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queenie-ofthe-void · 2 months ago

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The Babysitter Chronicles - Mayfield pt 2

Steve POV 5+1 (immediately follows s2) || wc: 1.9k || cws: check tags || full fic ao3

Henderson || Mayfield pt 1 / Mayfield pt 2 || Sinclair || Wheeler || Byers || +1 Hopper

Steve’s standing in the middle of the driveway, just out of sight of the windows, when the deep rumble of a car engine rips down the street. Nausea floods his throat and he swallows against the taste of bile on the back of his tongue. The blue Camaro flies up the driveway, and Steve wills every muscle in his legs to stand his ground when it parks just before bumping against his knees.

Max sits frozen in the passenger seat, staring at Steve like she’s seen a ghost. Before he can move toward her side of the car, Billy’s slamming the door behind him, barreling towards Steve with a familiar manic grin on his face. Yet even with a smile as big and bright as that, there’s no light in Billy Hargrove’s eyes. Just a blank emptiness with a tint of rage.

“Well if it isn’t Steve goddamn Harrington!” Billy cackles, crowding in so close that Steve can feel the wet heat from his breath. He reeks of stale cigarettes like the inside of the house, a smell that’s most likely permanently soaked into his denim jacket. “Don’t look so much like a King anymore.”

This is the version of Billy that Steve can deal with. All loud, over the top showmanship, acting like the biggest asshole in the room. This is the version of Billy that Steve has coped with at school everyday since September, and in a way it’s a reflection of who he used to be. Except when Steve’s layers of bullshit were peeled away, he found someone who actually cares, willing to die to save the people around him.

When everyone saw the core of Billy Hargrove exposed in the Byers’ house, all that was left was a monster. Cold, hollow, and deadly, uncaring in a way Steve’s only seen in his father when he had a full bottle of scotch.

Steve knows he has a long way to distance himself from the King Steve moniker, but he knows for a fact he’s not Billy Hargrove, and certainly not his father. One step at a time is another step away from turning into a monster.

He clears his throat. “I never was,” Steve replies. Even if everyone else saw him as King Steve, he sure as shit never did. Never wants to be again.

Billy smirks, but before he can respond, they hear a second car door slam closed. In his periphery, Steve can see Max storm towards them. She shouts, and the boy in front of Steve flinches at the snap in her voice. “I told you to leave him alone.”

He sneers at Steve before reluctantly taking a step backwards, and Steve feels like he can breathe again. Max stands next to him, so close that her arm brushes his elbow. Tension radiates from her like a pulled rubber band even though her command was sturdy and strong. It’s all just another sick reminder of how much these kids have to deal with on top of interdimensional monsters.

“Aww, come on Maxine,” Billy jeers, “King Steve and I were just having a friendly chat, man to man. Something you wouldn’t understand.”

“You aren’t friends,” she snaps back.

It’s just then Steve hears the front screen door close, Mrs. Hargrove’s voice calling out, “alright I’ve got my home and work contact info filled out, along with my work address and–” but Steve watches her pause and take in the sight before her. She moves closer and Billy’s entire demeanor changes. He moves his hands behind his back, legs spread in a military stance, as he softens the muscles in his face almost like he’s hiding himself. Another thing Steve wishes they didn’t have in common.

“What’s going on, Susan?” Billy asks, his voice laced with false sweetness. He gestures at Steve, and he feels all three sets of eyes on him at once. Mrs. Hargrove approaches slowly, standing at the point of Billy and Steve’s fucked up triangle, with Max still plastered to his side. Mrs. Hargrove hands Steve the note paper and Billy tracks it as Steve shoves it in his back pocket.

“Well,” Mrs. Hargrove draws the word out, assessing the situation, “Steve here came by asking to be Max’s new babysitter.”

“What?” Max and Billy ask simultaneously, turning towards her. Max’s eyes are bright with guarded hope, while Billy appears slightly panicked under his casual charade.

“That’s not possible,” Billy says. “I’m Max’s babysitter, Susan. That’s the way my dad wants it, and we don’t need some strange, older boy like Steve hanging around Maxine.” The implication leaves Steve disgusted, choking back the rising bile in his throat. Sharp points of pain bloom across his wrist as Max’s nails dig into him in a poorly concealed panic.

“Billy, if Steve starts watching Max before and after school, then you’ll have less to worry about.”

“No. No, Susan, if my dad wants me to watch Max, then that’s what’s going to happen.” Billy’s facade is starting to crack around the edges, and as he takes a step, the two girls step back, Max pulling Steve along with her. The careful choreography is keeping Steve on his toes. “How does dear old dad feel about this idea?”

He smiles wide again, the cat who got the canary. Steve sees the fight leave Mrs. Hargrove’s eyes as she glances towards the cold cement driveway, shoulders hiked up to her ears in defeat. Max’s grip on his wrist tightens again. He’s assuming he’ll find little bruises there in the morning.

He’ll bear whatever bruises he needs to for these kids. Confronting Billy, taking the hits, it’s all worth it if he can spend every day knowing exactly where all of his kids are. And that sure as hell includes Max.

“What do you want, Billy?” Steve asks.

He scoffs, “what do I want?”

“Yeah,” Steve bitches back, “that’s what I said. Maybe my hits landed harder than I thought, because apparently you’re deaf now.” At school, this is the part where the people crowding him would laugh, back him up. Here in the Hargrove’s driveway, no one’s laughing. “I asked you, what do you want?”

He’s surprised when Billy snaps his mouth shut, seeming to take the offer seriously. After a few moments, he smirks again. “Alright, Harrington. You win. You can take little Maxine here off my hands. But I want your spot on the team, and I want to be captain.”

“Done.” Steve says.

Steve hasn’t been to school yet to tell the coach he’s dropping out. Once he turns in his doctor’s note, the coach won’t have anything to argue against. But he figures Billy doesn’t need to know that. It seems Mrs. Hargrove’s caught the same cue, as she side eye’s Steve but doesn’t say anything.

Billy’s staring at him, lips parted in shock. Leaving him speechless feels like a minor accomplishment. “And I still want my allowance, same as if I’m still watching her.”

“Done.” Mrs. Hargrove and Steve reply in unison. Billy looks back and forth between Max and Steve, a complicated expression passes behind his eyes Steve can’t quite place, something close to remorse. It’s gone before Steve can puzzle it out, replaced with his usual facade.

“Max, get your shit out of my back seat.” He’s still smiling, but his voice is a cold void. She runs back to the car, ripping the passenger front and back door open. As she does, Billy storms off into the house and Mrs. Hargrove timidly watches him go, then turns back to Steve.

She crouches down to look her daughter in the eye, and Steve’s struck with how similar they appear with the same burning red hair, orange freckles. Max seems to soften slightly under her mother’s gaze, but she’s still holding herself strong and straight like Billy’s out here next to her. It sets Steve’s teeth on edge. He remembers learning at a similar age that his mom is just a person, a woman capable of mistakes instead of an all powerful Mom all kids think they have as a parent. He also thinks maybe kids should get to believe that longer than him and Max got to.

They work out the details, making sure Max has enough clothes in her backpack, along with her skateboard and homework, so she can stay the night at Steve’s. He’ll drop her at school in the morning, along with Henderson, and that’s two more kids he knows are safe.

The car ride to his place is quiet, radio volume on low. Max is fidgeting with the strap on the backpack on her lap, and Steve doesn’t know whether he should poke and prod, or let her come to him. In the end, he doesn’t have to wait long.

“You shouldn’t have done that.”

He hums. “Done what?”

“Given up basketball, being captain, just to– I don’t know. Be a babysitter. Especially my babysitter. It’s not like I need one.”

Warmth fills him up at the familiarity her words strike in him. He’ll prove to her how wrong she is eventually. How she’s a kid worth babysitting.

“Max, I already gave up the spot. Just haven’t told the coach yet.”

He doesn’t glance over to her when she turns, eyes focused on the road. Still, he can hear the smile in her voice, “but Billy–”

“Yeah,” Steve laughs, “he would’ve gotten it anyway.

She scoffs, delighted and surprised.

“Is this something you’re ok with?” He asks, only kind of afraid of the answer. “I should’ve asked you sooner, if you’re ok with me–”

“Totally,” she cuts him off, still smiling.

“And the whole, King Steve thing, doesn’t bother you?” He thinks about everything Dustin’s made passing comments about. How Mike throws it in his face at every opportunity and how he knows it’s all Jonathan and Nancy seem to see in him. How obsessed Billy was with him for so long, and that Max spends more time with all of them than anyone. When it comes right down to it, she barely knows Steve, yet is probably equipped with enough stories to make her own guesses.

They ride the rest of the way in silence, waiting for an answer that doesn’t come until they’re parked in his empty driveway. When he finally turns to face her, Max’s eyes are earnest and clear, illuminated by the conviction on her brow.

“‘King Steve’ sounds like a stupid nickname,” she snarks. There’s fondness in her tone, and he smiles back at her. “I think I’ll just call you Steve until I can think of something better.”

A weight so heavy is lifted from his shoulders in that moment that he almost cries from the relief. He tips his head back to keep the overwhelming emotions contained just a little bit longer, and he laughs wetly to release some of the uncontained joy.

“Is a nickname like Random Girl any better?”

