks, idly, of how Hinata Hajime had also subjected himself to this willingly.

It doesn’t hurt. But it’s uncomfortable. For Hinata Hajime, it must have hurt.

She can still breathe, but she feels herself fading. Is she getting sleepy? Or is that how it’s supposed to be?

Ba-dump. Ba-dump.

“Nanami-chan, was it?” A bright smile. “Nice to meet you!”

“System booting,” Kamukura drones, dull as ever. “12%... 15%...”

Nanami tried to focus more on the machine’s drones, its whirls, its hums. Somehow, those sounds weren’t as cold nor as dull. But they still weren’t terribly welcoming. Probably.

Terribly welcoming. Sometimes—the others could be that way.

Souda had been unnerved by her. Tanaka hissed in apprehension. Tsumiki flinched at her presence, and sometimes she would cry.

Sonia would smile, Koizumi would smile, Mioda would smile, but for one reason or another, those smiles inevitably strained if not dropped completely. Just like Hinata once he realized that she wasn’t quite right.

She twitched.

“Just what the hell were you thinking, Hinata?” Kuzuryuu had demanded harshly, making him flinch. “Did you really foresee this going well?”

“I... I don’t know why it didn’t!”

She kept her eyes shut. But her body still spasmed. Still twitched, heart still jumping.

“Nanami...” Drawn into his embrace, Hinata Hajime squeezed her so tightly. “Nanami, Nanami...”

It was clear that it wasn’t her he was speaking to, that he was seeing, that he wanted to hold. Despite liking him, that situation had been—so—unbearably—uncomfortable.

“O-Oi Nagit...!”

As if the name had suddenly died in his throat, Hinata Hajime froze when Komaeda’s gaze flickered from her to him. She perked up, blinking as that easy smile shifted into a cold line.

“Nagito?” she asks, and just like that, Komaeda’s smile returns as if it never left.

“Let’s talk some more later, okay, Nanami-chan? After all, your father is calling you.”

She doesn’t have to look to know Hinata had recoiled then, too. But that word—father—hung so heavily and certainly in the air that she couldn’t help but want to cling to it.

And wasn’t that another reason Hinata Hajime was unhappy with her?

That’s right—I wanted things to be that way. But he—Hinata-kun didn’t.

That’s why—he’ll never be happy with someone like me. Someone like me...who isn’t like her in the ways that truly matter...

Ba-dump.

Ah.

Aha.

Haha.

It hurts.

Hinata-kun... Father... It hurts...

I don’t—

I don’t I don’t I don’t I don’t I don’t

Ba-dump. Ba-dump.

I’m sorry I don’t—

I don’t I don’t I don’t I don’t I don’t

It hurts.

So.

So bad.

Because of the fluid, her screams were muffled. She begins to thrash and this causes blood to be drawn. The fluid causes those wounds to sting, and she tries to scream louder.

She sees Hinata Hajime turning away from her, and she sobs. She sees Komaeda Nagito crumbling, and she cries. Her hands slam against the top of the pod when others follow suit. One after another, she wails and is silenced.

Stop! Please! I, I, I, I, I—

I don’t want to die!!

Someone...anyone...please...

Her breathing hitches sharply as it all goes completely dark.

Her eyes fly open abruptly. The pod has been opened. Something is draped over her. For a second, she can’t get her body to move, so all she can do is tremble. One. Two. Three.

Nanami jerks upright, seizing the fabric and yanking it close to cover herself. It’s just her hoodie, with the rest of her clothes neatly folded on her lap.

“So that is the state of matters.”

She blinks once, twice, and slowly turns to where Kamukura Izuru, still with the hazel eye tightly shut, is looking over the screen.

“How boring,” he says and tosses her an indifferent glance. “Well. I had expected this. From the breakdown to the damage sustained.”

“Oh...” Now that she can breathe, it feels alien and strange. “I’m still sorry. In the end, I couldn’t... Sorry.”

“So boring.”

With still quivering legs, Nanami scrambles out of the pod. She’s still shaking. She rakes her fingers through her hair, yanking at the strands until something clatters to the floor.

It’s her hairpin, slick with tainted residue. She retrieves it, and squeezes, feeling the edges bite into her palm. It stings not just there—but in several places. Her arms. Her knees. Her scalp. Her eyes.

She wipes at them, but that just makes it worse.

“That will be all,” Kamukura says coolly, shutting off the device. “You may reconsider for now, Nanami Chiaki III, but I have no interest in further musings on the matter. Approach me once more when you are certain.”

Just like that, he strides past and leaves without another word. Leaving her there alone, clinging to her clothes, her hairclip, with a shuddering body threatening to curl in on itself. Shoulders hunching, Nanami breathed once more.

Still strange. Still alien.

Still stinging, especially with how it hitched irregularly.

How irritating.

She manages to dress, but keeps the hairclip in her hand. When she finally leaves, she stands by the doorway for several seconds longer than necessary before stumbling forward with no particular destination in mind.

Somehow, she finds herself at the beach again. The sun is low in the air, ducked behind the clouds, yet still dyeing the sky with vibrant shades of violet and vermilion. There’s a light breeze. The air is warm, gentle, even, as it ruffles her hair further.

