Coz

Twenty Two || 09/22 || They/It/He

[coz-for-concern]

Subtle Sweetness

I don't really celebrate Valentine's Day, but it gives me an excuse to write about some of my favorite ships, ergo, BOOM KUROKIYO. They're really underrated IMO, and nobody fucks with them as hard as I do sooo :)

Warnings?: None? Idk, they're gay, your honor

February 14th had always been just another day for Jin Kiyora, a fleeting moment in the calendar that held little significance for him. While the streets buzzed with excited chatter from girls weighing their options for the perfect chocolates and experimenting with countless hairstyles, Kiyora remained unfazed, immersed in his own world. 

To him, the day was a mere backdrop to his thoughts about soccer practice, the thrill of the game, and the tactical discussions lingering in his mind. He was more preoccupied with the precise time practice would commence and where he would position himself on the borderline, determined to give his all in the sport he loved. 

Upon entering Blue Lock, it was different. Gone were the lively chatter and laughter of girls gossiping about their crushes; instead, an almost eerie silence enveloped the space like a thick fog. The stillness was profound, invading his thoughts and leaving him feeling somewhat adrift. He couldn’t quite discern whether he appreciated the quiet or not. 

Perhaps the familiar chaos of Valentine’s Day, with its relentless stream of social interactions and expectations, had woven itself into the fabric of his daily life, leaving him craving the very noise that now seemed absent. He’d encountered boys around his age, reminiscing about Valentines at their schools from before they came to Blue Lock. 

But Kiyora couldn’t share their woeful sighs and dramatized agony for the sole reason that he didn’t care. At least not as much as they did. While other boys huddled at tables, talking about the pretty girls who’d given them all Valentines’ chocolates the previous year, Kiyora sat on his own, picking at his lunch. 

As the dramatic complaints continued to permeate the air within Blue Lock, Kiyora found his thoughts drifting back to the soccer field - his true sanctuary. The weight of the Valentine's Day atmosphere seemed to lift as he envisioned the rush of adrenaline that accompanied each match, the camaraderie of his teammates, and the pure exhilaration of scoring a goal. 

He glanced around the cafeteria, taking in the melancholic expressions on his fellow players’ faces. Their longing for the normalcy of school life and the traditions associated with Valentine's Day struck him as somewhat foreign. In his mind, the pursuit of becoming the world's best striker far outweighed any desire for romantic gestures or social validation.

Fork hanging from between his lips, Kiyora’s eyes followed one of his teammates, watching him closely as he scanned the cafeteria. Curiosity plagued Kiyora as he thinned his eyes out into a slight glare, watching them. Kiyora's curiosity only grew as he continued to watch them. 

Part of him wanted to approach his teammate and ask what had caught his attention, but another part hesitated. Engaging in such trivial matters felt beneath him. He was impartial to such things; it was pointless if it didn’t benefit him. 

Kiyora’s boredom settled over him like a heavy fog. He absentmindedly poked at the few remnants of food on his nearly empty tray, his gaze drifting as he contemplated the unappetizing meal.

The sound of a chair scraping against the tiled floor broke through his reverie, pulling his attention away from the mundane. With a slow, languid movement, Kiyora lifted his head, his expression one of indifference mixed with mild curiosity, as he awaited the arrival of whoever had disturbed his solitude.

“Sit? Here, here?” Ranze Kurona questioned as if he hadn’t already settled into the chair across from Kiyora. The gleam of the overhead light caught the glint in Ranze’s eyes, making his eagerness shine even brighter. Kiyora blinked slowly, his bored demeanor unchanged as he assessed the animated figure before him.

 The corners of his mouth barely twitched, betraying little of his thoughts as he lifted the shiny fork from his plate. With a soft clink, he placed it back on the tray, the sound momentarily breaking the thick tension in the air between them.

"Kay," he replied flatly, his voice lacking warmth or enthusiasm. Kiyora lazily propped his head against his palm, the weight of indifference hanging heavily in the air. "What do you want, Kurona?" he asked, his tone betraying a certain weariness. 

