Xkoutarou - He Hurt Me But It Felt Like True Love - TumbleTrack

Latest Posts by xkoutarou - Page 5

xkoutarou

1 year ago

✷ ITOSHI RIN x reader. fluff, established relationship. reader talks a lot and rin listens. this is actually pointless. warnings: the writing is kinda messy, i think. note: i just really think that rin <3 ! sorry if there's typos.

"shut up."

rin probably says these two words to you more than he says 'i love you'.

yet, he really, really does not want you to shut up.

it's been twenty minutes since you came from your dinner with your friend. twenty whole minutes of you rambling. twenty whole minutes of rin lying in bed, his arms feeling empty since you're too busy turned away from him as you change into more comfortable clothes. twenty whole minutes of him having to listen to your friend's husband's family's problems while his eyes stay locked on you as you throw on one of his shirts and then start removing your make up.

and again, he really, really does not want you to shut up.

but he would really prefer holding you while you ramble, and the fact that it's been twenty minutes and he hasn't even gotten a kiss yet is kind of starting to get to him.

"so anyway, she's basically hated by everyone from his side of the family— and i told her over and over that she should talk to him about it, but she just won't listen to me. god, why am i blessed with such stubborn friends?"

at this point, he feels like he's skipped eight chapters.

and yet he still listens, humming thoughtfully as he shifts in bed a little, pulling the covers over him just a bit more as he sighs in defeat, staring up at the ceiling as he mumbles, giving his own opinion. "shouldn't pressure her into it, though."

you groan, giving him a look as you still stand in front of the mirror while doing your skincare now. "i'm not, i swear! those people suck. she shouldn't be letting them do what they want and i'm sure that her husband would do something if he knew how salty they are."

his eyes go from the ceiling to you, blinking sleepily as he stares at the way his shirt looks on you. "when are you coming to bed?"

"almost done, rinnie."

he yawns quietly, turning around so that his back is to you. if he couldn't hold you yet, he could at least listen to your voice. "then does she really plan to just endure that treatment?" his voice is muffled by the pillow as he asks, setting you off on another talking spree.

"i guess she does. i hope everything goes well for her. but personally, i would not tolerate stuff like that." you say, shrugging as you finally finish your business, before going into the bathroom to wash your hands and brush your teeth.

the few minutes of you being gone and quiet make rin feel as miserable as ever.

he waits and waits, eyelids heavy.

when the mattress finally dips next to him and he smells the familiar scent of your skin products, he swears he's never moved this fast to turn around in bed and latch onto you.

you chuckle as he buries his face into your neck, holding him close as your little giggle turns into a quiet laugh when he groans in annoyance. "you took too damn long."

his hair tickles the side of your face. it's getting longer, you realise as you play with it gently, smoothing over some soft strands on the back of his head while he sighs softly into your skin.

"i talked a lot earlier, didn't i?" you ask quietly, your lips curling into a sheepish smile.

rin stays quiet for some time, his arms around you tight and firm as he presses himself against your side, even going as far as to place his muscular leg over you, caging you in against the soft mattress of the bed. "y'know i don't mind that."

"yeah, but im sure there's a limit—"

"there's no limit when it comes to you. 'kay?" he says quietly, his voice groggy and deeper now as he gets closer to drifting off— almost as if he was ending that discussion right there, not wanting to hear you talking about yourself in such a way.

"yeah, but—"

"shut up." he cuts you off, and you stop talking, only to let out another soft laugh. "if you're gonna complain about yourself, that is. now, more sleeping and less talking. i'll listen to the remaining part of your friend's story during breakfast tomorrow."

you snort at his devotion to listening to your silly stories, a slight wave of warmth creeping up your neck. "fine."

he nods a little, before holding you tighter.

"and i didn't get a single kiss from you ever since you came, by the way."

"oh, i am so sorry. my most sincere apologies." you speak, clearly joking as you shower him with light pecks on the side of his face that's peeking out from the crook of your neck.

he grunts, not being able to hide the redness under his warm skin as he feels your soft lips. his eyes stay closed shut. "ok. good night."

"no 'i love you' or anything?"

he sighs heavily. "shut up."

