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msfcatlover · 8 months

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Can you tell me the about the talon jason au?

YES! Yes, yes, yes, yes yes!!!

The Talon!Jason story is really heavily inspired by All Birds Have Talons, a fantastic little oneshot which got my gears churning with possibilities (as well as Talon’s Grasp, my all-time favorite Talon!Dick fic, specifically for how it handles the conditioning & Dick’s escape.) I just… snipped the Joker out altogether, and had Shiela betray Jason to the Court directly. They wanted Robin, after all, and she’d been out of Gotham for so long that even if she had contacts to know about the “wanted alive (or else)” bounty on Dick’s head, she probably wouldn’t know any of the details. She’s embezzling funds, she’s being blackmailed, she’s kinda on the run, and here’s the son she never wanted offering to help her with whatever problem she has, insisting they won’t even need to get his rich new dad involved if she doesn’t want to because Jason can handle himself; she doesn’t need to worry about him, because he’s Robin.

The Joker isn’t involved at all. Shiela calls her old contacts herself.

(CW: heavily referenced if not described brainwashing, torture, medical abuse, dehumanization, and depersonalization ahead.)

They’re not happy. Jason’s not the Robin they want, but he’s seen/heard too much once Shiela tricks him into the meeting, and they might as well get something out of this meeting. They fake Jason’s death with Shiela, the bomb, flesh too charred to get a DNA reading off of, a dangerous amount of blood, and hack off one of Jason’s arms before pumping him full of experimental healing drugs so they can stick a new one on and don’t end up with a one-armed Talon. (It never connects quite right, and Jason is always a little clumsier and a little bit number on that side.)

Jason wakes up in the labyrinth, fighting off the drugs & shock, with an arm that looks dead, doesn’t move right, and that he knows he should not have anymore. He’s not ready, his body isn’t chemically prepared for the procedure, so they keep dragging him back to the medical area, talking over him like he’s not there, and when Jason fights back, the punishments are brutal. There’s also plenty of classical conditioning, trying to train him to do what they want one step at a time. (He loses fingernails & teeth, because those are easy sources of extreme pain that won’t damage him in the long term, but he does piss them off worse. Jason learns that broken bones hurt worse when forced to heal too quickly. Spitting in one of the doctors’ masks cost him color in his right eye. The shock collar was just to make him put on the hood originally, but eventually they just… left it on. Food can be bought only with cooperation, and it’s a hefty price indeed.)

Jason does hold out for an impressively long time. First it’s because he thinks he needs to wait to be saved; they break that hope by showing him his own funeral. Then it’s because he needs to escape, though his attempts all come to naught. In the end, Jason hangs on because he listened when the Owls talked over him, and he knows they’re just using Jason as a trial run; he knows they’re planning to go after Dick. The longer Jason holds on, the longer his big brother will be safe. Conditioning corrupts that, though. Memories fade, names slip through his fingers, he’s… he knows he’s here for a purpose. Protecting someone. Someone the Court will also make Talon if he fails—no one should go through this, and that person is (warmth & sunshine, bright smiles & sky blue) is important, and he can’t… he can’t fail. He can’t let them down.

If he can just be a good enough Talon, that person will be safe. (This is what carries him through the training, the treatment, the cold, humiliation, and death, death, death, death, death. He can do it. He can be good enough. He’ll keep them safe.)

And then. The Court gets what they want.

Jason doesn’t realize it at first (of course not, who tells a Talon anything?) He doesn’t realize it until the base is under attack, all the Talons are woken up and sent to defensive positions, and he finds their newest prisoner in the middle of an escape attempt. He freezes for just a second, hands on his knives, trying to make sense of this. His voice is still hoarse from scarring and flat from disuse when, for the first time in well over five years, he says, “Dick Grayson?” (He didn’t even know he still knew that name.) Dick has been fighting Talons since he got here (and is pretty drugged up himself,) and acts on instinct. Dick strikes out, and it’s not until he knocks the Talon down that he realizes it’s only fighting defensively—and only because it stops fighting altogether. It just lays there on the floor, staring at him through that blank hood. “Dick Grayson,” the Talon says again, and this time Dick can make out what almost sounds like confusion in its voice, “You shouldn’t be here.”

Dick doesn’t know what to make of the Talon that helps him escape. Dick does try to help the Talon back (raiding a bat-safehouse to check both of them for trackers and to change their clothes. The Talon seems hesitant to change out of the uniform, even when Dick turns away and promises not to look. Dick still catches just a glimpse of the old scarring on the Talon’s neck out of the corner of his eye, thinks of how hoarse the Talon’s voice was, and feels sick.)

The Talon stays with Dick all the way to the back entrance of the Batcave, but when Dick turns to ask if they want to come in, the Talon is gone.

(When Dick tries to explain everything that happened to the rest of the family will be the first time he realizes: “The other Talons, they were very formal, full names only. ‘Richard Grayson, the Court of Owls commands’ blah-blah-blah. The Owls just called me Grayson. But the Talon who helped me called me Dick.” “Do you think it was someone you knew?” Tim asks. Dick manages a weak, humorless laugh. “I don’t know, Tim. Maybe?” Dick thinks of the scars again, the breathy rasp of the Talon’s voice, and swallows. “Gods, I hope not.”)

It’s not the last time they meet, though. Not by a long shot.

(The Talon cannot go back to the Court, not after having the greatest failure possible dangled in front of its face, stealing the Court’s prisoner, and… and what if they try to take Dick again? No, no, can’t let that happen, can’t let this happen to Dick too, not after everything. Never, ever, ever again.)

(And gradually, the Talon begins to find Jason Todd in the graveyard of his own mind.)

I have several scenes I really, really love drafted (the moment when Dick convinces the other bats to see Jason as an ally. The moment Jason realizes what his connection to Dick actually is. The entire sequence where Dick finally realizes who Jason is, who Jason has been this whole time.) I also have a few concepts that won’t seem to go right on paper, like a final confrontation with Cobb, and Bruce finally seeing his second son face-to-face for the first time in years.

And it is, like most of my stories, full of holes I’m still trying to fill; I can’t promise this will ever resolve into a cohesive, fully narrative fic one day. But! I’m happy to ramble, and nothing helps me fill in the holes faster than getting to talk through things with people! So please, feel free to ask more if you’re interested.

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smilingformoney · 1 year

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For that author ask: Perspective Flip

I’ve been wanting to read a fic from Snape’s pov (first person) for a while

First of all, thanks for your patience, Anon. It took me a few days to decide which scene I wanted to try from Snape's POV, and then I had to find time to write it.

Because I hate myself, I didn't choose a fluffy or smutty scene, but went for the ultimate angst and chose his death scene 🙃

Not The End

Content/warnings: blood, Snape lives, but he doesn't think so, soul of ice spoilers

Read on Ao3 or below:

When the Dark Lord gave the command, my heart dropped.

It could not end this way. I hadn’t yet reached Potter, I hadn’t told Persephone I loved her one last time, I hadn’t said my goodbyes to my daughter…

I screamed. I couldn’t help it. The pain of the snake’s fangs sinking into my neck was too great. It felt as if she were trying to sever my very head from my shoulders, but instead she tore a chunk from my neck, penetrating my jugular with precision. She withdrew, and I felt my knees buckle.

I had failed. Failed in my final task, leaving it all for naught. I had failed them all, all who relied on me, whether they knew it or not. Failed my daughter, whose voice I could hear now, screaming for me…

My back hit the wall behind me, just as something exploded some feet away - I closed my eyes instinctively, and when I fell, it felt as if the floor would never reach me. The Dark Lord was speaking, and yet I was still falling…

Except I wasn’t falling. My eyes fluttered open as I realised I hadn’t yet hit the ground… because I had been caught.

In the distance, I saw the Dark Lord’s robes sweep behind him as he left the room, leaving behind his favourite servant to bleed to death.

I turned my head as much as I could, and I swore I was hallucinating.

How could she be here?

She was in the castle, hopefully safe but doubtless fighting - why would she be in the Shrieking Shack?

She must have followed me. The stupid, brilliant girl that she was, refusing to leave my side even at the end of all things.

“Abbie…” I mumbled, not daring to raise my voice with such pain searing through my neck. Even so, I was determined to speak, to tell her all I could. “I -”

“Shut up!” Abbie yelled, and I felt my blood on my cheek. No, that wasn’t right - it wasn’t blood at all. It was her tears, my daughter’s tears, sobbing as she held my dying form. Too much pain, too much, for one so young…

“Don’t you dare. Don’t you fucking die on me, you idiot.”

If I had any strength left, I might have chuckled. As it was, I managed only the faintest of gasps. Despite the horror she was enduring, my brave daughter kept herself together enough to withdraw her wand and incant a spell I had taught her many years ago.

“Vulnera sanentur… vulnera sanentur…”

Whether the spell was working or not, I had no idea - the sting of skin stitching together would be drowned out by the pain I was in as the snake’s poison spread through my veins.

It turns out the old adage is true: your life really does flash before your eyes in the moments before you die.

As she continued to cast her spell, fighting back against her sobs, I recalled the day our roles were reversed; the day I had cradled her unconscious body in my arms as she bled out, and it had taken all the occlumency I could muster to push down my fear and focus on healing her wound.

She could not save me, I was sure of it. But she could keep me alive a little longer, long enough that I could complete my final task, that I could die knowing I hadn’t failed her in the end.

I had spent my entire life keeping my thoughts, my feelings and my memories locked securely inside my mind. Now, I opened the floodgates and allowed it all to rush out, the memories streaming out of my eyes, my mouth, my ears.

“Potter,” I mumbled. “Take… it…”

I hadn’t even realised he was there. I had expected Abbie to take the memories to him. But suddenly he was there, a vial in his hand, scooping up as many of my memories as he could. I looked up at him, and for the first time, I looked past James’ face and into Lily’s eyes, a glistening emerald green; and despite it all, despite the hatred and distrust between us, still Potter seemed to fear for my life.

He backed away, his hand wrapped securely around the vial, and I knew my job was done.

I felt the poison begin to take me, and my vision was fading. Instinctively, I grabbed my daughter’s arm, holding her for the last time as tightly as I could with the little strength I had.

“Abbie… remember… remember I love you…”

She had to know. I had told her, yes, but not enough, not nearly enough. I should have told her every day, every time I saw her. I should have made sure she knew I loved her more than I ever believed was possible.

The stubborn girl didn’t give up. I wanted her to embrace me, to let me die holding her, but instead she applied a salve to my neck, and fresh tears fell from her eyes as she cursed loudly, my death not yet over.

“He’s poisoned!” Abbie cried out in a broken voice. “Help me sit him up.”

I felt several pairs of hands lift me from Abbie’s lap and place me against the wall, but I lacked even the strength to lift my head.

She would never give up. That, I was sure of. She would fight until my last breath, never admitting defeat. She was too stubborn, too brave, to take any other course. She loved me too much.

A bezoar, Potter suggested. Yes, a bezoar, just like the one I threw down her throat all those years ago, back when I was so foolish as to think I could live a life without her, until she had threatened to take it away herself and I pulled her back from the brink by sheer luck that I carried a bezoar at all times.

It was a habit befitting a potions master… a habit that I had difficulty breaking even after leaving the post.

A habit I still practised to that day.

A glimmer of hope. A spark of possibility. A dream that perhaps - maybe - if I was fortunate… it might not be the end after all.

That hope was all I had left, and it gave me the strength I needed to lift my hand to my pocket. Yes, it was there, I could feel it… the smallest of stones, sitting in the depths of my pocket, waiting for this day.

“Here…” I mumbled. “M’pocket…”

A hand reached into my pocket, and then my daughter was pushing the stone between my lips, tilting my head back.

“Swallow it!” she begged. “Swallow it or I’ll kill you myself!”

Swallow… yes. I felt as if I had only seconds to live, my vision was fading, my thoughts were slowing… but my love for her still burned like a fire in my heart, and so I drew strength from there, strength enough to swallow the stone.

It was mere moments before the stone’s magic began to rush through my veins, but the moments stretched themselves thin, my heart pounding as it fought back against the poison.

It must have worked, because she cried out with relief and buried her head against my shoulder. And… yes, my strength had come back some, as I lifted my arm to cradle her head. I tried to smile. Whether I managed, I didn’t know, because she was sobbing with her head pressed against my heart.

“You idiot!” she cried into my robes. “You stupid - fucking - dickhead - moron - asshole! Don’t you ever - ever - do that again!”

Yes, it was working, alright. I could feel the antipoison rushing through my veins. My heartbeat rose again, my vision cleared… and there she was, looking at me now. She was covered in her tears and my blood, her hair was a mess, and she was beautiful. An angel come to save me from the brink of death.

I blinked slowly. I felt light in the head, and although my grip on consciousness was fading still, I knew now that I was only passing out.

“Abbie…” I mumbled. I had so much to say to her. I love you. You are extraordinary. I love you. I’m going to sleep now. I love you. I promise to wake up. I love you, I love you, I love you.

“May I… pass out now?” I asked.

She laughed. Despite everything, she laughed at the notion that I would ask for permission.

“Yes,” she said. “Just make sure you wake up again.”

I smiled.

“I… promise…”

And I meant it.

Then I slept.