Kurona shifted nervously under Kiyora's unfazed gaze, a faint blush creeping across his cheeks as he felt the intensity of attention. Taking a deep breath to steady himself, he cleared his throat, attempting to find the right words to bridge the gap between them.

“Want to train…with you, with you,” Kurona commented, fingers drumming slightly against the cafeteria tables. Kiyora arched an eyebrow slightly at Kurona's suggestion, his expression still largely impassive. He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest as he considered the proposal. 

"Train together? Huh." Kiyora's voice wavered with uncertainty, his brow furrowing slightly as he spoke. He pulled the collar of his Blue Lock sweatshirt closer to his face as if seeking refuge in its familiar fabric.

"Why would you want to do that, Kurona? You’ve never actually seen me play before... It’s not like you have any idea what my skill level is." The hesitance in his words hung in the air, a mix of curiosity and doubt etched across his features.

“There’s more to you than your skill,” Kurona commented. The compliment lingered like the scent of blooming flowers on a gentle breeze, catching Kiyora off guard. He felt heat flood to his cheeks, creeping up the back of his neck as if the warmth of a summer sun had suddenly descended upon him. Desperate to shield himself from the intensity of Kurona’s gaze, he quickly averted his eyes, striving to conceal the profound effect those words had on him.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Kiyora muttered, his voice low and gravelly, betraying the fluster rising within him. He nervously toyed with the frayed hem of his Blue Lock sweatshirt, feeling the fabric rub against his fingers as he attempted to ground himself. A strange warmth spread through him, at odds with the chill that lingered in the bustling cafeteria's air, where laughter and chatter echoed around him.

A heavy silence hung between them, thick enough to feel. Then, as if breaking an unspoken barrier, Kurona’s hand gently settled on top of Kiyora’s, which lay motionless on the worn surface of the cafeteria table. The warmth of Kurona’s touch surged through him like a spark, sending electrifying jolts racing up Kiyora’s arm and causing his fingers to twitch involuntarily, like a marionette responding to the tug of its strings.

“Just…I see you…not your skill, skill…” Kurona admitted shyly, lifting a hand to fiddle with the braid in his hair. Kiyora's breath hitched almost imperceptibly at Kurona's tender admission, his dark eyes widening a fraction. The simple act of Kurona fiddling with his braid, a gesture so achingly endearing, sent Kiyora's heart racing in a way no game ever had. 

"I... I don't know what to say," Kiyora murmured, his usually confident demeanor cracking to reveal the vulnerable young man beneath. His tongue darted out to wet his suddenly dry lips, drawing Kurona's gaze like a magnet. 

Kiyora's hand, still trapped beneath Kurona's, twitched again, this time curling slightly to anchor itself to that lifeline of connection. The air between them fairly crackled with tension, heavy with unspoken possibilities. "Why me, Kurona?"

Kurona smiled faintly, pulling his hand back briefly before snaking it to interlock fingers with Kiyora’s, giving it a soft squeeze. As Kurona's fingers intertwined with Kiyora's, the simple gesture was somehow more intimate than any kiss. He brought their joined hands up, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to Kiyora's knuckles, his eyes never leaving Kiyora's face. 

“Why not? Why not?” The simple words made Kiyora’s heart jump to his throat; a shiver ran down his spine at the implication. Kurona's warm and inviting eyes held his gaze steadily, filled with a quiet confidence that belied the shyness of his earlier admission.

Kurona's thumb traced lazy patterns on the back of Kiyora's hand as he spoke, his voice low and intimate. As Kurona pulled his hand away, he reached onto his lap, placing a small container onto the table before pushing it towards Kiyora. 

“What’s this?” Kiyora questioned, raising his brow and reaching out to pull the container closer to open it. Inside sat messily made candies…Kiyora’s favorite candies…grape candies. Kurona watched intently as Kiyora opened the container, a hopeful smile playing at the corners of his mouth. He leaned forward slightly, his eyes sparkling with anticipation.