"...and i love you." he adds, before letting himself relax into his sleep when you let out a satisfied sound and say it back to him sweetly, your soft voice partially responsible for putting him to sleep.

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xkoutarou

1 year ago

the comfort of not knowing

rindou never felt the need for love. not until he learned that he could get it from you. not until you became the very personification of such an abstract idea. suddenly, you are love—and he needs you in all of his days.

warnings: vulgar language. sex talk. alcohol use.

part two

rindou haitani had his fair share of girls before. don’t get him wrong—nothing was serious. they were mostly hookups and if not, just casual dates he did not want to be a part of but had to go anyway because his brother set him up.

he did not mind the loneliness, really. he rarely even felt it. sure, he sees ran, sanzu, kakucho, and everyone else in bonten with their girls but they were all temporary. they come and go, most of the time faster than the seasons change. rindou never understood the need for it aside from momentary pleasure that would fade in seconds. he never felt the need to have those too if they were bound to end anyway.

a waste of time, as he likes to call it.

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xkoutarou

1 year ago

Kiss 'N Run —꒱

You run away after you kiss them

Rin - the stoic expression doesn’t change as he chases after you…terrifying as fuck if you ask me. Grabs you by the bicep and slams his chest into your back—keeping you there with his arms tightly wrapped around you. “Why’d you run?” there is a hint of sadness in his tone but you couldn’t help the shiver that ran up your spine and stopped at your nape. He presses soft kisses from your neck to your shoulder.

Sae - “Oh…” stares at your back, dumbfounded, and not knowing what the hell just happened. Doesn’t chase or ask why you ran, he goes on with his day like nothing happened (dw he’ll make sure you are kissed good when you’re alone with him.)

Oliver - Runs after you after yelling, “no running in the halls.” Fucking hypocrite. The widest grin on his lips when he catches you (kicks you to the floor*) He cages you under him and chuckles bc he finds you too fucking cute. Kills you with his kisses and hickeys.

Shidou - how are you gonna try running when his hand is already on your neck and squeezing so tightly? Do you wanna die or something? If you somehow manage to run, he thinks you’re so fucking hilarious…you better start praying for your ass to be saved later bc he’s not gonna let you off easily.

Barou - as soon as you turn on your heel, his big hand is on your hair and he is pulling you back to him to smash your lips on his for a kiss so deep, you think your knees melted and you’re unable to stand anymore. “No running from the king,” he says before pinning you against the wall.

All are aged up.

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xkoutarou

1 year ago

Fly on the Wall

PAIRING: yan!timeskip!Sakusa Kiyoomi x fem!reader

GENRE: smut | dark content (18+)

Minors DNI

TAGS + WARNINGS: yandere themes, noncon, stalking, somnophilia, semi-public masturbation (m), nipple play, fingering (with leather gloves), dacryphilia, cum eating, creampie, size kink, breaking and entering, panty stealing, basically Sakusa is a perv

Let me know if I missed anything.

WORD COUNT: 8.7k

SUMMARY: The new Black Jackal’s manager catches Sakusa’s eye. Unfortunately, whatever distance, physical or otherwise, is between you two, is too far for his liking. All characters are 18+

AUTHOR’S NOTE: Not meant to be a Christmas gift, but my timing does wonders, I guess :/

The Black Jackals getting a manager didn’t excite him the way it did his teammates. The idea itself didn’t bring him dread, of course, but the knowledge that certain players may get distracted–or worse: rowdier–brought more stress to him than he’d appreciate.

Bokuto and Hinata were already babbling on to each other about what you might be like, reminiscing their high school days when they both had two managers on their respective teams. Atsumu joined in, whining that Inarizaki wasn’t as lucky to have a girl manager, let alone two attractive ones. He also bet that you’d be cute—Sakusa could only roll his eyes at the exchange.

Keep reading

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xkoutarou

2 years ago

kakashi

Set My Heart Ablaze

Pairing: Matsukawa x Reader

Genre/Warnings: NSFW, Non-Con/Dub-Con, Creepy Matsukawa, Obsessive Behavior, Public Train Sex

Prompt: Chikan/Trains/Public Sex

Summary: Neither of you can deny the mutual spark of interest between the two of you, but Matsukawa takes the matter of turning that spark into a fire into his own hands. Only time will tell if that fire will provide you warmth and comfort or burn you alive.

