Qifrey arrives drenched from head to toe in the middle of a nasty thunderstorm looking for a way to drown out the noise in his head.
wc: 3.7k
cw/notes: SMUT BELOW THE CUT!!!
the song that spawned this was Love Me More - Mitski, very qifrey imo. i cannot take the angst away from this man no matter how hard i try 😭😭 for some reason, i need him to reflect the manga and his Condition at all times so i decided to keep him in his soggy wet clothes during canoodling,,,
this is my first time writing smut ummmm, it may be terrible it may be the same quality as the rest of my writing!! who knows!! i hope u guys enjoy either way
Tags: smut, pwp, switch qifrey, female reader, angst, hurt/comfort, manhandling, dry humping, wet humping?? he is soaking wet, making out, kissing, dacryphilia kind of, praise, condescending qifrey, L bombs, pathetic qifrey, pathetic top qifrey, established relationship, aftercare
The atmosphere is heavy outside, squalls of biting air rattle at your windows, seeking entry. Thunder booms and resonates with an overwhelming oppression of dark clouds and pelting rain. There isn’t a ray of light to be found, there hasn't been for a while and it's doubtful that there will be any time soon. Each violent clap in the clouds jolts your senses, making your body jump in surprise despite being snuggled up on the window seat.
Bundled in your blanket with a book in hand, the fire crackling in your hearth helps to keep you warm and cozy despite the horrible weather. Such a tumultuous storm is rare these days, and you're not as used to the sounds of thunder as you used to be. Every loud bang grips at your body like it's signalling for you to run and hide, but there is nowhere to go, nor is there a need to be scared. You're safe, tucked away in your cozy little house in the plains near a village and half a day's travel away from a certain witch's atelier.
Your mind drifts to him. This weather won't be doing him any favours. A pang of sympathy tightens your expression for a moment, before you push the emotion away and stand in search of a warm drink.
Before you can make it to the kitchen however, a loud thumping echoes through the entryway and you pause mid stride to watch the door. A beat passes without anything else sounding, and you're ready to chalk it up to the wind, but just as you pull a mug from the cupboard, another round of knocks drums against the wood.
“Coming!” Who the hell is stupid enough to be out in this type of weather? You wonder, lightly jogging to reach the front entrance and unlock it.
Pulling the door open against the will of the draft with a little difficulty, you're greeted by a mess of white fabric whipping around in the wind and flicking water all over the place.
“Qifrey? Wh—”
Within seconds of the door opening, he's on you.
Freezing skin and sodden clothes slam against your warm and dry body in a desperate surge of need. His hands cup your head, palms holding just below your ears to steady your head when he crashes his lips against your own. The force of him causes you to lose your balance, stumbling backwards, but Qifrey catches you, lacing one arm around your waist and hauling your body in a spin with his own until your back hits the wall. He doesn't separate from you for even a second, hungrily plucking out and swallowing every noise or breath that manages to climb free of your throat and onto his tongue.
His lips are relentless—you've never seen him this desperate in your life and it's like you barely even have a choice in what's going on. Qifrey is a gentle lover, mostly. Despite being a little mean or condescending sometimes, he doesn't get rough and he certainly hasn't manhandled you in such a way before, even when you ask he's refused. This little encounter has gotten you more worked up than you'd like to admit.
He has you trapped against the wall by the entrance to your home, forearm bracing next to your head up against the chilly cement while the other remains wrapped around your waist. The door bangs against the bricks near you, carelessly left open by your uninvited but not unwelcome guest. Rain splashes inside, coating the entryway in a rapidly growing puddle.
A mewl from your own throat surprises you, and your bearings rebalance with the sound.
His teeth nip at your lips, followed by a pass of his tongue before he groans, heaving a breath against your skin and diving back in. It's hard to keep up with. Every action has your mind spinning with an amalgamation of questions and wants that should definitely not be mixed together. You push your head forward, kissing him back a little harder, testing whether he'll relent at all but the man doesn't even notice. He's too frenzied, sucking your tongue into his mouth lewdly and letting your nails dig into his sopping wet clothes.
“I'm,” he breathes parting briefly, “Sorry.” With a rough voice he continues his kiss broken sentence, “please… let me… have this…”
All you can respond with is a whiney keen of his name against his skin as you manage to wiggle one arm up to press your palm against the top of his throat. Your hand presses there, and he moans into your mouth. The sound almost breaks your resolve to have an actual conversation with your partner, but the uncomfortable feeling of his dripping clothes sliding against your own is just enough to push you over the fence. Tightening your hold on his neck, you push and he has to gasp. Before he can resume his impulsive make-out, you turn your face away, making his lips hit your cheek instead. A much more appropriate greeting.
“What—” you hiss, looking him in the eye, “what the hell?”
He stares at you, panting, and you glare at him. Every breath lingers in the space shared between your bodies in some sort of intimate anger, mingling before being split and sucked back in.
It's a little harder to be angry with him than you anticipated. That warm, pulsing sensation between your legs is not doing you any favours. Having him take such complete control like that was so different and new and sexy that you regret stopping him a little—only a little, though, because the look of lust on his flushed face is something that you wouldn't dream of missing.
“Qifrey, what's this all about?” You ask, voice croaky. “Did something happen?”
A long and shaky exhale slips from him but just as you think he's about to speak, he shakes his head. Whatever he's thinking about must be painful. His eyebrows knit tightly together and his eyes squeeze shut, blocking or processing something in his thoughts. His lower lip gets sucked into his mouth, and his teeth press into the plump flesh hard. Hard enough to send a spark of genuine worry up your spine but your frustration with his lack of response is too great to be overwhelmed so easily.
Your eyes drift down his body, and you let your hands move to his cloak, unhooking the centre clasp and dropping it onto the ground. The smokey fabric pools heavily at his feet and he opens his eye again to look over at you.
His gaze remains on your face, watching your focus shift from him to the open door and then finally to somewhere behind him. You look tense. He isn't exactly shocked, and a tiny bit of guilt creeps into his belly over basically jumping you. Your eyes find his gaze again, before Qifrey can make any more decisions, you grip the white fabric of his sleeves, tugging him towards you before shoving him backwards.
Slamming the front door finally, you stride after him, silent as he flounders, sputtering out a rapid string of apologies.
“M-My dear! My actions have been completely unacceptable—I can't apologise enough. I fully understand your anger, please, allow me to explain—ah!”
Qifrey yelps when his legs hit the sofa, and he topples over backwards, landing on the cushions with a heavy thump. Shame fills his expression when he gains his balance back, but before he can say anything else, it's your turn to pounce on him.
Shoving his shoulders back against the comfort of the various pillows and blankets that call your couch home, you drop your body onto his lap, straddling him despite the horrible cold damp of his skirt that permeates through your own. He groans, letting his head tip backwards and gripping your waist, thoroughly enjoying the weight of your body on top of his own.
Despite his panicked spiel, you know Qifrey would barely explain his situation, if he even tried to be truthful at all. The thought forces a sigh from your nose. Clicking your tongue, you slide your hands over his shoulders, feeling over the slim but toned planes of his biceps before you droop your head and take his lips against your own. His body is tense with his own frustrations, and he only tightens at the resumed contact.
“You're ruining my fucking furniture, Qifrey—” you hiss, tugging at his hair and ripping a broken whine from his pretty neck.
“I'm sorry—”
“Getting it soaking wet—”
“I'm sorry—”
“Stop it.” Gripping his jaw in your grasp, you force his attention onto your face, “stop apologising and do something.”
Your partner almost gawks at you. If Qifrey wasn't aroused before, he certainly was now.
“...Yes ma'am,” he mumbles, almost purrs, before pressing his hand against your lower back and urging you to move impossibly closer to him. His other hand ghosts over your side, making contact only with his fingertips before gripping your hip with strength he usually keeps barred away. A noise of discomfort rumbles in your chest.
Another kiss begins, hungry and desperate and aching. Your hands slide over his body, feeling him through that frustratingly tight bodysuit he flaunts himself around in. The touch makes him sigh, and he lets you push the baggy white sleeves of his dress off of his shoulders, letting go of your body briefly to unhook his harms from the fabric before feeling up your body again.
Starting from your thighs, he slips his hands under your skirt and squeezes the soft flesh that's hidden from sight. Your response is a little whine into his mouth and to let your hands rest near his neck, massaging his traps. Next, he moves his slender fingers up your sides, groping at your body, gently but firmly laying claim over every single inch he can reach until finally resting his travelling at your hips once more.
Qifrey pulls towards himself, "Darling, move your hips,” he encourages, pleads, breathless against your swollen lips.
Unable to resist him when he sounds so needy, you oblige and begin to roll your hips. The friction pulls light moans from you both, and he slides his body down the cushions, pushing his thighs out to spread your legs more. His hips push up, grinding himself up against your heat and gripping the back of your neck, beginning to take control again. His body shudders under you, faltering slightly every other time your weight shifts just right against him to catch his hardness through the layers of robes.
