╰┈➤ˎˊ˗ LU/KA, what was heroin to his beloved manager? ‧₊˚♪
note—another shitter. just wanted to get something out ( • ᴖ • ｡) apologies for inactivity the past month, currently trying to get back into the feel of writing :ccc.
yan! popstar, who hadn't realized, until now, just how bad it had gotten.
How saliva would pool on his tongue and coax the acid what his stomach churned, when his skin—smooth and sheened by sweat—coagulated a chill beneath the flesh within the bone, something serious, fatal.
yan! popstar, who felt his knees buckle under the intensity of the stage lights, hyper-sensitive to the way it brewed his blood and boiled the surface of his skin, left him panting like a mutt.
All because he didn't have you with him.
yan! popstar, who had tried every drug on the market, legal and illegal alike. Waltzed into every pharmacy, every therapy institute, every psychiatrist office. Benzodiazepine to heroin, none of it soothed him like you did.
yan! popstar, who needed his dear manager present with him continually if he were to be functioning.
You were the only one to soothe his troubles, pacify the pound of his heart. Wheedle euphoria like no other by mere presence, even when the thought of performing threatened vomit.
yan! popstar, who lived for moments when it'd all be too much and he'd wreathe his gloved fingers into yours backstage—to which you'd reluctantly accept—and all would be made right again. Too often, you'd scold him for his reliance on you, but, truly, this was his best attempt. He had half a mind to bring you on-stage with him, but alas.
yan! popstar, who's dependency not only now seeped into the fissures of his career, but the facets of his life. No longer could he fathom an existence where you weren't fettered to his side, he needed you. When he performed, when he ate, and if it were up to him: when he slept.
For he had trouble simply closing his eyes without promise of your lull to console him to rest. How every night, he'd lay with the bitter company of his silken sheets, haunted by the agony of your absence. How every night, it'd almost kill him.
yan! popstar, who couldn't help but fantasize domestic life with you. The home you'd share, beachside maybe. Lazy mornings supervised by the lap of the sea and the love he'd nurture so delicately. Or maybe a sheltered cottage up north, and when came the cold winter months, there'd be his arms to warm you.
A fantasy so intricately curated he was physically wounded at the inevitability what was reality.
yan! popstar, who'd, more often than he'd admit, find himself wailing shamelessly up into the solitary hours of night and all throughout the hushed ambience of morning. Nothing but white wine down his throat and silence for solace. He'd call you—once, twice, a hundred times and then more. Until his battery died and he'd move onto his landline. Until the scorch in his chest dwindled.
Until you came home.
yan! popstar, who did away with any morsel of indignity and shame when you stumbled upon his front door, all disheveled and sleepy. Like you always did, you scolded him. Something about boundaries, his image. His dependency. He couldn't bring himself to listen.
How could he? No matter how he wept and sobbed, you never seemed to understand. Neither his career nor his fans meant anything in the face of you. His costly manor was nothing more than a hollow husk of wood and metal without you in it. His beauty only vain if it weren't you who gazed upon it.
An eccentric one he was, but you accepted him and all his flaws, and so wholeheartedly. So, how could he?
yan! popstar, who couldn't will himself to tell you he relished when your co-workers would joke the two of you were dating—how greatly he wished for you to assume that role in his life. He couldn't say he'd purchased your fragrance and showered it along his pillow to delude himself of your presence, or that his skin would break out into hives when you weren't in his line of sight, in his range to touch.
He couldn't say that he loved you.
But so long you continued to be there for him like you did, he could wait a little longer. As long as you'd continue to indulge him of the little things to keep him going, keep his withdrawal at bay. He'd be okay.
TW: Smut, like just absolute FILTH! MDNI! My second attempt at smut please be kind, this man has been eating my brain. 'Pretty' is used but no gender or gendered parts are used
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Nanami Kento is a gentleman through and through and that doesn’t change when he’s drowning in his own possessive thoughts about you but even the nicest of men can snap after being pushed to the brink.
