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tragedyofdevotion · 6 days ago

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Cain (p4)

Tw: Cain is really violent, like verbally violent. Tantrums, toxic relationships, isolation from friends and family, sexual content, sexual descriptions, profanity- like a LOT of them, Cain losing his shit really frequently. Gender neutral reader, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

This is part 4.

Click here for part 5

Click here for part 1

Cain tries. He really did.

The first week or so after his earth shattering confession, Cain was elusive. You hardly see him at home, not even for meals. But you know he's eating, because you would leave leftovers in the fridge and it would disappear the next day. You thought he was avoiding you, and you understood, because you practically rejected him at first.

He came back one day, seemingly waiting for you in the living room. To your surprise, instead of only acknowledging each other with a split second glance, Cain tried to make a conversation.

"How was it?" He asked.

You asked him what he meant.

"Your day." Cain continues, looking right into your eyes, which caught you off guard. Usually, eye contact means he's about to stir some trouble up, but you think this time he's actually making an attempt to communicate. "How was... your day?"

You told him that it was okay. Then you asked him about his day.

You could definitely see that he physically stopped himself from responding like he used to. Cain closed his eyes and took a deep breath before answering.

"My day is okay too."

And both of you left it at that, as you did your own thing, he did his own thing... which happened to be reading a book of sorts? Strange, he doesn't seem like the type to even be remotely near words. But you didn't want to pry and potentially get your head bitten off.

"It's cold." You turned to him and finally noticed that he's actually bundled up in a hoodie instead of his usual sleeveless shirt. That made sense, the seasons are changing, and very soon you would see frost on the sidewalk again.

Come to think of it, he has recently changed up his fashion sense to cover up a lot more, adjusting according to the weather. No more ripped jeans, instead opting to wear a pair of thick cargo pants with numerous pockets. He also got himself a new pair of shoes, trading in his tattered sneakers for a new pair of combat boots.

You asked him if it bothers him. Cain seemed to pause and think about his answer for a moment before replying.

"I always hated the fucking cold." He spoke with a sense of dread in his voice. Cain knows that he can't change the weather, and he just needs to tough it out. He has done this for years, ever since he was abandoned in that dumpster. But it doesn't make it easier, and each winter feels as intense as the last. And the worst part is, he doesn't understand why the bites of frost disturb him so much. Cain never found out how he was abandoned by his parents; he only knew that they did.

You nodded and decided to just... put aside a bit more cash for the heating bill. You cranked up the heat enough at home to make it comfortable for him. The water heater is also switched on 24/7 now, even if it does hike up your bills. Sometimes you even think the apartment was a little too warm for your liking, but seeing Cain being a lot less miserable made you suck it up and just wear lighter clothing instead.

And you didn't think much of it, until there was one night, when the wind was howling and all you could see was powdery white outside; You heard a knock on your bedroom door, and you were about to fall asleep in a pair of shorts and shirt, because the thermostat is dialed all the way up that it felt like summer. Upon opening it, you saw Cain towering over you, exuding vulnerability. He's not wearing his hoodie, but a white t-shirt, a pair of comfortable plaid shoes, and warm, fuzzy slippers. You were surprised that he showed no signs of sweating, unlike you, struggling to cope with the artificial heat, yet you do so for the sake of your troubled roommate.

You asked him if he needed anything from you. Only to be pulled into his arms for a tight hug. You were about to say something, but you felt wetness on your shoulder. Cain was crying.

"I don't... I don't know what I'm feeling..." Although muffled, you could hear how pained and conflicted he was.

You patted his back as he let it all out. You were dying to ask him questions, but knowing Cain, it wouldn't get you very far if he wasn't ready to share it in the first place.

"It feels good. I-It's warm." He spoke between sobs. "Please... let me stay."

You didn't understand what gave him the impression that you were planning to kick him out anytime soon. You told him that he's welcome here. And that was all he needed to hear tonight.

And what neither of you knows is that today was his birthday, or rather, the day those bystanders found him discarded like trash. Cain may not remember, but his body does. And it was the first time in his life that he wasn't shivering on this special day.

And Cain is afraid, utterly terrified to lose what he has now. Yet he doesn't know how to keep it. So he latches on, he does his best, he tries.

He slept in the same bed as you that night. It wasn't comfortable at all; his body ran hot. And on top of the running heaters? You felt like you were in a furnace. Cain had his arms wrapped around you at all times, constricting your movements, but he wouldn't budge, no matter how much you squirmed. His hold felt desperate; you could feel the aching yearning he held in his body for decades. Cain would bury his head at the back of your neck, making you wonder if he just liked the feeling of being suffocated by his own breath.

You woke up the next day earlier than he did. Cain was still clinging to you with dried tears on his face. But you didn't have the heart to wake him up, because he looked truly peaceful. Though you didn't have to wait long until he opened his eyes and groggily rubbed them, freeing you from his prison.

You greeted him and asked him how he slept last night.

"Good..." He yawned and stretched his arms. Well, at least one of you had a good night's sleep. Cain doesn't seem to be particularly embarrassed that he reached this level of intimacy with you; hell, he doesn't seem to see it as anything out of the ordinary at all. It's as if he were sleeping in the same bed as you for months.

He got out of bed to freshen up, leaving you to finally reclaim your space and take your turn to doze off. Luckily, today is an off day for you, or you would have gone to work in a sour mood.

"Who the fuck are you all?!" You were jolted awake by Cain's sudden outburst in the living room. You heard extra voices and assumed he had opened the door to someone.

An argument ensued, making you scramble back up on your feet to see what was going on. Upon poking your head out of the door frame, you saw Cain heavily berating someone outside your apartment.

You called him by his name, and that caught his attention. "I don't know who these assholes are, they are not coming in!" He yelled, attempting to shut the door on the visitors.

You caught a glimpse of your long-time friends' confused and horrified faces before he slammed the door loudly against them.

Oh.

You forgot that they were visiting. Shit.

You see that Cain was agitated, threatened, even. He began hurling profanities at them, wishing doom on them, so on and so forth. He was panicking; the only way he could express this was by lashing out and pulling on his already messy, short, fiery hair.

You tried calming him down, but that only made him spiral more.

"They said that they're your friends-- They're nothing! They're nothing to you, they don't fucking matter! They're scum, they're trash!" He screamed as tears streaked down his frenzied face. Cain began hyperventilating, the more you tried to get him to see reason. "I'll fucking kill them, I fucking will!"

You decided to shut up and let him burn all his fuel out. All this while, you were extremely baffled as to what suddenly set him off. You know, Cain could be somewhat decent to strangers; he doesn't go off on the delivery men that sometimes come here to give you your packages or food. He would sometimes even be the one who signed the delivery confirmation form with no issue. Not even door-to-door salesmen would make him erupt like this; at most, he would just close the door on them. Why is he suddenly so territorial?

And as predicted, his explosion ended with him curling up into a pathetic ball of misery on the floor. You think your friends decided to leave you and him alone for a while, you're definitely getting a very concerned phone call later.

So, you did. And you managed to convince that you're okay, and Cain is a good man. It was challenging, but they decided to respect your wishes. Or maybe they also didn't want to deal with that unstable landmine of a person.

You don't think he left the apartment without you during the entirety of winter. He would flare up as soon as he felt a draft, and you wonder if it's a traumatic response to something. Either way, you don't think you should pry if he's not ready to talk about it.

Cain got very comfortable with you now. The sofa bed is left empty, now he goes straight into your bedroom. It doesn't matter if you're purposely hogging the bed, he would either manhandle you as if you're his beloved stuffed teddy bear, or have the audacity to say, "Scoot your ass over."

He developed a habit of possessively wrapping his arm around your waist whenever both of you were out. Instead of waiting for you to move out of the way or barking commands to move aside, Cain would just manually move you by guiding your shoulders or sometimes, your hips.

He seemed to be starved of touches. Whenever you take an afternoon nap without him, you would wake up to find Cain holding you in his arms. And he gets annoyed at you for waking him up. When you would spend the day watching television on the sofa, Cain would either lie his head on your lap, or trap you into his- making you his personal lap table for the bowl of popcorn you two shared.

Cain needed something to occupy his hands. So he chose to massage yours instead to soothe himself. It felt nice to apply pressure to your palm and fingers, but sometimes he wasn't aware how strong he was. You would wince at the pain, which caused him to frown, and spit,

"Fucking wimp."

But then, he would bring your hands to his lips to kiss them, and adjust his strength to not hurt you anymore. He wouldn't outright apologize or thank you for most things, but he has his own way to express remorse, guilt, and gratitude.

It felt... strangely natural. He wasn't making it awkward at all when he transitioned from not touching you at all to giving you regular cuddles, kisses, and even sharing beds. Cain moved like it's always been this way, as if he had always given you a kiss on the forehead before dropping you off at your workplace, as if he had always kissed you on the back of your neck to thank you for the meal. Whenever you stood in front of him to say something, he would have his large, calloused hands gripping your arms in place as he listened. You never knew what the purpose of it was, as he doesn't seem to be aware that he's doing it.

You're not necessarily complaining that whenever the two of you waited at the bus stop, in the cold, he would bury you in his chest. It's ridiculously warm, and he would wrap his heavy coat around both of you. Cain would absentmindedly rub your back up and down, stroke your hair as he remains hypervigilant for any assailants that could attack the two of you. And you would be lying when you said that it doesn't make you feel all fluttery inside.

Cain was willing to open up even more on how he feels about various things. But it was still excruciatingly difficult.

One day, he decided to talk to you about your giving nature. It occurred when you decided to give a homeless man some spare change.

"Why did you do that?" He asked when you and he reached the comfort of your apartment. Cain didn't remove his coat just yet, while you're practically stripping everything off yourself because your heating system is too efficient.

"Why did you give that bum money? He didn't work for it." He clarified what he meant. You can see that he's asking from a place of curiosity, not hostility or judgment.

You shrugged and said that it makes the world a better place.

"How?" He furrowed his eyebrows in frustration.

He would have enough money to buy himself something hot to eat and drink.

"That's bullshit. He's going to waste it on booze and drugs."

You asked him how he would know.

"All these bastards think about is their next high." He frowned bitterly.

You said that everyone can change. You wanted to tell him off for being a hypocrite, but it probably isn't a good idea. He vehemently disagreed.

"No they fucking can't. You're being used, you're being a damn jackass! You should have kept that for yourself, these fuckers can't even give you anything of worth back but have the balls to ask for a handout!" He was getting more and more exasperated by the second.

You decided to clam up.

"They're scum, they're all fucking good for nothing pieces of shit!" He continued his angry ranting as he entered the bathroom to freshen up.

And conversations that were deeper than small talk usually go something like that. You refused to be the one who started chatting, allowing him to take the initiative. It seems like he's jealous that you're also generous to other people, as anytime he sees you doing a good deed, he would be throwing a tantrum about how you're letting others walk all over you.

You can't really do donations under his watchful eyes anymore, because he would find a way to get it back from them and return the cash into your wallet.

He's always the nicest when it's just the two of you, and the concept of the world stopped existing. The apartment is his safe haven where nothing outside matters. He is in no way romantic, but he would be much, much tender compared to when you first met him. However, it is actually agonizing to live with him hovering over you every waking minute. If the shows you watch involve the topic of child neglect or even families in general, no matter how mild, no matter how positive or negative, ten times out of ten, he would have one of his infamous, explosive meltdowns.

Oddly enough, he's mostly unaffected by documentaries, even if they potentially touch on his traumatic experiences. He tends to watch those that describe how everyday things are made, unfazed by true crime.

You avoided nature and animal documentaries because Cain would get unbelievably distressed if they involved the abandonment of their young.

Outside of that, you don't know what else to do with him. Cain seems uninterested in anything creative, but recently got obsessed with chess for some unknown reason. Regardless of your chess skills, he would beat you in almost every game, only losing to you when he first started out.

Perhaps it was boredom. Perhaps it was arousal, but you and Cain would begin to frequently have sex. And he fucks like a rabid animal, forceful, angry, desperate and primal. Cain would leave bite marks deep enough to bleed, as if he's trying to shred you into pieces. The curtains are always drawn shut because of his inclination to go down on you anywhere in the apartment. He has no problem bending you over the kitchen counter, making your legs spread on the sofa bed, pinning you against the wall, pounding you deep into your bed, letting the sound of the shower drown out your moans... The only place that's off limits is whatever table that held his valuable chessboard and pieces.

And you know that it just takes a deep kiss on the lips to initiate it, where both of your tongues must dance together. Cain would escalate quickly by rubbing his hands under your clothes. But he wouldn't press it if you decided that you're not in the mood anymore; he would just need to deal with his disappointment and sexual frustration on his own, in pure silence.

Cain doesn't say anything when fucking you. There will only be grunts and groans, but no dirty talk. Probably since he's too busy biting the hell out of your flesh.

His aftercare is a bit strange to you. It would be a strange mix of his usual harshness and an unusual dose of sentimentality:

"Get up." He would order you after a long session of post sex cuddling. Knowing him, you shouldn't oppose it.

"Go shower. I'll clean up." He began chucking the blankets, bedsheets, and pillow cases into the laundry hamper. Once he's done and sees that you're still there, he would turn to you and give you an affectionate peck on the forehead.

"You've been so good to me." He then squeezed the cheeks of your face firmly, causing you to pucker. Cain would chuckle at how silly you looked before kissing you lightly on the lips.

"I love you." He would whisper in your ear before letting you go, patting your head in praise.

However, if you just stood there and watched him ready the laundry basket, he would get annoyed.

"The fuck are you doing there, standing ass naked? Either put on some clothes or go take a damn shower." He would point in the direction of the bathroom. This would be enough to send you on your way.

Overall, you think Cain is a confusing man with moods that swing like a pendulum. You don't think he really feels shame towards you, just familiarity, trust, and comfort. And you feel honoured that you get to see his sweet side (sometimes), no one else outside of this apartment could ever hope to witness it, as he's just so spiky towards everyone. You're still so curious as to what sets you apart from all the other people who tried to help... You assume that Cain does have people who tried putting him on the right track in his life, but he pushed them away.

So one day, you mustered the courage to ask him about it. Expecting nothing more than some deranged yelling, you braced yourself:

"They shoved their help down my throat."

To your surprise, his response is as if you asked him for the time. Your speechlessness prompted him to continue.

"I fucking hated them. None of them really wanted to help me; they just wanted to feel good." He scrunched his nose as if he recalled something disgusting. "To them, I'm nothing more than a broken pet to fix. Something that should get no respect. Something practically useless in everything else, but gets them off like some street whore."

That sounds similar to what you thought of Cain. But you didn't say that out loud.

