I am divine judgement.

[cardiosanguis]

𝖈𝖆𝖗𝖉𝖎𝖔𝖘𝖆𝖓𝖌𝖚𝖎𝖘 : A selective, private RP blog for Chizome Akaguro or "Stain" from MHA. Canon complacent, headcanon completed and very heavily driven by later seasons' appearances. Supporter and lover of all things AU and multifandom, especially dark and twisted verses. NSFW and DDDNE content heavy, especially with violent and gory themes.

In a world of sickness and delusion, judgement comes in the form of a blade and a living curse. An unheard voice driven to bloodlust guided insanity, chasing a light that remains always out of reach. Fighting for justice by forsaking it, guilty of the sin of hypocrisy and of wrath, evil's demise takes the shape of something worse, something unstoppable, a being made of determination, forsaken dreams and love of the most manic type. A study of adoration in its most carnal, most brutal form, where violence and affection dance a neverending tango.

Gruesomly worshipping: @curecrafted / @pallorpyre ❤️

Purging the world with: @run-muse-dot-exe 🩵

[cardiosanguis]

A triumphant smile paints itself on Chizome's face. Her stutter is a weak defense, he already knows he's won when she begins. Calling him professor again, of course, sending another bolt through him, a sharp reminder of his status over her, of the way it makes this encounter all the more odd, and yet, all the more fascinating to him.

And win he does, with her agreement settling a warm feeling of content in his chest. Her words do more than that, truly, they give him hope. Hope that maybe, she enjoys his company, more than simply listening to his lectures with interest, more than sitting through his lessons. Maybe, she's interested in his company aside from studies. And what a crazy kind of hope that would be. One that he shouldn't allow himself to indulge, and yet, he does. ❝ I agree. It would be nice, wouldn't it? ❞

Her arm grasps his to move him aside, to the end of the line, and for a moment, Chizome wants to protest, to tell her that they could simply order right then, given that they're standing closer to the cashier than the end of the counter. But the realisation of having her on his arm stops his protests before they are spoken out loud. Akaguro stays silent, with a content look on his face, resting a hand on hers as he lets her guide him to the end of the queue. Class, work, it is all in the back of his mind now. The queue is a good thing, it means he has more time with her. He wants more of it so very desperately, that he's sure he would trade in almost anything to make it happen. His eyes are fond, sickeningly affectionate, soft, when she looks to him with feigned disapproval at the prospect of letting him pay what little, meaningless sum a matcha latte may cost. ❝ I would not dream of letting you pay. That wouldn't be right. After all, you are giving me your time and company- it is worth more than gold, a coffee a day cannot even begin to cover the debt I'd owe you. ❞

Chizome smirks, his fingers tracing her own, trying not to linger mentally on how slender they are, how much smaller than him she is, her hands. How easily she would fit into his hold, if he were to hold her. He has to force himself to focus on the menu above them, to read the names of all the sugary drinks, simply to keep himself in the present moment, and not drift into one of his fantasies- fantasies that are becoming harder to not think of, as she returns his attention and remains interested. ❝ It would be my pleasure. ❞

[run-muse-dot-exe]

Maybe... she hadn't been imagining it. All those moments where she'd tried to convince herself that his gaze on her had lingered, or had scanned her form in a manner most inappropriate for their positions in the classroom... When she'd shake her head afterwards and insist she was deluding herself, that his eyes didn't get a certain fire behind them when she'd call out for his attention, use his title as was the polite thing to do...

His hand, on hers. His fingers, caressing hers. His gaze undeniably fond. Not shaking off her hold on his arm, as though he'd like nothing better.

Good that it was early, and no one else who knew them was around-- Otherwise, her horribly sappy expression would give far too much away. Make it obvious that there was more to her acceptance of his company besides getting a free drink.

"You're sweet," she sighs happily, and it takes a whole lot of self control not to lean her head on his arm. She isn't letting it go, though. If anything, she clutches it closer. "Really. I really would like if this became a habit..."

Coffee dates... dates.

Well, at least in her own head, they could be dates. She could be on a date. With her professor. Who seems just as content as her at the notion.

[cardiosanguis]

Fuyumi's eyes are like an early winter fog. Ethereal and light, with a hint of silver when light shines into them. Her gaze is fluctuant like a fog, and as she looks at him, it shimmers with something he cannot describe other than fondness. Good, Chizome remarks to himself, because there is no space for any other feeling within him when it comes to the girl beside him. She guides him to the end of the queue, ever the just angel, and he hums a note of quiet satisfaction. It crosses his mind that it's good no one here seems to know them. This could look odd, even if they are adults. Her on his arm like this, like a bright, perfect, irreplaceable addition to his usually grim aura. Much like the sun peeking through heavy clouds on a cold day, she brightens up his surroundings after he's pulled a dark veil over them with his gloom. And yet, he can't bring himself to care about being seen enough to let her go. Not when she fits into his hold so very perfectly, melting into his frame without really leaning into him. It takes Chizome all the self control he has known in his life to remain upright and not lean closer to her. And either there is something in the air today, or he is truly hopeless, because her smile is all he can bring himself to care about now, and he wants to make sure it remains untouched by the potential troubles of their surroundings.

❝ I think you have the wrong one of us pointed out as sweet, my dear. ❞ He says calmly, resisting once again the urge to lean over her, to brush through her hair, to reach for her in an entirely inappropriate way. And wants to, to be closer, to make this a habit, even daily, if she should wish. Suddenly, the coffee machine breaking on him this morning seems like a touch of destiny. He was meant to be here, to run into her, to have her around outside of class. ❝ I would very much enjoy this becoming a habit of ours. ❞ Ours. Us. It feels so very right to say it like that, like it's a simple fact, like there was always supposed to just be the two of them. A habit is good. After a while, he could suggest having breakfast together. And then lunch. And perhaps, with enough habit and enough persuasion, he would be able to take her to dinner. Properly. Akaguro smiles again- his jaw is beginning to ache, not used to it being so frequent. ❝ Perhaps next time you could allow me to get you a pastry, as well. They do look quite delicious. ❞

[cardiosanguis]

She looks happy. Amused, at the very least. His eyes narrow in satisfied appreciation. He does love this, watching her giggle so politely, eyes glimmering with joy that is entirely unmatched in the world. If not in its grandeur, then in the way it affects him, the way it makes him feel alive, truly alive. Chizome is aware that many think his way of speaking is old-fashioned or staggeringly serious, but he's always found a simple comfort in using ore elaborate or literate phrasing. In fact, when he was quite a bit younger, he'd thought about studying literature, both Japanese and foreign. A french press. Yes, that would be a considerable option. A good one, reliable. And Chizome had planned to get a new coffee machine. He never liked being in a place like this, a cafe, unless he absolutely had to, but maybe he had been a blind man, to not realise what he could find here if he took a chance. His conscience tells him that's a good thing, that it means his watching of the girl before him is not.. too obsessive yet, that it's not stalking just yet. But then again, he has the knowledge now. The professor chuckles as he steps aside from the counter with her, clearing out space. ❝ And you would want to see me outside of class? Even more so than the times we see each other after hours for reviews? ❞ It doesn't amuse him, but it does surprise him in a pleasant way, the way she sounds so very honest. Their review sessions are always brief, small, fifteen to thirty minute conversations on the material discussed in class, and more than enough time for him to memorise every detail of what she is wearing, how her hair looks, if she has make up on, every single time.

❝ Careful, you will get me accused of favoritism. And given my dislike of lies, I wouldn't stand a chance in fending off such accusations. ❞ His smile becomes a smirk, subtle, teasing, and he looks to the counter, to the menu. They're waltzing along a line of propriety, toeing the edge of it with every word they exchange, with every second they spend like this, talking, in a cafe, merely a step away from each other. And yet.. there is nothing Chizome can do to be careful or stop himself. Perhaps he is selfish. ❝ I wouldn't object. But I will be paying for it, no discussion. If I'm going to share something you have, I cannot allow you to pay for it. In exchange, I won't be looking at any new coffee machines. Deal? ❞

[run-muse-dot-exe]

"That-- Professor, that would be too much, y-you don't have to...!"

A beat between them, with her pouting in a feign of indignation, before she relents.

"...Okay, fine, deal. It would be nice to see you more outside class."

Was that too much? He seemed just as eager to be chatting with her. To potentially see her, every day, here, getting drinks and making small talk. Just an addition to the conversations they already had about classes, right? Nothing untoward about that.

Is she imagining it, or is there a fondness in his gaze...?

Either way, Fuyumi shakes her head as though he's asking the moon of her, letting him pay for her latte, as she grasps his upper arm gently to guide him through the cafe back to the end of the customer line.

"But you aren't paying for me every time, okay? I can even get yours sometimes. Not like we're hurting for cash, hah..."

We. Since most of her purchases were indeed on her father's dime. In theory she has a set allowance, though she never even gets anywhere near what he'd suggested as its cap. Not much besides groceries that she was looking to buy, and that was from the family account anyway.

[cardiosanguis]

A triumphant smile paints itself on Chizome's face. Her stutter is a weak defense, he already knows he's won when she begins. Calling him professor again, of course, sending another bolt through him, a sharp reminder of his status over her, of the way it makes this encounter all the more odd, and yet, all the more fascinating to him.

