I've been posting these one shots on my Wattpad since summer 2024 and decided to post them in english here. No, english isn't my first language and you can find me on Wattpad as @Tenko_Hibari, where I post anime content in spanish.
This is my Tokyo Debunker account! I post ENHYPEN content in english here: @lauren-yang
Hope you like my posts! And I have to say that some of them are almost two years old so they aren't as good as the newest (but they are still good ehh ❤️)
Warnings!: Spoilers from the first chapter of the second season of TD ⚠️ DO NOT KEEP READING THE WARNINGS IF YOU DON'T WANT TO SPOIL YOURSELF ⚠️ Imagine that when the MC repeats the story, she remembers the past, okay? And that's it. Fluff, Luca being Luca, and Kaito being super adorable awwwwsssss
N/A: Surprisingly, this isn't smut 😅 But I'M BACK and with Kaito because I have a lot of affection for him awwwwwww and what happened in the last chapter awww 🥺💔 my boy doesn't deserve this, I love him awwweeee so I felt like doing something quick with fluff, not sure if it turned out well hmnmm. I think yes, I don't know.
You don't understand how everyone is acting so cheerfully, excited about the upcoming festival. In fact, you don't understand how Darkwick isn't burning. The last thing you remember is the chaos that engulfed the island.
Why is everything so... normal now?
You bring your hands to your chest as you recall what unleashed the storm at the academy.
Kaito.
Your best friend, the shy boy who's always looking for excuses to ask you out or play the hero in front of you. Yes, even though he tries to disguise it clumsily, you're fully aware of his adorable attempts to get your attention.
You press your lips together and bite them so hard it hurts. You shift to sit more comfortably on the bench where you're seated, off to the side in Darkwick's courtyard, and bring your hands to your chest.
You miss him.
You miss him so much, and you're so confused that you feel like you could throw up right there.
You'll never get to see him smile again, or laugh, or get annoyed by Luca's things.
Oh, Kaito.
Plus, what the hell is going on? Everything is so strangely normal, as if the months hadn't passed. Maybe some stray anomaly has gotten hold of you and plunged you into a strange dream, or maybe—
"There you are!" You hear your name and turn to see who's calling you, surprised to see Luca, with his usual tanned skin without a scratch, his messy hair, and his bright gaze.
You don't know what's happening or why Luca seems normal now, but whatever it is, you don't want it to change. Luca sits next to you on the bench with a comfortable "oof."
"Luca," you mumble, looking away, bringing your hands to your face to wipe away the tears that dared to escape their place.
You try to hide it, but you fail miserably.
"Has something happened?" Again, Luca calls your name, and now his gaze softens. He moves closer to you on the bench and pulls out a spotless handkerchief from his uniform pocket. "Here, dry yourself with this."
You accept the handkerchief, dying of embarrassment that he caught you in a moment of vulnerability, but you wipe away the tears and fiddle with the handkerchief between your fingers, not knowing what to say, unable to look him in the eyes. Though you feel eternally grateful to see your friend there, safe and sound, calm, with you.
Luca sits next to you and says nothing more. Maybe he's good at these things and understands that the last thing you want right now is to talk. You thank him silently.
Until—
"Luca!"
You lift your head so quickly you think it might fall off at the sound of that familiar voice. What—? Impossible.
Kaito.
You must be dreaming because Kaito approaches you both running, his cheeks flushed from the effort and his brow furrowed, alternating his gaze between you and your friend, sitting there calmly beside you.
"Luca!" he repeats for the second time, fixing his gaze on him and pointing at him with his finger, annoyed. "How many times have I told you not to get so close to a girl?!"
You arch your eyebrows sharply, and Kaito finally looks at you.
You take a deep breath. Again, it's fucking impossible.
"Kaito, pointing at people is rude..." You don't even clearly hear Luca gently scolding... Kaito. Fuck, Kaito.
You murmur his name, and your hands tremble. What the hell is going on?
Kaito arrives in front of you both and focuses on you, giving you one of his beautiful smiles that from now on you're going to make sure to treasure.
"Hey, what's wrong?" Kaito's voice softens, and he completely ignores Luca to focus on you. He furrows his brow a little and pouts in a way that now seems adorable to you as he looks at you.
You stand up from the bench and approach him, still stunned. Are you hallucinating? No, Luca seems to see him too.
"Kaito, this... where have you been?" you murmur, your hands and legs trembling, your heart pounding so hard against your ribs that you feel a bit dizzy.
"Huh? In the bathroom, I asked Luca to wait for me before coming to look for you, but as you can see, he ignored me! Haha...!" Kaito's tone sharpens when you take another step toward him. He steps back from you with a stumble, and his cheeks turn a deep red.
"Kaito, I told you making a girl wait so long out here isn't gentlemanly..." Whatever Luca is saying, you ignore it.
It doesn't matter. Not right now.
What if you're hallucinating both of them and you really don't have Luca or Kaito there? What if you're still sleeping? What if...?
There's only one way to dispel your doubts.
You take another step toward Kaito.
Kaito takes another step back and gives you a smile full of nerves; you catch him giving Luca a doubtful look—who has finally shut up—and wipes his palms against his pants. Has he always been this adorable? Like this, when you're close to him—why hadn't you noticed before how cute the blush on his ears looks when he talks to you? How endearing the way he shivers every time you're too close to him is.
"Hey, Kaito," you call him and tilt your head, realizing maybe you're acting weird.
"Y-y-y-yes?!" Kaito fixes his blue eyes on you and shivers again, but the corners of his lips pull upward, and his cheeks tint red. Have his freckles always made him look this handsome? Oh.
How blind you've been all this time.
"Can I give you a hug?"
Kaito's face colors in all shades of red at hearing your proposal.
His gaze flits between you and Luca, who seems rather amused, until he finally stammers a response.
"A-a-a hug?" he squeals as he always does. Aish, maybe today you'll go home with a bit of a headache.
You nod in response, and Kaito tries to process your words.
Mmm, okay, he's acting as if he's never had a girl's attention in his life, which seems weird to you because... why hadn't you seen him as this handsome until now? You love it.
Finally, he lets you, so you approach him and give him a strong, needy hug. Your nose itches when you feel his touch, and you press your face against his chest, inhaling his scent, furrowing your brow.
Hell, you've missed him so much.
But you're not going to cry now. Not while Kaito holds you in his arms, at first a bit confused, but now relaxed. His heart beats wildly against his chest, and you smile at the sound. He's alive. Maybe you've gone crazy, maybe you're not in reality, but none of that matters to you, because Kaito is alive.
"Hey... what's going on? I want a hug too."
You can't help but smile at Luca's words, and in the end, you burst into laughter and let Luca join your hug, because you never imagined yourself in this scene.
But you love it.
When you separate, you realize you have tears in your eyes, so you quickly turn around and try to wipe them away without the boys noticing, but you fail miserably.
"Hey, are you okay?" Kaito calls you, and you notice he takes a step closer to you.
Are you okay? You're more than okay. Fuck yes, you are.
"No, Kaito, just... I'm so glad to see you," you sigh again, and when Kaito smiles at you and wipes one of your tears with his thumb, you realize your heart is beating harder than it should.
"Don't be like that, something's wrong, hmm?" he whispers, his cheeks burning with embarrassment.
Ah, it took losing him to realize he's the boy you want by your side for the rest of your days. And now that you have him in front of you, taking care of you as he always has, you promise yourself you'll never lose him again.
Content Warnings!: explicit sexual content, unprotected sex, graphic violence, blood and injury mentions, sexual harassment, attempted assault, power imbalance, Alan is such a cutie, rough sex, mentions of terminal illness/curse. 7k! Words.
N/A: I need an Alan in my life ☹️❤️ (all the works are mine but I posted them originally in spanish).
You step back into the garage, and the eerie silence that fills it welcomes you with an embrace as you reach the main room. Your eyes wander over every piece of furniture, every chair, every wall, every corner, searching for someone. But you don’t find even a single regular student.
You sigh in resignation, already knowing exactly where they all are. It’s late, a Friday night, deep into the early hours. Outside, only the faint chirping of crickets can be heard. Surely every single Vagastrom student is down in the basement—in “The Pit,” as they call it.
From what you understand, they love fights, and on Friday and Saturday nights, when there are no classes the next day and it doesn’t matter if they end up covered in wounds, they gather underground to brawl and bet on the ring. So you head toward the wall in the main building where a certain curtain hangs, a little boy drawn on it, forever captured in the act of pulling back the very fold you have just slid aside.
You sigh again as the smell of sweat and blood rising from the basement hits your nose the moment you start descending the graffiti-covered stairs.
With every step downward, the shouts of the Vagastrom thugs grow louder—the sound of skin slapping skin, fists against cheeks, teeth breaking, followed by boos and the frenzied cheers of the crowd.
Then, just as you are about to reach the ring area, a deep silence suddenly takes over the place. You freeze when you notice it, terrified at the thought that the students have seen you and don’t like your presence there. You even stop breathing, holding the air in your lungs, straining to listen. And, as if they have sensed your tension, they erupt into even wilder whistles and shouts than before. Your ears ring from the sudden noise, and you finally exhale, confused.
You decide to keep going down, and at last your eyes land on the students raising their fists in the air, clapping and whistling with fingers in their mouths, surrounding the ring in the center of the wide room. You look toward that ring, protected by tall metal mesh, and to your surprise, there on the platform stands Alan.
It is the first time you’ve seen him up there. Apparently he has just climbed in, and they are looking for a worthy opponent to face the incredibly strong house captain.
Your heart jumps into your throat. You crane your neck to see over the burly students—you are dying to watch him in action. Taking advantage of your small size, you slip between the bodies of the guys to get as close as possible to the ring, where they have already found someone with enough guts to stand up to Alan.
The boys grumble about your little pushes and elbows, but eventually let you through without much resistance, too focused on watching their captain fight.
You reach the edge of the ring and press yourself against the iron mesh, since the students behind you are shoving each other to get a better view of the show. You hook your fingers into the little wire squares of the fence, your eyes fixed on the ghoul’s opponent—and you find a wide headband followed by soft white hair falling over lively blue eyes that shine with fear… but also with confidence.
Sho.
He clenches his fists in front of his face, stretching his legs and spreading them into a very convincing offensive stance. Across from him, Alan adopts a similar position, hunching his tall body and frowning, his deep dark eyes locked on his opponent. You can see him part his lips slightly to exhale slowly.
Sho moves first. Fast, elusive, he lands a precise blow to Alan’s side, right between the ribs. But Alan is more patient, smarter, stronger. When the albino gets close enough, with one quick strike to the side of the neck, he knocks him out instantly. His opponent drops to the floor, unable to move for the moment.
You get scared and your eyes widen. Immediately the regular students explode into cheers at their captain’s greatness. Alan looks down at Sho lying unconscious on the mat, then crouches in front of him to check that he is okay. In the corner of your eye, you see Leo also pressed against the mesh a few meters away, watching his friend with disapproval.
