#Corpse Husband fic | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

nutteu · 1 year ago

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mama, we all go to hell [Chapter II]

[AO3 Chapter I] [AO3 Chapter II] [AO3 Chapter III]

When he came back to the apartment several days later, Sykkuno was sprinting to the lift, arms waving around and eyes hilariously round as he sped up. Corpse reigned in his chuckle, pressing the button and waiting until Sykkuno was safely inside the lift, if a little bit winded.

“T-thank you, Corpse,” he gasped out, bent down on his knees as he tried to regain his breath. “Whew, I can’t believe I’m so old already. I feel like I’m dying just from that.”

“Good to know, grandpa,” Corpse teased, pressing the number for their floor. He observed the other man as he checked his phone, smiling at something and typing out a quick reply. He was wearing a black suit— a suit , one that was obviously tailored to his measurements, and Corpse had to look away for a moment when the telltale of a flush crept to his cheeks. It was ridiculous; Sykkuno couldn’t even see his face, for fuck’s sake. Still, it was something akin to a wonder to see the man out of his sweatshirts and hoodies. Even in the few times he got to see Sykkuno off to work, he always wore something comfortable and casual. Not- not this cardiac arrest inducing outfit. Or maybe it was just Corpse and his stupid lizard brain.

He most likely just got back from his work, Corpse deduced, what with a heavy looking bag slung over one shoulder. His hair was slightly disheveled from running, but there was an unmistakable shine of pomade and—the shape of something distinct. Helmet? He didn’t know that Sykkuno rode a bike. He just assumed he went to work with public transport or a car. He also didn’t know whether the image of Sykkuno—in his perfectly tailored suit, riding his bike on the street—would be good for his health. It simultaneously extended his lifespan by twenty years and made his lungs constrict with a precariously concealed scream.

“You uh- you look different,” he said before he could stop it.

Sykkuno looked up from his phone, eyes strangely sharp and cautious. The look was gone in a heartbeat, replaced with an awkward smile. “Um, yeah. Mr. La—uh, my boss, he told me that he was in no mood to see my Hawaiian shirt and neon shoes today. So he bought me this.”

Corpse’s eyes widened at that. What the fuck? What kind of company was Sykkuno working in that just threw in a suit for their employee on a whim? Because, sweet Bingus, sign him the fuck up. The Cartel didn’t exactly have a dress code, but everyone wore a suit and Corpse understood that the image of regality was important to differentiate them from street gangs. The closer he got to the higher ranks, the more Lily bugged him to buy ‘a nice suit’. He did, because he needed to keep up appearances too when he tagged along on important meetings. But, holy fuck, were they expensive.

“For real?” he said, awed and slightly envious. It wasn’t about the suit; his encounter with Toast several days earlier was still fresh in his mind. He wondered if the jealousy he saw in the man’s eyes was the same drive that urged him to complicate Corpse’s life at times. “Man, your boss must really like you.”

The other man shrugged, stepping out of the lift when they arrived on their floor. “He’s certainly affectionate to us. He’s kinda weird like that. He gets so pissed when I don’t say ‘I love you’ back to him. It’s really funny.”

Hearing that, Corpse nearly choked on thin air, freezing on his track. Thankfully, Sykkuno didn’t seem to notice as he keyed in his card and the passcode. He hurriedly walked over, stepping inside and nervously said, “You guys seem close.”

“Huh?” Sykkuno replied, blinking in confusion as he tried to pull his shoes off. He seemed to have difficulty doing so, probably because he wasn’t used to this kind of shoes. They were new, too. His boss dressed him up from head to toe and Corpse was torn between feeling thankful and despairing from what Sykkuno said. “Well, we’ve worked together for some time now. I’d like to think that we’re close. He’s a nice guy and he takes care of me, too.”

Corpse didn’t say anything to that until they both got to the living room. He didn’t even know what to say. Of course, it shouldn’t even be something weird—that Sykkuno was well-liked by other people. Corpse had experienced the full blast of his charm every single day, and look at him now: a mushy, awkward oaf who regularly got a heart attack in the face of Sykkuno’s bright smile. But to hear it directly from him, to this extent especially, still made his stomach churn with something that he recognized as jealousy. Good god, he really was a pathetically hormonal teenager in puberty.

What made it worse was that, even if Corpse had come to terms with his own feelings, it still made him feel unsure about how to proceed. Sykkuno had been nothing but kind and welcoming in his attempt to be closer to the man, in his bumbling affection. But it didn’t make it less difficult to gauge Sykkuno's thoughts and feelings about it; whether he thought that Corpse just wanted to make friends, or if he noticed his embarrassing crush.

Sykkuno had never explicitly said anything about the way Corpse obviously spoiled him, his compliments, or the clothes exchange, or numerous little things that just screamed that he very much would like to hold Sykkuno’s hand and tell him to shut his pretty little mouth because it kept distracting Corpse and making him thinking about stupid things. Like kissing Sykkuno, for example.

It confused him, and he felt kinda guilty for harboring this feeling. What if Sykkuno was just trying to be nice and wanted to be his friend only? It didn’t matter that Sykkuno reciprocated his little touches and terrible attempts at flirting, even initiating the touches on his own at times. Because most of the time, Corpse felt like Sykkuno didn’t even realize that he was being flirted with, or that Corpse’s touches held a little bit more intention than his. As long as he didn’t say something about this outright, Corpse would always be unsure and worrying.

It wasn’t like he was ashamed of liking Sykkuno. On the contrary, liking Sykkuno made Corpse happier and more content than he had ever felt in a long time. He just didn’t want to impose his feelings on him. He didn’t want to make him uncomfortable or pressured. This was Corpse’s feelings, and no one was responsible for it but himself. Unfortunately, he knew that Sykkuno would be the type who couldn’t reject him without feeling guilty and awkward. Above everything, he enjoyed the man’s company regardless of crushes or not. Spending time with Sykkuno and coming home to him curled up on the couch with his laptop and cups of coffee was more than enough. Even if his feelings ended up nowhere, he still would like to keep this friendship close to his heart.

He stared at Sykkuno as the man deposited his bag carefully on the table, and flopped onto the sofa with a groan. He still had his moments of shyness and stutters, but he was opening up and more relaxed around Corpse. It was nice, seeing him unguarded and trusting enough to be able to do that. Corpse decided to go back to his room first, a change of clothes would be nice. His guns were starting to dig into his sides and leg.

When he came to the living room again, comfortable and tired but still wanting to see Sykkuno, the man turned to look at him and gave a sleepy smile. His eyes were half-lidded, suit rumpled from snuggling the plushies. In just a few more months, their apartment would be completely invaded by the plushies. He didn’t really mind, as long as Sykkuno was happy about it.

“Hey,” he said, stepping closer. “You should go back to your room and rest.”

“Mm,” Sykkuno replied noncommittally. “Later. How are you? Didn’t see you yesterday.”

He shrugged. He did his job just fine, got into a heated debate with Emma about the perfect size of holes in fishnets, and got more traumatized by Brodin’s brazen remarks. Just another day in the Comfy Cartel headquarters. “I’m good. A little bit tired.”

“Same,” the other man nodded. Then, as if flipping a switch, all traces of his sleepiness were gone, replaced with a stare that seemed to pin Corpse down on his place. “Something’s on your mind. What’s wrong?”

What could Corpse answer to that? Oh, nothing, just spiraling into thoughts about you and your boss. Also about my boss. Who’s probably going to assassinate me in cold blood, nothing much. How about you? Yeah. Right.

After that incident, Toast acted like nothing happened. He was back to his professional, if a bit brutal, work ethics. He bantered and joked around with Corpse still, and taunted him to join their strip poker game. But there was something reserved about him. He was a cold, calculating man in nature, but it felt as if he had put up his maximum fort in front of Corpse now. His eyes were colder, even more unreadable than usual. The others might have noticed it, too. Because Scarra clapped him on the shoulder, and steered him to the bar where Brodin was mixing drinks. He was almost afraid to know what he was mixing, but thankfully he was only served a glass of whiskey.

The liquid burned pleasantly in his throat. He licked the stray droplet from his lips, feeling the scar that was long since healed but still felt tender to this day. They didn’t talk about Toast, but it did make him breathe a little bit easier. He didn’t know why. Maybe because it was Scarra. The man was as mad as the rest of them, but he had moments that told Corpse of his genuine care towards his Family. Or at least, the inner circle. It gave him a warm feeling that he was considered as one.

They talked about nothing and everything, jobs and plans mostly. Toast was mentioned here and there, but never about his personal life or recent behavior. It was all and well, until Scarra dropped a bomb that Corpse would have never seen from fucking kilometers away.

“How’s Sykkuno doing? You getting along with him?” the Don asked, and Corpse spluttered on his drink.

The whiskey now burned unpleasantly, along with a feeling that came up to the forefront of his mind. The same feeling that he was out of the loop in something that he was supposed to know. Brodin handed him a glass of water and he coughed up a discernible thank you. Scarra looked at him as if he was in a dilemma between laughing and disgusted. Corpse did just spray his whiskey all over the bar.

“You- you know Sykkuno?” he asked, after he was no longer on the verge of choking to death. He seemed to do that a lot these days. A lot of things surprised him and left him puzzled lately. No one gave him clear answers, and he was slowly going insane from his curiosity.

For a moment Scarra seemed like he didn’t register his question. Then, he frowned, looking miffed. “Of course I do,” the Don said incredulously, and Corpse suddenly felt like he was being stupid for asking, though he felt like the question was sensible enough. “Why wouldn’t I know about Sykkuno?”

“Uh—“ Corpse croaked out, feeling that sense again—the one where he felt like he was missing a piece of puzzle from the board. “What.”

“What?” Scarra asked back, looking as confused as Corpse felt right now.

“I think you broke him,” Brodin interjected, calm and collected as the two men looked at each other like the other had suddenly grown three heads. “Here, have some more drinks and talk about Toast’s future plan of disposing Corpse instead.”

“ What? ” Corpse asked, eyes wide and feeling like he needed to escape to New Zealand right about now. Away from these crazy people. He could even buy a farm like he planned to, and invite Sykkuno to live there with him. “What’s that supposed to mean?” It- it was a joke, right? … Right ?

But Brodin and Scarra were already talking about the good old days when assassinations were easier than ever. Just aim and bang, bang! No cameras to record their crime, and eyewitnesses were too afraid to even say anything. They knew that witness protection meant shit when the influence of the mobs reached out even to the government.

“Toast likes to do it the traditional way,” Scarra said, almost fondly. “All the grand symbolism and slow torture. He and Michael got along like fire in that regard.”

Both men laughed at that while Corpse discreetly hoped that he wouldn’t be strapped to an electric chair while Michael’s robot dog peed beer on him. In the end, though, Brodin looked at him and said, “It’s a joke. Don’t worry too much about it.”

“Which one?” he asked again, stressed out already from close contact with the Don and Consigliere. No wonder these people got along so well. He was absolutely right from the beginning. They were all batshit insane. “The assassination, or the torture method?”

Brodin shrugged, went back to his drink. “Bet.”

Corpse left the bar feeling more traumatized than he ever felt in his life that night. Emma, who just got back from a mission, took a look at him and said, “You look like shit.”

“Thanks,” he said, still in a daze, “you too.” His early retirement plan was looking to be more and more appealing now.

Sykkuno was still waiting patiently as he snapped out of the memory. He sighed, sitting on the other end of the couch as the other straightened himself up slowly. “I don’t really know, honestly. But I think my boss hates me,” he said in the end.

“Oh,” Sykkuno said softly. “I’m sorry about that. But you’re very kind and hardworking, Corpse. You work like, 24/7. So I think your boss is just a jerk. Or maybe they had a bad day, who knows?”

Oh, he certainly had a bad day, alright. Corpse was the main factor of it. But he couldn’t help the little smile on his lips. “Thanks,” he said. “My boss will definitely kill me if he heard it though.”

The older man laughed, then it died down to a gentle curve of his lips. It really didn’t matter how many times Corpse had thought of it, but sometimes he wondered if God really did have a favorite. Sykkuno might not be the most beautiful person on earth, objectively, but there was a certain charm to his beauty that drew Corpse in so effortlessly. It was almost scary.

“I think you need rest more than me,” he said then.

Corpse shook his head. “Yeah, I think so. I, uh, I- I don’t want to be alone yet, though.”

It almost felt like a secret, saying that. But it was out in the open already, and he thought that it was another thing that drew him in about Sykkuno. He felt safe in his vulnerability. He could entrust this side of him and he wouldn’t be judged about it. He had Emma, and Lily—in a way. But Corpse didn’t really have anyone else that was close enough to care about his physical and mental wellbeing. As much as he tried to take care of Sykkuno, he was also taken care of in a lot of ways.