And win he does, with her agreement settling a warm feeling of content in his chest. Her words do more than that, truly, they give him hope. Hope that maybe, she enjoys his company, more than simply listening to his lectures with interest, more than sitting through his lessons. Maybe, she's interested in his company aside from studies. And what a crazy kind of hope that would be. One that he shouldn't allow himself to indulge, and yet, he does. ❝ I agree. It would be nice, wouldn't it? ❞

Her arm grasps his to move him aside, to the end of the line, and for a moment, Chizome wants to protest, to tell her that they could simply order right then, given that they're standing closer to the cashier than the end of the counter. But the realisation of having her on his arm stops his protests before they are spoken out loud. Akaguro stays silent, with a content look on his face, resting a hand on hers as he lets her guide him to the end of the queue. Class, work, it is all in the back of his mind now. The queue is a good thing, it means he has more time with her. He wants more of it so very desperately, that he's sure he would trade in almost anything to make it happen. His eyes are fond, sickeningly affectionate, soft, when she looks to him with feigned disapproval at the prospect of letting him pay what little, meaningless sum a matcha latte may cost. ❝ I would not dream of letting you pay. That wouldn't be right. After all, you are giving me your time and company- it is worth more than gold, a coffee a day cannot even begin to cover the debt I'd owe you. ❞

Chizome smirks, his fingers tracing her own, trying not to linger mentally on how slender they are, how much smaller than him she is, her hands. How easily she would fit into his hold, if he were to hold her. He has to force himself to focus on the menu above them, to read the names of all the sugary drinks, simply to keep himself in the present moment, and not drift into one of his fantasies- fantasies that are becoming harder to not think of, as she returns his attention and remains interested. ❝ It would be my pleasure. ❞

[cardiosanguis]

❝ If I am burning up.. ❞ He mumbles, trailing off, simply incapable of finishing his sentence with the shiver that runs through him, his focus decaying beneath her fingers as they land on his thigh, so very small and slender, barely covering a meaningful amount of his leg. Her touch feels cold, but not in the slightest because she doesn't make him heat up in an almost adolescent way. No, in fact, she herself feels.. cool. Like a gentle winter breeze, pleasant, soft. He has never been one to love winter, but if she is winter, then he adores it. It is his favourite season. If it's her, then he will see it in a new light. In fact, he already does. Her touch feels like first snow, melting against his skin and sending a tremble through him that should very much end at that. A mere, small reaction to her proximity. But it's not. ❝ ...It is because of you. ❞ Chizome finishes, at last, and he dares- for once, for the first time, to move his hand, his touch light, ghosting along the skin of her shoulder and letting his fingers dip under the strap of her tank top, such a fickle, thin line of material. He doesn't push it down or move it, simply toying with it for a moment, contemplation swirling in his gaze, which is moving slowly from her eyes to her lips.

❝ You are like a fire to me. Even when you seem like a snowy plain to the world, you feed the blaze within me. You burn so very bright, my dear. Like a star. I have kept my distance, I felt as though I should. Stars are meant to be admired from afar, but I am a selfish man. ❞ Chizome's voice is low, raspy, but it's tinted with an undeniable hint of affection. ❝ I cannot keep my distance if you do not ask me to. ❞ He leans in- further than he should, further than he has ever allowed himself too, his breath warm and ragged against her jaw, then a little lower, his lips brushing the soft skin of her neck. ❝ Ask me to keep my distance, I'm begging you. ❞ There is no honesty in the plea, no earnesty, in fact, it sounds as though he would do anything to prevent the answer he's asking for as his hand on her waist pulls her closer, the hold he has on her shoulder slipping as he brushes her hair back, eyes falling shut to memorise the sweet, floarl scent of her.

[run-muse-dot-exe]

Was this hypocritical of her?

Fuyumi's distress over an immoral man putting his hands where many would say they don't belong. Yet here she is, suddenly unable to focus her vision, or breathe properly, or think as Chizome's breath warms her cool skin.

Chizome. Not Stain. She insists on calling him as such in her own mind, now, despite how the two figures have melded and mixed back into one being. Guardian. Murderer. Protector. Criminal.

Lover...?

In her dreams, certainly. Fuyumi would wonder if this was a dream, if not for the ache in her knees at their position, the shiver down her spine at the ghosting of his lips. Too real. Too familiar, and altogether more enticing than anything had been in gods know how long.

The fact he's quite literally killed for her... She is horrifically ashamed that it only makes her want to give in all the more. Her own hands shift, to slide up his front, along his lean shoulders and around his neck as she allows herself to be pulled closer. If there was one thing she could find comfort in, it could be that their hearts both seem to be hammering at a similar pace now.

"No," Fuyumi repeats, not nearly as panicked as before. Content, more like, as if she were lowering herself into a warm bath, the word heavy against Chizome's skin in turn. "That isn't what I want. Don't go. Please. Stay with me."

On the point of begging, it's a fight with herself not to pathetically plead for her desires. For her need, now that she has him in her arms, able to press herself into him fully... To not detail every thought and fantasy she's had since their first encounters. Bad enough she was essentially throwing herself at him.

Well, if she had gotten this far...

Fuyumi does pull away, but only just. Enough to be able to meet her Chizome's gaze, an arm still around his shoulder as the other pulls back, down his arm to once again grasp his hand in hers. To guide it, back to that strap, allowing the thing to fall down her shoulder.

"I want you to. Have wanted you to."

[cardiosanguis]

With his eyes closed, he can feel the beat of her heart in her chest, now practically pressed flush against his own, and it takes every drop within him left that is capable of self control not to bring his hand to it and try to feel the pulse of it in his grasp. The feeling of her breathing quickening, ever so slightly, has his grip on her waist tightening just enough to steady her without potentially scaring her off. Her hands slide up his front, so soft he might not notice them, if he wasn't so painfully aware of how close she is and how gentle her touch is, even as they hook around his shoulders with the grace of a ripple in a still ocean. Chizome takes the silent invitation, properly hooking his arm around her waist, pulling her closer, up, just a bit, so she can move her legs and settle in his lap. A dangerous, wordless proposition, given the effect she has on him and his very quickly dying control over his own body. She moves like a silk curtain in a light summer's breeze, fluid and ethereal as she allows him to remain this close to her- as she gets closer, in fact, the fire within him blazing more violently at her touch, the cool sensation of her skin getting warmer with his closeness.

It nearly breaks him, to hear her beg in return, as if he had not been begging himself for her continued proximity, and it's only after her words have settled in his mind that Chizome finally presses his lips to her neck, revering, adoring, impatient. The sound that escapes him is somewhere between a shaky exhale and a groan, strangled with overwhelming passion and relief, repeating the notion of his kiss, his lips travelling along her neck, up, to her jaw, exploring farther than he'd ever think she'd allow him.

❝ The gods must have sent you my way. ❞ He mumbles against her skin, heated, in a devoted tone with the likes of a priest, leaning back to look back at her, before resuming his mapping of her, only pausing when her hand pulls his to her shoulder, to the strap of fabric, to push it off as if it were nothing, and Chizome's hold on her waist tightens for a brief moment, squeezing her softly as his eyes flicker open to trace the pale skin of her shoulder. There's barely any more skin exposed now, but it makes him no less fervent in the way he moves, breathing kisses along her clavicle, to her shoulder, his hand daring to let the strap fall further, while his arm's hold on her waist becomes soft, moving until his hand is on her hip, calloused fingers toying with the hem of the tank top, just barely slipping underneath it, and yet causing him to shiver as though his very nerves were touched. ❝ I have wanted you, in ways I should not describe. I want to worship you, I do worship you. I will always worship you. ❞ The words are whispered against her skin breathlessly, quiet and yet steady as a steel wall. Chizome moves, leaning back to meet her gaze, burning with more emotions than he thought were possible to feel at once, a heat he has not felt in a long time stirring within him.

❝ Can I kiss you? ❞

[cardiosanguis]

" Professor ", she calls him. Such a simple, academic word. One she uses whenever she sees him in class, too. It should be something he is used to, something that evokes nothing but calm. It should not touch him. And yet, for the past few months, it has been more than that. Akaguro bites his tongue, tilting his head to the side as Fuyumi's voice echoes around his mind. Her voice saying his name, no, his title- in a different tone, hushed, whispered- Not like class. It's his job. He is her professor, and he is the professor of all his classes. But it carries a different meaning when she says it. It chases a warm shiver up his spine and sends a fuzzy feeling spreading in his gut. The kind of feeling that he should most definitely keep concealing as he has done for months. The smile curling his lips persists, widening just a little as she straightens up before him. It reminds him of class, of the way she bolts up in her seat to answer questions, to give input, to walk to his desk and deposit her work, even when she does not have to. Attentive, quick. Brilliant. Fuyumi is a brilliant student. His bias is not academic, it's personal. He swirls the coffee around in his cup, the paper warm against his hand. He's happy he hasn't spilled it. Not that it would matter, now that she is here, if it was spilled on himself. Her, however, he could not imagine hurting. Or besmirching her, with something as fickle as his plain, black coffee. Ah, 'Dad'. One of the men who irritate Chizome the most, although she can never know. Enji Todoroki, a stern, cold, ruthless man. A colleague, one, whom Akaguro avoids viciously. They disagree, on most matters. On how to run a classroom, on how to behave, and mostly, on students. He did not pretend to know what it must've been like for Fuyumi herself, to grow up with such a horrible man. He acted as though he knew all, as though he was better than all, but truly, as an enjoyer of dissecting people, Chizome saw nothing of worth to dissect within him, a fraud.

❝ Matcha.. I will admit, I have not tried it. ❞ Chizome straightens out, almost to mirror her, taking a sip of his coffee and gesturing to it quietly. ❝ I do rather enjoy my drinks bitter. Unlike my company, clearly. ❞ His voice takes on a playful tone, one that is dangerously rare, a tone no one else hears. That is a risk- To give her special treatment this way, in such a personal way. It would almost be better to give her a bias academically, professionally speaking. It would feel less distressing, Chizome imagines. But he cannot help it. It comes naturally, his weakness for her. She is brilliant. Kind, gentle and soft. He watches her, the way she is in class, with her friends, with other professors in the hall. Always polite, outspoken but quiet. He should not watch her with such avid want. Chizome is more than aware of himself. But he cannot help it, even now- especially now. ❝ It so happens that my coffee maker has broken. It has betrayed me this morning, with no warning. I was left with no choice. But, to be fair, I am happy I came here now. ❞ Chizome gestures towards her and takes another sip of his coffee, slowly. ❝ Though it's not the coffee I'm enjoying as much as to say that. ❞

[run-muse-dot-exe]

His turn of phrase always made her giggle-- giggle, like she was a teenager. Manners at least get her to cover her mouth as she does, but she still beams up at the older man. Significantly older. God, Dad would kill him if he knew--

Knew what? They were just chatting. It was always just chatting, nothing more, even as she steps out of the line for the counter so as not to hold anyone else up with their conversation. As she sets aside time, for him. To smile and nod and giggle over how he talks. It's almost like how Dad tries to talk when he teaches, but he was so naturally blunt he came off as rude way too often. Not Professor Akaguro, though. He was clearly earnest about it, it's just how he is.

"Awh, I'm sorry about that! I'd say you could get something like a French press, but then that would mean we wouldn't be able to see one another here before class...!"

Every so often she tried to convince herself that his interest was strictly out of a want to see her succeed academically. That she was deluding herself into thinking that it could be a mutual infatuation. It would be wildly inappropriate, to say the least, if she were to even suggest or hint at her interest more blatantly...

But, she does shift just a touch closer.