"They can take their fake sympathy and shove it so far up their asses that it kills them. Fuck them all." He snarled.

You let him release whatever steam he had for them. Well, that made sense that he gets crazily upset when you try to impose help without his request in the first place.

Once he's done, he decides to get up from his seat and pick up his now-worn duffel bag. You didn't have to ask him where he's heading out to.

"I'll be back by eight, I just need to get some stuff. Leave your bedroom door open for me." He pecked you on the cheek and smoothed your hair.

You watched him open the door and turned back to face you one more time:

"And don't fucking open the door to anyone that isn't me! You have a habit of doing stupid shit that's going to get you killed if it wasn't for me looking out for you!" He scolded before slamming the door behind him.

You wonder if Cain thinks of you as someone needing his protection, and so that's why you're not a threat to him but an object of his affection. You sat with this question, and you pondered if Cain genuinely thought of you as someone who is handicapped in some way. Made sense, your boundary-setting skills are non-existent, and you're always people pleasing, no matter how detrimental it is to your wellbeing. That's how you scored Cain.

Finally home alone after a while, you felt a little clueless as to what you should do. You know you should update your friends and family that you're doing well, and Cain is nothing they should worry about. Then again, you don't feel like talking to anyone right now.

The apartment looks pretty messy, with all the random junk Cain would bring back. God knows where he gets this merchandise, or where he got the money to buy it. You are actually in heavy denial that he's been shoplifting and wanted to believe that he's living honestly.

You thought it would be a good idea to tidy up a bit before he gets back and unloads more things from his duffel bag. It's a mystery how that bag could contain ungodly amounts of stuff.

You decided to start with the most cluttered part of your living room: the sofa bed. You know these are things that Cain would use daily, but it wouldn't hurt to organise them a bit.

The first thing that caught your eye? The book that Cain was attached to lately, and was almost obsessively reading. You wonder what was so interesting about it until you read the cover of the book.

It was a copy of "How to Be a Good Boyfriend".

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tragedyofdevotion · 6 days ago

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Cain (p3)

Tw: Violence, Cain is a mean asshole, he is also mentally unstable, lost his shit in this chapter; smashing furniture and shit. This is just abusive relationships man, yandere themes. Reader is gender neutral

This is part 3

Click here for part 4

Click here for part 1

Days turned into weeks, into months. You've let this stranger live in your apartment rent-free. But you don't think he's a freeloader, because you noticed that whenever something runs out at home, be it eggs, toothpaste, or your favourite snack, it magically replenishes itself. But you knew Cain was behind this; you barely go to the grocery store anymore because it just keeps getting replaced with new versions of it.

You know that he's not paying any of it. The first time you went grocery shopping with him and saw him with the duffle bag, it had a purpose. His stopping by your shopping cart every so often had a purpose; his being a jerk about people looking at him also had a purpose.

You deduced all that when you came back that day and found that there were duplicates of every item you bought in your pantry and fridge. You weren't hallucinating, you weren't going crazy, you didn't pay extra. Cain stole a copy of what you lawfully bought that day.

Asking him about it (no matter how gently) will make him yell at you for being "ungrateful", "picky" and a "Stuck-up asshole", and make him storm off to "cool down" somewhere else on earth. He would come back either injured or with a whole bunch of random valuables, which would disappear the next day. Being the kindhearted person you are, you wanted to think that Cain returned the items to their rightful owners.

Regardless, Cain still replaces your favourite cereal whenever it's running low.

He still maintains his quirk until now: refusing to eat anything unless you take a bite or sip out of it first. You don't have to worry about cooking too much and wasting the leftovers, or eventually finding out that you don't like the dish. Because Cain is like your compost bin, he would just eat it for you.

He doesn't cook. You found that if you left nothing behind, he didn't get to eat that day... or so you assumed. But either way, you made it a habit to cook a larger portion so he could be fed too.

Conversations are few and far between. You know virtually nothing about the man aside from a few fun facts: he likes keeping his hair red because you caught him one day dyeing his hair with a box dye in your bathroom. You thought that you're going to get kicked out or yelled at because it might be an embarrassing situation to be seen in, but instead, upon noticing that you're there, he said:

"Go piss or shit. I don't care." while applying dollops of dye to his hair in front of the sink mirror.

You said that you do mind it very much, you want your privacy.

"Then hold it in. I'll get out when I'm done." He said so nonchalantly.

Other than that, he's surprisingly respectful in his own way. You thought you would need to do everything yourself on top of taking care of a grown man. But Cain learns. He observes you and, most importantly, does what you do to keep this household afloat.

He noticed that you would clean the dishes a few hours after the meal. Cain would do the same thing, just an hour before you're expected to get up and do it.

He noticed you would take out the trash whenever it filled up, which used to be weekly before he came along. Cain would take care of that before you do.

He noticed that you would stress over the bills and how much it has risen since he came into the picture. And there was the question of your mortgage, too. You're too scared to start charging him rent, fearing that he might not take it well, as he seems to be the type who does not like explicit directives.

However, it seems like he would pick up on it. You would find extra cash that is sometimes speckled with some red liquid. And these aren't chump change either; they can go up to hundreds of dollars, usually enough to cover all your bills and give you a bit of fun money.

He would put them in places where you would absolutely find them, but it's an objectively strange choice. You found a rolled-up stack of hundred-dollar bills in your shoes once, five dollars in the shower caddy, twenty dollars taped to the inside of your uniform (scratching you as you put it on), eighty dollars under your pillow... Asking him about his choice to do this leads to the same angry rant about how you're looking down at him and not appreciating his efforts.

Out of all the places, you don't think that he has ever put cash in your wallet. But with the help of Cain, you managed to get yourself a brand new phone and made the mistake of getting him one too. To which, he took great offence until you framed it as your thankfulness for his efforts around the house. And it was a token of his appreciation. Only then did he accept it without speaking any further.

He's unfortunately not too much of a tech wizard, often leaving them at home when going out for long periods. The way he acts made you wonder if he's someone from the 90s being brought forward into the present.

Cain also had an effect on your work life.

You don't think you have missed a bus anymore, as Cain had the balls to block the doors and force the bus driver to wait for you.

Whenever you're doing the closing shift, he would be there to escort you home. And it was the safest you've ever felt, despite feeling embarrassed when you think Cain is being unnecessarily hostile to innocent people who just "appear" unnerving.

You had an idea to try and get Cain to work alongside you. In hindsight, that was a terrible idea. Surprisingly, Cain agreed to it. Since this is a small town, your boss favours you; he had no problem getting in without an interview or even a background check.

He got fired and banned from the establishment on his first day.

A woman in her mid-ages complained to Cain that her coffee wasn't done well when he had followed all the instructions to a T. She has complained that it wasn't hot enough for her, despite it being at a temperature that can burn. You don't know what set him off that day; maybe it was the ridiculous nature of her complaint, or maybe she reminded him of his many foster mothers who neglected him.

To your horror, Cain decided to splash the cup of coffee against her face. She screamed in pain and fell to the ground. Raising his voice, "Fucking hot enough now, isn't it?"

Cain walked out of the cafe with eyes all on him; it was a miracle that no one was recording. And it was an even bigger miracle that you kept your job, the woman didn't press charges, and neither did your boss. You, of course, apologized profusely to them.

The woman screamed about suing them all, putting Cain behind bars, and closing the cafe down. But you never heard from her again, not even a subpoena. You thought she had a change of heart, and such a nice woman for forgiving everyone.

You expressed your thoughts about it, and Cain kept his lips sealed. He also didn't want to look you in the eye. Perhaps he's feeling remorseful?

You had no idea what happened to your bicycle; it disappeared the day you got your new phone. Asking Cain about it will just earn you a huff and silence. Pressing him about it will get you yelled at for being a dumbass and potentially being part of the statistics of idiotic bicycle deaths.

You think he sold your bicycle.

But it's alright, because he made it up to you by getting a Roomba. You don't know how that is the equivalent of your bicycle, but in his mind, he thinks it is. It was one of the things he's actually proud to present to you, and you didn't have the heart to express anything less than gratitude.

You have to admit that it's quite interesting and fun to watch the small robot just scutter around the room. You would catch him doing that, too, and he doesn't seem to care that you're there, unless you stare at him for too long and not at the Roomba.

Laundry is a strange ordeal with him. There is a Laundromat nearby, and he would always be the one to do it. Whenever you tried doing your own, he would hiss and snarl like a wild animal before snatching it away from you.

As it turns out, he just likes watching the clothes spin and spin through the windows of the front-loading washing machines and dryers. You deduced that it's almost meditative to him, because he would be at his calmest in the laundromat... as long as no one keeps his eyes on him too long.

You even joined him one day, sitting next to him and watching the hypnotizing spin. He paid you no mind, but you knew that he was aware of your presence, as there was one time someone tried striking up a conversation with you. Only for the stranger to be met with Cain's snappy attitude, no one dared to approach you after that.

All seems well. Even though it felt like you were walking on eggshells around him at first, you quickly learned his unspoken, sacred rules and easily maneuvered this strange friendship you have with him. You think Cain is perfectly integrated into your life, and he seems content either sleeping on the couch or on the floor.

He never asked for more, but you're sure that his back is probably killing him from sleeping like a shrimp. So you made the change from a regular couch to a sofa bed, and you made sure to clarify that you're doing this for yourself. Cain didn't object to it, which you can safely interpret as approval.

And approved he did, he was the first one to try out and explore the new piece of furniture. Cain hogged it entirely, using it as a bed and also a shelf, having items randomly placed as if they're soft plushies- you noticed that he's a bit of a hoarder with the random jewelry and items he brings home. He wouldn't encroach on your cabinets and drawers, save for that one portable closet you bought online for him. It was empty for a few weeks until he got the hint that it was for him to put his own stuff. And boy, did he really utilize it.

He doesn't verbally express his gratitude, but you know that he's not taking whatever you gave him for granted. You can see it in his actions, you can feel it.

You don't really have a lot of contacts in this town. But sometimes you do have friends and family flying in and asking if they could spend the night at your place. And you're always put in an extremely difficult position, because what the hell should you tell them? You tried asking Cain if they could stay over, and he flew into a fit of rage. Now, you only saw him cry once, and that was when he first asked you if he could stay at your place. But there were hot, angry tears whenever you mentioned friends and family.

And you could tell that he felt really hurt for some reason. You couldn't tell what the hell he was ranting about, but he goes ballistic over the thought of you having a life outside of him.

Unfortunately, you end up turning them away, because at one point, his outburst got so bad that he took your phone and smashed it against the ground while screaming about how life is unfair to him, about how he wishes death upon your friends and family that he hasn't even met, about how it was only supposed to be you and him. And no one else.

You told him that you didn't understand why he was so upset over your friends and family. You said that you wouldn't have them over if he doesn't want them encroaching on his space. Though you felt bitter when you realized you didn't have full control over your own home.

"Of course you don't! You don't- Don't know what it's like to be me! I fucking hate it, I fucking hate myself! I-I-" He was pacing around, tugging on his hair and grinding his teeth. His teary face scrunched up, as if he were in unbearable pain.

He curled up into a ball on your living room floor and just sobbed. He was expressing a lot of pain, the type that would kill any normal person. But not him, because he's strong and fueled with determination to live in spite of it. But there is only so much stress a man like him can handle.

You looked around. And saw the broken furniture, electronics, and decor that Cain destroyed during his massive meltdown. Most importantly, the phone that's in pieces on the floor. You should have left, you should have called the police, and changed your locks.

Yet, you made the conscious decision to stay and hold a respectful silence for him. You didn't touch him, you didn't give him words of comfort, you just stayed.

And to Cain, that was his first taste of warmth that didn't scorch him. The type of warmth that soothes him, the warmth that he was supposed to receive from the one who loves him.

He mumbled something. You let out a "huh?" as you didn't catch what he said.

"I'm sorry..." He muttered in between sniffles.

That shook you to the core; it was the first time you had heard him apologize. It must have taken tremendous strength for him to have said that. And so, you verbally and clearly forgave him.

He broke down further, crying harder and coughing more.

You didn't know why or what you were doing, but you scooted over and coaxed him to place his head on your lap. You then started to play with his hair. And this seemed to lull him into a deep sense of safety, as you saw him struggling to keep his eyelids open.

He felt warm.

Over the following days, Cain tried his best to clean everything up and to replace whatever he broke. Which is nice of him, but you knew he shoplifted a lot just to do that, and you wished he didn't.

Neither of you spoke about the incident. You end up using his phone as your own now. Cain offered that as a solution. He didn't mention getting another phone for you or himself, though.

Disappointed, but accepting, your friends and family ended up deciding to get a hotel instead. But the visitation date would be pushed back further. You don't think it was a good time to talk to Cain about them visiting, regardless.

Life went on as usual. Except Cain would be at home a lot more, seemingly wanting to get close to you. His temper became much milder, and he became a lot less snappy, instead opting to stay silent when he gets irritated.

You didn't think much of it, until one day he dropped this bomb on you:

"I'm in love with you."

He said this with such conviction, no room for doubt, all certainty. It wasn't phrased as a question, but a solid statement.

You were sitting on opposite sides of the dining table, doing the crossword puzzle book Cain got you as a silent apology for destroying your phone. You looked up and examined his face.

His eyes were soft. Weary, even. There was no hint of wrath, trickery, or shame. There was an air of desperation and even... vulnerability around him. It's a new look on him, and it felt uncanny to you.

You have no idea how to respond. So you opened and closed your mouth like a fish out of water, but said nothing.

Eventually, you expressed that you're speechless and you don't know what to do with his confession.

He looked crestfallen. Cain then averted his eyes to somewhere else. You saw that he's blinking a lot more and taking deeper breaths.

You thought that was the end of that conversation because he didn't continue it for a while.

But you were wrong.

"...What would it fucking take to make you love me, huh?"

You felt the chills down your spine once you heard the harshness return to his once tender tone. He's back, and he's pissed.

His expression became mean. He became the Cain that you always knew. You sighed inwardly, realizing that you had made him put his walls back up.

"Was everything not enough?! Am I not enough for you, huh?! You think you're better than me?!" He shot up from his seat and slammed his hands onto the table. You winced at the sheer volume of his voice. But you could feel the excruciating torment of being rejected once again, and he felt cold. He felt unwanted once more.

You made yourself much smaller in your chair, putting your hands up as a shield.

"You're a fucking asshole, a fucking piece of shit, I hate-" He choked on his own tears, knuckles turning white over how tight he balled his fists. "I..." He gulped and then coughed, then gasped for air. Then sobbed.

It was a pitiful cycle, and it was scary to watch. But you do so anyway, because you believe that everyone deserves to be heard, no matter how insane.