A/N: This is my submission for the HQHQ NSFW Collab! Masterlist can be found here. Be sure to check everyone’s content once the masterlist goes live tomorrow night~

The train doors open and Matsukawa briefly glances up, smiling to himself as you step onboard, looking left and right for an open spot despite how you always end up in the same corner of the moving vehicle. He doesn’t know anything about you, not even your name. Yet he finds himself drawn to the normalcy you bring, the comfort of knowing you’re a clockwork fixture of his everyday life.

It hadn’t always been like this.

Matsukawa is just a man at the end of the day and he doesn’t deny that he took note of you long before you became so ingrained in his life. But it had been no more than a man observing an attractive woman and he doesn’t give you another passing thought as he returns to gazing out the train windows.

But working with death on a daily basis makes you look at life differently.

He prides himself on being a practical and level-headed man and despite the heavy nature of his profession, he never thought he’d get too bogged down by the environment, by the grimness of his business. Sure, maybe someone like Oikawa would freak out within hours, if not minutes, of being in a funeral home surrounded by corpses and coffins. But he’s not Oikawa (thank God for that). It’s just a job to help keep a roof over his head and food on the table.

But the longer he’s surrounded by caskets, the more grieving and sobbing families and friends he has to comfort yet professionally guide through catalogs and brochures and price tags, he can slowly but surely feel the weight of his daily work resting heavy on his shoulders, digging deeper into him with every corpse and tragic story he reluctantly becomes privy to. Matsukawa finds a new appreciation for life, for every tiny and minute detail, and suddenly you aren’t just another stranger who happens to share his train route.

You’re a reminder that he’s still alive, that despite the curveballs life throws at some, he’s still blessed to enjoy the routine and monotony of it. Life looks different, clearer, as he begins to really pay attention, appreciating every moment he has.

Maybe he’s paying too much attention. He doesn’t know when he begins to focus so intently on you, shocking himself with the realization that he’s observed you so closely when he nonchalantly notices that you’re using a different tote bag than your usual one. When did Matsukawa Issei become someone who notices the details of a woman’s outfit and accessories?

He knows it’s not right, knows even Hanamaki would crinkle his nose in distaste if he found out Matsukawa was creepily studying a random unknown female on a daily basis. But he can’t help himself, his realization only seeming to make him unconsciously focus on you even more. He notices what hand you use to hold your phone. He memorizes every expression you make as your mind drifts off, lulled by the machinery of the train.

But looking from afar only satisfies him for so long and he finds himself creeping closer to you, adjusting where he sits to be closer to your preferred corner of the train. He always tells himself just a little closer, but it’s never enough. And although he’s now standing right beside you, close enough to see every eyelash, every pore of your skin, it’s still not enough. He needs to hear your voice, feel your body against his, know everything about you inside and out.

He understands the irony of the situation he’s found himself in, reminiscing on how Hanamaki and him had gagged at how disgusting men could be as they watched older businessmen grope and grab at poor unwilling female passengers on their way to and from school. He knows how wrong it is, how like an uninspired porno this is, but when the train conveniently rattles, he jostles his body into yours, “accidentally” bumping into you.

Acting isn’t Matsukawa’s forte, but he thinks he damn well deserves an award for the performance he’s putting on as he profusely apologizes to you, hiding the groan of satisfaction he feels from the brief contact he’d had with you, from the way your attention is solely focused on him, from the way your voice seeps into his ears like the loveliest melody he’s ever heard. He doesn’t even know what he’s saying, meaningless small and polite talk leaving his lips as his mind focuses on what’s more important, mentally recording every syllable and movement you make as you continue conversing with him. But whatever words are spilling out of him seem to be working and something hungry and possessive stirs in him when your face lights up as you board the train the next day, making a beeline towards where he stands as you cheerfully greet him.