“Okay,” the man said, then moved back to the corner so he could be more comfortable. He usually took up the whole couch, but he also liked to make himself into a small ball in the corner. It was endearing, though sometimes irritating because Corpse had to sit on the floor most of the time. But then, he straightened his legs instead of curling them as he often did. He patted his thigh, looking both gentle and slightly nervous. “Come here.”

Corpse understood his hesitancy, in a way. They touched a lot these days. A pat on the hand, brief hugs, a point of warm contact when they sat side by side. But it was something new, something that made flutters of giddiness and confusion reside in his stomach. He slowly moved over to put his head on Sykkuno’s lap; carefully, carefully, so he wouldn’t spook him.

Sykkuno smiled at him when he finally leaned his full weight on him. His face looked kinda weird from this angle, and Corpse noticed with a curiosity that he had a scar underneath his chin. It was mostly covered by makeup, but he could see the slightly raised skin from this close. He wondered if that was the reason why he studiously put on his makeup. He wondered if for the same reason, Sykkuno kept wearing long sleeved clothing; a way of hiding more scars on his body.

“Alright?” the man asked, and Corpse nodded. There were fingers, then, on his hair; slipping through his curls and combing gently. “Can I ask you something, Corpse?”

“Yeah?” he replied, a bit distracted because Sykkuno’s thighs were soft and his suit looked even more immaculate up close. He had a slender waist, he noticed. He had discarded his suit jacket on the arm of the couch, but he still got the vest on. It shaped up his form nicely. Corpse was starting to think that maybe this was a bad idea, after all.

“What do you actually do? Your job, I mean,” Sykkuno continued. “Do you… work with Lily?”

If Sykkuno listened carefully, he could hear Corpse’s thundering heartbeat. What should he say? That he was someone who was paid to kill people for the Family? That he threw people from a building and put another in a barrel filled with cement, dumping them in the river? He couldn’t imagine a good reaction to that. Sykkuno had never indicated that he had any insight of Corpse’s job, and though they talked a lot with each other, it was as if there was an unspoken rule to never ask about their personal life outside of the four walls of this apartment.

Should he—tell the truth? He had basically lied by omission all this time, though he gave Sykkuno his actual name. There was a chance that Sykkuno would accept his honesty, given that he knew about what his cousin did. But there was also a possibility that Sykkuno wouldn’t want to live with him anymore. What if he didn’t want to be involved at all with the world Corpse was in? What if he thought that Corpse wasn’t a good person to befriend? What if—what if he was afraid of Corpse? Because as much as Sykkuno was an oddball to begin with, he wasn’t a killer.

“Corpse?” he faintly heard Sykkuno called. His face was scrunched up in worry. From his position, it was actually kinda funny. Corpse would joke about it if he weren’t so anxious.

“I—no,” he finally decided. He didn’t want to lose this just yet. “No, I’m- I work as a personal bodyguard.” Partially true, because he used to be hired for that, too.

“Oh,” Sykkuno said. Corpse must have been more nervous than he thought, because the man sounded a little—disappointed. Did he expect Corpse to say that he was involved with the Cartel? He couldn’t think of any reason why he would want to hear that answer instead. “Okay,” he said, and continued running his fingers through Corpse’s hair. “Thank you for telling me.”

“Yeah,” he said in a small voice. He didn’t have any problem with lying. It was basically a requirement, to hide his identity, his personal thoughts, his motive and drives, to be able to survive in the underworld. But it still didn’t make the twisting in his gut any less vicious.

“It’s okay, Corpse,” the other man continued, as if he was reassuring. Corpse didn’t know what and who he was trying to reassure. “Rest now, yeah?”

It took him a long time to calm down enough to try to sleep. Halfway through, he nearly told Sykkuno that it was alright, he could sleep in his room, no need to accompany him. But Sykkuno was warm, and he didn’t say anything about Corpse’s stuttered response, and didn’t stop caressing Corpse either. He was comfortable, despite his turmoil. And he was exhausted; from work, from everything that happened in the headquarters. It was really easy to let sleep claim him once he was willing to push all of his thoughts aside and focus on the rhythmic beat of Sykkuno’s heart, his soft hum as he scrolled through his phone, occasionally frowning and chuckling low.

In his sleep, he dreamt of a farm and Sykkuno’s smile on a sunny morning. It was a pleasant dream, though he didn’t understand why the man kept disappearing at times, and asking Corpse where had he gone off to when he was the one who went away. When Corpse asked him the same thing, all he said was, “It’s okay, Corpse. I’m not going anywhere.”

He woke up feeling strangely happy and saddened at the same time. Was it because he wanted so badly for Sykkuno to accept everything that he was? Was Sykkuno really that important to him for that kind of thought? They had only lived together for a little less than a year now. It was terrifying to think how fast Sykkuno had wormed his way into Corpse’s life and heart. It was even more terrifying to know that he didn’t mind it in the slightest, that he wanted him to stay.

To find someone he could trust enough to be this vulnerable with was hard, to have someone who inspired a feeling of safety and happiness within him was even harder. But the hardest of them all, the driving point of Sykkuno’s existence in his life, was to have someone to come home to.

The man himself was fast asleep now; head lolled to the side, one hand lying near Corpse’s head, the other on his stomach. Slowly, he lifted his hand to trace a finger on the back of Sykkuno’s palm, feeling the bump of veins and the joints of his fingers. What would it feel like, to hold his hand, and have him return the grasp?

He let out a soft sigh, carefully removing Sykkuno’s hand so he could get up. The man mumbled a little in his sleep when Corpse manhandled his body so he could lay more comfortably on the couch, pillowing his head with a plushy. He didn’t dare enter Sykkuno’s room without his permission, even if it would be better for him to sleep properly on the bed.

He might as well order something for them to eat. As he ordered them some food, Corpse couldn’t help the slightly hysteric chuckle that came out of his mouth. His life was one massive romantic comedy show with a dash of horror right now. For some reason, Sykkuno’s appearance in his life brought a brand new experience of comfort and desires that Corpse wasn’t very used to, as well as numerous complications that—despite not involving him directly, or at all—also came to the surface in tandem. It was as if he was a catalyst of some sort for these events to happen.

He wondered why exactly Lily put him here, and why Sykkuno didn’t have his own place. Judging by his belongings, it was apparent that money wasn’t the problem. Was it safety? It made a lot more sense if it was. But then again, Lily said it herself, that Sykkuno would be protected whether or not he was involved with the Cartel. He could have several guards stationed with him if that was the main concern.

He felt very much like an actor who had to act without knowing the script at all, forced to follow the rhythm of the play while everyone else played their part right. What part was he supposed to play anyway? He didn’t know. What he did know, however, was that he wanted to be a part of Sykkuno’s life. Someone close, someone he trusted. Someone—someone who didn’t lie to him at every turn.

“You’re frowning again,” Sykkuno said, startling Corpse and nearly making him drop his phone. “What are you thinking about this time?”

He reached out his hand, sluggish and still shrouded by the last remnant of sleep. When he was still sleepy like this, Sykkuno had little to no inhibition at all. Of thoughts and touches, of looks and smiles that Corpse sometimes felt like it was something private, something he shouldn’t be allowed to see. But he went anyway, because Sykkuno reached out, and he would be damned if he didn’t follow.

When he got closer, he felt the fingers clumsily trying to smooth out the frown on his face. It was endearing, as much as it made Corpse want to stand on a podium and proclaim his devotion to Sykkuno. Maybe it was too early, but then again, it wasn’t everyday that he had a pretty guy smiling at him like he was something precious. Corpse would like to think that, regardless of his feelings, he was a good enough friend for Sykkuno to look at him like that.

“You,” he decided to say, nervous and brave at the same time. This was possibly reckless, but Sykkuno had this effect on him. Making him feel daring, and reassured that he wouldn’t be alone in the wild ride, even when he fell, even when he shattered.

“What about me?”

“You look good, in your suit.” As expected, Sykkuno just curved another smile; pleased, no trace of shyness as he urged Corpse to come even closer. He knelt next to the couch, and unconsciously held his breath when Sykkuno scooted forward, his arms instinctively accommodating to support his head when he leaned it on Corpse.

“Thank you, Corpse,” the man said. “I think you look pretty rad, too.”

He smiled at the word. He had taught him that. “You don’t even know what I look like.”

Sykkuno hummed, eyes heavy and so, so warm against Corpse. “No, but I don’t need to know to say that. You still look pretty cool. All mysterious and brooding.”

That got a laugh out of Corpse. He shook his head, sitting down so Sykkuno could lean his head on his shoulder instead. His heartbeat was thrumming loudly against his ribcage, but it was drowned by the feeling of contentment, of a quiet afternoon when they both didn’t have to be away for work, when there was nothing but soft breaths and softer touches. It was as if the world was diminished to this moment only; a personal bubble that allowed Corpse to feel his affection without the heavy burden of his thoughts and guilt.

“Brooding, huh? That’s actually fitting. I do look pretty scary.” he told the man, trusting him with that personal piece about himself. At least, he could be honest in this.

Sykkuno looked up. His lashes were short and straight, but the fold of his eyelids framed his eyes in a delicate way. He had dark eyes, darker still at rare times when they sharpened and focused. It was a whole new dimension of his persona, when he did that. Like he did right now.

“Really?” he asked, not really looking bothered by the admission. “Will you let me see someday?”

It was a subtle nudge, but one that Corpse recognized nonetheless. Sykkuno had this way of putting someone on the spot, or requesting things without actually saying it; framing his request without pressure, and taking advantage of someone’s emotional response as the propeller instead. It was the way he formed his words, his inflection and his expression, and it was all too easy to agree to whatever he wanted. But Corpse did want to.

“Yeah,” he said, afraid and sure. “Someday.”

“Thank you, Corpse,” Sykkuno said, patting his hand that was perched near the man’s hips. “It means a lot to me, to be trusted like that.”

There was also this look of approval on Sykkuno’s face when you did something he wanted, replied to his questions with the right answer, or responded in the way he intended it to be. It was a very good tactic in manipulation, and Corpse wondered what it would be like if Sykkuno joined the Cartel. He would fit in very well there. Toast would like him a lot. It was a really, really good thing that Sykkuno seemed to never use that to force Corpse to do something he was uncomfortable with. Sure, at times he was called out and put on the spot—just like when Sykkuno asked him about his two-month long scrutiny back then. But it was always done in a gentle, encouraging manner; always something that Corpse had originally intended to do, but was too scared or unsure to actually do it.

He was struck with a sudden epiphany of how alike Toast and Sykkuno were, now that he thought about it. A complete opposite that undeniably walked the same trajectory in the way they figured people out, and played them in the smoothest possible way to get what they wanted. Toast’s way was admittedly more vicious, ominous. But it was understandable given his situation. Sykkuno, on the other hand, did it in a much more pleasant method, and Corpse thought that it made it even more dangerous in the end. Because people wouldn’t feel forced, wouldn’t feel like they were trapped. They just wanted to please this pretty, pretty man with his soft smiles.

It reminded him of Lily, too, and the viciousness of the Cartel. She might be the only Capo who had a clear stance on killing. But she was still a part of the Family, and she was terrifyingly competent at her job. Her softness and harmless appearance should clash horribly with everything that the Cartel did and stood for, but she enhanced it instead. She was the perfect representation of how calm water was the most dangerous of them all, for she wasn’t a Capo for no reason. Physical violence might not be her weapon of choice, but she was the one who kept the Family’s reputation afloat, and in turn, allowed the cycle of violence to continue. He wondered if Sykkuno would be the same way if he were to be put in the same environment.

Neither Sykkuno nor her had ever delved into deeper explanation about their familial ties, and Corpse didn’t want to push either. He didn’t want to open that particular can of worms in fear of exposing his own identity. It burdened him, at times—remembering that he was essentially lying to Sykkuno about a big part of himself. But everything Corpse had shown him, his words and his reactions, were his genuine feelings about Sykkuno. Nothing was fabricated about them, even if sometimes he felt like they were even more dangerous than revealing his actual job to the man.

But despite the lack of information and show of familial bond, Corpse could see it. Traces of Lily in Sykkuno’s flowing tone and awkward phrases, shadows of Sykkuno in Lily’s quiet chaos. The man wasn’t exactly as unhinged as the higher-ups of the Cartel, but there were moments when Corpse felt the difference of his demeanor so closely.

On a sticky Saturday afternoon, there were sirens from below their apartment. Corpse watched in increasing curiosity as Sykkuno—sweet, kind, stammering Sykkuno—merely gazed down from the balcony at the shenanigans on the street. It was an accident; even from afar, Corpse could tell that someone had died, judging from loud wails and calls of medics.