Rolling against him, you let murmurs babble from your lips, dripping down between his own as his head falls back against the back of the sofa. Your name slips from his mouth, and his hands aid you with a mind of their own, guiding your movements to roll more deliberately.
“That's it…” he sighs, eyeing your expression with an underlying predatory intent. “So good, so good, such a good girl.”
The pang of lust that tightens in your lower belly after his words makes you leak into your underwear. Your forehead falls against his shoulder and his palm cradles the back of your neck while he mutters and pants against your ear.
“Come on, sweetheart, you can move more than that, right?” He goads, feeling your movements stutter. You nod. The sensation of his hand at the back of your head, fingers grazing up and down your scalp, makes a pleasant tingle spread across your skin.
Moving with more purpose, you grind yourself down over the growing lump in his layered robes—it's at times like these you curse the fact that he always wears three layers of clothing on his lower half. You bite his lip, earning a jolt from his hips and a breathy whine, before licking over the plump skin.
“Like this?” You mewl.
It gets harder to concentrate with every roll of your body, the friction isn't giving you the relief that you've worked yourself up to craving and each noise that comes from your man makes you dizzier and needier. Qifrey pushes your hips down, rutting himself up against you, meeting you in the middle and blindly taking the pleasure he wanted since before entering your home today.
“I want—”
“My love,” he interrupts, suddenly wrapping his arms around you securing you in place, “forgive me for what I'm about to do.”
Before you even have a chance to register his words through the hazy arousal, your back hits the seat with enough force to expel an ‘oof’ from your chest.
Qifrey's hands are on you within seconds, like if he stops contact he'll physically implode. Strong fingers hook into the waistband of your skirt, and he wiggles it over your hips and yanks it off of your legs with newfound impatience. A squeak leaves you when the brisk air hits your warm skin, and you squirm each time the still damp, cold fabric of Qifrey's clothes brushes against you.
Your knees knock together when you close your legs, embarrassed and chilly. Your lover's eyes squint down at you but he doesn't speak. Instead, he unfastens his belt, letting it drop to the floor with your skirt, and then slips free of his dress. His bodysuit and trousers have always looked a little uncomfortable to you, but you suppose that's the goal. Either way, it's still an attractive look, with the black and tight fabric fastened around his thighs and drawing your gaze to his crotch.
“Someone's excited,” you puff out a laugh. The shape of his length is undeniable through the cotton pants and you lift your leg to nudge your foot against it. He sucks in a sharp breath at the contact, almost as if it's painful. Maybe it is, with how hard he is it wouldn't be a shocking revelation. “Maybe I should be a little harsh with you more often.”
He hums, an agreeable sound, “Perhaps.”
He pulls your foot away from his pelvis and leans down slightly, kissing your ankle with a tenderness that seems almost misplaced after he's thrown you around more than once during this encounter. His kisses tickle, light and quick brushes of his lips around flesh that isn't usually the centre of attention. His hand slides down your leg, making the muscles twitch under the tingly sensation.
“I'm not the only one who's a little overexcited, though,” he breathes out, brushing his fingertips over the damp patch on your underwear. His gaze is dark, and it's at that moment you realise he isn't here to be played with anymore. The look Qifrey is giving you always comes before he decides to be selfish and it only serves to make you more excited, which he of course notices.
“Oh, so receptive, my dear girl,” he purrs, pressing his thumb on the wet patch over your entrance and dragging his thumb up. He watches the darkness spread under his touch, ignoring the way you squirm as he slowly circles the area, only occasionally brushing over your clit before retracting his hand to tend to himself.
Unwrapping the black garters, and unravelling the neck of his top, he slips free of the bodysuit with a sigh of relief, dropping the waterlogged fabric with an air of finality. He then finally tugs the waistband of his pants back and pulls himself out, squeezing the base with a groan.
Your teeth sink into your lip at the sight of just how hard he is—tip red and leaky and so swollen you're shocked he hasn't cum in his pants. He doesn't allow himself to touch for very long, not even a few seconds pass before he has his hands wrapped around the tops of your thighs and he drags your body across the cushions so that you're flush against him between his legs.
Qifrey makes quick work of your sticky knickers, letting his cock sit against your swollen lips. It's hot, and heavier than you remember as he slides it through your folds and tugs a pathetic noise from your lips unbidden. You want to wiggle, but the position he has you in makes it almost impossible to move and take what you want
“Qi—”
“I know, I know,” he dotes, speaking softly, shushing your whimper, while he practically folds you in half underneath him. Your ankle is still up at his shoulder, while your other leg is hooked around his waist with the backs of your thighs and your ass pressed flush against his hips.
“Make sure you breathe this time, hm?” Is all the warning you get before he pushes the fat head of his dick inside with a silent moan. His jaw falls open and his eyes slide shut, relishing in the way your tight heat envelopes him.
The stretch stings; it's been a while since you've been intimate with Qifrey, given his duties and living situation, meaning that once you're used to the shape of him, he has to pull back for longer than either of you would like.
Your nails dig into his arms to mitigate some of the tension. There's no sound from either of you until he bottoms out, grinding himself inside you before massaging your calf and beginning to move with shallow thrusts. Each one hits a spot deep inside, sending almost painfully pleasurable bolts of electricity through your stomach.
“Breathe,” he repeats, but he doesn't let up.
His right palm presses down on your lower belly, eliciting a cracked moan from your lips, letting yourself relax into his treatment. Tears form in the corners of your eyes at the tight sensation of his weight holding you down, making you feel every vein and throb of his cock fucking into you.
“That's it, well done,” he pants. His voice trembles, clearly struggling just as much as you, “s-such a—oh, god.”
Qifrey, despite himself, can't get the sentence out. As much as he wants to be in control of himself, of the situation, the way your cunt is gripping him is making it almost impossible for him to think, let alone speak properly. The slapping of skin and lewd squelching of juices only make it harder to concentrate on giving you something to ground yourself onto as he usually does.
Pretty moans drip from his lips, mixing with your own sobs that rip from your chest each time he slams into you a little harder, a little faster, a little more recklessly and unrestrained. It's not long before you start babbling and sobbing out incoherent strings of words.
A rare curse slips from his lips as he leans over you, anchoring a strong hand onto the arm of the sofa behind your head as he snaps his hips against you. With his build, you forget that Qifrey is considerably stronger than you ever remember, despite being around him for many years. The angle and weight of his body lend themselves to aid in his newfound endeavour of absolutely ruining you in the living room, ploughing his length into you and messing up your poor furniture even more as your arousal leaks out, oozing down your ass and soaking into the soft cushion below.
Sweat clings to his forehead, re-dampening his fluffy white locks and making him look like a debouched mess. Lifting a hand, you lace your fingers into the mess of strands, pushing them from his eye before dropping it to hold his wrist where he’s pressing indents into the fat of your inner thigh with how tightly his fingers are gripping onto you. You’re going to be sore tomorrow.
“I love you,” Qifrey grunts in reverence, repeating the phrase over and over again, trying to drill it into your brain, making you accept just how overwhelmed he is with sheer adoration of your entire being.
“I love—I love you,” you choke, voice high and tight, just like how your walls are clenching and throbbing around him, sucking him inside and trying to keep him there until your body is done with him. Your toes curl, your legs locking and stiffening up as your orgasm builds.
“‘m close—you feel so good, I can't.”
“It's okay,” Leaning down, he hovers his lips above yours again, waiting to kiss you. “Cum for me, I need it.”
“Qif—ah!” You practically shriek when the knot in your core snaps. The force of your release makes your muscles tighten before your legs kick out, trying to shake out the amount of pleasure that's exploding inside of you. Slapping his biceps, you cry into his mouth as he steals hungry kisses from you. A broken wail rips from his own throat, cumming inside you from the feeling of your own pleasure overwhelming his mind completely.
“Thank you,” he rasps, blubbering, “thank you, my sweet. My perfect girl.” His hips continue to grind into you until the both of you are overstimulated, making sure he wrings every last drop of pleasure from your body.
Dropping your leg from his shoulder, he lets it rest over his hip. He shifts to lay over you, careful not to jostle you too much while he settles.
With heavy eyelids, you blink up at him, too tired and floppy to really speak much. So, instead, you cradle his face with your palms, letting your thumbs trace over his flushed cheeks. His own hand strokes through your hair, sliding down to thumb at your bitten lip.
“Are you alright?” He whispers, guilt already creeping through him.
You nod, humming in content, unaware of his building inner turmoil. Your body feels like jelly, boneless and worn out despite barely doing any of the work. Tracing your nails over his skin slowly, you lift your head with more effort than you’d like to admit, bumping your nose against his in a little kunik.
“Are you okay?” You reflect his concern, dropping your head back down with a huff of air.
“I am,” he confirms, kissing your forehead, “of course.”
“You’re still wet…” Pouting, you shift a leg, toeing at his half dry pants.