Anger flares inside you when you see him—how can he be so heartless toward his supposed best friend? Why doesn’t he care? You decide to calm down; no matter how much you hate him, there is nothing you can do against him.
Once again you move through the heavy bodies of the students until you reach the ring entrance. You open the mesh door and step in with both ghouls. Alan has already lifted Sho—who is still unconscious—into his arms, one arm under his back and the other under his knees. You wonder just how strong this guy has to be to do that to the younger one with a single blow.
“You shouldn’t be here,” Alan’s deep voice pierces through your chest. He fixes his dark gaze on yours so intensely that you hold your breath again.
“Um… is Sho okay?” you ask with a small cough, ignoring his warning and looking at the unconscious boy.
The older one grunts and looks away. He steps out of the ring amid cheers and incredulous looks from the other students. They hurry to clear a path for him, and you follow close behind, sticking to his imposing figure. You even grab the back of his shirt, scared by the stares the students are giving you after seeing your friend in the arms of the tallest one.
You leave The Pit. The Vagastrom students have already put two other guys of very different heights into the ring. You follow Alan in silence up the stairs. He doesn’t say anything, but he knows you are behind him, walking with quiet steps.
You reach the student dorms—apparently his room. Still carrying Sho, he opens the door and goes inside. You hesitate at the open doorway, but the ghoul glances back over his shoulder and nods slightly, inviting you in. So you do. You follow him into his room, which smells so strongly of him.
“What. Were. You. Doing. There.” His voice is firm, demanding.
He doesn’t turn to look at you again; he just walks to his own bed and lays Sho down with surprising care. You watch him cautiously, closing the door behind you. The room is dimly lit—only a small floor lamp in the corner is on. The ghoul turns to face you and takes a deep breath. You stay rooted to the spot, meeting his gaze, feeling every cell in your body vibrate under his scrutiny.
“I was looking for you,” you confess.
His deep, serious eyes—full of sins—leave yours.
“Don’t get too close to me. It’s not a good idea.”
There it is again, his favorite line.
And yet… he has let you into his room.
You take a few steps toward the bed where Sho lies unconscious. You can’t help noticing that Alan allows himself some luxuries: he sleeps in a large double bed. You wonder what it would feel like to sleep there, next to him. You push those thoughts away and scan the Sho's still body.
“When is he going to wake up?” you ask in a small voice.
It is true—Alan is right that it is dangerous. But you don’t care. You trust him and that he can control his strength, no matter what he says. Although that last part is a lie: the fact that Sho is still alive is proof enough. If Alan truly couldn’t control himself, Sho would already be dead after a clean hit to the neck.
“I don’t know. That depends on him.” The answer comes after a slight delay.
You turn to look at him—and he has taken off his shirt without any shame, leaving his strong, sculpted, defined muscles completely exposed. And of course, your eyes don’t hesitate to roam over his bare torso, his perfect abs, his worked pecs, his veiny forearms, his biceps, his…
He calls your name.
His deep voice saying it in that slow, intimate, confidential way of his makes you tear your gaze from his body and raise it to his face.
“Hm?”
“Could you check if Bandana needs medical attention? I don’t think so, but just in case.”
You obey without protest, returning your attention to the boy on the bed, trying not to think too much about the fact that Alan has learned your name but apparently hasn’t bothered to memorize his teammate’s.
You examine Sho’s neck, but find only a purple mark that has barely started to spread. Otherwise everything looks fine—his pulse is normal too. You turn toward Alan, who is now behind you, searching his closet for something to wear. But your eyes stop on the bruise on his side: another hit, the one his opponent had landed before going down. You step closer to his body, and he hears you approach.
“You shouldn’t come that close. You’ve already seen what I can do,” he warns again.
You roll your eyes. You aren’t going to listen, no matter how many times he repeats it. His dark gaze locks onto yours. You hold your breath again, your stomach twisting at the intensity.
“I don’t care about that, Alan,” you whisper. You take another step toward him. He only tenses, but he doesn’t back away from the distance you’ve closed. He doesn’t look away either. “I don’t care.”
You don’t need to say anything more—he knows the rest of the sentence perfectly. The tension between you grows heavy, and your heart squeezes in your chest from how badly you want to reach out and touch his face: that straight nose with so much character, that sharp jaw, those full lips. And then kiss them. Well… you wouldn’t mind kissing the rest of his body either.
All of it.
He clears his throat and stops looking at you with that intense stare that traps you in billions of lustful thoughts—and others that aren’t quite so much. So you let your eyes slide down his muscled frame until they reach the bruise between his ribs. Sho’s hit had been precise, clean, meant not to draw blood—at least not in the area he’d targeted.
You raise your hand to his body. Alan makes a slight move to step back, but you are faster, and the pads of your fingers reach the darkened skin. He clenches his jaw, but gives no other sign at the contact. He doesn’t try to pull away again; he just stands frozen while you touch him. You even think he is holding his breath—completely tense—because his chest stops moving.
“Does it hurt?” you ask in a whisper.
You lift your gaze to his. He has already been looking at you, so you immediately crash into those dark eyes so full of… everything.
God, you are dying for him.
But he steps back, leaving you with the lingering heat of his skin on your fingertips, craving more. More. You wonder what it would feel like to have his body pressed tight against yours, his hands gripping yours hard, his teeth grazing your fingers.
Alan turns around and grabs a plain black short-sleeve t-shirt from the closet. He pulls it over his head, and the muscles in his body flex as he does. The shirt is simple, understated, but it hugs his frame perfectly.
“Why did you get in the ring?” you ask then. The tension between you is still thick enough to cut with a knife. “I’d never seen you go up before.”
He watches you in silence, adjusting his shirt and closing the closet. He clenches his jaw and glances at you sideways. Finally, he lets out a heavy sigh.
“They kept asking me for a month. And you weren’t supposed to come today. I didn’t want… I didn’t want you to see me,” he admits, then immediately looks away.
He didn’t want you to see him? That feels so sweet. But you like that side of Alan—the side of him that is like a little lamb who knows he is dangerous and wants to warn everyone else about it.
The rustle of sheets beside you makes the two of you pull apart even further.
Sho lets out a pained groan and sits up on the bed, one hand on his forehead, the other on his sore neck. He grits his teeth, and his blue eyes scan the room until they land on Alan. Then on you. He frowns.
“What the hell is going on here?” he demands, pulling his hands away from his neck and gripping the sheets until his fists are tight.
The guy beside you takes a step forward.
“You lost in the ring. I brought you here after you passed out,” he explains in his deep voice. Then his eyes trace the bruised neck in silent worry. Surely the whole time Sho had been unconscious, Alan had been anxious, afraid he’d gone too far.
The younger one clicks his tongue and immediately winces at the pain the movement causes.
“Fuck, I hurt in muscles I didn’t even know I had.”
You hold back a laugh at his comment and step closer to check on him. You can perfectly feel the captain’s gaze burning into the back of your neck.
“Does it hurt a lot?” you ask, meeting the albino’s eyes.
He gives you a crooked smile and lets his face fall into an exhausted expression.
“Like hell it does. I knew Bigfoot was a killing machine, but… one hit…” He subtly lowers his gaze, embarrassed. “Thanks for worrying, senpai.”
You are about to reply fondly when Alan steps close to you. You feel the weight of his hand on your shoulder, though he removes it immediately afterward.
“We’ve had enough for today. You should go back to your room,” he says, calling you by your name.
You look up at his face—hard and icy as always. Then down at Sho’s warm one, full of emotion. So contradictory.
“Okay. Good night, Alan. Good night, Sho.”
You raise a hand to wave goodbye as you start walking toward the door, but the older one stops you.
“Wait. It’s not a good idea for you to leave alone at this hour. I’ll walk you.”
You raise your eyebrows, surprised by the offer. But grateful—and your heart pounds furiously against your ribs.
Shit, shit, you are so in love there is no going back.
Sho, still on the bed, rolls his eyes and flops back down as if he wants nothing more to do with the two of you.
“Don’t worry about me. It’s clear I’m just the third wheel here,” you hear his muffled voice from under the sheets he has tangled himself in. “I’ll stay here until you get back, Captain.”
Alan gives a small nod, then focuses on you again, gesturing for you to go out. You do. You open the door and step into the hallway, followed by the ghoul. He easily matches your pace, and you fall into a comfortable silence as you walk out of the Vagastrom garage toward your chapel.
“Hey, you really don’t have to walk me the whole way,” you murmur at last, feeling bad about making him cover the long distance between your place and his, plus the trip back.
He lets his gaze wander over the streetlights that bathe the quiet path in light, then to the dark areas swallowed by shadows, and finally to the full moon hanging in a star-filled sky above you. Then he rests his eyes on you—and suddenly you feel tiny in your spot.
“I’m not leaving you alone here,” he states in that raspy, deep voice, leaving no room for argument.
So you bite the inside of your cheek and keep walking beside the broad-shouldered boy. Neither of you says another word the whole way until you reach your chapel. But when you stop in front of the door to pull out your keys, Alan finally parts his lips to speak.
“It’s late. Rest. And don’t go out alone at night again—it’s dangerous. And don’t come to Vagastrom to see me, especially not at—”
“Night, yes, it’s dangerous,” you finish for him, rolling your eyes. Then you meet his gaze and give him a warm smile. “I know you worry about me a lot, but you don’t have to. I’m fine. I’ll be fine.”
*After all, you’re going to die anyway in the five months you have left,* you add silently in your head. But you don’t say it out loud, because you know he is thinking it too. He clenches his jaw and shoves his hands into his pockets, watching you with that hard, unreadable look—so full of… feeling, paradoxically.
He sighs, looks down at the ground, then back up.
“Sleep,” he says, calling you by your name. It is his goodbye. Though he pulls his right hand out of his pocket and starts to reach toward you—only to seem to change his mind and pull it back.
You make a face at his fear of touching you. You know he does it to protect you from his brute strength, but it really wears you down. Because damn it, you want him to touch you. You don’t care if he might hurt you. You trust him. You know he wouldn’t—because he’d go crazy trying to control himself if he ever found the courage to put his hands on you.
So you are the one who steps forward. You rise onto your tiptoes to reach his face. Though the ghoul is damn tall and you still can’t reach his cheek, so you have to settle for leaving a soft kiss along his jawline.
“I love you, Alan.” You pull back, slip the key into the lock, and turn to look at him. “You rest too. You deserve it.”
He gives a small nod, and with that you look away and step into your once-abandoned, now-not-so-creepy chapel.
[...]
It is Saturday. You wake up with a headache, probably from all the shouting in The Pit the night before. With a huff, you roll around in your warm comforter and squint toward the window in your room, which lets in every single ray of sunlight without mercy—the curtains are sheer white and block absolutely nothing. You really need to change them.