There was a certain sense of cold detachment in Sykkuno’s face as he tended to his plants. His fingers, long and graceful, patted each leaf and petal with such gentleness that was at odd end with his expression. If he noticed that Corpse was staring, he didn’t say anything. When the screams became louder, he finally tore his gaze away from the man next to him and looked down to see what happened.

Fire had spread around the car; there was a woman, bloody and disheveled, being held back by the police and medics. Her husband was still in the car, she screamed, most likely trapped by the badly bent metals. The loud siren of the firetruck rang in his ears in tandem with the woman’s heartbroken cries. Corpse had long since desensitized himself from this kind of thing, and he tended to keep his sympathy to people who actually mattered in his life. Then again, it was part of the requirement of doing what he did and he had been doing this for a long time.

Sykkuno, on the other hand, was a civilian who, despite supposedly having ties to a notorious mafia family, was not supposed to be this blasé in the face of this kind of tragedy. And yet, he didn’t so much as twitch as he gathered his gardening tools and arranged them neatly in a basket. It made Corpse feel… unnerved. There was something niggling on the back of his mind, Lily’s cryptic statements going around in circles like an echo of a bad dream.

“That was brutal,” he said, because the silence between them was starting to feel suffocating, even if there was so much noise on the street.

Sykkuno glanced at him, then shrugged. “He was most probably already dead anyways. What’s he gonna do, die more?”

It runs in the family, so beware.

The air was hot, even hotter still from the smoke and fire down there. But Corpse felt like there was a sudden gust of chilling wind on his back. He held back a shiver, heartbeat steadily climbing in its rhythm. It was almost ridiculous for him to feel this way. The accident had nothing to do with them, and they weren’t obligated to feel any sympathy for the husband and wife. It was completely normal if Sykkuno didn’t want to suddenly burst out in tears from the tragic turn of events. Maybe he was someone like Corpse, with his reserved empathy; maybe he simply didn’t want to be bothered by this kind of thing. But he had to admit that it was hard to reconcile the Sykkuno he had come to know and care for, with this Sykkuno who was so cold and practical.

But, was it really?

Was it really that hard to see the way Sykkuno changed his whole demeanor when he was focused—cold and untouchable? Was it really hard to notice the ease he had shown when he was talking about his hypothetical, questionably morally dubious inquiries? Was it really, truly hard to remember when Sykkuno leaned close enough for Corpse to feel the warmth of his breath, as he calmly said the damnedest thing so easily?

“Burn them, Corpse. It’ll be fun to watch,” he remembered, a smile sitting pretty on his lips like something so decidedly sadistic didn’t just come out of his mouth.

It was only a video game, and he was admittedly more distracted by the way Sykkuno was practically perching his head on Corpse’s shoulder to actually do what he had suggested. But he vividly recalled the way his heartbeat stuttered, turning his head to properly look at Sykkuno. The man was looking at nothing in particular, still leaning so close, still looking so unfairly pretty in his ominous serenity.

He wondered for a moment, if this were a real situation, and the characters were real, breathing people—would Sykkuno be this calm? Would he step close to Corpse and whisper so gently in his ears, guiding his hand with deceptively delicate fingers to pour gasoline all over the poor sods, smiling in approval as Corpse set them on fire?

But there was something about him. Something that Corpse noticed the moment Sykkuno knocked on the apartment door with a disarming smile and down-casted eyes. He had a way with his words—turning his stutters and awkward usage of terms he was unfamiliar with into something so endearing; melodic voice wrapping so smoothly around the syllables, drawing people in so effortlessly into listening to what he was saying. No matter how ridiculous, how dangerous.

One thing that Corpse noticed about Sykkuno after his three months long, embarrassingly obvious scrutiny, was his charm.

It was something that flowed subtly, almost invisible around the man. It enveloped him like a fog, spreading its tendrils when Sykkuno opened his damned mouth and asked very, very politely for someone to do the unthinkable—in both the good and bad sense. It was the way he put his attention to someone, making them feel like they were the center of his universe with his kindness and care. And then, what was left to do but to follow him the way Icarus followed the ray of the sun to his demise?

Even when he plunged to the ocean, he fell with a sense of satisfaction and happiness of finally being close enough to something that he had always adored. Sykkuno made him feel the same way. Like moths to the flame; like the unforgiving current of stormy seas—absolute, inevitable. This man was dangerous in his quiet, gentle chaos. And yet, Corpse couldn’t find it in himself to stop and save his soul.

He should have been aware of the danger in that kind of feeling. But Corpse had always been unapologetic in his loyalty. There were few people he would have devoted himself to, and he latched himself to those he found worthy of his trust. He just- he didn’t know if Sykkuno would be willing to accept the magnitude of his feelings. Especially knowing that he might not be a part of the underworld.

And yet these instances, the proof of Sykkuno’s charm that transcended the warmth and flowery kindness, down to the fleeting moments of cold apathy and apparent sadism—it created a doubt within him. If Sykkuno seemed so unbothered with this kind of behavior, then… would it be possible that Corpse could tell him who he was after all?

But if he was wrong, if this was only a part of Sykkuno’s quirk and trolling nature instead of an actual behavior that reflected his own moral standing, then not only Corpse risked losing him and their friendship, Lily would definitely cut his head off and put it on a spear. She probably would put it on display at their headquarters as a memento. Michael most definitely would appreciate it.

“Sykkuno?” he called, finding that his hand had unconsciously strayed to Sykkuno’s waist to prevent him from falling off the couch. The man didn’t say anything about it however, he might be too sleepy to care.

Sykkuno only hummed in response, though he did look up when Corpse tried to catch his eyes. He gulped, heaving a deep breath and trying to push through his locked tongue. It was—it was harder than he thought, to say this. “If- if one day, you found me doing something that you think is wrong… if I turned out to be different than what you expected, what would you do?”

There was that look again, the one that made Corpse’s instincts flare to life. For someone who could be shy of eye contact at times, Sykkuno’s stare could be overwhelming when he directed it at him. He endured it, waiting for his answer.

Then, there was a hand covering his on Sykkuno’s waist. “I never expected anything from you but your own happiness and wellbeing, Corpse. If the way you achieve those is by doing something I don’t like, then who am I to judge? It’s not like everyone likes what I do, either. So it’s okay, Corpse. I’m not going anywhere.”

He was suddenly hit by a strong sense of déjà vu. He thought that supernatural shit was cool and all, but he didn’t particularly care about them. Hard to, when the blood on his hands, the ring of the gunshots, were all far too real than something metaphysical. But Sykkuno said the exact same thing from his dream, and he didn’t know how he should feel about that.

His answer, however, calmed his chaotic thoughts and worries. He didn’t know whether Sykkuno would pull through with his statement, but it was enough at this moment. He nodded, fingers squeezing the slender waist momentarily before he let go. He wasn’t reprimanded for that, either.

“Okay, yeah- okay,” he said, smiling a little from how relieved he was. “Thanks.”

“Is there anything you wanna tell me?” Sykkuno asked, pushing a little but still letting Corpse make the decision nonetheless.

“No,” he said, “not right now.”

“Cool,” the man replied easily, then his face brightened a little as mirth came back to his eyes. “But can we eat now, though? I’m hungry.”

Corpse chuckled. “I already ordered some food. It should be here in twenty minutes or so.”

“Have I ever told you you’re awesome?” Sykkuno said, grinning and leaning his head closer to Corpse.

He was pretty sure that the man could pretty much hear his quick-paced heartbeat with how close they were right now, but Corpse didn’t let go. “Sometimes. But not today, no.”

“Well, there you are, then,” came the reply, along with a laugh and sense of comfort and familiarity that made Corpse feel weak in the knees.

He still had his worries; about his feelings, about the mystery and confusion surrounding Sykkuno, about Toast and Yuno, about what he wanted to do with his desires. But right now, holding Sykkuno in his arms, tired and comfortable, he was alright.

Right here, in his apartment, on the couch that had been monopolized by Sykkuno—at ease, at home.

If there was something that Corpse couldn’t get used to, and probably could never get used to—it was the way Sykkuno just bloomed into intimacy ever since the hoodie incident. They were neither too close nor too indifferent of each other previously, even if Corpse was pretty sure anyone could see the way he was tripping over himself in his haste to please this soft, morally questionable, infinitely confusing man. But as if they had crossed an invisible line that dictated the limit of their closeness, Sykkuno didn’t even bother with baby steps as he just propelled through with full throttle of his touches and remarks that always made Corpse choke on thin air.

Over the course of the months they had lived together, Corpse had compiled up what he had known about Sykkuno. He knew that the man never woke up before one in the afternoon; he liked his coffee bitter, though he liked sweet drinks; he liked tending to his plants, playing video games with overly loud remarks in-between, writing analysis reports, and standing awkwardly in the middle of their apartment when he forgot what he initially wanted to do. He took up the whole space on the couch, unabashedly put his plushies everywhere in the living room once Corpse told him he didn’t mind them, had a questionable fashion sense, and actually quite liked it when he got his nails painted.

He could be so dramatic, too. Corpse had seen this too many times when they played video games together. Sykkuno had a terrifying range of consoles at his disposal, and he brought almost everything to the living room after he roped Corpse into playing Mario Karts together—he was terrible at it, but he laughed the hardest at every misfortune that befell his character. On nights that they happened to be in the house together, they would play whatever Sykkuno wanted and Corpse would follow.

“It’s okay, Corpse,” he said, sounding miserable and resigned. He hung his head low, leaning against his army of plushies for support. “You can take it, you deserve it. Go on and continue your journey to the temple. I’ll just… stay here and wait until death reclaims me. I hope you’ll find a better place to be, somewhere kinder than hell.”

“Sykkuno…” he called out, voice hoarse from disbelief and holding in his laughter. “It’s just a fucking item. We can farm again for another drop, oh my god.”

And Emma said that he was a dramatic son of a bitch. She should have seen the way Sykkuno’s eyes just took that faraway look, lips downturned and trembling ever so slightly as he heaved out a deep breath. He crawled closer to clutch Corpse’s arm, effectively short-circuiting his mind and rationality. “Just know that I will always think about you when they drag me down, Corpse. Go, this is your destiny.”

He tried to regulate his breathing, ridiculously distracted by the warmth of Sykkuno’s fingers and the little frown that made his face just seem so—so. He couldn’t even find the right word to express how much he wanted to throw the console away and take him in his arms. He knew that this was just Sykkuno joking around, but he was a weak, weak man and Sykkuno was far too pretty this close. How could anyone ever deny him anything? He would travel down to hell himself just to chase the whisper of Sykkuno’s laughter if it meant he could be by his side. Maybe it would be safer for anyone, Corpse included, if the man was to cover his face all the time. He wasn’t sure if one man alone was allowed to have this much power over anyone else.

“I won’t,” he said, aware of the way Sykkuno was looking at him so closely, almost intimate in his undivided attention. He realized with a detached sense of alarm, that what he was about to say was more than simply playing along. “We all go to hell anyway. So instead of waiting for my turn, I’ll go with you.”

He half expected Sykkuno to laugh, to act even more dramatically. But he just continued to look at Corpse, fingers still clasped around his arm. The music coming out of the speakers sounded so faint in his ears, drowned by his thundering heartbeat. Both of their characters were already swarmed by the monsters, groans of pain interjecting in-between his careful breaths. He didn’t dare to move, didn’t dare to look away even for a second.

It was as if he was waiting for—for something . He didn’t know what. But the moment Sykkuno’s lips slowly curled into a smile, his grip tightening for a second before retreating altogether, Corpse finally let out a shaky exhale. He felt like he just passed the hardest test without studying, without even knowing what he should prepare for, or what the test was about. It was nerve-wracking, but he couldn’t help the sense of satisfaction and pride when Sykkuno took back his console and sat just a little bit closer to him than before.

“Oh,” the man said, face dumbfounded as he looked at the screen. “We- we died, Corpse.”

And then he laughed, hard and genuine behind his palm. Corpse laughed along with him, didn’t feel even the slightest bit of irritation as their characters dropped all their hard-earned belongings—including the item that had started this whole debacle. Maybe that was what Sykkuno was trying to do: distract him enough so they both died and had to restart from the last save point. He gotta admit that it was working splendidly with his stupidly infatuated lizard brain.

“If you were to have another name, what would it be?” Sykkuno asked another time, lounging on the couch with his laptop open.