#severus snape #pro snape #dad snape #snabbie #soul of ice #snape fanfic

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aliveinacoffin · 11 months

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request for maybe an all might fic of him neglecting (not paying any attention) to his daughter. And she’s depressed in the inside (but even more after sir night eyes death) but outside she is “happy and cheerful”. But then she just gives up on her looks and behaviour and then someone notices and tells him and then he finally acknowledges her and when he asks what’s wrong she finally snaps at him. (Sorry if this is long)

That's okay! Are you the person who requested the same for the aizawa fic? Your ideas are so good but so sad 🥲 I hope you're not going through a tough time :( also, I was unsure if you wanted it to be in readers pov, but it was already too late when I started, oops T_T

Important To You

Being the daughter of such an important man was already hard, but after he gets deathly ill and the death of his best advisor? Forget about it!

TW: Neglect, parental abuse, depressive episode, mentioned eating problems, bullying, death,

Being the illegitimate and unwanted daughter of Toshinori Yagi wasn't all too bad. He was often times caring and meek, not really knowing how to be a dad to the daughter he never wanted.

But being the daughter of All Might? It was the worst thing in the world.

It made you feel guilty to feel that way. You knew his job was important, he had saved hundreds of lives every day for fucks sake! But he used to always be All Might. He had never been Toshinori, ever.

He used to never be home, always at his agency or out working. He used to just wire you money to let you fend for yourself if he remembered. Sir Night Eye, or as you knew him, Uncle Mirai, has been there from the beginning to make sure you were fed and made sure you were alive and safe every day. Ever since you were little, he would send someone from his agency to pick you up from school or from home to take you to his office.

Ever since your father's accident, his fight with All For One that left him chronically hurt, he had been spending more time at home. But it was all for naught since he just spent time locked away in his room or trying some new healing technique to try and get him back to his prime. He was still just as distant as always, but instead of the distance that separated you, it was the emotional availability.

Currently, you were sitting in your uncle-not-uncle's office doing school work while he typed away at his computer. Apparently, he was working with the Hero Commission for some secret project. Whatever it was, you knew it was serious business. Usually, he'd spill the beans to you, hoping that Hero business would rub off on you to give you more smarts or something like that. But you had never been usually interested in stuff like that, so most of the time, it was a lost cause.

But this time you were extremely interested, but he just wouldn't tell you.

"Please? Why won't you tell me? You know I won't tell anybody else, not like I could anyway." You muttered pitifully, scooting your school desk over to him. It was one he got for you when you were small, and he just continuously upgraded it as you got older. Faded drawings could still be seen, the main one still as bright as ever.

It was a stick figure of you and Mirai holding hands in an office, while All Might was a small figure in the clouds.

Spread out on your desk were math papers. You were a second year in a reasonably priced high school. What? Did you expect the quirkless daughter of the technically quirkless number one hero to go to hero school? Or even a prestigious high school? Hah, in your dreams.

"Because I can't. This is a very important mission. Hopefully, it will be over soon." Mirai said, his stiff form diligently working.

You sighed, hitting your head on your desk. Looking at your homework made your head spin, so you packed it up and pushed your desk to the back of his office. You grabbed the chair from the desk behind him and pulled up to sit next to him.

He immediately glared at you and exited all his open tabs. He called out to you, scolding you. You groaned and got up to face the back of his computer.

Mirai sighed and shook his head, mumbling a thank you as he reopened his work.

You took out your phone to play around on it, and you could feel his harsh gaze on you. You looked up, and half expected that he would tell you to 'smile more' or 'try to be more funny', but that's not what he said at all.

"What have you eaten today?" His voice was stern, almost cold in the way he said it.

You've always been in the middle of the weight class, with nearly childish features you inherited from your father. But you have never been the weight you could've been, always just falling short. Like always.

"Food, I ate today." You mumbled, looking away. Lying wasn't that hard for you. You lied all the time. Yes, I'm fine! Oh, don't worry about me, I'm just not hungry. Yes, my life is great! But when it came to your uncle? There was always a guilt there, like you were committing egregious sins when you lied about your homework or how home was like. The pain and squirming guilt outmatched the grumbling of your empty stomach.

"I asked what you ate today. You need to take better care of your body, you're a growing teenager, you must eat the proper meals to grow." Mirai scolded you, quickly opening an email to send some intern to get you food.

"It just slipped my mind." You shrugged, looking down like a pouting child.

"Then set reminders." He countered, not caring about your sour mood.

Sometime later, Mirio's shining face came in with a hearty meal and a large bottle of water.

___________________________________________

The mood was off, and everyone could tell, and you were no fool to it.

"Why's everyone so tense?" You asked, flinging your backpack at the entryway. Dragging a nearby chair to sit in front of Mirai's desk, taking your usual spot.

"Do you remember the case we're working on?" Mirai asked, green hair mussed and slightly greasy.

"The one you won't tell me about? Yeah." You scooted closer to his desk, leaning over in anticipation.

Today had been shit. There had been a presentation in class about your family history. Of course, you tried to get info from your father, but that ended up being pointless.

"Dad?" Your voice was small, and the knock you landed on your father's bedroom door was smaller.

There was rustling, on the other end. "Yes, hun?" He called out to you, somewhere in the depths of his room. Not bothering to even face you to talk to you.

"I uhm-I have an assignment for class, and I need your help." You said, suddenly feeling embarrassed. You held the paper in your hands, the edges crinkling slightly as your nerves got the best of you.

"Oh? Why don't you ask Mirai, I'm sure he's much better equipped for your school assignments." You could hear the sound of papers hitting a desk, and a feeling of sadness filled you. They were probably lesson plans for that one student at U.A., the one he had been training the past couple of months. He was giving that one random kid more attention than you had gotten from him your whole life.

"Because for this one, I need to ask about my family history. It's about gathering information about my parents and grandparents and so on, it's to show our research skills. It's a summative grade." You explained. A large part of you was in denial, there was no way he'd say no, right?

"W-well-" Suddenly, his thin form peeked out the door, a kind smile on his face. "I'm really busy at the moment, how about later we can go through the closet and try to find some old pictures, huh?" Your father reassured.

"O-oh, okay!" You nodded fervently, trying to hide your disappointment. You went into the apartment living room, and sat down on your couch, pulling out the expectations and requirements for the assignment.

Later never came.

You did the same next day, asking him to help you, and each day was the same. Tomorrow alright? Oh later, is that okay? Each and every time, later never came. Timidly, you asked him why he kept pushing you off, trying to stress just how important this assignment was to your grade.

"Oh! I'm so sorry honey, my side has just been acting up, and I have so much work to do that it must've slipped my mind. I'm so sorry, how about I make it up to you? We'll get ice cream later, how about that?" Your father promised, his two bunny ears bouncing as he bowed slightly as he apologized.

"A-alright, as long as we get my assignment done." You said, trying to sound stern. Your tears threatening to spill out.

Later. Never. Came.

When it came time to present your assignment in front of the whole class, you were humiliated beyond belief and got the worst grade out of the class.

Back to the present, Uncle Mirai sighed and looked over at you from his computer.

"Well, we're finally making a move on them tomorrow. I have been doing extensive research, and I can only strive for the best outcome." Mirai was looking down on you, but you knew he was trying to comfort you.

You had gotten wind of how serious this project was from wandering the halls of the building, seeing how solemn and serious people looked, and overhearing hushed whispers made you somewhat aware of what was happening. But not only that, the look of your uncle's appearance became more and more disheveled the more you saw him, just seeing how overworked he was.

"That's great! I'm sure this will help the agency's notoriety right?" You trusted your uncle's abilities, you knew how strong he was, how smart and capable both he and his team was. You didn't have a shadow of a doubt that he'd be fine. He had to be, after all. You had no one else but him. You didn't have friends, growing up around your uncle and absent father didn't exactly give you the best people skills. Everyone either thought you were weird, or a freak. Especially as a kid when you tried to brag that All Might was your father.

"But he is! All Might is my dad!" You exclaimed, tears filling your eyes as you stomped on the ground.

"Then how come you don't have a cool quirk like him? How come you don't have any pictures of him? How come he never picks you up from school or shows up to school?" The other kids jeered, a small group of other kindergarteners surrounding, you trapping you.

"Because he's busy! My uncle just says I'm a late bloomer!"

"More like a lame loser! Stop lying for attention." You felt a pair of hands shove you to the ground, and the group dispersed.

The rest of your childhood was the same, you gave up around middle school trying to convince people. The bullying just became too much for you. Around that same time, you stopped eating as much, and stopped caring about your appearance, what you wore, and what you did.

Your hair was long and often tangled, the ends light from all the damage done to your hair, your constant eyebags deep and dark, your unhealthy weight from either the lack of food or the lack of proper food. The only reason you even bothered to eat was to make sure you didn't upset your uncle, he was the one to make dentist appointments, hair appointments, and doctors appointments. He was the only one who ever came to important ceremonies for school, sometimes even going to parent-teacher conferences for you, he was the one to hold you after school while you cried, the one always there for you. Your uncle was the only one who even cared about you.

"The justice we will bring will be greater than the fame we will gain." He nodded, piercing yellow eyes boring into you. As if he could read your mind and not the future, he turned fully to you, giving you his full undivided attention.

"I promise it'll all work out in the end, you're a strong and capable girl. Now tell me, did Yagi ever help you with your assignment?" Mirai asked though both of you knew the answer.

You turned away from him, trying to hide the embarrassed tears that came crawling to the surface. "I failed, and now I barely have a C in that class."

He sighed and took off his glasses to pinch the bridge of his nose. He groaned and looked at you with annoyed eyes. "I should've known."

That made you giggle.

___________________________________________

"Well, we're finally making a move on them tomorrow."

Today.

After school you immediately raced home, sending a text to Centipeder or Moashi, that you wouldn't need a ride to the office. There was no point anyway, your uncle wasn't there to keep you company.

You remember the first conversation you had with him, a funny misunderstanding that was the first development of your Kind Guardian/Kid relationship.

"I just don't understand." He said from the front of the car one day, unprompted.

"Uhm, what..do you not understand?" You piped up after a beat of silence, confused.

"well, for Sir Nighteye to even acknowledge someone, they must make him at least smile. But I haven't heard you tell even a pun to him, and yet he is very open with you. I am...also confused about the nature of your relationship." Moashi confessed, eyes constantly going back and forth between you and the road.

"O-oh, I'm his niece. And I'm...not very funny, I'm too awkward to try and tell him a joke every day." Your voice was weak and trailed off, embarrassment filling you. But you had told the truth, you struggled to even ask to go to the bathroom, let alone try the daunting task of trying to tell a joke. He hadn't made you do it when you were too young to tie your shoes, why suddenly start now?

"ah, I apologize for my unprofessionalism." He asked, embarrassed himself too.

Since then, you felt a little bit more comfortable around him, even if most days you sat in the back looking out the window.

Still, none of that mattered when you turned on the TV, feeling like a little get as you sat right in front of the screen.

"Oh sweetie, please don't sit so close to the screen, it's bad for your eyes." You could hear your father's voice behind you.

You didn't even bother to pull your attention from the screen when you spoke to him, "You know that's actually not true. Plus, Uncle Mirai has his raid today, and I need to know the result." You quickly surfed through channels, and you jumped when you found the one you needed. A helicopter was circling above an inconspicuous-looking house, absolutely swarmed with heroes.

"That's today? I hope young Midoriya will be okay." Toshinori mumbled, and it made you glare at your TV screen without realizing it. Your emotions were on the fritz, you hadn't eaten since yesterday, hadn't slept, hell you hadn't even drunk water. Too nervous to do anything other than go through the motions of life. Your head hurts, your eyes stung, and you felt like absolute shit, but you needed to know.

You heard your father sit down behind you, but you didn't move an inch to give him a better view.

Then, it began.

___________________________________________

They won.

The heroes won, and they arrested all members of the Shie Hassaikai yakuza. But there were heroes so gravely injured that they needed to be life-lined out, and when they zoomed in on the victims' faces, listing off their names, both you and your estranged father ran to the car to race to the hospital.

Normally, your father was a strict follower of the rules, especially when it came to the laws of the road. But at this moment, the speed limit just didn't exist.

Hell, you guys were pushing a hundred while on your way to the hospital, the ride deathly silent. You were too terrified to speak, and your father remained unreadable to you.

The ride to the hospital was the most unbearable experience of your life.

___________________________________________

You ran ahead of your father, not even helping him get out of the car as you burst into the hospital. Hurridly, you ran up to the receptionist, speedily saying your name and asking for Mirai Sasaki. She pointed you to his secluded room, and you didn't even bother to thank her as you took off at top speed.

It felt like your world was crashing down, your breath coming in short, and panicked. You could barely breathe, barely think, the only thing you could do was run.

Your lungs burned when his room came into sight, a scream was worming its way from your throat, your heart and chest burned absolutely alit with fear.

Some part of your mind registered a green-haired boy and a blonde boy in the room, but it didn't matter as you slammed the door open.

A sob forced its way out your mouth when you opened the door, your eyes clouding with tears when you drank in the sight of your uncle. "Mirai!" That scream tore its way out of you in a voice you couldn't recognize as yourself.

You rushed over to his side, grasping onto the sidebars as if your life depended on it like it was the only thing keeping you here on earth.

The display of his health horrified you. His usually cunning eyes were dull and glazed over. His naked body was filled to the brim with tubes, filling the hole in the middle of his abdomen. His body was weak, the blue veins visible under his thin flesh, covered in sweat as he weakly breathed, his lungs wheezing with the strenuous task of pumping hair into his body. He looked over to you slowly, a small smile tugging across his face as if the mere act of making a minuscule smile drained what little life force he had left. His usually neat hair was mussed up, a sight people rarely saw because his appearance was the second most important thing to him.