Nanami stares and stares. She remembers earlier, the last time she was on the beach, and then, she wonders what else she remembers.

Was there anything I forgot? Anything at all?

Her eyes squeeze shut as she tries to think.

She remembers her creator’s face—and the faces of everyone else. She even remembers the faces they made at the original Nanami Chiaki.

“Ah. Hah.” Nanami sucks in her breath. “I don’t think I’ve forgotten anything. That’s...”

Her grip on the hairclip is tightening, to the point it might just make her bleed again.

“That’s good...isn’t it? It’s good, I think. I remember... I remember...”

Ba-dump.

With a sudden, sharp, violent lurch, Nanami flung the hairclip forward. She doesn’t see it hit the surface of the water, and she doesn’t hear it make a splash, but she knows almost instinctively that it flew far.

Nanami was left there panting, trembling from before, still stinging all over from everything. Inside. Outside. It hurt all over. Her palms dug into her eyes.

“...fuck,” she sobbed as she crumbled to her knees. “Fuck...!”

The waves roll and recede, the ocean unchanging, unmoved by the display. Nanami wipes off her eyes, over and over with her sleeves. And it just gets worse.

...father...

She pushes herself back to her feet.

Father...

She stumbles forward, into the water.

I...!

She tumbles, and this time, it definitely makes a splash she can register.

Once again, Nanami Chiaki III wakes up after a most disgraceful display. This time however, she is being cradled in someone’s arms.

“Nanami-chan...?! Hey, can you hear me?!”

She blinks once. Twice. Her eyes feel dry and crusted. And they still sting.

“Na...gito...” The syllables tumble out like mush. It hurts. Even craning her head hurts. “Nagito...”

Komaeda lets out a sigh of relief.

“Aha... How lucky... I really was scared that you drowned, Nanami-chan. Let’s get you to Tsumiki-san now. Right away.”

He helps her to her feet. Her legs tremble so he steadies her, but he clearly struggles with it.

“Aha, sorry, sorry,” he murmurs. “I guess I shouldn’t skip the morning workouts with Nidai-kun and Owari-san.”

“...mm...” Thoughtlessly, Nanami still clings to him a little more. “Nagito...”

“Can you walk on your own?”

She nods dully.

“Yeah... I think so.”

“Don’t hesitate to use me as a crutch if you need to. Meager as I am, I think I can do this much.” Komaeda’s smiling reassuringly. As always. As usual. “Alright, Nanami-chan?”

Nanami combs her fingers through her hair. When she realizes, she freezes up. She pats her hair down, shivering a little, taking a sharp intake of breath.

“Oh. Right.”

And just like that, Komaeda rustles into his pocket and pulls out the hairclip. He pins it into her hair, allowing her to relax.

“There we are,” Komaeda says lightly, like it’s no big deal. Nanami blinks up at him, and then, her head hangs. “Mm? Nanami-chan?”

“...he’s going to be angry at me.” She sighs, and can’t help but laugh mirthlessly. “He’s definitely going to be angry, isn’t he?”

“Hah.” Komaeda sighs too, shaking his head. “Goodness, Hinata-kun really is bad about fixing his messes, isn’t he? He causes so much trouble. No wonder we didn’t work out, aha.”

There was nothing to say to that.

“Nanami-chan.”

Komaeda pats her head.

“I can go with you, if you’d like? Would that help?”

She does perk, at that.

“Is that...really okay? It’s been a while since you two spoke, right, Nagito...?” Her frown deepened. “Hinata-kun’s face—is going to be really twisted. Really sad. Because... Kamukura Izuru...”

“Kamukura-kun?”

“...”

Her mouth shuts. Komaeda’s head tilts, but he quickly smiles. Without a worry.

“Nanami-chan.” He offers his hand. “Let’s go together, alright?”

“All...right...”

Tentatively, she takes his hand. She squeezes it tight. Her eyes sting.

“Nagito,” she says, almost whispers. “Am I okay?”

“You’re fine, Nanami-chan.”

He squeezes her hand in return.

“Just fine. Except we really should get you checked by Tsumiki-san. Just in case.”

“M...Mm...” She nods shakily. “R-Right...”

Afterwards, Hinata Hajime squeezed her so tightly it was suffocating.

“Nanami...! Oh, Nanami...” He was trembling. “I’m sorry...! I’m so...so sorry...! I’m sorry...”

She didn’t really know what he was apologizing for, but she could probably make an educated guess, she supposed. Tentatively, she embraces him in return.

“...father...”

This time, Hinata Hajime doesn’t retort. He just keeps holding her, and he just keeps shaking. She can feel Komaeda’s cool gaze on both of them, but for now, she buries her face into Hinata’s shoulder.

“I’m so sorry, Nanami.”

If you’re apologizing for Kamukura Izuru, don’t bother, she thinks. Really, I should be thanking him.

“Father.”

Hinata Hajime pets her hair and for once, she feels content.

#chiaki nanami #nanami chiaki #nagito komaeda #hajime hinata #izuru kamukura #mahiru koizumi #Magi fics #sdr2 spoilers #dr3 spoilers #KomaHinaNami #I guess???#It's super platonic because otherwise would be creepy lol #this is so indulgent why are my fics so indulgent #(it's because they're fics magi)

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