"I could let you try mine, when I get it, if you don't mind... waiting for me...?"

[cardiosanguis]

She looks happy. Amused, at the very least. His eyes narrow in satisfied appreciation. He does love this, watching her giggle so politely, eyes glimmering with joy that is entirely unmatched in the world. If not in its grandeur, then in the way it affects him, the way it makes him feel alive, truly alive. Chizome is aware that many think his way of speaking is old-fashioned or staggeringly serious, but he's always found a simple comfort in using ore elaborate or literate phrasing. In fact, when he was quite a bit younger, he'd thought about studying literature, both Japanese and foreign. A french press. Yes, that would be a considerable option. A good one, reliable. And Chizome had planned to get a new coffee machine. He never liked being in a place like this, a cafe, unless he absolutely had to, but maybe he had been a blind man, to not realise what he could find here if he took a chance. His conscience tells him that's a good thing, that it means his watching of the girl before him is not.. too obsessive yet, that it's not stalking just yet. But then again, he has the knowledge now. The professor chuckles as he steps aside from the counter with her, clearing out space. ❝ And you would want to see me outside of class? Even more so than the times we see each other after hours for reviews? ❞ It doesn't amuse him, but it does surprise him in a pleasant way, the way she sounds so very honest. Their review sessions are always brief, small, fifteen to thirty minute conversations on the material discussed in class, and more than enough time for him to memorise every detail of what she is wearing, how her hair looks, if she has make up on, every single time.

❝ Careful, you will get me accused of favoritism. And given my dislike of lies, I wouldn't stand a chance in fending off such accusations. ❞ His smile becomes a smirk, subtle, teasing, and he looks to the counter, to the menu. They're waltzing along a line of propriety, toeing the edge of it with every word they exchange, with every second they spend like this, talking, in a cafe, merely a step away from each other. And yet.. there is nothing Chizome can do to be careful or stop himself. Perhaps he is selfish. ❝ I wouldn't object. But I will be paying for it, no discussion. If I'm going to share something you have, I cannot allow you to pay for it. In exchange, I won't be looking at any new coffee machines. Deal? ❞

[cardiosanguis]

@run-muse-dot-exe for the uni AU as discussed ❤️

It was just his luck. New year, new week, and as the gods willed it, his coffee maker, one he had spent a considerable amount on for a man who did not quite love coffee as much as some of his colleagues- had decided to give up on life after a good three years of working flawlessly. It did not change much for Akaguro, but it did mean that he had to get his caffeine this morning elsewhere, and quite quickly, too, considering the machine's malfunction had very much not been a plan of his.

As much as Chizome did speak out against the crazed progress of technology, he did profit from it, too. It took him less than a minute to find a cafe on campus that would not be too out of his way while he rushed to work. He had a new class to instruct and old classes- moving up in years- to lead into the new year. His notebook bore the names of the new students, as well as the names of those who had been under his wing in various studies for a long while now. Basic anatomy, Autopsy lab hours and Cardiology. He'd volunteered to take on a class as their homeroom teacher for the first time, mostly, out of curiosity. On the other hand, it would get colleagues like Todoroki Enji off his back.

The cafe is simple, traditional in its decorations, and cheap- affordable to students and teachers alike. The selection was far more vast than he'd like it to be, and truly, that would be his biggest obstacle.

❝ Hello. ❞ the barista looks at him with bleak curiosity and something similar to intrigue. He hasn't been here before, and he does feel somewhat obnoxious, towering over the young woman behind the counter at his 6'5. Crimson scans the menu written in pretty cursive on the blackboard above her, and Chizome sighs, scratching the back of his neck as he tips his square-framed glasses over the curved bridge of his nose. ❝ Do you.. have.. just coffee? Simple, black, no.. sugary additions and all that. ❞ He irritates himself with the question, but his voice is cool and polite. The girl nods and rings him up with a smile, and the payment process is fast, given that Akaguro does not use cash anymore- cards are far simpler. His drink is ready quickly too, and for that, he is grateful. He won't have to rush too much. And yet, he rushes enough to not notice the figure walking towards the counter, towards him, her head down, like his. Chizome runs into the young woman much like an oaf, and it startles him, although he doesn't drop his coffee or his bag, slung across one shoulder, but rather, reaches for her arm, holding her steady. ❝ Ah- I apologise, I was not looking where I was.. ❞ His words are lost to any further additions as he recognises one of his best students. A brilliant young woman, the daughter of the very colleague who's gotten him to become a homeroom teacher. ❝ Todoroki-san. Please forgive me, I was careless. ❞ A smile ghosts his lips, something reserved for a handful of people on the planet, among them, the lovely girl before him, with skin as pale as a lily, hair as soft as snow. A cheesy description, but it fits. She's attentive- in his class, at least, she has always been. Precise, with wonderful handwriting. Active and polite, with a steady but gentle voice. Chizome is very aware of his admiration for her crossing quite a few bounds, and yet, he cannot blame himself. Especially not now, with her standing before him.

❝ It seems I've made a good choice picking this place for a morning coffee if my star pupil is here. Are you here to get something for your first class of the day, too? ❞

[run-muse-dot-exe]

It was nice to get back into the swing of things, despite the snag that was a faculty change. Fuyumi had gotten a front row seat to much angry lamenting on the subject at home, and knew that it hadn't made anyone's lives easier, but she... couldn't exactly say she was complaining.

It was her usual routine, to be on campus well before most others. She usually rode with her father since logistically it made the most sense and saved them the travel fare. He had already gone to his office to prepare for class. She had been planning to bring him an extra coffee on route, but--

"Oh--!"

That might have to wait.

"P-Professor--! Oh, d-don't apologize, I wasn't paying attention--!"

Immediately, she's standing a little straighter. If pressed, she would argue it was because of just how tall her teacher was-- easier to make polite eye contact. But in reality, this was just how she acted around him. A little too eager, a little too polite.

It should be embarrassing, really... How much she coveted his attention whenever she had the chance to receive it. While she doubted that he knew of her in any manner besides a passing mention by her father before she'd started university, he'd always stuck out amongst his colleagues. Tall, well-kept, organized and well-mannered with a good fashion sense... And since having actual classes with him, her admiration had only increased substantially. Just as intelligent as he was practical. Her peers sometimes described him as off-putting, but she'd never been inclined to agree.

Her gaze noticeably softens when it finally meets his, heart fluttering at his praise. She laughs it off, as she usually does, blushing quite obviously.

"Ah, yes...! They make pretty good matcha lattes, and they have the java Dad likes-- His office is on my way, so it's easier than us both having to come by here."

Fuyumi knows good and well that this wasn't exactly typical, being so excited over small talk with her professor. Just like how it wasn't typical for her to linger so long after class to discuss her work when she was already, as he'd stated, his star pupil. Man, she just knew she was gonna be riding that compliment for days.

"You... don't tend to come here, though. I mean, I've never seen you here, when I've been here, haha, um--"

[cardiosanguis]

" Professor ", she calls him. Such a simple, academic word. One she uses whenever she sees him in class, too. It should be something he is used to, something that evokes nothing but calm. It should not touch him. And yet, for the past few months, it has been more than that. Akaguro bites his tongue, tilting his head to the side as Fuyumi's voice echoes around his mind. Her voice saying his name, no, his title- in a different tone, hushed, whispered- Not like class. It's his job. He is her professor, and he is the professor of all his classes. But it carries a different meaning when she says it. It chases a warm shiver up his spine and sends a fuzzy feeling spreading in his gut. The kind of feeling that he should most definitely keep concealing as he has done for months. The smile curling his lips persists, widening just a little as she straightens up before him. It reminds him of class, of the way she bolts up in her seat to answer questions, to give input, to walk to his desk and deposit her work, even when she does not have to. Attentive, quick. Brilliant. Fuyumi is a brilliant student. His bias is not academic, it's personal. He swirls the coffee around in his cup, the paper warm against his hand. He's happy he hasn't spilled it. Not that it would matter, now that she is here, if it was spilled on himself. Her, however, he could not imagine hurting. Or besmirching her, with something as fickle as his plain, black coffee. Ah, 'Dad'. One of the men who irritate Chizome the most, although she can never know. Enji Todoroki, a stern, cold, ruthless man. A colleague, one, whom Akaguro avoids viciously. They disagree, on most matters. On how to run a classroom, on how to behave, and mostly, on students. He did not pretend to know what it must've been like for Fuyumi herself, to grow up with such a horrible man. He acted as though he knew all, as though he was better than all, but truly, as an enjoyer of dissecting people, Chizome saw nothing of worth to dissect within him, a fraud.

❝ Matcha.. I will admit, I have not tried it. ❞ Chizome straightens out, almost to mirror her, taking a sip of his coffee and gesturing to it quietly. ❝ I do rather enjoy my drinks bitter. Unlike my company, clearly. ❞ His voice takes on a playful tone, one that is dangerously rare, a tone no one else hears. That is a risk- To give her special treatment this way, in such a personal way. It would almost be better to give her a bias academically, professionally speaking. It would feel less distressing, Chizome imagines. But he cannot help it. It comes naturally, his weakness for her. She is brilliant. Kind, gentle and soft. He watches her, the way she is in class, with her friends, with other professors in the hall. Always polite, outspoken but quiet. He should not watch her with such avid want. Chizome is more than aware of himself. But he cannot help it, even now- especially now. ❝ It so happens that my coffee maker has broken. It has betrayed me this morning, with no warning. I was left with no choice. But, to be fair, I am happy I came here now. ❞ Chizome gestures towards her and takes another sip of his coffee, slowly. ❝ Though it's not the coffee I'm enjoying as much as to say that. ❞

[cardiosanguis]

The variant game, but for Chizome. Big fan of gothic yearner Stain

From left to right: Mr. Darcy (Pride and Prejudice) , The monster (Frankenstein) , Jim Moriarty (Sherlock) , Benjamin Barker (Sweeney Todd) , Thomas Sharpe (Crimson Peak) , Dracula (Bram Stoker's.) , Alucard (Castlevania) , Severus Snape (HP) .

[cardiosanguis]

❝ Ah. ❞ Fine, she says, so calmly, as if it's that simple. her hand on his, as if it belongs there, and Chizome wants it to, he does. And perhaps he did not truly make an effort to move away, perhaps he simply didn't want to actually move away. But he remains still when she moves with him, and watches her, like a hawk, even though she is not his prey, she could never be. Not in the way delinquents and villains are his prey, not in the way corrupt heroes are his prey. Her role as a prey is far different from theirs, one that he finds in only his darkest dreams, one that never ends with her demise.