Corpse came over with a cup of coffee that he put on the table. He made coffee for him every morning, now. Or, whenever they happened to be in the house at the same time. Between Sykkuno’s erratic schedule, and Corpse’s irregular missions, they found themselves spending time in the oddest hour. This wasn’t even a morning coffee, though technically, it was . It was almost three in the morning after all. He didn’t question Sykkuno’s sleeping time, since his was basically as disastrous. It would be a wonder if either of them would live to their late thirties—aside from the obvious risks of his job.

“Move over,” he said, nudging Sykkuno’s legs aside. The man shot him a grateful look as he sipped on his coffee. “You’re welcome,” he added smugly. He was pretty proud of himself. After all, Sykkuno rarely ever critiqued his coffee anymore. After numerous trials and the man’s fond smile behind his too thick, too watery, too sweet, too tasteless coffee, Corpse was finally able to make one that got Sykkuno patting his hand softly in approval. Lily would probably look at him with a mix of disgust and a shit-eating grin that screamed, ‘ I told you so ’. Emma would just call him a dog and laugh at his face for ten minutes straight.

Even if he did feel like a dog, just a little bit. It was really hard to not be pleased with himself when he could provide what Sykkuno wanted. The man’s bright smile, soft thank you s, and the way he had taken to touch Corpse when he did something for him was something heady and intoxicating. A pat on his hand, a caress on his arm, a warm hand grasping his for a moment, a centimeter of distance erased when he tried to get closer to where Corpse was.

Sykkuno hummed around the rim of his cup, looking at Corpse with a raised eyebrow. Oh, right. “Hmm… I don’t know. Randall, probably. Sounds pretty fitting, no?”

The other man chuckled a little. “That sounds like someone who works in an automobile shop,” he said, going along with the obvious teasing.

“That is an awfully specific description,” he replied, feigning suspicion. “Did you stalk me or something?”

“Or something,” Sykkuno nodded, and put his feet on Corpse’s lap as if it was something he had done a hundred times before. He didn’t say anything about it, but it was far too casual to pass up as something natural, and Sykkuno refused to look away from his laptop afterwards. His feet were strained, not quite settling down yet. As if he was afraid that Corpse would push him away.

Corpse kinda wanted to scream and perform a backflip at the same time. Here was the most gorgeous man on earth, in his humble opinion, and he was slowly making Corpse lose his mind with his kitten-lick touches that caught him off-guard every single time . He knew that this was Sykkuno’s way of allowing him into his life, to know him; that this was his way of reciprocation of Corpse’s efforts. And though he was overjoyed by it, it also turned him a dumb oaf who suddenly didn’t know how to use his words—didn’t know what to think of anything aside from Sykkuno’s calloused hands and his stupid chicken laughter. He didn’t think that blurting out, wow, you’re so cute, wanna buy a farm and adopt a bald cat together? would be helping his case either.

So as a dumb oaf with a lizard brain, and admittedly mushy heart, he slowly grasped Sykkuno’s ankle in his hand and said, “Wouldn’t mind having a customer like you everyday, though. You don’t even have to buy anything, just come and sit and ask for some coffee.”

The laughter that followed was muffled and hidden behind the cup of coffee, but it warmed his heart nonetheless. “You’re a terrible employee,” Sykkuno accused, though he was slowly relaxing and leaning more of his legs’ weight onto Corpse’s lap.

“My boss said the same thing,” he agreed, remembering Lily and Toast complaining about Corpse when he bugged them about Bingus, and relentlessly using internet lingos to piss them off. Thinking about Toast, however, brought back a certain memory of his cold stare that day. It had been weeks , and still it haunted his mind like a particularly pesky nightmare. So, he quickly shook off that thought and asked back, “What’s yours, then?”

Unlike him, Sykkuno readily answered the question. “Yuno,” he said, and put down his coffee back on the table.

The soft clink of glass meeting wood seemed to be magnified a thousand times as Corpse froze in his seat. He remembered what Lily said that day, how he thought that it was a bad omen. It would be funny if it weren’t so ominous; one coincidence after another. He swallowed down the flurry of thoughts that bombarded his brain, opting to act as if he weren’t particularly bothered by that answer.

“Why that one?” he asked, heart accelerating as he tried to sit still and not jostle Sykkuno’s feet off his lap.

The man shrugged. “Well, you take off the Sykk and you got Yuno! Pretty neat, huh?”

Sykk. Yuno Sykk. The man who was important enough to be let free to roam around Los Santos; a man who was valued enough that he indirectly got the city out of the grasp of one of the most notorious mafia families. A man who Corpse admired, and Toast held dear. A man, who might possibly be closer than he possibly thought to his life. But—was he really—?

“What’s wrong?” Sykkuno called out, frowning a little. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Uh,” he fumbled. Should he ask? Was it wise to ask? Lily had warned him about Yuno, and Toast had single-handedly made Corpse feel more threatened than he ever felt in a long time because he accidentally got a glimpse of the man in his private time. Would it really be worthy to voice out his curiosity? If he were wrong about this, it might prompt Sykkuno to ask questions about how he knew about that particular name. But then again—why would he choose that particular name?

“Nothing,” he continued carefully. “It just—sounds familiar.”

“Oh,” Sykkuno replied, eyes unreadable. “Well, there are thousands of Yunos out there, I suppose.”

Right. There were a lot of people with that name. Corpse could remember at least ten anime characters with that name on the top of his head. Maybe he was just overreacting. Maybe the incident with Yuno and Toast affected him more than he thought, that he started to see everything in a tunneled vision.

He nodded, thankful that he was wearing a mask so Sykkuno didn’t see the full extent of his crisis. The man went back to his coffee and laptop after that, and he let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. He really needed to get a grip on this. Not only that he kept suspecting about Sykkuno’s possible involvement in the Cartel, he also kept connecting the dots that weren’t even there in the first place. So what if Sykkuno’s apparent lack of moral grip was fitting as a part of the underworld? There were plenty of people with the same point of view and they weren’t necessarily criminals.

His relief didn’t last long, however. Because Sykkuno put down his coffee again, and asked, “You said it sounds- sounds familiar. Where did you hear about that name?”

Fucking hell . At this point, Corpse might as well lie in the grave he had dug by himself. Because instead of spouting nonsense about fictional characters, what came out of his mouth was: “It’s the name of a- a criminal in Los Santos. I- I heard of him a few times. Being a bodyguard and all.”

He didn’t even know if a bodyguard was supposed to know something so specific like that. There was no way to take back what he said, however. So he just fidgeted quietly in his seat, waiting and gauging for Sykkuno’s reaction.

What he got, however, made him torn between feeling guilty and confused. Because Sykkuno looked—crestfallen. His eyes were down-casted, a bitter smile pulling at his lips.

“A criminal, huh?” he said softly, then went silent.

Did he say something wrong? He didn’t think that what he said could even be considered wrong. He was just relaying information, after all, despite leaving the details. He didn’t understand why Sykkuno would look so downtrodden. Maybe- maybe because he knew that Corpse was lying? Because he knew that in no way you would be familiar with a lawfully wrong person—from another city nonetheless, even if it was quite close—unless you were familiar with the same world they were in. Could it be that Sykkuno knew he was lying when he said he didn’t work with Lily?

He didn’t know. He felt like there were a lot of things that he didn’t know and was confused about nowadays. He was sick of feeling like this. He wanted a definite answer so he could understand. He wanted to stop being so afraid of asking and saying about what he thought, what he kept inside his head. He wanted to know what to do .

“Sykkuno?” he asked cautiously. “Are you- is everything alright?”

“Just peachy,” he replied, quick and near emotionless. “Don’t worry about it, Corpse.”

He did worry about it. But he kept his mouth shut; didn’t want to push Sykkuno further away, didn’t want to overcomplicate his thoughts anymore.

For the first time in a while, they shared the space in a tense silence instead of a companionable one. It was more painful than he thought, after being so used to the easy camaraderie between them; to Sykkuno’s playful banter and comforting smile.

Sykkuno finished his coffee after some time, and pulled his legs away from Corpse. He let it happen, with a sense of loss that shouldn’t be that acute. He took his laptop with him and stood up. “I’m kinda tired. I’m gonna nap for a bit.”

Even if they lived in the same place, Sykkuno had this endearing habit of saying ‘bye-bye, Corpse’ when each of them retreated into their rooms or went outside. This time, however, he just left without saying anything but his curt parting words. Corpse watched his back as he slipped into his room, hands fisted so tightly he could feel the nails cutting into his skin. He didn’t like this at all. He didn’t like making Sykkuno sad, even if he didn’t know the reason.

But there was nothing he could do but wait until Sykkuno came out of his reverie. If he pushed, the man might retreat into himself even more. He gritted his teeth and went to his own room. When in doubt, annoy Emma.

“If it’s about your mount Everest-sized crush on Sykkuno, I swear to god—“

“I fucked up,” he cut her off, voice devoid of emotion and still so, so miserable. He heard her falling silent, knowing that Corpse was evidently in emotional distress. Man, she really was a good gremlin, huh. “I- I don’t know what I said wrong. But he just—clammed up and left. I don’t know how to make this better, Em.”

“How about you tell me from the beginning?” Emma said, gently. Corpse hated being coddled; it just went against his instinct after so long surviving by himself. But he did need this care right now, and Emma was a friend who understood him more than anyone else.

“He- he’s been asking me these questions,” he started. He sounded like he was trembling, and he noticed with a detached sort of surprise that his hands were indeed shaking. “Asking about whether or not I work with Lily, asking about names I’m not supposed to know if I’m just a mere bodyguard. He- we- we were talking about nothing, about fake names, holy fuck. How did it go so wrong ?”

He vaguely heard Emma saying something in an uncharacteristically soft voice, trying to soothe him. So he pushed forward. She deserved that for putting up with him, even though she didn’t need to. “He said he can name himself Yuno, take some damn alphabets out of his name—take the fucking Sykk, and have Yuno instead.”

“Oh, fuck,” Emma said, with feelings. She didn’t know about what happened between Yuno, Toast, and him, but she did know about his fanboying phase with Yuno. Inevitably, she would understand that the name struck a chord inside him.

“Yeah,” he chuckled bitterly. “Fuck. I blurted out that it sounds familiar. He asked where I heard that name from. I could have said something about Yuno Gasai—he watches anime, for fuck’s sake. Things wouldn’t be so bad if my stupid mouth didn’t say anything about Yuno Sykk.”

He stopped for a moment, and she waited patiently. He needed to take a few big gulps of air, trying futilely to stop the fear and panic inside his chest. Sykkuno had just opened up to him, and he already fucked shits up. “I think he knew I was lying to him, Em. Why else would I specifically talk about Yuno Sykk, if I’m not in the same circle of work? He sounded so dejected when I said criminal. He- he probably guessed correctly that I’m one too. Of course he would react that way—what normal person would want to have a criminal associate, let alone a friend? He’s Lily’s cousin, Don Scarra knew about him, and he’s not even in the Cartel. For what other reason except that he doesn’t want to be involved with the likes of us?”

“Corpse,” Emma interjected. “Don’t talk about yourself that way. This is the path you’ve chosen since a long time ago, even before Sykkuno. I know you must be thinking about all the worst possible things right now, but that’s why I’m here. To filter those shits out. So listen carefully, okay?”

“Okay,” he said weakly. Emma was right. He was spiraling into all his biggest fears, and it prevented him from thinking straight.

“I don’t know about Lily personally, but I think for someone in her position, it’s too much work and risky to take care of a family who rejects this kind of world, don’t you think? She wouldn’t be putting him there with you if that were the case. But if he really is upset because of what you do, then he’s an ignorant, privileged asshole,” she said, the bitching tone seeping into her words with an intensity that made Corpse let out a genuine laugh.

“Few of us are born into this kind of world, Corpse,” she continued. “We both know that neither you nor I are one of those. This isn’t our first choice in life, but we took this path anyway because we wanted to live. Because we’re good at this, and it was, in a way, detrimental to our survival back then. So don’t—don’t sell yourself too short, okay? You’re a bad bitch.”

He smiled a little. People wouldn’t expect Emma to be so good at consoling people at first glance. But she had helped him multiple times through his emotional crises. He really would kill the president for this person, he thought fondly—

“As in you’re bad and you’re a bitch,” Emma added.

—and then maybe kill her afterward too.

“Bitch,” Corpse muttered under his breath.

“I’m a prettier bitch than you, at least,” she laughed. Then, softer, “But you won’t be this down bad for him if he’s really a jerk, you know? I think it’s more of the lying part than the criminal part, Corpse. Talk to him about it, instead of brooding and angsting around your apartment. It’ll be okay; he seems like a good bloke, if a little mental. He endured you , after all.”

“Hey!” he protested, indignant. “I’ll have you know that I’m a good company, very mature and caring. You’re lucky that I grace you with my presence.”

