Pseuuuu 😍 I am in dying need for more Hakuoki stuff! Would you write something for Sannan or Okita? I take whatever you think that fits, but I'd love some 🍋🍋🍋 Thank you for taking requests and happy birthday dear!! 💜
HECK YEAH! 😍🙇🏻♀️ Ily! Thank you for being so excited for the Hakuoki stuff, and for requesting this! ♥️ It went well past six sentences but I’ve got no regrets. 😎 CW for... blood, of a kind.
Everyone said that before the injury, Sannan-san was much friendlier, and that it was a shame she couldn’t know how keen his mind was. Chizuru never corrected them, because she wanted Souji and Harada and the rest to keep talking about him. It was a shame he was keeping to himself, but that just made the rare times she got to hear his smooth, cultured voice more precious.
When it all bubbled over and he was pushed beyond his sadness into madness, she tried everything she could think of to keep him from using the strength of his thumb to unstopper the vial of ochimizu. She would never be sure where the thought or the daring came from, but she grabbed his injured hand and brought it to her breast, insisting he was a man with purpose. He looked at her clinically for a long moment before his displeasure seemed to melt away to resignation and he leaned forward to touch his mouth to hers.
“This is not the way, Yukimura-kun,” he told her sadly, but she insisted again. Dared him to prove her wrong, if he was so certain. She scarcely felt like she was in charge of her own body, challenging any man like that, but if he had not been so kind to her and if his mind were not so great a treasure, she would never have had the strength to try. That it was Sannan-san made her effort possible.
He agreed without enthusiasm, but he agreed, and because she was so green she felt sure her trick would save them. It wasn’t a selfless thing, she admitted to herself as they were untying the minimum of clothes he demanded: he was a handsome man, and clean, and she did know he was kind, and there was just something about his voice that made her body flush and flex. Chizuru never stopped to think he knew her feelings or was humoring her.
There in that silent compound, on the floor of his work room, Sannan pushed into her body, his unhealed hand curled so safe and strong around her shoulder she felt sure her plan would work. The twinge of pain in her abdomen would be worth it, anything would be worth it to keep him. He worried over her in that voice she adored and pressed kisses to her furrowed brow and to her ears.
Just as her body was truly warming to the feel of him within her, he pulled away with a gasp, and spilled himself on her naked legs. Blood and his seed mixed pink as he used a handkerchief to clean her, nearly a match for the color on his cheeks. Embarrassment or exertion, she was not well-versed enough in the feelings of men to be certain.
He helped her to stand and retie her hakama, and even asked her to come into his arms for a moment. She didn’t mean to fall asleep there; her body was simply in a kind of tired shock and all the adrenaline of challenging him had dissipated, so there was nothing left to keep her awake. Chizuru thought her work was done. And his body was so solid and warm. He smelled like a liniment, and like sex, she realized, as she snuggled into him. Before she surrendered to sleep she smiled, thinking they were seated like a married couple.
Chizuru woke when the delicate clink of glass cut the silence, and stupidly she thought she must be dreaming when moonlight hit his glasses and a vial by his mouth. The moon had tried to flash her a warning but she was too late. She was too late to stop him and too early not to see him drink.
When the handsome brown of Sannan’s hair bled to white and his sad eyes were overtaken by red, she cried out and reached for him. The motion made her belly muscles shift, and she felt fresh wetness seep out from between her legs. The last of her innocence— what an embarrassment, though nothing compared to the loss of him, right before her eyes.
He stood up on limbs that seemed brittle, and his voice rumbled “…blood.”
“Sannan-san,” she whispered, pitifully. She could smell the blood in the air, and she knew he could, too.