“Sticky…Sticky,” Kurona hummed, clapping his hands together slightly as if to show that his hands were still barely sticking together. “But…your favorite…right, right?” Kiyora's eyes widened slightly as he recognized the contents of the container, a flicker of surprise and pleasure crossing his usually stoic features. He reached in, plucking out one of the sticky, misshapen candies and holding it up to examine it more closely. 

"You made these... for me?" Kiyora's voice was soft, almost disbelieving. He popped the candy into his mouth, his eyes fluttering closed briefly as the familiar, beloved taste exploded on his tongue. When he opened them again, they shone with a warmth that had nothing to do with the sweet treat. 

"Kurona, these are... thank you." The words were simple, but they carried a wealth of emotion. Kiyora set the container aside, then reached out to retake Kurona's hand, interlacing their fingers tightly. Kurona's heart swelled with joy at Kiyora's heartfelt thanks, his fingers tightening around Kiyora's hand in return.

“Happy Valentine's Day…Jin…” The words were soft from Kurona’s lips, only audible to Kiyora’s ears, but they made his heart soar. Kiyora's breath caught in his throat at Kurona's softly spoken words, a wave of warmth flooding through him that had nothing to do with the lingering sweetness of the candy. His grip on Kurona's hand tightened reflexively as if afraid the moment might slip away like sand through his fingers.

“Happy….Valentines day…Ranze” 

[coz-for-concern]

Wilted Roses

Michael Kaiser & Alexis Ness; A little bit different, but I saw a tweet talking about Ness's hair looking like a wilted rose and got inspired (plus I LOVE Blue Lock)

Warnings?: Michael Kaiser, Slight BLLK chapter 288 spoilers :D

Flowers were such fickle things; they required water, but never too much, and sunlight, but it couldn’t be too direct. One misstep in their care—a moment too much or too little—and they would succumb to wilting, their vibrant colors fading into a dull, lifeless whisper. This delicate choreography of demands was precisely why he loathed tending to them.

But watching them bloom was nothing short of enchanting. It was perhaps the singular thing he truly cherished about flowers. He adored witnessing the delicate petals unfurl, revealing a symphony of vibrant colors that danced in the sunlight. 

Each blossom exuded a sweet, intoxicating fragrance that seemed to wrap around him like a warm embrace. In his eyes, there was no other reason to love flowers; they embodied a captivating magic that transformed the ordinary into the extraordinary.

Roses were his absolute favorite, enchanting him with their dazzling array of colors, each hue whispering myriad meanings. To Alexis Ness, roses were far more than mere flowers; they were a profound symbol of beauty and resilience wrapped in delicate petals yet veiled by their menacing thorns. 

Ness adored them above any other flower he’d seen, willing to endure any sting if it meant he could witness the spectacular transformation of those buds as they unfurled into vibrant shades that burst forth like fireworks against the bleak, magicless tapestry of the world he inhabited. 

Each bloom was a celebration, a vivid contrast to the monochrome existence surrounding him. It filled his heart with hope that flickered even in the darkest corners of his life. He yearned to see more of the magic in life, the same magic that roses granted him. 

Each time Ness mustered the courage to share his dreams, he was met with a torrent of ridicule as insults rained down upon him like stones. His mind was a vibrant tapestry woven with threads of magic, filled with enchanting tales of wizards casting spells and fairies dancing in moonlit glades—visions that existed solely within the depths of his imagination. 

His brother and sister, oblivious to the wonders that captivated him, would mock him relentlessly, their laughter echoing in his ears as they dismissed his beliefs as mere childish fantasies, leaving him feeling more isolated in his whimsical world.

Was it so strange to harbor dreams that felt like vibrant constellations in the night sky? Perhaps he was misplaced, a solitary star adrift in a family of pragmatic scientists whose minds were anchored in reason and empirical evidence. They rarely acknowledged the allure of magic, the enchanting possibilities that danced just beyond the veil of the ordinary. 