“So are you, quite wet, actually.”
“Qifrey!” You shove his shoulder and giggles erupt from the both of you, sinking back into a more relaxed atmosphere.
“If you stay damp you’ll get sick, and we can’t have that. Will you shower with me?”
He cocks his head to the side, considering your offer with a slow inhale. “Alright, we can warm up together. Perhaps the water will be less suffocating with you there.”
It was morning. The sun has just started to rise above the horizon, the few early creatures being able to enjoy the bits of cold from the night as the earth slowly begun to warm up.
"Mama, mama! Look at this butterfly I found!" tiny fingers held a pitiful looking butterfly by it's wings, the poor creature unable to do anything in the girls hold.
"###, dear, don't grab it like that, you will rip it's wings off." The woman warned, her hair flowing with the morning wind as she spread out the sheets to dry.
Tiny footsteps approaches her from behind.
"Mama, do you think I could fly like a butterfly one day?" The girl asked, just out of curiosity, but she already knew the answer.
"Hm, Maybe, who knows?"
"Really?? If I turn into a witch, i could use magic to fly just like a butterfly!"
The woman left a sigh "###, we already talked about this.. But maybe, one day, you will be a witch." The woman had a sad tone in her voice, but it got unnoticed by the excited girl.
"Then I'm going to be the best witch of all times!" She stated bravely, a large smile stretching across her face. Her mother could only smile back to her. If only she could make her wishes true..
"Wake up."
You woke up feeling your heart beating in your throat. Everything in your body screaming danger was near, and you struggled to understand what exactly was the danger. Your brain could only try to process what was going on with yourself, almost like your body had memories your brain couldn't catch up with. Like a puzzle piece missing.
It was confusing and stressful, a vivid dream that never happened.
'Why am I reacting like this? What happened? Am I dreaming?' you could only guess.
But every Thought Circulating your mind was forgotten the moment you felt a light hand in your head.
"Oh dear, you sure had quite the dream, hm?" A soft voice spoke, and you did recognized it.
Looking behind you, a few lose pieces of memory returned to their place. Qifrey looked at you with a surprised face, his eyes looked a darker shade of blue in the dim light of the room you were in, he offered you a peaceful smile.
But something inside you coiled, an instinct deep in your mind screamed danger as you looked back at him. It felt off, unconscious, like a natural reaction you should have.
But it didn't make any sense. So you ignored it for now, and responded to him with a meow.
"You slept for a while. You looked so peaceful I didn't wanted to disturb you." He gently pet your head. You quieted the voices in your head and leaned in his touch. You just noticed your surroundings, you were in his lap, as he was sitting on a wooden chair close to a table filled with pens and books.
'How long are you sitting there? You stayed this long just so I wouldn't wake up?' There is no way you could receive an answer, with no voice to speak, you could instead only speculate inside your head.
"We should get going." He said as he holds you to get up and start moving to the door. "You must be hungry, and it is almost time to the lunch."
He grabbed the knob, waiting two seconds before opening the door.
You took the opportunity to twist yourself out of his hold, landing on the ground in four paws, being quick in leaving before him and hopping off the corridor.
'There is something weird about this guy.. i just can't point it out.' Shivers runned down your spine every time you try thinking too hard of it. So you abandoned the thought for good this time.
Qifrey never let his eyes wander away from your distancing form as he stood there, still holding the knob, a careful watch in his eyes before he started moving to accompany you to the kitchen.
There, you took time to look around, walking around the counter and sniffing everything that could be interesting, but the hole kitchen had a characteristic smell of flour, fresh vegetables and ink. There was no stove, only a stack of papers, a pot with ink and pens to draw. You could guess witches wouldn't use common methods to cook, they have the benefits of magic and knowledge in their hands.
"Alright, time to get to work!" Qifrey, who has followed behind you, grabbed a cloth hanging in the wall and swapped with his cloak. Tying it to prevent stains in his clothes.
You carefully observed him from the ground, you couldn't see much but you didn't risk getting on top of the counter.
You only did when Qifrey himself invited you to climb it with a nod from his head. But you still tried to be polite by standing in the corner, your paws close to your body and your tail swinging left and right in the air.
Qifrey worked silently, you would hear a hum here and there coming from him, small fragments of a song he had in his memories. Your mind starting to wonder and lose focus on the cooking process, instead you payed attention to how Qifrey started to treat you.
You don't remember how you got in that room with him, you could only remember following behind him as he lead you somewhere, everything after that was a void, one your mind struggled to fill.
But you had paid attention to him after that, from the way he talked to the way he treated you, it looks almost as if he was talking to another person, one of his apprentices.
He talked to you like you were human.
This made you look at him carefully, his eyes never meeting yours this time.
'That's it, is like I'm one of his apprentices, he talks like I could actually listen and understand him.' and you did, but from the outside you were just a normal cat, so it didn't make sense. 'It's like he knows I'm human.'
But, how?....
Maybe you were thinking too deep, he probably was only one of those guys that likes to chat with animals for fun. You remember Coco's Mother also had the habit of talking to you.
But thinking about it made your paws itch, so you licked them to relieve the stress and curiosity.
You could be a slow thinker, but by the time you noticed, Qifrey was finishing the last sandwich. In total were 5 of them, each looked different from the other. Separated in different plates with different colors, it was easy to guess the owner of each sandwich. But you noticed the plain white one with a sandwich that looked a bit smaller than the others. You wonder if this was Coco's.
After finishing, he picked up a small bell and rang it, announcing lunch time. Different pairs of footsteps were heard coming closer to the kitchen, the first ones to enter were Coco and Tetia, the last holding the hand of the former with a big smile. Following after was the blue haired girl, her expression was the same as you remember first seeing her, but you could tell she was hungry.
Lastly, an unknown girl with black curly hair and a stressed expression joined them.
Qifrey smiled at the girls, inviting them to grab a plate as he himself had a basket in his hands. Each girl took a different plate, with Coco being the last one, grabbing the last plate reluctantly and following behind the other girls to the outside of the atelier.
You saw as the new girl, the one with curly hair, just spinned on her heels to go back inside. You swear you heard Qifrey sigh at her behavior.
Her eyes meet yours before leaving the kitchen, she had the eyes of someone who hide behind their own walls, this left you intrigued and curious about her, and something inside you wanted to follow her.
"Come on, miss paws!" Coco called for you from outside, you left your distracted mind behind to follow after her voice with a meow, your tails pointing to the sky as you walked in tiny steps.
Outside, there was a long wood table and chairs bathing in the sun, the grass and the small flowers made the scenario look whimsical, Qifrey and his apprentices started setting the table, Coco stayed with you, looking from the side with a look of a kid who wants to play with the others on the playground, but was to shy to insert themselves into the playing.
Qifrey, noticing how she was reluctant, skipped to her side and gave her a encouraging look, using his hand on her back to indulge her to participate and help.
The girl shyly set her plate on the table, choosing to sit close to Tetia, the girl she was having the easiest time with.
You watched from the ground, if you could, you would be smiling right now, watching the way Coco acted around and inserted herself in this new life made you proud of her, the feeling making you all fuzzy and warm inside, like watching your little sister grow out of her shell.
But at the same time, A melancholic ache settled in your chest. You admired and loved her the same was you were jealous right now. Being trapped in this feline body for years, with no explanation or trusted memories to rely on, the only thing you had was her, and still you had the capability to envy her. She was the one person you had left, the only piece of identity you had, the one you loved so dearly from this smaller form. Yet, you envied her and the way she was free, even after everything that happened. You feel disgusted of yourself and your feelings, how could you feel this? after everything she has done for you. You felt so unworthy of her love, mayb—
"Why are you standing there? Come over, I prepared lunch for you, too." The white haired man held you carefully, moving you from where you were standing to a empty chair by his side, right in front of Coco.
You saw the way she smiled at you as Qifrey sets a small plate in front of you on the table, a simple plate filled with fresh fish meat. The smell invading your nostrils, reminding you of your hunger.
Your mind was blank for a moment, you didn't think, you just approached the plate and started eating the food.
'I need to stop thinking like this, it won't leat me anywhere. Instead, i need to focus on what is important right now.
I want to help Coco to the right path, the one were she will be most happy.'
Taking the example from you, Coco and the teacher started eating too. The table was filled with the comforting feeling of home and the smell of good food, everyone eating together (not really) like a family. That was a feeling you missed, to have a big family on the table to feast together and spend quality time with each other.
You could get used to this quickly.
(=^. .^=)S
Richeh, as you learned, and Tetia carefully pilled the empty plates (including your smaller one) and cleaned the table to return everything inside. You had long left the table and instead was jumping around the grass after a butterfly that was desperately trying to fly away from you and your claws.
Coco was watching after you and holding a napkin, deep in thoughts before Qifrey approached her.
"Coco, could I talk with you for a moment?" He asked, his question got her a little tense, but she quickly complied and followed him inside the atelier.