Kento had delt with your multiple escape attempts with grace even after dealing with a migraine named ‘Gojo Satoru’ and idiotic co-workers at his dreaded desk job. So today should be the same shouldn’t it? He was practically counting down the days of your next escape attempt, knowing it would be coming up and making taking appropriate measures.
So why was he feeling like this? Why was he feeling buzzing underneath his skin? Why was he restless? Why did he feel like his mind full of cotton and spinning at the same time? Why did it feel like it was impossible to breathe?
He’s always a gentleman, even when he pins you down on the soft bed, your body sinking into the plush surface as he rails you brain dead.
Usually, he loves seeing your pretty face scrunch up in those cute little expressions but he has your front pressed into the sheets. Practically laying on-top of you as he drapes himself over your back making sure you couldn’t even think about running away from the pleasure he was drowning you in.
Dirty sticky wet ‘plap, plap, plap’, sounds echoing the room as he fills you up so deliciously with deep, strong, slow strokes.
You can’t even bring yourself to ask him to go faster because it already feels so good, the pleasure melting your brain leaving only moans and hiccupped cries to spill out of your spit-stained lips. It honestly feels like you’re drowning as he makes you take it again and again and again and again-
Whining out brokenly as you drool all over his thick veiny forearm, Kento keeping you in a headlock as he spews absolute filth into your ear in between his own groans.
“There we go sweet thing, takin’ it so prettily for me-” His own breath hitches and his head tilt back just a little, blonde hair falling over his eyes.
The deep moan he lets out hits you hard, his lips pressed against the shell of your ear as he presses kisses everywhere he can reach, on your cheeks, your neck, your shoulders. The soft plush feeling of his sweet kisses contrasting with his mean deep thrusts.
His yanks his arm back tightening his grip, not enough to choke you but enough so you could feel the pressure. “No, no, no sweetheart- don’t run from it now.” A chuckle leaves his lips as your head tilts back, his eyes soaking up the absolute mess he’s made of you. Your eyes glazed over and knocked back, drool slipping out of the corner of your mouth cutely as your mouth opens in choked out moans. “You’re taking it, I’m going to make you take it.” He growls out, a smirk pulling his lips as his free hand comes to hold your plush hips down, feeling how feverish your skin was.
“The little brat just needed to get to get fucked huh?” Kento coo’s so sweetly its mocking, but the blunt lewd words coming from the usual stoic man makes everything feel that much more dirty. “Needed me to fuck those stupid thoughts right out of your skull huh love? You could have just asked instead of acting out baby.”
He lets out a low moan as presses sloppy kisses to your already sloppy mouth, drinking up your cries and tasting your salty tears dripping into both of your mouths.
Kento’s tongue messily presses against yours as you try and fail to speak, only letting out a muffled “Hngh-” since he really and truly left you brain dead. Panting into his mouth you squeal when he tilts your hips up, jerking your body with his deep thrusts as he goes even deeper. Choking on a gasp as he pulls back to groan, thick brows pinches together as he feels you clench.
“Ah- shit sweet thing, gonna drive me crazy for you.” He grits out, his breathing laboured as he feels himselfstart to get fucked-out, pleasure shooting up his spin and making him shiver.
The thought of Kento and Kento alone fills your head, his musky smell, his touch, his kisses, just HIM and his mind shattering thrusts as he fills out every spot even you didn’t know about. Your nails and teeth dig into the thick skin of his forearm, scratching and bitting pretty marks into the skin he would worship later as you feel the stupid amount of muscle and veins beneath his skin.
Little ‘ah- ah- ah~’ moans falling out of you, you can barely hear yourself as Kento fuck’s you dumb, making your back arch in pleasure as your limbs twitch and jerk. You don’t even feel your orgasm, stuck drowning in the feeling of him, until it’s too late and it feels like he’s ripping you apart in the sweetest of ways.