“Ew,” Emma quipped, and he could see her disgusted face from miles away. Emma was one of the few people he knew that expressed everything she said wholeheartedly; emotive whenever her resting bitch face wasn’t there. It was starkly different from Sykkuno’s seemingly impeccable control of his expressions. “ I’ll have you know that you have the emotional maturity of a sunfish.”

“What the fuck,” he said, laughter bubbling up in his throat, something genuine that eased his worries a little. “You fucking dead jellyfish.”

They threw one insult after another for the rest of the call, and Corpse allowed himself to forget his troubles for a moment. He was just—he was glad that he had someone to fall back to, in time when he doubted himself like this.

“You’re still gonna overthink about this, aren’t you?” Emma said in the end, a little bit sad, fully understanding.

“Yeah, I guess,” he said helplessly.

“Take your time, bud,” she told him, “you’re allowed to take care of yourself too, you know? I get it that you like him a lot, but you’ve been so wrapped up in Sykkuno that you forgot that there are things outside of—whatever it is that you have with him. You can’t go around letting this drag you down. You’re gonna get killed. Don’t let this distract you, but don’t forget about it.”

“That’s surprisingly good advice, coming from you,” he said, not without a hefty amount of affection coloring his voice.

“I wasted my breath on you,” she said, then clicked off the phone call.

He lay back on his bed, stared at his ceiling and mulled over what she said. She was right, and she voiced out what he had thought. It still wouldn’t be easy, however. He wasn’t good at communicating his feelings, or communicating, period. He was good with his punches and guns, and he was good at falling on his knees for a pretty boy with a secretly dangerous glint in his eyes. But this would take him some time to actually have the courage to apply it in practicality.

His stomach was still taut with a big ball of anxiety, but he could breathe easier now. It was okay to take his time, take care of his emotional and physical wellbeing. Emma had been on point when she said that Sykkuno had consumed his life without him realizing it. Granted, he had allowed it to happen, and he thought that he wouldn’t be stopping anytime soon in prioritizing Sykkuno over a lot of matters. But it was also important to prioritize himself, too.

Sykkuno said that he didn’t expect anything from Corpse, that he wouldn’t go anywhere. Corpse just hoped that it would be enough when shit went to hell and he was left with nothing but lies and affection that had resided so deeply inside his lungs, the beat of his heart.

He desperately wished, with everything he could muster, that by the time Corpse sorted his issues out, Sykkuno would still be there to welcome him home.

For the next few days, it was incredibly tense in the apartment. The tension was so palpable in the air that Corpse felt like he could be cut in half if he wasn’t careful enough. Funnily enough, he thought that the possibility was all too real. Because Sykkuno- he- he was just different .

Even when he first started living here, in all his shyness and reserved glory, it was all too easy to be comfortable around him. Now, he was as reserved as he used to be, with none of his kind smiles and playful banter. He went back to making his own coffee, waking up earlier than Corpse and only spared him an acknowledging nod when he stepped into the kitchen. It hurt in ways he didn’t think would be possible.

All the little things that he was so used to—simple greetings, making Sykkuno his coffee to start the day, small talks about whatever stupid thing that crossed their minds, the soft smiles and warm glances—they were no longer there, and Corpse felt like he had lost his footings. His legs weren’t broken yet, but he stumbled more than he expected.

Back when he was just a grunt, or even when he was only starting as an enforcer, Corpse used to spend his free time in the headquarters. Jobs could go in suddenly, and there was always a need for foot soldiers to take care of some heavy-lifting business. He didn’t have anything to do in his apartment other than perfecting his workspace and fiddling with his music sometimes. Sykkuno’s arrival brought a lot of changes in his life, not only emotional wise, but also filling his stagnant days with excitement and tidbits of happiness that piled up and covered every corner of the previously quiet apartment.

He knew that what happened that day hurt Sykkuno, in some way. He didn’t know exactly why, but it was evident in the way he absolutely refused to even look at Corpse. They didn’t talk, he didn’t offer Corpse to play some games, and he left for work with only a short, “I’m going.”

“What’s up with you?” Michael, of all people, asked. “You got constipation or something?”

“Uh,” he was weirded out that the boy- man- mad scientist sought him out personally. They had talked before, but mostly in business or when Michael was playing around with the other Capos. “Nothing, I’m fine and dandy.”

“No way,” the Capo said, a frown on his youthful face. “I barely see you around here anymore except when you have a job. And now you’re just waddling around here like a lost dog or something. Oh— oooh .”

There was a shine in his eyes, one that spelled nothing but trouble. Before he could guess what misfortune that was going to befell him, Michael screamed on the top of his lungs, looking more excited than what was appropriate.

“Lily! Lily, your dog got into a fight with Sykkuno!” the man shouted, running to where Lily had just appeared on the lounge with Poki in tow.

She took a brief look at him, a perfect eyebrow raised as she continued walking. “No, I don’t want to know about your lover’s quarrel.”

“It’s not—it’s not a lover’s quarrel!” he denied, flushing despite it.

“True,” she continued. “You’re not his boyfriend yet. It certainly is a quarrel, though. But I haven’t heard anything from Sykkuno, so congratulations. You’re not gonna die—for now.”

He sighed miserably, wanting very much to just curl up and die. He admirably ignored the ‘boyfriend’ part. “I thought you don’t like killing people,” he muttered sullenly.

Lily let out a laugh, looking at him as if Corpse was a very, very confused child. In a way, he was. He was confused as fuck. “Me? You thought I’m going to kill you? Oh, Corpse,” she cooed sweetly, but it sounded terribly ominous in his ears. “Sykkuno is more than capable of doing that himself, if he wanted to.”

“It’s a shame that he doesn’t,” Michael grumbled, looking miffed all of the sudden. He probably would enjoy that. Why was everyone so happy about the thought of Corpse getting killed anyway? Was it a new trend or something?

It was only a joke, he knew. But when he came back to the apartment—and didn’t it just cut his heart when he realized that he couldn’t say he was coming home —he started to wonder if Lily’s premonition would come true. In the span of a few days that he spent in the headquarters, Sykkuno had reverted further and further into himself. It had been more than a week since they last properly talked, or even looked at each other.

His eyes, usually so gentle and full of mirth, were hard and cold. He was tense all the time, and he spent his time either in his room, or with his phone. He called a lot of people, and Corpse was becoming more and more nervous when Sykkuno started to snap out things to whoever it was on the other end of the line. He had never seen the man like this. Even when he was stressed out from his work, he usually just looked tense and focused. But he always had time to talk to Corpse or spare him some smiles and greetings, asking him about his day and other little things. There was none of those right now.

He had tried to approach him, too. Some offer for lunch or coffee, or to watch whatever lame movie on the TV. But all he got was a shake of Sykkuno’s head, most of the time he didn’t even look at Corpse before he refused the offer. He no longer brought his laptop and did his work in the living room, and he noticed that the army of plushies was getting more and more sad looking as the days passed without Sykkuno there to cuddle them to death. Corpse commiserated along with them in their loneliness.

Because he was lonely. He had never really thought about it before, because he had nothing to put as a comparison previously. He was so focused on work and thinking about whatever stupid things he fancied at the moment in his spare time so he wouldn’t go insane. But now, even with Sykkuno just a room away from him, he felt incredibly lonely. Like he was living by himself all over again. The apartment felt strangely cold. Even the plants Sykkuno had put on their balcony seemed to be wilting in tandem with his feelings. He attended to them now. Sykkuno sparsely came out of his room, much less to interact with Corpse or his plants.

The peak of it all was when Corpse found enough courage to knock on Sykkuno’s door and peered inside. “Hey, uh, Sykkuno. Do you want to grab some tacos to- eat…” he trailed off, the man was saying something so rapidly to someone on the phone, his free hand resting on the keyboard and sometimes typing something away.

“What do you mean—“ he started, then stopped himself when someone cut him off, their voice tinny and intelligible. “I didn’t hear about that—wait. Ray, wait .”

He wasn’t quite snapping, but it was something close. When he turned to look at Corpse, he couldn’t help the shiver that broke all over his skin; the alarm in his head blaring so loudly that his ears were ringing from the shock. He unconsciously reached for a gun that wasn’t there on his back, and even that small movement garnered Sykkuno’s attention. His eyes were sharp, searching, dangerous. Corpse felt the beginning of sweat starting to bead on his forehead.

He had met dangerous people in his line of work, a lot of them. He knew about fear; it would be stupid not to otherwise. Someone without a fear was bound to be found dead in an empty alleyway. He had learned how to mold his fear into an instinct that had served him well all these years, kept him out of precarious situations. But there were only a few instances when he felt like he was feeling right now.

A feeling that he was about to be devoured, that he was nothing but a mere prey in the face of a wild beast. There was a silent threat that wafted off of Sykkuno like an encompassing poisonous gas. Corpse’s heart was beating so hard that his chest hurt. Neither of them said anything for a while, the tinny voice from the phone was the only noise he could hear.

Then, very slowly, Sykkuno opened his mouth. For some reason, Corpse’s heart seized up at that, he felt like the beast was about to lunge forward and maul him, tearing him apart into pieces. This was fear—and more than the fear for his survival, it was also a fear of not knowing who this man in front of him was. It was Sykkuno’s face, Sykkuno’s eyes, voice, and lips. But Corpse felt like the loop that he had been out of for the longest of time finally threw him away to the outer orbit. All the moments when he experienced the twist of Sykkuno’s sinister thoughts and questionable morals flashed through his mind. He had known about that for a while now. But he didn’t know to what extent it would reach.

“Don’t,” Sykkuno said, low and slow. His voice was spine-chilling soft, and Corpse knew that this was a threat. “Ever come into my room without my permission. Do you understand?”

He felt himself nodding stiffly, heart still beating a mile a minute. Sykkuno is more than capable of doing that himself, if he wanted to . Did he want to, now? Even without moving a muscle, even when Corpse knew he could put up a fight in the worst case scenario, the possibility of Sykkuno killing him felt very, very real now.

“Good,” Sykkuno nodded, just the smallest dip of his chin. “Close the door behind you when you leave. Please.”

Despite his words, Corpse knew an order when he saw one. He retreated, breathless from a danger that he wasn’t sure had passed. Sykkuno didn’t wait around to see whether he followed his order. He immediately went back to his phone call, looking increasingly irritated by the second.

Just before Corpse closed the door, he heard him saying, “I can’t . You know I can’t right now, Ray. No—no, don’t you ‘ baby ’ me. I have to prepare for our big project. You—“ then as if the switch was flipped off, Sykkuno’s voice went soft. He sounded so helpless, almost to the point of getting teary. It made Corpse ache with his inability to help him. How could he, when Sykkuno had pushed him away with such decisiveness?

“You know this is important for me, Ray. I don’t- I don’t want to disappoint you again, any of you.”

He decided it was high time he stopped eavesdropping the conversation. Sykkuno had been so closed off these days that it was such a shock to hear him be that vulnerable. And it hurt, a lot, to hear him being that frail and open to someone else, someone who called him baby . Someone he didn’t want to disappoint.

Jealousy was a green-eyed monster who laughed at him so cruelly, whispering in his ears about how he was losing Sykkuno. It felt like his time with the man was borrowed, limited. And now, the hourglass was broken and he tried futilely to grasp the sand that was slipping through his fingers. He didn’t want to lose him this fast—didn’t want to lose him, ever.

That realization wrung a gasp out of him, something painful that prompted a self-deprecating laugh to follow. So what if he didn’t know about Sykkuno completely? He himself hid a lot of things from him. So what if Sykkuno had a terrifying, sinister nature and complete disregard of someone’s life? Corpse had killed more people than he cared to remember, and he felt comfortable in the Cartel, with people who might be worse than the both of them combined. So what if he was descending too fast to the ground, not even bracing for the impact? Sykkuno had given him a taste of company that went beyond everything he could ever hope for, and for that alone, Corpse was willing to acknowledge that he was still so helplessly, unquestionably falling for this man.

It was funny how something akin to a near death experience worked as a catalyst to understand his feelings. Maybe he was just so used to the danger and adrenaline of surviving that it needed him to be in the same situation for his mind to focus on the issue and actually thought of something to resolve his plight. Not everything was resolved, of course. But it cemented his resolution to come clean, to tell Sykkuno about who he was and how he was feeling.

He didn’t want to be in this cold war anymore. If his identity and his lies were the root of the problem, then he was willing to risk it. Anything, anything to have Sykkuno by his side once more.

Now wasn’t the right time, however. Going by the conversation, it was clear that the man was stressed out because of his work. He felt the prickle of jealousy surfacing at the memory of Sykkuno’s soft admission to Ray . Whoever that person is, they were obviously someone important to him. A colleague from work? Another one of his quirky bosses who was charmed by him?