"What did you wanted to talk about, Mister Qifrey?" Coco asked as they walked further inside the house. The air starting to become tense
"You can call me master now, after all, I'll be taking responsibility in teaching you magic from now on." He assured her with a smiled, it never left his face as he spoke. "I wanted to talk with you about Miss Paws, if that's okay. I just have some questions."
"Oh, it's okay, what would you like to know, master?" She asked.
"When was the first time you meet her?"
I figured I may love to end chapters this way, I live for the suspense 👀
──── ㅤׂㅤㅤ‧‧ㅤㅤ TAKE CARE !ㅤㅤㅤ☆ㅤㅤㅤyou are having a bad day, qifrey makes it better . ˖ ݁𓂃. ݁₊
𝐜.𝐰 ᡴꪫ 𓂃 ꒰ mdni ꒱ . established relationship ⋮ afab reader with no gendered pronouns used ⋮ fingering ⋮ praise ⋮ mild dacryphilia . ˖ .
QIFREY HATES SEEING YOU UPSET, you have a hard time asking for what you want. that's alright, some things are simple like that.
qifrey seeks you out first. too much of a good thing. now you can't leave his lap, perched sideways across his thighs, one of his arms resting securely around your middle while his mouth presses at the corner of your downturn lips he'd kiss into something softer if you let him give you what you want, rather than what you need.
"shall we try again?," the concentrated touches on the tender, hardened bud are enough to make you mind go haywire. he digs his palm against your clit with barely there friction—an involuntary whimper leaving your lips.
you squirm. talking is challenging because he's been at it for what feels like hours, it's depriving your brain of blood. too much of a good thing—he's so warm against you and he smells so good and there's just never been a moment in all the time you've known him when you didn't want him under your skin.
"it's just—i mean—it's nothin—," you make a soft noise of want as his fingers drag through your sticky folds. gathering your arousal on the tips of his fingers until he stops at your clit. you are throbbing so much it's painful, wet enough that it's pooling underneath his robes.
"you were saying?" he prompts sweetly, as if encouraging a trick. the hand that it's not between your thighs reaches up to turn your head, cupping your jaw as he forces you to look at him. barely an inch of space between you. "go on"
you gasp at the slow, smooth circles qifrey rubs at your clit with. he has a stunning amount of control over his movements, well practiced with every angle of your body. you have made him that way, but you never thought it would be so easily used against you.
his hand cupping the front of your throat, shame slanting your neck. you are so in love with him that you notice all of this, take a photo in your head, lock it up behind your ribs to study later. you can't make yourself out in the reflection of his eyes but his smile doesn't change. you know you look desperate, you can never hide how you feel from qifrey.
"m-maybe," you finally, finally, admit. voice clipped and hardly there, it comes out as a loud whine instead. "it w-wasn't a good day."
you're awake and ruined. you feel him pushing inside your tight hole. his hand is steady and slow as qifrey slows inch his first finger into you. they're cool compared to the tight, wet heat of your cunt. jolts of electricity spatter along your insides.
"finding your words now, i see," qifrey chuckles, breath warm as he drags his thumb along the thumping pulse of your heart. he is kind enough not to say anything about how loudly it thumps, how shaky you are breathing, "i knew you could do it."
he rewards you with his middle finger curling as it bottoms out, down to the knuckle as he pauses and let you get adjusted to the sensation. it doesn't last long, patience wearing thin.
"y-you're being mean," a frustrated whimper deep inside you, and you shouldn't feel bad for him helping you, but you do. he gets you all scrambled, turned upside down.
"am i? i thought i was being helpful," he hums a low, velvet chuckle, warm but laced with that sharp undertone that always makes you twitch. "why don't you tell me more?"
you open your mouth to speak but the pressure is too strong. another sensation follows you, then—just after you get used to the first. he gives you another finger, his ring finger this time—repeat the process. fucking you slow and deep, letting your hole stretch out around him and pumping inside until there's no longer and resistance at all.
"'m sorry i—i can't," your throat tightens and you shake your head weakly, but it only makes the tears well faster. seconds later, you, the sweet, tender little thing you are, burst into tears.
the hand at your throat comes to your face so two fingers can push past the seam of your lips, pressing against your tongue until you feel your jaw go slack at the overwhelming difference between pain and pleasure.
"yes, you can," he coos, his tone is down right patronizing, but god, you need it. it makes your cries stutter in your throat. "you're doing so well."
qifrey curls his fingers inside you, pressing and searching until he hits the right spot and you moan brokenly, silken walls clamping down and pulsing on his hand.
"uh, 'm just having a bad time," you are babbling around his fingers, choked and wanting, mouthing against his palm and hoping you'll be brave enough to draw blood just on principle. "a-and i, um— "
you fumble as a sob gets stuck in your throat. good thing qifrey is patient. you're almost there.
"yes, love?" he replies.
( it sounds like praise, it sounds condescending, it makes your stomach turn. you want him to call you love forever. you want to drown in it. )
you shake in his grasp as he secures his arm around you. the roundest part of his palm pushes up against your sex, clit throbbing as your head melts.
"a-and i need h-help!" you're boneless underneath his touch. your body and sensations reach heights far beyond and in true, utter desperation you call his name. you're not usually so spoiled but it's too much.
it wouldn't matter. wouldn't make it any less true. the tight space that qifrey has carved for you is yours no matter how suffocating. and it's yours.
"well done" it's not a question, but the inflection he gives it feels a little bit like there's no wiggle-room to just sink into his embrace, and forget about everything that should realistically matter. it digs a bit into you brain. "better, isn't it?"
you're receptive to his plunging fingers, hips bucking up against it, back arching, and he hums. he lets your mouth alone so a warm hand presses down on your navel to keep your steady.
you let your guard down as you feel the coordination of rhythms, you yield to the moment when pain is not something your brain processes clearly.
"p-please," your brain feels like it'll pour out of your ears, the words barely forming to speak. you whimper at the touch of his cool hands on your hot skin.
qifrey doesn't stop what he's doing, especially now that you're silent. you melt into his arms as he fucks you, somehow both gentle and rough. his fingers are slow, calculated to hit against your sweet spot with every thrust. he's filling the silence with gentle coos, encouraging you as you wither away, gasping and panting and begging.
"you don't have to think. i'll do that for you." his smile softens, pressing a kiss at the top of your crown. it's a tender gesture that you can't help but whine. "and if all you can manage is crying, then crying will do."
you nod. a shame you barely registering what he's saying through your haze of pleasure. you allow him whatever he wants. your head feels full, drunk and floating until you come with a sound that's something between a sob and his name, and your vision speckles at the edges because is too much, it's all too much.
qifrey is good to you as you do. you can't see the hint of mischief in his eyes, but it's there as he pets down your chest, you waist and hips, but he doesn't retract his fingers that your thighs shake with overstimulation.
he's sure you'll be weeping for the rest of the night. but, you need this. he's sure you'll lay against his chest in the early hours of the morning and really tell him what happened today that got you so upset, but for now?
for now, you just to forget and he's happy to oblige.
Qifrey seeks you out after an argument, hoping to make amends.
wc: 1.4k
cw: Manga Spoilers kind of (if you know about it then you will notice it, if you don't then like,, caution ig idk), qifrey is a little liar, angst, hurt/comfort, mostly hurt, this was supposed to go in a Completely Different direction but i got very distracted and now its sad!
Qifrey hates water. He hates the way rain patters against the roof, sending hollow knocks through the atelier that he and Olruggio built up brick by brick to house them, to home them. He hates the way the cold a storm brings with it seeps through the shutters, crawling up the walls and onto the furniture, reaching where he sits staring at the unlit hearth in a vacant stare. He hates the suffocating feeling that grips at his chest, tight, longing for comfort that he feels unable to ask for—no, he has no right to seek it out, seeing as he's the one who made you cry.
That's the type of water he hates most; The salty and warm blobs of water that first welled up in your pretty eyes after he raised his voice. He barely noticed that you were crying until he'd finally turned back to face you, searing the image of fat tears dripping down your cheeks, staining the skin with trails of moisture that served as pathways for fresh tears to follow into his frazzled mind.
Qifrey didn't mean to shout, it was a rare slip of composure, a panicked defense mechanism that raked its way up his throat in a final act of self preservation, which is ironic considering that's what you'd been squabbling about in the first place.
You'd come to him after his most recent stunt in pursuing the Brimmed Caps. Olly had given him an earful previously, but you came to him with knitted brows and bitten lips, needing to understand why he so quickly discards all reason in pursuit of his revenge. Needing him to understand how worried you were—how worried you are for him. Whenever these topics arise, Qifrey finds it difficult to balance how much to lean into your assistance and comfort with how much he needs to close away from you, lest his roots find a place to start digging.