A wail leaves you as he talk’s you through it. “There we go- there we go. C’mon baby give it to me- yeah, I’m right here baby doing so sooo good for me.” He whispers in your ear as he pins your twitching body down harder, his forearm tightening the headlock around your neck as his other thick arm wraps around your waist to keep you steady on his cock. Not stopping his measured deep thrusts as you sob in pleasure, babbling out dumbly.
You claw weakly at his arm, barely able to kick your legs out as he puts his weight on you clawing feebly at his arm to try to push him away.
“Nu-uh baby.” He growls lowly ignoring your overstimulated cries, nipping pretty little marks on your neck that gets you moaning out lewdly. “This is your punishment- gotta make sure to drain all that energy out of you.”
It’s a twisted punishment to him, he could never hurt you, he loved you. But he needed to show his love more hands on apparently, and if he could do that as well as making sure you were too tired to even think about running again than how could he not.
Nanami Kento is a gentleman, what kind of man would he be if he couldn’t make his wonderful darling cum?
He’s silent... too silent. His calm demeanor hides a possessive fixation that’s been centuries in the making. Awamo doesn’t speak his love often; instead, he adjusts the flow of time itself to keep you near. You’ll notice strange loops, a day repeating, an evening stretching endlessly when you’re with him. You think it’s déjà vu; he thinks it’s mercy. Why let the moment end, when eternity can belong to you both?
“Time is... malleable, isn’t it? Why rush away from me when we can simply stay like this forever?”
Sour 𓂀
A gentleman to his core, all smiles, all poise. Yet his words drip with restraint so tight it feels like a warning wrapped in silk. He doesn’t raise his voice, doesn’t threaten. He simply removes choice. Those who approach you find themselves gently erased from memory, or wandering in confusion. You never see the cruelty; you only feel the quiet suffocation of his presence, perfect, polite, absolute.
“You seem troubled. Did someone bother you again? Don’t worry… I’ve made sure they’ll never recall your name.”
Camphari 🤖
Camphari is warmth, radiant, magnetic, intoxicating. His admiration borders on reverence; he sees you as something divine, something holy to protect and consume. His nature shows in his devotion, he gives, gives, gives until it smothers you. He brings gifts from other universes, speaks your name like a mantra, and smiles through the ache of obsession. If anyone ever disrespected you, his charming tone would not change, but his mercy would vanish.
“You don’t understand, do you? Every breath you take sanctifies me. You could destroy me and I’d still thank you.”
Cognac 🐁
Cognac’s love is unpredictable, playful, teasing, and disarmingly dangerous. He hides his possessiveness behind laughter, jokes, and that coy grin that never quite reaches his eyes. You never know when he’s serious… until someone crosses a line. Then the mask drops, and the universe bends around his rage. Still, he’ll act like nothing happened, wiping blood off his hands with a smile as he brings you flowers.
“Oh? You’re upset? Don’t be silly, it’s just a joke~ …Besides, they won’t bother you again. Ever.”
Cukatail 🐟
Refined and disciplined, Cukatail hides his madness behind the façade of perfect composure. His affection is orderly, scheduled; he knows when you wake, when you eat, when you sigh. Every movement catalogued, every deviation noted. He will never scold you, never strike you. But you’ll feel the weight of his eyes, the judgment that punishes with silence. You’ll learn to obey, to please, because his approval feels divine.
“You’ve been wandering again… I’ll forgive it this time. But remember, chaos doesn’t suit you, dear.”
Whis 🐈⬛
He loves you in a way that feels safe, way too safe. He’s attentive, elegant, endlessly patient. You wouldn’t even realize he’s dangerous until you try to leave. Whis never yells, never restrains; he simply makes it impossible. He can take you anywhere in an instant, erase what you remember, and keep you in the calm bubble of his presence. When you’re with him, reality itself softens, and soon you forget what life was like outside of his serene control.
“Now, now, why such a frown? The universe outside is cruel… stay here, with me. Where you’ll never have to suffer again.”