In quiet moments, he wrestled with doubt, questioning whether the fault lay within him. Would it truly be so painful to reshape himself, to don the cloak of conformity and mold his essence to meet their expectations? Heavy like unspoken words, the thought lingered as he contemplated the cost of surrendering his dreams.

Ness yearned to uncover the magic that dwelled within the world around him, the same enchantment he perceived in the vibrant blooms of flowers swaying gently in the breeze. The memory of his first encounter with true magic had grown faint over time, but it resurged vividly when he turned eight years old and stumbled upon the exhilarating game of soccer. 

The moment Ness felt the cool, textured surface of the ball beneath his foot and propelled it forward with a well-aimed kick, a rush of freedom surged through him. It was as if he had unlocked a secret sanctuary, a hidden realm where he could momentarily escape the weight of his family's ridicule and sharp-tongued insults. 

The soccer field transformed into a magical oasis, where each goal represented a point scored and a triumph over the suffocating shadows of disapproval. In that space, surrounded by the joyous laughter of friends and the thrill of the game, Ness discovered a boundless joy that enveloped him like a warm embrace, filling him with hope and a sense of belonging. Soccer, to him, was pure magic.

His deep-rooted desire to defy his parents' expectations became the fiery fuel driving his every move. Ness longed more than anything to silence their doubts and show that he wasn’t foolish for believing in the existence of magic.

To him, soccer represented the first crucial step on his journey to self-validation. With every kick of the ball and every sprint across the field, he poured his heart and soul into the game, channeling his passion and determination into each moment.

Bastard München marked his second pivotal step on a journey filled with longing and anticipation. Within the chaotic disarray of the soccer pitch, Ness first laid eyes on the mesmerizing blue rose, a symbol of the magic he had yearned to witness for what felt like an eternity. 

This enchanting bloom represented more than just beauty; it embodied his desire to nurture, safeguard, and witness the flourishing of something extraordinary. As he gazed upon it, the rose took on a new form—one that captured his heart and imagination—manifesting itself in the captivating figure of Michael Kaiser.

In Michael Kaiser, Ness saw every ounce of magic he’d been searching for. He craved it; he wanted to see everything, to make Kaiser the greatest the world had ever seen, and to share the magic Kaiser had with the rest of the world. Maybe then…then his family would believe in such things as magic. 

Ness immersed himself entirely in the pursuit of elevating Kaiser to unprecedented heights. He meticulously fine-tuned every aspect of Kaiser’s training and performance with unwavering dedication, orchestrating a relentless regimen that left little room for anything else.

Day after day, Ness relinquished his own dreams and passions, pouring every ounce of his energy into nurturing Kaiser’s burgeoning talent on the field. The vibrant hues of Ness's own aspirations dulled as he dedicated himself entirely to the pursuit of Kaiser’s greatness, becoming a silent guardian in the background, sacrificing his identity to uplift another.

Each decision he made echoed with a singular focus: achieving glory for Kaiser. In that pursuit, Ness found the flames of his identity flickering dangerously low, fading into the background of his unwavering devotion. It no longer mattered to him whether he existed in the spotlight; his sense of self was wholly eclipsed by the brilliance he yearned to ignite in Kaiser.

It felt like pure bliss, enveloping Ness in a warmth that transcended the boundaries of the pitch. Being with Kaiser, both in the heat of competition and in moments of quiet companionship, was nothing short of a dream come true. It was as if he could call Kaiser his own—a cherished treasure. 

In his mind, Kaiser transformed into a radiant rose, tenderly nurtured by Ness's unwavering care. Each day, he watched in awe as this rose unfurled its delicate petals, a symbol of growth and beauty that filled Ness with an unparalleled sense of pride. He sat there steadfast, watering the rose of Kaiser with love and dedication, basking in the sunlight of their shared moments, knowing that his efforts were finally bearing fruit.

Or he thought they were. Ness didn’t know where his mistakes came from; he was usually so perfect getting the ball to Kaiser. Yet, as his plays began to grow increasingly predictable, the precision of his passes faltered. Ness could feel the weight of the moment bearing down on him, his chest rising and falling with each anxious breath as he listened intently to the unmistakable scuff of the turf beneath Kaiser’s cleats, the sound echoing like a drumbeat as the striker approached Ness.