Then you think about Alan.
And inevitably remember that you kissed him. On the jaw, but you kissed him.
And you blush like an idiot.
Because he hadn’t pulled away either.
You muffle a scream into the comforter at the thought and reach for your phone on the nightstand. You turn it on eagerly. Finally you get out of bed, go to the bathroom, wash up—and even after taking your time, when you come back to the bed where you left the phone, it is still booting up.
“Damn it, I hate the junk Darkwick gave us,” you grumble. The phone must have heard you because it finally turns on completely right after.
You check WickChat and find a message from Luca reminding you to study for the exams coming up soon. You sigh because your plan to go to Vagastrom again—to visit Alan under the excuse of checking on Sho—has to be postponed for later. You thank Luca for being so responsible and such a good friend, then sit at your desk to start studying.
Hours pass in which you do nothing but study, read between topics, and eat. It has gotten quite late. You look up at the window—the orange tones of dusk greet you. With a yawn, you stretch in your chair, extending your limbs as far as they will go. Then you stand up, put on your uniform, and head back to the yellow house. Yes, their captain isn’t getting rid of you that easily.
The walk to the garage doesn’t feel heavy. You enjoy every relaxing sound of nature along the path and the absence of human voices—few students go to Vagastrom except those from the house itself, and they usually don’t leave on rest days, much less at this hour. You know Alan told you the night before not to come to his house so late.
You know. But you don’t want to listen. You aren’t afraid—not when you only have five miserable months left before your life counter hits zero. And you aren’t going to waste a single minute of those days.
So you calmly enter the garage again. Once more, no one is there. The smell of motor oil mixed with the food Sho has probably been cooking that afternoon hits your nose. It is a strange scent—somewhere between gross and delicious—but you leave it behind as you approach the curtain with the graffiti boy, ready to immerse yourself in the familiar smells of blood and sweat from the basement. But before you can pull it aside, you feel a hand on your shoulder.
You turn instinctively, stepping back—because you know that isn’t Alan’s hand.
Your eyes meet strangers: two regular Vagastrom students staring at you with raised eyebrows.
“What are you doing here, gorgeous?” one says, flashing a smile that shows all his teeth.
Disgusting. Hearing that nickname come out of his mouth is simply disgusting.
You press your lips into a thin line and try not to let the revulsion show.
“Do I need a reason to go wherever I want?” you shoot back, sharper than you intended.
Both look mildly annoyed by your comeback.
“Yeah, you do. Only Vagastrom students are allowed in here,” the one with short brown hair says, eyeing your uniform and lingering on your plain black tie—the one that shows you don’t belong to any house.
Before you can open your mouth to reply, the other guy steps closer. You back up. You shouldn’t have, but you do—and you hate yourself for it. He smiles. You glare. A small thread of fear slides down your spine—just a warning from your subconscious about what might happen. Your mind starts mapping the exits in the garage, the ones that would let you escape. You size up the two guys in front of you, weighing your chances.
They are tall; one is stronger than the other, but even so, you don’t think you can win a fight against the weaker one. So your only option is to be faster than them.
You play along so they won’t corner you.
“Well… I wouldn’t mind if one of you gave me a little tour around here,” you say, giving a slight tempting shrug.
They look at each other—because you’ve left it open for “one of them.” And you take advantage of that moment of doubt and rivalry to slip through the gap between one of them and the wall, then bolt toward the exit as fast as you can. It takes them a couple of seconds to process what is happening, but by the time they start chasing you, you are only a few steps from the door to the outside.
But you’ve bet on being faster than them—and you lose spectacularly.
One of them grabs your arm before your outstretched fingers can even brush the night air. With a yank he pulls you back against him, slamming your back into his chest.
“Hey, you’re a slippery little bitch, huh?”
You frown at his words and start kicking like crazy, but it is useless. He has both your arms twisted behind your back, gripping your wrists. The fear that had been running down your spine now blooms in your chest—and begins spreading through the rest of your body.
The other guy approaches from the front. Mistake. You lift your leg and deliver a hard kick straight to his groin. He doubles over, cursing you, but before he can recover, you push off the chest of the guy holding you, using your back as leverage, and slam both feet into the front guy’s shoulders, sending him flying backward with a hard headbutt to the ground.
You grit your teeth so hard it hurts.
The guy behind you loosens his grip on your wrists for a second—worried about his friend—and you twist free, sprinting toward the exit again. You glance back—the second guy is following, but you still have some distance.
And right then, when you aren’t looking forward, your head slams into something hard yet soft. Arms wrap around you. A familiar warmth envelops you.
“What do you think you’re trying to do?”
Alan.
You don’t hear the conversation the captain has with the student who’d been harassing you—honestly, you couldn’t have even if you’d tried. All you can hear is the loud rush of blood pounding through your veins, roaring in your ears with fury, keeping you hyper-alert while the fear still chokes your heart and squeezes your throat.
You wrap your arms around Alan’s strong, broad torso and bury your face deeper into his chest, feeling it vibrate with every word he speaks. He sounds angry.
He holds you tightly, and once he finishes scolding the student, he lifts you into the air for a few seconds and scoops you up in a princess carry—one arm under your knees, the other cradling your shoulders. You look up into his eyes and finally relax a little, breathing in the clean night air, listening to his determined footsteps along the path that leads to the main academy building… and then curves toward your chapel.
You squeeze your eyes shut when you realize where you are headed.
Alan doesn’t say a single word the whole way. He stays silent—a dark, suffocating silence that chokes you all over again. He is angry, that much is obvious. But not just at the guys—at you too. For disobeying him so carelessly.
You bite your lips and press yourself closer to his warmth, savoring the hardness of his body against yours. But you reach the front of your chapel sooner than you wanted, and he sets you back down on your feet right in front of the door. Your legs wobble, but you lean back against the building wall and look up into his eyes.
Those eyes that are now dark, hardened, deeply annoyed.
“Yesterday I told you not to come to Vagastrom. Alone. At night,” he begins. His voice is severe, trembling with fury.
He clenches his jaw hard, searching your face for any sign that you are truly sorry.
“And what did you do?” he says, calling you by your name. “You came here. Alone. At night.” He growls in rage. You’ve never seen him this angry.
He paces in a tight circle for a couple of steps, saying nothing—maybe organizing his thoughts. Then he locks his gaze on yours again, and you shrink back like a rabbit staring at the starving predator about to pounce.
“Those guys… they could have done… anything to you. Anything!” He presses his lips together, as though holding back an insult.
He looks at you again.
Then he takes two long strides toward you and, with one powerful motion, slams his hand into the wall beside your head—right next to it. You swallow hard.
He has to hunch down to meet your eyes face-to-face, staring so intensely you think your soul might fly out of your mouth. Then he sighs. And seems to relax. His hand trembles slightly as he pulls it away from the wall, but before he can step back, before he can straighten up fully, you reach up, wrap your hands around his neck, and pull him down to you.
Maybe it isn’t the best moment to kiss him. Not the best place, not the best situation. But you kiss his lips anyway, pouring every feeling you’ve been holding inside for him into that single gesture. He doesn’t pull away—he just lets you, allowing you to move your mouth softly against his. Then he draws back.
He calls your name, saying, “No—”
You already know what he is going to say: the usual spiel about how dangerous it is to get close to him, blah blah blah. So you silence him with another kiss. You have to go up on your tiptoes and do everything you can to keep him from straightening completely, because otherwise—damn it—you wouldn’t reach. Again, he lets you kiss him. But this time he leans into it, lazily licking your lips and sighing afterward. Then he pulls away completely, reaching up to his own neck to gently pry your arms off. He looks away.
“Please,” he says, calling you by your name. “Don’t make me repeat myself,” he pleads.
“Oh, Alan! You’re such an idiot!”
You get mad because you know what he wants. Idiot. Idiot. Idiot.
Why does he have to resist so hard? His monstrous strength doesn’t scare you at all!
He frowns at the insult you’ve thrown at him. But then his expression softens—probably realizing exactly what is running through your mind. He lets out a long sigh, as though releasing all the built-up tension with it.
He calls your name again, saying, “Seriously. If I touch you and I use too much force—if anything happens—I’ll never forgive myself.”
Right. Because skin-to-skin contact would amplify his stigma, which clearly has something to do with raw physical power. If he can knock Sho out with one clean hit without even trying… This time it is your turn to frown.
“I know you won’t hurt me,” you insist, stubborn to the end.
“Damn it,” he says, calling you by your name, “that’s not the—”
“Then what is the point?” you whisper, dropping your gaze and leaning back against the patient wall of the chapel waiting for you to take shelter inside.
Alan doesn’t answer. He just watches you in silence.
But you hear him take a hesitant step closer. Close enough that if you reach out, you can touch him. So you do—extending your right hand until you feel the warmth of his forearm under your fingertips.
“At least if you’re scared of hurting me… let me be the one in control,” you propose, lifting your eyes to his.
You don’t need to spell out what you want to do. He understands immediately—but he just watches you again in silence. Then he rolls his eyes, the ghost of a smile tugging at his lips, and lets you kiss him once more. You wrap your arms around his neck, pressing yourself against him while he hunches down so you don’t have to stretch so much. Instead of putting his large, strong hands on your body, he braces them against the wall again. He kisses you with raw need, finally releasing the tension that has been coiling in both your stomachs for so long. He parts your lips with a gentle push of his tongue, dancing slowly with yours in a calm waltz under the soft moonlight above you.
You sigh and tug at the collar of his shirt, thirsty for his heat, desperate to feel more of him against you. You run out of air; you gasp hard when he pulls back to breathe, resting his forehead against yours. You melt into another kiss—this time he dares to wrap his arms around your waist. At first it is tentative, cautious, but then he tightens his hold a little, and finally embraces you fully. God, you feel so satisfied with the intimacy of the moment, so grateful for the effort he has to make just to hold you.
“I love you, Alan,” you murmur again, pulling back from his addictive lips to look into those dark eyes that drive you crazy, and stroking his cheek with your left hand, sliding your thumb over his full lips that are already starting to chap.
He lets out a heavy sigh in response. Then he brings his mouth back to yours, capturing it in a slow, enveloping, intimate kiss. You let yourself follow the rhythm and feel drunk on the sensation.
Your hands slide down his neck, feeling his hot skin against yours. You move them to his chest, tracing his collarbones, then wrap your arms around him in a tight hug, pressing him against you. You want to tell him this way that you aren’t letting go. That you never want to let go—you never will.
He presses closer in response, pulling his mouth from yours to sigh and straighten up, resting his chin on top of your head while still holding you close. You curl into his chest, listening to the rapid thump of his heart. You close your eyes and let yourself drift, basking in the warmth of his body.
“It’s cold out here,” he whispers, calling you by your name; his chest vibrates with each syllable.
“Want to go inside?” you offer, eyes still closed. You are enjoying this moment so much—the fact that Alan has finally dropped his stubborn insistence on keeping you away.