He reached a shaking hand to you and placed it gently on yours. It was such a stark difference, the feeling of his cold and weak hand gently resting on your hand, still clenching as hard as you could next to him. Tears were freefalling now, hitting his pale arm and sliding down it. His hand trembled on top of yours, and you hurridly grasped it with both of yours to ease the shaking.

"U-uncle-y-you-" You tried to speak, but snot and tears made it difficult to speak. Your throat was tight, the feeling of thorns and barbed wire made it near impossible to even breathe.

He called out to you, voice soft and small, shushing you in an instant. "Breathe, you must calm down. You're having a panic attack." Mirai's words were shaky, and he tried his best to reassure you, even at a time like this.

"But you're-you're-" You couldn't even finish your sentence, couldn't even think of the word coming to your mind.

Dying.

He was dying.

Your uncle, the man who raised you, the man who made sure you ate every day, who made sure you had clothes, who taught you to tie your shoes, brushed your hair, and had held you on your best and worst days, Mirai Sasaki was dying.

And there was nothing to stop it.

When your father had almost died in his fight with All For One, you had been upset, sure. But Mirai had reassured you that he'd live, he even used his quirk to ease your worries, so you hadn't been as worried. Sure, it was still a deeply traumatizing event and was a hard time for you and your father. But you had Mirai, you always had Mirai.

And now he was leaving you, he was leaving you behind. The man who had replaced your father your whole life was abandoning you, and there was no way to stop it.

"Please, please don't leave me." You cried, finally managing to say words to him.

Mirai's face never faltered from his gentle smile, and his eyes crinkle slightly. "My child, please don't cry. Please don't forget your smile." He looked up at the ceiling and rested his hands on his wheezing chest. Your uncle's body completely relaxed, but he still had a smile on his face.

"When you were born, your father...did not want to keep you. Toshinori wanted to leave you at an orphanage, but I refused. I wanted you, I wanted you so badly I promised to take care of you. So I did. For the first couple of years of your life, I took complete care of you." He wheezed. "But he realized just how precious you were, so he took you back." Mirai mustered up the strength to look at you again, and it was obvious that the smile on his face was fake. "I've regretted that day every day. I should've kept you and raised you on my own. So I made sure to the best of my abilities that you were okay. But, I failed." Now, tears were falling from his eyes.

"Nno, no you didn't-" You started, voice full of panic, but he shushed you.

"Let me finish." He took a deep breath in and continued. "Every day I knew I should've kept you, it pained me to see you in such miserable conditions. Before I realized it, I had grown contempt for Toshinori. I hated seeing you in such a state, but I never wanted you to hate your father, so I just tried to help you in any way I could, and kept my anger to myself. I don't know when, but you had morphed into my own daughter over time. Maybe you always were, I'm unsure. Still, I want you to know one thing. I love you, and I always have. Please, promise me you'll live your life with a smile on your face and a kind heart, don't forget who you are." You gasped, trying to get as much air through the tears and agony.

"I promise, I swear on my life I'll honor your legacy the best I can." At this point, you were practically in the hospital bed with him, hunched over and clawing at his shoulders and hands.

"Remember to take care of yourself, live for me, and grow older than I'll ever be." Mirai shakily reached up to grasp at your face, weakly trying to wipe away your tears.

You closed your eyes, trying to appreciate and memorize his touch. "I pinky promise, I love you so much." Your eyes flew open when his touch disappeared, and your heart broke at the sound of his heart monitor flatlining.

At that moment, when nurses rushed in and your father's weak hands tried to pry you away you felt it.

Everything after that day was a blur.

Your world stopped that day.

___________________________________________

You don't remember how you got home that day, or what you did the rest of that week. Hell, even his funeral was a blur. You didn't go to school, didn't eat, didn't sleep, you didn't even leave your room. You just didn't exist anymore, like you had died with him.

Moashi had tried to contact you, calling and texting you constantly. He wanted to go over the will. His will.

But you just couldn't bring yourself to answer him, or to check your phone, or even to look over to see it.

A week or two or however long into your depressive episode, your father came into your room. He was holding a plate of food and a glass of water, looking just as bad as you.

"I brought you food." Toshinori whispered like you were ready to break at any moment. Maybe you were, or maybe it was too late, and you were already broken, instead, he was being careful of the pieces of your heart that were scattered around.

You didn't even spare him a glance, still staring at the ceiling. "I'm not hungry." You didn't even sound like you, voice rough and damaged. Vocal cords fried from unuse.

"You must eat. You cannot keep living like this. What would Mirai-" Your father started, and you shot up out of your bed.

"Stop. Don't you fucking dare use his name. You have no right to even think of him." You growled, getting up out of your messy bed. You hadn't changed your clothes from that day, your life was slowly slipping away from you, and even doing basic tasks seemed impossible. You knew you smelt, you knew you were a disgusting mess, and you could feel the grime and filth from lack o personal hygiene and care. But you just couldn't.

Your head swam from the sudden movement, your body trying to shut down on you. You felt weak and disorientated, and the constant gnawing hunger pains ate away at you. Your teeth ached, your head and body itched, your body and mind just hurt.

"Do you have any idea how horrible it was to live with you? Oh, sorry, to live by myself? I used to get bullied for trying to tell everyone you were my dad, it got so bad that I stopped talking at one point because every day people were telling me to kill myself. I used to not eat, and did you ever notice? No! Because All Might didn't have a daughter, so he was never home. He was there for every fucking person in Japan but his daughter. There were times when I didn't come home, and you didn't even notice wasn't there. Did you even care if I ate? What I do? You let me fail an assignment because it was just too much of a bother. Who do you think took care of you when you almost died? Where were you all the times I stayed home because I was sick?" Your voice was raw, and your throat burned from the agony of yelling at him. But you didn't care, you didn't even have any tears left to cry. You had nothing left.

"Mirai was always there to kiss my wounds, he came to everything. Ever wondered if I know how to play instruments? What my hobbies are? Mirai did! He encouraged me to pursue what I loved and came to all my plays, and performances, kept every drawing I made him, every craft I did." You fell to the floor, exhausted. You looked up to Toshinori Yagi, the stranger you've lived with for the past sixteen years. He was not your father, he never had been, your real father, the man who loved you unconditionally and wholeheartedly was dead. And he was never coming back.

"I hate you, I wished I had never been born to a man like you. You're not my father, you've never been my father. You should've died instead of him." You spoke your truth, glare downright murderous as you watched the horrified man in front of you. You felt no regret as he started to tear up, clutching his damaged side in pain.

You'd live up to your promises to your father, but you'd also never come to regret the words you uttered to the man who you shared blood with.

Just because you shared blood with someone, that did not automatically make them family.

___________________________________________

Holy shit;;;;; that was 4,538 words. Longest one-shot I ever fucking wrote. My computer is literally slowing down because I wrote this all on Tumblr lmaooo

Kinda don't like the ending, but I had so much fun writing this,,,, THANK YOU SO MUCH WHOEVER REQUESTED THIS, at first I was nervous because 'oh no how tf do I write this' but then it just started FLOWIN gyat dayum.

anyways, little notes incase you were wondering,,

Reader was abandoned by her mom after she was born, and mummy dearest managed to hand her back to toshi before she disappeared,,later she died pretty young, so, unfortunately, kiddo will never meet her. Toshi wanted to leave her because he couldn't deal with a child, but sir felt an instant connection with her and wanted her,,so he really did raise her but toshi saw how cute she was and was just like 'it wont be hard to raise a child right?' how wrong he was,,over time sir started to hate toshi, meaning his room isn't decked out in all might merch and isn't as harsh on deku and mirio when they come around,,if anything, kiddo made him much softer than he is in anime, because he knows what its like to be a dad(tm),, he never took her back because he didn't want her to hate toshi, so he just kept his anger to himself. (meaning he ain't creepy to bubble girl, thinking if anyone did that to his daughter hed fuckin kill them),,in his will, he left the agency to centipder so thats still the same, but he's under strict directions to train reader to one day take over the agency for her own, not caring that shes quirkless. Reader and all might will never make up, and when he dies, she will not feel regret nor sadness over his death, she will silently hate deku from the sidelines, and will be an endeavor fan (ick) ([okay sorry that want little but I love her-])

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summercreolefanfictioner · 1 year

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“i envy anyone who has the privilege of being loved by you.” for devyn and gil 😔💕

I believe this will be the perfect ending

contentment of dissatisfaction || gilbert x devyn (feat. karlheinz)

It was a surprise for Gilbert to discover his profound feelings towards Devyn, his precious friend, the right hand of the king. And it was a forbidden feeling too. He never dared tell anyone about it because he knew what they were going to say.

"You should never touch a king's possession lest you wanna be cursed."

But there was a time when Gilbert couldn't hold it in because Devyn was so pretty, laughing wholeheartedly at something like there wasn't any responsibility on her shoulders or paperwork she had to tend to. She was just her own woman, owning the moment and enjoying life in a few seconds.

And because of that admiration, he couldn't help but tell her, "I envy anyone who has the privilege to be loved by you."

Everything went south as she gave him a confused look, but there was something in her eyes that indicated she knew what he meant but simply wanted a confirmation.

"I have romantic feelings for you, Devyn Kang."

And that was it. He left her full of questions and anxiety, thoughts in her head as to how it all happened and how Gilbert endured it all this time. But because of his pride, he messed with her memories, traveling in the dream world to erase her memory of him confessing so she wouldn't know.

That was then because, above all things, there was Karlheinz, and Karlheinz wanted Devyn all to himself. So he didn't make a move. He enjoyed the undying feeling of hurting himself in this unrequited feeling until he couldn't any longer, especially when she gave him the same look of desperation.

I will fight for this. I will give up everything just for this love.

As he lay on the cold marble stone floor, all bruised and battered from all the damage Karlheinz inflicted on him. He only grinned, spitting out blood on his face, not caring if this person used to be his only friend in the demon world. They love the same woman, but given how Devyn was willing to lay down her life on the line for their affair, he supposed death right now is sweet.

"Gilbert, please," Karlheinz pointed his sword at his chest, dangerously threatening him, "let us end this pointless war. Give up Devyn and we can settle this matter."

Gilbert huffed with pride. "Pointless? You think my love for Devyn is nothing but a mere farce?" Everything he felt was real, raw emotions running down his veins. There is no way this affair was ridiculous.

"Devyn is mine to begin with," Karlheinz clarified, eyes filled with bloodlust because no one takes anything from him.

NO ONE.

"You really think that?" Gilbert knew there was no sense in talking this out with Karlheinz. After all, he mercilessly killed Aurora because of his desire to possess Devyn.

There was a moment of silence as Karlheinz lightly stabbed the skin on his chest, silently telling him to end this war and he'll withdraw the blade and pretend this was all for naught. However, Gilbert held the sword closer and said:

"My heart will never waver, Karlheinz, and you can't take that away from me even if I die."

And the next thing, Karlheinz stabbed him in the chest, witnessing how his old friend died with a triumphant smile. He was reeling from the curse all over again, with Devyn by his side, yet he was sleeping beside a stranger.

The mere thought of Devyn betraying him and eloping with someone else makes him sick. But what makes him feel disgusted is this whole act.

This is unbecoming of you, Karlheinz. Are you willing to risk Eden just for a woman who doesn't love you?

And for once, he has never felt alive.

Somewhere far away from the demon world is a vast ocean that knows no end. Devyn walked towards the ocean, the water reaching her waist as the wind blows away her tears. She was distraught, broken beyond repair, because she was remembering Gilbert and his last words.

"I will die today, and I just hope we can still see each other after that."

Devyn wanted to beat the shit out of him. She wanted Gilbert to use his full power, obliterate Karlheinz, and live happily with her somewhere far away. But then, she knew that he would still die even if Gilbert did what she wanted. After all, dreams are easily ruined by the cruel reality of their fate.

Now, Devyn was nearing her end, the water already reaching her neck. She was sobbing yet smiling at the fact that she'll die in this cold ocean but will meet the warm arms of her beloved.

Gilbert, please wait for me.

And then the water took her peace.