A sigh rises in his chest before he pushes himself up from the floor. It's obvious in hindsight. Running headfirst into dangerous scenarios, getting hurt, and all for the goal of saving himself. He supposes he's silly, really, thinking about his own juxtaposition as he approaches the bedroom door. What good partner wouldn't be worried when their beloved seemingly doesn't care for what could befall them?
The knock of his knuckle against the wooden door is soft, he doesn't want to startle you. It's late, after all. Everyone should be asleep. Qifrey briefly wonders whether opening the door is selfish, but before the thought can even settle in his mind, he's clearing his throat to the sight of your back. You don't turn around.
A soft click sounds from behind his figure when the door closes, but the witch doesn't move from his place.
“Love,” he rasps, suddenly nervous. “You're working at this hour?” The questions skirts around the edge of the bigger topic. He hopes you'll reply, turn around and take the bait so that he can continue to avoid accountability. Keeping the guilt of raising his voice at you close to his heart with no words of forgiveness uttered would surely keep him anxious for life. Perhaps it would grant a break from the constant hammering of rain, because scaring you feels much more terrifying.
Your pen pauses. The soft ball of light next to your haunched over body illuminates the space around the desk, warming the area with a soft and inviting orange glow. He wants to come closer. He can't. The silence he's greeted with makes his fingers itch and they pick at each other, his nails catching on and pushing his cuticles back into his skin.
“Listen,” he mumbles, eyes downcast. “We don't have to discuss the details, but I need you to know that I am sorry for how I acted. Stay angry with me for as long as you need to, my feelings for you will never change.”
“You're such a hypocrite, Qifrey.” Your voice comes out wobbly. Perhaps you hadn't managed to stop crying in the few hours that had passed.
“I know…”
Putting your pen down, you finally turn to face him with puffy eyes. His soft gaze settles on your form as you shift on the wooden chair. Your figure is closed in, trying to shield yourself from any more hurt and he feels his heart crack at the sight. Tears still cling to your lashes, glinting in the lamps glow with every blink and the man thinks he's never seen anything more beautiful yet full of sorrow. He thinks you're pretty when you cry, but not for this reason, he can't stand it when you're hurting.
Wordlessly, he walks over to you with tentative steps, before taking a knee right in front of you.
“Please, my sweet, don't cry.” One gentle hand rises to your face. His index finger curls, using a knuckle to carefully wipe the tears threatening to drip down from under your eyes before he cups your cheek. His thumb strokes over your skin, while his other hand rests on your knee. Your partner never breaks eye contact, the habit was drilled into him throughout his years as an apprentice and now as an adult he takes great care to shift around and make sure he can always see what's swimming in the hues of your irises.
“Qifrey—”
“I know,” he repeats, voice so soft that he wonders if the words even exited from his mind. His hand drops to your shoulder, the other mirroring the positioning before he runs his palms down your arms, letting his fingers trail over the length of them until his grip envelopes your own. With a tender grasp, he brings your hands up to his lips. A gentle kiss is placed across your knuckles before he breathes out again and bows his head to you. “I'm sorry.”
He looks like he's begging, praying for your forgiveness on his knees in front of your form as he holds the backs of your fingers to his forehead. Inhaling through his nose, his grip tightens almost imperceptively before he speaks again, “I never meant to shout at you, you didn't deserve such a reaction.”
“I was… overwhelmed, but that is no excuse. It will never happen again, my love, I promise.” He doesn't move, just keeps his forehead pressed against your fingers until they move in his grip.
Wiggling your fingers free, you brush your fingers through his fluffy hair, it's always so soft. Qifrey looks up then, with an expression riddled with stress. Guilt pulls his eyebrows together, curving the inner corners upwards. He still keeps your other hand hostage for now, gripping it under his chin while his glossy, baby blue eye watches your expressions. For a man so anxious, he exercises an impressive amount of patience.
“I know you didn't mean to yell,” You whisper, nibbling on your lower lip in contemplation, “I just—your lack of care for yourself scares me…”
Qifrey's stomach churns at your words. He knows, you'd said this earlier but he was so caught up in his own thirst that he couldn't hear it. Perhaps he didn't want to hear it. Perhaps he's reckless because he knows it scares people.
“If something happened to you, what would that mean for the girls? They'd be devastated; What about Olly? What about me?” The words tumble from your lips in desperation as if you're pleading for him to hear you, to reach out and grab onto the words and forever hold them close to his heart.
He can't. That would be too kind, too comforting. He briefly considers telling you the truth, confessing that he can't completely accept how your worry and love has slipped under his skin in a warmth akin to one felt only on a fresh summer evening that leaves you feeling completely at peace. He wishes so badly to agree. Tears well up in his lash line from the turmoil and he has to swallow down a scoff. The more he considers being honest, the worse the pain in his head becomes, so he decides to lie.
“I'll be more careful,” he nods, straightening his posture, “no more acting without thinking. I'll come to you beforehand, Olly as well.”
The headache lessens.
“You promise?” Cupping his cheeks, you brush his tears away this time, trading roles.
Ther x Ronin, Adam and Eve retelling, Spread the Rot.
cws: religious themes
Etherality, one of the two humans created by God on his perfect earth, a perfect woman for Craig, perfect hair, perfect eyes, perfect body. Everything in her was meant to fit Craig's tastes, after all she was to be his wife in this beautiful garden.
She was sitting on a cold stone by a river, like a nymph, beautiful, flawless. Her eyes locked on the reflection she could see in the river, long red hair falling down her back, milky skin, blue eyes dark like the night's sky. Somehow this person, this woman, she felt foreign, like a complete stranger who copied her every move.
Ethereality ran her hand across the surface of the river, disrupting the water and causing her reflection to disappear for a second. It was an idiotic thought, she's a woman, a woman created by God to be Craig's wife. She was ethereal, a true beauty. She couldn't feel alien in her own body, it would mean that she's questioning God's creation, that would make her imperfect.
"Ther, Ther, sweet Ther, when will you open your eyes?" A man in the form of a serpent was resting on one of the branches of the great tree, the tree holding all of God's wisdom of what's right and wrong. His serpent form was red, with eyes as black as coal. His eyes locked on the human on the other side of the river.
Ronin - because that's the man's name, the name he picked for himself at least, is an angel, one of God's favourites, or at least he was until he cut the wings binding him to heaven off. He hated heaven, hated the strict rules, hated the forced perfection.
He wanted to break free from heaven, create his own damned world, chaos and sin, freedom. To do that he needed to create chaos, destroy God's perfect plan, and dispose of all the virtues God created.
He planned on using Craig to do it, an empty headed man like him was easy to manipulate, whisper to him about power and he'll take the fruit like it's the only thing that matters to him. But something, or rather someone else caught his eye, Ther, or Ethereality, he watched them for a while now.
They were like him. Hated the form He put them in, hated the man they had to share a paradise with, hated everything about this holy place. He saw that, and he saw how much they fought their feelings, tried to bury them deep inside, yet they couldn't. They couldn't fight the truth, they just needed a push to accept it.
And that's when a magnificent idea popped into the man's mind. He could feed the fruit to them, he could help them and take them away from that damned place. Craig didn't deserve them anyway and Ronin? Ronin could give them everything, the whole world would be on its knees for them.
Ronin waited for them to pass the tree, he saw the curiosity in Ther's eyes. They were thinking about taking one of the fruits, he saw it, he saw the spark in their eyes.
"Oh, why won'tcha give the fruit a try, love?" Ther jumped. Hearing the man's voice from behind them. Their eyes widened when they saw who he was.
"Who are you?" They asked, their eyes moving between the void in his eyes and the broken halo on his head.
The man's hair was white, it was probably the only clean and holy thing about him, he was wearing a black cloth over his hips that reached his to his knees, under his chest there were two scars. The scars caught Ther's curiosity.
"An angel." He whispered, taking a few steps towards them.
"Really?" They asked, not believing him.
"Nah." He waved his hand dismissively and put his hand under Ther's chin. "But I can be your saviour, I know how to give you answers to the questions about yourself and your purpose." He whispered into their ear, while he pulled one of the many fruit's from the tree.
"Wh-what? But God sai-"
"Shh, what He said doesn't matter. He wants to toy with you and that bastard, you will never be a full fetched being if you listen to Him." He cupped their cheek and caressed it with his thumb, like a lover would.
"Come on, gain your freedom, take it with your teeth, raw and bleeding." He smiled and put the fruit to their lips. "What do you say, Ther?"
Hearing this name, it made something in Ethereality squeeze. The name... it felt just right. Like freedom, like it was who they were meant to be. If it's just the name that made them feel that way, then maybe eating the fruit would do even more?
Maybe... Just maybe they could find their own reflection?
Tw/cw
- Family abuse mentions
- Suicide
- Major character death
- Homophobia
- Murder, gore, blood etc.
Six year old Ro was laying down in her bed, looking at her mother who was about to tell a bedtime story so the little child could fall asleep. The woman was clearly unhappy with having to read to her daughter. Ro saw the displeasure in her mother’s eyes, she only showed kindness when Ro was well behaved, when she didn’t fight, talk, or move if possible. Ro felt like she was choked, suffocated by all the rules she has to follow.