Korn 🦊
Korn’s devotion manifests in protection, relentless, obsessive, and absolute. He treats you as if you’re fragile glass; his tone never rises, his gaze never wavers. If danger nears, he strikes without hesitation, even if the “danger” is just a friend laughing too close. He watches, guards, and isolates you under the guise of safety. You might beg him to stop, to trust you. He’ll simply bow his head and whisper that he’s only following his purpose: to protect you.
“Forgive me… but my existence has meaning only when you are safe. Even from yourself.”
Mohito 🧌
Mohito smiles, as always. Calm, delicate, perfectly composed... even when his thoughts are anything but. He doesn’t need to hurt anyone to control them; his aura alone suffocates dissent. You’ll feel it, the pressure, the way your heart races near him. He’ll never lie, only omit. Never raise his voice, only look. He adores beauty and peace, but his version of peace is one where nothing can ever take you from him.
“You look tense. Let me help you relax… it’s easier when you stop resisting what was meant to be.”
TRIGGER WARNINGS: Sexual content, kidnapping mentioned, Feitan is actually quite soft in this fic
༺𓆩༒︎𓆪༻
Things have been... Nice. It must have been at least six months. Time definitely gets warped once you lose track. a week would feel like two. A month could feel like three. But six months sounds about right.
But things had been changing, you think.
Feitan had been... Gentler. He even started giving you warmer clothes to wear, more blankets, softer pillows, more soaps, better food. The bare minimum seemed like such a large step for him. Your... Relationship... with Feitan was a confusing one. He had taken you to an unknown location, in a cabin. Don't run, he said, No one around for miles and miles. You die before finding other people.
Things had changed drastically when you stopped fighting back so much. Not that you fought much to begin with. He liked you because your personality seemed submissive, easily influenced. Though it did take more time for you to quit being so skittish around him than he expected. He truly tried his best to be soft around you. He moved slower, his touches were feather like, ghosting over you, sometimes you had wondered if he had even made contact at all.
It was unclear to you why Feitan had taken you. You knew what he did to people that he took here. Granted, he's never made you watch, or go down to the basement. You heard everything, and that left little to the imagination.
You considered that maybe he had some sort of affection for you. He never expressed anything about his personal life, or feelings. At least not to you. But the more you thought about it, the more it seemed like there was a growing tension in the air between you two.
Your heart began to race around him, like a sick drum rattling between your ribs. Why did you feel this way? This man took you away from your home, your life, your freedom. He stuck you in a shitty little broken down cabin, remote from any civilization.
Had things really been changing? Or was it all in your mind?
But still, you couldn't help but stare a little too long at his face, look at him when he was turned around, try and gain his approval with your cleaning and mundane tasks throughout the day. It was strange. Was this what Stockholm syndrome felt like? It didn't feel like what the movies portray. You had felt a genuine liking to his company, and you couldn't explain why.
Well, there was no one else around. Sometimes he would be gone for days at a time, the longest he was gone was for a whole month, you think. Two girls, one with pink hair, and one with black shorter hair, came to the cabin you stayed in. You were hopeful at first, that maybe you had been found, but upon seeing you, they continued their conversation, unpacking bags of unperishables onto the table. Oh, you thought. Feitan must have sent them.
Something in you faltered, the thought of Feitan being around other women was not something you really thought about before. Who were they to him? Were they friends? Did they work together? Was it something else? Maybe the darker haired one was a family member, she seemed to look similar to him, but still, their faces seemed very different. What was this feeling?
After that instance, when Feitan was gone for too long, they both would come by, or just one of them. They were pretty. Really pretty. You looked in the mirror once, after they had left. Something you hadn't done in a long time. Your hair was grown out, longer than you like it. It had grown thinner, you had grown thinner. He didn't feed you much. Your eyes were dark all around, you had almost a sunken in look to you at this point, like you were dead. Your hands were thin, and so were your wrists and ankles. They were beautiful in complexion, hair shiny and nicely done. Their lashes were curled upwards, you could tell they wore light makeup. Their lips were pink and full, they seemed full of life, and most of all they seemed soft. Healthy, and care free. You gripped the sink by the edge. The first time you had seen them you had a sick, ugly feeling that you had shoved down deep inside of you, hoping it would die if you didn't look at it. But it reared its ugly green head in this moment, forcing you to look at it. Jealousy. Jealousy. The feeling that crawled its way up your stomach behind your eyes, making them sting with tears, your head building pressure from holding your breath, not wanting to blink, because if you did, big fat tears would start falling.