#diabolik lovers #diahell #diabolik lovers headcanons #diabolik lovers oc #dl oc #diabolik oc #gilbert feinze #devyn kang #kang devyn #gildev #gilbert x devyn #devyn x gilbert #gilbert #devyn #karlheinz sakamaki #diabolik lovers karlheinz

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vicsuragi · 2 years

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i don’t want this to happen in the show necessarily but oh do i think it’d be funny that if at the end of ofmd when ed and stede are matelotaged and the rest of the crew is still pirating it up, izzy ends up at spanish jackie’z and is upset that ed doesn’t need him anymore. he’s wallowing in self pity and he’s unsure what to do next and suddenly, there he is.

sure, he is still healing the wound he sustained when the cannon ball hit him (thankfully it missed all of the important bits!), but for all intents and purposes he’s functioning like normal. izzy is seething because goddammit, jack is still alive and kicking, which only gets worse when jack sits down at his table and orders a drink, ensuring he will be hanging around to bother izzy. jack starts on a rant about stede, how ed must have lost his mind falling for a fop like him, and izzy agrees deep down, but that anger doesn’t reach his lips like it used to. he tells jack as much, that he does still resent bonnet for aiding in izzy losing his closest friend, but he realizes that somewhere deep down in himself that he and ed hadn’t actually been friends in ages and all of his desperation to be ed’s favorite had been for naught.

the two drink, jack tells a few stories about what he got up to after the cannon ball got him, and izzy asks how many lives he must have left what with the mutinies, the stupid games he plays, the constant brushes with death. jack doesn’t know, he doesn’t like to think about dying. he insists that he’ll live forever, that if he was going to die he would have done it by now. maybe he even gets a little introspective for a rare moment in his life and says that even if he did die, it wouldn’t necessarily matter since nobody likes him. izzy feels something he hasn’t felt in ages - or, at least, he feels something that might not exactly be misplaced.

the night is winding down, so they decide they should saddle up and leave. izzy has a room at an inn just a little ways out, and jack insists on being chivalrous and walking him back (’yer just stumbling, is all, don’t want you to end up at the end of somebody’s sword just ‘cause you were at the wrong place, wrong time’). he doesn’t know why jack would do that for him, but he takes the company nonetheless. it’s better than being alone again.

jack doesn’t stop rambling the entire walk, something that’s actually kind of a comfort instead of a nuisance, and once they’re at the inn, he waves izzy off, saying they’ll probably run into each other again. it’s not like he actually cares, of course, but he asks where jack’s going, and he says he’s off to the next tavern that’s still serving, that the night’s not over yet.

he must not be thinking clearly when he asks if jack wants to stay the night. not for any buggery business, he makes that clear, just to ensure that he doesn’t get himself into any fights or drown in the water nearby trying to whip seagulls on the tide. he doesn’t respond at first, he watches izzy with glassy stare and tips his head to the side while he processes everything through the liquor-induced haze.

izzy crawls into his rented bed while jack’s body goes lax in a chair at his bedside, hand gripping his whip’s handle instinctively just like when they were on hornigold’s ship. he stays awake a while, watching to see if he’ll drop his grip or if he’ll get up and use that whip against izzy; that thought might even excite him a little bit. and yet, his hand never moves, and his eyes don’t open.

he awakes early in the morning, finding his room empty. izzy wonders if last night actually happened, if maybe he just got so drunk he imagined jack went back to the room with him, if he imagined that jack was even there to begin with. he goes out to the dock, he’s been going out and intending to look for a new captain for weeks now but simply ends up lingering by the shore, watching ships come in and go out before he heads back to spanish jackie’z. he starts to think he can’t go back on the ocean, that everything will remind him of edward and that once they exited each other’s life, it marked the end of whoever izzy knew himself to be.

he’s not surprised when he ends up back at spanish jackie’z, having made no attempt to get back out there. tomorrow, he’ll stop going out there. he’s been sailing so long that the sea has made him small, bitter, older than he has any right to be. he has no unfinished business out there, he doesn’t have anymore business out there period. but he has no idea what he’ll do if he’s not out plundering and looting and waiting to die in a fight or by an untreated wound he could no longer patch up himself. he can’t imagine a life of lounging, eating fruit that seems bountiful and endless, getting old and gray and not fearing the inevitable shutdown of his body because there’s someone else there to endure it with him.

izzy ends up finding work at spanish jackie’z when he can no longer pay his tab, but he doesn’t necessarily hate it. he has a superior who is curt with him when she needs to be, he always has something to do, and he can still spit orders at customers who are getting too out of hand. he’s adjusting well to his job at the tavern when he comes back.

jack is banged up again, he insists with a smirk that izzy would be sick if he saw the other guy, but quickly chokes some blood up onto the counter. izzy ends up reluctantly helping jack, thinking it’ll at least net him another favor in the future should he need it. while he’s being patched up on izzy’s bed, jack asks if he’s using up another life. izzy tells him to stop talking like that, that it’s just a little bleeding and some bruising, it’ll be just fine.

izzy feels like he’s receiving some divine intervention when jack ends up staying with him for a few weeks while he heals. he’s annoying, he’s gross, he keeps asking for stories about his fun times with blackbeard, but izzy doesn’t think he actually minds the company at the end of the day. he likes returning back to the inn and finding jack there instead of a cold, dark room, he likes sharing meals with him, he likes the feeling that he’s not alone in the world.

when jack is finally well enough to go out on his own again, izzy expects that it’ll be weeks, maybe even months before their paths cross again. but, jack proposes something to him - he asks if izzy wants to sail again.

of course, he has to think this over; he was just starting to get comfortable on land. he might have been starting to like the idea of living a safer life, enjoyed staying in the republic of pirates as a change of pace. he spent a majority of his life at sea, and the memories of ed were coming back hard and fast.

izzy tells jack as much, that if he has an out from piracy, he’ll take it. he calls him boring, asking why he’d want to give it all up just because he had a 9-5 now. izzy is baffled why everyone suddenly thinks piracy is fun, that always having to watch your back among your own men is enjoyable, that the constant threat of being captured and hanged by the british navy was just a fun quirk and not a genuine hazard of the job. he asks why jack wouldn’t take an out himself if one was presented to him.

so, jack asks right then and there if izzy has an out for him. he doesn’t say anything back. jack knows he’s a liability and a fuckup, that nobody willingly takes him on unless they don’t already know the consequences of letting him aboard their ship and into their lives. izzy is fully aware of those risks, and he still, for some stupid reason, thinks maybe having jack around wouldn’t be so bad.

he tells jack that he’d take him on here, on land, that it could be good for the both of them. izzy can tell jack is hesitant, that he’s also been away for so long that it doesn’t necessarily feel right to stay still like this. but, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad if they did.

maybe from there jack becomes a fisherman, somehow managing to successfully whip fish and sell them to the inns and taverns and visiting pirates, he’s still with the sea every day he’s just not out causing havoc on it. he comes back to the inn every night, finding izzy hissing as he cracks his aching shoulders and neck, and he settles down beside him reeking of fish guts and salty ocean air. they share a tiny room that feels spacious compared to cramped ship quarters and start to learn to move around each other, they bicker, they share the bed after an adjustment period, and they drink each other under the table when they can afford to feel like shit in the morning. it wasn’t exactly what izzy pictured, even less so jack, but it feels real to him, to them both. and all he could have ever wanted was something that was real and reciprocal.

#our flag means death #ofmd #izzy hands #calico jack #calicohands #cjizzy #i don't know what this is this got away from me so quickly #my writing #i guess??#i also don't necessarily know if this was my original idea when i started writing this but anyways yeah bye

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yandere-vale · 2 years

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Yandere Fool's Idol/Queen of Yormedaar.

Warning: Normal Yandere stuff and I don't condone anything that I write about. Some stuff I'm okey with but that's sort of a personal thing and up to the person themselves to decide.

"Apologies, for the void of my absence has left your heart wondering alone. You have nothing to fear from me little one...you are safe to bask in the warmth of my light."

The last time the Queen of Yormedaar had her heart broken was when the Old Monk ripped out her soul for his sick experimentation. All around the Queen as she lay lifeless were the sounds of her tortured family, or the cries of what monsters they've become now. The level of brokenness that one only experiences at their final moments...when they've done everything for their people and the ones they love...all for naught.

When she was alive, The Queen loved her people, cherished them, cared for their well being and safety. As is the reasons she banished the Old Monk from Latria. What little love she still had for the man had been torn away due to his inhuman experiments done on her own people..if only she ordered his death would things be different.

In life, the Queen had so much love and care to give her people..and in the time leading up to her final moments..her love and care could do nothing as all that which she held dear was taken from her. Left with nothing, not even a soul to call her own. The Old Monk saw to that.

What a cruel man that Monk had been to do the things he did..but the Queen can't be all mad at him for everything. The foolish old man had used the remaining essence of her soul to create his Idol, the Fool's Idol.

Just an artificial doll crafted to look like how she did when she was alive and to be controlled by the Old Monk. To once be a symbol of hope and light left in this dark twisted world. It didn't matter to the prisoners being kept in the ivory tower, as long as their 'Queen' was there..they could hold out for redemption. Even though fellow inmates were having their souls taken and their flesh warped into monsters. It didn't matter, they could have the Idol's love..if that was a real thing.

The Fool's Idol was just to be a tool of the Old Monk, and it was for a long long time. But now he has gotten too weak, his body decaying even as he sits in his golden robes. His control is slipping. His one mistake was using much of the Queen's soul to create the Idol. Because souls are a powerful thing in this world.

It's hard to understand how the Idol finally woke up. Maybe it's the last bit of soul of the former Queen who took charge of her life once more. Or maybe the Idol picked through the contents of it's soul to discover things about itself. Whatever the case maybe, she's finally opened her eyes to what she's been forced to do.

Being used as a way to torture those seeking just a little reprieve from the pain that is inflicted onto them. A false hope, a 'fool's idol'. It tore her apart from the inside out and how many of those that came to her for the love she once provided for it to just be another way to hurt them.

All the pain she caused others, in the name of love and compassion. She had lost so much, a situation that would tear even the best minds asunder. However..the Idol stayed the course. She had sent so many of those who came looking for her protection to their deaths. She couldn't act for much, still a doll under command. Even if that command was slipping day by day.

What truly opened her eyes was you. She had spent countless days sending the wretched and the mudbound to the sky above. How weak and defeated they all were before her eyes. Perfect little things for the Old Monk to torture. But you..you were different. The way you strode into the tower, the fire that burned behind your eyes did something to her twisted soul. She isn't sure what happened, her soul turning in her body like a ink-stained gear.

You reminded her of a time long past. Where she used to love, hold someone warm in her arms or against her chest in compassion. It reminded her of her family, of the days where her heart was filled with love. But it's different now.

She let the one she once loved have their way, and all it got her was a spot under their boots. She wouldn't be that way anymore. She won't let anyone take advantage of her anymore.

The Old Monk is just that, old. His golden robes give him power but only to keep his heart pumping. He has no power in his own to stop her little rebellion. It wasn't much, just something out of his view..until she can deal with him herself.

Once the Idol is aware of her 'feelings' for you, she will swarm you. Her copies appear far too early as they drop all spells to get to you. Just through the fog gate you weren't ready for the sight of half a dozen tall floating women to appear at your sides. One doll on her own never could, but all of them were able to rip your armour and weapons from you. Sure you fought back but they were quick to silence you. Hands gripping every part of you that they could to keep you quiet and still. Can't have the noise getting to the Maneaters right?

Once you are weaponless and defenceless do the dolls bring you closer to their Queen. She doesn't speak to you, lost in the mirror like image of herself that reflected in your eyes. Another part of her, the demon doll part. Loved the fear in your eyes as you looked up at her while you breathed hard through the hand covering your mouth. She wanted your eyes to only be on her, for her. She'll give you the love she's been neglecting giving other, she'll keep you safe from that shrivelled old man.

You thrash when she takes you into her arms but not for long. She's a master of spells while alive so don't think she won't cast a weakening charm on you and watch as you can't keep your heavy eyes open. She might be a doll but you'll become one for her. She can't have you making noise and alerting others. She can keep you here, warm in her embrace.

She knows of a cell, a small dark place that she can keep you until she's dealt with the Old Monk. She needs you to be with her. Once she has, you'll never be allowed out of the tower ever again. The inmates that revere her and the inhuman guards will keep you out of the halls and in her chambers. You will be given food and water from the guards, where they got it really is best left unknown. The rest of the time will be spent with her. She doesn't need to eat, sleep, drink, or do anything that isn't watch and observe all that is you.

The world can fade into nothing, but her love will still remain. She survived the torture at the hands of the Old Monk, she survived her soul being misshapen and turned into what she is now. So she can survive a little longer with you. She doesn't care if you scream, or try and distance yourself, run, or attempt to hurt her. She understands in a way, she gets it. She was the same when she was imprisoned here. But you have not the same things that she had to worry about. You only have her, and that is all you..and she needs.

#yandere #yandere x reader #demon souls #female yandere #yandere female #fool's idol #yandere demon souls

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aeniqmata · 11 months

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They'd come a long way, both figuratively and literally. The hideaway was trashed, and when he'd heard that Hugo Kupka had sent the attackers to get back at Cid for killing his beloved Benedikta. And well, Cid was not taking it well. So many dead, he'd only recently finished making the trip to pay his respects again. Because whether or not Cid thought about it logically, the fact of the matter was that it was his hands that the blood was on.

He'd been the one to kill her, however unintentionally, but to hear from some of the survivors that Kupka wanted Cid alive so he could behead him like his beloved had been was a shock. Clive knew for a fact that Cid would have done nothing of the sort.

So all the while he had been helping to build their new home, he'd been going far out of his way to spread rumors of Cid the Outlaw's survival. Making sure that these rumors lead to all corners of the continent. It left a poor taste in his mouth to be taking on the moniker of his beloved, but he did what he had to.

Especially given the near death experience and the fragile state that the name's true bearer was in.

" You can, and you will indulge. You did naught wrong, Cid. From what you've told me, you treated her with respect. What someone did to her afterwards we have no control over. " Clive put just the slightest amount of pressure on Cid's face, clenching his fingers and trying to get his lover to look at him. " Please, we all knew what we were getting into, and those who do blame you chose to leave. Those that remained trust you. "

Clive let silence fall for a moment, just watching Cid stew and take in his words before he bent further to press a quick kiss to his jawline. " If it makes you feel any better, despite my protests my chambers are nearly finished. If you'd like to wallow in your guilt, I'd like you to do so there. "

The rooms, or rather room and a balcony, had been completed far before anything else. While it was in the very middle of the new hideaway, it was private and he knew that Cid would be able to hide away there.

reply to @cidolfvs from here

#cidolfvs #( ic — clive )#final fantasy xvi spoilers #final fantasy 16 spoilers #ff16 spoilers #ffxvi spoilers #i'll take your bet

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cories-in-the-house · 6 months

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Garlic is stable

I wanted to report in about Garlic! For the past week, he was in a hospital tank for which I was doing daily water changes. I was convinced it was all for naught, but somehow he is still alive even after the “death spiral”. He has not exhibited spiraling since the day he first did it, he has not shown buoyancy problems at all.