Ness felt a twinge of anticipation as he glanced at Kaiser, half-expecting him to wave away his concerns with a reassuring smile, to confidently declare that it was just a minor setback and that the next chance at glory would undoubtedly come their way. 

At that moment, Ness craved that certainty from Kaiser more than anyone else—above teammates, coaches, and even his own inner doubts. As long as Kaiser offered him that solid promise of assurance, a conviction that they would rise together from this fleeting disappointment, then Ness would find a way to steady his own faltering spirit.

“Hey, Ness?” Kaiser’s voice flowed into Ness’s ears like a melodious symphony, each note infused with the promise of reassurance he so desperately craved. At that moment, hope flickered to life within him—everything felt as though it were on the brink of perfect resolution. Kaiser was about to unveil a meticulously crafted plan, one that only the two of them could execute with precision and flair. But then, the unexpected fell upon Ness like a sudden storm, “Give up on soccer.” 

The words enveloped Ness's mind like a thick fog, suffocating him. Kaiser couldn’t possibly be serious, could he? Ness desperately clung to that hope, yet the pure disgust etched on Kaiser’s face as he glared down at him spoke volumes. In that piercing gaze, Ness felt the weight of his worthlessness—reduced to nothing more than a mere pawn meant for Kaiser’s game.

 If he couldn’t even fulfill that singular purpose, what was the point of his existence on the field? The thought gnawed at him, a gnawing void where his sense of value used to be. Maybe Kaiser was right, maybe it was time for Ness to hang up his jersey and just, forget magic existed. 

Ness had held the delicate bud for what felt like an eternity, nurturing it with care until it transformed into the striking bloom that was Kaiser. In that moment, he almost forgot how unpredictable flowers could be—how they could thrive one day and wilt the next. 

 It was then that he noticed the vivid blue rose once more, beneath Kaiser’s feet as he walked away from Ness, its petals unfurling gracefully in the soft light. The rose had been a constant companion, steadfast and unwavering, much like a loyal dog devoted to its master, lingering faithfully at Kaiser’s side.

Ness had nearly lost sight of an important lesson: when flowers are planted too closely together, only a single bloom can truly thrive. In their desperate struggle for survival, one flower would seize the nutrients, overshadowing its neighbors and leaving them to wither away.

 In this garden of life, the strongest emerged victorious, basking in the sunlight while the weaker, choked by the competition, succumbed to the shadows. This was a stark reminder of nature’s harsh decree—a poignant dance of resilience and fragility in which only the most robust flourished and the delicate faded into obscurity.

Ness was a wilting rose, fragile and weary, standing in the shadow of someone far more formidable. He had chosen to place himself next to this towering figure, drawn in by their strength and confidence. Now, however, he found himself grappling with the consequences of his own naivety, feeling the weight of his misguided choices pressing heavily upon him.

While Kaiser got to bloom, Ness was left behind, a stepping stone, a pawn…Someone used to do nothing but provide Kaiser with ‘nutrients’ to grow, all because Ness craved to see magic. 

His parents were right, his brother and sister were both right, everyone was right. Ness was an utter moron for believing in something as stupid as magic. 

Now, he had to live forgotten, curshed under Kaiser's feet, as a wilted rose...

Shout out Mitski for getting me through this one, I hate Michael Kaiser and spent a good 30 minutes staring at a picture of him to insult him before I kept writing.

[coz-for-concern]

Bones And All

Nozomu Kirihara X GN! Reader (Use of They/Them prns!). || Pre-established relationship.

Warnings? Slow Damage itself is an 18+ media. This writing briefly mentions blood as the reader has Hematophagia. Beyond that, there's a mention of Near Death at one point. Certain parts of the writing are suggestive with the wording, but nothing explicit happens. Don't like it? Then don't read!

Another night, today, was just another night where his sorrows became drowned in the sensation of pain and agony caused by the people at his workplace. Really, it was only one of his coworkers who assumed Nozomu Kirihara was someone pathetic by the [Name] of Mizuno. 