When she moves, she moves impossibly closer, in a way that allows him to tower over her without standing, simply looming over her kneeling form as she takes his hand.

This must be a test. He must be going through a test placed in his path by the gods. Or, perhaps, she does not understand what her proximity does to him. That seems likely, given her kind disposition and how caringly she has treated him, like he is a civilian, not a violent serial killer. His fingers grow rigid with anxious tension when she places his hand over her chest, just above her ribcage. It covers nearly all the space between her shoulders, and he is convinced that should he wrap his hand around her neck, it would close around it. It's absurd, how small she is like this, in his grasp.

Chizome doesn't dare move. His fingers brush her collarbone, not daring to move his wrist, but he finds it impossible not to lean into her in return, his other hand coming down to her side, pulling her closer, crimson gaze pointed at her, he face, the way her bangs cover her forehead just a bit, her eyes, almost silver with the way she looks at him.

❝ Look at you. ❞ Stain mumbles, and his voice is hoarse with restraint, with exhaustion after the day he's had, and with adoration. His tone hangs heavy between them as he caresses the soft, cool skin of her shoulder, allowing himself to brush over it, grasping it gently, then returning to where she'd placed it as his other hand remains on her waist, brushing the fabric of her tank top with silent longing. ❝ You fit into my grasp so easily, angel. ❞ He says, with all the desperation and veneration of the world.

A shiver runs down his spine— hot and cold at the same time, sharp and yet blunt, sending a wave of unfamiliar warmth through him. It sparks a new worry, and Chizome glances down her form, for just a moment, eyes taking in the sight of her in the light, scarse clothes she's wearing.

❝ Are you not cold?

[run-muse-dot-exe]

Her mouth falls agape as the Hero Killer looms over her, pulls her in, as she'd so desired... And oh, his hands, large and warmer than she's used to, rough, steady...

They're practically flush against one another, and Fuyumi is very much hyperaware of his fingers caressing her waist... lifting the fabric of her nightshirt, ever so slightly, and it takes every ounce of willpower the poor woman has not to make a pathetic noise at the physical contact. She has to steady herself, her other hand grasping for purchase, for balance, and landing on his thigh.

There goes her heart, finally catching up with the situation at hand, starting to hammer quick and heavy against her ribs. The touch and his voice work in tandem to overwhelm her distracted mind despite how little has actually happened between them. Hm... His grasp feels the same as back then. Now, though, he isn't... catching her, saving her from her own clumsiness. More caging her, in a grasp she'd leaned right into willingly. And, sure, after his eventful night... he was not exactly clean. But she found she didn't mind the slight tinge of sweat about his skin, the lingering scent of blood, her brain filing it away as just smelling like him.

"...Not anymore," she breathes back, voice lowered, as if there was anyone else home able to hear the pair of them... "You... must be burning up, though..."

[cardiosanguis]

❝ If I am burning up.. ❞ He mumbles, trailing off, simply incapable of finishing his sentence with the shiver that runs through him, his focus decaying beneath her fingers as they land on his thigh, so very small and slender, barely covering a meaningful amount of his leg. Her touch feels cold, but not in the slightest because she doesn't make him heat up in an almost adolescent way. No, in fact, she herself feels.. cool. Like a gentle winter breeze, pleasant, soft. He has never been one to love winter, but if she is winter, then he adores it. It is his favourite season. If it's her, then he will see it in a new light. In fact, he already does. Her touch feels like first snow, melting against his skin and sending a tremble through him that should very much end at that. A mere, small reaction to her proximity. But it's not. ❝ ...It is because of you. ❞ Chizome finishes, at last, and he dares- for once, for the first time, to move his hand, his touch light, ghosting along the skin of her shoulder and letting his fingers dip under the strap of her tank top, such a fickle, thin line of material. He doesn't push it down or move it, simply toying with it for a moment, contemplation swirling in his gaze, which is moving slowly from her eyes to her lips.

❝ You are like a fire to me. Even when you seem like a snowy plain to the world, you feed the blaze within me. You burn so very bright, my dear. Like a star. I have kept my distance, I felt as though I should. Stars are meant to be admired from afar, but I am a selfish man. ❞ Chizome's voice is low, raspy, but it's tinted with an undeniable hint of affection. ❝ I cannot keep my distance if you do not ask me to. ❞ He leans in- further than he should, further than he has ever allowed himself too, his breath warm and ragged against her jaw, then a little lower, his lips brushing the soft skin of her neck. ❝ Ask me to keep my distance, I'm begging you. ❞ There is no honesty in the plea, no earnesty, in fact, it sounds as though he would do anything to prevent the answer he's asking for as his hand on her waist pulls her closer, the hold he has on her shoulder slipping as he brushes her hair back, eyes falling shut to memorise the sweet, floarl scent of her.

[cardiosanguis]

@run-muse-dot-exe for the uni AU as discussed ❤️

It was just his luck. New year, new week, and as the gods willed it, his coffee maker, one he had spent a considerable amount on for a man who did not quite love coffee as much as some of his colleagues- had decided to give up on life after a good three years of working flawlessly. It did not change much for Akaguro, but it did mean that he had to get his caffeine this morning elsewhere, and quite quickly, too, considering the machine's malfunction had very much not been a plan of his.

As much as Chizome did speak out against the crazed progress of technology, he did profit from it, too. It took him less than a minute to find a cafe on campus that would not be too out of his way while he rushed to work. He had a new class to instruct and old classes- moving up in years- to lead into the new year. His notebook bore the names of the new students, as well as the names of those who had been under his wing in various studies for a long while now. Basic anatomy, Autopsy lab hours and Cardiology. He'd volunteered to take on a class as their homeroom teacher for the first time, mostly, out of curiosity. On the other hand, it would get colleagues like Todoroki Enji off his back.

The cafe is simple, traditional in its decorations, and cheap- affordable to students and teachers alike. The selection was far more vast than he'd like it to be, and truly, that would be his biggest obstacle.

❝ Hello. ❞ the barista looks at him with bleak curiosity and something similar to intrigue. He hasn't been here before, and he does feel somewhat obnoxious, towering over the young woman behind the counter at his 6'5. Crimson scans the menu written in pretty cursive on the blackboard above her, and Chizome sighs, scratching the back of his neck as he tips his square-framed glasses over the curved bridge of his nose. ❝ Do you.. have.. just coffee? Simple, black, no.. sugary additions and all that. ❞ He irritates himself with the question, but his voice is cool and polite. The girl nods and rings him up with a smile, and the payment process is fast, given that Akaguro does not use cash anymore- cards are far simpler. His drink is ready quickly too, and for that, he is grateful. He won't have to rush too much. And yet, he rushes enough to not notice the figure walking towards the counter, towards him, her head down, like his. Chizome runs into the young woman much like an oaf, and it startles him, although he doesn't drop his coffee or his bag, slung across one shoulder, but rather, reaches for her arm, holding her steady. ❝ Ah- I apologise, I was not looking where I was.. ❞ His words are lost to any further additions as he recognises one of his best students. A brilliant young woman, the daughter of the very colleague who's gotten him to become a homeroom teacher. ❝ Todoroki-san. Please forgive me, I was careless. ❞ A smile ghosts his lips, something reserved for a handful of people on the planet, among them, the lovely girl before him, with skin as pale as a lily, hair as soft as snow. A cheesy description, but it fits. She's attentive- in his class, at least, she has always been. Precise, with wonderful handwriting. Active and polite, with a steady but gentle voice. Chizome is very aware of his admiration for her crossing quite a few bounds, and yet, he cannot blame himself. Especially not now, with her standing before him.

❝ It seems I've made a good choice picking this place for a morning coffee if my star pupil is here. Are you here to get something for your first class of the day, too? ❞

[cardiosanguis]

❝ I have known hurt. ❞ He states, calmly. ❝ This is not it, not even close. Do not blame yourself for such minimal misfortunes, my dear. ❞ Chizome breathes the last words out reverently, like she may break if he speaks them too loudly, as though she will crumble within his grasp if he refers to her as his too openly, too obviously. Her touch, as gentle as it is, leaves his skin prickling with a strange emotion, a feeling he thought was long lost, and his eyes wander from her face down her form. Stop that. You're better than this. She looks soft. Softer than any pastry or pillow may be, and he inhales sharply, tearing his eyes off Fuyumi and staring holes into the nearby wall. To even almost think of her in any way that isn't proper is too big a risk. It comes too easy, too instinctively, to imagine the expanse of pale skin, the softness of her curves, the way she arches- Akaguro's jaw tightens and he reminds himself not to bite his tongue. A mistake he has made before. The care in her voice is what keeps him from letting his thoughts wandering too far. The way she frets about his safety, of all things, about him being unharmed. The words of understanding, words he does not deserve, surely. Chizome turns back to her, focusing his eyes on her face, not letting them drift anywhere else. She pauses her movements, presumably because she's done, and then she lifts his hand up, his hand, which is so much larger than her own- and holds it to her face. And truly, Chizome curses himself for not being a stronger man.

His thumb brushes her cheek softly, adoringly, and he sighs in surrender. Surrendering to her, her kindness, her heart, and quite honestly, whatever she may wish. His hand cups her face, actively holding her in his grasp, so gentle for a man who has killed so many, and his eyes narrow with helplessness.

❝ It seems we both know the plague of thoughts. ❞ Chizome says, his voice heavy with a different kind of darkness, a want that is not bloodlust. ❝ I feel the need to do what I do to protect you. You are the cause of many needs, that is the truth of the matter. ❞ The confession is vague enough to not seem threatening, and Akaguro is aware how easy it can be to cross that threshold. He leans down, slowly, calculating just how far his self control can strain. The kiss he gives her is placed to her forehead, a small sliver of pale skin where her bangs have been tugged aside somewhere along the lines in the commotion. She's warm, her pulse dull in the space of her forehead, but he can feel it nonetheless, in his hand where it's holding her face, and beneath his lips. He can practically taste her with just this gesture alone, and for a moment, Chizome closes his eyes, burning her scent into his memory, pure, sweet, light, elegant, everything he knows she is.

❝ Forgive me, ❞ he begins as he pulls back, crimson gaze searching for the peaceful silver of her eyes. ❝ I forget myself. You may blame the adrenaline of a... fight, if you wish. ❞

[run-muse-dot-exe]

"..."