Him staying alive is truly a miracle. I thought he would have died within the next 24-48 hours—after all, that’s often how organ failure goes. But I’m wondering if it wasn’t organ failure, that maybe something else about the tank disrupted him. I think I said before how I had the tank full of overdosed medicine for a while when I was treating Sesame and how it could have disturbed Garlic. He’s small, my tiniest cory cat—the medicine may have made him ill or woozy. It’s also possible he gulped an air bubble that caused the buoyancy issues, sometimes cories will do that on accident when they come up for air.

Because I haven’t been able to identify markers for known illnesses, I have no idea what went wrong with him and what his true stability is. However, I didn’t want to keep him in hospital too much longer. Crouton has seemed depressed, Dumpling has been on edge. These are schooling fish, they were very clearly feeling the absence of their friend. Garlic himself was also stressed out, but still did not die. I’ve decided to place Garlic back into the main tank tonight to see how he does. I felt so bad looking at how upset everyone was.

If Garlic continues to be stable into the weekend, I will be picking up at least three more cories for a total of six so the school is a healthier size. They could really, really use the socializing after all of this heartache. I will let you know how everything goes, as usual.

Pictured: Dumpling, left. Garlic freshly added, right. They are my largest and smallest respectively.

#cories in the house #tori’s cories #albino corydoras #cory catfish #fish #fishkeeping

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thechaoticfanartist · 1 year

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The Roof

Taking place during Chapter 35 of The Clone Wars Gets A New Victim we see Grim after she runs from Anakin and before Anakin joins her on the roof.

Warning: Suicidal thoughts, (Almost) attempted suicide

Note: I've been debating about posting this for a couple of months due to the above warnings. It's only (heavily) implied in the original chapter but this fic really goes into Grim's headspace in the moment. I don't recommend reading this if you're not in a good mental place.

It was a good thing Anakin hadn’t followed the padawan, if he had, he would have seen her crying.

She ran outside the opera hall, past the extravagant guests in their fancy outfits flaunting their riches. She didn’t care for them, and they did not care for her. Tomorrow when she was dead, they would celebrate. For them the war would be over, and they would care naught for all the lives that had been lost. Their hardships would be over - but for any other citizen, for any survivors of the coming purge, a new wave of problems would surge.

Grim found the speeder she had borrowed from the Temple, parked not too far from the place where she had spied and heard what she had gone to hear - The result to her was clear, she had lost.

Light and hope were gone. The darkness won.

Grim got into the speeder and made her way back to her home. To the Jedi Temple. Her vision was blurred by her tears. Her mind clouded by her grief. Everything was over.

Tomorrow she would die.

And when she reached the Temple, a horrible thought arose.

So why did it matter, if she was still alive?

So when she had reached the Temple, she did not go to her room. To sleep off this grief, and prepare for the following day. Which would be the final day of its kind, because it would be the last with this home of light.

She ran to the rooftop. Tears flowing freely, as she ran to the edge and just screamed.

Grim screamed into the endless night.

She had planned to jump off the roof. To allow gravity to carry her to her doom. No Sith involved, not her brothers, not her brother. She would never have to know the pain of hearing the words be uttered, the words that would write her fate so certainly. Even though it was plainly written now.

No matter what - she thought - she would die.

So it could be now, never knowing that pain for her own personal experience. Never falling to the hands of the Sith and becoming another victim in his cruel game.

Or it could be tomorrow. Either by the plasma bullets of the men she saw as her brothers. Or by the blade of the ghost who she now knew was dead beyond a doubt.

She could die from betrayal, or end it now.

Yet, she couldn’t.

She couldn’t step off the roof. The light radiating from her home kept her there. So she just fell to her knees. Sobbing until her chest hurt. Sobbing until she couldn’t sob anymore. Allowing these three brutal years of unshed grief to pour from her. Sobbing until there would be no more grief left to spare for the next day. When she knew, they would lose everything.

All Grim could do was mourn.

Because, although still here. Still right there. She could feel it now. She could sense all of the life that filled this home of light.

Even still, she knew. She knew it would all be gone tomorrow. So she mourned for those who still lived today.

Grim also knew, so very clear that she would soon join them. She would join them in their deaths. Just as she had joined their lives. She knew - she was convinced - that she wouldn’t survive.

It was in this moment, as Grim relaxed herself, and hung her legs over the roof, sitting back as she watched the stars. It was in this moment, the Padawan realized something else.

She didn’t want to die. She just didn’t want to feel this pain. This grief that had consumed her heart slowly throughout the three years she had been fighting. All of that fighting that had been nothing.

She looked up at the stars. She never believed in fate, but she couldn’t help but try to find it written in the sky. As if the stars would tell her, her story. As if the stars themselves could save her from this tragedy she knew awaited her.

The tragedy that had begun all those years ago, the one Grim had walked into. Despite everything she knew.

She could blame it on her awestruck youth. She could blame the fact that she had been wrapped up into something so beautiful that she never wanted to leave. She could blame it on her childish self that only saw a galaxy that she had always adored. She could blame it on every one of those early and beautiful moments.

But that would be a lie. She could only blame herself as of now.

Because she had always had a choice in this story. She knew that.

She always chose to stay. Even after she had been through so much of the pain that the galaxy had to offer.

Grim always had the option to walk away. She just always made the choice to stay.

So that was all Grim could do now. She could stay.

There was no walking away at this point, it was far too late. The only escape, she had just denied. Even though she felt as if she wouldn’t survive.

Grim had to see her own story - her own tragedy - through until the end.

She tried to find that ending in the stars. But saw nothing.

All she knew was this:

Tragedy awaited. That was the ending. It was something she had known the moment this story began. This was the ending. This was the tragedy. This was her destiny.

Even knowing, she had made the choice. She didn’t regret those choices either.

She could’ve. Maybe to anyone else, she should’ve, but she didn’t. Because even through all of the pain she had gone through, even still with the ending tomorrow she had made memories that she would forever cherish.

Even if forever only lasted until tomorrow.

Grim sat on the roof of the Jedi Temple, and watched the stars in the sky, sparkling with her tears. From the grief of all these years.

Tag List (let me know if you want to be added or removed) : @padme--amygdala @soclonely @mrfandomwars @jgvfhl @starlonkedd @milfspectre1 @togrutanduin @jedi-valjean @one-real-imonkey @traygaming @roseofalderaan @keoxus @tranakin-thighhighwalker @veiled-in-stars @sentineljedi @spicysucculentz @purgetrooperfox @amelia-song-pond @kohtoyah @saturnsokas @thejediprincessqueenofnaboo

#grim kennet #my writing #fic: the clone wars gets a new victim #mini!fic: the clone wars gets a new victim #deleted scene: the clone wars gets a new victim #star wars oc #jedi oc #my oc #padawan oc #tw suicidal thoughts #suicidal thoughts tw #cw suicidal thoughts #suicidal thoughts cw #tw attempted suicide #attempted suicide tw #cw attempted suicide #attempted suicide cw #yeah this fic is really dark....

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asatroende · 10 months

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Loki's freedom

Little to none of the asatro practitioners I've observed here act as if Loki is still bound which led me to wanting to free him. Him being bound is however integral to the natural phenomenon of earthquakes so this too shall be explained.

oh and also sigryn is pissed

-----

Nine hundred years and three ages passed with Odin’s brother bound under the poison snake.

At the start of the first age Loki writhed incessantly when poison dripped onto him, and Sigryn who was always by his side wept as the earth shook. At the age’s middle they had tried all methods to free themselves of this duty, to minimize the time and intensity of pain, but they had failed over and over.

By the end of the age the damned couple talked to keep themselves alive, to remember their stories together. They often spoke of how they met, how they hadn’t much cared about lasting romance. He spoke about how he became brothers with an asa and a man half vana. She spoke about visiting the sea with gifts of gems behind her husband's back, all because she thought his child deserved presents. They spoke a lot about their sons, one forced to kill the other. One forced to become rope to bind his father.

At the start of the second age they were tired. They spoke in riddles and runes to entertain themselves and keep their minds sharp. They recited old stories like they were eating stale bread. And this continued.

At the end of the second age Loki spoke clearly.

He said to his wife; “You can leave me now, my darling, for I believe I’ve grown used to the pain, and I don’t wish you to be miserable although I would miss you greatly.”

And to her husband Sigryn, a person, woman, and goddess brimming with compassion, she replied; “I will never leave your side, my love, for if I did then I swear I would end this world before Surt raises his mighty sword. I would extinguish the light of the asa for what they’ve done to you, to us, and to our children. My son is dead to bind you, and although I did not birth them; I feel the pain of your daughter cast to death and your children bound and tossed away. If I left you, my love, I would do so to burn Idun’s sacred forests, to lay waste to Heimdall’s halls, and end at last Odin’s wretched line.”

The serpent's father wept and said; “But, my darling, the world will surely forget you. They will remember me for what others say I’ve done to wrong them; for a grudge held is a lasting story. You are kind, my darling, and full of love. I worry one day I too will forget you.”

The lover smiled, holding the bowl with scarred hands, marred by the poison herself; “My love, if they remember you then they shall remember me as your accomplice and as the reprehensible woman who cares for you even in your punishment. Should they so rarely speak my name that you too forget it then I will sing it to you, my love, and I will stay by your side as you fall in love with me over and over. Even if you, too, forget me, I will become the story of a person who, through it all, made her beloved love her with every passing of the sun which we cannot see. Until the morning comes where I do not exist, I will stay by you and Nari, my love. This is because I love you and love myself.”

At the start of the third age the cave was quiet, all but for soft sobbing.

The son who had become naught but rope had heard everything his parents said. He had woken up to their stories of how they met, how they hadn’t cared for romance, how the bound giant had become brothers with his punishers, how mercy had gone behind her husband's back to give the earth serpent a gift. He had heard them share stories like stale bread and admissions of love and devotion like sweetest nectar.

Their son was nothing but entrails in the first age.

Nothing but a mouth and tube of flesh in the second age.

At the start of the third age Nari’s eyes opened to the darkness where his parents had dwelled. He saw that they were tired, and he saw that they were weary. With his eyes he welp for many years.

At the end of the third age, when all of his tears had dried and the cave was silent once more he whispered to their sleeping forms. He asked to be given power to move, the will to seek revenge, and flesh strong enough to penetrate rock.

Loki, who had once helped complete the people of midgard, gave him the power to move.

Sigryn, who had mothered many children, gave him flesh from her body to penetrate stone.

And from above; the serpent who had been eternally made a tool of torture gifted the Nariworm with the will to seek revenge.

Brother of the serpent grew fangs and hardened scales. His head grew hair and his back fins. He who had at the dawn of the first age been naught but gore made to be rope, at the end of the third age had become like his half-brother.

The Nariworm uncoiled itself and left the cave with the poisoned fang held atop his father.

The couple awoke when the bowl should have overfilled and wanted to spill. But no such thing had happened.

The father had no memory of giving his son the power to move.

The mother couldn’t recall giving her son flesh from her own body.

But Loki found his limbs no longer restricted and Sigryn found the bowl no longer filling. Only a hole in the wall, large enough to fit a small child, gave the doomed couple a clue to where their son and their tormentor had gone.

Soon they too left the cave and felt air on their faces for the first time in nine hundred years and three ages.

#norse paganism #asatru #heathenry #norse heathenry #norse pagan #loki #sigryn #sigyn #nariworm

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detectivenyx · 2 years

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i actually don’t want alex jones to die, but not because he is unfortunately a human being and im required by virtue of ‘having a platform’ to think that even the scummiest among us deserve to live, but thus:

it is a far worse fate for him to still be alive for many years to come after this lawsuit concludes, disgraced and ripped from his ill-gotten gains, his just desserts affecting him for many years after this all dies down, his memory being naught else but a monster and a complete joke, only able to wake up in the morning and remember that he is an absolute failure, that eventually his mansion of cards toppled, and he lost everything from his fearmongering ways. that despite punishment rarely coming to the right-wing monsters that plague the earth and harm the innocent, he was still full of so much hubris that he believed it could never happen to him: and then it did. he’d prove that it’s a far worse punishment to be left alive to rot with all you’ve lost and spend decades slowly dying, than to be granted a comparatively quick death by execution.

#- nyx (they/she)#don't mind me it's a viewpoint from a country that does not have the death penalty

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dungeonsandblorbos · 1 year

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Campaign Intros: Curse of Strahd Prequel

because one campaign in this setting wasn't enough for me or my husband (the DM), we decided to pass the time between sessions of the main game with a prequel solo game! we're only about 6 sessions in, but it got off to a pretty grim start and has only gotten grimmer

which, ya know, is lowkey the goal for a gothic horror campaign, so it works!