She giggles, small and easy. “We’ll work on it.” And as she grabs her stuff from the back and makes her way towards the front door, Steve realizes they’ve got all the time in the world to work on it. Together.

~~~

I'm really enjoying this series, and this section in particular! I'm such a sucker for Steve and Max. <3 <3

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ivyprism · 6 months ago

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It's a Curse to be a Seer (Tenebrous Sona Backstory)

Trigger Warning: Mention/implied physical abuse, slight emotional abuse, exploiting of child's future sight, unwanted engagement, visions of death, seeing the future, mention of cheating and fire (brief), self-blame, mentions of death, neglect, emotional neglect, etc.

This may be a bit heavy for some readers.

There is a POV from first to second after a while. Just a warning!

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"They claim that being Oriana's favorite is a blessing…. However, it's more of a curse. Seers throughout history have been known to lose their wits, their lives, or even their souls. Many claim that Seers are never reincarnated and never return to Ila's warm embrace… Never allowed to transform into someone other than Oriana's favorite.0

I didn't realize I was one of them until I was 10. When I accurately saved my uncle from death.

"Uncle," I had said. I didn't think, my mind racing with ideas as I glanced at him. "If you go to the harbor today, you will die." As ominous as it sounded, it terrified my Uncle so greatly that he chose to stay at home rather than go when we had learned the ship he was meant to board was raided and nary a handful of people survived.

My folks, unsurprisingly, were scared. They'd ask me how I knew it and what I'd done, but I couldn't respond appropriately at the time. I've had these visions for so many years that I can't recall my life without them. I'd foresee life, death, love, and loss in a multitude of ways. Of course, my parents weren't sure that telling my Uncle to stay wasn't a coincidence.

That is until I began consistently predicting events accurately. My parents would dismiss them as childish asides.

"The forest catches horribly on fire and the village burnt to ash." In no uncertain terms, a forest had burned down, as had the village.

"The duchess is cheating on her husband with a baron." That very day, the duchess decided to leave her husband for a baron gentleman.

After receiving so many of these predictions, my parents knew I was one of Oriana's favorites, a Seer and it scared them. My mother was in grief and my father had used me. My mother would grieve every night knowing I was a seer as if I had died and my father had started using me for political purposes. He'd have me predict things, gaze so far into the future that it hurt, and punish me if I didn't tell him even the smallest of details.

My father also exploited it to increase his political position. He would show me off like I was a jewel he had found.

"My daughter is a seer!" "She is a blessed of Oriana." "She will bring us a bright future."

He'd say. He would show me off, offer to marry me off, and assure me that I would have the best of futures. My mother never looked at me and never held me. I had to fend for myself and learn how to cope all on my own. My parents never comforted me, never was there, and I suffered.

They never hugged me or comforted me. But, I understood, my father felt that the praise I received would compensate….But it did not. I didn't want hollow compliments, classmates who merely wanted to use me, or being taken advantage of for a present I hadn't asked for.

People called it a blessing, but I saw it as a curse. A curse that would prevent me from developing meaningful friendships, finding true love, or experiencing bliss… I resented Oriana for it. I did not ask to be cursed in this fashion. I resented what she had done. As I grew, the visions became sharper, my father's political position expanded, and the distance widened. A wedge formed, never to be filled again.

That was when my father introduced me to my fiancé… And I knew I'd have an unpleasant life with him, so I turned him down… My father became upset and demanded to know why. When I tried to explain, he would stop me and say I "had an obligation to this family." He didn't care whether I was pleased in my marriage or not. I still resisted, and it was the first time my father hit me.

"Ungrateful girl!" "You owe me this!"

He had said, but all I heard was ringing and all I felt was pain. I heard my mother start screaming at my father for what he had done. She had held me for the first time, attempting to console me and wipe away the tears that had already begun to flow. My mother held me for the first time in a long time, and my father hit me for the first time.

My mother attempted to make amends for what she had done, her neglect, and the way they had treated me. But my head was numb, and I couldn't hear anything she said… When my mother started painting alongside me and teaching me, I became interested in it. I had a natural ability for it. How I hoped that was my sole talent.

My father hated me, my mother tried to make up for it, and I was always in pain. My heart hurt as much as my SOUL did. My father's hatred bled into every move he made.

That was when the visions began. Visions of my own death began to plague me. Everything struck me, every time, every nightmare. I was terrified of storms, and my father eventually sent me away. He directed me to the Royal Family of Tenebrous, where I met the princes and the monarch. I was scared of the youngest, Morte. The one who was always killing me in my visions, but he was so nice, and I had become his friend.

That's when we met Hesper, and she was the one who would assure my death in my visions, but we all became good friends… I had hoped it would endure forever, but Morte snapped and sent the universe crashing down with his anger. The deities had stolen me, and I had never seen them again. I do portraits now, at least. I do what I enjoy, yet I am continually haunted by my impending futures.

I blame myself for not doing more. For not preventing what would happen... It's a curse to be a seer."

You draw your hand back as the journal draws to a close. Your heart aches when you check the author's name: Hepatica.

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flyawaymind · 2 years ago

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Encanto AU idea

Notes: Yes, I am still thinking about Encanto. It is a big comfort movie for me, and the characters (especially Bruno) are good for projecting onto, and I don’t think I will ever stop thinking about any of them.

You should know that this is nothing like what I usually write for this fandom, even though this is the only thing I feel is ready to post. I believe that all of the characters are flawed, and that even though Alma loves her family, her trauma influences her actions and that leads to her making many mistakes. I don’t believe for even a second that any of the adults in the movie are abusive or bad parents/tíos, and none of what I’ve written here is actually part of my headcanon for them. This idea was just too much to stay in my head, so I’m dropping it here. It’s also on AO3.

READ THE WARNINGS. This isn’t a happy one, folks.

Content warnings and tags: angst; so much angst; implied/referenced child neglect; implied referenced child abuse; good dad Agustín Madrigal; good tío Bruno Madrigal; bad tío Félix Madrigal; bad tía Pepa Madrigal; bad mom Julieta Madrigal; bad abuela Alma Madrigal; traumatized Alma Madrigal; traumatized Julieta Madrigal; traumatized Bruno Madrigal; black and white thinking; insecure Julieta Madrigal; insecure Bruno Madrigal; Bruno Madrigal leaves after Mirabel’s gift ceremony, Alma Madrigal Bashing, angry Bruno Madrigal, angry Agustín Madrigal

Mirabel’s ceremony stays the same. She touches the doorknob, the magic door disappears, the candle flickers, making Alma panic and ask Bruno for a vision. He sees Casita crumbling, his family in danger, and Mirabel at the center of it all, and the only thing he can think of to keep her safe is to go hide in the walls to watch his family from afar.

This is where things go wrong. Maybe he makes too much noise, or doesn't close the painting all the way, or gets caught getting food at night. Maybe he does everything right, but Dolores tells the family about how she’s been hearing something in the walls, something bigger than a rat.

Whatever happens, Bruno is found not long after the failed ceremony, and subsequently the family learns what he saw in the vision. It goes even worse than he had expected it to, starting with this: Alma takes the fact that Bruno tried to hide this from her as proof that Mirabel is already tearing the family apart.

Bruno tries to tell her that she’s wrong, but Alma is scared, traumatized, and she has been spending forty years protecting her home and her family. She isn’t about to risk losing it all again. Instead, she doubles down, saying that Mirabel is dangerous, that she can no longer be trusted.

Agustín thinks that the whole idea is ridiculous. He can’t believe that they were even having this discussion. His youngest daughter has been absolutely distraught about everything that’s happened, and Agustín can’t make himself believe that she would ever hurt her family. He fully expects Julieta to back him on this; after all, she’s been right there with him comforting Mirabel in the aftermath of her ceremony. He’s more than shocked when she quietly tells him that her mother might be right.

Julieta has always carried a huge weight, and it was placed on her shoulders when she was the same age Mirabel is right now. No doctors had followed Alma and Pedro into the jungle. Before the triplets got their Gifts, the town just made do. For thirty-five years Julieta has been the only thing standing between the entire Encanto and medical disaster. She has spent all of her life around the sick and dying, has seen all sorts of horrific injuries. If something happened to the miracle, if she isn’t able to heal everyone anymore, how long will it take for them all to just die off? Part of her knows her reasoning is illogical at best, but fear and shame are powerful motivators, and her mother has been wielding them against Julieta her whole life.

Stunned, Agustín turns to Félix, believing that surely the other Madrigal in-law would see that this was wrong—but Félix shakes his head.

“The Encanto needs the magic,” he tells his cuñado, “It’s the foundation of the whole area. Who knows if the land will even hold up without it?”

He sounds so sad as he says it, like he’s already mourning the loss of the youngest Madrigal. As though there is no avoiding what is about to happen.

Pepa is practically tearing her hair out as she runs her hands down her braid, trying to keep the hail and freezing rain that is buffeting her shoulders from affecting the rest of the room. She doesn’t want to lose any of her family, but she has known Bruno for longer than Mirabel has been alive. He and Julieta are her triplets, three parts of a whole, and if she has to choose between them and her niece, her siblings will always come out on top. Still, she thinks of her little Camilo, not even a year older than Mirabel.

“Maybe there’s a way to change the prophecy, change the future,” she says, “Maybe there’s something less extreme that we can do to stop Mirabel from destroying everything.”

She can’t meet anyone’s eyes, and voice is weak and shaky. It’s clear that she doesn’t believe what she’s saying. Not even Félix can bring himself to support her argument, though he wraps a comforting arm around her waist.

“No,” Alma says, voice sharp and cold as a blade. “All of Bruno’s visions come true. All of them. We must deal with this problem now, before it can take root.”

It’s two against four. Desperate, Agustín turns again to Bruno, pleading with him to find a solution. “Hermano, I know your visions aren’t always clear. There must be some loophole, maybe some detail that you missed?”

Here’s the thing: although the stakes have never been this personal, this argument isn’t new to Bruno. In the past his mamá has used his visions to dole out punishments well before any crime was committed, and Bruno knows word for word how the fight will go, so he tries a different approach. If he can’t change their minds, maybe he can at least make sure his sobrina isn’t punished too harshly for what he had seen. Maybe he can still keep her safe, or at least, safer.

“What are you even planning to do?” he asks his mother, “You can’t just kick a little girl out on the streets, especially not your own granddaughter. Even aside from how cruel that would be, there’s no way she would be able to survive on her own, and none of the villagers would be willing to help her, not if it meant going against you.”

This is what finally makes Julieta speak up.

“Surely Mamá isn’t thinking about kicking Mirabel out entirely,” she says. “Maybe we can just keep her isolated until the danger is past. Casita can make a new room for her. The Mirabel in the vision was a teenager, no more than sixteen at the most. I would rather spend a decade or so with my daughter locked away under the same roof than a lifetime without knowing where she is.”

Alma rests a gentle hand on Julieta’s shoulder. “I understand your concerns,” she tells her. “The love of a mother is a powerful thing. But you cannot allow your own selfishness to bring harm upon the miracle. As Félix said, there are many more lives at risk here than just our family. The needs of the many must outweigh the needs of the one. This is no different than separating a contagious person from others to keep the disease from spreading.”

Julieta doesn’t have a counter argument for that, and the tiny spark of rebellion in her eyes goes out before it can catch flame. She closes in on herself and cries quietly, muffling the sobs in one hand and using the other to grip Agustín too tightly for him to pull away. She doesn’t notice that he isn’t holding her hand in return.

“This isn’t a disease they’re talking about,” Bruno says, desperate to make his family see sense. “She’s a little girl, barely five years old, who is just as scared as we are. It was her door that faded away, after all, and she isn’t even old enough to comprehend the potential ramifications, let alone bring down the whole Encanto.” His voice is shaking with barely contained rage and old hurt as he continues. “Mirabel isn’t some kind of curse. She isn’t bad luck and shouldn’t be shunned because of a bad vision. She’s just a child, just a kid. She’s done nothing to deserve any of this. It’s not like she can create the future.”

The argument goes on as emotions become more and more fraught, each person trying to speak over the others. Each person except Alma, that is. She hasn’t taken her eyes off of her son, and after a few moments she raises her hand. The gesture is enough to make everyone fall silent once more.

“Bruno is right,” she says, and Agustin lets out a sob of relief. “The jungle is too dangerous for a young child, and although the future is unavoidable, Mirabel isn’t the one who set it in stone. That is why Bruno will go with her.”

The response is immediate and loud. Pepa and Julieta argue that there has to be another way, that they can’t lose their little brother again. The short time he spent in the walls was painful enough.

Agustín is yelling, swearing, asking how Alma can banish two members of her own family, her own son and granddaughter, based on something that won’t even happen for another ten years.

Félix is quiet, but he has turned to glare at Bruno, as though this was just a repeat of his and Pepa’s wedding, as though the prophet wasn’t one of the only people trying to stop this in the first place.

Bruno has gone pale, his breath knocked out of him by his mother’s words and the clear message between the lines. His mother believed that he was to blame for his niece’s future, for the potential downfall of the family and the miracle, and so he would be punished along with Mirabel. Somewhere under the shock and hurt, Bruno feels a little bit of relief. At least he knew what she thought of him, now. At least she wasn’t pretending to care for him anymore. No more masks, no more condemnation thinly disguised as encouragement. He hears himself speak as though through a long tunnel.

“Fine,” he says, the single word cutting through the noise. “If all of you are willing to let your fear rule your actions, then Mirabel is no longer safe in Casita. I always swore I’d never let any of the kids turn out like me, and if I have to protect Mirabel from our own family, then I will. Clearly neither of us are welcome in Encanto anymore, but I’ll be damned if I let Mirabel go out there on her own.”

Agustín tears himself away from Julieta and clings to Bruno, pleading with him not to take his daughter away, to wait a day, to give everyone a chance to come to their senses, or to at least let Agustín leave with them. Bruno’s ceyes are sad as he brushes off his cuñado’s hands.

“You have to stay here,” he says.

He doesn’t tell Agustín that the others could turn on any of the other kids just as quickly as they have turned on him and Mirabel. He doesn’t say that they can’t take them all, that they’ll never make it past the mountains with so many children and so few adults. He doesn’t say that the rest of the kids need at least one person in their corner, should something like this ever happen again. He doesn’t need to say any of it. Under the shock and panic and heartache, Agustín already knows that he has to let this happen, to let the man he thinks of as a brother leave with his youngest daughter. He knows, and it hurts him all the more.

There are a few more weak protests from Julieta and Pepa, but the decision has been made. Bruno and Agustín go to Dolores’s room, where all of the children had been sent so they wouldn’t hear the arguing. Agustín begins to cry when he takes in the way they’re all curled up together, with Mirabel right in the middle of the pile. The sound wakes Dolores from her light sleep, and her movement wakes the other kids, like a little line of sleepy dominoes.

Bruno isn’t doing much better than his cuñado, but he gives a watery smile as he informs the kids that he and Mirabel need to leave the Encanto. No, he isn’t sure how long. No, no one else is going with them. No, this isn’t because of anything that any of the kids had done. No, he isn’t sure when they’re coming back.

“Sometimes grown-ups make bad choices,” he tells them, barely disguising the bitterness in his voice. “It’s better for me and Mirabel if we go, to put some space between us and the Encanto.”

Dolores speaks up for the first time that night, even before she had been sent to bed with the others. “Will you be careful, Tío?” she asks, “Will you protect her?”

Bruno swallows against the lump in his throat, wonders if her room is as soundproof for her as it is for everyone else. “Lola, I swear that I’m going to do everything I can to keep her safe. To keep us both safe.”

By now all of the kids are crying, confused and scared. They’ve never seen Agustín so upset, have never seen him cry like this, no matter how badly he’s gotten hurt. Isabela, Luisa, and Mirabel are clinging to each other, and even though Camilo is held tight in Dolores’s lap, he has one little fist clenched in Mirabel’s dress. Agustín kneels down to detangle his daughter and pull her away, giving her one last tight hug and a kiss. For a long moment he just keeps her close, breathing her in, petting her hair, feeling her weight in his arms, trying to cement everything about his little girl in his memory. She is trying so hard to be brave, but he can see the way tears are rolling down her cheeks and how her bottom lip is trembling. Through it all, she pats his cheek.

“Don’t be scared,” she tells him, “Tio Bruno is really nice, and we’ll be back home before you know it, okay?”

It’s the same thing that he and Julieta tell their daughters whenever they don’t want to go to school, to reassure them that their teachers are kind and that at the end of the day the girls would come back home. Agustín clutches Mirabel to his chest and sobs into her hair, his whole frame shaking. He feels a hand on his shoulder and desperately turns away, but Bruno moves with him and gently lifts Mirabel from his arms. The prophet is crying now, too, but for Mirabel’s sake he still clings to a brittle smile.

“I’ll take good care of her, Gus,” he says, “And hey, Mira and I will try to write as soon as we get settled, okay? Let you know all the news from our new place.”

Agustín nods and does his best to paste on a smile, but both men know that even if they found a way to get a letter back to Encanto, Alma would never allow it to reach the rest of the family.

They make sure each of the other kids says goodbye to Mirabel before leaving the room to find Julieta and Alma in the courtyard with two old suitcases. Agustín ignores them, instead going straight into the kitchen for the strongest bottle of alcohol he can find. It doesn’t escape his notice that although Julieta looks worried and upset, neither of the women are crying.

Bruno won’t let go of Mirabel, so Julieta has to awkwardly hug them both goodbye at once, her brother tense and angry in her arms. He refuses to let Alma come anywhere near them, even to say goodbye, and rejects Julieta’s help as he uses an old blanket to tie a still-sleepy Mirabel to his back so he can pick up the suitcases. Leaving his mother and sister with one last withering glare, Bruno walks out the door, forcing himself not to look back as he and Mirabel leave the warmth of Casita and go out into the night.

He hopes that by leaving the valley, he can break the prophecy and change the future. He hopes that Mirabel never has to step into this town again, but if the vision holds, he hopes the death of the miracle tears this place to the ground. If she does come back at some point, he will make sure he’s right beside her, keeping her safe.

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cupcakeslushie · 6 months ago

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NEW AU MASTERPOST!

Hello everyone! Here's a shiny new masterpost for my page!

Frequently asked questions (brushes, program I use, ect)

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My DTIYS!

NOTE! None of my AUs are based of existing fanfic! They are only created from my own artwork and replies to asks!

EMPYREAN WEEPING AU (EW AU)

My biggest Rise AU Where the boys were raised separately. Donnie stayed in Draxum's care. While Splinter lost Leo and Mikey-Leo going to the Foot Clan, and Mikey to Big Mama, only able to keep Raphael from getting taken.

Warnings: Child abuse ranging from straight-up torture and manipulation to neglect, experimentation, mental illness. Please be mindful, and see each post for specific tags