Cain collapsed back into his chair and sobbed into his hands. He kept wiping his eyes and nose harshly, until they turned red.

"I-I can never hate you, I can't. I..."

Cain sounded so broken. But there isn't anything you could do aside from waiting it out.

"I don't know..." He rasped. "I'm in love with you, and it hurts. It really fucking hurts."

You gave him a minute to calm down before speaking up.

You asked him how you could help. To that, you were met with a long pause from the distressed man in front of you.

He reluctantly put his hands down, not before giving himself one last wipe.

Cain then brought his gaze to yours, and you never realized how beautiful his deep brown eyes were. Tortured, but they held an almost ethereal quality to them.

"Will you... Love me back?" He asked, with caution and hope.

You hesitantly replied that you could... try.

Save for the birds outside and the humming of the refrigerator, it was a pin-drop silence. It seems like Cain was processing all of this on his own.

You don't know if you should have said that. Immediately, you started wondering what you had gotten yourself into. But before your thoughts could get too deep,

"Thank you."

It was said in earnest, filled with gratitude and reverence.

Both of you spent the rest of the afternoon in each other's quiet and comforting company.

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tragedyofdevotion · 6 days ago

Text

I have never known the beauty of slow burn grumpy x sunshine until I found this masterpiece!!!

Cain (p2)

tw: violence, Cain is fluent in profanity, you're getting harassed, catcalling, Cain is mean as hell to you, he's also a pretty weird guy. Slowburn, but eventually yandere. The reader in this series will be gender neutral, but it was originally designed to be male in mind.

This is part 2.

Click here for part 3

Click here for part 1

You beat yourself up for not having the spine to say no. You worked hard to earn enough money so you could have a place you could truly call your own, and now, by having Cain, you're back to square one. But how could you say no to someone who's been beaten up by life? You would feel bad if one day the news said that he died outside, cold and alone. And you knew, with his life like this, he would be met with similar fates as your imagination.

So you promise to show him the way back to your modest apartment. You're in a small town, so it's much easier to be a homeowner here as the prices are much lower than those of a big city.

However, you can only bring him home after work today. And you clearly expressed that. He stayed silent and wouldn't offer his thoughts on that. So you assume that he agrees.

You're already half an hour late, even if you take the next bus.

There were some more awkward moments where neither of you talked. It's hard to get a read of him; you don't know how he feels about you, the world, or himself now.

You hesitantly took some cash out of your wallet and tried giving it to him. You said that it should last him until it gets back, but your good intentions were met with scorn. His mostly neutral face contorted to that of vexation.

"Fuck you, bitch! You think I'm some good-for-nothing scum? Huh? I don't want your money!" He yells at you before hopping off the bench and storming off to nowhere in his usual fashion. You only saw him from the back, but you could tell that he was wiping something off his face.

You were left utterly speechless, with some cash in your hand. Earlier, he seemed to want to avoid the rain. But now, he has no problem marching through it.

So you had a choice to put it back into your wallet. However, you decided to just leave it on the bench... more like slot it between two planks to hide it a bit. You don't really know why you did that, but you knew it would probably help him or someone else who actually needs the money somehow.

As if on cue, the next bus arrived to pick you up. You didn't look back and just headed in.

The doors shut, and you took a seat. A passenger was blocking the window that faced the bus stop. It's a shame that you didn't see him coming back to search the area, eventually finding the money that he truly needed to get through the day on his own.

You had to get through your own day, though. And you decided to work longer hours to compensate for your tardiness. Which meant you had to be the closer to this quaint Café you work at. The promise to bring Cain home slipped your mind, and luckily, it did, or you would feel guilty the entire time you're stuck behind the counter. He must be waiting there cluelessly.

The day consists of, well, coffee making, cleaning... and it's just boring. On a good day, you get to chat up with nice customers to pass your time. On the bad way, you would be hurriedly emptying the cash register while you have the cold barrel of a gun pointed at you. Today is just one of those days where it's neither good nor bad, it's just mundane.

You're not keen on being the closer. This town is somewhat known for their "colourful" personalities. They tend to come out when the sun goes down, and this cafe closes well after that. But you trudge on, as you know life too goes on.

Soon, you found yourself flipping the sign on the door from "OPEN" to "CLOSED". It's the end of the business day and it's time to go home. You did what you have to do and double checked, you wouldn't want to be responsible for any break-ins, damages or spoilages.

You stretched your arms and yawned. Pausing midway when you realized that you probably left Cain waiting aimlessly. You picked up your pace and ran to the bus stop, maybe if you could catch an earlier one, you would get there and not witness too much of his wrath.

"Hey, what's the rush, beautiful?" You ignored the cat caller in favour of catching the bus that's fast approaching. You let your feet propel forward, you felt the burn in your lungs as you ran.

But it wasn't enough. You couldn't catch it. So you slowed down in desolation and panted.

"What's the rush?" You look behind you to see a stranger with a sleazy smile. You felt a little bad for judging his looks, but he doesn't make you feel safe.

"Let's get to know each other a bit." He approached you. Oh god, it's one of them. This is why you hated closing shifts; these creeps are everywhere when it goes dark.

You politely declined and said you have somewhere to be. You began walking away quickly, but he followed you.

"Aw, c'mon. Don't be like that, I just wanna talk." You hastened your pace, but the stranger had no problem catching up. You hissed curses under your breath, as there was no one around at the moment, you didn't think you saw any surveillance cameras either. Why did this Cafe close so late?

You told the stranger to get away from you. But that didn't ward him off. It did the opposite, as he suddenly shot out to grab your wrist. You screamed and began thrashing, but you knew no one was there to save you. But you had to try, you're not in any capacity to fight him off... or even fight through a paper bag.

"Fiesty thing, aren't you?" He sneered, managing to restrain the other wrist. The stranger laughed at your pathetic attempt to free yourself.

You thought you were done for until,

An empty bottle crashed onto his head. You shut your eyes tight as some of the shards got onto you, which managed to loosen his grip on you enough to escape.

"What the f-!" A fist collided against the side of his face as he turned around, causing a crack to resonate in the air, and immediately knocking him out cold. You gasped in horror, looking at your violent, drunken savior.

Of course, who other than Cain would do this for you?

You heard him hiccuping and saw him stumbling a bit as he rummaged through the stranger's body. He took some jewelry and his wallet. You tried saying something about the morality of that, but you were swiftly met with a slurred "Shut up."

You asked him how he knew where you were. His eyebrows scrunched up in annoyance.

"How do you think? I followed you. Stupid." He mumbled, taking the cash out of the stranger's wallet and chucking the empty accessory against the unconscious body. Cain gave him one last kick to the ribs before stumbling towards you.

He slapped the cash against your chest, letting it go before you had the chance to grab it. So it fell to the ground, but you can clearly see that he had given you sixty dollars, triple the amount of cash you tried giving to him earlier today. It looks like Cain still got a bit more cash after giving you that. You wonder how much this stranger was carrying.

You told him that you didn't want this money. He merely ignored you and slowly and unsteadily made his way to the bus stop.

Well. It's a shame for it to go to waste, and this should be compensation for causing you so much distress in the first place. So you picked them up and spared a glance at the stranger who was on the ground. You're afraid that he's heavily injured, or worse-

"He'll fucking live! Move your ass, the bus is here!" You jumped when Cain hollered.

You then ran towards him, who appears to keep the doors open despite beration from the bus driver.

You apologised as soon as you entered the vehicle, even tipping him a bit more money for the trouble and paying for Cain's fare. The driver grumbled something and told you to take a seat.

You did as you were told and decided to sit next to Cain, all the way at the back of the bus. He was resting his head against the glass window, and his eyes were closed.

The ride was mostly uneventful and quiet. Save for the unstable man that you promised to house tonight. But he isn't interacting with you much, focusing on not completely dozing off. There were bruises on his knuckles and fresh cuts, too, no doubt from defending you earlier and probably something else that occurred during the day.

The bus was empty, save for the two of you. So when a woman entered from a stop, and decided to sit too close to you and Cain...

"Sit somewhere else, bitch." He growled, which caught you off guard. You thought that he's mostly unaware of his surroundings.

The woman reacted in surprise, and decided to sit far, far away from the two of you.

And you felt bad. Because she probably just wanted to be in the company of someone, it must be scary for her to be out alone this late. But you decided not to say anything, Cain is actually quite scary and you're really doubting your judgement to let him stay with you tonight.

When it's your stop, you turn to him to wake him up, only to find that he's already standing. Albeit wobbly from the alcohol.

He was the first to leave, you apologized to the bus driver profusely as you followed along. You only received a dismissive grunt.

You found Cain standing there, using the dented bus stop pole for support. Waiting for you to lead the way.

And of course you did, reluctantly. You started walking in the direction of your apartment. Cain followed you without saying a word too.

You eventually reached your apartment, though. Unfortunately for him, there isn't a lift. But fortunately for him, you're living on the ground floor.

Cringing as you let him in, you observed what he's doing first. He simply plopped himself down onto your couch as he caught a breather. You stared at him, but he doesn't seem to be doing anything else.

"What are you doing? Shut the fucking door! Anyone can just get the hell in!" He suddenly snapped at you. Immediately after, you closed your door.

"And lock it too!" You did just that.

Then...

It was just silence. Cain just stares into space as you cautiously move around the room to get to the kitchen.

You asked him if he wanted anything to eat.

No answer. But you know he heard you.

You took that as a yes, so you proceeded to cook two portions of a very simple dish: Egg fried rice. That's all you could cook anyways, you had forgotten to do some grocery shopping this week.

The entire time, he didn't budge from his seat. Not to turn on the TV, not to snoop around. He's just sitting motionless there, you think Cain must be utterly exhausted.

Once it's finished and the aroma of delicious simple cooking filled the air, you plated it. A dish for each person.

You placed one on the coffee table in front of him, while you dug into yours. Cain just averted his gaze away from you or the food and did not attempt to even touch it.

You held your tongue and focused on eating your portion. And you think that it's too much for you because you already felt full despite only eating a quarter of the heaping plate.

Cain still hasn't touched his plate, and you could tell that it went cold. But you're not one to force people to do something.

You just told him to wrap it in cling wrap and put it in the fridge if he's not hungry. You got up to pack away your leftovers, planning to have them for breakfast the next day. This entire time, Cain was almost in a catatonic state, not speaking or moving very much.

You announced that you're going to get ready for bed, and he's free to use the couch. You also told him where to find extra blankets in your various cupboards.

No response. Not even a grunt of acknowledgement.

You sighed. There's not much you could do except lock your bedroom door. You don't think there are a lot of valuable things in your living room anyway, so if he were to rob you, it'll just be nothing more than an inconvenience and a mess to clean up.

And so, you went ahead and did your usual routine to feel fresh and ready to sleep. It didn't take egregiously long, but long enough for Cain to do some damage to your home if he wanted to. However, you tend to see the good in people and prefer not to think of them in that light. You had a strong belief that he wouldn't do that to you out of courtesy... right?

You feel an extra washing of dread as you scrub yourself with soap, letting your mind race about him. Please, please, please don't prove you wrong, and turn up to be the biggest mistake of your life. You begged internally, hoping hard that he would just go to sleep and disappear on his own the next morning. Maybe leaving a note telling you that he's going to be fine.

Once you're done freshening up, you get out of your bathroom to see... the lights were still on. However, it seems like Cain was already out cold.

Strangely, there were signs of use in your kitchen. You quietly made your way to the sink and saw that there were more dirty dishes and containers that you hadn't accounted for. Baffled, you checked the fridge to see that every and any foodstuffs that were half-opened, half-eaten from prior dinners were gone. Some of which were old and were supposed to be thrown out today, but it's gone, and the bin showed no signs of solid food waste. Even sodas that you sipped a bit of and forgot about for days are gone. The only thing that was left untouched was anything that had its packaging intact, and his pristinely kept portion of egg fried rice, which is still in its original plate and covered in cling wrap, like how you asked him to.

You were perplexed at his choices. Why would he eat stale leftovers and not freshly prepared or untampered-with food? You tried thinking hard about it, and the only conclusion that sounds plausible enough to you is that... he thinks they aren't poisoned. Logically, if you were evil, you probably wouldn't poison your own unwanted leftovers but would instead do so to enticing, fresh, and delicious batches. Like the dish you prepared for him outside his supervision.

With the short time that he could have possibly done this, he must have eaten everything cold. You don't think he could have cleared out most of your fridge from unappetizing leftovers if he took the time to microwave each thing. You felt bad for the man, but it's not like you forced him to do it. Neither could you stop him.

You're too tired to do the dishes now. And it's going to wake him up, so you're planning to do them sometime tomorrow. Though he should have done it instead.

You tiptoed to where he was lying and saw that his eyes were fully closed. His arms were crossed, and his chest rose up and down as he breathed. You know that it can get quite cold at night, so you went and took out a folded blanket. It would be a nice gesture to drape the fabric over him, but seeing that he probably wouldn't appreciate that, you placed it near him instead. He will put it on himself whenever he wants to.

You switched the lights off before retreating back into your room, locking the door behind you.

You unfortunately couldn't get much sleep that night. Worrying about what Cain might do to you or your beloved home, you became hypervigilant. Every little noise causes you to jerk in place, and you perceive everything as danger now. Luckily, tomorrow is your off day, and you wouldn't really need to worry about responsibilities. Maybe you should ask him to come with you to the grocery store and figure out what he wants to eat.

And here comes the sunrise. You felt groggy and completely like shit. But you're alive and well. Exhaling a breath of relief, you got out of bed and opened the door with caution, expecting to see that the state of your living room had been turned upside down. But no.

It's pretty much the same as how it was left last night, with the dirty dishes, except Cain isn't to be found anywhere, and the blanket was messily strewn on the couch. No notes, no indication as to where he might be at this time of day.

You noted that a pot was used. Checking your freezer, it seems like he ate a good chunk of its contents. Again, the only things that were missing were freezer-burnt leftovers. Oddly didn't use up the chicken nuggets or fish fingers. The fried rice was still untouched in the fridge.

The day went by uneventfully, aside from having more dishes than usual to wash, you spent your time doing what you would usually do. Cain was still out there, somewhere. You hope that he's not getting in any more fights, but you knew that a free, fiery spirit like him can never find himself outside of trouble.

At one point, you got ready to go to the grocery store.

You left your room and locked the door. Then, you began walking towards the direction of the bus stop with your eyes glued onto your cracked smartphone. You were making a list of things that you're supposed to buy, but it seems like you didn't learn your lesson since the last time you biked and texted. As you kept going, and going, and going--

You choked when you felt a powerful tug on the back of the neckline of your shirt. This inevitably made your phone slip out of your hand and hit the asphalt, where a car that's been sounding its horn continuously ran over it and utterly destroyed it this time. You stumbled as you tried to regain your balance.