He had come to revel in the anguish, allowing it to sweep over him like a numbing tide, drowning out the echoes of his darker thoughts. It was as if the agony had woven itself into the fabric of his being, granting him a perverse sense of bliss as he surrendered fully to the suffering. 

The day's indignities mingled with dark satisfaction in those moments, transforming his anguish into something he could almost control. The night was a sanctuary for him, a time to wallow in his bitterness and find a twisted form of peace amidst the chaos of his emotional turmoil.

Kirihara’s legs flared in pain with every step he took, but it didn’t matter to him. The only thing on his mind was getting to his partner's home to envelope them in a haphazard attempt at affection deemed ‘normal’ by the rest of society.

Would [Name] even be home? Were they in Shinkoumi tonight? Or were they perhaps over the water? Back on the mainland to handle whatever they had to do there. Kirihara didn’t know for sure, and their schedule was too erratic for him to keep track of when they were in Shinkoumi.

As Kirihara limped up the stairs to their apartment, each step sending jolts of pain through his battered legs, he couldn't help but smile wryly. The throbbing ache was a small price to pay for the twisted comfort it brought him.

He reached the door and fumbled with his key, hands shaking slightly from exhaustion and anticipation. Finally, he managed to unlock it and stepped inside the dimly lit room. 

“[Name]?” Kirihara called out, his voice hoarse. “Are you here?” his voice carried through the apartment hall, raising his brow. Looking down at his feet…no, they were home, their shoes were thrown lazily on the mat, and they were somewhere in the apartment. “[Name]?” Kirihara called out again, removing his boots and placing them neatly beside [Name]'s. 

His feet struck the weathered wooden floor with a rhythmic thump, echoing in the nearly silent space as he ventured deeper into the dimly lit apartment.

Shadows danced along the walls, creating fleeting shapes that seemed to mock his search. Peering into the sparse rooms, he scanned every corner with growing urgency, his heart pounding with a mixture of anxiety and hope. 

Each vacant space he encountered only deepened his sense of dread. Where could [Name] possibly be hiding? They’d never go out this late; they knew better than to do that; even if they knew the streets well enough, they weren’t that moronic to attempt walking the streets alone this late. 

As Nozomu approached [Name]'s bedroom, he noticed faint trickles of light from the crack in the door, allowing him to relax slightly. He pushed the door open and stared at [Name], who sat on their chair, knees pulled tightly against their chest, staring at the computer monitor in front of them. 

Kirihara walked closer, staring at the wadded-up pieces of toilet paper, each stained with blood as [Name]'s fingers sat buried in their mouth, teeth sinking into the soft flesh, lips smeared that beautiful crimson as they gnawed at flesh. In front of them sat something that Kirihara presumed to be something related to schooling.

Honestly, this was just another day in [Name]'s apartment; Kirihara remembered when they first told him about their woes, the insatiable need and desire to consume blood, whether it be their own or that of someone else. [Name] didn’t care as long as they got to taste the iron-laced liquid. 

A particular step creaked the floor in [Name]'s bedroom. [Name]'s eyes flickered to meet Kirihara's gaze, a manic glint dancing within their striking irises.

A thin trail of blood trickled from the corner of their mouth, stark against their skin. They made no move to wipe it away, made no bother to remove their bleeding fingers from their mouth as they watched Kirihara. 

With deliberate movements, they uncurled themselves from the chair with fluid grace, rising to their feet. The movement caused more blood to drip from their chins, splattering onto the already-stained carpet. [Name] paid it no mind, taking a step towards Kirihara.

“Is this what you did all day?” Kirihara questioned, looking at [Name], watching how their throat bobbed with every swallow of their blood. He knew the answer; no doubt they’d spent the hours when Kirihara was at work doing this, gnawing at their fingers, hands, and any flesh on their body they could access, chewing at it until it bled, then drinking up the remains. 