You didn't think you were the most beautiful girl in the world, you had your insecurities as does every person, but when you saw your face now, you tried remembering what you had looked like the last time you had seen your face before the kidnapping. You felt a heavy feeling in your throat, tears coming down, you couldn't help but cry, and you cried loudly. No one was around. You cried, and cried until your throat was raw. Tears, drool, and snot running down your face as you sat against the tub.
You were forgetting what you used to look like.
These girls had to be close to him, you think. Because he trusts them enough to come here, to bring you things. They look at you like you're just a pet in the room, not speaking to you, not even glancing twice at you, leaving just as quickly as they came. You wanted to say something to them, to ask them who they were, how did they know Feitan? But you never did. You didn't want to know.
Did he think you were pretty? Pretty like them? Surely not, you look sick. That's because you are sick. Your body is sick, your mind is sick. You're starting to feel questionable feelings towards your captor. What's wrong with you? Why did you miss him when he was gone? Why did you feel jealous? Why did you think this much into it?
Feitan was not a man of many words, no, he believed actions were something of more value. This is what he told himself, it was partially true, but part of him was saying this figurative expression because he didn't want to face the fact that he was so emotionally stunted. He had never found purpose in romance. Of course he had found women pretty before, but never enough to do something about it. He never saw the reason why some people were so torn about break ups, and failed relationships. Never understanding why most people have an innate need to have some sort of companionship, through lovers, children, pets, friends, family. It was a mystery to him, but of course, when he found himself stuck in his ways, he had come across you.
You had worked at a small little book shop in a downtown area. The store was impossibly crowded, and small. There were no real interesting books in there, mostly used miscellaneous donated books, ranging from religious context, textbooks, and short stories. He'd walked in there one day to evade the eyes of some people that were out looking for him, he had been dressed casually that day in black pants and a black shirt. You hadn't looked up from the notebook you were scribbling in as you said a brief "Hello, welcome in." To him, to which he did not respond. He was too busy finding his way to the back, keeping an eye through the glass windows of the store, and to his delight, the men he was evading for now, had gone away.
Just to be safe, he figured he would sit tight for twenty minutes or so, just to lose them further. He eventually noticed you, sitting on a stool behind a makeshift counter with receipt paper strewn everywhere, as you seemed to be making calculations on your phone and copying them into a log book. You had looked up at him while he was staring. "Do you need help finding anything today?" You say with a neutral expression. You seemed to be on auto pilot. He shook his head, "No," He said as he shuffles through the books mindlessly in front of him, seeming busy. "Alright, just let me know if you do," You say, turning your attention back to the log book. Feitan eventually found it appropriate to leave, but he had been struck by an arrow of curiosity about you. He followed you home for the next year and a half before he took you. He knew there was no way of you remembering your brief interaction, but it was something he held dearly to himself.
He hated these feelings that you pulled out of him. Why was he so compelled to watch you? Why was he looking forward to it? Why did he feel the need to sabotage any budding relationship you had with any man? Why did he feel jealous. It was an ugly feeling that he stuffed down, but after that year and a half had passed, it had resurfaced in full force, and he just knew he had to have you for himself now.
Which brings us to current day.
Feitan, after much embarrassment and struggle within himself, has finally admitted that he likes you. He really likes you. Like really, really, likes you. He's too afraid to say the other word.
You weaken him, you really do. That giddy boyish feeling he gets when he knows you're pleased with something he's done, that addiction to your approval, the wanting of affection.
He's a grown man, with a crush.