“Do you want mommy to tell you the story of why your vision is with no colour?” The woman asked, the fake smile glued to her face. Yes, Ro’s mother was a cold woman, a cruel woman. After all the Beaufort’s were a cursed family, cursed with suicidal children, Satan's family, unable to be cleansed from sin.
Ro finally focused on her mother’s question. No colour. That’s how Ro saw the world, blacks, whites and grays. She didn’t know why it looked this way, she hated it, she heard adults talking about how cute she looks in pink, how girly she looks.
“Will you tell me?” Ro asked, curiosity in those black empty eyes of hers. Empty like her mother, black like her father’s heart.
“Of course sweetie, mommy will tell you.” Fake smiles. She didn’t even bother trying harder to make the smile feel real. Not bothered to show her daughter some love, grace her with warmth, or teach her about feelings and emotions. Religion, the only virtue this family had, other than pride and all the sin leaking from the shadows.
Ro’s mother tucked her under the blankets, kissing the top of her head and tried her hardest to hide the disgust she felt through gritted teeth.
“Listen and listen well Ro, I will tell this story only once.” The woman took a long breath before she started the story. “In our world ever since Adam and Eve betrayed our Holy Father we were punished severely, seeing black and white is also a part of His great punishment. Luckily, Our Lord is forgiving and graced us with the ability to see his wonderful creation once we meet our soulmate, so when you meet a good boy Ro you will be able to see colour.” She said, the pain in her cold eyes visible even for the six year old. There were so many secrets she hid, from her daughter, husband and herself. So many things she was never able to accept.
“Did you start to see colour when you met daddy?” Ro asked, she knew the answer, she knew that what her mother would say was a lie, she caught on rather quickly. Maybe it’s the fact that she also can’t see colour when a boy hits her? Instead of seeing pretty greens or pinks, she fights back, getting her dresses dirty and the boy’s nose broken.
“Of course honey, mommy’s world is so happy and colourful, she can’t wait for her little jewel to see all the colours too.”
All ms. Beaufort ever does is lie. Lie with a smile glued to her face, hiding the bruises and wounds her husband leaves on her. No one will hear her screams, no one will see her tears, no one besides her daughter who she despises. If only she was never born… If only she killed her daughter when she still had time… Maybe she would be free now.
A few days have passed since the conversation, Ro was still seeing in three shades only. Her family called her a good girl or a dirty brat, depending on how Ro behaved. Ro did everything to be called a brat, a boy in girl’s disguise, a devil. Somehow it felt much better than being referred to as a girl, a girl… something that Ro felt to be unfit to her behaviour and interests...
While Ro was playing outside, throwing rocks at all crosses she saw and running away when upset grown ups came out to shout and chase her away. It gave her a feeling of freedom, cured her boredom, she just acted like all the boys did, copying their behaviour and claiming it as hers.
On one of these journeys Ro stumbled upon someone. normally she wouldn’t care too much. It was just another kid, with strangely colored hair… wait. Colour? Ro looked down at the girl who she pushed to the ground when she was escaping one of the older ladies.
The world around them was… strange. The girl had long ginger hair, cold, piercing blue eyes and a scowl on her face. But Ro could see something more in those eyes of hers, fear. She’s afraid. Of what? Ro? No.. that’s not it. It’s something way deeper than that. Before Ro could do anything, her mother’s voice reached her ears.
“Roselyn! Roselyn Beaufort! Apologise right this instant!” She said, grabbing her firmly by her forearm and basically throwing Ro down, not caring that the girl’s knees were scraped and bleeding.
Ro yelped in surprise, hissing when the rocks, small pieces of glass and gravel were basically stuck in her knees. She looked at the girl, shock from all the new colours still present in Ro’s mind. She was intrigued, but she couldn’t ask about anything with mother around, it was dangerous.
“I’m sorry for pushing you to the ground, please forgive me.” The apology wasn’t genuine, wasn’t even close to being one. Ro always said the same apology, it lost its meaning after being used so often. But no one cared, nothing in Angelwood was genuine, not even the faith the town was supposed to have. People didn’t love God, they were afraid of him and even Ro knew that.
“I forgive you… Roselyn.” That’s all the girl said before she walked away, bidding farewell to Ro’s mother. She acted strange, like she was ashamed or afraid of something. Ro was intrigued, and she was going to make it her life mission to figure this out.
For the next few days, Ro was following behind Ethereality like she’s the girl’s shadow. Stalking behind her, ditching all of her favourite activities. The girl ignored Ro, or at least tried to, until one day she snapped.
“Stop following me!” She suddenly shouted when Ro was walking closely behind her. Ro didn’t back away, oh no, she was directly behind the girl, hands on her shoulder, keeping her in one place.
“Or what? You’ll push me? Scream? Cry? It took you days to react, you won’t do anything.” Ah yes, the ever confident Ro. Not even in front of a new ‘friend’ will the behavior change.
“Just leave me alone Roselyn! Why are you insisting on following me?” Ro chuckled, the sound loud, filled with mockery. Ro figured out that Etherality also saw colour since the day they met, she noticed how curiously she watched her surroundings, Ro did the same.
“Don’t act stupid, you’re supposed to be the big girl, the smart one.” Ro said, practically laughing at all the ways adults called Ethereality so perfect and well behaved. “You see them too, I know it, you know it!” Ro was strangely aggressive, shaking the girl by her shoulders. Maybe she was mimicking the way her father treats her mother? After all, the parents’ relationship is the only way for a child to figure out how affection is shown.
“Stop! Stop this!” Ethereality shouted, pushing Ro to the ground. “You’re delusional! I don’t see any colour! And even if I did, it wouldn’t be because of you. Girls can only like boys, end of story!” This made Ro laugh even more, she was laying on the ground new bruises on her arms and legs from the fall. Holding herself by the stomach and laughing maniacally. It was definitely the family’s fault.
“Oh you little angel, you saint! They told you that? Who’s to decide what we can or we can’t do? Humans?” Oh that was so amusing to her, maybe it’s her discovering the truth of this world at such a young age, or maybe how amusing Ethereaity’s reactions were? Who’s to say…
“Welcome to Angelwood.” Ronin’s head rose when he heard the old well known bitchy voice of Ther’s. His lips twisted in a smirk.
Oh Ther, the person who made Ronin see colour, the person who was denying being his soulmate so much that he laughed in their face when they confessed that it might be true. He didn’t care about the world being in colours, the only colour he needed to see was the one of Ther’s eyes or maybe their annoyingly bright hair, the colour of their skin or lips.
“Hah, no need to greet me babe, nothing ever changes in this shitty town. It’s like last time.” He shrugged and looked down at them, his eyes lighting up. “I came to fetch you my darling dearest.” He said and pulled them in closer by their hand.
“Ro- I’m not going anywhere. I’m to be Prom Queen, I won’t leave because of your whims.” They said and shot him a glare.
“Oh, of course Angelwood girl. You can’t leave without your crown can you?” He asked, a mocking glint in his eyes.
What a cocky bastard Ronin is. Annoyingly handsome bastard.
“What now? Staying to watch or what?” Ther asked.
“Watch you suffer? Yeah why fucking not, seeing you play this holy girl, it’ll be a show of centuries.” He scoffed and leaned in closer. “I’ll enjoy watching all of the people hanging from the gym’ ceiling.” He whispered and looked down at the wedding band that Ther was wearing. “Aw, did our dear fucking Doughton already put his seal on you?”
“Ronin don’t, please-” Ther tried to stop him from talking while they were walking to wherever Ronin was taking them.
“Stop what? He probably thinks that he can fucking own you, like you’re his trophy or whatever. I can’t wait to wreck him up, break his fucking neck, watch the blood spill.” He was talking his mind out, not caring about Ther practically silencing him with their hand so he would hut up.
“Shut up Ro! Please… They’ll fucking hear you, all of them… and the angel too.” It was then where Ronin noticed how exhausted Ther looked.
They were much thinner than when he saw them last, their already unnaturally pale skin was almost as pale as his.
“Ther… What the fuck is happening? Are you…. doing this again?” He sounded desperate, who would want their soulmate, their partner to wither away like this? Definitely not Ronin Beaufort. He can be an asshole, the devil himself in Angelwood’s eyes, but for fucks sake, he would never leave Ther in this state alone.
“It’s nothing Ro. I just… I’m fine.” Of course they weren’t and they knew that Ronin saw right through them. It was the thing they found the most annoying, that stupid soulmate connection and Ronin’s observative nature were a curse and a blessing at the same time.
Luckily Ther also seen right through him, especially when the two of them were younger. They saw his anger, how he tried to hide the bruises or how he stopped himself from crying out his frustrations when it all was too much for a child to take. Ther wouldn’t comment on anything, they would just get close and let him pretend that he just needs to sleep on their shoulder.