[Name] slowly removed their fingers from their mouth, a string of saliva mixed with blood connecting their lips to their digits briefly before breaking.

They tilted their head toward Kirihara with an unsettling intensity. After a few moments, [Name]'s lips curled into a twisted smirk at Kirihara's question, revealing teeth stained pink with blood before [Name]’s mouth opened to speak.

“I missed you, that was all…” If it were any other situation, Kirihara would be enthralled to hear the words; anyone would be hearing that their partner missed them while they were away at work. But Kirihara and [Name] didn’t have a normal relationship. 

No, after Kirihara mentioned that he accepted [Name]’s odd desire to consume blood, he’d become a walking blood bag for them. Too many times had he been beaten bloody just for them to drink up his blood and tears. It was just how the two of them showed love and adoration for one another, drowning in blood and agonizing pain. 

“That was all? Do you really expect me to believe that was it?” Kirihara questioned, crossing his arms over his chest as he stared down [Name]. Kirihara knew better than to trust [Name]’s words. No matter how sickeningly sweet they spoke, something was always hidden just below the surface. 

Like veins of gold concealed beneath countless layers of sediment, [Name]’s words often concealed a shadowy significance waiting to be uncovered. It was never a matter of intellect to grasp this; Kirihara, with his straightforward yet perceptive nature, understood that depth was beneath [Name]’s seemingly casual remarks.

[Name] shrugged, walking closer to Kirihara, placing one of his bloodied hands on Kirihara’s work shirt, staining the fabric rouge as they balled up the fabric, wrinkling the once pristine shirt.

[Name]'s eyes gleamed with sadistic delight as they watched the crimson stain spread across Kirihara's previously spotless shirt. Their grip tightened, twisting the fabric until it was bunched up tightly in their fist, pulling Kirihara closer.

“You're right, of course. There's always more to the story with me, right?” Their voice was a husky murmur, voice gravelly from lack of use. “What I missed most was how your body yields so beautifully under my touch, even after you beg me to stop.” [Name]'s other hand came up to caress Kirihara's cheek almost tenderly, a stark contrast to the brutal hold on his shirt. “I yearned to paint canvases with your blood again. Tasting your anguish on my tongue as I push you to your limits and beyond.” 

The words sent shivers up and down Kirihara’s aching spine. [Name]'s eyes flashed with predatory hunger as they drank in Kirihara's reaction, relishing every shudder and goosebumps rippled across their skin.

Slowly, deliberately, they licked a smear of blood from the corner of their mouth, the crimson glistening obscenely against the pale pink of their tongue.

Kirihara knew better than to deny [Name] the thing they so desperately craved from him; the fear of what [Name] could do in a rage wasn’t something he wanted to witness firsthand.

But then again, Kirihara craved this type of intimacy, the same kind of agony his brother put him through while they were growing up, that abuse-riddled love that he’d adapted to accept in his adult life now. 

Pulling aside the fabric of his work clothes, revealing already bruised skin riddled with small scarring left behind by [Name]’s slightly sharpened teeth.

[Name]'s gaze raked hungrily over the revealed marred flesh, drinking in every discolored bruise and raised scar like a man starved. 

They leaned in, dragging the flat of their tongue along a particularly vicious set of teeth marks, ones that led to intense bleeding at one point. Kirihara remembered the sensation of his consciousness fading while [Name] scrambled to patch up the wound. But feeling [Name]’s tongue against the old scars made him shudder.

Baring their teeth, strings of saliva snapped as their mouth parted, and low rumbles came from the back of [Name]’s throat as their breathing grew ragged, hands shaking as they gripped the thin, delicate fabric of Kirihara’s shirt. 

[Name]'s breath came hot and heavy against Kirihara's neck as they inhaled deeply, savoring the musk of fear and arousal emanating from their lover's skin. Their grip on the shirt tightened, knuckles turning white as they fought the urge to simply tear the flimsy barrier away and ravage the vulnerable flesh beneath.