Maybe it’s foolish of you to so easily trust and warm up to a complete stranger. But he’s tall, attractive, and interesting, which is more than you can say for most of the men you’ve met and your friends and family are always telling you to put yourself out there more. Is there really much of a difference between finding a random stranger on the countless dating apps you’ve installed versus connecting with one in person? You’d even argue that there’s something whimsically romantic about how the two of you met, even though you don’t know for sure if this is really going to lead to anything. But at the very least, your daily commute becomes more exciting.

You’re everything and more compared to what Matsukawa had imagined and if he thought he was infatuated with you before, he’s completely and utterly obsessed with you now. You’re all he can think of, all he can see in his mind’s eye, even hours after you’ve parted ways on your morning commute, even as he lays in bed in the middle of the night. And as his hand slips underneath the hem of his boxers, wrapping around his aching cock to his imaginations of what you’d look like writhing underneath him, how you’d sound moaning his name, he knows he needs to have you.

After all, as pretty as a meal can be, it’s ultimate purpose is to be devoured.

You giggle when the train shakes and you feel a long toned body shift into yours, squishing you against the wall you’re leaning against, sighing in bliss at how right, how good it feels to be in Matsukawa’s embrace even if it is just for a fleeting moment, a little accident all too common on jam packed trains. But your face heats when you continue feeling his warmth, when his body seems to press even further into you until you can feel the expanse of his body against yours, not even an inch of space left between you.

“Matsukawa-”

Your words are caught off by a gasp as Matsukawa buries his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent, lips and tongue mouthing and licking the sensitive skin there. You’re confused, scared, and aroused, hands reaching up to clutch at the lapels of Matsukawa’s suit, unsure whether to hold him tight to you or push him away. And your humiliation only increases when a nearby elderly couple scowls at the two of you in disdain, clearly unamused by the scandalous gestures of what they believe to be a young couple in love.

Yet you can’t help how your heart beats faster, wondering if this is proof of Matsukawa’s attraction to you, wondering if your hidden feelings for him are returned. But this isn’t the time or place for that conversation and you fervently whisper in his ear, begging him to stop, telling him people are watching.

“Is that the only reason you want me to stop? Because people are watching?”

You grow flustered at the implied meaning of his words, shame filling you at how much you’re enjoying this, hating how your neck arches for more attention as he straightens up once more, his body hiding yours from view as he stands in front of you, still pinning you to the wall.

“Better be as still and quiet as you can, sweetheart.”

You don’t have time to register his words before your mouth opens in a pathetic whine as a calloused hand trails under the hem of your shirt, sliding across the stretch of your stomach, mapping your torso before finally shoving your bra above the swell of your breasts, kneading one of your mounds, tweaking and swirling around your hardening nipple. It feels so good and you almost succumb right then and there, lost in the predatory lustful gaze he pins you with.

But when the train makes its next stop, the conductor’s voice jars you from your trance and you clutch at Matsukawa’s forearm, silently pleading for him to stop with desperate eyes despite the way you quietly mewl when he just quirks an eyebrow and pinches your nipple in retaliation.

“We can’t- We shouldn’t-”

Your hand trembles, jaw going slack when he slides one thigh between your legs, digging his hard muscles into that already dripping hole only protected by the fabric of your pants.

“You’re not very convincing. How about we play a game? If you can tell me you don’t want this without moaning like a bitch in heat, I’ll stop.”

There’s no room for disagreement as he abruptly begins grinding his thigh into your aching cunt, flexing and relaxing his muscle in a pattern and rhythm you can’t keep up with. It takes every last bit of will power in you to not wantonly ride his leg and hump against him like the lewd slut he had just accused you of being.

“I don’t want-”

You cry out in agonized pleasure as his fingers still hovering near your breasts begin to roll your nipples between calloused tips, his thigh never losing its momentum. And under the dual points of attack, your resistance crumbles. Matsukawa’s eyes widen in awe as you bounce and roll your hips against his leg, hiding your face in his chest as you try to muffle the lewd sounds slipping past your lips in the fabric of his jacket.