"Watch where you're fucking going!" You heard that familiar yell in your ear, but you couldn't escape it as he held you tightly by the shirt. "You're no better than the deaf and blind with that damn thing, good that it's fucking destroyed now, maybe then you'll learn to pay attention!"

You stammered apologies as he gave you an earful, you tried to pry his grip away from your shirt, but to no avail. He lets out an exasperated groan before letting you go. You immediately tried retrieving whatever is left of your pancaked phone, but Cain grabbed you by the shirt again to prevent you from getting hit by an oncoming truck. Which also further flattened your beloved device.

"Leave it! You can't do shit with it anymore." He dragged you away from the electronic gore scene. You frowned, feeling a sense of despair, and were about to cry from your loss, until-

"Where the hell are you even going, anyway?" He lets you go, but grabs onto both your shoulders. Probably to prevent you from turning around and making a mad dash for your pulverised phone.

You told him that you wanted to go to the grocery store. You then asked where he went, which doesn't seem like a good idea because it sets him off further.

"Mind your own fucking business! I do what I want, I go wherever the hell I want." He barked.

Hypocrite, you thought.

Before you could say anything, Cain dragged you along with him. You struggled to keep up with his large strides. You wondered where he was taking you until you saw the bus in sight. Oh. Not the exact bus that you wanted to take, but it still brings you to a grocery store nonetheless.

He made you get on the bus first, you greeted the bus driver, paid for your and Cain's fare. You knew he probably would just pick a fight with the driver if you didn't.

The ride wasn't very riveting. Neither of you talked, and you get the sense that he probably wouldn't appreciate you prying into his life. You noticed that Cain was carrying a duffle bag that wasn't there yesterday; it's not yours either. The curiosity was killing you, but you're too afraid to ask.

The bus dropped the two of you in front of a suburban shopping mall. Not only does it have a supermarket, but it also has a bunch of other stores; the only thing you can afford there is to leave.

You looked at Cain. He looked at you. And he gestured with a jerk of his head to move along. He is definitely someone who isn't big on words.

He followed behind you, and you wonder if he has a goal here. You deduced that he doesn't like walking next to or ahead of you unless he knows where to go. As you tried to match your pace with him, Cain would slow himself accordingly. There were many times when you would peek over your shoulder to see how Cain was doing, and you always caught him staring ahead, around him, not necessarily at you, with a neutral look. His hands would be tucked into the pockets of his ripped jeans with his duffel bag slung over his shoulders.

However, each time you looked behind you, Cain appeared more and more visibly irritated.

"Might as well walk backwards!" He was loud enough to garner some attention nearby. You quickened your pace and stopped looking over your shoulder.

"What? Think I can't handle myself? Huh? You think I'm some fucking pervert? Huh?" He continued snarling at you, but now in a quieter tone, nonetheless still threatening. "Just keep walking, don't piss me off." You were so relieved that he didn't demand an answer to that question, and the rest of the journey, it was as if your head was locked to face only forward.

You're terrified of him, even such a simple, small thing as this sets him off. At first, you thought that he didn't have any rhyme or reason to his outbursts. Until you noticed that people all around you are avoiding eye contact with Cain, and he seems content. You wonder if he just doesn't like to be perceived, either in a good or bad light. Perhaps that's why he gets neurotic over certain types of help- unsolicited and pushy ones are met with great resistance, but if you just leave it out with the implication that he is free to use it, he would take it with no fuss.

You're still a bit salty over your umbrella. Maybe that's why you're psychoanalyzing him in broad daylight; it feels better to think that you're helping a mentally ill person instead of someone taking advantage of you.

Upon reaching the supermarket buried deep inside the mall, you took a trolley with you, but made the mistake of asking him to put his heavy-looking duffel bag in it.

"Fuck off." He hissed before stomping away into one of the aisles. Well. You should have known, no good deed goes unpunished.

You made your rounds, buying whatever you could remember from your list, feeling that fear of accidentally making eye contact with him and getting yelled at in public. So, to other customers and staff, you just looked so engrossed in picking your fresh produce. Each time, you instinctively reached for your phone in your pocket, only to remember that it's been destroyed. It felt painful, you almost wished that you were flattened instead of your electronic companion.

You think that he had passed you and your trolley multiple times, but you kept your gaze down in fear of accidentally inciting a one-sided fight with him. But you recognize him from his tattered shoes, ripped jeans, and duffle bag. You don't know what the hell he is doing, periodically standing next to your trolley for a few seconds before leaving you on your own again.

And finally, you're done. You decided to look up and search for him. Think of the devil, he emerged from the snack aisle. But with nothing to buy.

You told him that you're ready to check out. He stayed silent, but gestured for you to lead the way.

It went by without a hitch. Cain wasn't with you at the cash registers; you don't know where he was until you left the supermarket and saw him waiting there, leaning against a pillar and looking terribly unapproachable.

You told him that you're heading to the food court to grab something to eat. You were about to ask what he wanted to have for lunch, until you realized that it probably isn't a good idea. So you left it at that.

"Go." He ordered.

You hope that over time, he becomes nicer to you.

So you took multiple escalators up, window shopping on the way to the food court, pretending that you do not have a live grenade of a human man trailing behind you.

You were half expecting him to yell at you for taking too long to get there, as he seems like he's the type to not like beating around the bush. But even if you were staring at a clothed mannequin, a gaming console, a flat screen TV, or otherwise for a ridiculous amount of time, he didn't complain. It was only when you accidentally looked at him directly does he had a problem with it. You quickly learned to just ignore his presence as a self-preservation measure.

Upon reaching the food court, you made a beeline for the nearest stall. It happened to be a company that sells typical Western fast food: burgers, fries, and the lot. You decided to conduct an experiment that involves you buying two burgers, nothing else. No drinks and no sides. You hypothesize that if you give him something as a token of appreciation, he would accept it.

So when your food came, you and Cain sat down at a table.

You told him that this burger is for him. Almost instantly, he snapped, "I don't want it."

Then you said that it was to thank him for not letting you get hit by a car and a truck earlier today.

He became silent.

You unwrapped your burger and took a bite. As soon as you swallowed that bite, Cain snatched it out of your hands and began munching on it, pushing his unwrapped burger towards you.

You couldn't help but ask why he only eats the things you've already eaten.

He, too, couldn't help but ask: "Why are you up in my business all the time?" This time, there wasn't too much hostility. It was more neutral sounding, a bit more bored than usual. You noticed that he's a fast eater; he had already finished half of it at the end of his question.

You chose your answer carefully, even considering not answering at all, but ultimately you said that you think he is interesting to you.

He scoffed and shook his head, scrunching the empty wrapper. "Nothing is interesting about me." You think he's somewhat flattered despite hiding it under layers upon layers of rudeness.

You opened your mouth to disagree and make your case, but he cuts you off:

"Eat your damn burger." He aggressively pointed at it.

You took that as a signal to end the conversation.

But he decided to add in a bit more precious information:

"Give it to me if you can't finish it."

And you took that as a reward for your bountiful patience.

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tragedyofdevotion · 7 days ago

Text

🥹🥹🥹🥹🥹← My emotions right now

Cain

tw: violence, blood, bodily injuries, parental neglect, a really crappy life, slowburn yandere but will eventually have yandere themes.

This is part 1.

Click here for part 2

All his life, he was unwanted.

Unwanted by his parents, they didn't care enough to put his vulnerable self somewhere safe, or warm, at least. Those who cared a bit more found him in a dumpster one Christmas day, fingers and toes blue from the harsh frost of winter.

He was a "Baby John Doe" to his foster parents, secondary in priority to his other foster siblings. They were older, rowdier, and needier than him. He learned that his cries will never be louder than the shouts and yells of his temporary siblings, so why bother? Why should he make a fuss when he's starving or lying in his own filth long enough to develop nasty rashes? They're not going to notice, or even want to deal with him.

No one claimed him as their flesh. He was tossed around from family to family; some were decent to him, but the majority weren't. How could they be? He was dealt an extremely tough hand, which hardened him. This caused him to turn bitter at how he is legally named John Doe because no one wanted to adopt him or even wanted to give him a proper name.

He was cynical, he was rude, he was callous. He refused to respond to the name carelessly given to him; a young boy like him would rather take on the moniker of Cain. Fittingly so, as he finds himself seething in jealousy whenever his peers or foster siblings get much more love than he does. And like Cain in the bible, he would act out accordingly. Consequently, he finds himself in and out of Juvenile detention centers.

"Cain" John Doe spends the majority of his time, free or not, stealing. Most of the time, resulting in fights that he knows he couldn't walk away from without at least a black eye. Nothing and Nobody could get through the walls he built around himself; he pushed anyone who had tried to help him in earnest, hurting them the most for showing the audacity. Teachers who genuinely wished to see him out of that rut had their wallets snatched and faces punched. Classmates who pity him suffered a similar fate, except Cain would do much worse, as he resents them for having the privilege of a loving family.

He despised it there; he hated the rules, he hated the people who were soft because they grew up in softness all around. Cain would kick, hit, and scream, but nothing could stop the tears rolling down his cheeks.

So when he found the opportunity to, he ran away for good. He wasn't even remotely close to completing high school. Damn it all, he thinks. Cain blends himself into the city crowds and, predictably, falls into bad company. What's a young boy to do with no morally sound, authoritative figure to respect? Warmth means nothing to him, knowing that it will only end in frost. Neither does tough, fatherly love; Cain's loyalty lies in whoever can provide him the most money, the most luxury, the most contacts. And he isn't afraid to betray them when the well runs dry.

Surprisingly, he wasn't addicted to any of the drugs being passed around so brazenly. Yes, he may have gotten a fun kick out of it a dozen times, but he gets bored with them. It also clouds his judgement and hinders his ability to steal, beat or destroy. He would rather sell them to get extra cash or use it as a bargaining chip to receive favours.

He dyed his hair fiery red with the items he stole from the pharmacy, and pierced his ears and lips. Cain is content with how he looks; he isn't fussy about his appearance. Hence, you could clearly see his brunette roots. Cain wishes he knew if his parents had the same hair color and hair type as him, or if it was expressed amongst his biological, extended family. It seems like he would never know, and maybe he would like to keep it that way. Fuck them, he thinks. All Cain now wishes is for them to suffer a fate worse than his. Downfall after downfall, that puts a wry smile on his face.

Living as a street urchin does take a toll on his health, mentally and physically. When was the last time he had a good sleep in a soft bed? Last night, when he broke into some poor sap's home. He grumbled as he had to leave early, the owner came back from their vacation, and raised hell. When was the last time he was treated with dignity? He couldn't remember; it was hard for him to even buy food from a convenience store or a fast food joint due to his infamy. When was the last time his miscellaneous wounds were properly cleaned and treated? Never. Cain is just lucky to never have died from an infection, not lucky enough to avoid getting ill.

However, he eventually had a change of heart. Maybe the stench of death has gotten through him, maybe he grew tired of living life in constant tension and never truly owning anything for himself. Perhaps he's simply doing what he's been doing his entire messy life: rebelling. Rebelling against the system, the norm, and now, his long-standing personal beliefs. Whatever the reason was, Cain was willing to give honest living a try, to live like the "good" majority where they can sleep in their own clean beds without the fear of getting shanked.

With no background, formal education, or manners, it is no surprise that most turned him away. No one, except this agency with questionable ways of operating, but soon-to-be former street demons like him, knew that this was the first step of getting clean in the eyes of the law and the people.

His first honest job was a humble cleaner. Cain would be sent to various places to scrub the floors free from grime. It's something mundane, not so extreme as making crime scenes spotless, but it's more along the lines of cleaning public bathrooms, sweeping empty halls of a large building that he couldn't care to remember the function of. It's boring, but it's clean.

Just like many things in his life, he held contempt for this job. But he simply grits his teeth and picks up his rusted bucket filled with dirtied mop water. He wanted a better life, so he had to work for it, no matter how much he wanted to strangle someone over it. And for a time, he earned quite a bit of honest cash, all paid in his sweat, spite, and body aches. Food is a little easier to come by, but by god was it hard to stay afloat.

The man struggled, he really did. He had banged his head against the wall of his rickety hostel room numerous times to stop himself from falling back into his old patterns. Cain counted his blessings each day, and that is what kept his rage and hurt at bay. But hell, was it hard.

Cain was smart enough to save it up for his future; he has many, many things to pay for. Many, many milestones he missed, and legal documents too. However, he was not intuitive enough to look into banks. And that oversight came back to bite him in the ass.

Being worn down by life, feeling sticky with dirt, and stomach grumbling with a desire for a nice bowl of hot soup, Cain came back one day to his hostel to his door slightly ajar. He furrowed his eyebrows in confusion, but soon his expression contorted into that of horror. Cain dashed into his room to see that what little of his belongings had been rummaged through. Having little regard for everything else, he rushed to check the only thing he gave a damn about: the ratty envelope that contained his life savings.

Cain felt chills down his spine as he stared in disbelief that it was gone. Well, why would he not believe it? He's in a place full of people who are like him; just a single thought will make them fall back into their old ways. Looks like someone went back to their own ways before him, and he was next.

Everything after that was a blur. He knew that he had spent the night going absolutely ballistic. Cain knew he had many victims, but everything was unclear to him; it was as if he was under the influence, and that affected his memory greatly. But he was completely sober, only drunk off his fury. But once he calmed down enough to reason with himself, he knew he could not stay there anymore. There will be men from both sides of the law looking for Cain, and he's not sticking around to find out what they have in store for him.

And so he fled. He went far, far away with the cash that he didn't even know where it came from, or whose corpse it was looted from. Bus after bus, after bus. Cain doesn't know where he's going, but he just keeps running. No one dared to stop him; they knew that he would burn them if they got too close. They just avoided his stern gaze and hoped that he would pass, merely leaving a trail of relatively harmless smoke.

But like all fires, it will eventually burn out.

There was no more fuel, not cash, but fuel. Cain was tired, and that is a gross understatement. There are only embers left of his soul, and its glow is dimming steadily. The heat is dissipating, only leaving the desolate cold and debilitating exhaustion. He never believed in a god, but now he does. And he thinks that god is a cruel, cruel bastard. And he gives up trying to get back at this unholy entity; he's tired.

The last stop he got off, Cain stepped down from the bus. It was pouring, and everyone had their own lives to tend to, so the bus driver sped off. Cain stared blankly into nothingness, droplets of rain dripped down his red hair, but he paid no mind to how it stung his eyes.