Feral Leo AU

My Feral Leo Au in which time in the Prison Dimension moved much faster for Leo. By the time the boys can get him out, Leo has spent three years alone with the Krang, and doesn't even recognize them.

Warnings: Torture, Unspecified eating disorder, mental health issues, dehumanization, torture, body horror, brainwashing

Kendratello AU

Kendra kidnaps Donnie. Using some fancy mysterious tech, she messes with his memories of his family and brainwashes him into thinking he's better off being by her side.

WARNINGS: brainwashing, ableism, dubious consent/implied SA, abuse, unspecified eating disorders, obsession, mental breaks.

-READ AT YOUR OWN RISK OR BLOCK THE "KENDRATELLO AU" TAG-

Donnie Brainworm AU (hard hiatus)

Karai lures Donnie into her trap first in the Fourfold Trap, but what if she used the extra time to implant him with a brainworm? The brothers have to try to race against a ticking clock to save a brother who now hates them.

Warnings: Warnings: brainwashing, neglect/abuse (not real, but perceived as the truth)

*just a note, this AU hasn't been updated since Jan 2024 and will probably not be updated for some time still, if at all. I hate to say never because I could get a burst of inspiration tomorrow, but just something to be aware of before you click!

#rottmnt #ask slushie #rise of the tmnt #rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #separated au #rottmnt separated au #feral leo au #kendratello au #slushie masterpost #rottmnt au masterpost

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star-sim · 10 months ago

Text

my love (mine all mine) ☆ jake sim

☆ non-idol! jake x fem! reader ☆ summary: after years of abuse, jake is afraid of love, so why do you have to be so warm? ☆ genre: angst, hurt/comfort, fluff, implied adult! au, very domestic ☆ warning(s)? domestic violence and abuse, poor parenting, 1 mention of self harm, implied mention of suicide, kinda indulgent sorry ☆ word count: 1.5k

The earliest memory that Jake had was the sound of porcelain plates crashing against the tiled kitchen floor, and the wails of his mother.

For a period of time, it was all that he could remember: going home to a cold house, hand-in-hand with his older brother, his heart pounding in his chest as his young mind wondered if Dad was going to hurt Mom again, or if they'd go back to loving each other tonight.

He couldn't have been any older than nine when he experienced the wrath of his father first-hand, when he came to school in May wearing a long-sleeve shirt and long pants as if the early-summer weather wasn't rising, the scent of citrus filling the air. Sure, the bruises, and later scars (because of course, his father just had to try to stab him with a broken beer bottle), hurt, but nothing would compare to the silence that rang through the house after a screaming match. It would pierce his ears every single time, so loud that it was deafening, yet so silent that Jake could hear every single breath that his mother took as she pulled at her hair, driving blades into her skin, ignoring the quiet rumble of her child's stomach.

He'd gone to bed hungry many times. Too many times.

But, perhaps the worst memory that Jake had was the morning after his seventeenth birthday. Jake spent his birthday outside the house, not wanting to be suffocated by the taste of salty tears and domestic violence in the air. He came back late, much later than he should have.

Thank god, neither of his parents were home, and his brother was already off to college by then. When they weren't screaming at each other, physically assaulting their son, or neglecting him, his parents were either off to work, or hanging out with their sketchy friends, drinking all of their responsibilities (like their children) away like nothing else mattered.

Or so he thought.

Because the next thing he knew, his mother was shrieking at him, hitting him with the same hands that should have been cradling his face. And when his bastard of a father heard the commotion, it was almost like he was excited, excited to have an excuse to put his son in a chokehold. It seemed like the only time that his parents wanted to agree with each other was when they could hurt him.

As his lungs closed in on him, his choked breaths gasping for air while Jake tried to pry his father's hands off his neck, he felt light-headed, a fuzzy feeling filling his head until his body lost all its strength.

Jake swore that he would have died that night, if it weren't for the barks of the family dog.

If his perception of family, love, and marriage wasn't already warped, that early morning of his seventeenth birthday did.

He vowed to himself then and there, that he would never get married, nor would he ever start a family.

Yet, as you held him in your arms, enveloping him with warmth as hot tears streamed down his face, Jake could feel all his resolve slipping away.

Indeed, his vow held up. It held up all throughout college and for years into his adulthood. He became known as the "single friend," the friend that was always the designated driver because he'd rather die than consume a drop of alcohol.

But then you pranced your way into his life.

You, with your beautiful face. You, with the brightest smile that he'd ever seen. You, with the softest, most gentle touch.

When you wrapped your arms around his torso, pressing tender kisses against the nape of his neck as you giggled a soft,"I love you," Jake's heart pummeled to his stomach.

It was suffocating.

His hands were clammy, so moist with sweat that he had to wipe his palms on his jeans. His chest would pound, loud enough for it to be the only sound filling his ears. His stomach twisted, a hot coil curling in his abdomen. It was nauseating.

But the worst was what he felt in his throat.

Something wicked— Something overwhelming and painful— clambered up his throat. It wrapped itself around his neck, pulling tight like the noose his mother threatened to put around her own neck. When it crawled up to his mouth, Jake nearly threw it up. He tried to swallow it down, but he gagged.

And it was already too late.

He'd already muttered the words, "I love you, too" back.

Love was terrifying. If he loved, what would happen? Would he get married, and enter a life of pure misery?

And what if he had kids?

When Jake was angry and he looked in the mirror, he hated the way that all he saw was his father's eyes staring back at him. His mother always told him that he looked like his father anyway.

Jake knew he wouldn't. He would never lay a finger on another person, let alone his own kin. But as days and years passed, his voice only sounded more and more like his own father's. He couldn't help the way his expressions scarily resembled his mother's, the same ones that he'd seen contort into fear, wrath, and indifference.

But here he was.

In the dark, his face was buried in your shoulder, the same ones that he'd kissed. You patted his back as he let out sobs, wet and salty tears wetting your skin.

It was another night, where you and him would hang out and flirt in your apartment, maybe do a little kissing.

Maybe he shouldn't have laid down with you. Maybe he shouldn't have let you put your fingers in his hair, stroking it gently as he laid on your chest. Maybe he shouldn't have listened to your every word as you traced his face, muttering to him everything about him that you loved about him. He shouldn't have, he really shouldn't have. Especially when you ended it all with a kiss to his eyelids, whispering into his ear, "I can't wait to marry you one day."

Jake always did his best to contain his emotions. After all, he'd learn to do it so well because of his home life. No one had to know about his struggles.

Yet he couldn't help the wave of emotions that crashed down on his shoulders. One moment, he was smiling in your kiss, the next his face was wet.

It didn't help when you were so warm to him. You cradled his face, kissing his tears away, hands holding him like he was a piece of glass.

"I'm scared," was all he could say.

Because that was all he felt in that moment.

Fear.

Fear, because he couldn't figure out why he was crying.

Fear, because now all his emotions were spilling out.

Fear, because you said you wanted to marry him.

Fear, because he, too, wanted to marry you.

You didn't let him go that night.

You stayed there with him, letting him cry into your shoulder until the sun rose. You didn't know why exactly, but the way he gripped your waist like you'd leave him was enough to tell you.

"I know, I know," you'd whispered into his ear. "I know, Baby."

All he did in response was pull you closer, and chant your name like it was a prayer, like you were his god and he was your worshiper.

Jake's favorite memory was the sound of wailing.

Not the wailing of his mother, not the wailing of his older brother, but the wailing of the child in your arms.

He could only watch with misty eyes as the small newborn clung to your chest, loud crying filling the hospital room.

"Jakey," you said weakly, flashing him a smile. "Look what we made."

We.

That's right.

This child was his and yours. As he held the baby, being careful not to do anything stupid, Jake stared into its crying eyes (as if his eyes weren't crying, too).

When Jake looked at his child, he saw his eyes. He saw the same eyes that his own father gave him. He wasn't filled with fear, or anger, or guilt— he felt love.

This child didn't have his father's angry eyes, the eyes that Jake spent his entire life believing he inherited.

No, this child had Jake's eyes, Jake's eyes that were filled with love.

You giggled softly as you watched your husband's intent and utterly fascinated gaze at your child. He snapped his head up at you.

"I love you," he blurted. He didn't say it a lot. It felt like poison on his tongue when he did, something unnatural and not meant for him. But in that moment, it felt like his entire being was made to say it. "God, I love you so much."

Yes, Jake would run.

He'd run, and run, and run, from love.

He'd run as far as he could, until his legs gave out.

He'd run for eternity, because he knew that one day, he'd walk to you.

#enhypen #enhypen x reader #enhypen fluff #enhypen imagines #enhypen fic #enhypen angst #jake sim #jake sim x reader #jake enhypen #jake sim imagine #jake fluff #jake sim angst #sim jaeyun fluff #sim jaeyun angst

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yorsgirl · 7 months ago

Note

Yan!Heian!Sukuna and with Y/N?

Lately, whenever Darling got pregnant she ended up having countless miscarriages, the longest lasting at least 3 months, Sukuna began to suspect these countless coincidences.

He doesn't care about these losses since he didn't want to share Y/N with some brat, but he found it very strange that every time she got pregnant resulted in a miscarriage, so he started investigating and finally found out why this was happening.

He discovered that Y/N was causing her own miscarriages, as she knew that the last thing the world needed was Sukuna's descendants, so he finally confronts her but with that damn psychological terror that he loves to do to her.

Oh my, I love love love this idea!!

I kinda went out on this one, but I hope I did justice to what you were aiming at. Hope you like it :) Also I am sorry for being so late

Playing God

Yandere!Ryomen Sukuna x Fem!Reader

Synopsis: It was a gamble, he was willing to make. To keep you with him, forever, as he wanted. Needed. You had to realize that no other heaven except his arms would be comforting. Even if that meant, breaking your very soul.

Tropes: Dark Romance, horror, angst

Warnings: Implied nsfw(forced), mentions of pregnancy, miscarriage, abduction, cannibalism and isolation. Trauma, mild stockholm syndrome, yandere themes, minor character death(s), gore, gaslighting, manipulation, misogyny, blood, degradation(non-kinky), patriarchal society, unhealthy relationship, implied child birth.

General warnings: Yandere!True form!Husband!Sukuna, Wife!Reader, Heian Era, both Sukuna and reader are a red flag on their own, usage of nicknames, no mentions of y/n.

Word Count: 9.7k

You were digging your own grave.

So you shouldn't have been surprised that your wish would be granted. Yet, if you could have one wish then you'd wish for freedom but no- freedom was a forfeited dream, far beyond your reach. Consideration of that one would never be fruitful. You are trapped even in your dreams.

Playing with fire only gets you burnt.

For long, you played this game and this- this was your compensation. For everything you had done until now, all you are returned with was abandonment. Not that supposedly, betrayal, yes. More appropriate.

Flames surrounded you, crawling up your skin, the screams piercing your ears, your chest heaved up and down. Gaze, once settled on your hearth, now all you saw was the burning hut, the crackling of embers reached your ears. Attire and hands stained with blood of the insolent. The warning shouldn't have been taken lightly. Should have known, the extent of his power.

Eyes held terror, fright, regret- whatever you could name. The multitude of names you received seemed no more than a distant dream, nowhere to be found. All were running away - expectable.

You expected calamity, but you were calm.

Everything went down in flames. Save for you, you weren't burning. Not an spark touched your skin. Was it the distance or the control? Who knows. But one confirmation which you held was that tonight you won't die. Not so soon either.

Careful, not all Gods are worshipped.

The words rang in your ears and as if on cue, you found him again.

In this reverie of madness, he held your sight when you attempted to turn - the eyes tinted with crimson.

"I am sorry for your loss, m'lady."

You had seen it all.

You had your fair share of encounters, received news and such. Women losing their mind and sanity after delivered with a news this devastating. Notably, no woman would feel any bliss after knowing that they had lost their child. Lost the chance of motherhood before experiencing it. Violent outbursts was the most probable outcome.

"This is a hard time," The midwife spoke softly. "Yet, you shouldn't neglect your health."

You perceived the softness to be fear. She must have had dealt with situations like these, most of them traumatizing as you assumed. Perhaps, she expected the same from you too.

You tore your gaze off her, leaning back on your bedframe, "I'd like to be left alone."

Your declaration was answered with compliance. Offering a humble bow, she bid you farewell, walking out of your chambers. Once her footsteps seized, you finally let your guard down. Breathing out a sigh of relief, you laid back down on your bed.

"Good riddance," You muttered to yourself. Moments of such vulnerability wasn't rare, considering you were served with loneliness, lately. Save for the times you spent in the presence of Sukuna. His decree, one might say. Your attention shouldn't be wasted on anyone but him. You scoffed recalling his words. Involuntarily, you stroked your belly, the corner of your lip curled up.

Once a house to life, given by your husband; now lay vacant from your doing.

A twisted sense of pride swelled up in your chest, a wide grin stretching on your face. You were successful in your quest, again. Mercilessly, you uprooted the seed of your husband's lineage.

Perhaps, you've truly gone sick.

Yet, this revolt of feelings were miles lesser than the repugnant you encountered when you realized your first pregnancy. You were on the brink of clawing out the creature growing in your womb. You'd have torn it apart with while revelling in the joy of watching its blood drip down on the face of Earth. If not for Sukuna's presence in the room, you might've gone through it.

You lost a fragment of yourself, that day.

Throwing up countless times, dizziness, nausea, even losing your consciousness while walking down. No, they weren't pregnancy side effects. More so, the outcome of the stress accumulating in you.

Sickening. His kin you'd have cradled in your body. To be born and grow up into a revolting, merciless creature like his father. To take up place in your womb, your flesh and blood and combining with his – a living proof of your plight. Disgusting.

Never. You'd never let that happen.

You'd never succumb to such monstrosity.

You had already given up your freedom, your dignity, your alight life to Sukuna in exchange of the lives you held dear. The lives back in your ancestral village, home to your kin.

You were affirmed. An heir of Ryomen Sukuna would never be birthed from you.

Speak of the devil, he appears.

An overwhelming familiar aura surrounded your very being, the doors to your chamber slid open, your captor, your husband strolled inside. Even his mere presence held the malevolence in him. You attempted to rise from your position at his arrival.

"Sit." He commanded.

You silently obeyed his order, keeping your gaze settled on your lap, the energy had your stomach churning with trepidation; at times when you didn't do anything either. And this time, you were guilty. Two moments passed in silence until he spoke.

"I heard from the midwife."

You took in a sharp breath, swallowing a lump in your throat. It was the same ordeal, like the first two times. Yet, you were a tad bit calm since the previous encounters. Probably, due to the fact you were getting used to this role. In this past moons, you had developed into the wife, he was carving you out to be. Giving him just the reactions he wanted, for that saved you a lot of anguish and pain. Even if it came at the price of your self-respect. This was the only way.

With your head hung low, you spoke, "Forgive me, my lord. I am incapable of bearing you an heir. I-It must have been my fau-"

"Not another word."

You instantly stiffened up, his deep voice causing chills to run down your spine. Did you make an error? Was he aware of your tumultuous acts? Was the play not convincing enough?

He held your chin, forcing you to look up at him. All of his four, red eyes bore into you. You bit on your inner cheek, blood coursing in your veins - steadfast.

They say, your fear start to vanish once you've remained in the source of their vicinity too long. That statement is false. For even after staying with your captor for almost two years, you still held your fear.

"The one at fault bore consequences."

That's when you were hit with the faint stench of blood from him. Another one perished. You took the wild guess of it being the midwife. However, instead of amplifying fright, it was lessened. You wouldn't be on the receiving end of his wrath.

"You aren't at fault, wife."

Oh, but you were.

Sukuna held your gaze, cupping your cheek; the rough pad of his thumb trailed a line on your skin. His tone and grip were surprisingly gentle. "There's no need to apologize."

The corners of your eyes crinkled down, you lean into his touch. You assume, it's a good move as you noted the flicker of emotion in his eyes. "It's the third time, my lord. Perhaps, I bear some shortcomings."

"What nonsense," He rolled his eyes. "There's none, not in my eyes. Don't fill your head with such fickle thoughts." He paused for a moment before continuing, "Is that understood?"

He wasn't one for affirmations but maybe- just maybe it was his attempt at comfort, you supposed. The previous losses must had him learning, the threads of condolence. Still, for you, they'd never mean anything less than empty words. The last thing you wanted was to be comforted by your tormentor. You'd rather step into hell willingly.

But you were living under his wing. You have to play according to his whims. You nodded. "Yes, my lord."

His hand left your face, dropping to his thigh. He looked at you, as if sizing you up. You had to keep yourself from making any unnecessary movements. Sukuna wanted you composed, whatever the situation. (Except the times when he bedded you, you were allowed to scream, cry and thrash around then. Cause you were trapped under his immense strength, struggles were futile).

After a while, he asked, "Any wishes?"

You chewed on your bottom lip, eyes flickering down then back to him. You let out a breath, before continuing. "May I visit the shrine... this evening?"

Silence.

You were contemplating whether you had offended him, somehow. Previously, he did allow for your little trips, you wondered if his patience was running thin cause of your repeated incapability of bearing him an heir. Maybe, you ran out of luck.

You were about to mutter an apology but then a smug grin spread across his lips, "Why so?" He asked.

"To-" You swallowed a lump, preparing to answer the practiced dialogue. "To offer prayers for–"

"Why grieve for someone who didn't even take form?" He cut you up, raising an eyebrow. For a tad moment, he sounded curious. It broke into a cruel chuckle, "You humans would make a funeral out of anything, yes?"

If you held an ounce of sympathy then you wouldn't question.

You wanted to say but you knew better. Besides, you still have to keep up the act of being his loyal wife. Heaving a out a deep breath, you replied, "I suppose." You paused, running the tip of your tongue over your lip.

"I'd pray that I can bear you an heir the next time, my lord."

Nay, more so: I'd pray that you receive your end soon, my lord.

Sukuna watched you. No, not look. He watched, like a predator. Then, his lips cracked into a sinister grin. "You've a way with your words, wife."

It caught you off guard. You raised an eyebrow, attempting to voice out your confusion. "What do-"

"I will accompany you."

"Sukuna sama, the herbalist you asked for, has arrived."

Sukuna spared a glance at Uraume, who knelt by his feet.

"Bring him."

As on cue, they rose up from their stance, pivoting around towards the door. It parted, two curses had a man in their grasp as he struggled to break free. His eyes widening with terror when it fell on the King, sitting atop his throne.

The man was pushed down to his knees, face meeting the floor in a loud slam. His scuffles were in vain against such power, he knew that. Still, in a situation of life and death, rationality takes it's leave.

Sukuna clicked his tongue in annoyance. All he wanted was some herbalist to answer the flurry of questions in his which had him restless for the past few days. Did this scum think he'd be killed? Maybe he would be, if he deems it necessary or he proves to be useless.

What had him restless was your miscarriages. Counting the most recent would make it a fourth. Where did he go wrong? You were kept in utmost luxury, no toils whatsoever. Still, what was wrong?

—》《—

"Perhaps, there's some faults in her highness."

"Keep your voice down, Mira. Someone may hear you."

"I am a lot quite... but tell me, don't you find it strange? How come she has lost all of her children?"

"I- I suppose. Perhaps, motherhood is not written in her fate."

"Or so, she's simply incapable."

—》《—

Safe to say, those were the last words they uttered before they were turned into a mash of flesh and blood.