He shook his head, feeling stupid when he realized he looked very much like a dog trying to shake water off his ears. Maybe that was what he was trying to do; to shake those unnecessary thoughts from his head. Michael did say he was a dog, and he couldn’t help but see the irony in his metaphor.

Maybe—after Sykkuno was done with his big project, Corpse could take him out. As in, outside. A café, a restaurant, arcade, movies, anywhere. They spent their time in the apartment all this time. Corpse had never even seen Sykkuno out when he went to work. He was either still sleepy, wasn’t in the apartment, or simply didn’t think that he needed to. He had only found out Sykkuno rode a bike on that day in the lift.

And yet, despite his resolution and plans, things were getting much, much worse from there. Sykkuno nearly didn’t go out of his room anymore. Corpse sometimes heard his frustrated grunt, the clack of the keyboard almost deafening from how often they were heard. He had been on his computer all the time, without rest. He himself didn’t have any job to do, and Lily told him that his mission to Los Santos was cancelled. He was to prepare for another big mission several months from now, and small tasks here and there. He suspected that it had something to do with Toast. But it really didn’t matter, now that he had more time to approach Sykkuno without going away for a long time in-between.

He didn’t try to push as much, opting to just be there and help Sykkuno if he ever needed it. He periodically reminded him to come out and eat, each time always getting a variation of ‘later, okay, not in the mood’ from inside the room. But he bought food for the man anyway. Sometimes the food was eaten, sometimes it just sat there in the fridge until Corpse had to throw it away. He was worried, but he trusted that Sykkuno could handle himself and wouldn’t do stupid things like exhaust his physique before his big day.

But it seemed that he had overestimated his confidence in Sykkuno’s ability to take care of his well being. It was nearly two days; the sound of keyboard, frustrated snaps, and intelligible mutters continued without stopping. Sykkuno only came out once to eat, brought a whole jug of coffee, and several bottles of water. And then he disappeared into his room again.

By the third day with the same cycle, Corpse was already worried sick. When Sykkuno came out again—to make more coffee, instead of eating—he had had enough. He caught Sykkuno’s wrist when he was about to pour the coffee beans into the grinder, startling the man and making the beans clatter all over the kitchen counter. He took the pouch of beans from the man’s hand and settled it somewhere without looking.

“Corpse,” he said, upset and looking haggard. His hair was a mess, dark circles underneath his eyes, the smell of sweat and coffee clinging to his rumpled shirt. It was unfair how he still managed to look decently attractive despite his appearance, but still. This wasn’t okay. “What are you doing?” he hissed.

He tried to pull his hand away, but Corpse had always been stronger between them, despite him being shorter. Sykkuno had a kind of hidden strength that came out at the most unexpected time. But Corpse was built for this. He had been using his body as a weapon for as long as he remembered. So he held on, grip tightening so Sykkuno didn’t have any choice but to let it happen unless he wanted to sprain his wrist.

“I know you’re still pissed off at me,” he started, and Sykkuno’s lips tightened into a thin line at that. “And I know you’re busy. But this has to stop, Sykkuno. You’re not taking care of yourself; you look like shit, you barely eat, or even rest. You’re going to collapse if you keep this up. So please, just this once, listen to me, okay? Eat something, and stop- for fuck’s sake, stop putting more caffeine into your body if you don’t want your heart to explode.”

Sykkuno didn’t say anything, but he gritted his teeth through it all. His eyes were furious, as if he wanted to shout at Corpse that he was aware , but whatever he got to say wasn’t more important than what the man was currently preparing for right now. But frankly, Corpse didn’t give a fuck. He didn’t know what project he was working on, and it wasn’t his business. All he cared about was Sykkuno and his health, his happiness. He was evidently not happy, and he was well on his way to be sick if Corpse let this continue.

He half-expected Sykkuno to snap at him, or maybe to acquiesce to his request. But the lines of his face were hard, and he looked at Corpse without a speck of empathy in them. He felt his heart fall even before Sykkuno opened his mouth and said, “Is that all? Are you done?”

He heaved a deep breath. No matter how besotted, how worried, how weak he was to Sykkuno, he still had his own temper. The cruel jealousy that he thought he had quelled slithered around his ribcage, telling him to snap back. All he got for his trouble was a cold shoulder and hurtful remarks. But Sykkuno was willing to soften his temper, show his fragility to someone else. He wanted to hurl insults, pushing him further to answer his questions and demands. Make Sykkuno know that if he wanted to play with fire, Corpse would let him burn. He was willing to put up with Sykkuno, but it didn’t mean that he would let himself be stepped all over.

His hand gripped Sykkuno’s wrist harder, a satisfaction coursing through him when he saw the wince that the man tried to cover. There would be splatters of bruises there come the morning. Good , he thought viciously, so Sykkuno could remember. He would regret this later, a voice niggled on the back of his mind. But right now, nothing mattered to him but the coldness in the man’s eyes, the threat that Corpse expressed with his whole body.

“No, I’m not done. You’re a fucking asshole, you know that?” he growled out, pulling the hand in his grip forcibly until Sykkuno stumbled forward. “Prancing around like you’re the only one allowed to be mad. What are you, a fucking princess? You need me to cater to you like a good little dog while you dump all of your frustration on me?”

Sykkuno looked away for a moment, shoulders trembling from barely concealed anger. His other hand was in a tight fist, poised as if he was ready to punch Corpse. But he didn’t say anything, and Corpse barreled through.

“I’m worried; did you know that? Ever thought that maybe I care ?” he said scathingly. “You’re one step away from collapsing, because of what? Because you didn’t want to disappoint Ray ? Well, you know what? You’re gonna disappoint whoever that is, because by the time you need to be there, you’re gonna be strapped to a hospital bed from your own stupidity. Is that what you want? If it is, then go on. Work yourself to death for your little project , and watch how you’re going to disappoint—“

“That’s enough, Corpse,” Sykkuno cut in. He stepped closer on his own, almost nose to nose. “You don’t know a fucking thing about me, or my friends, or what I do. So shut your mouth.”

It was quite a shock to hear Sykkuno cursed for the first time in almost a year. But it was the shock from his words that made Corpse almost forget about holding back the magnitude of his temper. Those words cut him so deeply, pulling his fears out of his gut, and nearly blinding him with despair and heartbreak. Sykkuno was right, he didn’t know and he wasn’t one of those people.

“That’s the fucking problem!” he roared out. “I don’t know , and you won’t tell me! I might not be an important person in your life, but by God , Sykkuno— you are to me. But it doesn’t matter, does it? I’m just a guy you’re forced to live with; you’ve never thought of me as a friend, have you? You’re nothing but a selfish prick, a fucking liar!”

“ Enough! ”

The jug on the coffee machine shattered loudly when Sykkuno’s hand bashed through it, unrestrained in his rage. His face was flushed, body shaking from his ire and—sorrow. Oh , Corpse thought with a sudden start, his mind clearing in an instant. I fucked up, again . This time, when Sykkuno tugged on his wrist, he let it go.

The man wasted no time in pushing Corpse away, the force and the shock were enough to send him stumbling a few steps back. “You’re one to talk, huh, Corpse?” Sykkuno said, and it was sad to hear his melodic voice being twisted into something so ugly. “You’ve never told me anything, either. You said you wanted to know me, so I tried to tell you, Jesus fuck did I try . But you? Each time I asked, you ran away, you deflected. I respect your privacy, Corpse. I never snooped around trying to find out about you, even from Lily. I want to hear it from your own mouth, because you’re my friend . You—“

He cut himself off, heaving deep, trembling breaths. And then, to Corpse’s horror, his voice broke into something so vulnerable, so dejected. “You can’t accept me,” he said, soft, stepping back as if he was trying to curl into himself. “You won’t even see me anymore if you knew what I did. I wanted to stay, Corpse. I wanted to be here because you make me happy, and you’ve become someone important to me. But how can I do this anymore, when you’ve rejected me and who I am?”

“Sykkuno,” he called out, trying to get closer. But all Sykkuno did was backing up, away from his reach. “I never said that. Please , I don’t understand what you’re saying. I’ve never—“

“You did,” Sykkuno said, hard and certain. “You told me yourself. Call me a liar if you want, but I’ve always tried to tell you who I am. But don’t—“ he gasped, as if he was trying to hold in the tears that had gathered in his eyes. Corpse could feel his own eyes warming, too. This was all too confusing, and they both hurt each other so much in such a short time. “Don’t lie,” Sykkuno continued, voice small and fragile, “please, don’t lie to me anymore. You don’t need to take back what you said just to please me. If that’s what you think, then I’m going to accept that. But I can’t—“

Sykkuno didn’t continue, pressing the heels of his palm to rub his eyes instead. Corpse felt a sharp pang of guilt when he saw the reddened mark of his fingers on his wrist, the blood that he just now noticed running from Sykkuno’s hand to his arm from his wound. How did it go so wrong? Why did he let his anger get the best of him? How could he fix this?

He stood there in despair, wanting to get closer but knowing it would just drive the man away. His hands were clenching and unclenching, unsure what to do. With a last heaved breath, Sykkuno turned on his heels and left the kitchen. His steps were slow, as if he was walking with lead strapped to his legs. But Corpse couldn’t move, didn’t follow. He didn’t think it’d do them any good if he were to push the issue any further now.

The pieces of broken glass from the coffee jug were scattered on the counter, a reflection of what had shattered between them. There were specks of Sykkuno’s blood clinging on some pieces, and Corpse’s face crumpled as he realized just how bad the fight went. He regretted everything that he said, and thought he didn’t understand what Sykkuno talked about, he knew that part of it was his own mistake. Oh god, oh god, what did he do?

This was something important to Sykkuno, and he just went and mocked him, belittling his work and the people who were important to him. Was he really that immature, to the point of bringing a complete stranger into an argument that initially had nothing to do with them? Sykkuno wasn’t his ; wasn’t his lover, and now he was probably no longer considered to be his friend either.

Was it really worth it? To have a short-lived satisfaction of snapping back and seeing Sykkuno miserable when Corpse did the same thing to him? Was this the way he took care of Sykkuno, the way he wanted to express his feelings? As much as he was hurt, it hurt him even more that he had inflicted the same pain to Sykkuno—whether the one he knew about, or the one that he didn’t understand.

He bit back a sob, feeling vulnerable and so, so lonely. It had been a long time since he last cried, and Corpse remembered now how unpleasant, how painful it was to have a reason to cry. He left the kitchen and the state of mess it was in. He wasn’t in the right mind to tidy it up, and it wasn’t like Sykkuno was going to come out of his room either to say something about it. He probably wouldn’t step out of there as long as Corpse was in the apartment.

For hours, he just lay there in his bed; ignoring Emma’s texts about some memes she found, and Lily’s inquiries about his newest mission. He can worry about that tomorrow, he hoped. If he was needed in the headquarters, the Capo would call without preamble. All he wanted was just to sleep and not think about anything. But he couldn’t. His mind traitorously replaying their fight over and over again, the cruel green-eyed jealousy shrieking its laughter in his ears.

At some point, he realized that he was crying. The warmth of the liquid registering only when a sob was wrenched straight from his gut. He was tired, and he missed Sykkuno so much that he ached all over with the force of it. There was a selfish thought in his head that told him how easy it was back then, before Sykkuno entered his life. But the bigger part of it just kept reminding Corpse, over and over again, how empty his life would be if he were to lose the older man.

He could live his life without Sykkuno. He had done it for years, and he could do it for years to come. Despite his current emotional state, he wasn’t some weak minded teenager who could only whine and cry about things that didn’t go right in his life. But the wound it would leave in his heart would take years to heal, and the scar would always be present to remind him that he had let another good thing slip through his fingers, when he had all the chance in the world to grasp it, when Sykkuno was willing to stay.

He wondered what the man was doing right now. Wondered if he still wanted to be a part of Corpse’s life, whether he still wanted Corpse in his. He probably went back to his work right away. But he looked so exhausted, Corpse hoped he got some rest or something. Maybe—maybe he was packing his things so he could leave first thing in the morning.

When he had calmed down enough, he tried to listen. The apartment was silent, no keyboard clacking or Sykkuno’s frustrated noises. There was barely any sound aside from his own shallow breathing. Maybe the other man really had fallen asleep.

But then, he heard the sound of a door opening, and soft footsteps that went faint. He didn’t hear anything anymore, but Sykkuno didn’t go back to his room after some time, and didn’t go out either. Corpse bit his lip. He didn’t- he wasn’t in the best state of mind to talk about their fight right now. He might even say the wrong thing and trip another landmine, start another quarrel. But he couldn’t stop thinking about it either. He just—he wanted to see Sykkuno.