Her heartbeat, while heavy, doesn't seem like it's going fast enough for what their proximity is doing to her. Or, perhaps, it would be more accurate to say that his presence slowed the very seconds around the pair of them, time becoming a crawl as she processes the lips against her skin. Unconsciously, she squeezes at the man's wrist where she holds it against her face, where he holds her so gently... Fuyumi's eyelids flutter closed as she inhales slowly, to then sigh her appreciation for the gesture, instinctively shifting closer...

"No," she gasps as he pulls away, blinking as though she had just been awoken from a dream-- "No, it's-- it's fine. Was fine. I..."

She doesn't want this haze to lift. She doesn't want him to stray too far. Leans in closer, following after him, practically pressing herself into his form as she shifts the hand she holds down, just a little, to clutch a part of him against her sternum. Clinging, slightly.

"...There's nothing to forgive. You... being here..."

I'm ashamed of how often I've thought of it? I've fantasized about so many things painfully close to this? It's all she can do to keep her gaze locked on his, hoping against hope that her intense expression could convey what she was clearly struggling to with words...

[cardiosanguis]

❝ Ah. ❞ Fine, she says, so calmly, as if it's that simple. her hand on his, as if it belongs there, and Chizome wants it to, he does. And perhaps he did not truly make an effort to move away, perhaps he simply didn't want to actually move away. But he remains still when she moves with him, and watches her, like a hawk, even though she is not his prey, she could never be. Not in the way delinquents and villains are his prey, not in the way corrupt heroes are his prey. Her role as a prey is far different from theirs, one that he finds in only his darkest dreams, one that never ends with her demise.

When she moves, she moves impossibly closer, in a way that allows him to tower over her without standing, simply looming over her kneeling form as she takes his hand.

This must be a test. He must be going through a test placed in his path by the gods. Or, perhaps, she does not understand what her proximity does to him. That seems likely, given her kind disposition and how caringly she has treated him, like he is a civilian, not a violent serial killer. His fingers grow rigid with anxious tension when she places his hand over her chest, just above her ribcage. It covers nearly all the space between her shoulders, and he is convinced that should he wrap his hand around her neck, it would close around it. It's absurd, how small she is like this, in his grasp.

Chizome doesn't dare move. His fingers brush her collarbone, not daring to move his wrist, but he finds it impossible not to lean into her in return, his other hand coming down to her side, pulling her closer, crimson gaze pointed at her, he face, the way her bangs cover her forehead just a bit, her eyes, almost silver with the way she looks at him.

❝ Look at you. ❞ Stain mumbles, and his voice is hoarse with restraint, with exhaustion after the day he's had, and with adoration. His tone hangs heavy between them as he caresses the soft, cool skin of her shoulder, allowing himself to brush over it, grasping it gently, then returning to where she'd placed it as his other hand remains on her waist, brushing the fabric of her tank top with silent longing. ❝ You fit into my grasp so easily, angel. ❞ He says, with all the desperation and veneration of the world.

A shiver runs down his spine— hot and cold at the same time, sharp and yet blunt, sending a wave of unfamiliar warmth through him. It sparks a new worry, and Chizome glances down her form, for just a moment, eyes taking in the sight of her in the light, scarse clothes she's wearing.

❝ Are you not cold?

[cardiosanguis]

His mind is an utter bother, whining out a complaint that the blood on his tongue is not hers, how much sweeter it would be, but he sways himself back to reality, focusing on the way she's caring for him, taking care of his wounds like he's a harmless victim, not a vicious killer. There's a smirk, and Chizome's tired, raspy tone turns soft, amused, something no one hears, not from the Hero Killer.

❝ Are you.. scolding me? ❞ He chuckles quietly, shrugging in agreement a second later. ❝ You're right. But then, I was in a hurry to see you.❞ He adds softly, once again tempted to reach into soft white hair and brush it back with a gentle caress. He watches her work instead, wondering for a moment how often she'd done this until now. So caring, so loving, so nurturing- she really was an angel, through and through.

She refuses to look at him, and given their continued uninterrupted proximity, he doubts it is because of any kind of disgust. He doesn't nudge her further than his hand, doesn't move, barely breathes in her direction, scared that any wrong move may scare her away and break this trance they're both in. He'll shower the blood off his neck and his shoulders when he's home, for now, he bathes in her attention, expression souring at her latter statement.

❝ No. I don't wan't to hear you explain yourself like you're the one at fault. He was careless with his hands, he was a swine, unworthy to breathe the air of a world you inhabit. ❞ He's adamant, but his temper remains calm, soothed by her presence, a calming effect like no other. His fingers brush her wrist again as she cleans his hand, and he doesn't grab her, but his fingers press against her pulse, softly, two digits pressing against the soft skin of her inner wrist for a moment.

❝ He touch that which does not belong to him, my dear, I could not let him go about his life after such a transgression. ❞ He leaves the implications up in the air, his gaze heavy and warm against her, taking in her face, and something about the tension which is usually so subtle between them almost feels palpable now. His voice drops, becomes grave and yet gentle.

❝ I was watching. I know you were not in the wrong, not for a moment. ❞

[run-muse-dot-exe]

A breath escapes her lips, a sigh, eyes trained on his fingers where they press against her skin. While his words do much to calm her, guilt still claws at her throat at causing such a scene.

"You might think that, and I... It isn't that I don't appreciate... you looking out for me. But I don't want you getting hurt on my account."

"I don't want you getting hurt at all," she admits, though there isn't much power or confidence behind her voice. "I understand why you... do the things you do. And it does make me feel... safe, knowing you try to keep an eye out. I just wish you didn't have to."

Vulnerability. Something Fuyumi struggled with, opening up beyond the surface level to anyone she cared for, anyone who cared for her. Not at all helped by the state the pair of them were in-- Him, bleeding and tired. Her, alone at home in her pajamas. Different levels of it, certainly, and were he a worse person she'd have every right to be as frightened as she had been during their first few encounters. Now, though...? With him willing to show up in this state before her...?

"I think about that a lot." She lifts his injured hand to her cheek, pressing it to his palm. "...If things could be different. If you didn't... feel the need to..."

[cardiosanguis]

❝ I have known hurt. ❞ He states, calmly. ❝ This is not it, not even close. Do not blame yourself for such minimal misfortunes, my dear. ❞ Chizome breathes the last words out reverently, like she may break if he speaks them too loudly, as though she will crumble within his grasp if he refers to her as his too openly, too obviously. Her touch, as gentle as it is, leaves his skin prickling with a strange emotion, a feeling he thought was long lost, and his eyes wander from her face down her form. Stop that. You're better than this. She looks soft. Softer than any pastry or pillow may be, and he inhales sharply, tearing his eyes off Fuyumi and staring holes into the nearby wall. To even almost think of her in any way that isn't proper is too big a risk. It comes too easy, too instinctively, to imagine the expanse of pale skin, the softness of her curves, the way she arches- Akaguro's jaw tightens and he reminds himself not to bite his tongue. A mistake he has made before. The care in her voice is what keeps him from letting his thoughts wandering too far. The way she frets about his safety, of all things, about him being unharmed. The words of understanding, words he does not deserve, surely. Chizome turns back to her, focusing his eyes on her face, not letting them drift anywhere else. She pauses her movements, presumably because she's done, and then she lifts his hand up, his hand, which is so much larger than her own- and holds it to her face. And truly, Chizome curses himself for not being a stronger man.

His thumb brushes her cheek softly, adoringly, and he sighs in surrender. Surrendering to her, her kindness, her heart, and quite honestly, whatever she may wish. His hand cups her face, actively holding her in his grasp, so gentle for a man who has killed so many, and his eyes narrow with helplessness.

❝ It seems we both know the plague of thoughts. ❞ Chizome says, his voice heavy with a different kind of darkness, a want that is not bloodlust. ❝ I feel the need to do what I do to protect you. You are the cause of many needs, that is the truth of the matter. ❞ The confession is vague enough to not seem threatening, and Akaguro is aware how easy it can be to cross that threshold. He leans down, slowly, calculating just how far his self control can strain. The kiss he gives her is placed to her forehead, a small sliver of pale skin where her bangs have been tugged aside somewhere along the lines in the commotion. She's warm, her pulse dull in the space of her forehead, but he can feel it nonetheless, in his hand where it's holding her face, and beneath his lips. He can practically taste her with just this gesture alone, and for a moment, Chizome closes his eyes, burning her scent into his memory, pure, sweet, light, elegant, everything he knows she is.

❝ Forgive me, ❞ he begins as he pulls back, crimson gaze searching for the peaceful silver of her eyes. ❝ I forget myself. You may blame the adrenaline of a... fight, if you wish. ❞

[cardiosanguis]

She's back before the dark twist in his guts demands that he touches something else, reaches for one of the pens in a holder on her desk, before that obscure fascination pulls him off the chair and closer to the bed. Before he starts... to look into things he has no right to look into. Chizome turns, slowly, leaving the petal on the desk, now stained red. She approaches him with a certain look he can't decipher, nothing like the fear he'd seen in her eyes earlier, if anything, it's similar to intrigue. The killer gives her a smile,watching her walk up to him, reaching to undo the knife holsters he has wrapped around either of his arms. They're officially in the way, and although he won't admit it, he's sore.

It doesn't escape his thoughts, the fact that they're alone, in her bedroom, steps away from said bed, but Akaguro is a strong man. He's withstood greater torture than this, even as his mind flashes rather unhelpful images before him, reminding him of her soft sounds, the way her back arches- She can never know. He is about to reach for her, and then she sinks down. His breath hitches, and the pang of heat in his chest is one he has to keep up there at all costs, no matter what.

❝ What are you- ❞

Kneeling. She's kneeling before him, entirely opposite to the way he feels for her, kneeling, like he's the divine being, and not her. Chizome bites back a rough groan, a strained noise coming from him as he looks down at her with a heated, desperately helpless look.

❝ What are you doing? You should never kneel before me, my angel. ❞ He mutters, coming off the chair and picking up her hand instead of giving her his own. There's blood on her. As careful as he tried to be, there's a streak of crimson along her palm. His fingers lock around her wrist scarily easy, enveloping it entirely and then some as he brings her hand to his lips, placing them on her palm, a featherlight kiss, eyes fluttering with restraint as he inhales her warm, soft scent with a shaky breath. It's tainted, sullied by the smell of blood. He has to do something about it.