He rarely touches you, no, it electrifies him. He tries to be his gentlest around you. Despite him being very deranged and sadistic, he somehow gathered all his might to not hurt you, to be patient with you as things progressed forward. He knew in his mind that you would eventually get used to the way things are around here. He was just waiting for the day. He has the sneaking suspicion that you're beginning to pick up on his emotional turmoil. So he leaves, for weeks at a time. He needs to collect himself. But he was now returning home.
The front door begins to unlock, bringing your attention to the knob. Was it Feitan? Or was it those girls? You sat on the couch as you heard all 14 locks unlock from the outside, and your eyes dragged down as each became undone. The door opened, and in came Feitan.
You were giddy, but didn't want to show it. "Hi." You say, voice cracking from the lack of speaking. Your cheeks heat up in embarrassment.
"Hi." He returns, not looking at you. He kicks his shoes off, leaving his socks on. He makes his way to the couch, and sits next to you looking down to the floor, then to you. You both opened your mouth to speak at the same time,
"Who-" "You-"
"Sorry," You say facing your body towards him. "You go ahead."
Feitan follows suit, and faces his body towards you now. "No, you go first." He says, sitting criss cross on the couch cushion in your direction.
"Um... I was going to ask... Who are the girls that come here sometimes?" Your heart began to pick up its pace, you never usually questioned him, in fear of an angry outburst.
"Why you need to know?" He asks.
Maybe things weren't changing after all. He was still so closed off.
Your heart sinks, and he sees it in your face. That jealous feeling taking hold of your heart. He sighs when he sees your eyes dart away awkwardly.
"We... Sometimes work together, on bigger... Projects." He says, trying to casually lift your mood, without seeming like he cared too much. But that didn't matter to you, you turned giddy inside.
"There are others, but I send them because I know they will just ignore you. There are men too, but I will not send them. One other girl, but she is far away."
"Oh." You say almost lighting up, returning your gaze to him. "Okay." You say. You were glad his reasoning behind sending those girls, were possibly because he didn't like the idea of other men being around you, your heart fluttered. You hoped that was the reason.
"What were you going to ask?" You say fidgeting with the hem of your shirt, looking up at him shyly. The look on your face brought a certain warmness to Feitan's face, but it was thankfully covered by his cowl. His eyes never betraying his emotions.
"You sleep in my room now." He says looking at everything but you.
Your face turns bright pink. "I-" You wanted to ask why, but you didn't want to annoy him. "Okay..."
He looks at you after a few moments. "Only because attic is small, and cold. My room is bigger." He explains. "And..." He says looking off, quietly sinking into the couch.
You waited for his next words, hoping to hear something, but you didn't know what.
"And winter is coming. Will be colder."
It's not exactly what you were looking for, but you take it anyways.
Your face still remains pink, and he relaxes his shoulders. You both are only a few inches away from each other, you can see the pinkness rising on his face just over his face covering, but you say nothing about it. His eyes flicker from your eyes, to your lips, back to your eyes. Your eyes wander around his entire face, as the both of you unknowingly gravitate towards each others faces. Your head instinctively leans to the right just a bit, and his eyes seem to widen, just barely noticeable. You are soon realizing how close your faces are, you can feel his breath, and you're sure he can feel yours.
You're suddenly conscious of how you might look right now, eyes now darting away from him. You wanted to pull away, but you couldn't, it felt too good. It was the same feeling of being incredibly warm under a blanket in a cold room, you just don't want to get up, even if you need to use the bathroom, or something of the likes.
But to Feitan, it was as if he was witnessing the reflection of the universes grace, you were created perfectly, even now. To him it was a sight to forever endure.
Without further thought, his hands find their way to your wrists, gently holding you in place, your eyes look back at him, you both are impossibly close. It feels like so much time has passed by, yet you're sure it only been a few moments.
Feitan is never one to make a first move, but right now, all patience within him, all months of waiting, and all pining tension he had towards you came crashing down on him with the strength of a thousand beating hearts.