He exhaled a long, heavy breath and then collapsed. Did his head or shoulder hit the ground first? Cain doesn't know. Nor did he have the capacity to give a damn anymore. If anything, he hopes that a lightning bolt strikes him down and fries him. At least he would be a tasty snack for some strays.

He felt his consciousness coming back, and there were muffled verbal exchanges that seemed to be close to him. Cain shuffled groggily, a soft grunt escaping his dry lips as he struggled to push himself off the ground. His eyes slowly peeled open, but it was difficult with droplets invading them each time he attempted to. Cain could make out two figures in the rain, bickering about something.

As his hearing returns to its fullest, it seems like the argument was about... morality? Cain blinked hard multiple times before he could perceive what was happening in front of him.

You and another person who's much larger than you are. Having a disagreement about... stripping an unconscious man of his belongings.

Cain's eyes fully shot open. The two strangers to him didn't notice that he was fully awake now. It seems like you're trying your damndest to get the other person to return his cash, and you weren't taken seriously. Of course, who would? You were trembling when standing up to them, you were stuttering a storm, but you stood tall and didn't show signs of backing down, going so far as to abandon your open umbrella on the ground nearby. Even if you looked like you're about to piss your pants, you still tried to get the stranger to return his things. That invoked an odd feeling in his chest; it's mild, but it's there.

Never mind that, he has something to do.

Slowly, he rose to his full height and moved behind the one that's going to get hurt. You were the first to notice and shut your mouth, but the other party kept going on, berating you.

"Oi." He barked.

This finally got their attention and made them turn around, which wasn't a good idea, as Cain immediately grabbed their head and slammed it against the bus stop pole. You winced upon hearing the deafening "thunk!" that resonated despite the noisy torrent.

The body just slid down, lifelessly. The two of you spared a glance at the once boisterous thief before sharing a look together. You were taken aback at how mean he looks, while Cain just looked at you up and down. As if memorizing you, or assessing how much you are a threat to him. Perhaps it was a mixture of both, or something else. Either way, his look doesn't scream warmth and kindness.

Cain tore his gaze away from you as he rummaged through the thief's body. He took his items back and a bit extra, but you didn't need to know that.

You simply watched in silence, completely drenched. And you realized that you were under the rain when Cain picked up your umbrella... and calmly walked away without giving you another look or showing any hesitation. He used your umbrella as if he were the rightful owner all along. No words could escape your mouth as you saw him disappear in the distance.

You went home with one umbrella short that day.

And also a guilty conscience, you called an ambulance for the thief, but you fled the scene before they arrived. That was such a wild encounter, and you don't think that you could ever forget that. You vowed to stop using that bus stop, as you tend to encounter many sketchy and simply weird people there. However, you couldn't help but wonder about that man. He seemed troubled, and maybe you could help in some way? You definitely cannot fix him, though. But maybe...

So against your better judgment, you took your bus at that bus stop to work every day. Hoping to maybe meet him again. You know that you're not getting that umbrella back, but maybe... if you ask him nicely enough, you would get it back? It's hard to even do that if he doesn't show up in the first place.

It was on one sunny day, too sunny, that you needed a cold drink to cool you down. You waited for the bus to come; it's late, but it was nothing out of the ordinary with how crappy the public transport is in your place.

After a wait, the damned thing finally arrived. It came to a halt in front of you, but instead of a clear path through the doors, hostile shouts and yelling filled the space. You have never seen your bus driver so red in anger before; you thought he would get a stroke if this keeps up, with all the veins popping up on his neck and head. And the source of this rage? The same man who took your umbrella.

He came stumbling out, yelling curses behind him and flipping the bird numerous times. One may think he's drunk, but his flushed face and the sweat dripping down his nose indicated that he was just... overheated. Once he stepped out of the bus, the doors behind him slammed shut, and the bus driver sped away without considering you. Well, you would too; it's probably a safe bet to leave the area where this man is present.

You watch him scream, like he's releasing pressure that's been pent up in him. His body is extremely tensed up, and he is panting like a dog. That bus should really fix its air conditioning system. He then whipped his head to you, his intense glare was enough to make you flinch, and instinctively brought your half-drunk bottle in front of you.

He snatched it and began gulping down its contents. It was gone within seconds, and he carelessly chucked the empty vessel onto the ground. You simply watch with caution and deduce that this isn't a good time to ask for your umbrella back; he doesn't have it with him anyway.

Cain glanced at you one last time as he wiped his mouth with the back of his arm. He then walked away without a word.

You went to work thirsty that day.

And you didn't see him for a while. You finally let go of that umbrella. He probably needs it more than you do anyway.

You thought that was the last time that you'd see him. Why would he be around this area anyways? It's not like he could catch a bus here; you're sure that the bus driver wouldn't let him on anymore.

You thought about him as you waited for the bus to work one day. Munching on some berries you packed as breakfast, until you saw a shadow looming over you. Looking up, of course, who else would it be other than the man who took your umbrella and your drink? It looks like he was walking past and you caught his attention, that's why he stopped and stared, but not at you.

He was looking at your lunchbox. You stared back at him and thought that he looked quite gaunt- it didn't diminish his attractiveness, but it did show that he wasn't eating well lately. He's probably starving right now. And you can tell what person he is from your last two interactions, better to lose some berries over your cranium. So you somewhat shakily offered him some by bringing it closer to him. Not a word was being exchanged, but he took the whole thing without a sign of reluctance. In usual fashion, he walked away with your breakfast.

You went to work hungry that day. But you felt glad knowing that he had something to eat.

You decided to get a bicycle so you could just avoid that bus stop entirely. It takes a while to get the hang of it, but it feels freeing. You're no longer bound to the confines of the bus schedule.

Unfortunately, with the modern curse of smartphones, one day you decide to text and bike. Not seeing where you're going, you accidentally crashed into someone while moving along the pavement. You were thrown forward and crashed on the ground. Luckily, you had your helmet on to protect your head. Unfortunately, you got some scrapes, and even more unfortunate is when you heard a familiar voice yell...

"What the fuck!?" Followed by a groan of pain.

You gasp. Oh shit, it's him. You immediately started profusely apologizing as he regained his composure. He froze for a split second, and it looked like he recognized you before adopting an expression of annoyance, not of fury like how he was with the bus driver, but of annoyance. He had some cuts on his lean arms that were beading out blood.

You scrambled back onto your feet, offering to take him to a hospital, or a clinic, or to patch him up, or--

"Fuck off!" He angrily exclaimed as he stormed off, cradling his fresh wounds.

You took a moment before checking yourself if he took anything with him. Everything seems to be in place, even your phone, surprisingly. But it was cracked badly.

And so, you went home in shame. You didn't mean to hurt him.

The guilt kept you up at night. You wanted to make it up to him, but he doesn't seem the type to accept unsolicited help. You don't think you could do anything meaningful for now, so you just pray that he will be okay.

You even stopped using the bicycle for a while and returned to the bus stop. That was how much your guilt was eating you up. And by reverting to that routine, you were bound to bump into him again.

It was one cloudy day, and you saw him sleeping on the bench at the bus stop. He's homeless...?

You wanted to apologize to him again. But you don't think he would appreciate you waking him up just for that. So you just waited next to him, under the shelter, predicting that it might rain soon. At least your bus is coming in the next minute, right?

Wrong. It never came. It's just one of those days, so you sighed. And that was a pretty loud sigh, as it woke him up. You jolted when you heard him groan. Instantly, you started stammering apologies for waking him up, for bothering him, and for the accident that happened. You said you felt guilty for that and asked if you could do anything to make it up to him. But before you could finish your long, sorry speech, he cuts you off.

"Shut up." He rasped as he rubbed his eyes, squinting at what little light the cloudy skies could offer. You did just that and remained silent, and chose to stay silent unless spoken to.

You were never spoken to anymore, though.

It looks like he trusts you enough that he appeared to go back to sleep. He looked so serene with his eyes closed, you wonder who he is and what the world has done to him to be this spiky towards everyone.

The next bus eventually came, and you hopped onto it.

Unbeknownst to you, Cain had an eye open slightly to watch you get onto the bus safely.

The following weeks were not that notable, except for a few times where Cain came across you at the bus stop, eating breakfast, staring intently, and you would inevitably give it up. As usual, he would accept it with no hesitation and leave the area after getting what he wanted. You still hadn't known his name at this point.

Until one day.

It was raining cats and dogs. You missed your old umbrella, but your newer, flimsier one had to do. You retracted the umbrella when you reached the bus shelter. You sat down and waited as usual.

This time, you heard something extra. A frantic pair of footsteps splashing against the puddles. You poke your head out of the shelter to see a man running towards it, with his arms over his head, seemingly trying to protect himself from the rain. But he was already positively drenched.

Lo and Behold, it was him.

You scooted away to make some space for him. He rushed to take cover and sat down, letting his clothes dampen the wooden bench. You tried waving at him, but he seemed preoccupied with something. He was breathing heavily and... sniffling? His wet hair was covering his eyes, so you couldn't tell if he was crying or if it was from the rain. But his sudden, uncontrolled shout confirmed that he must be having a mental breakdown of sorts, as after that, he began sobbing into his hand.

Cain was coughing as he released shouts and screams that were almost primal in quality. He was digging his nails against the flesh of his arms, which were noticeably bruised and had more cuts than you remembered. You don't know if you should look at him or look away.

Eventually, he quieted down and slumped against the bench. You still couldn't see his eyes. His chest heaves up and down as he breathes.

Both of you stayed there in silence. You don't know what to say either.

Your bus finally arrived, and it opened its doors for you. However, before you even stood up, you saw that Cain was outwardly staring at you. And you had to make a choice. You glanced between the bus and him.

Ultimately, you shook your head at the bus driver. He then shuts the door before driving off.

You pursed your lips and brought your attention back to him. Cain looked away, having his hair conceal the top half of his face again.

Then it was silence.

"Cain."

What?

"Cain. That is my name." He coughed a bit.

You stuttered your own name and said something along the lines of "nice to meet you". He didn't respond to that.

He returned to the comfort of silence, you returned to the discomfort of it. Maybe you should have taken that damn bus.

You twiddled your thumbs, periodically taking note of his actions. He doesn't seem to be doing a whole lot, just sitting and resting.

"You said you would make it up to me." You turned your head to him. He still refused to meet your eyes. You didn't confirm or deny, instead, you stayed quiet and let him talk.

"Then..." You could see his Adam's apple bob up and down as he swallowed thickly.

"I need somewhere to stay." He brought his intense gaze back onto you, making you wish that he kept his eyes hidden. You just realized that his face was bruised, and the skin on his lip was broken, and his teeth were stained red. You think he must have gotten into a fight, or someone took advantage of him while he was asleep.

Your jaw dropped, and you failed to get the words out of your mouth. You don't think it's a good idea for him to stay with you, but you can't afford to pay for him to stay somewhere either. Your mouth opened and closed to try and say something, but nothing came out.

"Please..." He breathed, it was laden with desperation. You stared into his bloodshot eyes and the piercings that glistened under the faint streetlight.

How could you possibly say no?

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tragedyofdevotion · 9 days ago

Text

nonchalant looking! yandere who turns out to be the most poetic, down bad, and obsessed man you've ever met.

he's a man of few words, really. doesn't approach anyone, not even you, and looks like he's perpetually annoyed. he'll give other people 'the look' and they'll scurry off, worried that they'll trigger his wrath (snide comments, the fattest side eyes...)

but the second you show him any kind of attention he switches up and... are you sure he's the same guy??? him??? the guy who HATES being in the surroundings of others???

"hi ☺️ you dropped your wallet."

"you are the most gorgeous work of art I've ever met, please bash my head into the wall."

he still won't approach you on his own accord - he's too nonchalant and mysterious like that. but... you'll see it. his affection, i mean.

sitting in the seat beside when he usually dips at the sight of people, offering you a pen if you've somehow forgotten yours, hell, maybe you'll even get him to cooperate in a group project. willingly. with a smile too. who knows? the possibilities are endless.

"oh! thank you for the tissue!"

"𝖞𝖔𝖚'𝖗𝖊 𝖜𝖊𝖑𝖈𝖔𝖒𝖊."

"...huh?"

have i mentioned he looks like a nonchalant guy? yeah, he's chillpilled nonchalant maxxed. you'd never catch him yearning. well, unless it's you and he's in a private place then yeah but otherise, nah. you bet his ass has a private spam account where he posts numerous posts about wanting you so bad he cries himself to sleep.

"is this yours?"

"no."

"it literally has your name on it."

"no that 1080p picture of you from your LinkedIn account with kiss marks and hearts drawn around your face as well as my name on the back does not belong to me. i do not know what you are talking about."

yeah, he's a really weird mix of nonchalant and chalant but hey! it's good for those who want a subtle yearner, am i right?

"beloved, i would very much appreciate it if you would step on my neck while degrading me on how disgusting it is to stalk your social media accounts because I'm too afraid to talk to you in person."

"man can't you just ask to be rejected like a normal person?"

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tragedyofdevotion · 13 days ago

Note

god reader who like breaking genshin boys hearts ✧ ೃ ͜ ⑅

word count. 2.7k

characters included. zhongli, childe, al-haitham, xiao

୨୧ — ꒰ cw. yandere, unhealthy relationships, possessive & obsessive thoughts/behaviors, power dynamics, religious + cult themes, sagau + cult au, kind of sad??idfk, in zhongli's its implied u were in bed with another iykwim, g/n reader. i do not condone yanderes irl.

୨୧ — ꒰ a/n. i hope you don't mind the characters i chose!!

They’re far too easy to mess with, you think.

A brush of your fingers, the faint heat of your breath on their ear. A soft, decadent hand on their shoulder, the feeling of your warmth in the crook of their neck— small, barely tangible things. Barely meaningful things, yet they still coo for you all the same; still cling to you and beg for your attention.

Still hunger for your touch, ravenous for what little scraps you'll give them. A glance has them wrapped around your finger, and a word barely considered praise has them at their knees.

It shouldn't be this easy. You shouldn't find it this fun. But you do, anyway.

The look on their faces. The look of shock, and intertwined sorrow. The worship still swirling inside their eyes.

You should feel bad. And you do, in a way— but not nearly enough.

zhongli

Zhongli is aware he has no reason to be hurt. Not really.

You have no obligation to him. Not in the way he does you. You don't have to like him, if you find his worship of you too flimsy, too little. You don't have to love him. You don't have to share even an inkling of the same breadth of emotions he holds for you. You don't have to look at him, breathe in his vicinity, if you thought he was too foul to be around.

He shouldn't expect himself to be special to you.