~anyway~

the setting (and some backstory)

if you're familiar with Curse of Strahd as written (or you read my last campaign intro), you've probably got a decent understanding of the basic setting already, so i'll go into more detail here about Kire's immediate circumstances—in other words, how this mess all started

once upon a time, there lived a family; a mother named Ravena, a father named Barov, and two sons named Strahd and Sergei. they lived peacefully as the rulers of a happy little country centered in a prosperous valley. but their neighbors grew envious of their good fortune, and one day, they conspired together to attack and take the wealth for themselves. they killed the king and queen, but left the boys alive; and placed Strahd, the older of the two, on the throne as a puppet ruler

but Strahd was cunning and coy and bitter, and as he grew, he studied and practiced everything he could, and became a skilled fighter and mage. soon, he took his vengeance, slaying those responsible for his parents' murders and conquering their lands. he named his new domain Barovia, after his father, and called the castle he built there Ravenloft, for his mother

and then, unsatisfied, he kept going, conquering and devouring and leaving ruin in his wake

the rest of the continent watched his spree with apprehension, and when they could stand their fear no more, banded together to form a massive army to take him on. in time, they were able to drive him back to his castle, where they defeated him. Strahd, finally, was dead. except, well . . .

it didn't stick

through some unholy magicks, he had escaped death. all that effort, all those deaths, for naught. in order to keep him and his army from continuing their path of destruction, a curse was placed to keep him confined to his homeland, and Barovia—and everyone within it—were banished to the Shadowfell, a demi-plane of evil

it's about five years later. with no one else to conquer, Strahd has turned on his own people, and in turn, some of his own men turned on him. the war continues, now a fight for the freedom of Barovia against its own king. it is a fight for the very soul of the nation—and, unfortunately, the people of Barovia seem to be losing

the party

Kire Dalca: my PC! you know her, you met her here. a variant human eldritch knight. though she was once an idealistic young soldier, the war has taken nearly everything from her; her friends, her mentor, her idealism, her mental health, even her chance of ever seeing home again even if she does survive. wary and hyper-alert, she can be suspicious and jumpy. her sense of humor has become dark and wry. she was never much of a people-person, but she's even less of one now, alternating between distant and gruff. even so, she remains compassionate and clings to hope, willing to throw herself in harms' way to save an ally or in the name of the greater good

Carlen II: an elven NPC and an incidental companion from Valakia, stronghold of the resistance. named for his father, and hopes to pass the name down to his grandson. a kind and compassionate family man, he's studied some holy magic and uses it to help where he can

some NPCs

Carlen I: Carlen II's father. a serious man and notably strong mage, deeply involved in the resistance, serving as one of its big three alongside Andrel and a mysterious third who recently quit

Andrel: a holy man who once served as Strahd's personal pastor and healer, and was even a close "friend" of his, until their moral differences became too great. an incredibly powerful cleric. about twenty years ago, he ventured into a nearby valley in service of his god, the Morning Lord, and returned with suddenly red hair and an aura that drives away evil things. he’s one of the few people Strahd truly fears or respects—he's also an excellent baker!

Pete Durst: a physician in Barovia. he's thin and has a bit of a skullet and deep, dark eyes. not a very nice person. though a member of the Chertobog-worshipping community group, he's been acting kinda weird and suspicious lately

Gustav Durst: Pete's cousin. a hearty and robust "family man" who hasn't gone to Chertobog church meetings in about a year. may be cheating on his wife

Elisa Durst: Gustav's wife. she was pregnant about a year ago, and then she wasn't, and none of their friends have seen the baby. come to think of it, they haven't really seen her, either. may be part of a blood god cult

Harkis Wayburn: a large, jovial man with a big bushy red beard and hair. doesn't quite know his own strength. an excellent entertainer, his stores of wine are plenty and his were-boars-in-blankets are a hit with party guests. hosts the Chertobog meetings at his home. his family came to Barovia from Calatia about 50 years ago, and made their fortune through the fur trade. he's incredibly generous, sending Kire and Carlen on their way with roughly a pound of were-pigs and a fur coat each

Andrei Wayburn: one of Harkis's sons. these days, he's busy being a teenage rebel and having his own little religious meetings centered on Chertobog's evil rival, Shuderbog, a god of blood and death and violence. apparently, he's inherited his mother's charisma and converted some townspeople (cue group glare at Pete)

The Order of the Silver Dragon: a brotherhood of paladins devoted to different gods, led by the silver dragon Argynsvost. they were instrumental in the fight against Strahd, being the first to start the counterattack against him. they pushed his forces back to Barovia, giving armies like Kire's the opportunity to enter the country while Strahd was distracted. many of their dead have returned as revenants

The Order of the Feather: an order of paladins devoted to the Barovian storm god Retrut, they historically served as the von Zarovich family's personal guard. they were part of Strahd's forces when his conquests first began, but joined the resistance when he turned his violence against his own people. their initiation rituals are a closely guarded secret. many, if not all, of their members are raven masters; as such, they're a crucial part of communication networks. some have been said to also use their ravens in battle. in uniform, they're easily recognizable; matte black armor, tall shields marked with a raven, the leader's helmet winged and beaked, all carrying spears that seem to hum like lightning

Strahd: the man monster, the myth, the legend. you know him, you love to hate him, but he's younger and not quite so bored yet. ruthless, cunning, powerful, he craves revenge and control and cares very little who he has to step on to get what he wants. according to Andrel, he's been getting very creative with his experiments lately; in addition to self-experimentation and figuring out how to create vampire spawn, he's also been making awful horrible evil monsters like the skin kites

[redacted]: a horrifying eldritch family who lives in a cute little blue farmhouse surrounded by impossibly vast fields of "corn" and "scarecrows." that's right, they made an appearance in the prequel too! well, appearance is a strong word—we never actually see them here. we just know there's a father, a mother, and a child, whose disembodied voices speak in charming southern (US) drawls and teleport around you, asking you to stay for dinner. and, when you refuse, they sigh and say, oh well, at least a descendant of yours will

the plot

stationed in Barovia village with nothing much to do, Kire jumps at the chance to help investigate a strange occurrence troubling the town: from this area alone, three hundred and twenty-one people have gone missing over the past year. they suspect that it is not the vampire spawn or werewolves to blame, but humans, perhaps a cult of some kind

while out in the woods searching for evidence of cult activity, she meets Carlen II, who is out on his own investigation. apparently, someone has been attacking people on the roads to Valakia, and just leaving the bodies there. concerned the investigations could be related, they agree to work together, and make their way to Valakia to follow up on a lead

when they arrive, the city is in the midst of a siege. they barely manage to get inside in one piece, and spend a tense evening with the resistance at the temple. two of its big three members are there, but the mysterious third left some time ago. no one really wants to talk about him, but it does come up that Andril and Carlen Sr. had been working on a magical sword (named the Sunsword) for him to use against Strahd before he left

the next day, Valakia is sent into a panic when a ballista bearing Strahd's personal battle flag flies over the wall and slams into the ground. worried the fight is unwinnable, Nedrick, the new leader of the Order of the Feather, suggests Andril use the Sunsword and take Strahd out. unfortunately, the Sunsword will not be powerful enough to do that except in the hands of its intended owner

and so, Kire and Carlen hit the road again, travelling back to Barovia in the hopes that they can find the mysterious third there and convince him to take up the cause again before it's too late

#campaign intros #curse of strahd #curse of strahd prequel #curse of strahd homebrew #dnd 5e #Kire Dalca #ttrpg stories #dnd 5e oc #curse of strahd pc #fun fact: harkis is one of ireena and ismark's ancestors!#and if you're familiar with the curse of strahd lore #yes this is the same durst family from the murder house!#and there have been hints that Pete Durst and Perpetual Pete are one and the same #also yes we do call the city Valakia in the prequel and Valaki in the main campaign #call that linguistic drift lol

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houseofmad · 2 years

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0.00 - Impossible Dreams (II)

Kneeling down so her midnight eyes were at eye level with his copper ones, the woman, he knew her, her name was at the tip of his tongue, but he couldn’t speak, her golden hair was long, each lock dipped in a curl at the end, shifting slightly like velvet against her pale blue dress that exposed her skin immodestly and yet not inelegantly.

Alaya.

Her colors were displaced against the scenes of the blazing past. Somehow though, she did not seem out of place from it all. The starry eyes that usually was still like a quiet night, moved in motions like a stream of the Milky Way.

“Shirou,” she said a name he had yet to known. Her hands on his warm hoodie. “No, I suppose that’s not right. You don’t have a name yet.” She said this in sadness, “Do you recognize me?”

Angr——

He did.

He didn’t.

He couldn’t voice either and just stared at her, lifelessly.

This wasn’t what was supposed to happen. Kiritsugu should’ve came. The dream should’ve ended. Wasn’t it better though, that it had not gone the way it did? If the dream had ended then he would be alive. He would need to repay everyone who died when he didn’t.

“No. I suppose you don’t. We’ve yet to meet properly. That won’t be until…another decade.”

That wasn’t——

Her words were a befuddled mess in his brain. He didn’t know her. He was certain of that. But he was also certain he would meet her, not in a decade, further than that. It must have been further. Somewhere at a reactor——the Grail——he didn’t know her.

The woman laughed softly despite the cries of pain around them. “Oh…I don’t know what to call you. It really is as troublesome as you will say. Haah…well, he should’ve came here. He would’ve given you a name later, I think.” She placed her hands on his shoulders gently, and it eased the fire around him until it felt more comfortable, like a hearth at a fireplace. “May I call you Shirou?“

Somehow he knew it was not his name, but it was and so he nodded. The woman seemed delighted at that.

“Haiii, Shirou~ i need you to come with me. It will be safer.” Without waiting a reply, she took his small hand in hers and began to lead him away from the destination he had intended to go to. Away from the Grail oozing a darkness that kept beckoning him over.

They were walking in the opposite direction, walking towards their burnt corpses, towards death had left behind. The pleas and cries of the people drowned out the crackling flames, the many feeble voices blended in a chorus of agony and despair, a fact of the dream he didn’t remember, but nowhere in sight were there the bodies and corpses that he had left behind, and the feeling of his own worthlessness was beginning to cease. Not in some surmountable sense that was needed for his own good, it was simply a matter that his feelings of the entire predicament were absolutely meaningless.

As the two walked on, her hand clutching his tightly, he realized that the destroyed city and the park, the scenario forever burned in his mind had changed. The black waterfall still poured behind them, each step they took still passed by the burning demise of another, a sunset color scenario still played out—except he didn’t feel emptiness, nothing, he didn’t keep wandering those flames for no reason, he didn’t walk on because he was a corpse that had naught but it’s functions mechanically moving.

He kept on walking because he had to. Another one died, so he had to protect someone else, so that more people wouldn’t die.

Who?

There was no time to feel remorseful for those that lost their lives. No time to grieve, he just had to keep walking. Not to live, for someone else to live—he didn’t want this though. This was not living. It was a mere survival of someone else in the devastation of another.

This was the ideal. This is what he was protecting.

Who’s ideal though? His or Kiri—

No, this was wrong. This was not what he wanted. This was not what it meant to be a Hero of Justice. He wanted to run away. The hand that gripped his he wanted it to let go—this was hers. This was her world. How could she walk away from all those that needed to be saved? Why wasn’t she saving them?

Who?

Alaya.

The woman’s hand tightened over his small one. The embrace was tight and firm, comforting and still he couldn’t feel any of it. It was as if her very form was disappearing.

The Will of Humanity to live, an unconscious collection of humanity’s will but what happens when people give up that will to survive, to live?

The heat from the flames began to lighten, and a cold breeze blew. It did nothing to cool him down from the fire, no spark of life could be created from the cold nor could the cold blow out the spark that kindled forever. If anything chills ran down his entire body.

Before he knew it, they had stopped right at an entrance to the same fire they left behind as if it was an endless loop.

Wake up!

The woman took a shaky breath, laughing inappropriately in the face of death and destruction, not an unkind or sadistic one but a gentle one, almost pitying to someone. “Hey, Shirou,” she murmured, stepping in front of him and lowering herself to the ground so she could gaze into his eyes. “Can you do me a favor?”

Her voice was so torn and broken. He wanted to do something. He wanted to save that despair—he wanted her to smile and cry like Kiritsugu Emiya had done, how he should’ve done.

“…”

She must’ve taken his eerie silence as an affirmation. “I want you to close your eyes. Don’t open them. No matter what you hear or see. No matter what you feel or don’t. Don’t open your eyes, can you promise me that?” The blonde woman’s hands ran down the length of his arms, gripping onto his hands as if they were a lifeline.

“…Why…?” his small fractured voice spoke without reason.

The question seemed to surprise her, and she laughed lightly. “Because there are bad things up ahead, there is a lot of…” and her head turned to the side as if she heard someone calling her name.

What was her name?

Lave—

Angra Ma—

“There are dead bodies,” he muttered in answer for her.

That brought her attention back to him. Silent, but she nodded solemnly. “Yeah, yeah, there’s a lot of those. There’s a lot of bad things up ahead, so please close your eyes.”

“…But I’m used to it,” the boy who would be Shirou Emiya replied, “I’m used to seeing dead bodies.”

“…!” the woman looked at him in rueful guilt. “I guess you are…” her pale fingers tightened over his own, “But Shirou…just because you’re used to it, doesn’t mean it’s okay.”

He didn’t understand. How could it not be okay? Was it not better for one who knew about the dead to deal with the dead?

The woman must’ve seen his lifeless look at her emotions. “Shirou, things that are broken and incomplete don’t always have to be that way. One day you’ll understand—there’s time to heal, room to recovery. Now until you understand, I want you to close your eyes and keep moving forward. No matter what.”