Sliced into pieces that even trying to make a proper corpse out of the remnants weren't possible.

At times, Sukuna wished he held the power to bring back someone to life. Then maybe, he'd have given those servants a death, more worthy. Maybe, ripping out their limbs, piece by piece. First the bones would break, ripped from the ligaments, then it'd be the muscles; that was easy to just tear out. And after that happened, he could have just sewn up the blobs of flesh again and repeat the process until they learn their lesson or the life leaves them again.

He deduced the latter would be more probable. Still, it would be fine. They deserved that.

Speaking ill of you in his palace, in his vicinity, in his world was prohibited. A sin, in the words of humans. And a sin never goes unpunished.

You - his consort, his queen, you were heavenly. There isn't a fault in you, it's some external factor, must be. But he can't let go of his growing suspicion either.

Sukuna detested children, it was a known fact. Always ending their lives first, whenever he set foot in a village. They were of no use to him, unless they were served to him on his platter. He couldn't deny, their flesh was flavourful.

Even though, he held great disdain for them, he couldn't help but desire a kinship with you. With the price of letting go of your undivided attention? Hmm, doesn't sound too great. He assumed, he can hire a wet nurse just in case. Still, he desired to see you round with his child, feet swollen as you struggled to walk around. You do not have to worry, he, your husband would joyfully oblige in carrying you in his arms. You were more than perfect, he couldn't even imagine just how beautiful you'll look, during and after carrying your child.

It was destined. You'd extend his lineage or no one else.

You were flawless then why were you causing such errors? Contradicting. It was his question until he started to take a note in your behaviour, and he found–

Sukuna stood up from his throne, walking down the steps of bones, presumably of the ones he killed. They act as a pretty show piece, according to him.

The court resonated with his footsteps, each one carrying a promise of death. The man's struggles seized once he was harshly pulled up by his hair, his eyes met with Sukuna's.

"Yo-your high–ness," The man fumbled with his words, a spine chilling sensation going down his frame.

"Time's wasting," Sukuna said, his glare pointed. The fury evident, though his exterior was calm. "Comply if you don't wish death."

The man nodded frequently, his fingertips trembled with anticipation and horror. "Ye-yes, your highness. It's an honour to s-serve you." The man fell to his feet as he was dropped. Sukuna dismissed the extra company with a wave of his hand.

"Rise," He declared.

The man still on his knees, raises his head. "What can I- I do for you, your highness?"

—》《—

"May I make a request, my lord?"

Sukuna's eyes flickered to you, yours not meeting his. Knelt before him, you gracefully poured the sake in his ochoko.

"Speak."

He marked the squinting in your irises, fingertips trembled when you put the vessel down. Your shoulders rose and fell before you gazed at him, reluctantly. He couldn't help but find your antics inhumanely amusing.

"Would you be kind enough... to bring me this-" You paused for a fleeting moment. "This herb called... aloe vera?"

—》《—

"Aloe vera," Sukuna tilted his head aside, the upper pair of arms crossed over his chest. "What use does it have?"

"We-well, my lord it's used for heal-healing purposes, burns, cuts, rashes... it heals injuries, yes." He answered, taking a gulp. There was other uses too yet his head was alike a blank canvas, before such a formidable strength. He wasn't even aware if it was satisfactory or why the King of Curses needed to know about such a measly plant. But if it meant he could see the sun for another day then he'll just give whatever he could offer. "I-It can also be used to– to make me-medicated food. N-not a delicacy... I might add."

Sukuna raised an eyebrow, "That's it?"

"N-no, my lord. There- it can cure diges-"

"In pregnancy."

The man stiffened, his mouth parting a tad bit. A whisper leaving his lips, "Yo-your highness...?"

Pregnancy, menstruation, considered taboo. A matter regarding women, spoken in the inner chambers, the men should remain ignorant. A topic whispered in ears not spoken aloud in any hall, let alone the royal court. Certainly, Sukuna was aware of this societal construct, yet he didn't care. The society and its idiotic rules could go to hell. He just needed answers.

"Speak," Sukuna's voice was louder, deeper when the man before him fidgeted in his spot due to discomfort - on speaking such a topic.

"It-Its a... your highness, I d-don't think you-"

"Insolent bastard," His fumbling was interrupted by Sukuna. The warning evident in his profanity. His face grew darker, the four irises glowing with impending danger akin Satan himself. "If you so much as want to live, fucking speak."

The man's blood ran cold as on cue, face turning a shade paler as if winter had started to pool in. Tears prickled the corners of his eyes, "Forgive me, your highness! I will speak, I will- yes- aloe vera its-" He heaved out a deep breath, an attempt to slow down his beating heart. "Any fo-form of it is ill-suited during pregnancy... it can cause... cause pe-pelvic haemorrhage leading to... to misc-"

"Miscarriage?"

"Yes, miscarriage... can lead to miscarriage, your highness."

A profound silence prevailed. Not a soul spoke neither was a footstep heard. Not a leaf rustled or the howling winds tapped on the window pane - assumed, mother nature had halted its elements from making any noise.

The stakes were high yet an flicker of courage alighted in the man as he raised his head up to glance at Sukuna, "My lor-"

The man's head tumbled down before he could even complete.

He couldn't scream, he couldn't beg, he couldn't apologize, he couldn't even blink. All he could do was watch. Watch as his beheaded body fell limp before his eyes. Watch as the blood poured out like waterfalls staining the carpet with its hues. The red marred bones protruded out amidst the flesh, globs of blood was gushing out of his severed voice box. His body jerked, the remnants of conscious nerves trying to survive.

It was a neat cut. A heavenly sight.

The world started to blur in. And before he knew it, the light was gone from his eyes.

Sukuna didn't even spare a glance as he marched out of his court.

Uraume approached the body, a few maids accompanying them. They casted a disapproving glare at the corpse.

"Not edible, dispose of it."

You didn't see or hear from Sukuna for a week.

He didn't visit your chambers at night neither was he present when you sat down for your meals. Even his energy was alike a hushed whisper which would remind you of his presence in the residence, but not reveal himself to you. For some reason, it had you in an unease.

No, you certainly did not miss his presence. But his absence just made the surroundings almost suffocating. There was the looming threat that something had happened or something were to happen. One worse than the other.

Silence was never uneventful.

Insinuating the courage, you had once inquired Uraume about his absence. Presenting a polite bow, they answered, "Sukuna sama doesn't want to be disturbed."

Disturbed... as if he wasn't the cause of all disturbances. A natural disaster in himself. You resisted the urge to scoff and uttered a meek line of gratitude before going about your day. (That extended with you strolling down the halls or garden or just be in your chambers and read the few books Sukuna had bought you).

On the very same day the dark commenced. While you were mesmerized by the fall of twilight over the garden, you heard his voice.

"Don't you love playing with poison, wife?"

The sudden question made you halt your steps, you weren't even aware that he was present–shielded his aura, presumably. You turned around, raising an eyebrow with bewilderment.

"Pardon, my lord?"

Sukuna snorted, walking up to you, a smirk played on his lips. You had to make the effort of tilting your head to gaze up at him. His towering figure loomed over you, his lower left hand snaking around your waist, pulling you closer to him.

"You love poisons, don't you? Or in your words herbs."

Your shoulders grew rigid, eyes widening with realization, a sharp breath hitting your throat. Your fingertips trembled with anticipation. You were sure to be discreet in your affairs, using the isolation he subjected you to at its best. Yet he knew. It was bad. Very much so. And what were to happen now? What would he do to you?

Another night of horror where your screams would be unheard, your resistance proved to be futile, where you'd be left to suffer alone, where another shard of your remaining soul would be plunged by him. Another night where you'd again play into his whims... Or something more vile, leaving you physically disabled? Perhaps, even death...

The foremost was the most heinous one. You silently prayed that he wouldn't resort to that. If you were to be subjected to his torment then you wished he'd just kill you, liberating you for once and for all. Even so, survival is what the mind wants. Piecing through any tactic just to live another day. The play for now should be denial.

Sukuna's affections for you worked as a double edged sword. You aimed to take advantage of it, in every way possible. You instilled a bit of courage, standing your ground, you spoke "I don't understand what you're trying to instigate, my lord."

He looked down on you, a coy smile uplifting his lips. He threaded his fingers through the knot of your kimono, leaning down next to your ear, he inhaled your scent. His lips brushing over your neck.

"I do not believe so, wife." He murmured, his warm breath hitting your skin, a range of goosebumps rising over your arm. "In fact, I think you clearly know, what I speak about."

Before you could let a word out, he straightened up, turning around, he pushed you to walk with him. His large hand still covering your back.

"Come, let me entertain you."

You were walking to the gallows.

Not literally, but you were sure your end was near.

The wooden floors creaked with footfalls. Each step heavier than the previous. You hesitantly glimpsed at Sukuna, his gaze was far ahead. Not a word left his mouth in this while. Only his hold remained firm. He pushed you forward every moment your step faltered.

Your breath hitched when you turned a corner - the right wing. A rule, you could say. Sukuna made it clear since the day he held you captive brought you home – never step a foot in the right wing. Despair drowned your curiosity that time, you didn't question, least bothered to. Even later, you didn't dare to defy him; courtesy to the pain you were subjected to once.

Still, you could make the wild guess of what happened in there. The muffled screams kept you awake at midnight, it was easy to put the puzzle pieces together. There he revelled with the sick pleasure of tormenting your kind.

He stopped before a pair of oak doors. That's when he glanced at you, for the first time in a long while. For a moment, he stared at you with an emotion you couldn't decipher. The next moment, he pulled out the Kanzashi from your hair, letting your strands tousle down.

You flinched, pushing away the curls which clouded your vision. Sukuna held the pin in his hand, holding your gaze. He was unmoving.

What happened to him?

"My lord," You called. "What are you-"

"Stay quiet," He handed you the kanzashi back, adjusting your hand to hold it as if it were a dagger. Turning to the door, he spared you a glance. "Don't speak a word." With that, the doors opened.

Dark.

It was dark save for the light of the lantern which illuminated the room. He shoved you forward, the door locking behind as he stood aside you.

"One bite."

Huh? Bite? What did he mean? You slightly turned your head towards him but you were stopped in your tracks. It wasn't only you and Sukuna in this room, seems you had a guest. More appropriate word? A Captive.

Your eyes were wide open. On the corner of the room, sat a young boy, not more than a adolescent - blindfolded. Restrained by chains, his wrists and ankles were cuffed with metal. A small whimper left his lips as he registered the presence of both of you.

You were about to speak but then his words rang in your mind.

Don't speak a word.

Sukuna gripped your wrist, leading you to the boy, "One bite, in the arm."

He wasn't talking to you. To the boy, he kept his eyes. You marked how the boy flinched. The metals clanking on contact.

He turned to you then, motioning to the pin in your hand then the boy's arm. Realization hit you. You tried to shake your head, refuse; but one glare of his and you were compelled. Reluctantly, you turned around, trudging to the boy.

Something was wrong.

You could feel it. Why... why would he want you to stab this poor boy? A picture of misery, he was. You noted he didn't have any sign of bruises in his body - peculiar. Yet, his fragile state was enough to give you a hint that he had been here for days. Perhaps, starved too. The tension was high and all you wanted was to leave this room, in an instant.

Fine, if Sukuna wanted you to just stab the boy. You'd do it. Missing the vital points which could end his life. One, he said. You'll miss the point and done. Its not upon you that you'd pierce the wrong place. His instructions weren't specific—that'd be your excuse.

He won't die. Not from your hands.

You gently held the boy's arm, angling the pointers on the muscles. You drove it in.

Miscalculation.

The boy's body instantly stiffened, a gut wrenching scream erupted from his mouth. He thrashed around, swinging his legs and arms, his body twitching violently.

You recoiled back soon, yanking out the pin, stepping away on instinct. You watched with terror.

Foam rose up the boy's mouth, his shrieks pierced your eardrums. The fluid dripped down his jaw, marring his clothes. He clutched the area where you stabbed him. Scratching at it with all his might. The sound of flesh ripping filled your ears as the boy ruthlessly, tore the muscles.

You were stunted. You couldn't speak or move. You weren't chained but you felt as if a thousand shackles bore you down.

The next seconds were a blur. The screams started to die down, his body losing it's color. Sooner than you could grasp, did the room turn silent again.

The boy was dead.

"Enjoyed the show, wife?"

You slapped your hand over your mouth, stumbling a few steps back. You couldn't tear your eyes off the young boy, bile rose up your throat as the room started to spin.

"Wh-what did you-"

No- you couldn't throw up, whatever second thought it was, it refrained you from crumbling to your knees and make a mess. Shivers went down your spine, you struggled to stand straight. The stench of the corpse and the expunging liquids started to fill your nostrils. You were almost on the verge to lose consciousness.

"What... did you do?"

Your eyes flickered to Sukuna. He stood tall, not a sign of emotion on his mien. You regret ever considering mirth to the worst feature on him, cause none was more terrifying.

And he was watching you.

It reminded you of the time, you first saw him - covered with blood of the lives he had taken, down the river bank. Victim of naivety and ignorance, you didn't know any better than to not let him see you. Wandering towards the peculiar beast, even when a gut wrenching terror asked you to run; you were stubborn. You had asked - are you alright?

"What did you do?" You repeated again.

Tilting his head, he kept his unwavering gaze fixed on you. "As a matter of fact, I didn't do anything, wife." He paused, letting the horror shadow your features, "It was all you."

You needed to run.

The kanzashi– which was till then clasped in your hand firmly– fell down. A clank, you heard.

One step.

One step towards the door. He is standing afore you, the fingers of his upper right arm ran through your open hair, tangling in the roots, he yanked your head back.

"I don't remember, giving you the permission to leave."

Tears prickled your eyes as you tried to break free. Sukuna was having none of it. He dragged you by your hair towards the corpse of the boy. Your nails jabbed into his wrist while whimpers of anguish left your mouth.

Sukuna shoved you down to your knees, tugging your hair back - you were sure, they will be ripped off if he yanked with any more pressure - he made you glance at its face. He crouched beside you. With a flick of his finger, he ripped the blindfold out of the boy.

"Dare to shut your eyes."

Compliance had become second nature.

The body was rigid, skin turning blue. The veins on his arms were bulged out, his mouth wide open, filled with foam, trickling down his cheek, drying on it.

The sight caused you to gag.

Horrifying. His bloodshot eyes were wide open, protruding out of the sockets. Irises dilated in shape, which you considered humanly impossible. But what had your heart hammering in your chest wasn't the vivid details you saw on the corpse. It was the fact, that you recognized the boy. Son of that distant elder cousin, you'd seen once or twice in a year.

"Look at that, love." Sukuna cooed in your ear, forcing you to face the corpse.

You shook your head violently, nails dug into his wrist - desperate to escape. Your heart thumped inside your ribcage, you could hear it in your ears, your guts twisted in numerous ways as sweatbeads trailed down your forehead.

"You did that."

No. No, you didn't. You didn't do it. It wasn't you.

"You killed him."

No, you didn't... he didn't die because of you.

"Take a good look. See what you've done."

You vigorously shook your head. Denying all of his claims cause... cause they were... false, yes, false. They were false.

"No," You stated once you found your voice. "N-no, no... I- no."

Sukuna hummed, twisting a knot in your hair, "Yes, you. You did it."

No. You were innocent. You weren't to be blamed. It wasn't you.

It was... him.

"No, no, I didn't," You refused again, standing your ground. Moving your eyes towards him, you gritted your teeth. "No, I didn't do it. I didn't do anything. It was you."

"Really? How so?"

Fire burnt in your eyes. It was enough. He couldn't make you believe which you didn't commit - you didn't kill him.

"Poison," You said with conviction lacing your tone. "He was poisoned, a stab wouldn't procure such a reaction."

"Observant as ever," He mused, quirking up an eyebrow. A faint smile curled up on his lips. "Still, it doesn't gratify the fact that you were the one to end his life."

Blood boiled inside you, surging through your veins like lava. He had no right to accuse you of something. You didn't kill him, he couldn't make you believe it, whatsoever may happen.

"I may have stabbed him with the kanzashi, but that didn't have any trace of poison in it. I am-"

"Sure of it?"

You could only glare at him. He was toying with you. Tugging the strings of your conscience but you won't have any of it. "I am," You confirmed, staring at him without any falters. "I held it... you held it. If it was really drenched with toxicant as lethal as that, we- we both would be dead."

His grip loosened from your hair, hand falling down. The corners of his eyes crinkled, the smile turning into a smirk.

"It was you," You continued. "You did something to him at first and-"

Sukuna broke into a chortle of laughter. Far from jovial, more so sinister, filled with sheer malevolence. He gripped your jaw, pulling you closer to himself. His sharp canines glinted in the dim light.

"You just keep on fascinating me, wife."

Each second with him was revolting. Just his touch alone had your skin crawling. Yet, you couldn't let him know he has the upper hand.

"We had a pact," You stated firmly. His game was disgusting. What was he trying to do? What was his goal? "If I stay with you, you wouldn't lay a finger on my family, then- h-how could-"

"I would still stand on the ground, that I didn't do anything." He replied, a hint of amusement in his tone. "It was all you, wife. I can assure you that I didn't go back in my words." His canines glinted while he smiled. "Not a flick of pain. Save for..." He paused, his eyes widening, the carmine irises glowed in the dark. "Save for telling him, he'd be killed by a snake bite."

"There was no venom on my pin."

"Know so," He confirmed, a playful smirk on his visage. You wished you could read minds, if possible only of him, that'd been enough. Then where did poison come from? You wanted to question but he beat you to it.

"His fear turned into poison."

You blinked. Once. Twice. You knew he had an urge to play mind games but this was ridiculous. You questioned, shell-shocked, "What?"

"He let his fear get the better of him, assuming your pin to be a snake. He believed it." He explained while you listened without so much as a word. "His conscience caused his body to give out the exact reactions, he imagined. A shock, you might say. That caused his death."

His game was disgusting. If he thought, he could just give you any excuse as this and let you believe his accusations then he was mad wrong. You gritted your teeth, yanking your face away from his grip. For a second, you saw all of his eyes opening wide with surprise. But that didn't extinguish the fire burning in you.

He reached out, dragging you towards him via the arm. A glare resting on his face. "What did I tell about refusi-"

"I don't believe you," You cut him off, hands clenched into fists. It was the first time in a long time, you lost your composure in front of him. No, you wouldn't play as his doll anymore. He broke his promise, its only fair that you do so. "I don't believe a single word you say. You- you did something, you must have. Fear, belief, whatever the fuck, something as trivial as that-"

"So you think fear is trivial, wife?" He sighed, his clutch in your arm remained firm. The rough callouses of his palm, rubbed over your skin. "And here I thought, you might be different than the rest. But you managed to drop below my expectations."

"Maybe that's what I love about you, darling." He continued.

Disgust arose in you yet again. Love. As if he had any of that. He wasn't capable of love. Not in this lifetime. Never.

He spoke again, "Times you are the smartest I have seen, then you speak such blasphemy which would even embarrass the Gods you worship. Your silence was awarded by him leaning near your ear. He twisted a curl of your hair between his fingers. "Fear, wife..." He whispered to you. "Fear is a mind killer. It makes you believe anything. The small drop of poison which contaminates all the water."

"In the end, belief and fear are sides of the same coin," His top two eyes, flickered to the corpse of the boy. "I made him consume the poison of fear and you-" He turned to you again. "You made him believe it... so, in a way, yes. Yes, I did do something. Save for the part of ending his life. Though I didn't break my part of our pact." A smirk tugged on his lips. "You were the one who killed him. Isn't that great?"