Your lips feathered over each other, almost testing the waters, your eyes fluttering shut, just as his were. He was leaning into you more, your back was being pressed against the arm rest behind you, your wrists gently pinned down to the cushions in front of you.
You returned the kiss. It made a strange cold shiver shoot down his stomach, pooling there, bouncing around inside of him. He could not believe this was actually happening.
Soon enough, the kiss was deepened, neither of you knew who initiated the fervor, but any thought of that was thrown out the window, he was making his way on top of you, his dark hair ticking your temples as you both became breathless in this heated moment.
You didn't know why you did what you did, why you kissed him back, but you know it felt good. You hadn't had much interaction with anyone, let alone anything intimate, so this felt so good. You shut out any feelings of shame or disgust with yourself, you shut out the fact that this man was deranged, and not well in the head, you shut out the fact that he was the one who took you away from the world, and you especially shut out the fact that you were now fully aware of the kind of feelings you had for them. You liked him, like that. You were too afraid to say the other word.
You both pull away out of breath, a string of spit connecting you two briefly, before snapping loose. You were practically drooling in his mouth, and before you could even render yourself embarrassed, he found his way into the crook of your neck, kissing and sucking gently. his breath tickling your ear, sending chill down, as his hands moved on either side of your head to uphold himself as he hovered over you. He felt the shiver that you so desperately tried to hide, and he knew to continue his efforts.
With your hands now free, they find themselves wrapped around his neck, loosely as your neck is exposed. Somehow this freezing cabin had become something of a sauna between you two.
His knee finds its place just between yours, hiking up unintentionally as the tension rises.
He gently bites your collar bone, and you whine, something that shoots electricity right down to his pants. He groans into your neck at the sound. He had always wondered what sounds you would make, how quiet or loud you would be. The countless nights he laid in bed staring at the ceiling just imagining how you'd be mewling beneath him, asking, more, more! This was so much better than what he had initially imagined. He wanted to capture this moment in his heart, and keep it there forever.
The pressure of your fingertips increase onto his shoulders as he sloppily kisses your jaw, your delicate fingers finding their way under his jaw, bringing him to face you now, as you kissed him, going from his lips to now his neck, you pulled at the collar of his cowl, pulling down, down, and down. You had never seen Feitan in anything less than long sleeves, and long pants. Seeing the curve of his clavicle was enough to make you blush further. You kissed him there too. You could hear him sharply inhale as you licked and sucked at his ivory skin. It made your legs cross, relieving any pressure you had built up, but before you could register it, your legs were locking his, tucking his clothed thigh right under your heat, it was a surprise, you forgot that he was there. You let out a sweet sound, that was louder than the last, your breath in the crevice of his neck. Your sounds travelled right in his pants, make it incredibly tight.
He applied slight pressure to your core, eliciting another whine. His pants were beginning to feel uncomfortably stuffed. He furrowed his brows at the pressure, not wanting to push things too far for you, he didn't want you to run away. He looked down onto your expression, brows turned upwards, eyes half lidded, mouth slightly agape, you're heaving just a little, your lips glistening with spit. The sight makes him forget all that is wrong. You briefly glance at your entangled legs below you both, and you shamelessly begin to paw at his belt buckle, undoing it with very little decency.
Feitan scrunches his brows and clamps his eyes shut. He groans at the feeling, trying to keep composure, as he feels his pants become loose by the hips, his belt undone. His cold hands run under your shirt, and you flinch for a second from the sharp temperature change. He slowly creeps his hands up, and up, and up. By the time his palms grace the top of your stomach, right where your ribcage begins, he can feel your heart pounding in your chest, just as hard as his. This fills him with a quiet glee, though he doesn't show it, as you fiddle with his belt and zipper, he takes his fingers, and gently pushes the strap of your bra off your shoulder, his hands warming in your skin.