So he stepped out of his room, nervous and sick of feeling sad. Sykkuno was in the kitchen, back turned to him. He didn’t seem to have heard Corpse, his hands were moving on the counter. Oh—the broken jug. He was picking the pieces and putting them into a plastic bag, movement slow and stilted. Corpse watched him for a moment. Now that he had seen Sykkuno, he didn’t know what to do anymore. Should he approach him? He wasn’t sure if the man was ready to see him, or if he’d get a punch to the nose.

But then—his breath got caught in his throat when Sykkuno stopped moving, heaving a few loud breaths, before his shoulders trembled all over. There were soft sobs that travelled to Corpse’s ears, even when Sykkuno tried to stifle them. Corpse’s chest ached, he couldn’t stop himself when he walked with soft footsteps to where Sykkuno was. The man who had been so vicious, so dangerous in his wrath, now looked fragile and small. Corpse couldn’t stand the sight of it, the sobs that wracked through his frame.

Sykkuno stiffened when he finally noticed Corpse’s presence, the hand that gently touched his arm. But he didn’t say anything, didn’t turn to face him. At the very least, he didn’t push him away. So Corpse carefully put his arms around Sykkuno, resting his head on the nape of his neck. He didn’t know if this would be enough to tell him that Corpse was here, and he wanted to stay by his side.

It wasn’t until Sykkuno hesitantly lifted his hands away from the shattered glass, and grasped Corpse’s arms. He shuddered, and the tears seemed to start anew. Corpse stood there, pressing closer and holding Sykkuno through it. His own tears slid down his cheeks, seeped into the man’s shirt. In the silence of their cries, he realized that love was a double-edged sword; that as much as it brought happiness to someone, it was also the very same thing that could cut their heart deeper than anything ever could.

He loved him, Corpse thought, and was strangely at peace with the realization.

He couldn’t say that to Sykkuno right now, the extent of his feelings. But he could try to show him how much he cared, how he didn’t want to lose him. Carefully, he pulled back his arms, only to be stopped by Sykkuno’s grip. His shoulders were curling into himself and Corpse thought that he had been so focused on himself that he forgot that Sykkuno could be afraid, too.

“It’s okay, baby,” he said, the endearment slipping through his mouth before he could reign it in. They both were exhausted, physically and mentally. He’d allow himself this slip. Besides, Sykkuno didn’t say anything about it either. He wasn’t about to look the gift horse in the mouth.

It took some time for Sykkuno to let go. Once he did, Corpse took a hold of his arms, and gently turned him around to face him properly. He looked bad, really bad. The signs of exhaustion from earlier were even worse now that he had been crying. His usually impeccable makeup now messed up from his tears; Corpse noted in silence at the little scars on the bridge of his nose, his left cheekbone, his lips. They were faded and still partially covered by makeup that probably hadn’t been cleaned since yesterday, but they were no longer as concealed. The worst part, however, were his eyes; they were red-rimmed, and so despairingly broken that Corpse couldn’t help the glide of tears from his own. Love didn’t just hurt him, his love hurt them both. He could still amend this, he told himself.

Before he could say anything, however, Sykkuno beat him to it. “I’m sorry, Corpse,” he croaked out, voice hoarse and laden with tears. “You’re right, I’m such an asshole. I was so awful to you. You don’t- you don’t deserve that. I’ve been so selfish, I only thought about myself and let out my anger on you. I’m so, so sorry.”

He kept repeating that, stuttering in-between his sobs. Corpse couldn’t stand seeing him like this. He drew Sykkuno in, holding on tight in the embrace. Sykkuno’s arms came up to wrap around his middle, the strength spoke of how desperate and shaken he was feeling right now.

“I’m sorry, too,” he said, feeling Sykkuno’s grip tightened further. “I didn’t mean what I said. I was just—I was jealous and insecure,” no lies. No more lies. “I’m worried about you, a lot, and I’m not really good at expressing what I’m thinking, I ended up just hurting you. I was hurt from your behavior and words, and I lashed out by ridiculing the things that are important to you. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have done that. You mean a lot to me, and I’m too immature in handling my fear about losing you.”

He felt the man shake his head. “I did the same thing, too. I was a hycrite- hypopo—I don’t know the word,” Sykkuno said so miserably that it startled a hoarse laugh out of Corpse.

“Hypocrite?” he suggested gently.

“Yeah,” Sykkuno nodded. “I called you a liar. But I realized that I wasn’t very clear in expressing myself. That I didn’t tell you everything, either. That I’m a liar for doing that. It made me feel so bad, that I just accused you of something that you probably don’t understand. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Corpse. You must have been really hurt and confused. I’m sorry—“

“It’s okay,” he said, not wanting to see Sykkuno blaming himself anymore. “Baby, it’s okay.”

“Don’t- don’t leave,” the man continued, small and hesitant. “I still want to stay here with you. I still wanna be your friend. I know that I’m wrong, but—I’ll try to make it up to you. Just, please—let me stay?”

Oh my fucking god , Corpse sighed. How was it that every single time he thought he couldn’t fall any further, Sykkuno did something to prove him otherwise. With heart hammering in his chest, he slowly took the mask off of his face and put it on the counter. He didn’t know if this was wise, and there were certainly still a lot of things that he couldn’t tell Sykkuno just yet. But baby steps, he reminded himself. No more lies.

“Baby, Sykkuno, look at me,” he said, pulling back slightly to see the man better. He heard the hitch of breath when Sykkuno realized what was happening. He still felt slightly self-conscious about his face, the scar that cut through his cheek to his mouth. Another one near his ear, on his jugular. It wasn’t a pretty sight, but it was him . “I don’t want you to go either. Fuck, I’ve been losing my mind for the past week thinking that you’d bolt out because I pissed you off so bad. That’s- that’s part of the reason why I was so on edge. So—“ he took a deep breath, and tried his best to convey his feelings, now that he was bare, open to be seen in his entirety. “Please, stay.”

Sykkuno didn’t respond immediately, his eyes going from one point to another on his face; cataloguing each new feature he had been presented with. Corpse knew it was a lot to take in, so he let Sykkuno take it at his own pace. He tried to stay still, despite his anxiety when, with trembling fingers, the man reached out to touch his scar. His calloused hand was gentle, curious. He slowly caressed the biggest scar, making Corpse shiver from the touch to the tender flesh. The fingers moved to his cheekbones, the sides of his face, his jaw.

“I did tell you I look scary,” he tried to joke, to calm his own nervous heartbeat.

But Sykkuno didn’t laugh. Instead, to Corpse’s absolute wonder, he looked awed. “You’re—you’re beautiful , Corpse.”

It took the breath out of his lungs. He knew that a lot of people were intimidated by his face, on rare times when he opened his mask. The high-rankers of the Comfy Cartel were just so used to weird shits in their line of work that they didn’t bat an eyelash, only a sliver of surprise here and there. Emma didn’t care about what he thought of his face, she kept telling that he looked pretty enough to be a porn star, if he ever wanted a change of career. She was a good friend, despite her uncanny ability to piss him off.

But to hear it from Sykkuno, with such honest reverence that he could feel from his touch, was something else altogether. He had been so worried, so nervous about revealing himself. And yet, here they were. Sykkuno wasn’t disgusted, wasn’t scared, wasn’t going anywhere. Because he wanted to stay with Corpse.

“Thank you,” Sykkuno then said. “It must be scary, to show me this part of yourself. I- I feel so ashamed that you’re courageous enough to share such an important thing with me, and I haven’t even told you about things that I was meant to tell.”

He cupped the sides of Sykkuno’s face, leaning in to gently place a kiss on his forehead. “Me, too. It’s not that I don’t want to tell you. I’m just scared of how you’ll react to it.”

The older man laughed a little. “I think you just read my mind. I’ll tell you, but this isn’t the time, yet. I know it sounds, um, clee- shay , but I will tell you. Soon, I think. I just have to wrap up some things first. My… my last project, I failed so badly. I disappointed the whole team. They told me that they were okay with it. They were so nice to me about it, but I feel so bad. It takes a lot of funds and effort for that project, so that’s why I kept practicing and trying so I don’t fail them and myself for the second time. I’m sorry for making you worry.”

“Shit,” he said, eyes widening now that he heard the complete story. Or a part of it, anyway. Sykkuno said it himself that he couldn’t tell everything just yet. “Shit, I’m sorry for saying bad things about it. I get it, I do. But this time, let me take care of you along the way, yeah?”

“Yeah,” smiled the other. “Thank you, Corpse. You’ve been so good to me. Uh, is this the appropriate time for the ‘giving you my first unborn child’ mee-mee ? Because I would, if I ever get interested in having one. That’s how nice you are.”

He laughed and relaxed into their embrace, feeling the sense of familiarity and easy companionship returning to the apartment, the scant inches between them. He was suddenly all too aware of how close they were, just how fucking pretty Sykkuno was. He held himself back, however. They had just made up; he didn’t want to complicate shits by springing this so suddenly to Sykkuno. Even the embrace and the simple forehead kiss felt daring enough.

He took Sykkuno’s injured hand, noticing that the blood had dried but the wound was still gaping and tender. “Let’s clean this up first, and then we’ll take care of this mess,” he said, gesturing to the counter.

“And then tacos after?” Sykkuno asked, and Corpse grinned at him—so, so glad he could show him that now. It was almost midnight, but he’d fucking find a taco restaurant even if he had to scour the whole city and the next.

“And then tacos after,” he nodded, guiding Sykkuno to the bathroom to clean his wound. He made quick work of it, taking the first aid kit after they were done. He was used to this; he couldn’t exactly wait around for some medical attention when he was in the middle of a job after all. He cleaned the wound again with saline, and put on some betadine on it, before dressing it up with bandages.

All the while, Sykkuno was watching him with rapt attention. Corpse was aware of it, but he chose to stay silent about it. Maybe he was getting used to the sight of Corpse without his mask. Still, he should have known that Sykkuno’s mouth had a habit of spouting off things that gave him a heart attack.

“Can I sleep with you tonight?” he asked, brows scrunching a little as he pinned Corpse on the spot with his eyes. How could he say no to that face? That damned face was going to be the death of him one day, he was sure. “We don’t even have to sleep in your room if you don’t want me to see it, or if you’re uncomfortable sleeping in my room. We can just, like, cuddle on the couch for a while?”

“Uh, no, no, your room is fine,” he replied, trying his best not to appear too disoriented by the request. He didn’t think he could handle the sight of Sykkuno in his bed. His stupid lizard brain would start to conjure inappropriate images about the guy and he didn’t want to scare him off with his off-timing hormones. Besides, it would do him good; Sykkuno’s cold warning to him about entering his room earlier that day wasn’t something that he could forget anytime soon. And if anything, at least he wouldn’t be so nervous about being in Sykkuno’s room now that he was invited. He knew that the sense of danger that Sykkuno had ingrained in that threat was the main source of restlessness on the back of his mind.

Sykkuno beamed at him. Wow, what a fucking sight. Corpse now fully believed that the sun came out of his ass. No other explanation. How else did he look so radiant, so—so damn stunning? No one rocked the exhausted-and-sleep-deprived look better than Sykkuno right now, if he said so himself. And he did say so. Everyone else who said otherwise could shove it.

They cleaned the counter, with Sykkuno looking dejectedly toward his coffee machine and Corpse making a mental note to buy him a new one as soon as possible. At least he wouldn’t be chugging more coffee now. His body needed that reprieve. After they were done, he took out his jacket and wallet, mask hanging from his hand.

“You can change your clothes and rest while I buy the tacos, alright?” he told the man, who perked up at his words.

“Oh, you can take my car,” he said.

That took Corpse aback. “Wait—you drive a car?”

“Yes?” Sykkuno replied, eyes wide and confused. “Why?”

“No, just- I thought you rode a bike or something,” he said, then continued to explain when Sykkuno still looked so perplexed. “That day we met on the lift? You, uh, you got helmet hair. So I thought…”

“Oh!” the other laughed, as if remembering an inside joke. “Yeah, I wear a helmet inside the car.”

“What?” he said, now he was confused. He knew that Sykkuno wasn’t exactly up to the sanity standard, but little things like this still managed to surprise him.

Sykkuno didn’t seem bothered. He just shrugged and walked back to his room, signaling Corpse to follow him. “It’s a habit. I didn’t have eyebrows, you see? So I just put on makeup and wear a helmet. I got them fixed some time ago, but it’s been going on for more than a year. It’s hard to shake it off by now.”