Your breath hitched, throat gone dry. You gazed at him, eyes wide open. Your mind was a blank canvas.

Fear, poison, belief, killing...

He made you kill someone. An innocent boy who didn't even do anything.

Why won't he much rather just end your life?

Sukuna pulled away from you, standing up, he walked over to the lantern placed in the room. The stench of the rotting corpse had long ago started to pool in.

"You made me kill him." You whispered, still knelt, staring at the floor. When greeted with silence, you questioned again, a tone higher, "You made me kill him."

"And?"

His nonchalance had always been infuriating to you.

You could feel him standing a few steps behind you. "If you really wanted to kill my kin, you should've just told me. Getting your herbs was a tiring chore." You didn't miss the emphasis he put on, herbs. The roll of his eyes while speaking floated before your eyes even though you couldn't see him; the expression must had turned to a smirk later. "However, the taste of taking a life– isn't it delicious, wife?"

Guilt gnawed at you, tearing you internally. Your shoulders trembled as you let out ragged breaths, eyes fixed on the bloodied arm of the boy. The same arm where the kanzashi pierced, the muscles torn apart, blood drying on it due to the boy's onslaught. Nausea overrode your senses, bile rose up your throat and the next moment you were throwing up. The wastes ran down your mouth, your nails dug into the wooded boards – bruising your fingertips and chipping the nails. You didn't realize Sukuna stepping up to your side, pulling your hair back while you were caught into the ordeal.

A disapproving grunt left his mouth after you were finished, yanking you up with your wrist. He pulled you towards the door. "Com-"

"No." Your heels remained firm on the ground. You refused him before you could even think. He turned towards you slightly, a scowl resting on his features before he pivoted around. He cast a glare upon you but before he could speak, your mouth opened again.

"You're even lower than scum." Your jaw ticked, hands clenching into fists. "You made me kill an innocent boy. Someone who might have done nothing to you, You– You disgust me, Sukuna."

Done you were with the respect, he demanded. If that angered him, made him want to rip out your heart and watch the life drain from your eyes. He was most welcome.

But it looks like, he wasn't resorting to any of that.

"You made me a murderer." You urged, staying strong in your stance. "You turned me into you."

His eyebrow twitched, a wave of mirth washed over him. "You were always like me, wife."

"I am nothing-"

"You are. You are like me. You are no saint, as you think so of yourself. " He said, leaving no room for argument. His lips pressed tight into a thin line.

Yet, you refused to believe that. You were nothing like him. Couldn't even dream so. You were not him.

"You kill children in your womb, I kill them after they're born. How is it so different?"

"It is different." You yelled, your jaw clenched, teeth baring out. "This world needs no more of your lineage, it needs no more of you." You jabbed your pointer finger on his chest, tears pooling into your eyes. You refused to shed them. "You kill for your own sake, I do not."

"Then who do you kill for?"

"For everyone." The faint snort of his reached your ears. You couldn't decipher what he found so delightful in this.

"Playing God, are we?" He mocked causing your vexation to rise.

"Maybe I am. For the least, I am not killing innocent people like you."

From where such defiance arose, you weren't sure of. Perhaps, all the frustration, fright, terror which accumulated till now had reached its limit. Moreover, Sukuna's provocation must be the fuel to the fire.

You might be left bleeding– No, you would be left bleeding. You welcomed it with open arms.

"Careful," Sukuna pushed a strand of your hair behind your ear. "All Gods aren't worshipped."

He was enjoying himself. In all honesty, your obedience was getting too monotonous. This was better. Your defiance was amusing. Arousing, if there's to add. If he knew, letting you end a few lives would have this effect then he would have resorted to this long ago.

"Better than you." You shoved his hand away, "You are nothing more than a wretched, two-faced curse destroying all of our lives."

He noted your scowl, the way your lips were shut tight, your eyebrows crinkled together. Reasons evident, all he desired was to pull you into his arms smash his lips against yours. Taste the very essence of your being. Consume you wholly, just the way you are. So that in the end, your name, your taste, your scent would be engraved in his very soul. Without your mention, he wouldn't be complete.

But he refrained from giving in now. His desire extended to a far more sinister route. "I wonder..."

What would it be like to break your conviction? What would it be like to break you?

Oh, he knew.

Would it be right moment to let you know? Maybe he should wait for another, more appropriate time.

Hmm, perhaps he should. But no.

He let you play these games for too long. Tired of this game plan, he was. Maybe, you would just come to your senses if he let you know. So he let the words, flow out:

"I wonder, why this curse keeps protecting your pathetic life from people who would cross rivers to lay siege to your life?"

Worth everything.

Sukuna watched as your face lost its color. The previous boldness you presented him with was replaced by a mask of confusion and. Such a pretty sight, it was. To see you, falter from your stand. Second guess, yourself, be in denial then rage consumes you. And you look at him, like he was the forbearer of your misery. (He is).

Oh, how good he has you memorized.

Even the littlest of reactions you contort on your mien, on your mannerisms; everything has him intrigued. You have him intoxicated.

"You know the ones, the people... your people, for whom you play this God."

Sukuna wished he could capture this moment. He'd have the chance to take a glimpse of it again, whenever he wished to. The horrified look on your face as the weight of his words started to sink in.

Would you still look like this if he tells you the terror he bestowed on them who tried to steal you away from him? What would you say if he vividly describes each imagery of how he slowly, agonizingly burnt them, severed them and tormented them? Leaving them nothing but fragments beyond recognition.

You were his. All of you belonged to him. Without his sanction, no one could even see you, let alone touch you. Ah- just how many sorcerers perished from his hands, the number of villages, bathed in blood; save for yours. (Courtesy to that stupid pact, he forged with you)

Something had told him, that there'd be a better time to put an end to the pitiful lives of your kin.

"Can't speak? What caused so, darling?" His tone was laced with smugness, a twisted joy elicited in him. "Fearful that your play amounted to nothing?"

Your jaw ticked with anger. You were furious. "I don't believe you. You are lying."

Your trust on humans was commendable, he'd give you that. However, there's stark contrast between faith and blind belief. You were inclining towards the latter.

So, what do they do when words fail to convey message? Oh right, you give them a prime example.

"Let me just show it to you then, wife."

It was a gamble, he was willing to make. To keep you with him, forever, as he wanted - he needed you to know that no place other than his arms would be as comforting. Even if that meant breaking your very soul, so be it.

You were home.

One moment, Sukuna held your gaze. The next, you are standing before your hearth.

Toes dipping into the familiar black soil, the land where you ran and played during your childhood. Your familial home stood steps away from you. Still looked the same except the visible cracks on the wall, a layer of dust on top of the door and the woods looked worn out. However, what caught your eyes weren't the flaws of your home but the familiar older woman walking into your home.

"Mother…"

She stilled all of a sudden, rotating on her heels, her eyes landed on you. Shell shocked, that's what she was with the widened eyes and parted lips. A small smile curved up on your lips, she still looked the same except the few grey hairs and wrinkles aside her eyes.

"Mother," You called again, taking a step towards her. "I am back."

Sooner than you expected, her eyebrows scrunched up, mouth curving down when she finally registered your presence. You weren't some illusion or her mind playing tricks. "What are you here for?"

The disdainful tone caused you to flinch. You didn't expect this. Returning home, you dreamt of it to be filled with tears of joy and warm embraces. Not this… whatever, she was presenting you with. But- But its fine, you have returned after a two whole years. She must have been worried. The reason of her apprehension. God, you had a lot making up to do.

"Well, you know," You chuckled lightly, scratching the back of your neck. "Back… just back. I have returned."

"Found your way after two years?" She crossed her arms over her chest, staring at you with a look you didn't want to recognize.

You nodded, "Yes. How could I forget my way? Our address, its-"

You were interrupted when your name was spit out from her mouth. Her glare on you was palpable, "I know what it is. What are you here for?"

Her fury even made your skin crawl with fear. You were often on the receiving end of her glare when you were a child, given by your tendencies to run around and cause trouble for others. Yet, those glares, were none like this. This- this- you didn't want to name what it was.

"You are angry," You don't know if its directed towards your mother or yourself as you hold onto the last bit of fragments that not all is lost. "I get it, I really do." You stood on your toes, attempting to look behind her, into your house. "Where's father? Tell him, I am-"

"No more."

As if the air was knocked out of your lungs.

"What?" Your neck craned towards her so fast, it might have left a sprain. Yet, that was the least of your concern. "What do you mean by no more?"

"No more means no more." Your mother's sigh fell heavy on the air, words carried the weight of the world. Laid with pain underneath.

"How- when? Wha-what happened?" You couldn't wrap your mind around the new discovery. No one told you such. Who could've guessed? Such an ordeal to occur in your absence. And what might she be going through, without you. You didn't even get the chance to talk to him, one last time.

"A year ago," She confessed, her voice conveyed her lament and sorrow. Her words felt like a hammered blow on the fragile façade of hope, you had intricately crafted for yourself. However, she wasn't done. Her eyes held scorn, lips curled up to a sneer. "Aren't you satisfied? You finally made your mark. Must tell you," Her voice, once filled with love held nothing save for contempt, directed at you. "Good game, you played, dear." She spit the endearment as if, it were poison.

"No, I- I never wanted any of this. What are you even talking about?" A trembling footfall towards her, you whispered, "M-mother-"

"Don't you dare call me that."

The weight of her judgement felt heavy on you, pressing down, suffocating you alike chains.

"You are no daughter of mine."

You weren't aware since when the tears had sprang up your eyes, breaking the barricades, they shed down. Your throat burnt as you struggled to even breathe, clutching your chest - a searing pain shooting in your heart. Your heart was shattering from the ultimate rejection from your own flesh and blood.

"While you're at it, know this." Your mother continued.

The next words were like a blow to the gut, each syllable lined with the weight of revelations. Ones that hung in the air like a funeral shroud.

"In his last moments, his only regret was bringing a daughter like you in this world."

This night just doesn't seem to end, does it?

You were left as a hollow shell. Tethering the steps away from the home you were no more welcomed. Exhaustion reigned heavy on you. Physically and mentally.

Where were you going? You didn't know. Just where your feet would take you, there would you go. Perhaps, you can return to Sukuna. Would he take you back? Most probably not. Considering, your earlier outburst, adding to the fact that you refused to give him what you want; he might just discard you as you proved to be useless.

Funny. It was so damn funny. Once, you wished to escape from his hands whatsoever the price yet now… now you considered returning to him.

You could hear him calling you pathetic. Disgusting. More disgusting, that you agreed with him.

You were truly pathetic.

But before you could spiral down the void of self-hatred, a voice- nah, multiple voices startled you.

"There she is, parading around some meek, innocent girl." A scoff is added. "You are far from it."

"The nerve of you to just walk back into our lives after you betrayed us."

Your neck cranes to your left, an old man - the village elder with a few other men and women following behind; they approached you. "Excuse me?"

"Who do you think you are?" A woman's cry reached your ears. "Returning after you turned your back on us."

You flinched at the accusation thrown. What could be possibly be instigating? To all your knowledge, you were walking in this- in your village after two long years. Anger, disdain and accusatory glares clouded their features. If your mother's insults weren't enough to pierce through your heart then it certainly did now, with all the people, you once called your own to look at you like you were the monster.

You summoned the least bit of courage you had, squared your shoulders and started, "I'd have you know-"

"Traitors don't get to speak." At the center of the crowd was the village elder. He was the pillars of your hamlet, revered for his wisdom and guidance, but now he looked akin a judge ready to deliver his sentence upon you. A sentence which would push you more into this conundrum. "You've been cavorting to that monster. Disgusting."

"I am no traitor." You retorted soon. "You can't accuse me of such when you don't ev-"

"Save it for someone who would care, whore."

The curse had your mouth parted in disbelief, horror etched upon your mien. Sooner than you could compose yourself, did whispers of agreement rippled through the crowd which branded you as a traitor.

"You are just as twisted as him."

"Get out of here if you so much as hold your life dear."

"Don't play as the innocent bitch, now."

The accusation hung in the air like a dark cloud, poisoning the atmosphere with its venomous hatred. Your breath was caught in your throat as you searched desperately for words to defend yourself; the crowd's hostility rendered you speechless. But amidst the cacophony of condemnation, one voice stood out above the rest.

I wonder, why this curse keeps protecting your pathetic life from people who would cross rivers to lay down yours?

Really? Were you really recalling his words now? Now of all times… You truly were pathetic.

For one moment, You just stayed silent - letting their accusations bore you down. Somewhere you wished all of it were just a nightmare. You'll soon wake up on your bed beside Sukun- fuck! Since when did you start to expect to wake up with him? He- He was toying with your mind. This was the only result. But the fact that this was your thought process had you recoil back.

The next moment, everything made sense.

These accusations were stemmed from the fact that you- you were proclaimed to be the wife of the King of curses. Your unwillingness to return, given for the pact you forged with Sukuna, was taken as your cue that you betrayed your family, your home, your people.

Your family despised you. Your people despised you. The very same people you chose to protect were turning their back on you.

Did they truly try to lay down your life?

Amidst your plight, you didn't register when the village elder marched up to you. "Didn't you hea-" His trial at speech was cut off. Nay, his lifeline was cut off. (Humorous, isn't it?)

Numerous red lines appeared on his body before it burst off into a globs of flesh and blood. Blood which splashed onto you, marring your visage and attire with its hues.

He was here. You knew it. You could feel it.

For some reason, it filled you with a sense of relief.

However, your people were on the other end of the rope. The eyes which afore held hatred and disgust, they were now filled with horror and fright. In this reverie as the villagers started to flee, a torch tumbled on the ground - lighting the grass on fire. The winds showed no mercy, as the howls increased, so did the flames.

Provoking him was never the right move.

You were digging your own grave.

Playing with fire only gets you burnt.

Flames surrounded you, crawling up your skin, the screams piercing your ears, your chest heaved up and down. Gaze, once settled on your hearth, now all you saw were the burning huts, the crackling of embers reached your ears. Attire and hands stained with blood of the insolent.

No one touches what's mine.

The warning shouldn't have been taken lightly. Should have known, the extent of his power.

Eyes held terror, fright, regret- whatever you could name. The multitude of names you received seemed no more than a distant dream, nowhere to be found. All were running away - expectable.

You expected calamity, but you were calm.

The sparks danced over your irises as everything went down in the crimson hues. Save for you, you weren't burning. Not an spark touched your skin. Was it the distance or the control? Who knows. But one confirmation which you held was that - tonight you won't die. Not so soon either.

Careful, not all Gods are worshipped.

The words rang in your ears and as if on cue, you found him again. In this trance of insanity, only one thing held your sight when you attempted to turn - The eyes tinted with crimson.

All of a sudden, something burnt inside you too.

Unbridled rage consumed you. Your chest heaved up and down as ragged breath left your mouth. Their words came back to you, ringing in your ears as if you were pushed into a void.

Who do you think you are? Returning after you turned your back on us.

Would this bitch even be alive if you prioritized yourself?

Don't play as the innocent bitch, now.

Is that the thanks you get for trying to protect them?

Traitors don't get to talk.

Traitor… fine, you'd be the traitor.

With caution you took one step towards him. No reaction. Your chance - you took another. Then another and another. You stood before him, with nothing save for a void etching your features. Amusement flickered over him, the corner of his lip curled up.

"Saw it for yourself wife?"

Seemed like silence was your go-to response lately. From your peripheral, you saw the burning houses, the distant screams reached you. For some reason, the screams were almost soothing. You revelled in this. Their gut wrenching shrieks were like a balm to your essence.

Their predicament was your solace.

Sounded like someone you knew. Someone who had warned you about them but you chose to remain ignorant. Sickening… were you becoming like him?

You were always like me, wife.

You could laugh. Maybe you were like him.

"Let's forge another pact?" You offered, keeping your eyes pinned on him.

"A pact?"

"A pact."

A smirk curved up his lips, the upper pair of arms crossed over his chest, "Humour me, love."

The smirk wasn't directly for you. But he did. So you returned it back. One with an equal malicious intent. Cause in that moment, no second thoughts, no doubts clouded your mind. And so, you uttered the blasphemy:

"You kill them all, each and everyone. In return, I will stay with you, give you an heir. Whatever you want from me."

A year later

Screams died down after a gruelling ten hours.

"Good news, Sukuna sama. It's a boy."

A/N: Honestly, I was almost done with this fic, long ago but while writing the climax, I kept chickening out with all the self-doubts but then I just wrote what I wanted. I do understand if the ending is not up to your liking and I sincerely apologize for it.

However, thanks for reading up till the end. I enjoyed writing this a lot. Some feedback is appreciated <3

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fluff-n-cookies · 3 months ago

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Dabi simply adores you, his precious daughter. But he didn’t always love you.

Part 2

Warnings: attempted murder (failed), canon typical violence, robberies, alcohol+drugs, references to child neglect, implied pedophilia (nothing graphic, and not towards reader), teenage parenthood, minor swearing.

reader has blue eyes like Dabi's.

let me know if you spot anymore.

note: I swear, it's not that bad, just fluff with kinda angsty undertones, cuz' it's Dabi! what do you want

I mean, he was only a teenager when he had you, fresh to the villain business at the wonderful age of 16 and a half. He decided it’d be a wonderful time to drink his sorrows away one night, one horrid, awful night. He ended up fucking a woman he did not know, who was surely much older than he, in the back alley of a bar in the worse parts of town. Amidst the filth of the nearby dumpster, it was here that he would make the single worst decision of his life, either that, or the best. He really doesn’t know.

but alas, he ended up with a little swaddled baby 9 months later when the same woman angrily shoved you into his arms, declaring something unintelligible before storming out of the bar again. Dabi, who at the time was drunk and higher than a kite. didn't react. when you started crying, he didn't react. when you cried louder, thrashing around in his hold he still didn't react. he was in his own world at that moment, shutting out everything except the burn of the cheep beer going down his throat. it wasn't until he was kicked out of the bar along with you for being too disruptive and he fell asleep in one of the abandoned buildings nearby only to wake up hung over and disoriented did he realize what he had done; when he saw a quite malnourished baby laying down on his jacket that he chucked on the floor last night. your swaddle all dirty by now.

he did nothing but stare at you for a while, the pounding in his head as well as the harsh rays of the mid day sun didn't help much. He was still just a kid, a villain too, and homeless. he wasn't ready to have a child. for a split second he thought of leaving you there, God, you looked just like Fuyumi when she was a baby. but you looked worse, like you were barely living. had you... had you died during the night? he stumbled to your side of the room, trying his best to avoid the rumble of the deteriorating building. it would truly have been a miracle if you happened to survive in such conditions.