He makes a low sound of agreement, so he lets you pull away just enough to walk to the chapel door and take out your keys to unlock it. You let him inside, and the warmth of your home wraps around you both.
You climb to the upper floor, where you’ve arranged a wide first room with a sofa you found in the building one day while cleaning, facing a low coffee table, plus a couple of shelves holding thick, old books on magic, anomalies, and the like.
Off to one side of the improvised living area is the open door to your bedroom. The dark-haired guy drops onto the sofa with a quiet “oof,” settles in, and looks around.
“You’ve really managed to make this place livable,” he murmurs, fixing his gaze on you.
You shiver and step closer.
“I’ve tried. Though the worst part is still the ground floor. The organ and the nave still freak me out a little,” you admit.
You swear you see the hint of a smile touch those full lips of his.
You move even closer, and he tracks you with his eyes as you climb onto his lap, straddling him—one leg on each side. He doesn’t complain, doesn’t refuse; he lets you do whatever you want, even when you kiss him again.
You slide your hands over his shoulders, caressing the back of his neck, threading your fingers into the short hair at his nape. Alan, meanwhile, rests his hands on your hips—though you can tell he does it carefully. As if he is afraid you might break at any moment.
That thought makes your heart flip in your chest, so you deepen the kiss. What had started soft and slow quickly turns more intimate, driven by something more primal.
You pull back a little, looking into his now-bright eyes. This time he is the one who kisses you again, catching your lower lip gently between his teeth—always careful. Then he releases it and trails slow kisses down your neck, exploring, testing which spots on your body react most to the brush of his lips. You sigh and tilt your head back, giving him more room to work.
But when he reaches the collar of your shirt, he stops—as though a bucket of cold reality has just dumped over his head—and pulls his mouth away from your neck.
“Alan—” you start to protest, but he cuts you off.
“I’ve told you a thousand times it’s not a good idea to get involved with me,” he whispers. His eyes tell you he needs to get whatever he is about to say off his chest. So you let him talk. “So why do you keep insisting on being close to me?”
“Haven’t I already told you?” you whisper back, leaning in to press a kiss to the tip of his nose. “Because I love you, Alan. I love you so much. And when I love someone, I want to be with them. I can’t help it.”
He presses his lips together, as though he doesn’t believe you… No. As though he isn’t used to being loved.
You frown at the thought. If he isn’t used to it, then you’ll make him get used to it.
“I love you too,” he murmurs softly in return, calling you by your name.
You let out a relieved sigh at hearing those words. Then you kiss again—more carefully this time. You run your hands through his soft hair—so nice to touch—over his cheeks, then down his chest, over the perfectly defined pecs beneath his black short-sleeve t-shirt ―even though it is winter, across his sculpted abs until you reach the button of his pants. You want to undo it and pull them down. So you do—because whoever’s afraid to die shouldn’t have been born, right?
Alan lets out a low groan, but he doesn’t push your hands away. He lets you, and when you break the kiss to look down at what you are doing, he simply closes his eyes and tilts his head back, completely at your mercy.
“Fine… do whatever you want,” he concedes.
His words spur you on.
You slide off his lap and kneel on the floor between his spread legs. You tug his pants and boxers down together. His hard, proud cock springs free in front of you. Damn—he’s been this turned on the whole time and kept so quiet about it. You wrap one hand around him, stroking carefully, and delight in the ghoul’s sigh. You smile.
You lean in and give the head a slow lick, drawing a stifled moan. Oh, you are definitely going to enjoy this.
Alan presses his lips together and frowns, watching you—watching as you take his length in your hand and start stroking him slowly at first, wanting to torture him just a little for keeping you away for six damn months just because “it wasn’t a good idea to get close to him.” Even if he has his reasons, you are still a bit resentful. But he isn’t having it.
Leaning forward, he covers your hand with his own, and you realize just how big he really is. In every sense.
“Not like that,” he says, calling you by your name—not quite a scold; his voice is too soft.
Then, with his hand guiding yours, he starts pumping faster, forcing you to stroke him hard and quick. He growls and swallows a gasp; his cheeks flush deeper with every passing second.
“Like this—see?”
You nod eagerly. He pulls his hand away, leaving the work to you. Pre-cum is already beading at the tip, so you lick it up. Then you keep licking along the rest of his length without stopping the steady motion at the base, catching every drop with your tongue, savoring the taste.
Finally you take him into your mouth—and that is all the signal he needs. Alan threads his fingers into your hair and starts thrusting into your mouth—slowly at first. Your eyes widen in surprise, but you try to keep up, gagging a little on his length.
You move your hand away and grip his thighs instead, steadying yourself against every roll of his hips against your lips, every time he guides your head down with his hands tangled in your hair.
You feel him throb; he warns you he is close and that you should pull away. But you refuse. You want to taste all of him. So despite his protests, you keep swirling your tongue around his cock as he comes—spilling down your throat. It isn’t pleasant; you gag hard. He panics.
But once you stop choking on his release and swallow what is left in your mouth, you lick your lips, catch your breath, and look up at those eyes that now hold a mix of calm (seeing you are okay) and lingering intense arousal.
“Don’t ever do that again.” This time it really is a scold—his severe tone is back, though worry and a whole lot of heat still linger in his gaze.
“Sorry,” you say—without really meaning it. You’d definitely do it again; you’d just try not to choke so clumsily next time.
Alan huffs and adjusts his pants. You climb back onto the sofa, intending to straddle him again like before, but he catches you by the waist and lays you down beside him instead, legs tucked up. Then he gently parts one of your knees from the other.
You let him settle between your legs; he fits there like he has been made for it. He leans down to kiss you again—his body covering yours easily. His hands search for the buttons of your shirt; you help him undo them one by one, but he loses patience with one stubborn button and ends up ripping the shirt open.
“Ah, shit—” He makes an apologetic face, but before he can say more, you grab his cheeks and kiss him hungrily.
Whatever. If he ruins your uniform, you’ll just ask the headmaster for a new one. He can’t say no—he is the one funding your education here anyway.
So you let it go, shrug off the torn shirt, the tie, the blazer, the bra—under his hungry gaze. He tries to help, so a few more pieces of clothing meet the same fate—including his own.
“Hey, Alan,” you call sweetly. His eyes flick up to yours like an eager puppy. “Don’t worry so much about the clothes.”
He nods once, then leans down to kiss your breasts. His hot tongue traces from your ribs up to the peak of one nipple, making you arch your back and curl your toes in ecstasy. You bite your lip and slide your hands into his hair, then down his neck to caress his now-bare back. God clearly has favorites: Alan has been blessed with a wide, beautifully muscled back that flexes with every movement of his arms around your waist.
Pleasure floods your body; lust drowns you under the hot caresses of the ghoul’s lips on your chest—nipping at your nipples, licking the curve of your breast, kissing your ribs. He is so good, so careful. You love him so much you feel like you don’t deserve him.
His hands travel down your body, tracing every curve—no matter how small—until they reach your spread legs.
Damn—he tears your skirt too, though he is gentler with your pretty panties; he just pushes them aside. He lifts his gaze to yours, silently asking for permission. You nod, giving it. You take a deep, anxious breath. He reaches down, shoves his pants low enough, and then sinks into you with one delicious, wet slide. Your back arches; Alan rests his forehead against yours, sharing the same ragged breaths.
You clutch his shoulders, feeling him so deep inside—kissing the deepest parts of you with a sensuality that nearly sends you over the edge right then. You scratch his skin; he silences the moans spilling from your lips with a fiery kiss. His hips move in a hypnotic rhythm, hitting every perfect spot.
He curses under his breath against your mouth and has to pull back to breathe, panting.
With his right hand on your hip, he guides your clumsy attempts to move against him; his left slips between your bodies, finding your slick heat that swallows his cock over and over, a lewd ring of fluids already forming at the base. His thumb finds your clit—pressing, pinching—making you cry out and writhe in pleasure.
You dig your nails into his back, lost in ecstasy, blind with sensation, focused only on him—on his fast breathing, on the sweat covering his perfect body, on his lips that capture yours again in desperate need.
You sigh, gasp, moan, scream his name again and again, hearing his own stifled groans and the filthy sound of your bodies meeting.
He pulls back just enough—not stopping those frantic thrusts that make you tremble with pleasure—and slides a finger inside you alongside himself, moving it slowly just to study your reaction. He is going to drive you insane—blessed Alan and the way he fucks you so completely.
“Ah, fuck—” you gasp, already out of strength, clinging to his body however you can. “Alan, I’m so close…”
He groans in response, visibly fighting not to use too much of his superhuman strength while still driving into you with devastating precision—hitting every right place at the exact right moment. Your body shakes; your voice breaks as you come hard around his cock.
He isn’t far behind—you feel him pulse and spill inside you almost immediately, painting your walls with his release while muttering a few choice curses. Then he pulls out and collapses over you, exhausted.
“This wasn’t supposed to end like this,” he mutters, brushing a sweaty strand of hair behind your ear with surprising tenderness.
You sigh too, relaxing under his warmth, feeling more at peace than ever. You close your eyes and hug him gently.
“Well… the things that aren’t planned are usually the best ones, don’t you think?”
He doesn’t reply, but he stands up from the sofa and lifts you easily into his arms again—princess style.
“Where’s the bathroom?” he asks, scanning the closed doors around the living area.
You point the way. He carries you there with light steps, as though your weight means nothing to him. Once inside, he turns on the shower but sets you down on your feet beside him.
You wince a little in pain—maybe Alan has been a bit rough after all; your intimate area aches, your breasts where he has bitten you throb, and his fingerprints linger on your hips.
He notices your grimace and opens his mouth to ask if you are okay, but you quickly reassure him before he can worry more. Alan shakes his head at your stubbornness, then strips off the pants and boxers he is still wearing, leaving them aside, and turns on the water. Warm streams rain down over your heads.
“I love you,” you whisper again, resting your cheek against his chest. You are convinced you’ll never get tired of saying it.
He smiles—this time he really does. He strokes your hair tenderly and kisses your forehead. He doesn’t need to say it back—his actions are more than enough.
Content Warnings!: explicit sexual content, unprotected sex, oral sex (f receiving), p in v sex, multiple orgasms, fear kink/fear play, enjoyment of partner's fear, self-harm (scratching and cutting skin), compulsive scrubbing/showering, mental health issues (phobias including dermatomisophobia and bromidrosophobia —disgust with your own body odor, obsessive-compulsive behaviors, olfactory reference syndrome), emotional distress and crying, needles and blood drawing, medical examination themes, power dynamics, curse and body horror elements. 5k! Words.
N/A: Hope you like it! Translating this took me forever so pls read for my own sake 🥲 (all the works are mine but I posted them originally in spanish).