You’re gorgeous like this, a needy, lustful mess. But as much as he loves to see you suffer so beautifully, there’s only so much time before your stop and he decides to have mercy on you, to reward you for being so honest, so good for him. Your face snaps up to stare at him with pupils blown wide as his hand reaches underneath the waistband of your pants and panties. He groans when his fingers are instantly soaked in your arousal, your panties sticky with your fluids and his digits slip inside of your tight wet heat with no resistance at all.

He wants nothing more than to push the pesky fabric out of the way and lay you bare for his viewing pleasure, to have easy access to thrust in and out of you. But he’ll save that for another day. Instead his fingers slip out of you, tips circling your swollen clit, rubbing your sensitive bundle of nerves as you resume humping his leg, body trembling, drool beginning to trickle from your lips as you frantically chase your end. And as the train stops once more, passengers trickling in and out, you silently scream, body convulsing as he brings you over the edge, pleasure washing over you and leaving you exhausted as you shiver and slump in his arms that are quick to embrace you and hold you steady as the train begins to move again.

You submissively let his fingers coated in your essence enter your mouth, obediently sucking and licking him clean, finding strange comfort in the action as you remain rested against him. But you keen in confusion, cheeks still hollowed as you mindlessly continue sucking while he guides one of your hands to the bulge in his pants.

But although Matsukawa is a man of few words, his desire is clear despite the silence and your face heats in embarrassment as he unbuttons his trousers, bringing your hand to the waistband of his boxers, dark eyes expectantly staring down at you. You shouldn’t. You really shouldn’t. Not when you can literally hear the other passengers surrounding the two of you, only Matsukawa’s tall frame hiding your illicit activity. But your body has a mind of its own and you greedily slip under the fabric barrier, moaning around his fingers at how large, hot, and heavy he is in your hands.

You hate how badly you want to see it, to feel it inside you, splitting you apart. Your pussy clenches, leaking in interest once again despite having just found blissful release mere minutes ago as your hands curiously trail up and down the shaft, trying to memorize how every bit of it feels against your skin, trying to visualize what it looks like. But you whimper as Matsukawa finally pulls his fingers free from your mouth, squeezing your jaw and giving you a warning look.

“Don’t tease me, doll.”

Your fingers wrap around the length and it’s your turn to stare up at Matsukawa with eyes full of hunger and awe as you watch his Adam’s apple swallow, as you feel a pleased groan reverberate in his chest with every stroke of your hand. Up and down. Up and down. Your hands are slick with pre-cum and you know it’s just your imagination, but you swear you can hear the lewd wet sounds of his sticky essence coating his shaft with every movement of your palm against the velvety skin. You’re so mesmerized, so lost in the experience that you startle when something hot and thick spurts onto your hand, mixing with his pre-cum, making an even bigger mess of his boxers and you.

You stare stunned at the hand you pull out from between his legs, gazing at the white and transparent fluids that coat your flesh. But before you can even think about wiping it off or scavenging around for a spare napkin or paper in your bag, a large hand grabs your wrist and brings your stained fingers to your mouth. You try to resist him, the spell he had you under broken now that the haze of lust isn’t blinding you. But his grip tightens until you wince and finally relent, stomach churning in disgust and shame as you tentatively lick at the bitter liquid.

He doesn’t release you, not until every last drop is coating the inside of your mouth, his taste heavy in your mouth, seemingly in every crevice of your orifice, your hand completely clean and void of your sinful interaction.

You want to hate him. You want to wipe the smug satisfied look clean off his face. But as you readjust your disheveled clothing, you’re reminded of your own body’s betrayal, your own carnal desire and pleasure, by the uncomfortable mess in between your legs. And all you can do is silently stand there and pretend that nothing has happened as Matsukawa nonchalantly tucks himself in and checks his phone.

There’s an uncomfortable silence as you wait for him to acknowledge what has just happened, only to be disappointed as he doesn’t even spare you another glance, too observed in the glowing screen in his hand. You wonder if this was just a one time thing, if he had been stringing you along all this time for one quick public tryst. And you hate the way that thought makes your chest hurt, hate how much you dislike the idea of never seeing him again, never talking to him again, never feeling and tasting him again.

But as the train pulls into his stop, your eyes widen when his face hovers by your ear, lips grazing your lobe as his voice melts into your soul.