carefully, he flipped you onto your back, putting a warm hand on your chest. god. you were barely breathing. barely responding too. Dabi's breath hitched, had he nearly killed his own child? he stayed like there for a few moments. looking right at you. he really had no idea what to do. you're already on the verge of death, if you died right now, would it really matter? you've been on this earth for only a few days it seems, your mother left you with a villainous teenage father who could let you wither away in an abandoned building.

if you were to die right now. he could spare you the pain of having to live with him, you'd never have to know the horrors of life.

he could just light one flame,

let it fill the room with smoke,

and watch as your lungs give up

and you simply stop breathing.

...

you'd just be another person who never got to see their future.

Gently, he stroked your tiny chubby cheek with a warm finger.

he nearly laughed at the thought, killing his first child, just like his own father had done with him. he pulled you into his arms, preparing to hold a small flame right up to your face until your fragile little body couldn't take it anymore. then he'd leave your body here as he burns down the rest of the building. a fitting memorial. but before he could do anything,

he paused - you - you squirmed in his hold. cracking open your eyes to stare at him with soulless blue eyes that mirrored his own, tried and scared. an expression that surely should never be on the face of a child.

Dabi truly can't quite recall what happened in that moment when he held you in his arms. all he remembers is a clenching in his heart. maybe it was the alcohol and the drugs. but he felt the emptiness and the pain. the gut wrenching, soul crushing pain, the type that he felt whenever his father would ignore him, again and again. he pain he felt when he saw his childhood home again after so many years, only to find that nothing had changed; he was forever gone and no body gave a fuck.

but- you. just you. you were just like him. you wanted nothing more than a little bit of love. would it truly be so bad if he gave it to you? he'd keep you around, for a while at least.

that's what he told himself as he found himself stealing diapers and baby powder and formula and what not from a convenience store, only to fuck up making formula and changing a baby. he did a little victory dance with you in his arms when he finally figured it out.

but that's only after he managed to get some midwife or other doctor to do a lil' check up on you. (only to knock them out for the police to find their body hours later.) anxiously analyzing everything the doctor was doing, making mental notes to himself to have you try and eat better.

he tended to do more robberies and muggings these days, only to spend it all on a shabby little one bedroom condo in one of the cheaper (and by proxy, crime ridden) parts of the city. it was better than being a single parent living on the streets I guess.

he ended up turning the bedroom into your nursery, if you would call a room that could barely hold a twin sized bed, full of nothing but a crib, a small closet full of dirty clothes, and a big stack of baby products in one corner; a nursery. he instead slept on the couch most nights. but he would forever find himself running back into your room whenever you would cry, he almost always ended up letting you sleep on his chest on the couch. both arms slung over your tiny body so there would never be a chance you'd fall out of his grip.

but life got better with time it seems. he started taking bigger jobs, bank robberies, sometimes murders every now and then. he built a good reputation for himself. and you. you grew on him. who was once a fragile little thing, right to death's doorstep. now, when you smiled, he felt ever so full of life.

he liked how you would always wait by the door after he went out to run an "errand", always being right where he left you and babbling happily when he came back. making a little gesture to be picked up and carried.

he liked you you tend to boss him around most of the time. you could point to where you wanted to go and he would happily carry you there. he isn't even aware of what he's doing, you could yell at him (as best as a baby can anyways) and he'd meet your demands near instantly without much complaint. someone else would have to point it out for him to notice.

he especially liked how you would stare at him with wide eyes as he would smoke on the balcony with the glass door shut. every night, it was a routine, just after dinner, Dabi would snag a pack of cigarettes, and sit outside on the balcony to smoke, occasionally looking back inside through the glass to see what you were doing. he would put on a little cartoon or set out some toys for you. and while that'd keep you entertained for a while, you'd still drift towards him, looking back at him through the glass to try and get his attention. his smoke breaks kept getting shorter and shorter because of that.

he liked how every time he woke up, you would always be with him. looking up at him with those big blue eyes that he gave you. especially the way you'd always look at him with nothing but love and joy.

the same eyes that he used to look at his own father with disdain and fury.

he'll joke around that you're too clingy, always following him, attached to the hip, quite literally with how often he holds you on his hip. But deep down he knows he'd be torn apart if you were gone from him for even one hour. he can't live without your little hugs and giggles and stupid playtime's and everything. please, your love means the world to him.

but he was still only ever a boy, a boy who never quite got to grow up the way he was meant to. but you will forever be the reason he'd try and be a man. for his little girl. he remembers how he'd make more frequent trips to the grocery store, how he'd stock up on medicine for kids, how he'd buy cleaning supplies to somehow make the rinky dinky condo you both live in a tad bit more suitable for a child.

you're the reason he even joined the league. this world has already killed him, and while he was given a second chance as Dabi will it really ever be the same?

but you. you are so full of life, so perfect, awaiting a future unknown. he'll sculpt this world with the second chance he's been given. for your father, Touya, may be dead, but Dabi is not, and he is very much ready to give you what he never had, even if he dies again in the process.

but with the league comes responsibility, a time consuming responsibility. gone are the days when he'd lounge around at home all day and only leave to take you to the playground or grocery shopping, and the occasional robbery when he was low on cash. now he was busy! can you believe it? now Dabi may have skipped nearly all of high school but he wasn't that stupid enough to leave a child home alone for hours on end. hence, he came to the conclusion of daycare. the horrid, horrid daycare.

he nearly cried when he realized his little girl was growing up so fast, it seemed like just last week he was holding you on his hip as he heated up a bottle of formula in his hand to finally get you to shut up and sleep. that only a couple days ago you walked your first ever steps after he came home early with your favorite snacks. he wasn't even able to record it he was too busy sobbing as you held onto his legs to steady yourself waiting for him to pick you up. it literally felt like yesterday you said your first words, "baba" after he jokingly started calling you cry baby.

this actually led to quite a lot of problematic nicknames, cry baby became Babs and Babs became bun and bun became bunny and bunny---- (i'm losing it as I write this.)

but nonetheless, it hurts. so every morning he'll wake up at the crack of dawn to haul you out of bed and get you all pretty and dolled up for the day. he lets you choose your shirt and pants and bows and what not. tying up your little baby sized shoes to take you to the next district over. now, he would've enrolled you into a daycare much closer to home but he really wants you to be safe, and unfortunately anything and everything in your neighborhood without his supervision is not and never will be, considered safe. so he'd much rather escort you via public transport to the richer neighborhoods every single morning than have you be in danger of any kind. sure, you're a little out of place, with thrifted clothes and frizzled up hair from only ever using your dad's 4-in-1 shampoo. and he's definitely out place. hence why he never quite shows his face to the teachers. always ushering you into the daycare building before leaving as fast as he came. The teachers think that he's your older goth brother who's being forced to take you to school by his parents. is it exhausting? yes, very much so. will he do it on repeat for the rest of his life if that means ensuring your happiness and safety? most certainly yes.

---

PART 2 IS HERE

that'll be all. I might do a part 2. tried something different with my writing this time and hope it's better than the rest of my works.

my stuff is right here: Bnha master list, rules for requesting, ask box

send me an ask, I fucking love hearing from you guys.

edit, 4 hours after posting: I'm very disappointed that I still have no new asks. very disappointed in you all.

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ethereal-night-fairy · 5 months ago

Text

I wonder how Slasher!Soap would deal with a passively suicidal victim. This was inspired by @ghouljams drabble.

Slasher Masterlist

Warning: MDNI dark themes, dead dove, child neglect, passive suicidal ideation, attempted murder, implied horny thoughts.

Exam season is getting to you. The food here sucks. You hate your dorm, all your friends seem fake and superficial. You don't enjoy your course work. The professors here are assholes and your job keeps forcing you to work overtime when you clearly needed to focus on your exams.

You're fed up with life wondering why you even bothered applying to this college major when you knew it wouldn't make you happy. You suppose you always wanted to make your parents proud yet they hardly ever cared. They didn't even bother to see you off when you left. Too 'busy' as they put it.

But you're too far in to drop out now. You've already spent too much money to back out. It always been like this. It's always you putting everyones needs above your own. You shot yourself in the foot this time though. You could've picked something you liked to study, but you didn't. Only because you had a small hope if you followed in the footsteps of your parents perhaps they'd pay attention to you. But you're an idiot for hoping that. It's the same story retold ever since you were a child.

At least you're good at putting up a front. No one ever suspected anthing from you. Not your family, not your so called 'friends'. You suppose you can attribute that to your acting skills. You're good at lying, you're good at masking your emotions. You're good at plastering on a smile to get through the day. As exhausting as it is you can put up with it for now. You're living like a zombie, a put together zombie but a zombie nonetheless.

But it seems that God was merciful. Because you were sent someone who'd finally put an end to your suffering. During a time where all you did was work, study and sleep he promised you everything you've ever wanted. An early grave where you could finally rest.

He promised you he was going to end your life and you felt relieved? Most people would be afraid but not you. No, unlike everyone else you were flooded with an overwhelmingly amount of relief. After so many years of pain and suffering were you finally going to be put out of your misery?

You first noticed him on your late walks home from work. There was someone following you. Someone keenly keeping an eye on you. For the first time in your life someone had taken an interest in you.

Then the notes started appearing in your dorm. Short cute but threatening notes detailing the things he wanted to do to you. Soon after the calls started. They always came late at night when you'd get home from work. And strangely you enjoyed them. Not in some sick perverse way, but just because someone wanted to talk to you. You didn't mind playing along to keep his attention on you.

For once in your life you don't have to worry about anything because you knew things were coming to an end. For once someone had shown some kind of attraction to you. Even if it is just to objectify you. You didn't mind though. Any attention is better than no attention. This takes the whole blame and guilt off you for wanting to kill yourself. No one would blame you for wasting money, no one could technically be mad at you for dying when it wasn't your fault.

And that's what you wanted, a blameless death, one that no one could argue and fight over. If someone else does kills you it doesn't really count as suicide does it? And your parents wouldn't blame themselves because you didn't do it to yourself.

It's perfect. A win-win situation for both parties.

But that's what ends up fucking everything up.

When he finally came to end your life your nonchalant attitude to dying threw Soap off his game. The worst part to Soap is that you're not even horny about the whole ordeal. This isn't a kink thing to you like he suspected in the beginning. Which confuses Soap even more because you were playing the game so seamlessly up until now.

You led him on with your fake pleas for mercy, your fake cries of fear, your fake gasps of terror. But everything was a lie, you led him on. And for some reason that upset him more than anything else. The fact he was fooled playing his own game.

Most of his victims play into the fantasy at the start thinking it's some sort of BDSM scene. Not realising they're actually going to die. He thinks that's mainly due to how handsome he is. No one ever suspects the handsome ones.

And then they end up dying in utter terror and agony. And oh how he loved their screams changing from that of pleasure to pain. Knowing full well they couldn't do anything to stop him. No amount of begging or pleas were able to spare their lives.

While with you, you fully expected to die at his hands and he finally understands now it was you who was playing with him. It was you who was weaving the game and puppeteering him to your end goal. He never had control when it came to you.

You stare at him with tired eyes and a peaceful smile as his hands tightened their way around your pretty neck. The same neck he left a necklace of hickies on just a few seconds earlier. He squeezes down watching your body fight your mind. But there's no rush of endorphins, no blood pooling to his cock as he watches you gasp because there's no real fight in you. You've long given up.

And he hates it. He hates he was tricked, he hates he was made into a fool, he hates your dead eyes. He hates that you look so broken.

Only because it wasn't him that broke you.

So his hands loosen and the colour returns to your face while you look at him confused but more upset than anything.

"There's no fun in killing the dead Dove..." The tiredness re-enters your eyes as you look at him with your withered soul. You looked so done with the world. So beaten down that killing you would be akin admitting defeat to himself.

There's no way he'd allow someone to beat him at his own game... Especially not someone as pathetic as you. He'll just have to breathe life back into you and restart this game in his favour. He'll win one way or another. Even if he has to break his own rules to do it.

Dividers by @cafekitsune

#john soap mactavish #Slasher!Soap #cod x reader #call of duty #john soap mactavish x reader #soap #john soap mctavish x you #soap x reader #mdni #dark soap #dark content #disturbing themes #dead dove #john 'soap' mactavish #john mactavish x reader #yandere soap #call

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pricetagged · 2 months ago

Text

that death is a very stable job

Poor little Dormouse, with her cruel father and labourer's hands. You find an unexpected guard dog in one of the passing knights.

Enjoy 4.8k words of half inaccurate-medieval, half poorly-built-fantasy AU. Inspired by a few existing historical AUs (like @bi-writes 1600s au, 391780's 'the rus') and a scene from 'The Serpent Queen'. Also, I stan 'old grizzled dog with a heart Ghost' so here you go.

Warnings/content: implied domestic abuse/sex work (not Ghost), very mild suicidal ideation, violence, power imbalance (social hierarchy ew), kissing & intimacy (no smut. yet.). Reader is described as a young woman, generally body-neutral (one reference to being 'plump').

-----------------

What makes betrayal so potent is that, by its very nature, it can only come from someone you trust. Of course, as a child you knew little of the abstracts and intricacies of trust. You knew the warmth of your mother's bosom. You knew the sharp, lingering smell of lye that clung to her chapped hands. You knew that you were not hungry or hurt for those blissful early years, at least.

You did not know that you had a father.

He spent those blissful, early years of yours fighting for a King and cause that meant far less to him than the pocketful of coins he earned and promptly spent on pleasures. But a soldier cannot earn coin in times of peace, not if he weren't a member of the standing army, so with treaties signed he shipped back to neglected wife and babe.

You did not know that fathers could be cruel.

Your mother protected you as best as she could, but slippery riverbanks and lixivium fumes were hardly safe for a little girl. So you learned to scurry about, eyes wide and feet soft as a dormouse. When your mother's whimpers and father's shouts split the silence of dusk you crouched and covered your mouth lest his attention switched to you. On the rare times your father called for you, you remembered your mother's hushed advice - be quiet, be meek, be sweet - and bobbed along to the waves of his fickle moods. When your stomach growled and gnawed you stifled it with a look at your mother's wan face, her fingers worked to the bone for mere pennies that were no longer spent on peat and produce. You lived in a cold house, an empty house. A strained house.

'Look at the size o'her, running wild, eating me out of house and home!' Lies. Your father hunched over your mother's shaking form, three meager brass farthings spilled across the crooked kitchen bench. 'You put her to work, or I will.'

The lye stung your skin. Sometimes you imagined yourself floating off, down in the frigid waters, your funeral clothes being salvinia and your shroud made of pennywort. Those thoughts rose like lily pads, big and blooming and plentiful, the autumn your mother passed.

'You've really got to work now, girl,' your Father sneered. 'Got to earn your keep now that your mother can't cry on your behalf.'

The glint in his eye pricked at your neck, made your spine stiffen and eyes shift away. Be quiet, be meek, be sweet. You wondered if your mother's advice would save you from his basest assertions, or encourage them. You would soon find out.

----------------

Ordinarily the Mid-Autumn festival was a slight reprieve, allowing a few days for your aching, numb fingers to warm and stretch as you enjoyed the city turned to colour. Ordinarily.

This year, you found yourself hauled down to the drinking district, your Father's blunt, filthy fingers digging into the soft meat of your upper arm. It was still daylight, thankfully, but you already felt exposed as he had you linger in the square near the public houses. You could already hear the hoots and laughter of raucous men enlivened by drink and company. The smell of stale ale and piss was not enough to cover the scent of fresh baking and roasted game drifting on the breeze. You shivered, your burned, you hungered.

Meek little dormouse, scurrying around the greasy ferret who held her tail under his claws.

Your Father's chance came as the sun was setting, candlelight just now visible through the slats and windows of taverns. Far from cozy, it reminded you of the lidded eyes of some lazy predator about to watch your ruination.

'I don't care if you are crusader to the gods themselves! Knight of the Realm or not, you can't come into my pub and throw furniture around like you're at the Solstice games!'

The snarling Madame looked comically small next to the absolute beast of a man currently ducking under the doorframe. Watching her chuck the splintered leg of a chair after him you thought her lucky that he didn't want more of a fuss. You had never seen a man so big, so broad, seeming bigger whilst dressed still in his mail and wearing the colours of the King. He merely grunted as he made his way to the tethering post, letting her threats and screeches fizzle into the cool, twilight air. Leather-gloved hands worked at the harness of the dappled stallion you had been admiring earlier, easily more than 18 hands tall and capable of carrying this brute. You had imagined earlier slicing that very harness and riding hard across the cobblestones away from your father. Away anywhere.

'Good sir, are you in need of lodgings?' The words dripped from your Father's lips like ichor. You could smell the sickly underlying rot.

The Knight's hands stilled, head still lowered. His voice rumbled out, deep and rough as gravel.

'You offerin', then? 'ow much will that cost me?'

'Well, it's busy in the Festival. The guest houses are full but my home is open to weary travelers-'

A barked laugh cut him off. The Knight raised his head, pinning your father in place like a moth in a hobbybook. You quickly looked away, pretending to busy yourself with a nearby fruit cart. His face was covered, a dark black slash across his lower face like an empty maw. But his eyes. You could have drowned in those eyes, dark as they were. They pulled you in more than the call of the river on your bad days. If you stared too long you'd never wade out.

'Ain't you charitable,' you couldn’t see his mouth but you were sure that he sneered.

'Well, a former soldier should be willing to support the Crown. Although, with a mouth to feed a few coins wouldn't go amiss..' his hand swept back and you tried not to cringe away.

'Former solider, eh?' Your Father clearly had the Knight's attention now. As did you. Though you continued to look away you felt his gaze like you felt touch. Like he was grasping you, keeping you still. Your head felt heavy as you raised it towards them, now a part of this bargain whether you wanted to be or not.

'I know what it's like to seek the comfort of a warm hearth and soft bed. I would not see you ride off into the cold night.'