You look at Yuri, trying to focus on what he’s saying, but you’re failing spectacularly. You don’t understand a word coming out of his mouth: the technical jargon he uses to describe the anomaly that cursed you—and whose blood now runs through your veins—makes you feel filthy.
“Can you hold out your arm? I need a blood sample,” Jiro says beside you, and his voice sends a shiver down your spine.
You turn to look at him. Those lazy crimson eyes, devoid of emotion, and the flat, monotone way he speaks to you. Then your gaze drops to the needle he’s holding, motioning for you to roll up your sleeve. You shudder a little and try to ignore the sharp tip. It’s not that you’re afraid of needles—it’s just that ever since you found out you’re cursed and will turn into an anomaly in a few months, any contact that isn’t with another person makes you tremble. And a needle piercing your skin is a whole other level.
Yuri turns toward you. He’s seated in his comfortable wheeled chair in front of a desk cluttered with papers and gadgets. You’re in a chair beside the worktable, with Jiro hovering around you.
“I need to check whether you’re suffering from dysplasia, pathological metamorphosis, neoplasia, or somatic mutation,” he recites from a document, then looks up at you.
Jiro turns to you and notices the confusion on your face. “Those are diseases involving abnormal alteration, proliferation, or transformation in the development or growth of cells and tissues. They could explain structural or functional changes,” he clarifies. Though his explanation doesn’t help much.
“What… what?”
He shows no annoyance at your inability to keep up. Yuri simply continues with his work. “Basically, it’s a metamorphosis in your body’s cells that will alter you…” Jiro begins.
“Generating induced or metamorphic neurodegenerative amnesia,” the blue-haired Yuri cuts in. His matching blue gaze pierces you with a trace of pity. “Plus, you’ll eventually experience aberrant bodily transmutation.”
Great. You don’t know exactly what he means, but it sounds awful. And that’s enough for you.
You shudder when Jiro places his hand on your shoulder. You think it’s to comfort you about the future Yuri is painting, but really he just wants you to roll up your sleeve already. With your heart tight from the ghoul’s words, you push the sleeve up past your elbow. Jiro takes your arm. His black latex-gloved hands feel cold against your skin.
While holding you steady with his left, he crouches in front of you and meets your eyes for a moment. Then he brings his right hand forward with tweezers and alcohol-soaked cotton. “Let’s disinfect first,” he murmurs, shifting his crimson gaze from yours to focus on the spot.
He cleans the inside of your left elbow. The cold alcohol prickles your skin. You try to think of things you like, because this moment is always the worst in Mortkranken—worse even than listening to Yuri list all the horrible things that will happen to you once the one-year grace period ends. You take a deep breath and scan the room: shelves full of medicine jars, strange ingredients, anomalous items. Then you lower your gaze to Jiro as he readies the needle. His messy purple hair falls over his black-framed glasses. The dark mask covers the lower half of his face. And that deep scar that splits his neck in two and disappears beneath his shirt.
Jiro calls your name.
Your heart leaps. Nervous, you look up to meet his eyes. “Yes?” you ask, fingers drumming on your knees.
“I’m going to draw the blood now. You can close your eyes if you want. It’ll hurt the same either way.”
Your eyes widen. He’s been watching you these past four months at Darkwick; of course he noticed how terrified you are of needles. You obey. You close your eyes and try to focus only on your breathing. Air in through your nose… and Jiro’s hand taking your elbow again, straightening your arm. Your heart pounds.
Next comes the needle piercing your skin. You feel like you’re splitting in two. You stifle a whimper, press your lips together, furrow your brow. Maybe you’re overreacting, but you can’t help it. Since the curse, any pain hurts ten times more.
“It’s done,” Jiro whispers as he withdraws the needle.
You sigh in relief. You open your eyes and watch him apply a bandage. His hands leave your arm and he stands. He looks down at you for a moment, then examines the syringe filled with your blood. He hands it to Yuri, who takes it eagerly and gets back to work, forgetting about the two of you.
You discreetly bring your hand to your nose to smell your skin. Nauseating.
“Weeell…” you clear your throat, shifting your feet nervously as you settle back in the chair. “I guess I should go now, right?”
Jiro lowers his gaze to yours. “I suppose so. We don’t need any more tests today. You can leave. Come back tomorrow for the results and more medication.”
You nod and quickly stand. You thank both ghouls for their work on researching your curse and hurry out of the Mortkranken building toward your chapel.
You open the door of the building that now belongs to you. You slip through the shadows and head upstairs to your bedroom and bathroom. You toss your things onto the bed without thinking and go straight to the sink. You strip off your clothes and throw them in the laundry even though you’d put them on clean that morning. You step into the shower, turn on the faucet, and feel the warmth run over your body. But it’s not enough.
You take the sponge, lather it with soap, and scrub every inch of yourself for half an hour. You don’t care that it stings. You step out, wrap yourself in a towel, and dry off. You still don’t feel relieved—just dirty. You dry your hair with the blow dryer and sigh. Once finished, you go to find clean clothes, but there’s nothing left. All week you’ve been showering multiple times a day and throwing everything into the wash.
You have no choice but to head to the chapel’s laundry room. Leaning against the washing machine, still in your towel, you bring your hands to your nose and wrinkle your face. Flowers. A horrible floral stench emanates from your skin.
You think you need to switch soaps again. Maybe almond instead of fresh breeze. While the clothes spin, you open WickChat on your phone. Just trivial messages from Kaito. You decide not to reply and open a game to distract yourself from the dizzying, numbing smell.
The washer finishes. You start the dryer and walk away, praying it won’t take long. You grab your wallet: as soon as it’s done, you’ll go buy new soap.
You do exactly that. You take out the dry clothes, put them in a basket, and carry them to your room. You rummage for something simple to wear, different from the uniform. You don’t want to soil it with your smell. You head lightly to the store. Once there, you go straight to the hygiene section. You avoid looking at the soaps with roses on the label. You shudder.
You grab the almond one. You think it’s wise to get another just in case. You reach for the tea-scented one, but a larger hand takes it first.
“Ah, sorry.”
It’s Jiro. His crimson gaze lazily drops to yours. There’s a glint of cunning as he examines your arm clutching the almond bottle to your chest.
“N-no worries!” you hurry to say.
He makes a sound of acknowledgment. His eyes lower to the tea soap you wanted. “Almond scent, huh? And tea… interesting combination,” he comments plainly, handing it to you.
You take it quickly. You know he suspects something and just want to leave. “I want to try new scents,” you mumble.
“Then why not try this one?” he points to the bottle with flowers on it.
You shudder, praying he doesn’t notice. “I don’t like floral scents.”
Jiro says nothing. He picks it up, opens the cap, and smells it. Then, quickly, he holds it under your nose and squeezes the bottle. Nausea hits you instantly. That floral smell that haunts you. Not identical to the one on your skin, but close enough.
“N-no, I really don’t like it,” you force yourself to say, faking a smile and stepping back.
Jiro doesn’t press. He just gives a strange smile, uncharacteristic of him. He lets you go.
[…]
Back home, you shower again, scrubbing and scrubbing. First with almond: nice in the bottle, but it doesn’t work on your skin. Then tea. Same thing. The strong scent doesn’t cover the flowers. Your whole body shakes.
You curl up naked on the bathroom floor, arms wrapped around yourself, face buried in your knees, and start to sob.
Then the doorbell rings. You cling to the sound like salvation. You dress quickly, still damp, and run downstairs when it rings again. You open the door.
“Jiro,” you whisper, surprised to see him standing there, looking down at you with those crimson eyes from his height.
“I need to do a check-up,” he says.
A lie. It’s obvious. He examined you this morning. But you let it slide. He watches you the whole time, as if he knows what you’re hiding.
In his usual monotone voice and neutral expression, he asks permission to go up to your room—a more pleasant place than the chapel’s nave. You go upstairs. The mixed soap smells escape from the adjoining bathroom and assault your senses.
“Been playing with soaps?” he asks, seemingly uninterested.
“N-no, I just showered,” you mumble, looking down. You feel cornered.
Then he takes your arm and pulls you close to his body. You don’t have time to react: he’s already undone the top button of your shirt by the time you try to push him away. But it’s too late. He’s seen the wounds on your collarbones. His gaze travels over the scabs and small cuts covering your skin.
He smiles. A creepy, sinister smile.
“Oh… are you scared?”
You don’t answer. You just stare at him, incredulous. The smile vanishes as quickly as it appeared.
“Why are you doing this?” he asks while unbuttoning the next button, revealing the tops of your breasts.
Your heart clenches. Blood rushes to your cheeks and ears. You struggle, break free—he doesn’t resist much. Your legs shake, you collapse to the floor, curling up. The smell you hate so much, coming from yourself, suffocates you.
“No matter how much I scrub…” you begin in a weak lament, staring at the floorboards. “No matter how hard I do it, no matter how many times I shower… it won’t go away, Jiro…”
Your voice breaks. Tears well up. You hadn’t realized how deep the wound was until you said it aloud. You feel him crouch in front of you.
“That floral smell… Jiro, my body has become so strange…”
The sobs come. The whimpers follow soon after. Jiro pulls you close without a word and lets you cling to him, soaking his entire shirt with your desolate tears. Though the emptiness doesn’t lessen, having him there eases your pain a little.
He runs his huge hand gently through your hair, carefully, attentively. You feel cared for. You hiccup against his chest, trying to relax.
“You’re suffering from traumatic dermatomisophobia,” he whispers softly, almost pityingly. As if he truly feels something for you.
Great. Jiro and his tact. You shift in his arms.
“What?”
He lowers his crimson gaze to yours through his glasses. Cold, distant, yet with a paradoxical warmth. There’s hidden affection in those eyes, just for you.
“It’s a provisional name. From what you’ve told me, it’s a mix of bromidrosophobia, obsessive-compulsive disorder, and olfactory reference syndrome.”
As he speaks, he reaches out and gently wipes the dried tears from your cheeks with his thumbs. Then he takes your elbows and helps you stand. “Don’t worry, it’s normal not to understand what’s happening. Let’s go to Mortkranken. I can examine you better there and confirm if that’s it.”
You nod silently, a bit disoriented, intimidated by his towering height. He waits while you dry your hair and put on shoes. Then he starts walking and you follow along the path that’s gradually darkening.
You can’t help wondering what creatures lurk in the shadows of the trees. You think you see something move out of the corner of your eye. Terror grips your chest. You move closer to Jiro, quicken your pace, and press yourself against him. You tremble. You want to relax, but with so much darkness it’s impossible.
Then you feel his long arm wrap around your shoulders, pulling you tight against him. It makes you feel safe. Completely.
“Scared?”
That whispered question makes you shiver. As if he enjoys your fear.
“Of course I’m scared,” you mumble, matching your steps to his.
But he stops completely. His fingers slide down your body until they rest on your waist. You freeze. And you want more. You look up into his eyes, red and gleaming under the moonlight.