Teeth lingered closer to Kirihara’s shoulder, drips of spit slipping past their lips, cascading down Kirihara’s shoulder, staining his shirt. [Name] was like a wild animal, staring down its wounded prey. Kirihara’s scent intoxicated [Name] as if they could smell his blood beneath his skin. 

It made their mind hazy as he lurched forward, sinking their teeth into his flesh, feeling it squish under the pressure of their jaws before popping, allowing the crimson elixir they so eagerly craved, drowning them in the slight sweetness they couldn’t get from their blood. 

The first taste of blood on [Name]'s tongue sent a jolt of pure ecstasy racing through their veins, igniting every nerve ending with searing pleasure.

They groaned around the mouthful of flesh, the sound muffled but no less intense. Kirihara's blood was ambrosia, the nectar of the gods, and [Name] couldn't get enough.

They sucked hard, drawing more of the precious liquid into their mouth, letting it pool on their tongue before swallowing greedily. Until they pulled away, running their tongue desperately along the wound, lapping up whatever attempted to waterfall its way down Kirihara’s body. 

[Name]'s eyes were glazed with bloodlust and unbridled desire as they drank their fill, Kirihara's essence fueling the inferno. When they finally released their bite, a string of bloody saliva connected their lips to the gaping wound. They took a moment to admire their handiwork - the perfect circle of torn flesh, already starting to bruise around the edges.

After admiring the work, [Name]’s head leaned into Kirihara’s chest, nuzzling against it, letting him lean and place his head into their delicate hair. Kirihara’s heart raced, trying to ignore the throbbing pain in his shoulder from the new wound. 

It’d been years since Kirihara felt this way, felt this type of adoration, not since his elder brother went missing. Now, Kirihara had the same love he received in his childhood from someone who cared so deeply about him. 

If the price to keep this person in his life meant they had to consume Kirihara, he’d let them drink as much of his blood as they so craved and devour as much as they so pleased. They could eat every part of him if it meant they stayed in his life…They could consume him, Bones And All. 

[coz-for-concern]

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎“𝙶𝚘 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚍 𝚊 𝚋𝚘𝚘𝚔 𝚘𝚗 𝚑𝚘𝚠 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚑𝚞𝚖𝚊𝚗 𝚎𝚢𝚎 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚔𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚗 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚙𝚒𝚎𝚌𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚜𝚑.”

Name: Coz (I also spell it 'COZ' a lot) Age: Twenty Two (09/22) Pronouns: They/it/He (Masc or Neutral terms when referring to me is ideal!) Gender: Unlabelled! Sexuality: AroAce Omnisexual

About: University student with a degree in English literature. I've been writing for the latter half of my life, and it's my biggest passion, so I write a lot and have a lot of ideas banging around my brain that I want to share with people.

Likes: Blue Lock, Alien Stage, Slow Damage, Zenless Zone Zero, Honkai Starrail, Genshin Impact, Junji Ito, A Date With Death, Homicipher, The Kid At The Back, 14 Days With You. (If you ask me about any of these, I'll crash out /pos)

Where To Find Me: Here (duh), Twitter, Carrd. I'll probably add more later.

Warnings?: I'll most likely write some 18+ and/or suggestive things, but all will be labeled with proper warnings and have their own individual 'bank' for anything 18+. (Main will be Coz's bank, and 18+ will be Coz's Curses).

Anything Else?: I will eventually open requests and such! So keep an eye on that! The first few posts you'll see from me are just me dumping things to get out! Uhhh! Thumbs up emoji!

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎‎“𝘓𝘶𝘤𝘬 𝘪𝘴𝘯’𝘵 𝘢 𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘶𝘭𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘱𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘪𝘥𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦. 𝘐𝘵’𝘴 𝘢𝘯 𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘦𝘭𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘰𝘧 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘪𝘦𝘭𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘴 𝘰𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘴𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘰 𝘮𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘣𝘺 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘪𝘳 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭. 𝘐𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘤𝘢𝘯’𝘵 𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵, 𝘺𝘰𝘶’𝘷𝘦 𝘨𝘰𝘵 𝘯𝘰 𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘭𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘢 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘱𝘦𝘵𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘭𝘥.”