Her fingers moved to his eyelids to close them as if he was a corpse afraid of the future from the past events that had taken place. Her hand fell in his again, and she led him forward, passed the entry point.

The boy could not feel anything except for the hand that held his, and even that was fading. There were sounds though. Someone was crying. Prayers, wishes, regrets, a devastating acceptance to the horrors that waited beyond that darkness, however none of them mattered because neither of the two stopped to heed any of those human emotions.

How long they walked, how long those sentiments went on was unknown to him. Eventually though, he realized the hand in his hand had vanished, along with it was the feeling of absolutely nothingness as panic set in. Fear, panic, illogical emotions took hold of his heart, and he forgot the words she said to him.

It was not fear for himself though. Not for the loneliness the woman had left him, it was fear that she had disappeared right in front of him, and again he had been powerless to do anything.

“Lavenza!” he shouted, forcing his eyes open. His voice was no longer that feeble lost boy’s but slightly older, a time from when he had formed a contract with someone. When his life had changed, but which change? “Lavenza!”

The fire and warmth gave way to a darkness that he didn’t recognize. A darkness that spew chaos, from behind the Grail continue to flood the hellfire scape below, and to the right he saw the aftermaths of a tsunami—the sunset colors of death were now a muted gray, damp and littered in debris, pieces of wood and more bodies. People were crying, screaming, there were noises coming from all directions and despite the bodies, there were no people but the shadows they left behind in despair. And to the left of that disaster was another. A hill made up of corpses, crimson and darkness mixed in, the emotional turmoil of someone else’s failure to save their country. The bodies freshly slain, the bodies disappearing in ashes as time kept on moving and yet remained forever at that single moment where the young girl mourned the lives of her people and country, where a singular wish created from the powerlessness and anguish of the events that unfolded led the girl to make a foolish contract.

Arturia…?

Who?

King Arthur, a fairytale legend renown to many, and yet nothing but an ideal. A stranger he never met and one he knew well—she was the girl that ran around Fuyuki with him.

Fuyuki was destroyed though by the shadows that crawled out of that black hole.

“…Saber…” he breathed. He wanted to call out to her. He wanted her to hear his voice.

No, this wasn’t right. This illusion, it wasn’t real. He needed to find someone; he needed to get out of here. He needed to wake up.

Hesitating, he closed off the memories and paved forward, rushing along disaster after disaster as the bodies piles. “Lavenza!”

Shirou kept calling that name to silence. No one he knew had that name, and he no longer knew who he was calling to or whom he was calling for.

He was lost.

Somewhere in the rubble of destruction, somewhere in some disaster or another and no matter how many people he tried to help they turned to dust within his hands and he watched them wither away to new calamities.

He didn’t save anyone.

There wasn’t anyone to save.

And yet people kept dying.

Eventually after running along cataclysm after cataclysm, he saw a light—blinding like the sun but no sun shined in this nightmare. He followed the light though because without answers and nowhere to go, he had to go somewhere.

The light was blue, soft and brilliant, yet there was no feeling of warmth or coldness, it was just another illusion. Except each step he took to follow the light, the scenario gave way to red metal and before he knew it was a familiar scene that he knew or would come to know.

“Alaya…” he whispered, and he reached out a hand towards the blue light—towards a hopeful star that was summoned upon the calls of despair.

A familiar yet distance memory, he knew it all too well.

“Hey,” someone grabbed his shoulder, and when he whipped around to face the person, he found the loud screams and cries had disappeared into the night. It was as if they had never existed, rather the soft howls of the wind filled the void. The fiery colors of red and orange, a reflection of the blue star, all gone save for the burning white of the flames that now blended in the dark sky as twinkling stars.

#mad's fanfic #mad's writing #fanfiction #oc x canon #excuse my grammar #archer emiya #emiya #heroic spirit emiya #I never posted the other parts lol so here's the second half #breaking this chapter up makes it feel shorter #fanfic #I know it says Shirou and he is a teen now but its Emiya still ok #one day I'll grow the courage to post coherently lol

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angelamajiki · 3 years

Text

PAIRINGS: Father! Yandere! Enji Todoroki x Daughter! Reader

CW: yandere, incest, soulmate AU, fluff, slight angst, nsfw, kissing, praise kink, virginity kink, size kink, bathroom sex

A BNHarem Collab!

AN: my longest piece to date! the prompt this month was sex work, so i decided to stretch the prompt and do sexual slavery. wanted to go for a softer version of daddy endeavor, so please enjoy <3

5.2k words

The mark on his wrist was one that was shared with yours. Enji had given up on finding his soulmate, deciding that his career and legacy were far more important than some silly marking on another’s body. Love was something he thought he could go without. But when he saw your bright eyes gaze up at him, your chubby hand wrapped around his index finger, his heart had fallen hard—such a sweet, gentle thing. No traces of fear, of disdain, of disgust for him as a human being. Just pure curiosity and unconditional love. His heart leaped for his little girl.

Enji was determined, then and there, that he would never fail you, not like he forgot the others.

Oh, what plans he had for you, his precious princess. He couldn’t wait to spoil you, to marry you and start a new family once you were old enough. Rei realized this as well. Her youngest daughter, her last hope at salvaging her broken family, was to be had by her husband. The thought frightened her, especially after seeing the adoring look in her husband's eyes when she saw him cradle you for the first time. It was so unlike the stoic nature he held for the other children when they were born, only caring to see that they were healthy before leaving off back to his agency, never giving them more than a fleeting touch. It was nothing like when he held you, snarling at any nurse who dared to take his soulmate from the grips of his arms.

Something that had Enji’s conviction more so than his career was something to be feared. Your mother swore to herself that she would not let her husband ruin you.

Once he fell asleep with you tucked in the crook of his arm, a social worker came and collected you to be sent to a foster home and be set up for adoption. It was better than falling into the hands of the monster of a husband.

After the death of Touya, the pair decided to have one more child in hopes of fixing their broken family, but Rei now knew it was for naught. Nothing could save them know, especially now that Enji had nearly burned the building down when he discovered that his little girl was gone, just hours after he had finally found you.

Rei alerted the commission as well for your protection, that utter bitch of a woman. They very well couldn't have the number two hero caught in an incestuous bond with his daughter, now could they. All information of your whereabouts was hidden from him, blacklisting him from working with any foster children, lest he loses his hero license. Enji may have lost you for the time being, but his patience grew as he did. They couldn't keep him from you forever. You'd be reunited one day; he knows it.

The first time he saw you again was when you were fifteen. It was your birthday and the day he had become the number one hero officially, plenty of reason to celebrate. Usually, he would have taken the time to sit near the rose bush he planted in your honor in his courtyard on your birthday, renewing his vows to find and love you to the best of his ability. Enji took great pride in keeping your memory alive with the bush for his beautiful little rose gone too soon from his grasp. But there you were, mere meters from him.

The foster home you stayed at took you out for dinner when he was meeting with Hawks after the billboard awards. Your eyes were unmistakable, a perfect cerulean just like his own. He was so close, yet so far. My, how you had grown since he saw you. Unlike him, you bore your mark proudly on your wrist, not ashamed to admit to the world who your soulmate was. Not like you actually knew who it was anyway.

Enji was prepared to leave Hawks at the table; a new flame lit under his ass, one far more exhilarating than the thought of being the number one hero. He was up and on his way to speak to you before Nomu attacked him. Damn villains, they'd pay for separating the two of you once again. But his conviction only grew stronger. It wasn’t hard to find you after that; he knew what city you were living in. Instincts lashed out at him, demanding that he go sweep you up and hide you away. No, no. That would make you frightened; he can't have that. He’ll watch from the sidelines, waiting until you were of age to make a move. He was curious to see just how life as a foster child was treating you.

Growing up in the foster system had been a nightmare from hell for you. A cursed child is what they saw you as when your skin sprouted flames every time it was touched by the human hand, burning everything and everyone who came in contact with it. From the moment your quirk manifested, you were an outcast, an untouchable, unlovable freak. Someone destined never to feel the touch of their new parents, their lover, their soulmate.

It wasn't long before you realized that you would remain in the foster system until you aged out. Who would adopt a child they couldn't hug when they cried, hold their hand when they crossed the street, snuggle up to when it was chilly outside? Any potential parent was taken aback by your quirk once you reached for the warm touch of mommy and daddy, only to singe their hand or burn a hole in their shirt.

You learned quickly that your touch was something to be feared, that you were something to be feared. You supposed that’s why you looked up to him so much. So much so that you thought about him late at night when the loneliness seemed to drown you in the sea of your insecurities.

Endeavor was the only one who could understand you, understand your quirk. If only your soulmate mark could match him, maybe you feel the warmth of another human being without hurting or mauling them with your power. Abrasive he may be with the media, but there something about him that was so comforting and endearing to you. In your eyes, he was simply misunderstood, a gentle giant amongst the mass personalities of the other pro heroes.

Watching his interviews brought you comfort when you were lonely, his merchandise made you swell with pride and confidence, and his posters on the wall reminded you that you were never alone. It was a silly crush, but it made you feel better about your miserable life.

You even got to see him on your birthday! Well, not exactly. You happened to be in the same restaurant when your foster parents took you out for your birthday. It was apparent that they just felt bad for you, having looked after you for 15 years only to still have custody of your sorry ass. You were almost certain that they were going to kick you to the curb the morning of your 18th birthday.

Too bad they never had the chance. That fate would have been much kinder than the reality you faced now.

Once the Paranormal Liberation Front had effectively ripped society up by the roots and let the tree of life rot for the world to see, your foster parents packed their shit and left the country while you were at school. You’d been alone in the world ever since and were snatched off the streets, ready to be sold into slavery by the villains of the world. Your quirk was the only thing keeping you from being bought like a bitch from the auction floor.

Enji, on the other hand, was more than eager to do just that. After his public smear campaign by his allegedly dead son, he was dead to the world, finally abandoning his family for good in hopes of finding his beloved daughter. His life was dedicated to searching for you, having managed to track you down through his vigilante work. He likes to lie to himself and say that he’s continuing to fight for the greater good, but Enji does it just to have the chance to see your sweet face again. There wasn’t much to go off of, but he’d rather see his fiery end than to give up. That's how he found you at the auction.

⋆﹥━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━﹤⋆

Another auction night was approaching, which meant another night of humiliation and being displayed like a slab of meat for a crowd of degenerate wolves. Your quirk was the only thing keeping you from being sold; no one wants a fucktoy they can’t touch. It reduced you to physical labor for your captors, but you were better fed because of it. That didn’t mean they still didn’t try to sell you.

After being stripped down into nothing but a collar, leash, and a muzzle, you were brought to the stage and shoved in front of the ravenous, roaring crowd. You could feel their stares seep into your bones, the grime from the floor on your bare feet only adding to the overwhelming sensation of disgust you couldn’t even begin to describe.

The crowd’s excitement was raucous, jeers and shouts echoing off the halls of the underground auditorium. Masks covered their faces for the sake of privacy lest a vigilante break-in and hunt them all down. Even in the lawlessness of the world, heroes were still crawling everywhere to trail after even the slightest scent of villainy. Doesn't mean they’ll win, but hey, the death of a hero is just the same as the auction was to them.

“Up next, a darling girl with a fiery quirk!”

That was your cue. A handler had a fierce grip on your leash, giving it a few tugs for good measure as the crowd laughed at your stumbling. The auctioneer began to list your qualities and physical attributes, including your quirk.

“And she’s a virgin!”

Added for good measure, the crowd fell silent after listening to the abilities of your quirk. You couldn't hate it anymore; it's what was keeping you from being someone’s onahole until the day you kicked the bucket.

“Can I get $10,000?”

Ah the starting bid. The silence was relieving. Just a few more moments and you'd be off that damn stage.

“No? Going once, going twice, going-”

“One million.”

A booming voice came from the back row, the depths of the shadows to further hide the masked man who just bought your life. Why did it sound so familiar?

“Outstanding! One million dollars for the young lady!”

“Going once.”

It couldn't be.

“Going twice.”

This can't be happening.

“Sold for one million!”

No!

You were supposed to be unwanted, just like you have been your entire life! Yet some mysteriously familiar man outbid the entire auction for little ol’ you.

“Off the stage, bitch.”

The handler snarled, yanking you off the stage and causing you the fall and bruise yourself in the process.

“Watch it!” He spat, picking you up by the roots of your hair. “The merchandise needs to be handled carefully before reaching the customer. Let's hope he doesn't mind some bumps and bruises. For your sake.”

“That won't be necessary; I'll be taking her as is. Immediately, if you will.”

The mysterious man stood had already made his way backstage and behind you, standing formidably over your stark form. Your hair was released, dropping you back to the floor.

“Excellent, sir! I’m more than happy to get this welp off my hands.”

A brief exchange was made while you recovered on the floor, shaking in fear as the situation weighed heavily on your already broken self. The handler took the money and returned to the back room, leaving the two of you alone together.

The stranger crouched down to you and extended a hand to brush the stray hair out of your face, touch remaining tender and gentle when you flinched harshly.

“My poor girl, what has the world done to you?”

His coat enveloped your body as he scooped you up in his arms. The scent of him comforted you more than you would have liked to admit. Teakwood and coffee grounds filled your senses as he held you flush against his chest, leaving the auction house with a renewed sense of vigor.

You were placed in the backseat of a car before he dressed you in simple pajamas.

“Rest. You deserve it.”