His tongue runs over the blood mindlessly. It's automatic and tactical, a warm, languid slide, his tongue rough yet soft against her skin, the texture of it almost ribbed, thanks to his quirk, and somehow still gentle. It leaves her hand clean of blood as he places another kiss to her palm, moving out of the chair to kneel before her in return, still towering over her with ease. There's darkness in his eyes, but not the violent kind.

❝ I am the one who should be kneeling. You're helping me, though I deserve your help not. ❞

He places one more kiss, to her fingers, before letting go of her hand, slowly, and holding out his own, somewhat late, but obedient nonetheless, fingers uncurling as he stretches them out, observing the bruise with a small smirk.

❝ It really is nothing. It could have been worse. ❞

[run-muse-dot-exe]

She absolutely had to be dreaming.

This couldn't be real. She'd hit her head while trying to tuck herself into bed, or the roof had caved in on her as she'd curled up on her futon, and she was lucid dreaming or hallucinating or whatever.

Because in no reality would the Hero Killer be knelt beside her, enveloping her hand in his own, and oh so reverently cleaning his mess in-- such a manner. Dwelling on where the thoughts on such an action wanted to go was making Fuyumi's head spin, her mouth agape and eyes wide.

My angel.

A hitching breath brings her back into the present, the oxygen to her brain reaffirming that as much of-- something that there was between them, now would not be the time. And not at all the place, the risk of anyone coming home alone...

Thoughts will spiral as they please, though, and her heartbeat has once again ticked upward in his presence, under his gaze, as she tries to refocus... the heat of his lips, his tongue, still lingering about her skin as she pulls out the disinfectant and cotton.

"D-don't be silly, this is bad enough, and obviously you were in no hurry to fix it yourself..."

She'd avoiding his gaze now, unconsciously worrying her bottom lip between her teeth as she dabs at his wounded knuckles with that cotton, eventually setting it aside to clean more of the blood away with the cloth she'd kept at hand.

"...And I don't mind. Since you... I mean, clearly this was..."

Fuyumi finds the words sticking, and makes an effort in swallowing to clear the path.

"...Thank you. You shouldn't have... had to. I should have been more careful."

[cardiosanguis]

His mind is an utter bother, whining out a complaint that the blood on his tongue is not hers, how much sweeter it would be, but he sways himself back to reality, focusing on the way she's caring for him, taking care of his wounds like he's a harmless victim, not a vicious killer. There's a smirk, and Chizome's tired, raspy tone turns soft, amused, something no one hears, not from the Hero Killer.

❝ Are you.. scolding me? ❞ He chuckles quietly, shrugging in agreement a second later. ❝ You're right. But then, I was in a hurry to see you.❞ He adds softly, once again tempted to reach into soft white hair and brush it back with a gentle caress. He watches her work instead, wondering for a moment how often she'd done this until now. So caring, so loving, so nurturing- she really was an angel, through and through.

She refuses to look at him, and given their continued uninterrupted proximity, he doubts it is because of any kind of disgust. He doesn't nudge her further than his hand, doesn't move, barely breathes in her direction, scared that any wrong move may scare her away and break this trance they're both in. He'll shower the blood off his neck and his shoulders when he's home, for now, he bathes in her attention, expression souring at her latter statement.

❝ No. I don't wan't to hear you explain yourself like you're the one at fault. He was careless with his hands, he was a swine, unworthy to breathe the air of a world you inhabit. ❞ He's adamant, but his temper remains calm, soothed by her presence, a calming effect like no other. His fingers brush her wrist again as she cleans his hand, and he doesn't grab her, but his fingers press against her pulse, softly, two digits pressing against the soft skin of her inner wrist for a moment.

❝ He touch that which does not belong to him, my dear, I could not let him go about his life after such a transgression. ❞ He leaves the implications up in the air, his gaze heavy and warm against her, taking in her face, and something about the tension which is usually so subtle between them almost feels palpable now. His voice drops, becomes grave and yet gentle.

❝ I was watching. I know you were not in the wrong, not for a moment. ❞

[cardiosanguis]

He hums peacefully, nodding softly at her understanding, swallowing her whole with his gaze, reveling in her attention, head tilted softly to the side as he once again resists the urge to touch her, to run his hands through her hair, to hold her and steady her, to cleanse her soul of fear, of which he's seeing sparks in her eyes. Chizome shifts his weight onto his other foot, swaying back and forth. Her concern is lost on him- all he cares for is her safety.

❝ He's not going to be a problem anymore. ❞

She reaches for him, and he wants to pull away, he can't stand the idea of tarnishing her innocent beauty, the ethereal grace of her kindness, but the second her hand is on his, electricity runs through him, sparks of uncontrollable affection running down his spine and he groans, brows furrowing in an expression of unbearable fondness. She leads him inside, and he hesitates, stepping into her room with the look of a priest being torn from his altar.

❝ My dear.. ❞

It's her space. She's allowing him in her space. It does something to him, to be here. His eyes take in the room, from the inside, for once, and he memorises every detail. The faint, sweet smell, the gentle light, the clean, organised setup of everything. He pauses when his eyes land on the bed, and he has to steady himself. It suits her, somehow. Soft, gentle. He tries with all his might not to imagine her in bed. Sleeping, peaceful, at ease. He can imagine it, her cheeks tinted a gentle pink, breath slow- He shakes the idea off with a sigh, and wanders over to the chair, sitting down without a second thought.

Chizome sits, tugging off the face mask he wears, and undoing the hairband that keeps his hair up, letting the dark, messy waves tumbling to his shoulders. His eyes are outlined with dark pencil, smudged at the edges. He sighs, pocketing both scraps of fabric as he waits for his darling angel. He hasn't taken off his mask before, not around her, and yet- She's let him in, and he may not be willing to invite her to the district in town he lives in, but he can let her in like this.

The killer runs a hand through his hair, glancing around again, his gaze landing on the flowers on the desk. It brings a smile to his face, and Chizome reaches for one of the roses, a finger tracing a petal softly. They're perfect for her. Gentle, soft, lovely. He adores her, like the roses, his favourite flowers. The velvet beneath his finger is soft and pliant, and he pulls the single petal off, bringing it to his lips.

[run-muse-dot-exe]

Where was it? Downstairs, right, the last time she had to use it was when her father had come home with a gash about his leg trying to claim that the sidekick he'd put on medic duty had done a fine job cleaning it, when that had been far from the case. Eventually she'd convinced him to go to a real clinic, but that wasn't really an option for Chizome.

Was it? There was the implication that he had friends in the places he needed them-- How else could he have been taking such good care of himself while on the run? Gods forgive her, if her family knew she was using their medical supplies on a wanted serial killer...

For you, her brain couldn't help but reminding her. For what he wants from society, and for you.

This was stupid, no two ways about it. But she wasn't going to kick him out after practically dragging the man into her bedroom...

Ah.

She'd dragged a man into her bedroom.

Fuyumi couldn't let herself dwell on the implications of that, shaking her head to clear it despite the burning of her cheeks. Clutching the kit and a clean, damp cloth to her chest, she once again ascended the stairs before shouldering the bedroom door open again. And, hell, the sight that greeted her sure was not helping.

"...Um!" she manages, kicking the door closed once more. The hair about his shoulders, the petal about his lips-- Despite the ghastly state of his poor face, she couldn't help but feel as if his eyes could see straight through to her core. "I have the-- Here, I'll just--"

She doesn't ask, as she approaches, kneels before him and places the kit on the floor to rummage through it.

"Disinfectant, and-- Give me your hand," Fuyumi instructs, holding out her own, still stained with a few streaks of his victim's blood.

[cardiosanguis]

She's back before the dark twist in his guts demands that he touches something else, reaches for one of the pens in a holder on her desk, before that obscure fascination pulls him off the chair and closer to the bed. Before he starts... to look into things he has no right to look into. Chizome turns, slowly, leaving the petal on the desk, now stained red. She approaches him with a certain look he can't decipher, nothing like the fear he'd seen in her eyes earlier, if anything, it's similar to intrigue. The killer gives her a smile,watching her walk up to him, reaching to undo the knife holsters he has wrapped around either of his arms. They're officially in the way, and although he won't admit it, he's sore.

It doesn't escape his thoughts, the fact that they're alone, in her bedroom, steps away from said bed, but Akaguro is a strong man. He's withstood greater torture than this, even as his mind flashes rather unhelpful images before him, reminding him of her soft sounds, the way her back arches- She can never know. He is about to reach for her, and then she sinks down. His breath hitches, and the pang of heat in his chest is one he has to keep up there at all costs, no matter what.

❝ What are you- ❞

Kneeling. She's kneeling before him, entirely opposite to the way he feels for her, kneeling, like he's the divine being, and not her. Chizome bites back a rough groan, a strained noise coming from him as he looks down at her with a heated, desperately helpless look.

❝ What are you doing? You should never kneel before me, my angel. ❞ He mutters, coming off the chair and picking up her hand instead of giving her his own. There's blood on her. As careful as he tried to be, there's a streak of crimson along her palm. His fingers lock around her wrist scarily easy, enveloping it entirely and then some as he brings her hand to his lips, placing them on her palm, a featherlight kiss, eyes fluttering with restraint as he inhales her warm, soft scent with a shaky breath. It's tainted, sullied by the smell of blood. He has to do something about it.

His tongue runs over the blood mindlessly. It's automatic and tactical, a warm, languid slide, his tongue rough yet soft against her skin, the texture of it almost ribbed, thanks to his quirk, and somehow still gentle. It leaves her hand clean of blood as he places another kiss to her palm, moving out of the chair to kneel before her in return, still towering over her with ease. There's darkness in his eyes, but not the violent kind.

❝ I am the one who should be kneeling. You're helping me, though I deserve your help not. ❞

He places one more kiss, to her fingers, before letting go of her hand, slowly, and holding out his own, somewhat late, but obedient nonetheless, fingers uncurling as he stretches them out, observing the bruise with a small smirk.