The Knight huffed; you could almost mistake it for a laugh. Though quiet, the voices and laughter of the nearby inns seemed quieter, like all sound and light was absorbed by this armoured beast. Once, just after your mother died, you headed to the riverbank as always for work. It was barley daybreak, some of the older more experienced women already beginning their washing, but you walked on. And on. Until the river led you to its mouth, rushing and rocky and dangerous. You wanted to jump in. You felt the same now, gazing at this man.

'How much for the girl, then?' He looked right at you as he said it, catching your wide, staring eyes. You didn't blink, couldn't look away.

'She is my daughter! Sir, I-' that same rot, spewing out of his mouth.

'I didn't ask who she is, I asked 'ow much?'

Your Father took a step towards him, faltering under the weight of his gaze. He leaned, then, trying to seem ashamed. Trying to seem like a father should.

'Sir, she is my daughter. I can do nothing but take offence at what you are suggesting.'

The Knight pulled out a small velvet purse, heavy and distended with coins. They clinked as they smacked into the cobbles at your Father's feet. All pretenses dropped, then, as he scrambled to pick it up with greedily shaking fingers. Prize in hand, he found his courage as he sidled closer to him, thick neck open and exposed as he leaned in to whisper his betrayal. His filicide.

'She's a bit older, yes, but unused to the ways of men, mind. With a firm hand I'm sure she cou-' a gloved fist at his throat turned perfidy to gasps. You watched red bloom instantly under those fingers, and marveled at the strength. The violence.

'Your own daughter,' he sneered. 'What kind of man, soldier at that, would sell his daughter to a man like me?'

Your Father was bigger than you, yes, but looked like a poppet in the hands of this beast, so easily dragged towards him ready to be shaken in his maw.

'I'd love to think that she isn't yours, that she's some whore you peddle out to drunken leches in the alley. But you're slimier than an eel in birdshit, aren't ya?'

You didn't move, didn't speak as you saw his fingernails scrabbling uselessly against the unforgiving strength. You, for a small moment, felt the claw release your tail. Run, you thought. A look at this behemoth and his horse had you thinking again. Run where?

Be quiet, be meek, be sweet.

'Please!' The plea bubbled up your throat like acid.

He said nothing, did not loosen his grasp, as he tilted his head like a dog.

'It is as he says. He is my father,' you continued.

A scoff stilled your words.

'Some father, look at the state of ya.'

You looked down at your chapped, scarred hands. Your patched, slightly-too-short skirts. You felt the throb of the bruises on your upper arms, the beginnings of hollowness eating away at your usually plump cheeks.

'You mistake me, Sir,' You could barely hear your voice over the blood rushing in your ears. 'I am not asking for his life. I am asking you to take me with you. Please.'

Silence. His eyes flickered over you anew, contemplating. Your hummingbird heart fluttered in your chest.

'Close y'r eyes, girl. Until I say.' Your shocked hesitance made him growl. 'Now!'

The imprints of tavern candlelight burned behind your lids. You let the corners of your mouth flick up.

----------------

Your Knight's name was Simon. The Ghost, it was rumoured. You weren't seasoned on the field so you knew not of his reputation, but the reaction of those you encountered gave it away. Even without the blood staining his hands he was imposing. Tall, broad, intense. You still hadn't seen under the kerchief he kept around his face, but you spent many nights imagining. Was his nose crooked, or was it a trick of the light on fabric? Did he have stubble across his jaw that matched the fine, blond strands that decorated the top of his head? Did he smile? Scowl? Was he handsome?

He was gruff, certainly. You spent the first few days obeying your mantra - be quiet, be meek, be sweet -but it didn't provoke anything in him at all. Neither praise nor censure. It seemed, rather, that he was determined that your presence would be nothing more than a fact of circumstance. Not worth much fuss.

'She needs winter clothes. A nice dress. A travelling cloak. And some boots.'

That was how you found yourself perfectly still, getting prodded and pinned in the parlour of a tailor shop in the city's mid-tier. The seamstress' cheeks burned red as she turned her disapproving eyes between her task and the Knight who refused to leave the dressing area. He dwarfed the chaise, leather and chains indenting delicate brocade. After a grunted 'She's my Charge. If you want my coin, then 'm not leavin'' he sat silent. Just kept his eyes on your face. As always.

You couldn't find it in you to feel embarrassed. He'd done no more than see you in your petticoats, even at the guesthouses where you lodged for the night. An altogether better set up that you could've envisioned for yourself. You had thought your Father like a sly weasel, thought any future husband like a carrion crow ready to pick over whatever your Father left. But you thought Simon like a grizzled old guard dog. A dormouse held no interest when bigger prey was to be had. When you didn't pose a threat.

He clothed you. Fed you. Ordered hot bathwater for your room - a luxury you had never experienced - and otherwise left you alone. All he touched you with was his gaze, steady and unashamed. Strange how you now saw your silence -quiet, meek- as a barrier.

'Where are we going?' You worked up the courage to ask as you rode behind him up to the next tier of the city, seeing wooden roofs change to tile.

'The Palace.'

'The Palace? What, but what about me?'

'You asked me to take you wiv me, didn' ya?' you felt the rumble of his words all the way from his chest to your arms.

'Yes, but.. What, what will I do there? How will you explain this?'

You realised now your lack of foresight. You foolishly assumed that someone high-ranking wouldn't be starting brawls in lower-tier taverns. Or magistrating over scoundrels due to the sale of their daughters. You thought, perhaps, of an impoverished country knight who came to the city only for the festivities. You could bargain your way (or slip away) if he turned out to be just as bad as your progenitor, and make a living in one of the towns or hamlets that stretched along the woodlands of the Kingdom. Foolish girl.

'No one will ask questions. No one will bother ya,' You believed him, felt the threat in his words.

'But they'll think. They'll wonder.' I wonder, you thought to yourself.

'Can't stop that,' He snorted. 'Why don't you ask me what you really want to ask?' He pulled sharply on the reigns, causing you to clutch hard around his waist and whisper your words pressed into his back.

'What are you going to do with me?'

------------------

"Ho, Simon! Hard to drag ye from yer hermitage in Northmire,' you stared as a smiling Isleman slapped your Knight hard on the back, hooking his arm and dragging him down into the booth. 'And ye've brought a wee Bonnie thing with y-'

'That'll do, Johnny,' Simon growled. Still, he let himself be handled onto the bench. He looked at you, standing still, staring at the other side of the table. 'Well? You sitting down or wot?'

You scrambled down beside him, too timid to sit next to the laughing stranger. Too wary to put your back to the rest of the tavern. Past Simon's profile, you snuck a peek at the man - Johnny - and found him looking back at you. He looked friendly, sure, but you were reminded of the harriers that plucked young hens from the woods. His eyes were too sharp, too bright. His smile was a little wicked, too. Too intense to be without danger.

'Well, the King'll be happy. He'll finally have a real reason to say naw to all the harpy mothers pecking at him about their single daughters. Cannae say I expected it, but congratulations,' You blinked. 'Cannae believe you beat Garrick to it an' all, thought fer sure he'd be the dutiful one. Well, first that is.'

Simon ignored him as he flagged down the serving girl. He ordered for you, as always.

'Bit bold of ye, though, plastering her in your colours. Scared o' a challenge to her? Like anyone would chance their arm seeing her wi' you, Your Grace,' Johnny laughed again, blue eyes shining as he watched Simon's jaw tick under the scarf. 'Go oan then, introduce us.'

'Dormouse, meet Johnny.'

'Aw, come oan!' Johnny leaned over, then. 'He's forgotten his manners all the way oot in Northmire. I'm John MacTavish, of the Northern Isles. I've known this one fer a while, but never knew him tae settle.'

You squeaked out your own name in return, quickly taking a sip of the weak ale Simon pushed in front of you. Gave yourself more time to take stock. He too had the King's colours in a sash across his chest. Unlike Simon, he wasn't wearing full mail or a face covering. A heavy shirt of forest green, a red tartan kilt, and thick knitted socks were his attire of choice. Blue warpaint swirled from his temples down to his jaw, and he'd shaved his hair only on the sides. Not commonly seen in the Tiered City, but you knew the islanders to the North of the mountain wore similar garb. You let your eyes catch the glint of a dagger in his socks, as well as the hefty broadsword hooked by the table. The warpaint on his face was not just for decoration.

You stayed quiet, munching on thick slices of bread dipped in broth as they talked, Low, rumbling voices and warmth from the hearth lulled you to a wakeful sleep, eyes still open but mind calm. MacTavish had called Simon 'Your Grace'. You were wearing his colours. You were going to the Palace. Something about that niggled at you, deep at the base of your skull.

You woke to Simon gently sliding you along the bench. Big hands and stained fingers so soft, like you were an overripe damson he wanted to preserve.

'Time for bed. C'mon, mouse.'

'Why do you call me that?' You murmured, still feeling his arm around you as he led you to your rooms. 'I never told you that was my Mother's nickname for me. Dormouse.'

You felt him huff out a laugh, pressed close against you.

'Didn't need ya to. It's obvious.' he answered after a pause. He leaned down, bracing you against the room door. Only his scarf separated you from his flesh, close as you were. Wide eyes meeting dark. You shared the same breath.

'You're quiet like one. Seem sweet. But I saw you'd be willing to chew y'r own leg off to escape a trap,' he whispered that horrible truth so tenderly. His blunt, calloused fingers left firetrails on your cheek. 'My mouse. My survivor.'

His thick forearm braced your back as he opened the door, stopping your from tumbling into the emptiness behind. He needn't have bothered; you'd already fallen into him.

-------------------------

'How many more days' to the Palace?'

'Two, if we don't loiter. Johnny'll meet us at the gates to the Citadel.'

You looked up, seeing the Palace fortress taller and more intimidating than it had ever seemed down at the city's lowest levels. You were awed by the mason and marble buildings up here, the clean streets and cleaner people. Everything seemed to gleam this high-up. This close to the sun. Close to the Palace. Your skin had started to heal, after a week or so without labour and with good meals and rest, but you could see the discolouration that would never fade. It made you pick at your sleeves. Dormice didn't gleam. They hid.

You looked at the wide streets and their sun-bleached stones. Nowhere to hide here.

'And when we get there? What will happen?'

'We'll greet the Court. I have news for the King. They'll be a Ball f' the Festival. And you,' Simon stilled your steps, 'You will be good. You'll do as I tell ya. Not everyone is a friend. And I won't always be wiv ya.'

Perhaps you imagined it but you swore you could see something soft - warm - in those dark eyes of his as you nodded. You had years of experience avoiding the attentions of predators; you could do the same for Simon.

When you reached the Citadel Gates Johnny was waiting as foretold, chatting with a guardsman by the pulleys. He perked up as he spotted Simon's horse, all dappled grey with black skull harness. A proud danse macabre, carrying The Ghost.

'Here they are, the Duke and Duchess of Northmire! Let them pass, go oan. Here, raise his banner.'

It was a good thing that your blood turned to ice in your veins; it prevented you from letting go of Simon's waist. You watched as a square banneret in the same colours as your new travelling cloak - and dresses, and overskirts, and, and - rose to flutter slightly below the banner of the King. The wind lured the heavy fabric to thwack against the sky, echoing the drumbeats of your tambour heart. What were you marching towards?

Johnny had mounted his own stead, canting a light pace next to you and Simon.

'Ye should hae seen the ponces and pricks - sorry, My Lady - who came riding up here in their carriages this mornin'. I ken they think they were showing off but the guards and I were havin' a barry laugh watching the wheels get stuck in the cobbles and streets from the mid-tier all the way up-'

'Y'r point, Johnny?'

'Alright, cool yer blood. The point is, we've got tae change our travel plans. Be at the Palace tomorrow, nae a day later.' He sent Simon a significant look that you weren't so stunned as to miss. 'We've got a night hosted by Garrick's sister, then we'll be off in the morning.'

'Garrick's sister' was a comely, slender woman with sharp eyes and a kind smile. She, or rather the Garrick family, kept a townhouse in the top tier close to the Citadel as well as their estate at Thamesbury. As a close peers and allies of her brother, her doors and hospitality were open to you all. You didn't want to seem like the uncultured urchin you were, but even the entry hall surpassed any luxury you'd seen thus far. You had to suppress an instinctual flinch as her manservant stepped behind you to reach for your cloak. Or perhaps the lessons from the streets were written all over your wide eyes. You saw Johnny chew on a smile as Simon glared down at the man, massive arms crossing across his great oak chest.

'That'll do,' he growled. 'There are saddlebags to be seen to.'

The poor man scarpered with a stuttered, 'Of course, Your Grace.'

You stared after your Knight as he stomped up the stairs, heavy footfalls disturbing the frames of the Garrick ancestors across the walls. He looked back, silhouetted with a hand outstretched.

'C'mon then.'

His rough, warm hand enclosed yours and you followed him to exegesis.

Ensconced in your chambers - shared chambers, marriage chambers - you found your tongue.

'Should I be calling you 'Your Grace'?' Be meek, be sweet.

He snorted, inelegant against the filigree and flowers that bore witness to your unsettled feelings.

Be meek, be sweet. Be meek, be sweet. Be meek-

'I do not speak in jest, Simon. Sorry, 'Your Grace',' Your mouth twisted, trembling with the force of holding back. 'I asked you to take me with you, yes, and I have tried not to inconvenience you beyond…beyond the circumstances of our meeting. But I must demand, now. Tell me what is going on.'

He merely tilted his head, old grizzled dog on a velvet chaise. You could see his lips - what did they look like, what did they feel like? - move under the black of his kerchief.

'We're in a guest room, talkin'. Listenin' to you ask stupid questions.'

'If the question seems stupid it is because you have made it so!' You felt your stubby nails bite into your calloused palms. The feeling made you shake, brought tears to your eyes. Shame and fear turned saliva to acid. You flung your hands towards him. 'Look! You see these. These are not the hands of a girl addressed as 'Duchess'. If this is a joke, I ask you to stop it now. I am grateful to you, I will remain so always, but playing in this manner is lower than whatever my Father had-'

"Do not. Compare me. To that man.' His growl cut you from cutaneous to cartilage, exposing your raw, soft innards. You hoped he'd be kind. Even if he chewed on your heart, popping gristle between sharp canines, perhaps you'd be a part of him, dripping down his throat with an intimacy you longed to initiate.

Viper-quick, your hands were in his. Your lap was in his too. Too warm, too bulky, too close.

'Quit y'r squirmin'. Look at me, no. Look!' Your jaw was turned more gently than you expected from hands made for violence. You couldn't meet his eyes, but that mattered not as he brought your hand and his up to your sight. 'Look. My hands aren't delicate neither.'

You took a deep breath, feeling him pant underneath you, and reached to cup his hand in yours. Butterfly-soft, you turned it, watching candlelight catch on silver scars and pockmarks. Deep gouges and veins raised valleys between knuckles and wrist. One finger seemed slightly too short, like the top joint had been lost in some gruesome accident. When you looked at the palm, it was calloused. You had already felt its roughness, deep imprints from years of work. Of war. He flexed, closing his fingers around yours.

'I'm not 'of the blood'. I'm good at spillin' it, but the stuff inside me isn't worth much. Was a Squire. Then a Knight. Caught some eyes on the battlefield and was sent to defend the borders. Became a Margrave for it an' all. Now I'm a Duke. The titles don't mean much t'me, except I've got more coin and can tell nobles to fuck off without spending a day in the stocks.'

You're not sure whether your sigh was a laugh.

'Then, what? Please, Simon. What are we doing here?'

With your face this close to him you were reminded of the night in the tavern where you first met Johnny. You felt that you were sharing the same breath then. Now, here on his lap, you felt more. The warmth of his body that leeched through your skirts. The hard press of tough leather plackart. The pounding of his heartbeat - or was it yours - as you clutched his hand with trembling strength. That same trembling strength had you meeting his eyes at last, your position allowing you to be equal in height. His pupils dilated under scarred eyebrows, deep brown melting into pitch black.

'I took you wiv' me. It was sealed in blood. You're mine.'

You cupped his jaw, feeling stubble peek through his scarf. The sensation grounded you, kept you from flying off as his words used all the world's gravity.

'Bit of a terrible dowry, blood.' You whispered, a whisker away from his lips.

'I'm not made for anything else.'

Wrong, you thought as you pressed your parted lips to his covered ones. You were made for me.

His hand trailed up your arm as yours trailed across his jaw, two bodies with one mind. With deft, strong fingers you removed the last barrier between you. Black fluttered to the floor, still flesh-warm, and your lips met again. His lips were a little thin, but hungry. He groaned, supplicant to your taste, as you sought to press him closer. You could feel stubble tickling your chin, and the firm outline of another scar close to his cupid's bow. Lightning struck across the back of your neck, making you shudder against him. All you could taste, all you could smell, all you could feel was Simon.

And he all was yours.

After his face mask fell, so too did all barriers. You feel asleep together, entwined on the same bed. You awoke to his face made soft in the morning light. Sunbeams danced in the crevices of his scars, pale and rugged like the mountain you'd looked up at as a child. You watched, sentry, as you mapped the features of his face. Golden hair, golden stubble. A crooked nose that had been broken and set several times. Tributaries of scars running down to a strong jaw. And dark, unwavering eyes that creased a little as you met his gaze.

'G'mornin'.'

'Good morning,' You murmured, still sleep-soft. You traced along his lips, laughing as he nipped softly. 'Why do you cover this up?'

'To preserve my modesty,' he smirked as his tongue flicked out to soothe your nipped fingertips.

'Simon!'

'I'll tell ya. One day. When we get back 'ome. I don't trust everyone in this city.'

'You can trust me,' you whispered as you pressed your tingling digits into his mouth, catching on blunt teeth.

You felt the heat of his gaze bring blood to your cheeks. His eyes didn't leave yours as he pressed his teeth down softly. You knew the dog wouldn't bite.

'I know, Simon. I trust you too,' You leaned your forehead against his. 'Just, wherever you go, take me with you.'

-------------

Got a part ii drafted (palace intrigue, meet John and Gaz, Ghost and his mouse finally enjoy marital rites *wink*, conflict, etc., eventual HEA) but I'm not sure if there's an audience for it. And this is the first writing I've published in y e a r s since my cringe forays into dark videogame smut as a 19 y/o, so I'm not really confident. This is unedited/not proofread. Here ya go~

#wipes rust off hands #anyway yeah lol simon is v much of the 'i found her i keep her' mindset and i love him for it #i am very shy and nervous #can u tell i like alliteration and metaphors and commas?#????????#how do people talk and write dialogue #simon riley/reader #simon ghost riley/reader #ghost/reader #Medieval AU #Knight SImon Riley #cod fanfic #my writing #báirseach writes

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yan-lorkai · 16 days ago

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.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ Warnings: platonic yandere content, implied child neglect, reader's parents are bad

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ Day twenty eight: Running away from home

"Hi, little one!" You say to the tiny fairy. The sound of bells left her mouth and as usual you don't understand what she say, as humans can't really speak fairy language but you are used to it and smile at her anyway.

"Lilia said that if I ever needed, I could ask you to take me to him. So, can you show me the way, please?"

She made a face, pretending to think, while your heart was beating loudly as the seconds go by. She made another sound and then held your pinky with her whole tiny hand, making you walk quickly to follow her lead, as her little wings worked harder and faster.

Around you, the forest stretched out before you like a green and mysterious blanket, birds flying and chirping around you, along with squirrels who sometimes crossed your path to offer you some fruits and nuts.

Other people could only dream of getting to know the forest like you did, of discovering its most curious secrets and the best corners for picnics and playing hide and seek.

The winds welcomed you, gently caressing your face with its invisible fingers as you ran along a muddy path, your yellow galoshes stained brown. You had explored that forest since you were pretty younger, you had cried and laughed with your fae friends - especially Lilia. The older fae pretty much raised you when your parents were too busy fighting each other.

The almost setting sunlight hit the leaves, casting dancing shadows on the ground. Your fae friends, magical creatures you had known since you were a child, seemed to be hiding much deeper into the forest today.