He shouldn't have, to be precise. It was foolish, to begin with.

What is he that you have not already seen? What is he that you have not already toyed with before? What unique experience does he give you?

The answer is none. Zhongli serves no purpose other than to worship you.

That is all that he's good for. Zhongli should not have expected to be yours, he should not have allowed himself to dream of the possibility. He poisoned himself with thoughtful daydreams of what it would mean to be yours, beautifully and entirely. To be your consort. To be your spouse.

Such a wonderful dream. One his heart ached for; longed for with such a yearning that it hurt.

He should've been embarrassed. And he was— he kept it his shameful secret, one hidden behind closed doors and locked gates in the palace of his mind. But he wasn't embarrassed enough, wasn't ashamed enough to keep himself from getting lost in them.

Zhongli should've let the shame sear him until it was enough to keep you out.

It's a cruel thought. One he despises himself for thinking— to deny you? To even think of depriving you of anything at all? Sacrilege. But he thinks it anyway.

Zhongli never should've thought that maybe he could be the singular person by your side. The only one worthy of standing there, tall and proud. Imposing, and as he realizes now, a thought as arrogant as the god of war he used to be.

Even in the brief moment where the two of you were two embers dancing together on a single flame, he knew the moment would have to end eventually. You had many suitors, and he was merely one among many. Though he believed himself to be the most suitable, it was ultimately your choice; and he knew how likely it was for others to be among your favorites.

Though he knew, and though he had tried to prepare himself for the inevitability of being second in your heart— it still stung. His heart still broke in his chest, still shattered when he saw your legs tangled with another’s.

You looked up at him, and Zhongli could see it on your face. You didn't truly care whether he saw or not— and why should you? You were God. He was nothing, merely a tool to be used and discarded. You didn't try to fake remorse or guilt, only merely made note of his presence.

Then you continued, as if he wasn't there in the first place. As if it was normal. As if the two of you had not spent time together, as if he had not bent at his knees and declared his eternal devotion to you. As if he was truly just a follower to you; nothing more, nothing less.

It was to be expected. It was, and it still hurt. He knew it would happen, and he still felt as if his heart had been ripped out of his chest and crushed. He had prepared for it, regulating himself so as to when it happened it would hurt less— and it still hurt.

It hurt more than he thought it would.

He was hoping you'd prove him wrong.

childe

Childe knew he alone wouldn't be enough for you.

You burn like the brightest star. Your love is the heat of a hearth; Childe sinks in when snow frosts his fingers and lets your warmth melt him. Your wrath is like a tempestuous storm, like the rage of the sun. He fears when you will eventually turn on him, but for now, he basks in your light.

Your favorite, you called him. You touched him with fondness, curling your fingers in his hair. When Childe was with you, he was in heaven. His heart threatened to burst with so much adoration and reverence he felt almost dazed. When without you, he mourned the loss of your presence; tears cascaded down his cheeks like a quiet elegy, lamenting every moment not near you.

You don't come to him as often, now. Others have sparked your interest. Childe can't blame you. No, he could never blame you— you are perfection incarnate. You can do no wrong, no matter how hard his heart twists and churns in his chest. No matter how hard it is to breathe when he sees you show affection to another.

Sometimes, he thinks you do it on purpose. He always hates the thought when it visits, denying its existence. He feels sick at the mere implication.

You are kind. You are benevolent. You kept him company in the abyss, let him take comfort in your presence. You wouldn't do this to him. He knows you wouldn't.

Yet the thought takes credence. Every morning that goes by without you glancing at him is hell. You pretend like he does not exist.

“Why?” He manages to croak out. His voice is weak, throat raw from his cries. “Why don't you want me anymore?”

“You're not interesting now,” you say. Your expression does not change, not even the slightest tremor of your brows. You look at him, and Childe realizes he never really mattered to you, not in the same way he cared for you.

It breaks him. Your words haunt him. He should hate you, he knows— he should detest you. He should heave until he is free of you. Yet despite what he should feel, Childe’s heart still hungers. It still whispers for you, begging and pleading; it still thrums in his chest for your presence, for the echo of your voice.

Years of worship do not disappear within a moment. They do not disappear upon your rejection, upon your refusal of him; they burst at the seams and demand retribution. They burst at the seams and think that there is no way for this to be you.

Childe has failed you. He must've, in some way or another— he did something you didn't like, and now this is his punishment. This is his trial by fire. He hopes that by the end of it, when he is scorched by flame and smoldering, that he is finally worthy of you.

Cries erupt from his throat, and sobs shake his entire body. It hurts to breathe, hurts to exist when he knows he has angered you. As though everything he has ever known and loved is crashing down on him.

There's a sick feeling pulsing in his chest, like a separate heartbeat. It only beats to make him suffer. He chokes on it with every hum of its rhythm.

Childe doesn't mind that you have others. Have as many as you like, but let him be one. Even if he is nothing, even if he is disgusting to you, barely worth your effort, barely worthy enough to worship you— let him exist near you, let him breathe and know that the same air has tasted you.

No matter how hard it is to stop himself from harming whoever’s gained your attention, he will suffer through it. No matter how hard it is to keep himself composed, to stop himself from grabbing onto your legs and begging you to please let him be your favorite again, he will suffer through it.

He should be happy with this much.

al-haitham

He was a fool.

Al-Haitham thought it only rational that you chose him. He was intelligent, an erudite scholar; he had knowledge of many things, ready for you to inspect whenever you wished. He had kept himself well-read before, and his desire to please you only exacerbated it.

He had his insecurities, but Al-Haitham thought of them as nothing but intrusive. Nonsense. There was no one more suitable for you than him. There was no way you'd choose another over him— you had told him as much. You had whispered softly in his ear and told him that he was all that you wanted.

Why would you lie? And though he had thought of what it would be like to be just another of your lovers, just a singular out of a whole, he never let himself linger. His heart beats in his chest erratically every time, and if you knew how quickly his composure broke just thinking of being nothing but second in your heart— the shame would eat at him.

He realizes now that to ever assume just one would be enough for your appetite was foolish. It is shameful, humiliating to think of how long it took for him to realize; to satiate your hunger he would have to be perfect, not just a jewel that shines a bit brighter than the rest. He would never be enough by himself. You were a god, above all others, and he was merely a mortal, beside himself with pride.

And it hurt more to know that he could not unlove you. It was part of him now, stitched into the make of his soul— he could not erase you, could not scrub himself free of you. To rip you out would be an agonizing existence. One that he did not wish to live, despite how it churned his blood and burned his throat.

You are bright. What lured him to you was the comfort you brought, the peace of mind you elicited.

There is no more peace, now. Only quiet anxiety and sickening thoughts, a lump in his throat and pain in his heart. There is no more comfort, no serenity— only the constant, festering parasite of a thought that he failed you in some way. He wasn’t enough, and though Al-Haitham has enough self-awareness to know that the idea is illogical, he still clings onto it; he failed you, but perhaps he could prove himself again.

It is a thought without credence. It is an idea without reason. Al-Haitham resolves himself to do whatever he has to do, though he knows it is ultimately meaningless. It is a fight without adrenaline, life or death without the urgency; it does not matter, not to you.

You do not serve him the same attention. You do not smile at his little mannerisms, do not inquire about his well-being. He doesn’t matter to you, not anymore.

He should accept it. Better to do it now. Better to internalize it, better to let himself revel in it— better to let him forget the moments he had, better to let him forget how he was once special to you.

You are a god. He is not. He wonders if that is the reason why. If it was not a failure of his own, but an aspect of himself that he cannot change that made you turn him away. If it was some unchangeable, immovable part of him that he could never hope to dissect. Never hope to get rid of, never hope to alter— if it was just him that you were unhappy with.

It is a startling thought. And it hurts him in every way, as all the hours he spent to improve himself, to cater his very being to your likes, were all for naught.

Nothing he could do could make you choose him again.

xiao

Xiao thought he had finally received the peace he had longed an eternity for when you chose him.

When with you, he did not ache. He did not feel listless, like he was merely dragging his feet behind him— he felt alive; the way mortals feel, the way he had not felt for a millennium. Your touch sent gales of ecstasy down his spine, a certain serenity he had not found anywhere else. Your voice felt like a dreamer's happiness; soft and soothing, clouds dancing at your fingertips.

Safety embraced him when in your presence. You were love itself, blinding and scintillating. Xiao would lay down his life for you, his god— the only one who matters.

He had never felt so loved before. And Xiao knew he never would again, so he clung. He clung like if he let go you would disappear, disperse into the stars that hung in the sky. He clung like if he let go he would die.

Maybe that is why you threw him away.

Xiao knows he isn't your ideal. He is silent, aloof, and forbidding. He is never inviting, never warm and kind; though he melts when with you, it is never enough. He should be more. You deserve as much.

He is always fearful. Always straining his ears when you're with another, eyes piercing. Self-hatred curls in his chest and twists around his heart, but he doesn't stop himself— you are everything, and he is nothing more than a Yaksha; replaceable, easy to discard— the dread is endless, an incessant drive to be assured of where he stands inside your heart.

You are everything, and he is nothing.

When Xiao catches a glimpse of you with another, he tries not to let it get to him. He swallows down his bitterness, the choking feeling of betrayal. What is he that you could not find in another? He should've long expected it. He was foolish not to have seen it sooner.

But he can’t stop thinking of his time by your side. Those brief moments of absolute peace, where he felt nothing but love. Where he could only feel you, utterly and wholly, and how much he adored every second of it. How much he loathed every moment away from you. He thinks of your hands running through his dark hair, of your nails against his scalp— and how he will never experience it again.

Xiao is used to loss. He has had centuries of time to grow accustomed to loneliness. He has lost those close to him, suffered blow after blow. He is supposed to be used to disappointment. He is supposed to be accustomed to an aching heart, to no longer clench his jaw out of pain; he is supposed to be able to move on with ease, without thinking of what used to be.

But he can’t bring himself to do that, this time. His mind lingers. The ghost of your smile still hangs in the air, still suffocates him every time he tries to rest his mind. He still sees you whenever he closes his eyes, your face shining like stars in the dark. He still hears your voice, still feels the weight of your touch— and he still wants you, despite how much he should hate you for taking his heart in your hands and crushing it.

Xiao still wants to be the one you love. He still wants to love you, to kiss your hands and feet. He wants to worship you, to pray to you at the bottom of your throne. But you’ve thrown him away. You don’t want him anymore. You have others who you like more, who don’t tremble at the slightest of your touch. Who are more deserving of standing beside you.

He has lost again, though he still clings onto you.

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tragedyofdevotion · 14 days ago

Note

I think a sagau! touch starved/needy childe, scara and zhongli feels very attractive, to have two powerful harbingers on their knees just for a shred of attention from their god makes me wanna pamper them

but also like zhongli?? That man is so touch-starved like poor dude has been worshipping for hundreds of years without a reward for his good work probably drives him insane. I cannot imagine how he hold it together and doesn’t ascend on the spot when he breathes the same air as his god because I genuinely think he’s THAT needy

also your writing really brought me a lot of comfort!! Thank you for running the blog and doing what you do💜💜

word count. 3.8k

୨୧ — ꒰ cw. yandere, unhealthy relationships, possessive & obsessive thoughts/behaviors, religious + cult themes, sagau + cult au, g/n reader. i do not condone yanderes irl.

୨୧ — ꒰ a/n. im so happy you like my writing!! im sorry i took forever to write this, but i still hope you like it !!!!

childe

In the unfathomable dark of the abyss, you were the only thing Childe had to keep himself sane.

Without you, he would've lost himself; without you, he is nothing. He only survived because of your guidance. In his eyes, his ever consuming need of you is only right— he has no need of anything else, and sees no purpose to think otherwise. You've only ever proven how worthy you are of worship.

When light seeps through tree boughs, he sees you. He sees you in the way the leaves leave a shadow. He feels you in the cast of the wind's breath. Every breath he takes is inlaid with your name. The mere thought of the opposite makes him sick.

He's pathetic, but his pitiful appearance is only for your eyes.

Just breathing in your presence is enough for him to feel weak and fluttery, but your eyes on him leave him delirious; the sort of dizzy where he can’t bring himself to move at all. All you have to do is glance at him for his knees to tremble like they're about to buckle underneath his weight.

Somehow, he keeps himself standing each time. He should be ashamed, he knows, embarrassed— but drool pools quickly in his mouth as your eyes linger, and any sort of dignity is discarded in the light of your gaze.

As a Harbinger, he should have more pride than he does, but Childe's only arrogance is his belief that he's special to you. That belief was the only thing he had to ground himself in the abyss, and he clings to it as if to let go would mean death. In his mind, it would be no different.

You were the only thing he had, even if he only knew you in the form of whispers and imperceptible kisses of wind. He didn’t need to touch you, no matter how tortuous of an existence it may be, as long as he could feel you.

That was enough. He thought it would be enough.

Seeing you is an entirely different matter however, and quickly, he finds himself wondering what your skin would feel like under his calloused fingertips.

He wants you to touch him. It's a selfish want, but one he carries with him all the same.

He wants you to play with his hair and hold him close as if he's something precious. He wants you to run your fingers along his spine and see him as he reveals every dark, nasty part of himself. He wants you to look and still find something to love.

Childe doesn't speak a word of his desires. He sits with them in the dark and tries to will them away. He tries to withstand their passage, but only ends up choking on each thought.

He tries to hold himself at night, imagining his arms are yours, but it only makes the ache worse.

He imagines loving you, and you loving him.

When you summon him to your chambers, Childe has to hold every nerve in his body to keep himself from running to you. It’s with a clearly restrained gait that he reaches you, just barely, his knees still wobbly and the floor a shifting kaleidoscope of colors.

It doesn’t bother him. Childe feels weightless, alight with fervor, and it’s a struggle to stop himself from rushing forward just to breathe a little closer to you. He drops to his knees, bowing his head until his forehead sits against your marble flooring.

Touch me, he thinks.

He somehow manages to choke a greeting out of his throat, unable to stop the small shudder that runs through him when he feels your gaze settle on him.

It feels right, being beneath you. It feels right, the slight tension in his body as he waits for you to speak.

Childe doesn’t say anything else. You’re the only one he truly respects, the only one he’s ever felt so fervently for— in your name, he would burn the world and scorch the earth. For you, he’d stain his hands so terribly the waters turn red. He holds no desire to clean his hands with anything other than your forgiveness— and so he doesn't dare to speak out of turn, unable to bear the thought of you being upset with him.

"Come here," he hears you say, your voice gentle and cooing. Childe doesn't hesitate, taking your words as a command, crawling towards you like some sort of dog.

