tags: toxic relationship, manipulation, delusional thinking, implied abuse, implied entrapment, romanticised physical harm, reference to death
a/n: the themes of this fic are a tad, uhhh… questionable. i like to indulge in the fucked up characterisation ideas in my head sometimes, so here we are. tartaglia is obviously my victim for this because of reasons that i do not believe need further explaining lmfaooo. author has bpd so there’s lots of undertones of that, my bad y’all. heed the tags!
translations: милый (miliy) = “dear”, “darling” [gn] // любимый (lyubimyy) = “beloved” [masc]
“it didn’t matter that he was a wolf behind the guise of a sheep. it didn’t matter that he hunted you from the shadows. for you, the lamb, were willing no matter the consequences – for you all are sick creatures.”
childe was many things. many contradicting things. as were you.
maybe that’s why it was so easy to find yourselves entangled with each other - unable to tear yourselves apart. lost amongst each other.
you didn’t mind, truly. you were content to be lost amongst him of all people. he was your everything. the reason your heart beat, the reason your lungs filled with oxygen, the reason your eyes could see. he was everything.
nothing would change that, ever. nothing could sully this idolised view of him. nothing could ever erase him. he was a form of unattainable perfection – the epitome of all things right in this world of deluded views.
maybe if life had been kinder to you, you never would never have found solace in him. maybe, if life had shown you true love, you would have seen the truth behind what you perceived to be love. but alas; life was not kind, nor had it shown you true love.
and so, when kindness and love is devoid – it’s easy to find yourself falling for what your brain believes you deserve. you begin to break yourself down and rebuild yourself. piece by piece, block by block, you become an entity different from what you first came to this world as. you rebirth your soul, telling yourself that this life, this life of instability and pain, is the only constant you will ever have. and over time, you develop a certain view of life and love. you develop a certain attachment to people. one that consumes your entire being – an attachment that poisons everything it touches.
like a moth to a flame, you remember so clearly the first time your eyes fell upon him. it was as if he demanded your gaze, an indescribable force pulling you towards him. he looked back at you, or maybe through you. you weren’t sure. you can recall the shivers that went down your spine, his gaze strong and steadfast.
he was the enemy. at least, supposed to be. no enemy should shine as brightly as he did, you thought.
you remember so clearly the first time you saw that look in his eyes. the one that gazed at you as if you were the most desirable thing in the world.
in that moment, his hands were wrapped around your throat, a sickening grin on his face. despite the feral madness he wore, somehow, he seemed like a work of art. so strong, determined, passionate. and yet, he was going to kill you, you were the enemy. of course he was going to kill you. but the panic that should’ve been filling your body simply ceased to exist. no alarms bells. no warnings symbols. just a single, floating thought.
the weight of his hands around your throat seemed to be less of a burden at that realisation. it was almost as if it morphed into a comfort - something to remind you of how fragile you were under his fingers. maybe that thought should’ve disturbed you, but it didn’t. instead, you felt some sort of satisfaction.
some sort of purpose arising at the concept of being discarded by him.
the way his eyes searched yours left you feeling oddly charmed – his attention focused on you and you only. his orbs were dull, as if he were dead inside; funny, considering he had such a disarming smile. you looked over his face, really looking this time. he truly was beautiful, physically too.
you remember the way his fingers loosened around your neck after a moment, his orbs darkening as he smiled. though this smile wasn’t the same grin of sadistic pleasure he had previously worn. he seemed almost pleased, as if you were some sort of treasure that he’d been searching for all his life.
in childe, you found purpose. he loved you. he did. and you loved him. madly so.
and that was precisely the problem. you loved each other. too much.
you loved each other so much that pain and suffering were synonymous with love. you loved each other so much that not even death would do you apart. and childe knew this. he knew this all too well.
childe knew you were irrevocably his. knew that no matter what would happen, you would never run. you were simply his. his to have forever. his to keep, to own, to have. and he would have all of you. your body, your mind, your thoughts, your actions. all of it would be belonging to him, and him only. he would make sure of it, no matter the cost.
perhaps you should’ve known better. maybe part of you did know better. but did any of that matter? did any of it really matter? the world without childe was dark, threatening, consuming. everything was horrible — until him. he arrived and suddenly, things seemed to take shape. a sense of self started to emerge.
and yet, it was hardly a sense of self; rather a collection of delusional ideas that were fed and tended to by the one you fixated upon. you had fooled yourself into thinking it was you.
but see, there was some simplicity in losing your mind.
there was peace in indulgence of your delusional thoughts.
it was sick — you were sick. and you could not be treated — this sickness rotted you from the inside out. no amount of medicine or healing would quell your soul of this darkness.
“милый,” the harbinger purred, a blood-stained hand wiping a tear from your cheek, “you’re so pretty when you cry.”
you trembled underneath his touch, the pain from your abdomen flaring up throughout your whole body. and yet - the pain was nothing compared to that adoration in childe’s eyes. a whimper escaped your lips as you shifted, and the harbinger cooed. it was a soft, sweet sound. like a parent hushing their young. a bloody finger pressed against your lips, a sickeningly sweet smile painted upon his features.
“shhh, you’re doing so well for me,” childe murmured, pressing a kiss to your exposed collarbones.
your eyes flicker to childe’s right hand, catching the glint of the dagger in the moonlight. stained in your blood, and your blood only. a special dagger, just for you, as childe had described it. your eyes trail back to his face. his eyes watched you with so much curiosity, it made you feel so bare under his gaze; as if he were peering into the deepest parts of you. his gaze aligned with yours, his empty eyes boring holes into you. despite the dullness, there was a glint of passion burning within them.
he revelled in your pain. and you loved it.
“would you die for me, милый?” childe’s voice questioned, the hand that sat upon the back of your neck tightening with his words.
“without a second thought, любимый,” you had replied, eyes sliding shut at the pressure of childe’s fingers.
you didn’t need to think about the answer. you knew without childe, you were lost. death was a sweeter release than a world without him. you couldn’t live without childe. it was impossible. you couldn’t let him go. he was worth the cost of everything.
the red-head hummed, a satisfied look on his face. you were so perfect – truly. no other soul so blindly loved him in the way you did. no other soul had ever come close to the sickness within him. until you.
that lovestruck look in yours eyes when he would hurt you only proved your loyalty.
and he was determined to keep that loyalty. even if it meant destroying you and rebuilding you all over again, by his hands only.
no other would ever come close to you.
you were a sick creature, as was he.
you were made for no one but him.
© valcetious, cross-posted on ao3.
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