This forest was like your second house and you were happy to be back each and every time. And this time, you would not go back. Things got too bad to bear. You couldn't handle it anymore.

You couldn't handle the screaming and crying, and the fights. You couldn't handle being ignored.

And sometimes, they hid themselves to tire you out and convince you to stay the night. They would never have to do this again, for you didn't plan to ever return "home" now.

Sometimes, they used to do that just to play games or take a nap without being disturbed by human presence - lazy faes, you used to thought, they could just cast some spell or something but they almost never did it. They liked teasing and scaring humans too much.

You stopped running when the little fairy did. She waved you goodbye as she flew away, the sound of bells echoing in the silent forest, a thin bead of sweat running down your forehead as you took a deep breath.

And Lilia really liked to spoil you to the point of being suffocating. You suppose it was because you were a human, a mortal and ephemeral being in his eyes.

And yet, a member of his little family.

Sometimes you would hear playful laughter or the sound of branches breaking, but when you turned around there was no one there. Lilia was definitely in the mood to tease you today and it didn't seem like Silver or Malleus were around to stop him from continuing. A soft smile appeared on your lips. For someone so old and wise as he claimed to be, Lilia could be so silly.

They looked like they hadn't aged a single day in the past five years. And you remembered the time when you were a young child lost in those forests, confused and afraid, and crying inconsolably about how no one would find you. You remembered Lilia's gentle touch on your head and his gentle smile as he wiped your tears with his fingers or the way he held your hand as he led you out of the forest.

In the distance, a soft glow caught your attention. Running in that direction, you emerged into a dark clearing. The sun had set very quickly or perhaps it was Malleus's powers acting to conceal their presence, the forest you were in, despite being beautiful, had a reputation for being haunted by dangerous and treacherous fae.

The same fae in front of you.

The same fae who taught you how to dance, how to escape making a deal with a fae. Who treated you so gently, like you were made of glass.

The next day you returned. After telling the story to your parents, they didn't believe it and said you were dreaming. But you knew it wasn't. You walked purposefully through the forest, trying your best to retrace your steps as you also forced yourself to remember the way back home.

That day, you met Malleus, tall and stern, and dressed in black and green, and you asked if you could touch his horns. He laughed so hard he cried. But in the end, he let you touch his horns while he listened to you chatter about his father, making a comment or two sometimes.

Somehow, you felt like he looked more fae than human, sometimes the necklace he wore around his neck glowed and he had such a gentle, comfortable aura. Instead of sharing the sweets with Lilia, Malleus and Silver, you ended up falling asleep with the platinum boy under a willow tree. When you woke up that day, you were at the entrance to the forest, covered with palm leaves serving as a blanket.

In the days that followed, you brought them sweets. Your mother had told you that if you made a friend, you should share food with them so you wanted to do so, you brought so many sweets that they kept falling out of your pockets and you had to bend down to pick them up. This time, the one who came to your aid was Silver, he was also a human, but he told you that his biological parents had abandoned him in that forest and then a fae decided to take care of him.

Humans can be worse than fae, he told you. And his tone was full of pain as if he was older than he actually looked like.

Sebek, you met after running away from home for the first time. Your parents were fighting for some stupid reason again and it made you so stressed. You kicked every stone you found on the way and grimaced every time the sun touched your face with its rays. Everything in the world seemed boring and cruel that day. You, however, took your mind off it as you were captured in a trap, steel wires binding your legs together and pulling you up until you were suspended in the air.

But the sweets were gone. That night, you dreamed of big red eyes watching you sleep in the dark, but they were gentle and protective eyes, as if they wanted to guard your sleep.

To thank you for the sweets, for making friends with Silver and Malleus.

To this day you don't remember what Sebek was hunting or trying to do, but the story still made you laugh, especially because he was more panicked than you, screaming and shaking. And when Lilia came to his aid, he was also laughing at the situation.

Five years later and it still feels like nothing has changed. Silver had in his hands an ancient and delicate lyre, his fingers plucking his strings in a peaceful rhythm as if inviting his listener to relax and let go of their worries. He once tried to teach you how to play, but you didn't have much talent for it, preferring to listen rather than play.

And it was always a beautiful sight to watch him play, he was ethereal in those moments, as if he was playing a secret song that the world has forgotten, a song that made your heart inside your chest spin.

That called you. That made you feel welcome.

Malleus and Sebek, however, had no such concern and danced arm in arm and spinning in circles. It was a silly and fun dance, and at that moment, you wished you had your cell phone with you so you could register it forever, but you had quickly left the house and forgotten it.

The music was addictive, your body almost moving to the beat. But you stopped yourself in time, knowing that Lilia would offer you to dance with him, he always did because he knew you couldn't accept it. Dancing with a fae is like a drug, one that you don't have a medicine for and that once you try it nothing else in the world makes sense.

And whenever you would agree to dance with him, he'd go on and on without ever stopping.

Well, you'd have to commit this entire precious moment to your memory then, you suppose.

They noticed his presence almost immediately and Silver nodded his head in greeting as he played the last notes of his song.

After finishing their dance, Malleus came to you and, as he always did, wrapped you in a warm hug that instantly makes you melt. Your face sinking into his chest as he stole any and all worries you might have been harboring within yourself to him. A long sigh left your lips and you looked at him fondly.

"Any news to tell us, Yuu?" He asked.

So many things. More things than you could think of at that moment. School, new friends, new changes, everything was new and completely terrifying, and you were abandoning everything. Because it wasn't worth it.

There in that hug that ended very quickly, with those beings that everyone had an irrational fear against, you were at home. You were free to be who you were without any fear of possible rejection from them.

"Too much to say, not enough time for everything." You replied, a little laugh present in your voice. You held onto his shirt, silently asking for another hug and giving him your best puppy eyes, and Malleus, laughing, enveloped you into another of his warm hugs.

"But... I ran from home, this time for good." Your voice was muffled against Malleus shirt.

Sebek was beside you in a moment, and your ears hurt from anticipation. "What do you mean by that, little human?"

You winced, your lips wobbling as you tried not to cry. You failed in getting your voice steadier. "Mom and dad were fighting again... They were screaming, and there was crying, and at some point, they were breaking stuff. And they blamed me for everything, even if i didn't have any fault at all."

Malleus’s eyes widened, and his hands tightened over your shoulders, not out of anger, but out of a fierce, protective desperation. His sharp eyes softened as he saw the tears brimming in yours, the way you were trying so hard to hold them back, to not show any sign of weakness.

You fell into silence, too afraid to cry to continue speaking. When you cried while your parents were fighting, they used to belittle and mock you.

Your mom used to say that her life would be better without you in it.

But to him, there was nothing weak about your tears. It made his chest ache to see you so small and fragile, curling into yourself like you wanted to disappear. He tightened his hug over your figure.

“They blamed you?” Sebek repeated, his voice low and dangerous, as if he could scarcely believe it. “How dare they? Those insolent—” He stopped himself, his fangs bared for a moment before he managed to calm down. He could feel his rage bubbling, but he knew that anger would not help you right now.

“You are not at fault, little human. You never were.” He said softly, through gritting teeth.

You glanced up at him, trying to find comfort in his words, but the hurt you ignored for so long ran too deep. “But they said—”

“They were wrong!” Sebek’s voice boomed, making you flinch, but he immediately softened, realizing he was scaring you. He lowered his voice, though it still held a fierce intensity. “You should never have to bear such cruelty. Your worth does not depend on their words, and I won’t let you believe it does.”

“You don’t have to go back to them,” Sebek said, and there was a finality in his tone, a vow that left no room for argument. “You can stay here, on the woods, where no one can hurt you.”

The forest was quiet, save for the sound of your shaky breathing, and you felt the weight of their gaze on you, unwavering and heavy with emotion. Sebek didn’t always understand humans, but he understood enough to know that you needed protection, and he would do anything to provide it, as would Melleus and Simver.

Anything to make you feel safe, even if it meant guarding you from the very people who were supposed to love you.

You blinked at him, surprised by how quickly he made the decision for you, but a part of you felt relieved, a part of you were afraid they would send you away. “But… I won't be a burden?”

From behind Sebek, you saw a shadowy figure approaching fast, and in the blink of the eye, you realized who it was. Lilia was walking faster, his presence filling the space, his eyes glowing softly in the dim light. He had heard everything, and there was a sadness there, but also a determination that made your heart skip a beat.

Silver's eyes flashed with something unreadable, almost offended by the mere suggestion. “A burden?!” he exclaimed, his voice rising again before he caught himself, this time gentler but no less insistent.

“You could never be a burden. We—” he paused, his words catching in his throat before he continued, “we care for you. Do you not see that? If you are in pain, we will be there to carry it for you. If you are in need, we will help you. You belong with us.”

“What Sebek and Silver says is true,” He spoke, his voice was commanding, as if every word was a decree. “You are no longer alone, darling. The forest now welcomes you as your home now, as I welcome you into my family and we will not let you face any more of that suffering.”

You instantly melt; the tension leaving your shoulders. Part of you wanted to tell them that you didn’t want to impose, that you didn’t want to drag them into your problems, but another part — a much smaller, quieter part — felt relieved, like you could finally breathe. Like you didn’t have to keep fighting alone.

Lilia appeared beside Malleus, a soft, knowing smile on his lips. “You poor thing,” he said, his voice as light as a lullaby, yet with a hint of sadness. “You’ve been carrying so much weight by yourself, haven’t you? It must have been exhausting. But you don’t have to anymore. We’re here for you.”

Silver's usually sleepy eyes were now wide open and he was fully awake. “If your family can’t see how precious you are, then they don’t deserve you. We’ll take care of you, and you won’t have to worry about going back.”

You felt the weight of their words, the way they seemed so sure, so unyielding in their determination to keep you safe. It was overwhelming, and for a moment, you couldn’t hold back the tears anymore. They spilled down your cheeks, hot and unbidden, and before you could even try to wipe them away, Sebek took you from Malleus’s arms and into his.

His arms were firm and steady around you. “There, there, little human,” he murmured, his voice gentler than you’d ever heard it. “Cry if you must, but know this: you are not alone anymore. Not now, not ever.”

Malleus stepped closer, placing a hand on your head, his cool fingers brushing against your hair. “We will keep you safe,” he said softly, his tone carrying a promise that echoed through the room. “And if anyone dares to hurt you again, they will face our wrath. As the fae king, I promise you this.”

It was a strange feeling... To be surrounded by so much protectiveness. They were intense, determined. And you had been aching for something like this for so long — to be wanted, to not be a burden.

You leaned into Sebek’s embrace, your sobs slowly subsiding as the warmth of their presence surrounded you. Maybe it was wrong to feel comforted by this, but right now, you didn’t care. All you wanted was to believe that, for once, you could let go and be cared for, without fear or hesitation.

“Thank you,” you whispered, your voice barely audible, but they heard it. And in that moment, you felt the unspoken promise between you and them solidify, a bond that was as fierce as it was unbreakable.

For better or worse, you were theirs now, and nothing in this world — or any other — would change that.

#yandere diasomnia #malleus x yuu #malleus x mc #malleus x y/n #malleus x reader #lilia x yuu #lilia x mc #lilia x you #lilia x reader #sebek x mc #sebek x yuu #sebek x reader #silver x mc #silver x reader #silver x yuu #yandere twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland #tw yandere

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simpingforheros · 2 months ago

Text

Bring Me To Life

Pairing: Arkham Knight!Jason Todd x Female! Reader

Summary: Destroy the Batman and get his companion back? Jason almost didn't believe Slade until... Warnings: Usage of female pronouns, Nudity (NO smut), Swearing, Character Death, Angst, Resurrection, Infantization ( I didn't know how to better describe this), Unhealthy relationship dynamics, Kinda Dark/Obsessive! Jason, Mentions Electroshock therapy, Implied Brainwashing, Slade being a creep, Mentions of Drug Abuse, Mentions of Child Neglect, Mentions of Child Homelessness and unsafe situations, SPOILERS for Death in the Family (Comic 1988) and Arkham Knight.

Author's Note: Hiya Everyone, This is the first fanfic I've written in a while and the christianing fic for this account. I may start a casual little series with this, but I don't know yet. Also any comic and game inaccuracies are either because I forgot or I adjusted it to fit the story.

Also while this post is mostly safe for work, MINORS DNF AND PLEASE READ WARNINGS. I DO NOT AUTHORIZE ANYONE TO STEAL MY WORK OR REPOST IT ON OTHER SITES.

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It was supposed to be him...

Those dark nights he had spent alone on the streets as a child didn't seem so bad looking back on it. Jason understood struggle even when he had lived with his parents who spent grocery money on alcohol and drugs. Living on the streets didn't feel so much worse, especially since he had... "Jason, Mr. Accetta gave me some scraps from dinner rush today! There's even a whole pizza in here!"

Her. His one friend had since he was thrown into this harsh world. She was the only person he knew at the time to never stop smiling or finding a positive outlook on things. He couldn't even remember when they met, but he could hardly remember them being apart.

Whether he was stealing or fighting, she was there as a faithful lookout or a willing accomplice. She taught him how to take tires off of cars like her granddad taught her and he taught her how to throw a punch like his dad used to throw. An unstoppable duo who ran the alley as well as two 11-year-olds could.

The harsh winter nights they spent crowding together were his favorite memories from that time. Even with the bite of Gotham's winds at their toes, his partner would never falter to talk about anything and everything as he listened. She would talk about her dead grandparents a lot and all the stories she had with them before they passed away, but his mind couldn't recall them at all. He just remembers the constant dream that she told him every night.

"One day, Jay, I'm gonna have enough money and get an apartment in Old Gotham..." Jason's nose turns up as he listens to his friend as he bites on his food. "Why Old Gotham? Isn't it just falling apart?"

She giggles as she pulls the oversized coat closer to her shivering body. The jacket was from a relative but the fabric lost those memories as its fibers were now bones. She still had it even after she left the streets...

"Because it's the most beautiful place in the world...I will get an apartment someday and you and I will live there. We can even get like a cat or something."

The familiar burn on Jason's face blooms as he asks, "Why would you want me there?"

"Because it wouldn't be my dream home unless you're there with me."

He wouldn't find out until a few years later that her grandparents used to live in Old Gotham until her grandfather died and her grandmother had to move as she would unknowingly follow her husband not even a year later...

Those nights in the streets melted into nights spent in the warmth of Wayne manor. As the two thieves became kings after a faithful night with the Batmobile, Jason was brought into the world of crime fighting along with his closest friend. As they trained and donned their capes, She would show a new side of herself to Jason. The overly happy young girl from the streets became an anxious teenager as he became angerier.

"Jason..." Her voice woke him up in the darkest of nights. His body ached from the nightly fights from the previous day as he turned to see a familiar sight.

A now 14-year-old Y/N standing in the crack of the door. Her fidgeting figure indicated all he needed to know before he raised his blanket as she scurried to get in the bed. This was a ritual that started when they moved in. Both would grow anxious at night as they went from the open streets to a large, confining manor. Alfred almost had given up on trying to scold the teens as they were found sharing a bed more times than being separated.

As she curled into his side as much as she could without hurting him, he could practically hear her mind tinkering as her E/C eyes stared into his chest.

There wasn't the need to discuss what was on her mind. At least not right now. She was concerned about the growing tension between Bruce and Jason. He was becoming reckless and Bruce was having none of it with her often getting dragged into the middle of the fights.

He hated that he never tried more...

It shouldn't have surprised him when all the conflict had finally caused a break in the family. Especially when Jason began looking for his birth mother. Y/N tried to be supportive of him as he investigated his leads. Those leads eventually led to Jason reuniting with Bruce as he investigated a possible arms trade in Lebanon. The reconciliation and the prospect of finding his mother left him blind to any form of common sense, but what kind of common sense could a fifteen-year-old make in the life they lived?

He should have listened to her concerns when they finally found Sheila Haywood, his real mother. Y/N had a bad feeling from the start but he dismissed her worries. Jason had no clue that the night he was supposed to meet with Sheila was gonna end up being one of the worst nights of his life....

"Jason, maybe you should wait for Bruce to be here so he can come with you." She suggested softly.

His eyes roll as he adjusts his costume. "Because it's none of his business. I'm just meeting with my mom and talking out some stuff..."

He didn't tell her about the blackmailing he witnessed earlier that day between his mother and the Joker. But, he would find out later that she already knew about it through Bruce.

Her hand reaches for his shoulder and pulls him around to face her. "I'm serious. You shouldn't meet with a woman you barely know in some fucking warehouse in the middle of nowhere!"

Jason can remember the hurt he felt when he heard her snap at him, Oh, how angry he got with her when all she wanted was to protect him. He remembers yelling at her the worst thing he thought he could say to her.

Why the fuck did he ever say that to her?

"I'm sorry your parents didn't want anything to fucking do with you, but I'm not gonna let your bitter ass ruin my shot to be with mine."

He remembers the hurt that filled her eyes and the string of regret pooling in his gut. With a fake smile on her face and tears pooling in her eyes, Y/N says softly,

"Okay...I'm sorry," The sharp sting in his neck as she pressed the vial of sedatives Bruce gave her into his veins. "I'm sorry to do this, Jason, but Bruce said you wouldn't go down that easily."

Jason couldn't remember what he said after the spark of betrayal hit him, but he hated himself that the last time he saw those eyes they were clouded with the tears he caused....

"Y/N! Please talk to me!" Jason begs into the coms as he rod on the back of the motorbike with Bruce.

He should have known. Her instincts are never wrong and he doubted her.

When Bruce found him unconscious and told him about how Joker was involved in all of this, Jason should have known that it was all a trap. His mother wasn't a poor blackmailed soul, she was a conniving bitch who profitted.

He also should have known that Y/N was gonna go meet with Sheila instead of him. Where the Joker was waiting for her.

"Y/N, please. Please be okay...." He begged to the coms as he can only think about what he said to her the last time they spoke.

"J...Jason...."

"Y/N!" Relief washed over him like a wave as he heard her voice. Her broken pained moaned of his voice made him sick as he tried to at least rationalized that at least she was alive. "Don't worry, honey. We know where you are and we're coming to help you."

He didn't know that she was laying battered and broken against the locked door as she stared at the bomb that was ticking away on the wall. Her labored breaths blocked out the ticking on the comms as she whispers out.

00:12

"Do you remember the apartment?..."

"What apartment? The one you talked about in the alley? Why are you-?"

She interupts him, he can hear the familiar curl of her smile in her pained voice as she whispered,

"I wanted it to have a window facing the east end...the stars always looked pretty over there..."