Before you can react, he leans down and his lips meet yours. Soft, but impulsive. He licks your lips for a moment. Then another kiss, two, three. He pulls back and keeps walking as if nothing happened.
Stunned, you let him take your hand and guide you. Your mouth tingles. For the rest of the walk you glance at him several times, but he remains impassive. Though every time you startle at the darkness, he gives your hand a small squeeze. As if reminding you you’re not alone.
You arrive at the Cyan house compound and go inside. Fortunately—or unfortunately—Yuri isn’t at his workstation. Jiro explains in his languid voice that he’s probably working in another room.
With that, he leads you to a different area: walls lined with shelves holding countless pharmaceuticals, chemicals, and equipment. At the back, against the wall, a wooden table with a comfortable chair in front.
There he releases your hand and leaves you in the middle of the room. You watch him as he searches the shelves for something. You don’t see what he grabs. He turns back to you before you can ask.
“Come. Let’s look at the aftermath of your bromidrosophobia.”
His slow, disinterested tone is back. The one from earlier, when he asked if you were scared, has vanished. As if he’d enjoyed your fear.
“What do you mean by ‘look’?” you frown.
“I need you to take off your shirt. Otherwise I can’t work properly.”
You understand, but taking off your shirt in front of him, after that kiss… Still, his insistence forces you. The shirt is already partly unbuttoned from the encounter in your room. You finish opening it while he watches expectantly.
It hangs open on your shoulders, exposing your torso except for your bra. Covered in small cuts: some scabbed, some lightly bleeding, others healing.
Jiro steps closer, crouches in front of you, and brings his hands to your body. At his touch, you can’t help inhaling sharply. Currents of pleasure course through you with every brush of his fingertips on your skin. With his crimson gaze through his glasses—making him even more attractive—he examines your skin. You feel exposed, nervous, anxious.
And then he leans in and places a soft kiss on your stomach. Then a long lick from near your skirt, over your navel, all the way up.
You freeze.
“Jiro, what are you…?”
He silences you with a kiss to the side of your stomach, looking straight into your eyes. Slow, sensual, intimate. You let out an involuntary gasp, but you don’t close your eyes: you want to see everything.
He continues with kisses full of feeling. Sometimes he closes his eyes. His hands grip your hips. He moves down to the waistband of your skirt and looks up, silently asking permission. Though you hesitate and tremble, you let him continue.
He slides your skirt down. It falls past your knees, calves, to the floor. You kick it aside and your panties follow the same fate. He removes your shoes with his large hands and your socks too.
You don’t know where the confidence came from to let him see you like this, body aching and marked, legs shaking, but you don’t regret it and can only feel yourself burning. Jiro watches you in silence, kneeling. He leans in and places a genuine kiss just above your knee. He takes your legs and gently parts them.
You let him. He slips between your thighs and his tongue licks your full, already-wet length. You shudder, close your eyes, and release the first sigh.
“Jiro, why…?”
A deep moan cuts you off. You weren’t expecting him to slide a finger in so fast. Your hands quickly go to his soft purple hair. His fingers part your lips and he presses your clit with a flat tongue.
He pushes in with his middle finger, stroking your walls. You unconsciously spread your legs wider and rock your hips toward him, feeling his breath against your sensitive spot. Though carefully, you don’t want to soil his glasses.
You moan and curse as Jiro explores and memorizes every one of your most sensitive points. He hits perfectly with his fingers, his tongue plays. Your mind goes blank. You’re only aware of him and the way he touches you, licks you, makes you feel.
You tug his hair toward you. Your hips press against his mouth. You tremble so much you can barely stay standing. Your stomach twists.
“J-Jiro… I’m about to…”
He lets out a “hmm” that vibrates against you. He doesn’t pull away. You come in waves over his face, gasping and moaning and grinding against him unconsciously. You burn with embarrassment but it doesn’t bother you as much as it should.
You breathe heavily while he licks his lips. He holds your thighs when he notices you’re weakening. Your chest heaves quickly. Your head spins.
He doesn’t seem bothered by your fluids. Luckily his glasses are only a little smudged. He removes them with one hand. With the other he takes your waist, lifts you, and guides your legs to wrap around him.
He carries you to the table and sits you down. He sets the glasses aside and cups your cheeks to kiss you, bracing himself with his other arm. You close your eyes. His scent hits you: a mix of medicine and herbs. You like it.
But you push him back slightly with your hands on his chest. “Why?”
The question that’s been eating at you finally comes out. He places both hands on the table on either side of you. He pierces you with his gaze and you shiver.
“I don’t know. I’ve thought about it for a long time. I just know I want to do this with you, be with you. And even though I don’t like seeing you suffer… it turns me on so much to see you terrified.”
His confession chills your blood. It dries your mouth. You bite your lips and cradle his cheeks with your hands.
“And don’t you think that could be love?” you whisper softly.
He frowns and lowers his gaze to your lips. He doesn’t answer. He just kisses you again, pressing his body closer. With one hand under your knee he parts your legs to fit between them.
You slide your hands to his neck and pull him closer. He seeks your mouth and deepens the kiss, licking your lips, dancing slowly with your tongue. Heat floods you. The anxiety in your stomach spikes your pulse. You only think of him, his arms on your hips, his tongue.
“Maybe it is love,” he admits when he pulls back. His once-neutral voice is now charged with emotion. His crimson eyes look at you without glasses, so close. “But love is what I’m going to do to you.”
Oh, God. If he keeps being so direct you’ll have a heart attack. He kisses you again. You sink into the sensation. His tongue dominates yours. Your body presses tighter against him, gasping. His hands slide down your back, caress your ass, and settle on your thighs.
“Let’s go to a bedroom. I don’t think it’s hygienic to do this on a table used for chemical experiments.”
You arch your brows, letting out a lost “uh.” Your head is still spinning from the recent orgasm. He either doesn’t notice or ignores it. He steps back, scoops you up, and slings you over his shoulder like a sack.
You sigh at the cool air on your wet intimacy. You close your eyes as blood rushes to your head.
“And don’t you think someone might see me if you carry me like this?” you ask hesitantly, upside down.
“Ah, don’t worry. At this hour it’s only Yuri, and he probably won’t leave the lab until midday tomorrow.”
His calm unsettles you more. You accept it. He starts walking and each step jostles you. He’s so tall that a fall would hurt, but he holds you securely.
You sigh and close your eyes, thinking about what he said: that he’s going to make love to you. It sounds unreal coming from him.
You open your eyes at the sound of a door. He carefully sets you down. Your legs wobble and you cling to him. He steadies you by the forearms.
“I’ve got you.”
His slow, monotone voice has never sounded so attractive. He kisses your forehead softly. Then he locks the door.
You glance around quickly: simple room, a shelf with complicated books, huge bed with black sheets. His bedroom.
You don’t have time for more. Jiro grabs your hips, lifts you, and you instinctively wrap your legs around his waist. You cling to his neck and kiss him. It’s addictive, slow, tempting.
Carrying you, he walks to the bed and lays you down gently. The warm comforter embraces you. He climbs on, kneels in front of you, and watches you as he unbuttons his white shirt.
You lower your gaze to his bare torso. Defined muscles, strong arms. But you focus on the huge central scar.
“Jiro…” you whisper softly as he leans in.
His warm breath brushes your face like a silent question. You answer by gently tracing the scar from his collarbones down to just above his navel. He shudders but lets you.
Your eyes travel over the scar on his neck, the claw marks on his left bicep, the horizontal line under his left chest. You wonder if they embarrass him.
“Do you like them that much?” his deep voice pulls you from your trance.
You quickly meet his eyes again. “Well, they’re… unique,” you say. Beautiful.
“I have an even bigger one on my back.”
You arch your brows. He turns slightly to show you: enormous claw marks across his pale skin. You cover your mouth, shocked and frightened.
“What… how…?”
He shrugs. “I don’t know either. I don’t remember.”
As if talking about the weather, he removes his gloves and shows you his scratched right hand. You take it tenderly. His warm skin warms yours.
He saves you from the silence by kissing you again. With bare hands he takes your waist and presses you into the mattress. You’ve grown used to the desire in his lips, but you never tire of it.
Your hands travel up his body and tangle in his dark hair. His fingers slide under your open shirt, up until they brush your bra. You shudder when he moves past it and caresses the curve of your breasts.
You stifle a gasp. You feel him smile against your mouth and deepen the kiss, pressing his body closer. You feel desperate for more contact.
You pull back a little and, looking into his bright eyes, place a hand on his shoulder and push. He lets you flip him over and switch positions. He watches you with genuine curiosity.
You straddle his still-clothed crotch. You feel the denim against your wetness and grind a little, closing your eyes.
He watches silently, gradually flushing. His hands slide up your bare thighs. You look at him and catch him staring at your still-covered breasts. You remove your shirt and bra.
The cool air caresses your breasts. His gaze locks on them. You settle better astride him. He leans in and kisses your jaw, neck, collarbones, down to the swell of one breast. He licks one of your self-inflicted wounds.
“I like your little scars too,” he whispers against your skin.
You sigh, close your eyes, and focus on his hot tongue tracing your breasts. You arch your head back, ecstatic. You gasp and moan louder and louder. You tug his hair when he nibbles and sucks your nipples. He leaves bite marks on your neck, joining the existing scratches.
“Oh, shit, Jiro, everyone will see those,” you manage to say.
With hands on your breasts he pinches the pink peaks. “That’s the point.”
You frown but don’t reply. His massage drives you wild. He lays you back down. You part your legs for him.
Your breathing is ragged. You try to calm it, but you can’t: you’re too focused on him.
“Jiro~!”
You arch your back and bite your lips to keep from screaming. He’s plunged both middle fingers in at once. You spread your legs wider. His thumb on your clit makes you sob with pleasure.
“Ah, Jiro, this isn’t fair,” you mumble, clutching the sheets. “I already came once… It’s your turn, right?”
He smiles. You swear you see him smile. He doesn’t let you continue. He leans in to kiss you and his fingers keep working, hitting your sweet spot.
You arch, curl your toes. You burn. Your nails go to his back but you pull them away remembering his scar.
You reach your second orgasm. It leaves you exhausted, panting. You watch him lick your fluids from his fingers. Far from disgusting you, it arouses you.
With your legs still trembling, Jiro doesn’t consider it enough. He unbuttons his pants, removes everything along with his boxers. Earlier he’d grabbed a condom from the shelves.
He watches you as he puts it on. Serious, but aroused. “Ready?” he whispers, hands on your thighs.
No. You’re overstimulated. But he either doesn’t care or enjoys it. He enters you with one deep thrust.
You moan loudly, close your eyes. Your walls adjust to his size. He gasps, clings to you, rests his forehead against yours.
“You’re so tight…”
You close your eyes fighting the exhaustion. Your hips barely follow his rhythm. You wrap your legs around his hips, moaning against his chest. His hands cup your ass to feel you deeper.