❝ It really is nothing. It could have been worse. ❞

[cardiosanguis]

If the Gods are real, then they have sent Fuyumi into this world from the heavens, an angel to bless the world corrupted by so much evil. His own personal blessing, his beautiful angel. Chizome takes in the view of her with an immediate change in his serious expression, his eyes softening and a smile curling his lips upwards. Her eyes contain the sun and moon all at once, brighter than the stars themselves, even as they glance him up and down with that usual concern and worry. She truly is perfection, in every state of being. ❝ I'm glad. I do not mean to rattle you. ❞ That spark of worry in her makes him smile further, and he wants to reach for her, to hold her, steady her as she fusses, she comes closer and his self restraint wavers. The crimson on his hands keeps him from doing so. He cannot do it, he cannot get the dirt of such a worm on her. She's pure, white as snow, and he is bloodied and bruised. ❝ I am unharmed, my dear. ❞ He says quietly, softly, and his hands clench for a moment, resisting the urge to run up her waist, to pull her a bit closer, to prove to her he's in one piece. His hand aches, yes, the bruise dully pulsing as the injury makes its presence known, and he raises his hand for a moment, waving it in a simply gesture, tilting his head as he looks at her fondly. ❝ This? It's nothing. You should... you should see the other guy. ❞ He smirks now, trying not look too amused about his deeds. His company is delicate- and though given that she knows of his activities, he doesn't want to spook her, or worse, allow her to see the monster the media depicts him as. Not her, not his Fuyumi.

He has not bandaged up his hand yet, maybe he should have. The pain dulls and softens the longer he looks at Fuyumi, and the urge to reassure her runs through his veins like a wildfire, and it has him talking again, his tone just short of truly happy, content and soft, as it usually is when he's around her, and only her.

❝ Black hair, a third eye, his quirk, probably. Short, wearing a jacket coloured dark brown. Him, right? He won't be a bother again. You should see him, but I would prefer to spare you the sight. ❞

[run-muse-dot-exe]

"He-- You--"

Fuyumi's eyes widen as the realization slowly dawns on her. Third eye. Brown jacket. While she hadn't gotten a good look at him, those details were indeed hard to miss. So that meant...

A trickle of fear drips down her spine as it always does when her guardian's work is made so obvious. But this... this was not some layabout professional hero, or a robber. Just an entitled man who put his hands where he shouldn't. A senseless death like that should terrify her, should shatter her heart. And distantly, it does, a little, that such actions were seen as necessary...

"...But you did get hurt," she breathes, gaze still locked on his injured hand. She doesn't stop to think about the implications of her movements, just reaches out on instinct to gently hold his palm and examine the damage. Yes, there was blood, and likely not Chizome's-- "...Come here."

Gently, she guides him past the threshold of the balcony door, into her room.

"No one's home but me, since my brothers don't... tend to sleep here much anymore, and Dad is... working."

Fuyumi gestures to the chair by her desk, her expression determined.

"Wait here, I'll get a first aid kit."

[cardiosanguis]

He hums peacefully, nodding softly at her understanding, swallowing her whole with his gaze, reveling in her attention, head tilted softly to the side as he once again resists the urge to touch her, to run his hands through her hair, to hold her and steady her, to cleanse her soul of fear, of which he's seeing sparks in her eyes. Chizome shifts his weight onto his other foot, swaying back and forth. Her concern is lost on him- all he cares for is her safety.

❝ He's not going to be a problem anymore. ❞

She reaches for him, and he wants to pull away, he can't stand the idea of tarnishing her innocent beauty, the ethereal grace of her kindness, but the second her hand is on his, electricity runs through him, sparks of uncontrollable affection running down his spine and he groans, brows furrowing in an expression of unbearable fondness. She leads him inside, and he hesitates, stepping into her room with the look of a priest being torn from his altar.

❝ My dear.. ❞

It's her space. She's allowing him in her space. It does something to him, to be here. His eyes take in the room, from the inside, for once, and he memorises every detail. The faint, sweet smell, the gentle light, the clean, organised setup of everything. He pauses when his eyes land on the bed, and he has to steady himself. It suits her, somehow. Soft, gentle. He tries with all his might not to imagine her in bed. Sleeping, peaceful, at ease. He can imagine it, her cheeks tinted a gentle pink, breath slow- He shakes the idea off with a sigh, and wanders over to the chair, sitting down without a second thought.

Chizome sits, tugging off the face mask he wears, and undoing the hairband that keeps his hair up, letting the dark, messy waves tumbling to his shoulders. His eyes are outlined with dark pencil, smudged at the edges. He sighs, pocketing both scraps of fabric as he waits for his darling angel. He hasn't taken off his mask before, not around her, and yet- She's let him in, and he may not be willing to invite her to the district in town he lives in, but he can let her in like this.

The killer runs a hand through his hair, glancing around again, his gaze landing on the flowers on the desk. It brings a smile to his face, and Chizome reaches for one of the roses, a finger tracing a petal softly. They're perfect for her. Gentle, soft, lovely. He adores her, like the roses, his favourite flowers. The velvet beneath his finger is soft and pliant, and he pulls the single petal off, bringing it to his lips.

[cardiosanguis]

@run-muse-dot-exe sent [SACRIFICED] - from this meme list // always accepting

In the beginning, news reporters and media nationwide referred to Stain, the hero killer, as a vulture. Then, for a couple of weeks, the more brutal killings were compared to those of a monstrous beast, and when the killings became difficult to catch, thought out, and eerie, he became the media's favourite metaphor for a serpent. This was a choice he didn't quite understand. Animal metaphors in general usually earned his disdain, as he considered them distasteful in regards to metamorphous quirks, but just as much, Akaguro didn't quite understand why they'd label him as something slithering and slimy. He wouldn't go comparing himself to an animal, but he knew that his slippery friends in the Hassaikai considered him a bit of a guard dog, and personally, Chizome could agree with the term. He did what he did to protect. The world, from unworthy heroes, civilians from villains, in his spare time, and his rose from the likes of the man before him. A pathetic, whining excuse for a man. A man who did not know how to keep his hands to himself, one, who, if left roaming, would likely harass another woman, more women, and Chizome would not stand for it. Not when she had been a target, his dearest, his Fuyumi. She knew nothing of his growing fondness, and he would keep it that way for just a while longer. Something in him told him that with the league on the move, she'd have enough on her mind.

These thoughts drift peacefully on his mind, like he's at home, like he does not have a bleeding victim before him, trembling even as he's paralysed, struggling to speak on acount of half his teeth missing. Chizome was a swordfighter, yes, but that punch had been necessary and personal. The killer turns his attention back to his prey, squatting down, the sharp blade of his sword tipping up the man's chin, cutting into flesh as he forces his head up through the paralysis his own quirk caused. blood drips down the blade, and the man chokes on his own blood and breath, staring up at Akaguro from where he's cowering on the ground on his back. ❝ You are a pest. ❞ Stain says calmly. ❝ You are sin of the worst kind. You do not deserve mercy. Your judgement will be as harsh as my fury, do you understand ? ❞ The guy can't nod, can't even speak, but it doesn't matter. His sword rises, and Stain's eyes narrow, anger blazing in the crimson. ❝ You've touched what doesn't belong to you. Something I have sworn to protect. ❞ There's a grin curling his lips upwards. Reckoning - a very satisfying feeling.

❝ For that, you will go into the next life without your fingers. ❞ The swish of his sword is swift, and the man tries to scream, but his voice is a breathless wheeze as his fingers are cut clean off his right hand. They roll away a bit, and the slash that follows cuts the head of the worm right off his neck.

Satisfaction settles in his bones, and Chizome retracts into the night, following his usual pattern on the roofs of Musutafu towards the suburbs he so often frequents, unbeknownst to anyone. It's necessary he informs her that what happened today will not occur again, and well, part of him simply wants to see the beautiful face he's been dreaming off. By now, Akaguro has learned to bypass the alarms around her house. He knows which room is hers, and it has a very convenient balcony. It's small, but it's big enough to be a landing pad. He's silent in his jumps and climbs, and he makes sure she is alone before he pulls himself onto the balcony. The sound of his knuckles against the glass is dull, and he realises now that his hand hurts. The punch he'dm thrown had been one of full force, and the result is a blooming, blue bruise covering all four of his lower knuckles. He waits for her to approach, much like, indeed, a dog, and wipes at least some of the blood off his face, thought his endeavors will be obvious given the blood on his hands. The door slides open, and Chizome gives a slow bow.

❝ Good evening. I hope I haven't scared you or chosen a bad time. ❞

[run-muse-dot-exe]

It had been a rough night.

Not uncommon, but still bad. If she didn't still hold social expectation in such high regard, Fuyumi might have written the habit of going out with her coworkers after the school day off entirely. While they had been sympathetic to her distress, there had very much been the expected attitude of well, these things happen.

Again, it was far from the first time. She was well aware of how she was perceived by others. By men. She was well aware that complaining openly about such aggressive advances would either get her called attention seeking, or worse, would send her loved ones on a rampage.

Stupidly, foolishly, even after she had shoved the man off, even once she'd managed to loosen his grip on her clothes, she had prayed her guardian would appear. She was well aware of his usual watch over her, and maybe, maybe, this had just been the one night he was... preoccupied. She wasn't his only priority, after all, sick as the thought of his usual escapades tended to make her. Even as she leaned on her friends for comfort, the urge to find him, or even the urge to call her father was strong. Silly. She was a grown woman, she didn't need reassurances that all was right with the world like she was still a crying child.

So, Fuyumi had dragged herself home earlier than usual. Looked over her shoulder more than was normal as of late, that sense of safety her guardian provided now dissipated. Should she tell her father...? No, he'd blow it out of proportion, and there would be a risk that their fragile, tentative peace would be shattered. But oh, as she prepared to fold herself into her sheets, how she wished...

That there would be a rap at her balcony door.

It causes her heart to leap into her throat, sitting bolt-upright from her futon. Eyes wide, she can see a shadowed figure past the moonlight, as she stands to creep over and slide the door open.

"..."

He was here. Right in front of her. Fuyumi's heart rabbits away in her ears, now hyperaware of his presence mere feet away from-- from the drawer with those letters and gifts. From the vase the recent bouquet sat within.

"...Not... Not a bad time, no, are--"

It should be expected, given what the man was known for, but he carried a distinct scent of blood. Her slate eyes scan his form, landing on his hand and causing her to release a small, concerned sound involuntarily.

"Y-you-- Are you alright? Are you hurt--?" she manages, shortening the space between them by taking a step towards him through that door.