“Wear a dress or skirt tomorrow. No panties or bra.”

He laughs as surprise turns into an endearing scowl that barely hides the apparent relief in your eyes and he just casually waves farewell as you send him on his way with a tirade of angry words about his fucking audacity. But it’s all empty heat and he chuckles at the self-conscious embarrassment written all over your face when he sees you the next morning, a pretty dress fluttering around your knees.

There’s no preamble, no pretense of what’s about to happen and he smirks in appreciation at the unobstructed feeling of skin against skin as he slips his hand under your skirt, not an inch of fabric covering the treasure at the apex of your thighs.

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xkoutarou

2 years ago

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xkoutarou

2 years ago

accidental death is the best thing that could happen to me

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xkoutarou

2 years ago

Jamie Varon

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xkoutarou

2 years ago

— Sylvia Plath, from The Bell Jar

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xkoutarou

2 years ago

Franz Kafka, The Diaries of Franz Kafka

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xkoutarou

2 years ago

Carrie Fisher, from The Princess Diarist.

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xkoutarou

2 years ago

Dabi x reader in squid game where they’re both players 👀 ✨

Squid Game AU - Player!Dabi x Player!Reader

Part 2, Part 3, Part 4.

Squid Game AU Masterlist

TW: Dabi is one of the scary players, Mentions of Violence and Murder, just a tiny bit of blackmail, implied dubcon.

30 minutes until lights out.

The clock hangs over the room, menacing streak of numbers that keep changing, leading you towards a nightmarish night, at best, and your painful death, at worst. Everyone knows what will happen; now that they're aware killing others in the dorms bears no consequence, the most violent of the players will wait until the lights are out to unleash their murderous fury in an atrocious blood bath.

And then there's you. Defenseless. Like a rabbit locked in with a pack of wolves. As much as you can rely on your wits during the game, you hadn't expected to be forced to fight for your life even at night, when there are no strict rules hanging over the participants and keeping them from hurting or killing others. There is no being smart when you're facing the sharp end of a knife or cowering under the fists of a merciless criminal, and as the numbers keep rolling above the beds, you know you have less than a 10% survival chance.

It feels unfair.

"Why do you keep looking at the clock? You scared or something?"

You raise your eyes to the man standing next to your bed, the knife hidden in the palm of his hand clicking against the metallic bars in annoying sounds. Still, your blood freezes in your veins at the sight of him; his black hair falling in front of cerulean blue eyes, the burn scars littering his face and body, the murderous fury alight in his gaze, waiting, expectant, ready to be unleashed as soon as the countdown strikes 0.

You don't know his name, and the number on his jacket is hidden under a blood stain, almost black now that it has dried, but you remember him, and more specifically the amused smirk that keeps pulling at his lips everytime he takes other players down in the games. He's among the worst ones, you know, among the criminals and murderers who are there because they need a bit of cash to escape from justice, far from the other poor souls forced to take part in such a game simply because they've been indebted after a few financial mistakes.

He's the last person you'd want to see near you when the lights go out.

Because of course, he's right. You're terrified.

"I'm not," you lie, and he barks a laugh. The sound makes you feel small, defenseless, weak, as if you were nothing but a prey cowering while the predator roars in triumph right before devouring them whole.

"Don't be so shy, princess. Want me to protect ya?"

You blink, surprised as he looks down at you, smug smirk pulling at his mismatched lips. You wonder what he did to earn these scars, if they're just the remains of yet another of his crimes, or if they're simply a red flag that you should take into account before accepting whatever it is he's offering.

It's not as if you have a choice, anyway.

And maybe he's just mocking you, playing with your feelings, giving you a sliver of hope before taking it away, but it's all you have, so you slowly nod, and whisper:

"Please."

His fingers are rough, calloussed when they gently stroke your cheek, as if you were a kitten that he'd been dying to pet. His digits slid under your chin before raising it, forcing you to look into his eyes. Blue, beautiful, and yet there's a sparkle of something scary burning in the cerulean irises.

"Alright princess, I'll be your bodyguard for the night. And, don't worry..."