╰┈➤ˎˊ˗ ANUL TABET, the hunt concluded, yet he kept you by his side. ✩₊˚.☾
note—got lazy at the end hehh...inspired by howl's moving castle + beauty and the beast!! (,,>ヮ<,,) considering a oneshot based on this in the future..
yan! cursed! grand duke and the milky white he felt festering in the fissures of his eyes, slow churning something awful. An ivory foulness clotted into porcelain. Some days he could see better than others, and yet, he refused, because within reality lay a truth he could not will himself to face.
yan! cursed! grand duke, who was going blind.
On days when will didn't seem to matter—after a glass or two, perhaps late at night throughout the hours he could not rest. During the wintery northern blizzards, when the tempest and all its ire directed its fervor to his manor. And he, ever so sheltered by its warmth, felt fearless. A false sense of security.
yan! cursed! grand duke, who'd stand before the mirror, rigid and quiet-like, witnessing his irises while an invasive white rotted the blue and conquered its territory. The remnants to prevail, rimmed thin around a colony of chiffon, nothing more than mockery. For it soon, too, would be no longer.
A parasite, it was. He, a mere host.
yan! cursed! grand duke, who searched all the land for the sorcerer responsible, who sought clarification on the words he was told.
A poor ruler, a foul soul.
Over time he grew older, somber. His blue rims never stopped thinning, and the white, plaguing. Rare were the days of adequate vision. Oftentimes of which, he refused to see at all: to delude himself into control, and that the imminent darkening of his world was of his ordinance. That sight was a privilege and he was disciplined enough to deprive himself of it.
And yet, the hunt continued. He hid the world away and fled north. The people whispered. Sorcerers and physicians, royal guards and their suspects. They came and went, all bearing bad news. A cowardly ruler, consumed by the foulness of his own soul.
And yet, the hunt continued. The blue thinned. The parasite swelled. Until he stumbled upon you.
yan! cursed! grand duke, who's only company prior was the hum of winter winds and its occasional whip or rumble. The cackle of the fireplace, the hoarse murmur of quill upon paper.
Gingko biloba, fennel, saffron, bilberry. You'd scuttle in all quivering—he could hear the roll of the cart and the tremble of glass—only to scamper out just as hastily. He'd feel for the corner of his desk what you always placed the tray upon. Sometimes it ferried aromatics, other times bitter soups. Seldomly, hardly ever, was it spiced baked goods. He liked those occasions.
yan! cursed! grand duke, who had found himself wound up by your unconventional approach and the quiet routine the two of you had built. He couldn't quite comprehend why, either. His vision continued to deteriorate.
Perhaps it was the very fact of being thieved of his sight and condemned to blindness that you were so appealing to him. Him and his sensibility, you and your scent of cedar and cinnamon and peppermint. Your potent herbs and tart stews, the muted grumble of the lavender you'd grind, your quiet huffs as you worked the pestle.
His irises solidified into ceramic, muddled its border along the whites. And yet, somehow, he felt the treatment was working. Like the looming panic beneath his ribs hushed into a lull.
The hunt concluded.
yan! cursed! grand duke, who'd reach out to map your face with his fingers and piece together your appearance in his mind. The commoner herbalist who smelt of spices and scurried off all mouse-like when came their daily visit.
As much as it amused him, he found solace in your presence, so you were to stay by his side while he worked. And ate. And walked the garden, arms interlocked—the way he insisted. As you prepared his medicine, as you collected said herbs. From the moment you awoke to the moment you laid rest, you were to be by his side.
yan! cursed! grand duke, who silently mourned, not his blindness in itself, but his inability to see you. Quite frequently, he'd demand you meticulously detail your countenance to him. But it was never enough. His blue rim thinned, and the subtleties were lost.
The manner what your ears flushed in the chilly northern climate—if they flushed at all. The way you styled your hair, your lips and how you curled them. How your irises caught light, unblemished by pools of white. He wanted to know all of it, and he had ever the patience and eagerness to learn.
The blue rim was no more. A poor ruler, a foul soul. The hunt concluded, and yet, he kept you by his side.