Despite how eager he is to be near you, his hands rest dumbly at his sides. His fingers twitch, aching to touch you for just a moment, but he sits still, trying to be good. Without your permission, all he can do is sit, no better than a well-trained hound.

Childe looks up at you with a dumb, dopey smile on his face. He knows he must look like a fool, dazed just by sitting so close to you— he can already feel heat spreading across his freckled cheeks, and he knows it must be obvious— but he can't find it in himself to care.

It’s you.

You're so close he could touch you if he dared. Your warmth is only a few inches away from him, and he inhales, trying to breathe you in. For a brief moment, he allows himself the blessing to imagine what it would be like to touch you.

He imagines running his fingers against your skin. He imagines brushing against your hand. He imagines his palms gliding across the length of your robe, pretending the silk is your flesh. The thoughts strike him dumb, and he lets out a small whine before he can reel himself back in.

It's a breathless noise, but one he's sure you heard.

Your hand reaches forward to cup his cheek, and he nuzzles into your palm, leaning into your warmth as if trying to drink you in.

"So cute," you say, and every dark, needy part of him lights up all at once.

Childe makes another sound, a soft whimper drawn from the back of his throat. His russet lashes flutter shut, and any sense of propriety is promptly thrown to the side.

Touch me.

Another sharp shudder runs through him when you rub your thumb over his cheek. He almost falls limp against your hand, his breath locked in his throat, but he manages to steady himself in time.

His hands find your ornate robes within a second, and then he's clutching onto them until his knuckles are white. Childe can feel himself digging little crescents into his palms, but your touch means he's unable to focus on anything else, and the thought of lessening his grip makes him afraid you'll pull away.

Childe bites his lips, trying to stifle another noise. He never wants this to end. You could spit in his face, and he would thank you for it.

Just as he jerks forward, chest heaving as he struggles to catch his breath, overwhelmed by how good your touch feels— you're letting go, and pure, unbridled fear rushes over him.

"N-No!" Childe begs hoarsely, unable to realize that he's acting out of what he's allowed. "No, no, d-don't stop, please! Please, please…" he pleads weakly, fingers digging into your robes again, tighter this time.

Unshed tears wet his eyes. If it means having your attention on him, he would do anything. Nothing is too far beneath him. He’s already done unspeakable things in your name, hoping to garner your favor; if it means having your touch for one second longer, then there’s no low he wouldn’t fall too— no covenant he wouldn’t break, divine or mortal.

As long as it means being by your side at the end of it, any agony would be worth it. No shame is too much for him to bear.

"Oh, puppy," you murmur softly. One of your hands cups his cheek, while the other gently tugs at his hair. "How could I say no to you?"

The fear coalescing around his heart dissipates, and the fingers that were clutching onto you lessen their grip slightly.

"Mhm," Childe hums at too high of a pitch, but he's much too drunk on you to think about anything else, much less whether he's ruining your perception of him. He hides his face in your hand.

Your puppy, he wants to add, but his mind is too frazzled to get the words out.

Your fingers in his hair tighten, and Childe can't help the little bit of drool that falls from his lips.

scaramouche

He shouldn't be ecstatic with just this much.

All you’d done was look at him. You glanced at him out of the corner of your eye, and it was enough for him to feel every nerve bursting like stars all over, pin pricks dancing under his skin. It was enough for every ugly, horrible little part of himself to reveal themselves like he'd done nothing to hide them.

The sudden surge of emotion, an incessant and desperate need to please you— to give you no reason to give him away— breaches the surface far too quickly. His every move is then dictated by how it might affect you, whether it'll give him your favor or ire; and an ever increasing chittering spawns in the back of his mind, crying for you to touch him.

All you'd done was look at him.

Scaramouche tries to ignore it at first. He, very pointedly, does his best not to think of how his skin burns when a thought of you touching him enters his mind unbidden, nor how it simultaneously destroys whatever preconceived notions he had of himself.

He knows titles are meaningless in front of you, but that doesn't quite quell the petulance he feels when he crumbles each time you look at him. You don't have to touch him for every wall to burst like they were nothing. You don't even have to be near him. Your eyes meet his for a moment, and it's like everything he is shatters.

It makes him feel disgustingly weak and as insignificant as the day he was born.

Scaramouche is one out of many; one interaction you may have out of hundreds. He knows how many clamber for your affection, and how many more would ruin themselves for it.

You hold his gaze for a meaningless amount of time, and he knows it means nothing to you. His body still reacts like it does. He knows once you've turned, you'll have already found something else to capture your attention. His pulse still churns as if you’d just held his face in your hands.

It's nothing to you. It should mean nothing to him.

He hates the fact it bothers him.

He shouldn't care. It's not the same as you abandoning him. That you look at him at all should mean something. But it doesn't change the way fear bundles inside of him when you look away, nor does it change the disgust that rises at the very fact he feels that way at all.

He shouldn’t care. It shouldn’t bother him. But it does. It does.

It eats away at him like a festering wound. It hurts like nothing before it. He wonders if you’ll grace him with a look, and when you do, that’s the only thing that matters. When you turn away, he wonders how he ever got to this point. When you don’t, it’s like his breath’s been wrung from his lungs, and he wonders again, at what point did he let himself fall so far.

It’s a point of irritability for him, and he ignores it like acknowledging it would be the death of his ego. Knowing that it would only serves to make him suffer more.

Whether you smiled or twitched your brow shouldn't feel the same as being reborn or having life torn from him.

You haven't left him yet. He constantly feels like you're about too.

Scaramouche has to sit and watch when you interact with others. It feels like torture. You smile, and for some reason, it feels like fire washing over him. You laugh, and somehow, he hears it as vividly as he would if he was next to you; only it hurts because he's not the one you're sharing it with.

He could at least pretend he wasn't so pathetic before. He could hold himself up with some pride, even dignity— mask his emotions well enough they couldn't be used against him. Now, sitting in front of you like this, he can't even have that much.

It's piety, worship, love, or something in between or all of them at once. He's weak all over because of it, and it makes him furious at the same time it makes him euphoric.

He wishes he was stronger. Tempered by the abyss, and he still can't resist falling into you.

Your hand runs across the nape of his neck, and he shivers, skin burning where your fingers brush. A soft, shuddery breath escapes him, and his fingers curl where they're latched onto your robes.

If it was anyone else, maybe he would have mauled them for seeing him in such a state. People are perfidious; quick to betray, and even quicker to exploit whatever they've gleaned. Faster still to take away anything that makes him happy.

It's not just anyone, though. It's you. And despite how terribly he fears and how deeply he wishes to bury his emotions, his want of you runs deeper. If it means holding your attention, then you can have anything. If it means feeling your touch, then he'd let you use whatever you wanted against him.

If it meant having the assurance of your presence, then he'd kneel and discard his every title and name. He'd become nothing, if he knew he'd still have you.

“Good boy,” you whisper, and Scaramouche instinctively moves closer, rubbing his knees raw against marble, trying to breathe in your warmth.

He despises how fast he weakens at your beckoning; how he can't even will himself to resist, or fathom the thought of it— malleable to your every whim, and unable to be truly angered by it. He only shifts to be nearer to you, dreaming of your touch, hoping to share some of your eternity.

A whimper rises from his throat, trying to kill his desperation.

"Don't leave me," he says, the words wrenched from his throat. "Don't leave me."

Don’t betray me, he wants to say instead. Don’t abandon me.

It's a disgusting display of weakness. He wishes he could kill his voice so he wouldn't speak at all, but even without a heart, his emotions feel like they might choke him.

The things you do to him are terrible. Pleas for you to only look at him sit and die on his tongue. He reels himself back in before he can make a fool out of himself even further, but he knows you only have to look at him for a little bit longer for any sense of resistance to die alongside his pride.

"I won't," you say softly, holding his cheek against your palm. "I'm here."

Scaramouche leans into your touch, hiding his face against your hand. He manages to keep himself from making an improper sound through sheer will, though he has to clench his jaw and close his eyes.

Even just knowing he has all of your attention makes him feel dazed, and as you rub your thumb over his cheek, he can’t even muster any anger at being reduced to such a state. He hums, somehow leaning even further into your touch.

“I’m here,” you say again, and Scaramouche whimpers into your palm.

zhongli

Zhongli dreams of you every night.

He knows he shouldn’t. It’s not proper of him, nor is it right for him to sully your image with his thoughts. Still, though, the thoughts come unbidden and leave him a wreck in their wake.

What troubles him is what he knows to be the cause of them.

Zhongli has always been eternally grateful. He's sat with the love of you until it permeated every thought. He's lived beside the worship of you until it coated his every word and nerve.

Being able to serve you past fantasies in his imagination brings him purpose, and that should be enough. And for a time, it was.

He could see you and feel fulfilled. He could breathe your air and feel like the thousands of years spent waiting for you had been worth it. Even following you around like some sort of dog was more gratifying than splitting the earth apart. This, he thought, is enough.

This sense of greed, then, shouldn't exist.

Zhongli pretends it's not his own, but the truth is that every thought is painfully his.

He imagines you running your fingers through his hair. He imagines touching your skin. He imagines you whispering praises against the pale column of his throat, and he imagines being yours in such a way that he knew he was special to you. He imagines you breathing his name and it feeling like rebirth. He imagines your touch. He imagines being able to worship you selfishly, entirely, in a way that no one but him could claim the honor of.

In a way, he thinks he deserves it. To be tortured with visions of things he knows he doesn't deserve and thoughts he knows you wouldn't approve of.

Zhongli would think of you often before, when all he had of you were the prayers on his lips and promises of piety. It was difficult to imagine you as something physical, but still, his heart stirred. His most meaningful company was the thought of you beside him.

What he thinks of now is different.

He wouldn't have dared to imagine touching your skin. He wouldn't have let the thought escape the darkest of his subconscious. He wouldn't have dared to let himself the simple fantasy of you speaking his name like he's something precious to you. All he wanted, then, was to share the same plane of existence as you. A selfish want, but it was pure.

What pervades his mind now is some sort of sacrilege. He should know better, but he still sullies you every time he closes his eyes, unable to fight and equally unwilling too.

His greatest arrogance. Even with thousands of mortal lifetimes lived, he still can't rid himself of it— even with his own self-hatred, his thoughts continue to defy him.

Even when he knows he's failing you, he falls deeper.

It's worse when you interact with others. Zhongli hugs your shadow and trails after you always, eager to please but always hiding behind a mask of propriety and decorum. He likes to pretend to have a semblance of control in your presence, though he knows that if you’d only ask, he would rid himself of it entirely and be thankful for it.

You're perfect, which is why you're kind even to those that don't deserve a modicum of your attention. You smile, and each time it's not directed at him, he tries to choke the indignance out of him. It’s selfish of him to expect that he be the only one to receive your affection, despite how his mind whispers it’s because he hasn’t done enough to prove himself to you.

Why else, it supplies, would you waste your breath on those undeserving of it?

He reminds himself of his place. It assuages him for only a moment.

Zhongli dreams of your breath. He dreams of you cracking him open and bearing witness to every depravity and every virtue and still whispering your love to him. He dreams of looking at you and knowing that he means something to you. He dreams and he wants so terribly, and he knows none of it is his to imagine.

He reminds himself of his place, repeating the words over and over in his mind. He whispers them to himself at night in hopes that maybe, it'll finally stick this time.

Be pleased with this much.

He's meant to be. He tells himself that, maybe, if he perseveres well enough, he'll be rewarded.

Maybe you'd let him touch you?

He wouldn't ask for much. Maybe you would be kind enough to let him hold your fingers in his. He wouldn't do so for long. Maybe, if he was good, you'd let him kiss your fingertips with the reverence you deserve.

It’s an impossibility, he knows, but it's his sole comfort. If he withstands just for a while more, you'll be proud instead of disappointed that he's fallen so low.

Then you ask for him to kneel, alone in your chambers, and he doesn't know what to do with himself.

Zhongli does as you say immediately. He falls to his knees so quickly that his mind doesn't have the chance to catch up. Vaguely, he understands that maybe he should be ashamed with how fast his body responds. He decides he doesn't care. All he knows is that you're looking at him, and that it feels sweet and good, and that he doesn't want you to stop.

His breath is lodged in his throat. His heart sounds like a roar in his ears. Nothing exists but you and your words. All you have to do is whisper a word that could vaguely be understood as a command and he would be at your feet, ready to be used.

He wants you to touch him.

You smile, and his nerves feel alight with fervor. Zhongli’s hands stay clenched on his knees, trembling with the strength needed to resist touching you.

You haven't given him permission, so he keeps himself still.

You cradle his face in your hands. He can feel the warmth of your palms caressing his cheeks, and he wonders— how can there be anyone who doesn't worship you?

“Good boy,” you say, and Zhongli inhales sharply.

For you, he wants to say. Only for you.

He doesn't, afraid to speak; afraid that to murmur even the softest of praises would cause you to pull away.

Does he tell you, he wonders, that he wants you to play with his hair? Does he tell you he wants you to love him completely, innocently, selfishly? Does he tell you he wants you to touch his skin, anywhere if it means having that small piece of contact?

“Where do you want me to touch you?” you ask, and he can hear the small tint of mirth in your voice.

The question strikes him dumb. His body burns and his blood is singing. Zhongli doesn't care if you find him amusing. No, he delights in it. It doesn't matter as long as he means something at all to you.

His fingers twitch, and just barely does he manage to keep his hands to himself.

“Everywhere,” he breathes.

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tragedyofdevotion · 15 days ago

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How to write emotions

How to write emotional scenes

How to show emotions Part I

How to show emotions Part II

How to show emotions Part III

How to show emotions Part IV

How to show emotions Part V

How to show emotions Part VI

How to show emotions Part VII

How to show emotions Part VIII

If you like my blog and want to support me, you can buy me a coffee or become a member! And check out my Instagram! 🥰

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tragedyofdevotion · 16 days ago

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I'm exhausted as heck but going through Ruan Mei's character stories really had me thinking... It's important to note that she's very tricky for me to characterize, especially in my writing, so I apologize if she's too off. Also, again, I am super tired. Sorry if there are too many mistakes here.

Ruan Mei walks swiftly across the massive space ship, in her hands a delicate, porcelain plate with pink flowers etched into its edges, giving it a lovely little touch that was unmistakably her own. On it were an assortment of various treats, each most likely hand made by the woman herself as each and every one seems to be so perfect, one would even feel guilty for even thinking about eating them.

The sea of scientists continued to whisper amongst themselves, their ears perked and knowing eyes watching the gorgeous woman strut down the hall without a care in a world, her beautiful, long legs on display for the whole crew to see.