[cardiosanguis]

If the Gods are real, then they have sent Fuyumi into this world from the heavens, an angel to bless the world corrupted by so much evil. His own personal blessing, his beautiful angel. Chizome takes in the view of her with an immediate change in his serious expression, his eyes softening and a smile curling his lips upwards. Her eyes contain the sun and moon all at once, brighter than the stars themselves, even as they glance him up and down with that usual concern and worry. She truly is perfection, in every state of being. ❝ I'm glad. I do not mean to rattle you. ❞ That spark of worry in her makes him smile further, and he wants to reach for her, to hold her, steady her as she fusses, she comes closer and his self restraint wavers. The crimson on his hands keeps him from doing so. He cannot do it, he cannot get the dirt of such a worm on her. She's pure, white as snow, and he is bloodied and bruised. ❝ I am unharmed, my dear. ❞ He says quietly, softly, and his hands clench for a moment, resisting the urge to run up her waist, to pull her a bit closer, to prove to her he's in one piece. His hand aches, yes, the bruise dully pulsing as the injury makes its presence known, and he raises his hand for a moment, waving it in a simply gesture, tilting his head as he looks at her fondly. ❝ This? It's nothing. You should... you should see the other guy. ❞ He smirks now, trying not look too amused about his deeds. His company is delicate- and though given that she knows of his activities, he doesn't want to spook her, or worse, allow her to see the monster the media depicts him as. Not her, not his Fuyumi.

He has not bandaged up his hand yet, maybe he should have. The pain dulls and softens the longer he looks at Fuyumi, and the urge to reassure her runs through his veins like a wildfire, and it has him talking again, his tone just short of truly happy, content and soft, as it usually is when he's around her, and only her.

❝ Black hair, a third eye, his quirk, probably. Short, wearing a jacket coloured dark brown. Him, right? He won't be a bother again. You should see him, but I would prefer to spare you the sight. ❞

[cardiosanguis]

@run-muse-dot-exe sent [SACRIFICED] - from this meme list // always accepting

In the beginning, news reporters and media nationwide referred to Stain, the hero killer, as a vulture. Then, for a couple of weeks, the more brutal killings were compared to those of a monstrous beast, and when the killings became difficult to catch, thought out, and eerie, he became the media's favourite metaphor for a serpent. This was a choice he didn't quite understand. Animal metaphors in general usually earned his disdain, as he considered them distasteful in regards to metamorphous quirks, but just as much, Akaguro didn't quite understand why they'd label him as something slithering and slimy. He wouldn't go comparing himself to an animal, but he knew that his slippery friends in the Hassaikai considered him a bit of a guard dog, and personally, Chizome could agree with the term. He did what he did to protect. The world, from unworthy heroes, civilians from villains, in his spare time, and his rose from the likes of the man before him. A pathetic, whining excuse for a man. A man who did not know how to keep his hands to himself, one, who, if left roaming, would likely harass another woman, more women, and Chizome would not stand for it. Not when she had been a target, his dearest, his Fuyumi. She knew nothing of his growing fondness, and he would keep it that way for just a while longer. Something in him told him that with the league on the move, she'd have enough on her mind.

These thoughts drift peacefully on his mind, like he's at home, like he does not have a bleeding victim before him, trembling even as he's paralysed, struggling to speak on acount of half his teeth missing. Chizome was a swordfighter, yes, but that punch had been necessary and personal. The killer turns his attention back to his prey, squatting down, the sharp blade of his sword tipping up the man's chin, cutting into flesh as he forces his head up through the paralysis his own quirk caused. blood drips down the blade, and the man chokes on his own blood and breath, staring up at Akaguro from where he's cowering on the ground on his back. ❝ You are a pest. ❞ Stain says calmly. ❝ You are sin of the worst kind. You do not deserve mercy. Your judgement will be as harsh as my fury, do you understand ? ❞ The guy can't nod, can't even speak, but it doesn't matter. His sword rises, and Stain's eyes narrow, anger blazing in the crimson. ❝ You've touched what doesn't belong to you. Something I have sworn to protect. ❞ There's a grin curling his lips upwards. Reckoning - a very satisfying feeling.

❝ For that, you will go into the next life without your fingers. ❞ The swish of his sword is swift, and the man tries to scream, but his voice is a breathless wheeze as his fingers are cut clean off his right hand. They roll away a bit, and the slash that follows cuts the head of the worm right off his neck.

Satisfaction settles in his bones, and Chizome retracts into the night, following his usual pattern on the roofs of Musutafu towards the suburbs he so often frequents, unbeknownst to anyone. It's necessary he informs her that what happened today will not occur again, and well, part of him simply wants to see the beautiful face he's been dreaming off. By now, Akaguro has learned to bypass the alarms around her house. He knows which room is hers, and it has a very convenient balcony. It's small, but it's big enough to be a landing pad. He's silent in his jumps and climbs, and he makes sure she is alone before he pulls himself onto the balcony. The sound of his knuckles against the glass is dull, and he realises now that his hand hurts. The punch he'dm thrown had been one of full force, and the result is a blooming, blue bruise covering all four of his lower knuckles. He waits for her to approach, much like, indeed, a dog, and wipes at least some of the blood off his face, thought his endeavors will be obvious given the blood on his hands. The door slides open, and Chizome gives a slow bow.

❝ Good evening. I hope I haven't scared you or chosen a bad time. ❞

[leneemusing]

 SOME MORE SMUTTY MEMES 

[ SIT ]  for one muse to finger the other who sits in their lap fully clothed,  keeping an arm around their waist to make them stay still. 

[ RISK ]  for one muse to drive and finger the other who is in the passenger seat. 

[ DISTRACT ]  for one muse to drive while the other gives them head/fingers them. 

[ WATCH ]  for muses to cuddle on a couch while watching tv and one of them begins to finger the other but stops every time they make too much noise. 

[ SUBTLE ]  our muses are cuddling,  sender begins to feel up receiver and tease them. 

[ STILL ]  our muses are cuddling,  receiver begins to feel up sender and tease them. 

[ GUIDE ]  while one muse is riding the other,  the one being ridden takes hold of the one on top’s hips to control their movements. 

[ CLOSE ]  our muses have sex in lotus position,  clinging to each other desperately.  

[ GAZE ]  our muses are having sex in missionary and the one on the bottom tells them to slow down so they can just look at them for a few moments. 

[ DELAY ]  one muse is trying to get ready to go somewhere while the other keeps kissing them and unbutton/unzipping their clothes. 

[ CAREFUL ]  one muse is recovering from minor injuries,  so the other takes charge and makes them stay still while they have slow,  sensual sex. 

[ REVERENT ]  one or both muses have been pining for a while,  sender body worships receiver by kissing all over their body and giving them oral. 

[ GRATIFICATION ]  one or both muses have been pining for a while,  receiver body worships sender by kissing all over their body and giving them oral. 

[ MESS ]  our muses are supposed to be cleaning up in the shower after sex,  but sender starts to finger receiver. 

[ RESTART ]  our muses are supposed to be cleaning up in the shower after sex,  but receiver starts to finger sender. 

[ CLEANSE ]  our muses have sex in the bathtub. 

[ TENSION ]  one muse is patching up the other’s injuries which leads to intense eye contact,  lingering touches and them finally crashing their lips against each other’s. 

[ DISCUSSION ]  for our muses to talk about kinks and figure out their boundaries together. 

[ APPROACHED ]  our muses haven’t been intimate yet and sender finally broaches the subject to receiver  (  feel free to add dialogue or actions  ) 

[ APPROACH ]  our muses haven’t been intimate yet and receiver finally broaches the subject to sender. 

[ SUGGESTIVE ]  our muses are hanging out and end up on the topic of turn ons,  kinks,  and what they’re attracted to. 

[ GROUND RULES ]  for our muses to discuss boundaries before trying something new in bed. 

[ OBSERVE ]  for sender to show receiver where and how they want to be touched. 

[ DEMONSTRATE ]  for receiver to show sender where and how they want to be touched.

[ LINE ]  our muses are supposed to only be pretending to be together for a mission or fake dating,  but they keep going and neither one of them is stopping which leads to them hiding away to have sex.  

[ DEBATE ]  our muses are arguing because sender is worried and overprotective of receiver,  but when they get up in each other’s faces they end kissing and groping at each other. 

[ CLAIM ]  our muses are arguing because receiver is worried and overprotective of sender,  but when they get up in each other’s faces they end up kissing and groping at each other. 

[ SENSUAL ]  for sender to slowly undress receiver,  caressing and kissing every part of them they expose. 

[ GRADUAL ]  for receiver to slowly undress sender,  caressing and kissing every part of them they expose. 

[ SERVICE ]  our muses just showered together,  sender dries off receiver with a towel and kisses each part of them they dry as they go. 

[ CARESS ]  our muses just showered together,  receiver dries off sender with a towel and kisses each part of them they dry as they go. 

COMMUNICATION

❝  well,  honestly i’ve never really had sex before and was kinda hoping you would teach me.  ❞

❝  i’ve never tried that before.  but i want to,  can we just take it slow?  ❞

❝  don’t be nervous,  i’ll guide you through it.  ❞

❝  just because i’ve never actually fucked someone doesn’t mean i don’t know what i like.  we have toys for a reason.  ❞

❝  show me what you like.  ❞

❝  can we take a break?  i’m enjoying this i just need a moment.  ❞

❝  can i be on top this time?  ❞

❝  can i be on bottom this time?  ❞

❝  just relax,  lie still and let me take care of you.  ❞

❝  do you think we could try pegging?  i’ve always been kinda curious.  ❞

❝  you can blindfold me but i want my hands free if we do that.  ❞

❝  let me know if the ropes are too tight,  okay?  ❞

❝  i think i’m ready.  if you are too,  i wanna have sex.  ❞

❝  listen,  i’ve wanted to get you in bed since you first smiled at me.  but we don’t have to do this unless you’re sure.   ❞

❝  i’m ready,  but we should set some ground rules first.  ❞

❝  can you use your mouth again?  i really liked that.  ❞

❝  do you like how this feels?  ❞

❝  yes,  i like this.  can you just—  please keep doing that.  ❞

❝  i don’t want to be touched this time,  i just want to focus on you right now.  ❞

❝  i prefer to do the giving if that’s okay?  ❞

❝  i like receiving but,  if you want me to do something i will.  i want you to feel good too.  ❞

❝  you can go harder.  i’m okay,  i want you to.  ❞

❝  i don’t want to have to think or have control.  just,  do what you want with me.  if something is too much i’ll let you know.  trust me.  ❞

❝  do you need me to slow down?  ❞

❝  what can i do to make you more comfortable?  ❞

❝  i know this is really vulnerable for you,  so we can take this as slow as you need.  you’re in control here okay?  ❞

❝  can you just kiss me for a little bit first?  ❞