“Nothing my ass, it’s the Prom Queen shit, isn't it?” He asked through gritted teeth. “Or maybe it’s Craig? Maybe you should finally fuckign slice his throat, cut his eyes out, gut him open and let all of this bullshit drop.” It wasn’t a question. Ronin knew that it’s what Ther needs, they need Craig’s blood spilled, they need to get all of this out.
“I… No Ro, he’s… he’s my boyfriend.” They chose to deny it. They needed to deny it. Ther needs to keep this act up, they’re not Ther, they’re Ethereality, a pretty girl, Angelwood’s saint girl.
Or that’s how the town shaped them. Took them apart, broke their bones, poisoned their brain… Maybe Ronin is the only one who truly sees them? Maybe that’s what the soulmate thing is about, you see colours and secrets, nothing is able to stay hidden from you, especially if your name is Ronin fucking Beaufort. The son of the cursed bloodline, devil boy and proud Satan’s spawn.
“Come on darlin’, you want this. Kill Craig, then the rest of this town… And we can go somewhere far, as far as you’d like.” Ronin whispered tempting promises into Ther’s ears. Persuading them into self claiming their freedom…
And Ther wasn’t that hard to break, especially with Ronin around.
Craig’s body was at their feet. His face forever frozen in one of fear, he was screaming while he was dying.
“All that screaming and for what? Ah, Craig, Craig.” Ronin chuckled and kicked his head with his shoe. “Almost made me feel bad for ya, almost…” Ronin spat at him.
“And what was it about respecting the dead?” Ther asked, looking at the bloody crowbar in their hand. “Where did you even get this?” They asked, dropping it to the ground and watching as it bounced off of the corpse.
“You don’t hafta know everything, love.” He chuckled and looked at how the body looked.
Guts spilled out, Craig’s legs crashed, his bones were basically flat, broken was an understatement. His blood was splayed everywhere, on the grass, swings, trashcan. It was a gory mess, and Ronin was proud of it. Letting Ther go all out has always been one of his favourite activities, although they usually didn’t actually kill, just got their frustrations out by hitting Ronin’s torso and crying, or shouting at the stars and sky.
“Just make sure to not give it back, I don’t need anyone having brains and whatever else on their tools.” Ther said, guessing that Ronin probably stole it, stealth was the least of the sins he committed against humanity.
“Awh of course, I’ll take it as a memorial of your spilled blood baby.” He walked up to them. “Would’ja grant me this dance?” He asked after he bowed and outstretched his hand towards Ther.
“How romantic.” They huffed and took his hand.
They needed music. They danced, sharing this moment of peace in between chaos. It was a truly grotesque moment, two teenagers dancing next to a corpse, swaying to the sound of wind in perfect harmony, no words needed, just stares and Ronin’s smirks.
“You’re so fucking beautiful like this. Bloody and broken, my perfectly imperfect rot.” Ronin whispered.
“Rot? Just like you?” They asked, their voice also hushed to a whisper.
“We’re rot. You and I both, love.” He leaned in, connected their lips in a slow deliberate kiss.
If only he knew that this would be their last kiss… Maybe he should’ve kidnapped Ther, take them away when he still could…
Maybe now he would still feel full, see everything he couldn’t imagine himself to miss seeing. Maybe he wouldn’t stand in front of a fucking grave. . .
Ther basically told Ronin to return home, it was shortly before their Prom, they didn’t want Ronin there. They “wanted” to be Prom Queen. And Ronin’s protests were ignored.
So now he’s back to where he came from, everything in his small cramped house a mess, the perfect image of his mind. He felt his heart ache every time he thought of Ther, they could share some sort of connection in feelings, he felt Ther’s pain, sometimes unsure if their pain was his or actually theirs.
He felt frustrated, weak, angry. Why did he agree to leave? Why couldn’t he fucking push them…
He knew the answer. He didn’t want to be the same as everyone. Pushing Ther would only hurt them, he needed control yeah, but not when the person he want to keep under his care was controlled their whole life, unable to decide one thing for themselves without a punishment.
“Fuck!” He shouted and threw the bloody crowbar to the ground. His chest was rising and falling, he tried to stay somewhat calm, tried to tell himself that his decision was right, that when he comes back after he gets enough money for new plain tickets Ther will want to go with him… He just needs to wait six months, half a year worth of collecting money, that should be easy.
Maybe if he didn’t take up working in a small workshop owned by an elderly mechanic he would have an easier time getting money faster, but no one wanted to hire a whipster like him, he wasn’t surprised. With his temper it was hard to keep clients as regulars from time to time.
While Ronin was losing himself in his thoughts he suddenly felt a sharp pain in his head and a wave of distress falling over him, he had to lean on a wall.
“What the fuck… Ther… what the fuck is going on there…”
He hissed out, trying to bear the pain through gritted teeth, he has no chance against his soulmate's pain, he can only wait this out, wait for them to feel better, if that moment ever arrives…
Maybe he should have been a stubborn bastard and kill off every fucking student at the great ball when he still had the chance. Maybe it would ease Ther’s need to stay as the perfect Angelwood girl, the saint amongst saints, and the follower of angels, even if they tire them out and cause them to lose sleep, loose themselves and slowly die out, losing their light.
Maybe that’s why they were made for eachother? A self made devil, a man who had to create the male shell for himself, and a person who holds onto the memory of a girl, a painful memory that they were shaped into. Maybe Ronin was birthed into this world to keep Ther’s nature under control?
Maybe their rotten connection was deeper than the two of them thought.
Half a year.
That’s how long Ronin had to wait.
During this time he felt Ther’s emotions stronger than ever, the pain was never ending, it made his life harder, almost unbearable, it was mostly their heart aching.
Sometimes he couldn't take it, wanting to gut himself open just to stop feeling this, but then he reminded himself of going to Ther, saving them this time for sure.
Now, after a twelve hour flight, and a long drive on a bus, he was almost ready to get out, ready to find Ther, ready to corrupt them, this time for good.
But, while Ronin was standing in front of the door, ready to leave the bus, his vision turned black and white, Deprived of all colour.
It felt weird. He also felt this weird sense of emptiness? As if he just lost something deep within his heart. He chose to ignore it, blaming it on his fucked up mind. It made sense, a lot of sense. At least until he got out of the bus and a memory of his mother came back to him.
“Roselyn, remember, if you ever lose all colour it means that your soulmate is gone. And that is the worst feeling ever… Not that mommy ever experienced it, mommy has daddy and he is alive.” Oh, those eyes full of lies and sorrow. Her world was empty, gray, no colour present in her world, and it’s all because she wasn’t careful that one night… “I wish you the same happiness Ro, I hope you will feel exactly the same way mommy does.”
Ronin didn’t understand these feelings then. But now he does, and he feels them all too well. His mother cursed him. cursed him with the Beaufort bloodline, unlucky sinners forsaken by heaven and God.
With his mother’s words in mind, the colour deprived world in front of him and the ever present emptiness he rushed to Ther’s house. Pushing everyone out of his way, not caring about anyone anymore, he has to make sure that he’s wrong, that his mother was wrong.
He reached their house, climbing the stairs to their room. His whole body felt heavy, mind was too loud, Ronin felt nauseous, like he was about to faint at any given moment.
He pushed the door open, his eyes glued to the floor and then he looked up.
.
.
.
The sight in front of him was the worst thing ever. Ther. His Ther. Hanging up from the ceiling, thin, pale and unbreathing. Frozen in time like a doll, a doll with a rope hugging their neck.
Ronin took a few cautious steps towards the body.
“Th… Ther… It isn’t fucking funny. I know you're alive. You’re not fucking dead.” He said, his voice laced with despair, pain, all of the sorrow. He didn’t feel this way when he saw his mother in this situation.
“Ther, fuck, open your eyes. Open your fucking eyes!” He basically shook the body. Then he desperately looked for a knife, once he found one he cut the rope and caught their still warm body.
“Ther! Ther! Ther!” He was shouting, sliding to the floor with the dead body in his arms. He couldn’t believe it, how could he let this fucking happen?
How could he lose control? How could he disappoint his rotten saint so much?
Now, with nothing but emptiness filling his body he could only hold their body.
Even his heart was slowly washing all the emotions away, as if it was doomed to never beat for anyone again, as if Ther was truly his one and only love forever.
After all, having a soulmate is both a curse and a blessing.
Ronin was back in Angelwood, he returned to the city a little later than he expected. The damned bus really took its time to drive him there. He couldn't get Ther to greet him, if he was earlier they would be next to him now, venting their feelings and cursing the Angels. But now, Ronin can only go to the old high school, mix in with the other students and seek Ther in the crowd. Annoy them, maybe dance with them and make sure that they escape with him, find the courage to seek freedom, to reach out for it. He smiled to himself, that plan he was building in his head was really devilish, he just needed to find the prom queen to make them its main star, after all a play can't start without the lead.