She truly was the epitome of beauty and excellence. Madam Ruan Mei has managed to achieve so many incredible things in her short lifetime, things that could make or break galaxies, she has managed to concoct creations both precious and terrible and it was all in the name of science. She truly was a vision, an unstoppable force to be reckoned with - no one could shake off that cool expression off that otherworldly face of hers, no one.

So why, oh why, was this illustrious woman always wasting so much of her time with such a dull witted person?

The gossip spread like wildfire, many being envious of the little scientist which could always be spotted by her side. Ruan Mei would always regard them with her own kindness, always asking for their input on various things. It did not go unnoticed how she would secretly write down whatever would be exchanged between the pair, the little notebook always close to her person.

One bold man decided to sneak into her office one day, his own curiosity too much to handle. He wished to know the nature of the pair's relationship, for it was well known that Ruan Mei was no ordinary woman. The tips of his fingers burned as he rummaged through her desk, the endless files all being dropped carelessly onto the floor as he pondered and pondered -

What was Ruan Mei planning? Why did she fancy that no name scientist so much?

The person in question was at the bottom of the food chain on the Space Station, never even bothering to go up the ranks. They merely seemed to be content with making a decent salary and live out the rest of their days in bliss and comfort.

Which is why it got people talking - why did Ruan Mei seem to enjoy this person so much? How have they managed to keep her attention for so long?

The gossip was too thrilling, too good to just pass up on. With a sick grin, he had found what he was after the whole time. With the stars as his only witness, he made the decision to unveil the secrets of this glorious, once in a millennia born scientist. His fingers danced across the edges of the booklet, its secrets all for his eyes now. Just as he was about to open it, he took a deep breath.

That seemingly innocent thing had cost him dearly.

Suddenly, it felt as though his throat was closing in on him, his windpipes somehow getting crushed by an invisible hand as he choked on his own blood, hand trembling as he reached out towards the massive window, being met with nothing but the deep, vast cosmos.

Such a pitiful death, she thought to herself as she stood by her office door, a small gas mask on the lower part of her face.

Since stepping foot here, Ruan Mei knew that she and her new friend had become the latest hot topic.

Thing is, she just did not care to even entertain the people who spewed such venom. In a way, she could not help but to watch this unravel, to see just how far the people would go in order to entertain their ideas.

Heels click against the cool tile floor as she now stands above the deceased. Fixing her hair, she glances at the booklet, clutched in his soon to be rotting hand and she lowers herself to pick it up. She looks at it for a few moments, her mind suddenly going into overdrive as she wonders the exact same question - why did she fancy that scientist so much? What was it about that person that piqued her interest?

Oh well, no matter. She'll gladly continue to indulge herself until she gets a satisfactory answer.

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tragedyofdevotion · 17 days ago

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✎ yandere! overachiever fic . . .

✎ warnings . . .

― obsessiveness, kidnapping, pathetic yandere me thinks etc.

(gn! reader x male yandere! oc)

Life is always unfair. Finn had always known that.

Good grades never came easy. He had to work for it. Same with everything else. And even then

it was never enough.

Not for him, not for anyone else. He would always be subpar, grasping for whatever he could reach.

'Try harder next time.'

It was like, life was trying to taunt him. Trying to taunt him with a goal he'd never be able to reach. It sucked a lot. Because like I said before, he's subpar. Second place. The one choosing, never the chosen.

And then came you. Beautiful, perfect, smart little you. The you that he envied for always stealing first place from him. The you that always had everything handed to them.

You,

you,

you.

The you that suddenly confessed to him, telling him you loved him.

He didn't know what to make of it. Was this some sort of joke? Some... elaborate plan to shake him off balance and prevent him from being a threat? Not like that would ever be likely seeing as how you effortlessly got 100s and he would work his ass off for a measly 95 but anyway!

"You... like me?"

"Yeah, you're everything I want in a guy."

Finn blinked, unsure of how to take this. Was he supposed to reject you? Accept? He barely knew you. In fact, the only thing he really knew was that you were number 1 and always beat him in exams.

"I-"

Your lovely voice interrupts him.

"You don't have to accept. I just wanted to tell you."

Look at you, all red in the face like a blushing scholar. This overachiever doesn't know what to make of it. He's... never been someone who gets confessed to, really. He's never been confessed to before.

Scared? Yeah, he definitely is. What's a perfect person like you doing confessing to him? But more importantly, you've got his attention now.

And he wants to learn more.

"Okay..."

You're beautiful when you're rambling about your interests, Finn thinks. You're rambling off, going on a tangent about your current hyperfixation.

He's not really listening. All of it is going in one year and oning out the other. No, he's too busy admiring... you. As embarrassing as it sounds, mr second place has begun spending time out of his studies to hang out with you. That's what people do when they want to know more about someone, right?

"So what do you think of it?"

Shit.

You're looking at him, all wide eyed and smiley faced waiting for his answer. You're probably interested in what he thinks about your super niche interest. Meanwhile he was too busy thinking of how cute you looked.

"Huh? Uh, oh, it's cool I guess."

Finn raises a hand to rub his neck, offering a half-hearted smile. Shit he's so fucked... Did you aks a question? Are you asking for his opinion on it? Is his answer okay? Pleasetakethebaitpleasetakethebait-

"Really? That's what I thought too!"

Finn feels his shoulders visibly slack. Sheesh, he really got lucky with that one.

But... Why did he even doze off in the first place? He isn't normally this... distracted. Not really. He's always so focused on the present but...

Was he really just interested?

Finn isn't an attractive guy by any means. Or maybe he is and he just doesn't know it. Hey, do you think that's why so many people stare but don't approach? Because he's too sexy? Haha...

He's not that tall, like 5'11 and lanky. Dark hair obviously, and the most nerdy square glasses ever. He also has dark eyes and eyebags. What a shocker. Touching grass? What's that? He only knows how to study.

Not really the most conventional definition of attractive but hey, it could be your cup of tea if that's what you're into.

But...

"You're handsome."

Ah...

Finn feels his cheeks flush red, eyelashes fluttering as he avoids eye contact. What? So suddenly... Like this?

"Uh... Thanks."

Bro. He's actually so cooked. What is this feeling? Is he having a heart attack? There's no reason why his heart should be beating this fast right now.

"You're... You're good looking too."

The poor guy glances at your face, eyeing your expression. Hm... Was that your lip quirking up? Did you like what he said?

Finn grins a little, glancing away. God, you're so cute.

"Hehe I know. Anyway I gotta go, see ya around Finn."

And with that, you were gone again, slipping through his fingers. But he's actually thankful this time. Finn doesn't think he can handle another second with you, not after you smiled so sweetly and called him handsome. Not after calling him by his name with that beautiful voice of yours.

"Fuck..."

His hand slides down his face, eyes dark and eyebags heavy. The tips of his ears burn red, his skin running hit.

"I think I'm in love."

finn: meet me in the library

finn: please?

read at 12.34

Gulps.

It's been approximately 5 minutes since you left him on read and Finn doesn't know how much longer he can spend waiting. His clothes feel all too small, the walls are closing in on him.

Should he just leave? Maybe you're not coming. Why would you? You probably don't care... Maybe you know he's going to confess. That's why you're late. That's why you-

"Hah... Hah... I'm here Finn."

Oh.

Nevermind.

"Oh, you're here."

He pauses. You... had your hands on your knees, panting and sweating like you just ran a marathon.

"Sorry I'm late, I ran all the way from the other side of campus."

Shit, you ran here? That explains why you were breathless and red in the faced. Now he feels bad for thinking you were standing him up.

"You didn't have to..."

But you did. The black haired guy would be on the verge if a mental breakdown if you had arrived just a second later.

Finn glances at you, feeling the familiar warmth enter his cheeks as he takes in the sight of you God... You're beautiful. It doesn't matter what you look like, to him you're absolutely gorgeous.

And then you just had to look at him with those eyes.

"So what's up? Why'd you call me here so suddenly?"

He gulps and looks away, the cold room suddenly feeling all too hot. Geez, they need to turn the AC up in here! He's burning hot.

Mr second place mumbles out something incomprehensible, awkwardly fiddling with the hem of his shirt before facing you again.

"Ahaha... About that... I just... Um..."

Finn's thought this would be easy. He's thought this over in his head a million times while daydreaming about you. While admiring you while you sat in class, thinking about how you'd blush and fawn over him when he finally confessed. While watching you through your window as you scrolled your phone late into the night. You're thinking about him weren't you? You nust be thinking about him even when you're doing the most mundane of things, right?!

Yeah, it doesn't stop there. But that's besides the point.

He'd call you over, confess calmly like the chill guy he was, and you two would be happy together because you liked him back. That was the plan.

This.

This wasn't the plan.

He didn't expect to be hesitating, anxious. He didn't expect to be worried about your response. He didn't want to tell you his feelings, too afraid that you'd reject him despite knowing that you liked him.

Was this... fear?

"I..."

He gulps.

"Hm?"

"Ilikeyoualot."

There. He said it.

Finn shuts his eyes, hiding his face in his hands before peeking out behind the gaps of his fingers. What were you going to say? Were you going to reject him? Oh Finn's heart doesn't know if he can handle that...

"What was that?"

Eh? You didn't... catch his confession?

Then you chuckled, a hint of red dusting your cheeks.

"You're so cute Finny."

"F-Finny?!"

"Come here and give me a kiss!"

Finn didn't even have time to react before you threw yourself at him. He stumbles lightly, lips parting as you press your cheek to his lips and let out a giggle.

Shit, he's sweating. This is all too much for him. He swears he's used to your teasing but now...

"Get out of the library you two!"

"Haha!"

Man screw the librarian. He's a taken man now.

Right? That's why you giggled when the librarian chased you two out...

Right?

"So we're dating now?"

You smile at him and Finn swears he's been gazed at by an angel. His hearts racing, cheeks an impossible shade of red. Things can't possibly get worse-

"What do you think Finny?"

Zoo wee mama bury him alive at this point 🤑🤑🤑

Hm. Finn doesn't know what to do. He's... conflicted.

So you two have been dating for a while now, yeah? And everything's great! Fantastic even! You're such a wonderful person and Finn couldn't be happier that you chose to be with him.

There's just one problem.

You've begun showing interest in someone else.

Finn trusts you! Of course he does! You're the love of his life! His one and only! He's had many beautiful memories with you and he knows you'd never do such a heinous thing like betraying his trust.

But... you've been spending too much time with this new friend of yours and it's driving him insane.

Click. The door clicks open.

Ah, so you finally decided to come home, huh.

"Welcome back, how was your outing with your friend?"

Finn puts on a forced smile for you. Can't get you angry, what if you break up with him because you think he's too controlling? He wouldn't want that. Not at all.

"It was good. He's really cool, you should meet him sometime!"

Yeah, like hell he would.

Just the thought of you hanging out with another guy sickens him to the core. Scratch that, the thought of you hanging out with literally anyone other than him or your family sickens him. It literally makes him want to tear off his face. All that just so you would keep to yourself.

But he can't do that, can he? He's not that kind of person.

"I really enjoy his company, he's a really good friend."

On second thought... Maybe not.

His eye twitches and he has to hold himself back from saying anything rash. No... he wouldn't want to scare you. Not now. What if you end up hating him?

Finn can't handle that.

Your Finn can't handle that.

"Do you... really like him that much?"

That's... okay, right? You-

"Yeah, he's a good friend finny."

...Huh...

"Right... I understand."

Your boyfriend smiles at you, extending a hand to gently rub your head. Right. Just a friend.

He's just a friend.

Nothing more, nothing less.

He has nothing to be threatened by. Nothing at all. It's not like you'd ever leave him. You know you're all he has.

You're all that's good in his life.

You wouldn't hurt him like that. You won't.

"Hey... do you think we've been spending too much time with each other recently?"

What?

Finn pauses in his tracks, the pencil he was holding slipping from his hands. He heard you right, yeah? You said you two had been spending too much time with each other?

"Haha, what makes you say that?"

He must be overthinking it. You can't have meant that right?

"It's just... maybe we should have some time away from each other. I just want some me time."

Hah...

Ah...

Finn takes a step back, eyes widening just the slightest bit before he covers his mouth with his hand. No way, you're serious? Why? After all he's done?

"I-I didn't upset you, did I?"

"What? No no, I just want some me time, y'know?"

Yeah but...

Don't you love him?

You know how he gets when he's without you, right?

"B-but..."

Finn pauses when he sees your expression. Lips parted slightly, eyebrows furrowed just the tiniest bit.

You're annoyed.

"Ah..."

Nonono

No.

Are you breaking up with him? Is this your way of letting him down easy? Shit, he knew you never really liked it, probably just some passing infatuation because you were interested in how someone like him could be second place. Maybe it was all a ploy to get study information? All those times before you two got together, complimenting him, blushing and telling him he's exactly your type were all lies, right?

Fuck...

Your boyfriend glances up, helplessness filling his body. No... no... he doesn't want to believe it but knowing you...

Is it because you're interested in another guy?

"Are you breaking up with me?"

"What? No, that's not what I'm trying to-"

"I knew it! You didn't actually love me, did you?! You just wanted to play with me, right?! Now you're moving onto the next guy just like that!"

"What are you talking about Finny? It's not like that, I really just want to-"

You freeze.

What... what's with that look in his eyes? And why's he coming closer? Usually you'd welcome him with open arms but there's something off about him right now...

You're scared.

"Finn... You're creeping me out..."

Before you can say anything else though, he latches onto your arms, grip surprisingly strong for someone who rarely exercises. Dread floods your body and you desperately try to break free.

It's no use, of course. He's too strong.

"Finn? Let go please! I swear 'm not breaking up with you!"

"Liar! If you're not breaking up with me you wouldn't be asking for a break!"

He gets uncomfortably close, eyes wide and manic. You can hear his heart pounding, or is that yours? You don't know, everything is so loud you can't exactly focus...

"No... You can't leave me. You're all that's good in my life."

"Finn let-"

"I can't lose you."

And just for a split second, you think you catch a glimpse of the old Finn, the Finn you knew before... before all this absurdity consumed him.

That's right, you weren't exactly trying to break up with him. You just wanted some time to yourself because of how clingy he's been recently. Ever since you got that new friend, Finn's been hovering around you like some sort of demon and it's gotten really exhausting. You thought that maybe a short break would get him back to his usual shy and cute self.

You could never have expected this to happen. Never.. would have expected him to go this far.

"I'm sorry... I'm really sorry... But if I don't do this, you'll leave me. I simply cannot have that happening. You mean too much to me."

Ah...

Just like that, you were out like a light.

It's warm, at least. His arms....

"I love you, I love you so much..."

Don't ever leave me, please.

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