⋆﹥━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━﹤⋆

At some point in the car ride, you let yourself fall asleep only to wake up in a cozy king-size bed wrapped up in a soft blanket next to a warm fireplace. The false sense of comfort lulled you for a few moments before your situation hit you like a ton of bricks. The anxiety you'd had known your whole life had finally kicked back into gear, forcing you out of bed and into the rest of the house.

It was daybreak, the sunlight slowly trickling in through heavily curtained windows as you walked through the halls and into the kitchen. The man was standing over the stove, sans mask, dressed in a wife-beater and his pajama bottoms. It couldn't be-

“Come in; breakfast will be on the table in a moment.”

Now you were certain.

“Who are you?” Your voice barely above a whisper. “Why did you buy me at the auction?”

A deep, rumbling chuckle flowed from the man.

“I think you know the answer to that, little one.”

His focus was retained on the meal in front of him. “I’ll explain myself over breakfast. Now sit.”

You couldn't help but feel compelled to obey him. While sitting, you took the time to honestly look him over for the first time in your life. Never did you think you would be so close to your childhood crush in such a domestic setting.

He had noticeably greyed but still possessed a majority of his red hair. Muscles were still taught and budging, but he had grown a little bit of a belly. Endeavor was as handsome as ever, aged like a fine wine that you couldn't wait to sip on.

The food was placed in front of you as he took the test next to you.

“Eat and have some water. Then we’ll talk.”

Once again, you obeyed him without question and refrained from eating like a rabid animal. It wasn't even a question, so much so that it is evident that you hadn't had a decent meal in a long time. You were still muscular from the labor you did for your handlers, though.

And Enji liked that about you. How resilient you were, he loved that you inherited his strength but still possessed Rei’s gentle nature. Not that he wanted to credit that woman for anything, but he couldn't deny the obvious. You were his strong, beautiful little girl who had to endure so much because his bitch of a wife decided to separate you from him.

But he was here now, ready to give all his love and protection to his only love. It took everything in his power not to swoop you up from your seat and hold you in his arms until his last breath.

Enji watched you eat, pride swelling in his chest at the thought that you liked his cooking. He couldn't help but wonder what your favorite meals were as well. There's certainly all the time in the world to get to know his little girl now that he had you. And he was never going to let you go.

Your breakfast was devoured quickly, both out of desperation for a real meal and answers to your questions.

“Why did you buy me from the auction?”

It was a complicated question, but you wanted a simple answer.

“I’m your soulmate.” His wrist was on display as he reached across the table to hold your hand.

For the first time in your life, you felt safe. Your one, shining hope was meant to yours and he wanted to be yours. You didn't even question how he knew at all.

His touch was warm and slightly rough, but it was welcome all the same. Even though your skin was lit aflame at his flesh against your, he paid it no mind. He was built to take your quirk, to take you.

“Endeavor…”

“Please, call me Enji.” His thumb rubbed over the palm of your hand. “I’m sure you feel better after having something to eat.”

“Why don't you go take a bath? It’ll help you relax, I can take care of your dishes.”

It was strange how insistent he was on taking care of you, but you can't say you don't enjoy the attention. He seemed to care for you in a way that went beyond caring for a partner, or in your case, a soulmate. But who were you to judge? It wasn't like you had a lot of experiences to use as a comparison.

Making your way back to the bedroom, you took the time to study the house you were in. A traditional, well-kept home, it practically looked like it was untouched. And maybe it was; buildings and homes fully intact were hard to come by these days, let alone ones that were clean and warm.

Enji seemed to lull you into an instinctual sense of safety, even though he bought you out of slavery. Just because he was your soulmate didn't mean that he had good intentions for you, but somehow, his presence alone filled a void in your heart that you had forgotten was even there.

Once you made it to the bathroom connected to the master bedroom, you drew yourself a bath just like Enji had instructed you to do. It wasn't the wisest decision to let your guard down like this, but the man already had plenty of opportunities to fuck you up by this point.

The water was warm and inviting when you sank yourself into it; you couldn't remember the last time you had warm water to clean yourself with. It made you feel light and hazy, slipping into a headspace you had long forgotten—a place of safety and comfort.

Three raps on the door pulled you from your haze as Enji entered the bathroom with fresh towels. Despite the fact that he had already seen you naked, the intimacy of the situation only left you feeling more vulnerable than ever.

“Let me help you.”

He kneeled next to you outside of the tub and pulled a lavender chamomile shampoo from the tub’s shelf. There was room to protest, but you couldn't find yourself willing to do so.

Water was poured over your head before he started a lather in your hair, gently scrubbing your scalp for a while. Even this simple touch made you shudder, it was a long time since you last felt the warmth of someone’s touch. And everything about this man was warm, for you at least. His words, his touch, his heart.

Conditioner was added to your hair as well before he moved onto washing your body. The scrub was gentle across your skin, his hand following after it to help keep the suds from rising too much. Strong hands massaged your back and your neck, both of which needed the much-deserved relief.

“So tense.” He murmured, mostly to himself.

There was a comfortable silence shared between the two of you as he massaged out all the knots and kinks that had built up over the years with your handlers. His touch should have made you flinch but you found yourself pressing into it. A small moan escaped your lips as he worked through a particularly tender spot on your neck.

“Are you enjoying this?”

His lips ghosted your ear as warm breath tickled your cheek and neck.

Your face flushed with a fiery warmth from a combination of the steam, your embarrassment, and the man whispering sweet nothings in your ear as his hands worked at your tired skin.

“Let me help you relax, sweet thing.”

Enji picked you up momentarily to slot himself behind you in the tub. Placed on his lap, you gasped when you could feel his erection hard against your back. Fear started to trickle into your veins as you squirmed slightly, attempting to get out of his grasp.

“Shhh, it's alright, you're okay.” His hand made its way to your throat and rested there gently, stroking over your artery with his thumb. “I’m not going to hurt you, sweetheart. Let me show you how much I've missed you.”

His touch made you feel alive, feel wanted for the first time in your life. You couldn't help but whine when his other hand made its way down your body, gently groping your breast as his lips were pressed to your ear.

“Do you trust me to take care of you?”

His fingers toyed with your nipples, obviously skilled.

“Do you trust me to make the sweetest love to you?”

Another whine caught in your throat as his hand went further, cupping your sex in his much larger hand. He kneaded gently, pressing a soft kiss to your temple when you writhed in his grip.

“Please! Enji-”

Shushing you gently, Enji’s thumb made its way to your clit to stroke in small circles.

“How does that feel, sweetheart?”

You were used to touching yourself, but oh God it never felt like this.

“Good!” You managed to choke out in a wanton moan. “So good! Enji, please, I need-”

A warm pair of lips sealed over yours, silencing you once again. Enji knew how wrong this was, to take advantage of you like this without revealing the truth. But he wanted at least to just once to have you in his arms willingly and eagerly. He wanted to kiss you breathless, listen to your cries and feel your nails dig into his skin as he gave you all of himself without a fight from you. He can worry about revealing himself to you later.

The rough pads of his large fingers started to apply pressure to your clit as his middle finger slipped into your tight hole under the water.

“Don't worry, little one. I'll give you what you need.”

Soft kisses were trailed along your cheek and hand that was on his that was still holding your throat tenderly. Finger pumping in and out of you, Enji whispered sweet praises to you as he felt your hole clench around him.

“Doing so well for me, sweetheart.”

Your breathy moans and whines only served to harden his cock. He felt like a teenager all over again, closing to cumming just from the sound of your voice.

Another finger slipped into your tight core, careful not to overwhelm you too fast. It was obvious you'd hadn't been touched before, not even by yourself. You felt full but greedy for more of his touch.

“Deeper, Enji! Please, can you?”

You were babbling at this point, writhing in his lap as he fingered you nice and slow with thick digits. Enji hummed as he pressed further into, curling his fingers into your G-spot.

Your cry was loud as he began to abuse your most sensitive spot, fully squirming in his arms as tears of pleasure breached your eyes. The sensation was too overpowering for you, making you thrash and arch in his arms.

“Shh, you're okay, sweetheart. You're okay; I'm right here.”

His fingers continued to stroke in a curled fashion, thumb still circling over your twitching clit. Enji kissed you again, deeper and more fierce as he began to fuck you earnestly with his fingers.

“Cum for me, darling.”

Squealing, you gripped his forearm and cried helplessly into his mouth. The build was slow and intense, allowing your orgasm to wash over you in waves of pleasure rather than a blinding, quick light.

“E-Enji!” You wailed. “Enji!”

You shook in his arms, holding onto the larger man for dear life as you experienced your first orgasm. It seemed like Enji knew your body better than you did.

No words were exchanged between the pair of you, but you could feel the tension of your desired hanging thick in the air. This man was going to take your virginity, here and now.

Enji removed his hand from your throat and between your legs in order to maneuver you to sit facing forward in his lap.

“Are you ready for me?”

His honesty made you flush even more. Biting your lip nervously, you hesitated to answer. Were you ready? It wasn’t like you had much of choice; the man could very well take you by force if he so chose to. But you felt safe in his arms, safe with him.

“Let me help you, my love.”

Warm, large hands gripped your backside as he held you steady above his cock. Your hand reached down to line yourself up with his throbbing sex, lowering yourself down on it slowly.

It burned in the best way, stretching you out fully as you pressed your forehead against his chin.

“Good girl, taking my cock so well, darling.”

A pitiful whine left your throat at the praise, hands gripping the forearms that held you in place.

“Can...Can you hold me?” You whimpered. “Please?”

Enji’s arms enveloped you and pulled you flush against his, tucking your head into the crook of his neck as you continued to lower yourself onto his cock. Your breath tickled his ears, making him groan lowly once he bottomed out inside of you.

“Such a sweet girl you are, taking all of me on your first try.”

Another whine responded for you as you ground your hips down on his.

“E-Enji.” You whimpered his name over and over again like a prayer. “Enji!”

“Be still, little one.” Hands back on your hips, holding you in place near the tip of his girthy length. “Let me take care of you.”

Hips in place, the man began to thrust up into you slowly, holding you tight as he stood up from the water. You only gripped and nuzzled yourself into him further, letting out sweet whines and whimpers into his ear while he thrust into you.

Your back was placed against the cool tile of the wall when he tilted your chin up to meet his gaze. Even in this position, he was still at least another head taller than you.

“Look at me when I make love to you.”

Through wet eyelashes, you gazed up at his eyes and let your mouth hang open as he rolled his hips into yours. His eyes shut briefly when he moaned, hissing at the feeling of your wet cunt hugging his cock so well.

“You were made to take my cock, little one.”

Arms reached up to wrap around his neck as he thrust into you, taking his time to make his strokes slow and deep. His hips were flush against yours when you asked him, “Kiss me, please? I want all of you Enji.”

Your bold proclamation stunned him for a moment before yielding, placing a deep kiss and a hot tongue against your lips.

His thrusts became faster as he kissed you with more passion and vitality. For an old man, he certainly had his stamina up to par. Your fingers thread through his red and grey tresses, tugging him closer to you gently as you moaned shamelessly into his mouth.

The pleasure in your core was more intense, fiercer this time around as his thrusts became hard and fast. The sounds of both of your moans and skin slapping against skin echoed off the tiled bathroom walls as the both of you felt your orgasms coming.

“Enji, fuck!” You whined, beginning to squirt on his fast-paced cock. “I-I’m cumming; I’m cumming!”

“Cum for me, princess.”

With a choked sob, you creamed yourself all over his cock, which continued to pound into your hole before he groaned your name and came deep inside you.

Nothing but the sounds of the water sloshing and your labored breathing could be heard as you both came down from your highs.

After a moment of rest, Enji pulled out and wrapped you in a towel before laying you gently on the bed. A towel was wrapped around his own waist as he looked at you fondly, brushing stray hairs out of your eye sight as he sat next to you on the bed.

“I must ask, how did you end up at the auction site?”

What a loaded question, but the intimacy you two shared allowed for it.

“I was kidnapped off the streets after my parents abandoned me when the prison break happened.”

He sighed gruffly and took your hand in his.

“What utter fools, tossing aside a beautiful rose such as yourself.”

His thumb traced over your soulmate mark. You still had yet to know how he knew before ever meeting you.

“It's alright; I never considered them my family. I just wish I could have met mine, but at least I met my soulmate.”

A crinkled smile adorned his face.

“You've done more than meet them.”

What could that have meant?

“I’m your father and your soulmate, little one.”

A rock hit the pit of your stomach as you retracted your hand from his.

“That isn't a funny joke, I'm serious.”

“So am I.” His hand was quick to snatch your back. “What could I possibly gain from lying to you?”

“P-Prove it.”

“Our soulmate marks, I saw yours the moment you were born in the Hosu hospital before my wife separated us all those years ago. I can recite your birthday if you'd like me to, for good measure.”

Fuck, he really wasn't lying. A lump formed in your throat as tears sprung in your eyes.

“Why would you do this to me?” You whispered, barely even able to hear yourself.

“Because I love you. I love you so much, sweetheart. Ever since I saw you for the first time in the hospital, my entire life has changed because of you. All I ever wanted was you.”

Enji was quick to shush your cries, using his free hand to wipe your tears away.

“Will you forgive me for being selfish?”

The disgust and horror filled everyone of your senses, especially when you came to a realization that he was everything you've ever wanted.

What came out of your mouth next stunned the both of you.

“You can apologize by begging on your knees and cleaning me up with your tongue, Daddy.”

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