#possibly triggering content

- Wearing something revealing on a date with Tartaglia. Doing things that should be done in the bedroom in public because he's a horndog and nobody can change my mind

- Touching yourself in the shower only for Kaeya to walk in and shamelessly offer you assistance

The first thing you learned about this man: It really didn’t take much to upset him. Every time you made even the slightest mistake, he would waste no time “correcting” you. Typically this came as a harsh strike to the face - a large gash that took its time to heal up. “Mercy” didn’t seem to be a part of his vocabulary and he was always cold as ice despite declaring that he held love for you on a regular basis. You would have given anything to never hear him utter those words again, but you had no say in the matter. You hadn’t made the choice to be here, he had made the choice to bring you here. You were never allowed freedom of any kind, and you never would be. Not like when you were still human.

So when you spoke up in protest of his order to his subordinates to kill your old peers, it came as no surprise that he simply looked at you with rage in his eyes and sent the other demons on their way. You couldn’t help trembling as he stared at you in silence. It was almost more terrifying when he said nothing than when he was demanding things from you.

“You interrupted me,” he finally said. “Explain.”

Eyes like pinwheels - spinning with deep fury - he awaited your response. Whether you said something or not, you were in for it. The silence was horrifying, the sound of your blood pumping through your veins positively deafening in your ears. There was no right answer, you had come to know. You had done something unforgivable in going against him, it didn’t matter how minuscule the offense.

You couldn’t bring yourself to speak.

“Are you afraid?”

You were petrified by his gaze, held in place by the fear of being bisected again, a fear he had been all too willing to introduce in you. You knew that no matter what was to come, you wouldn’t be enjoying the next few hours. Not that you were ever allowed the luxury of “enjoying” things anymore. He seemed determined to control everything he possibly could, and that was just what he did. You stopped being a “person” the moment he took an interest in you.

Your silence fueled something in him.

“I give you the opportunity to speak your piece,” his tone never changed, “And you give me silence in return?”

“I’m sorry...”

Accompanied by a horrid burning sensation and the smell of blood was the realization that he had just torn your throat out. You heard yourself make a strange, desperate gurgling sound and saw him lick the blood from his fingertips. You could never tell what you saw reflected in his eyes, but your mind immediately jumped to the word “hungry” this time.

“Is that all you can say? How many times do we have to play this game before you learn your lesson?”

The wounds on your throat had almost closed up, your chest soaked in blood, but now your arm was missing. You heard yourself scream when the pain finally hit you. He held the missing piece by the wrist, simply looking down at you as a mouth on his chest disposed of it before disappearing as if it had never been there in the first place. He observed carefully, the hint of a smile tugging at his lips as he listened to your pained gasps and whimpers. It would grow back in a matter of time, of course, but he was content knowing that it would take a somewhat considerable amount of time to do so.

“Forgive me!” You heard yourself cry out before you could bite your tongue, “Forgive me!”

“Are you trying to give me an order?”

“N-no!”

He said nothing as he drank in your suffering, and then he was behind you. Before you had a chance to react, he had pulled you to your feet and held you in place by your remaining arm. You could feel his chest against your shoulder and you could hear his breathing quicken ever so slightly. He ran his nails up your arm and along your chest before closing his fingers around your neck, forcing your head back as he brought his nose to the angle of your neck, grazing your flesh with his lips. You could feel him watching your involuntary reactions closely. You didn’t dare to move, afraid that he might tear out your throat again, or take the other arm if you weren’t careful enough.

“You’re so easy to read. Tell me, do you fear me?”

You couldn’t bring yourself to voluntarily speak, so you nodded your head.

“Pitiful.”

He wanted you to be afraid of him. He told you that was how you were supposed to feel, that it’s how your love for him should manifest. He wanted you to worship and revere him as you would a God, seeing as that was what he was in your new world. He had made you into a monster, forever imprisoning you in a life of his design. It had been so long since you had seen even the stars, and you had come to wonder whether their existence would ever matter again. You longed to see something other than these twisted walls and his cold face. Someone that wasn’t his direct subordinate. His scent was ingrained in your mind and you had long since given up on searching for any others. You had given up on searching for anything that you could consider “pleasant” in all of this.

You felt him pull back just a little, and then swiftly sink his fangs deep into your shoulder. Unable to hold back a scream, your body attempted to wrench itself from his grasp unsuccessfully. He held you in place easily as he began to gnaw at your flesh. You felt his teeth tearing the sensitive tissue to shreds and heard him give a satisfied chuckle. When his teeth cracked bone, he quickly threw his head back, tearing a large chunk out of your shoulder. He always made sure it would heal, but it took a great toll on what was left of your sanity to have him devour pieces of your body so often as he did. You came to dread it growing back in the fear that he would simply take it away again.

Your arm had returned, and he quickly took it by the wrist when you subconsciously attempted to claw at his fingers, still wrapped tightly around your neck. He was a beast, but he was almost never beastly. This was something you had grown to be grateful for, though you sometimes wished he would just finish you off when he tore your body apart so casually.

Upon being released, you immediately fell to the floor and curled in on yourself, unable to bring your hand to touch the fresh wounds as you felt them slowly heal, the sensation being something like squirming maggots.

He wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand as he looked down at you.

“You truly are pathetic. You crave death like a starving dog, I can see it in your eyes. You’re ungrateful, disobedient. Are you sorry now, too? Are you suffering enough to remember your place?”

Suddenly, his hands slammed down on either side of your head and you were met with a horrible, spiteful smile directly above you. You would never grow used to displays of emotion from him, joy being the one you dreaded the most. When he smiled, he was watching you bleed and cower before him. You supposed he was right about your weakness, but you wondered who would behave differently if they were in your situation. He wiped tears from your cheek with his thumb, holding your face in his hand as he gazed deep into your eyes for any sign of the fire you had shown when you spoke against him.

“Beautiful...”

It was so easy to forget that he “loved” you - he never gave any sign to indicate anything other than animosity. He didn’t bother hoping for you to reciprocate. He never had to “hope” for anything. In fact, it seemed he was glad that you were so afraid of him. He held the firm belief that that’s how it was supposed to be. If you were afraid of him, you would behave, and if you behaved, you would be perfect, and if you were perfect, you wouldn’t experience such intense pain. That being said, he expected you to love him, of course. It wasn’t an option, it was a demand. He was perfection incarnate, so your unconditional love was no question.

“Have you given in? Are you going to submit? I can see the defeat in your eyes. You should be thanking me for showering you in my attention.”

You had no choice, so you gave a weak, “Thank you...”

He looked content, pulling back to stand as he pulled you to your feet, taking you into his chest and resting his hand on your shoulder where the missing piece had grown back. In stark contrast to his previous demeanor, his face looked soft and gentle. You wished you didn’t find that comforting, knowing full well that it was entirely false. When he wasn’t hurting you, he was pretending you had a perfect life together and expected you to follow along.

“You must be hungry, hm? Just wasting away... Come, why don’t we spend the rest of the night together? I brought you a treat.”

With that familiar note sounding off, you turned to see what he was talking about, your eyes widening with an audible gasp. 

The “treat” he had brought you was one of your old friends.

He smiled down at you coldly.