Tears come: you can’t handle his size, the exhaustion, his voice moaning in your ear. You come again quickly, clenching around him. You cry out his name and claw his back.
He whispers between moans that you’re weak, but not as mockery. He pulls out, sits up, and guides you to kneel. He removes the condom and directs you to lick him.
You don’t have much experience, but you try. You lick from base to tip, tasting yourself. You try to take him in your mouth, but he’s big. It seems enough for him.
With hands in your hair he moves your head up and down to match his hips. He comes with a restrained growl, releasing in your throat.
You choke. He pulls back and worries when he sees you cough. “Are you okay?” he murmurs, fingers brushing sweat-damp hair from your forehead.
You shake your head and pout. “I’m so tired…”
“You’re not going to bed like this. Let me clean you up.”
He gets up. You hear footsteps, toilet paper. He returns and gently cleans your thighs, lips, cheeks.
“And now… what do you smell? Do you smell the roses?”
Content Warnings: explicit sexual content, unprotected sex, creampie, oral sex (f receiving), emotional angst, fear of death/curse, mild spoilers of chapter 21. 4.5k! words
N/A: This Is the lastest post I've wrote about TD hope u like it! I'll be translating and posting more soon ♡ (all the works are mine but I posted them originally in spanish).
You step off the train car with your head spinning from the whole situation. You don’t know how to feel, you don’t know where to put your hands, and you don’t know why they won’t stop sweating.
Next to you, Haku throws you a look that’s trying to be comforting, but you can see the pity staining his expression.
You hate feeling pathetic.
You lower your gaze and walk toward the stop, not even realizing Taiga has left until you lift your head to say goodbye to the guys.
Rui is muttering something to Haku about having to make dinner, and his friend says something similar. Both turn to look at you.
“We’ve gotta go,” Haku’s soothing voice brushes against your cheeks.
You nod, exhausted. Honestly, you don’t care if they leave you alone. In fact, you prefer it—you have a lot to think about by yourself.
“You sure you’ll be okay on your own?” Rui raises his eyebrows, clearly worried about letting you walk back to your dorm alone.
You can’t help but wonder why they’re going to so much trouble for you. After all, at the rate this mission is progressing, you’ll probably die from the curse long before any other anomaly gets you.
“We can’t just leave her alone,” Haru finally speaks up, resting a kind hand on your shoulder.
For some reason, that small gesture loosens the knot in your stomach just a little.
You sigh in relief.
“You really don’t have to worry about me, I mean it,” you force yourself to say, even though you’re dying for Haru to give you just a bit more of the attention you treasure so much.
Either way, he meets your eyes, and his expression leaves no room for argument.
“Relax, no need to worry. I trust everything’s fine back at Jabberwock.” The boy flashes a huge grin and gives your shoulder a light squeeze before turning to the other two. “Don’t worry about her, I’ll make sure she gets back to her dorm safe and sound.”
Both Rui’s and Haku’s shoulders visibly relax, and the two thank Haru before saying goodbye to you. It doesn’t take long before you’re alone.
“Alright, let’s get going.”
Haru urges you on, and the two of you head toward the old Clementya dorm, which is now yours. And it feels so empty, so cold, and way too big for just one person.
You don’t like it.
Haru tries to make cheerful small talk on the way to your dorm, but you can’t focus on the meaning of his words. You only take refuge in the sound of his voice, in the way he gestures, in the pleasant scent that comes off him and makes you feel more at home than any house ever has.
Until you finally arrive in front of your cathedral, and it feels awful to have to say goodbye to Haru so soon.
“Hey—” Haru calls your attention; you immediately lift your chin to meet his clearly worried expression. Worried about you.
“Thanks for walking me here, Haru,” you try to give him your best smile, and you swear his features soften a little.
“If you need anything, just tell me, okay?” Suddenly Haru sounds serious. He’s noticeably worried about you—you know it, and it fills your heart.
He’s too good for this world. Fuck, you love him with everything you are.
But instead of saying anything, you bite your lips and glance back over your shoulder at the shadowy cathedral waiting silently. You don’t want to go in there alone. You don’t want to spend the night alone.
An idea crosses your mind; Haru is still right beside you, his warmth wrapping around you. No, you can’t ask him to stay with you—it sounds pretty bad, and you don’t want to be selfish. After all, he has things to do at Jabberwock.
You turn back to look at him and your stomach flips at his concerned gaze. Fuck, you don’t want to make him feel bad for you but… if you were in his place, you’d definitely be worried about him.
“Don’t worry, Haru,” you force yourself to say, and this time your smile is strained. “I’m fine.”
He makes a small sound of disagreement. He reaches out to caress your cheek and you’re surprised by the sudden intimate gesture. Your chest warms. You like it—you can’t help closing your eyes and sighing.
“You sure?”
No.
“Yeah.”
“Don’t lie to me. Even if you close your eyes, I’m not blind, you know?”
His comment pulls a smile out of you and suddenly the two of you are laughing like idiots in front of your cathedral.
Maybe that’s the moment your resolve breaks and you decide to tell him what you really want. Even if it sounds selfish—after all, he can say no, and he’s the one who kept insisting, right?
“Look—” You take a step back from him and run a hand through your messy hair, not really sure what to do with them. “I’m… I’m scared, Haru. I’m afraid. I don’t want to sleep alone here, you know?”
The smile fades from the ghoul’s face, replaced by a serious, understanding look.
“What are you saying? Of course I get it—” Haru huffed. “Since I don’t see you having the guts to ask me, I’ll offer it myself: do you want me to stay and sleep with you?”
Oh. Fuck yes, you do.
But you blush like crazy at the thought.
“Are you sure?” you murmur without meeting his eyes, embarrassed to your core.
Haru lets out another loud laugh that probably echoes across the whole campus. He waves it off with a hand gesture.
“You really think I’d offer if I wasn’t sure? Obviously yes.”
You sigh and give the ground a little kick.
“Fine. But just sleeping, okay?”
“What kind of ideas you got—” Haru shrugs and starts walking toward the cathedral entrance. “Obviously, what else would we do?”
Well… a couple of things do come to mind, honestly.
Anyway, you follow him and the two of you go inside your cathedral. You show him your humbly furnished room and he doesn’t say anything. You take turns showering, and once you’re both clean, the moment comes to share the bed. Naturally, there’s only one, so you have to share—and at the thought, you can’t help remembering those classic book scenes where enemies share a bed and end up… closer than the night before.
But Haru isn’t your enemy, and he seems very willing to just sleep.
Nothing’s going to happen, right?
In the end, the two of you sit on the edge of the bed. You rest your hands on your knees and clear your throat nervously.
“Thanks for offering to sleep with me,” you force yourself to say, though your voice isn’t half as calm as you’d like.
Haru just smiles in that bright, joyful way of his and gives your elbow a light squeeze, maybe just to pass on a little of his confidence.
“I’m here for whatever you need,” he reminds you.
You nod slowly before turning to meet his gaze. And he’s close—really close. Closer than you thought. Though not as close as you’d like—wait, what?
“You know I’m here for whatever you need too,” you reply, shifting restlessly on your side of the bed, ready to lie down already and fall asleep.
Now that Haru is with you, surely you’ll dream of him and not your stupid curse, right?
That thought must show on your face because now Haru is hugging you. You’re surprised by the warmth of the gesture, by how easily your arms wrap around his torso. You close your eyes and let yourself sink into the feeling, into the smell of grass, summer afternoons, and illusions enveloping you.
You let out a shaky sigh and let him hold you until Haru pulls back with one last comforting squeeze.
“Hey—” Haru’s voice, no longer so cheerful, snaps you out of your daze. He rests his left hand on your cheek and you lean into his touch. “We’re gonna make it, hm? We’re gonna find the Kyklos and we’re gonna cure you.”
Even though you’re not entirely convinced, you nod. Sad, scared, hands trembling, but hopeful.
You press your lips together and lift your chin toward his, trying to focus on his features that are starting to blur. You can’t cry now, for the love of god—not now, in front of him, in his arms, no…
“If you want to cry, cry. You have every right in the world, my brave girl.”
At Haru’s comforting words, you let out a sob-filled sigh and tears slip silently from the corners of your eyes.
Haru brings his face closer to yours and, seeing that you don’t pull away even a little, brushes his lips against yours. Your heart flips, but you press closer and let him kiss you.
The kiss tastes like salt, apologies, and affection. Haru licks your lips and both hands cup your cheeks in time with his mouth on yours. He swallows your sighs and sobs, his thumbs wiping away the tears running down your cheeks. You feel yourself trembling, but you cling to him. Both hands grab Haru’s shirt and pull him closer, wanting to feel him more, to sink deeper into his embrace, to feel his kisses better—they’ve already warmed your chest.
Fuck, you love him so much you can’t help crying harder.
Neither of you says anything while you kiss softly. You don’t want to break the moment.
Until Haru pulls back and his gray eyes scan your tear-reddened face.
“You’re the prettiest girl in the world,” he murmurs with a soft smile.
You let out a shaky laugh.
“Don’t be silly, Haru.”
“If I’m silly, then I’m a silly guy in love.”
You blush even harder at his cheesy declaration but let him lean in again to kiss you.
And there you are.
Kissing him.
Being kissed.
Kissing each other.
You melt into an embrace and pull your mouths apart for a second, and then the soft, tender kiss is no longer so soft or tender.
Haru’s hands slide from your cheeks to your hips and push you back a little, making you lie down on the bed, legs still hanging off the edge. It’s not a problem for long—Haru takes your knees without difficulty and spreads your legs, and you don’t resist.
He settles between your thighs and leans over you, kissing you again. But now his kisses aren’t so comforting—they’re hungrier, deeper.
You let out a gasp that he swallows with a little laugh, and his teeth catch your bottom lip, sucking on it before releasing it to dive back into your mouth. Fuck, you never thought Haru would be this good at kissing.
You wrap your arms around his neck and tilt your head back more to feel him, to taste him more. In response, Haru presses himself against you, right against the sensitive spot between your legs, and you feel the hardness in his pants.
Clearly the promise of “just sleeping” went out the window the moment it started.
“Haru, wait—” You panic for a second, not entirely sure if this is what you should be doing.
He whispers a curse you barely catch, but he pulls back enough to look at you. His cheeks are flushed. He frowns and licks his lips, dropping his gray gaze to yours.
Shit.
“Sorry,” he forces out, giving a nervous smile.
He starts to pull away a few centimeters before you can say anything, and you immediately regret interrupting him. You realize that even if this isn’t right, even if you should be resting for tomorrow’s mission, even if you don’t have condoms—oops—this is what you want. And for once, you want to do whatever the hell you feel like.
You want to keep kissing him, keep touching him, keep feeling him with everything you are.
So before he can move farther away, you grab his arm and his eyes immediately find yours, still burning.
“Are you sure about this?” you murmur in a shaky whisper.