He entered the school gym, it looked almost like a real ballroom, colorful lights everywhere, loud music playing, teenagers trying to hide the alcohol they smuggled in. Ronin didn't fit in with the overly elegant students, he looked like a black sheep and he was proud of it. He wore his devilish aesthetic like a badge of honour. He pushed himself through the crowd, looking for this one person who couldn't leave his mind.
But before he could find them, the lights turned white and focused on the stage, the school's headmaster stood there, a microphone in hand. He looked like he just wanted to have a drink and let this school burn for all he cared about, but he had to play his little role, like everyone in Angelwood did. Like the little fucking puppets they all were.
"Good evening our dear students, it's the moment you've been waiting for! We will announce the prom queen and king."
In response there was a round of applause, names being chanted by the teenagers, the loudest one was "Ethereality", seems like all the assholes had their pick decided already. It wasn't a surprise when Ther's last name was called out. A round of applause and happy chants were heard immediately. After all it was their perfect girl, the perfect saint of all Angelwood. Ronin clapped for them too, although his applause was more mocking, and he knew that they knew it too. After all Ronin was the only person who knew who Ther truly was, even they didn't understand their needs and feelings as well as Beaufort did. They were in denial, living in this false femininity, pretending that the dress they were wearing was actually to their liking. Acting like Craig Doughton was someone they actually loved, like their heart wasn't aching for the comfort Ronin gave them.
But Ronin saw through all of that, he saw how uncomfortable and shaken Ther was when Craig, that motherfucker, leaned in to kiss them. He saw the absolute hate in their eyes when they smiled at the crowd. Oh, how painfully amusing it was. Ronin could play the hero, he could be the big saviour, and then Ther would kill that lovely "boyfriend" of theirs, as the ending act of course.
Ethereality was supposed to die that night, Ther was about to reborn, like a phoenix coming back from the ashes. This idea made his heart burn in passion, his eyes glint in wicked amusement. This night was meant to be beautiful.
Finally Ther got down from the stage, joining the crowd of drunk and high teenagers, the teachers really did a shitty job or they just didn't care. Ronin tried to find them, whispers his sweet corruption-filled words into their ear, kiss them, dance with them before they will share a truly devilish dance amongst the dead, amongst all the sinners who tried to play holy fools.
He saw them, they were looking at him. Ther looked even worse than when they were on the stage. It bothered Ronin, something didn't feel right. And the worst part? He could only stare at them. Look at them as they stared back, the people between them blocking their way.
Music was rumbling in his ears, making him feel like he was about to go deaf. The lights were making Ther's face change colour from red to blue, then to pink and purple. Their eyes looked empty, not even a small light of happiness in them, nothing. The gaze similar to all of these he killed, empty, soulless. Their lower lip trembling, they tried to hide it when they felt Ronin's gaze on their lips. Ther was clutching their hands on their dress, pushing whatever feelings they felt into their strong hold.
It all bothered Ronin, he saw them in terrible times, but nothing compared to this. He couldn't shake off that weird feeling that this was the last time he would ever see them. And it made it all so much worse, he had to reach them, he had to go with plan, he had to...
They were gone. When he reached the spot where they were standing there was nothing, just a prom queen crown laying on the floor like a worthless piece of trash. Which it was, just a piece of cheap metal that Ronin could break by just stepping on it.
He picked it up.
If he was about to find the missing "queen" he could as well crown them himself, as the ruler of filth and chaos, the perfect god to his perfect rot. The idea sent a shiver running down his spine, oh the pleasure it gave him. He just wanted to get Ther out of the misery that was taking over them, make them in the perfect image that they were meant to be, give them the closure they desired. And to make it all come true, Ronin has to find them first.
Looking through the whole school would be a long struggle, they never had a favourite spot inside that place, at least not when he was still in the town. Ronin decided on talking to people, not his favourite activity, but he had no other choice.
"Hey, did you see where Estridge went?"
He chose a small group of girls, they were the ones who talked to Ther ever since they stepped from the stage. They turned to look at him, curiosity mixed in with disgust. All these years and nothing change, they all still looked at him the same way. What a warm welcome, truly.
"You mean Ethereality? No. We don't know where she went."
He nodded, barely stopping himself from glaring at them for that "she". He approached some more people, the answer always the same.
Why couldn't those blind fucking ignorant fools tell who Ther was? Why were they so amused by making Ther carrying that cross on their back? Oh how much he wanted to get rid of them, break their bones, stone them alive, hang their bodies. Watch the blood and guts spill, forming a beautiful massacre dedicated to Ther, maybe he would even take the sinners' hearts to offer them to his love, as a sign that no one can take this new form from them?
The feeling of uneasiness, of losing control, it was becoming more real, Ronin was being drowned in it. It was freaking him out, he couldn't lose control, he couldn't let whatever was coming to happen. He had to stop it at all coast, even if it means that he will have to kidnap Ther from that fucking town without having their sweet revenge yet. Revenge is a dish best served cold so it could as well wait, now he had a different priority.
"Um, you are looking for Estridge, right?"
A girl much shorter than Ronin asked, he didn't know her, but it didn't matter. She could have answers about Ther whereabouts, and if she'll lie, he knows who to get first.
"Yeah, d'ya knows where i can find them?"
He stopped fucking with the she and her bullshit, he didn't have it in him to remember that he should watch the way he refers to Ther, he couldn't give less of a fuck in that moment anyway.
"I think that she went to the gardens, she sat there a lot.."
Of course. Why didn't he think of that? It was Ther, if they would sit anywhere, it would be the gardens. He gave the girl a quick "thanks" and left the gym. The music getting more muffled with every step he took. The air getting heavier around him, he had a hard time breathing. The image of Ther's empty eyes was filling him with uncertainty. He didn't realise it, but he was running to the gardens. If he was about to see his world crash, he could be there faster.
And it did crash.
There, in the middle of a flower bed, Ther was laying, their arms weakly reaching out to the sky, as if they wanted to touch the moon.
"Ther, fucking hell.."
His voice was pained when he fell to his knees right in front of them, breath heavy, eyes widened.
Ther was slipping away. Dying.
"Ther, do not.. do not fucking close your fucking eyes!"
He shouted in desperation, holding them now, close to his body, his hold was tight, like he was hoping that he can stop this. He was cursing everything he could blame for this. His mind was in chaos, he couldn't even look at them.
"Ro... Ro, I..."
Ther's voice was weaker than ever, their gaze was a little less empty now that they could see Ronin, be with him alone. But it didn't make him feel better, it made him want to tear his heart out of his chest, give it to Ther as a way to keep them alive.
"Ro... the Angels. It was all too much, a-and, and Craig, he..."
Tears fell from their eyes.
Oh. Craig Doughton. Of course it was that fucker's fault. Ronin didn't even need to hear the story. He could already see his disgusting hands roam all over Ther's body, taking her tears as cries of pleasure, after all he only cared about his own satisfaction. And the fact that his "girlfriend" was begging and fighting? That was just a play for him, there was no reason for Ethereality to not enjoy the "fun".
Oh Ronin saw red, he saw his skull open, his body damaged so much that no one will recognise him, he will enjoy his screams and begs, he will avenge Ther, make him feel their pain.
Ther's weakening body was what tore Ronin out of his mind. Right. The person he wants to avenge is dying, taking their lasts breaths in his arms.
"When...when did you-"
He didn't even need to finish, Ther answered him in the middle of his question.
"When you... weren't arriving... I just couldn't take it anymore, not when that... he told me what he wants to do with me."
Their voice broke again, shaking weakly. Ronin felt the anger mix with sorrow. If only he had arrived earlier.
"Ther, I will burn this town, kill every motherfucked who dared to hurt you. Please, don't close your eyes."
He was begging, begging them to stay alive, even if he knew how death works. He wanted them to stay, he needed them. His desperation was so strong, it was overwhelming.
Ther, instead of answering, used all their strength to make Ronin lean forward, so they could share this last kiss together. The kiss felt weak, fleeting. It was Ther's last goodbye, the first and last time they would ever be able to bid Ronin farewell.
"I love you... Ro..."
They are gone.
Dead.
Ronin was holding his dead lovers, despair feeling his mind. He wanted to tear himself apart, join Ther in death. He can't accept it. Of all people, why Ther?
Why Ther? Why his lover? Why before they could be free?
These questions made his blood boil, his mind fill with all the people in the gym.
It was all their fault. Now, they need to pay the price. They all will grovel under his feet, live the same pain that Ther had to suffer through. He will make sure of it, he will watch them rot.
Ronin wiped the one lonely tear from his cheek, swallowing his feelings, letting the sorrow turn into a fuel for his strength. He took one of Ther's bracelets, he needed something to hold on into, to keep as a memorial, as a trace of Ther.
If he had to make Angelwood a forgotten town, then he could as well keep one piece of it all to himself.
izzy806
dailybridgerton
kianamaiart
2087