His thumb rises along your chin, lingering a few seconds on your lower lip before slightly pushing until your mouth opens and he can feel the warmth of your tongue on his skin as it slips inside.

He smiles, and you don't think you've ever seen anything so terrifying.

"We'll talk about the price in the morning."

-------

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xkoutarou

2 years ago

- Sylvia Plath, from 'Ariel'

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xkoutarou

2 years ago

got diagnosed with another mental illness at therspy today. epic win for my Carrd

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xkoutarou

2 years ago

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xkoutarou

2 years ago

abandonment issues? fuck yeah i’m abandoning these issues. bye

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xkoutarou

2 years ago

❣︎𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐬𝐮𝐤𝐚𝐰𝐚 𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐢❣︎

Keep reading

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xkoutarou

2 years ago

Inertia | Yandere!Childe x GN!Reader

Drabble | Warnings: Toxic relationship, cycle of abuse, mental breakdown, anxiety attack, slight religious themes, not proofread, what is this, childe being a lil’ bit oot, depression, being the only person childe has loved, begging, ok idk what else to put. poot.

What is it?

What is it that made him feel like this?

This unexplainable feeling coursed through his head: dread, like zaps of electricity running beneath his skin, muddying his mind; his ability to utter words gone as if his voice box was stolen. He tries to calm down, inhaling the air that carried your lingering scent, but his thoughts betray him—laughing at his stupidity, at his naivety.

A chuckle escapes his lips. He grips the roots of his hair in frustration, a scream threatening to spill past his throat. You’re not here. You left. You truly left him alone. His brow furrows, his chuckles morphing into a laugh. Of course you would leave; you’re too good for him—a gift from God for the little good deeds he’d done—or perhaps a form of pity for what he’d gone through. For once, he was content with life. He was grateful for what he had, what he could do, and for you.

Though it was short-lived. He supposes God isn’t kind, that maybe he doesn’t deserve happiness—

No,

God doesn’t exist. Who is he kidding? He’d never believed in someone that could save him until he’d met you. Perhaps you are his God. The way you talk, your overflowing curiosity, your subtle smiles, and your hazy, lidded eyes every time you met his gaze—just fuck, just how is he going to live without you?

But why? Why would you do this? Maybe you were being manipulated, he thought. By your own mind, perhaps. You would never leave him. Ever. He knows you well; the person who worried over the smallest wounds over his skin and cared for every little bad happening in his life would NEVER leave him. Perhaps you were kidnapped? He looks around, but what had left of you was an empty, lightless, disheveled room. Void of anything, like the feeling that started to creep into his mind.

“(Y/N)!” He screams, desperate for any signs of you. A little rustle, a hitch of a breath—anything. Please. He couldn’t do this without you, “Please, darling. Please don’t do this to me. Please.”

You swallow the bile that had risen to your throat. It’s pitiful that you’re a slave to his words, and that he’s a wreck without you. You watch as the ginger’s shoulder droop, a silent, choked plea leaving his form; the strong fatui warrior no longer existing, leaving a lonely shell only you recognize.

Do you love him?

The question hangs at the back of your mind. He needs you. But Childe doesn’t have the healthiest mind, and you know that better than anyone. Is it worth it to go through that suffering—to have him do whatever he thinks fit so he could ‘protect’ you—to have no control over your life? All of that, just to hold him in your hands? To calm him down, retelling the same words,

“I’m here, Ajax. I’m here. It’s okay. Everything is fine. Everything is fine.”

And you return yourself to the same cycle.

“(Y/n)?” He sniffs. Doe, teary cerulean eyes stare at you—they glimmer with hope, before a strong pair of arms hugs your form, “Don’t… don’t do this to me. I’ll.. go mad. I’ll go mad.”

But you already are, you silently repeat, you already are. You stroke the ginger’s head tenderly. It’s a cycle you can’t escape; a tunnel with no end.

A/N: Yes, i’m sorry for not posting lately. i am,, currently facing finals and all i can remember is thermodynamics formula (help). HOWEVER! i do have a lot of drafts so.. i’ll spoil you soon?

if you’re curious, i do have a yandere childe series draft. i’ll publish it later <3

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xkoutarou

2 years ago