Haru smiles and runs a hand through his hair.
“I swear I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”
You don’t need to say anything in response. You tug his arm toward you and kiss him again. Then everything goes to hell and you’re a mess of kisses, caresses, dirty whispers, and careless moans.
You hook your thighs around his hips and grind against him, pressing yourself against his fucking hard length, the sensation sending a wave of desire through your whole body. You tremble and feel weak with need, but you kiss him harder and hug him tighter.
His hands grip your thighs, fingers digging into your skin; his chest presses to yours as you arch against him and his lips drink in the moans he pulls from you.
Haru rocks against you, pushing his hips into your core. You tremble and moan, sliding your hands up his body to reach the first button of his floral shirt.
“Hey, hey, you want to undress me already?” Even though Haru is only teasing, you shoot him a frown, which he answers with a shaky laugh.
In the end he takes the shirt off himself when he sees you pretending to be offended.
“I was just kidding,” he defends, and gives you a kiss on the lips that you happily return.
He also takes off the t-shirt underneath, exposing his bare chest and his… Oh.
Your gaze catches on his right arm—the mechanical one—and only now do you register how firm his grip has been. Right.
“Haru, I—”
“You don’t have to say anything,” he interrupts, but you can’t look away from the metal arm.
You want to ask him so many things. Why, how, when. But you understand that right now Haru doesn’t want to talk about it, so you let it go and lose yourself in his kisses.
Haru nibbles your lips and sighs against your mouth every time you press against him, needy and trembling. You run your fingertips along his robotic arm and the questions flood back.
“Haru, you’re the strongest guy I’ve ever met,” you praise without really thinking.
He pulls back and brushes it off with a hand gesture. Then that same hand moves to your torso and now you’re the one teasing him for trying to undress you.
It’s all silly giggles, sloppy kisses, and trembling hands. Until finally Haru pulls your pants off and slips down between your arms to settle at the level of your core. Oh shit, seeing him like that—kneeling in front of you while he slides your underwear down…
You feel his cold mechanical hand against the back of your thigh, pulling you closer to his mouth. You grip the sheets beneath you to try to steady yourself, though your head is spinning from all the sensations Haru is subjecting you to.
Haru brings his right hand to your center and spreads you open a little for himself. You throw your head back for a moment before locking eyes with him again and biting your lips. He shoots you a mischievous look before dragging his tongue along your entire length.
“Fuck, Haru,” you gasp, suddenly feeling so short of air.
He just laughs in response before going back to work, licking up the wetness he’s caused. His fingers keep you open for him while his metal hand keeps your legs spread. The cold of the metal against your skin only heightens the pleasure he’s putting you through.
You feel sensitive and shaky as Haru sinks his tongue into you, pulling all kinds of lewd sounds from you that make you whimper and roll your hips toward him for more. He’s fully aware of the effect he has on you, and he only intensifies it when he brings his thumb to your swollen clit and presses.
“Haru, oh my god,” you bring your hands to his head and tangle your fingers in his reddish hair, pulling him closer, savoring the way his tongue works you. “Wait, I’m gonna come…”
Your vision blurs and your stomach clenches hard. But Haru ignores your warnings and keeps licking and playing with his fingers over your most intimate parts. You clamp your thighs around him and his hand on your leg does nothing to stop it. With one last cry of his name you arch your back and come in his mouth, head spinning and chest heaving from the experience.
“Fuck, fuck, Haru, I’m sorry,” is all you can babble, but the boy doesn’t seem to mind—he simply pulls away from your legs to lick his lips and wipe his chin with the back of his hand. Far from seeming gross, you just stare at him, fascinated and dazed.
“Don’t make a drama out of it. Thanks for the meal,” he grins widely and leans over you again, leaving a wet kiss on your lips so you taste yourself.
You pull him against you and once again your legs wrap around his hips; his hands grab you by the insides of your knees. He presses against you, the buckle of his pants pressing right against that now oversensitive spot between your legs.
You bite Haru’s bottom lip and moan against his mouth, parting your lips to let him kiss you deeper. You just came but you only want more of him.
You sink your fingers into his hair and grind against him, enjoying the roughness of his pants against your sensitive core. Haru thrusts back in response, pinning you to the mattress beneath your back, pulling his mouth away from yours to start trailing kisses along your cheek, your jawline, the pulse in your neck, your collarbones.
You’re completely naked under his body, and suddenly it feels unfair that he still has his pants on. Well, it also feels unfair that he isn’t buried inside you to the hilt, to be honest.
So you push him away by the shoulders and cup his cheeks in your hands. Haru meets your gaze, his gray eyes burning with arousal.
“My turn to take your pants off, right?” You frown and glance down at said pants, now a little darker at the crotch since you’ve been grinding against him, completely soaked and blissed out.
“I want to watch you do it,” he teases with a desire-filled smile.
Fine, you’re not going to say no to that. So Haru kneels between your legs and you sit up too, facing him, bringing your hands to the buckle of his pants, undoing it and sliding them down along with his boxers. He helps you undress him and the pants end up kicked to the floor.
You don’t have time to admire his nakedness because Haru has taken your cheeks and is kissing you again like you’re his first meal in days. You wrap your arms around his neck, pressing him close, but you also hurry to straddle him. In the end you end up sitting on his thighs, Haru leaning back against the wall while his hands claim your thighs.
Both of you look down at where your bodies are about to join.
“You really sure about this?” he asks again, though anticipation roughens his voice, making it a few tones deeper than usual.
Yes, fuck, yes you’re sure.
You take his chin with one hand and make him kiss you again, steadying yourself with the other on his shoulder. In response, you roll your hips against his hard cock.
“Haru, for god’s sake, stop asking so much and fuck me, okay?” you gasp against his mouth.
Haru lets out a nervous little laugh. He digs his fingers deeper into the flesh of your thighs and adjusts himself better on the bed, with your body on top.
“We don’t have—”
“I don’t care,” you interrupt and slide a hand down his body, lightly scratching the skin of his bare, slightly sweaty, heaving chest. Your gaze flickers to his mechanical arm, which starts right at the beginning of his right shoulder.
You bite your lip. Fuck, why does that only turn you on more? Haru is a damn box of surprises and you love it.
“You sure you don’t care?” Haru tries to make sure, but his eyes are roaming all over your body and one of his hands leaves your legs to caress your chest.
You inhale sharply and shiver at the warmth of his touch.
You’re sure, so your hand on his chest continues downward, fingertips tracing the line of his abdomen, down to his lower belly where Haru shudders at the touch and curses under his breath. You let yourself take him in one hand and brace the other on his shoulder, steadying yourself as you lift your weight onto your knees, spreading your legs a little more to line him up at your entrance.
Haru takes a careless breath and doesn’t miss where your hand is going, repositioning his own hands on your ass.
Then you sink down onto him and both of you gasp at the sensation. You squeeze your eyes shut for a moment and when you open them again, still sliding down his length, you focus on the way you’re taking him in, on the feeling of his cock stretching you open, on the way Haru clings to you and breathes raggedly.
“Ah, shit,” Haru moans your name and rolls his hips upward, trying to meet you, trying to press himself deeper with a gasp. “Shit, look at you—it’s like you were made just for me, you see?”
You smile with a touch of nerves coloring your expression and stay still on him for a few moments, trying to adjust. Haru respects your pace and tries not to move, leaning his head forward to find your lips with his.
You return the kiss, savoring the way he plays with you, rolling his tongue and kissing your lips. You sigh and slowly sit down fully until he’s buried deep and you feel the tip kissing your cervix. Haru presses against you and rolls his hips up, gasping your name and cursing between his teeth.
You tremble in his arms and move against him, grinding on his cock that’s making you feel so good. You feel weak but so powerful. You tremble and sigh and moan and gasp while you ride him, loving the way Haru groans and moves, loving the love poems he whispers in your ear and loving the way Haru clings to you like you’re his everything.
“Haru, I’m tired,” you gasp when your legs won’t hold you the way you want and a burn takes over your calves and thighs.
Even though riding him drives you crazy, you can’t keep going in that position.
“Don’t worry,” he gasps in a broken voice but with a smile that melts you. “Come here.”
Still gripping your ass, he pushes you back a little and lays you down on your back again. You huff at the change of position and at not having him inside, leaving a cold space between you.
Haru doesn’t take long to grab you again by the insides of your knees; the coolness of his metal hand sends a jolt of stimulation straight to your core. You moan his name and he settles between your thighs, pressing against you a little before lining up again and sliding all the way in.
“Haru! God—” You moan and dig your nails into his back, pulling him closer, feeling his ragged breathing mix with yours.
He just mumbles something about how much he loves hearing you moan his name. Haru moves against you in a way that drives you insane and you become a tangle of gasps, thrusts, and obscene sounds. You cling to his back and Haru keeps one hand on your hip while the other braces against the wall for better leverage.
Shit.
The pressure in your stomach intensifies and you slide one hand down to touch yourself, chasing the orgasm you know is close. That’s when Haru lines his hips up just right against that spot that makes your head spin and your vision blur.
You only feel him against you, his addictive scent wrapping around you and the way he groans and gasps when you come screaming his name like a mantra.
“That’s it, come for me, yeah?” he gasps against your ear and his thrusts become deeper, harder, more erratic.
He overstimulates you in a way that makes you shake and babble about how much you love him and how good he makes you feel while he milks your orgasm to the max and leaves you trembling beneath him.
At some point you feel him shudder inside you and he buries himself to the hilt, gripping your thighs and spreading you wider for him. He leans over you more and his teeth find your shoulder. He groans, pressing against you, and you feel him come deep inside your core.
You arch and moan, feeling overstimulated but satisfyingly full.
“Haru…” You find yourself whimpering his name, watching as he pulls out of you and brings his left hand to your core, pushing his own cum back inside where it’s leaking from your folds.
Fuck, it’s so obscene and hot when he wants it to be. You bite your lips.
You love it.
“I’ll make whatever comes first, a baby or some cheese! Ha!” he jokes, though his voice still sounds tired and his cheeks are flushed.
“Haru, seriously!” Though the complaint isn’t really a complaint and you can’t help laughing.
Haru smiles and looks at you like that for a few more moments— a complete mess because of him. He gets up from the bed and leaves a quick kiss on your lips.
“Hold on a second, I’ll clean you up first.”
You nod and watch him walk away. Moments later he comes back with tissue and raises his eyebrows while he cleans you. He tells you a couple of times how pretty you are and how good you were for him.
“Want me to carry you to the bathroom?” he asks when he’s done and gives your ass a playful pinch.
“Yeah, please,” you murmur and stretch your arms toward him so he can pick you up.
You know you could get up and go by yourself, but you love the way Haru takes care of you.
That night you fall asleep tangled in his arms, lulled by his breathing, his caresses, and his sweet words, and you know you’ll never feel more at home than you do when you’re with him.