They entered the room and Sykkuno rubbed his neck sheepishly at the state it was in. Corpse didn’t really mind. As he expected, the bed was made, untouched. Sykkuno really didn’t rest, or he just fell asleep on his chair, most probably. There were various things on display, mostly figurines and game hardcopies. But the man had three laptops on another table, along with scatters of USB nearby. There were arrays of plushies as well, though it wasn’t as bad as the living room right now. Sitting on top of his drawer was a helmet, and another one near his computer desk. He imagined Sykkuno wearing them and got hit with flutters of feelings as well as a dash of inappropriate thoughts. Man, he gotta get a grip.

The computer desk was littered with empty cups of coffee and water bottles. And—cigarettes. Huh. He didn’t even know Sykkuno smoked. The man never smelled of tobacco at all. But maybe it was because Corpse mostly found him when either of them were off work, or just waking up in the morning. The rest of the time, Sykkuno could simply wash up and put on some of his colog- nay so the smell would disperse from his body. His window was opened, the reason why the smell of smoke wasn’t the first thing that Corpse noticed.

“I, uh, I’ll clean them up later,” the man said, smiling awkwardly. There was a key dangling from his fingers. “But here! Just push on the button and you’ll know which one it is. It’s black, the number is in the car title.”

He accepted the key, checking the car title in the slip of the holder, and felt his eyes widened when he read the information. “Wait, hold up—I- hold up,” he stuttered, still in disbelief. “You got a Sultan? A fucking MKIII?! Holy shit. I’m too scared to drive it now. What if I scratch it? My paycheck won't be enough for that.”

Sykkuno laughed at his nonsense, already pulling out some clothes from his closet. With a fond smile, Corpse noticed that the hoodie was one of his. No wonder he hadn’t been able to find that one in a while. “You’ll be fine,” he said. “You can borrow my helmet if you’re worried you’re gonna crash or something, though hopefully you won’t. Car crash sucks when you’re the one in the car.”

Seemed that once they were back to their usual flow, and determined to be more open about themselves, Corpse was in for a barrage of one surprise after another. “You’ve been in a car crash ? Sykkuno, what the fuck. What kind of life are you leading, man?”

“A fun one,” the man replied easily, genuinely. Corpse doubted that a car crash would be considered fun, but then again, this man thought that burning video game characters was fun too. He’d take his words for it.

He shook his head repeatedly; maybe Sykkuno’s life wasn’t that far from the usual danger Corpse had in his daily life, after all. If he was this blasé about being in an accident, or seeing someone dying right in front of his eyes. Maybe… things could turn out for the better—more than he expected, anyway.

“Whatever you say, baby,” he said, then froze. It was one thing to let it slip when they both were emotionally vulnerable. But it was another thing altogether to call Sykkuno with that endearment so casually. He shot nervous glances at Sykkuno. “Uh, I mean—sorry, I wasn’t—“

“It’s okay,” Sykkuno said. “I’m used to it. People keep calling me that, and they’re all good people who have helped me a lot. I, um, I’ve come to like it, actually. It just means that people care about me. And- and I’m glad that you- care. About me.”

Corpse ignored the tendrils of jealousy at the fact that Sykkuno was so used to being called that to the point of liking it. Beggars can’t be choosers, he reminded himself. He was lucky enough that he was allowed to call Sykkuno that. Which meant that he could do it again, in their daily life. It was the more important thing, after all. Jealousy could eat his shit.

“Okay,” he said, smiling a little, and feeling warmth bloom in his chest when Sykkuno watched him so intently. He’d have to get used to that—being watched so closely because the man wasn’t used to seeing Corpse’s blatant emotion on his whole face. “I’m gonna be back soon.”

“Be careful!” Sykkuno called as he walked out.

It took him nearly forty minutes to find a taco place that was still open. While he waited for his orders, he texted Sykkuno to assure him that he hadn’t crashed his car yet. They didn’t text often, despite having each other’s numbers. He guessed that both of them were too busy to text when they were working, and Sykkuno’s work seemed to be as time consuming as his. He found that Sykkuno used a lot of emoticons in his texts. Fucking adorable, what the fuck. The man was almost thirty, for fuck’s sake. He had no business being this cute. Corpse would have to sue. He’d call Ludwig—that man was, surprisingly, a lawyer. He’d bring a good case to the court.

He’s too distracting, Your Honor, it’s illegal to have a face that attractive , he imagined in his head, and then laughing to himself when he realized how ridiculous it was. There were a few customers who were also waiting for their orders, and thankfully they were too focused on themselves to notice this weird man laughing by himself.

Sykkuno was lounging on the couch when he came back. He looked nervous, shooting furtive glances toward Corpse as he locked the door. When he stepped closer, he realized why: Sykkuno’s face had been wiped clean from makeup, his scars now in clear view. He didn’t want to make Sykkuno uncomfortable, didn’t want him to think that just because Corpse showed him his face, he had to return the favor.

But this might be something that Sykkuno had wanted to show him even before this night. So Corpse could know him better, all of him. He didn’t know how to say that he was genuinely grateful for this display of trust, so he opted to show him instead.

He put the bag of tacos on the table, pulled down his mask so Sykkuno didn’t have to guess about his reaction. He sat next to the man, giving him a smile that was hesitantly returned. He reached out to touch the scar on Sykkuno’s cheek, mind nearly short-circuiting when he leaned into Corpse’s hand. He swiped his thumb on the ridges where the scar was raised amongst smooth expanses of skin.

“Thank you,” he whispered softly.

Sykkuno nodded, pressing his cheek to Corpse’s palm once more before straightening up. “Let’s eat so we can sleep soon. I’m dead tired.”

He refrained himself from pointing out that of course Sykkuno was tired; he hadn’t had a proper rest for almost three days, maybe even before that. So he sat next to him and ate the tacos, talking about nothing and everything and smiling the whole time because he missed this. Missed being so close to Sykkuno, hearing his soothing voice and chicken laughter. Missed sitting next to him and looking at the soft slant of his eyes as they talked.

The apartment was no longer as cold as before, with their chatters filling up the spaces in-between. Corpse cleaned the wrappers and empty paper cups as Sykkuno went to the bathroom to brush his teeth. “I’ll be in my room after you’re done,” Sykkuno said when he was done, and even something so casually said like that still made Corpse’s gut twisting in a way that wasn’t exactly unpleasant. He was gonna die from all the heart attacks and flutters of feelings that Sykkuno caused before he could even put his early retirement plan into action.

“Hi,” he said after he had brushed his teeth and changed his pants into something more comfortable. He bit back a scream when he saw Sykkuno under his blanket, looking unbearably soft and warm. His eyes were drooping, and he reached out for Corpse the way that he always did when he was addled with sleep. He closed the door behind him, clasping Sykkuno’s hand and nervously got into the bed.

“Get under the blanket, I don’t want it getting stuck if you sleep on top of it,” Sykkuno mumbled, half-whining.

Oh, no, Corpse thought as he slipped under the blanket while his rib cage was in riot from how hard his heart was beating. He didn’t acknowledge it; this was a normal occurrence whenever he was around Sykkuno. One would have thought that his body was used to it by now. But fuck no. This was it, he thought, miserable and so, so happy beyond belief. This was his best moment in life—he had peaked . Nothing could be better than this, he could die peacefully now. Goodbye, world. Sykkuno would inherit all his hoodies and sweaters, and his beloved, meticulous whiteboard that used to adorn this room would go to Emma. Just to piss her off from beyond the living realm.

As soon as he was there, Sykkuno scooted closer and sighing happily when he laid his head on Corpse’s shoulder. He could feel his feet pressing against Sykkuno’s ankle from their height difference. Slowly, carefully, because he might break his poor, overworked heart if he moved too fast, he slipped his hand underneath Sykkuno’s neck to wrap his arm around him. Instead of commenting about it, the man simply pressed even closer. There was no doubt that he could hear how loud Corpse’s heartbeat was.

“Good night, Corpse,” he heard the man mumble into his shirt.

He pressed a kiss to the top of Sykkuno’s head, smiling so wide his cheeks hurt. “Good night, Sykkuno.”

It was nearly the morning, actually, but Corpse couldn’t give a shit about time right now. With Sykkuno in his arms, the blanket covering them both from cold, the apologies that settled comfortably in his stomach, and the return of their usual banter and touches—Corpse closed his eyes, and slept peacefully for the first time in a long, long week. At ease, holding the man whom he could still come home to.

#video blogging rpf #shiki writes #from ao3 #corpsekkuno #past toastkkuno #corpse husband #sykkuno #pokimane #brodin plett #lily pichu #michael reeves #scarra #yvonne ng #gta esque sykkuno #chaptered fic #mama

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monamipencil · 29 days ago

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── 𝗠𝗥. 𝗔𝗡𝗗 𝗠𝗥𝗦. 𝗬𝗢𝗢𝗡 ft. jeonghan

⛧synopsis; an intrusion, a couple, a murder and a twist. — second fic of lola's spooktober

⛧ pairings; husband! jeonghan x fem! reader ⛧ genre; smut, gore, horror ⛧ w.c; 4.1k+ ⛧ warnings; hybristophilia, body worship, blood, murder/death, description of corpse, sex on the dining table lmao, HORNY fucking, unprotected sex, oral (f.receiving) creampie, allusions to cults, devil worship, etc etc. mentions of food ⛧ a/n; *clears thorat* *coughs* im so sorry for the delay lmao, i was absolutely not motivated to write. but anyways, enjoy!!

READ AT YOUR OWN CAUTION ⛧ MDNI

[ 07th October, 2024 ]

Thunder crackles, and lightning strikes. The heavy rain pitter-patters on the windows and roofs. Water flows, flooding the streets, making them inhabitable to unlucky strays. Chaos brews outside, and you observe it from within the safety of your home.

A ‘meow’ shifts your attention. You smile at the cat you rescued from the storm and rub its head. It meows again and shuffles to the living room, black fur disappearing behind the couch.

“-And everyone is requested to stay at home or take shelter till further notifications. Police’s investigation into the recent murders have been halted due to the storm. We request everyone to stay sa—”

The television cuts off and comes alive again, buzzing and glitching. You turn it off with a sigh. Except for the pitter-patter of the rain, your home is silent. The silence lays heavy on the walls and floors. You can’t seem to fill it no matter what. Your hand involuntarily touches the pendant your husband gifted you. Muttering a prayer to Him, you ask for Jeonghan's safe return to you.

[ ... ]

The gentle sizzle of the vegetables fills your ears, and you pour water into the vessel, turning down the flame.

Your newly adopted cat nuzzles between your legs, purring with content at the warmth. You smile and coo at it. But before you can adore it further, the doorbell rings.

You wipe your hands, contemplating whether or not to attend it. It couldn't be Jeonghan. You sigh and walk to the door. The black furball stays in the kitchen, observing you with its yellow eyes.

Looking through the peephole, you see someone shivering from the cold and absolutely drenched. Your hands fly to unlock the door, and the person is startled at the force you open it.

“Come in, please!” you move from his way. He nods his head with gratitude and walks in weakly.

Quickly shutting the door, you lock it. The stranger turns to see you secure the array of locks on the door. You greet him with a smile. He smiles back.

“I'm sorry for the inconvenience,” he apologizes, but you assure him and welcome him into your home. “Oh no, It's fine. I don't mind some company.”

He removes his drenched coat and hangs it on the coat hanger. While doing so, he notices another coat on it. “Is it just you at home, miss?”

“Mrs.” You correct him and reply, “Yes, my husband is out of town for business.”

He also removes his shoes and places them near the door, noticing another pair of shoes. “May I ask you why you are out in such a storm?”

“Ah, I turned up for work and my friend who was supposed to pick me didn't turn up.”

You give him an apologetic nod and gesture towards your living room. “Please make yourself at home. I'll quickly put together a warm soup for you.”

He tries to protest, but you reason with him and disappear into the kitchen. He sits on the sofa with a sigh and thanks God for helping him at the right time.

The low purr of a cat catches his attention. A black cat sits in the middle of the living room. It stares at him, and he awkwardly smiles at it and tries to distract himself. It leaves eventually.

The interior of your home mesmerizes him, reminding him of those vintage homes. The teal wallpapers and the antique decors mesh well together and create a homely look. The myriad of pictures on the wall near the kitchen intrigues him.

He walks towards it and observes each photo. He sees you in all of the frames, along with a man whom he deduces to be your husband. He sees all types of pictures, varying from road trips to studio ones.

“Is your husband a celebrity by any chance, Mrs. Yoon?” He inquires after seeing a frame with the writing, ‘Mr. and Mrs. Yoon.’ A vague feeling of familiarity brews in him the more he looks at your husband.

“Ah, no, no. He's devilishly handsome and he could be a great actor but he only does business.” You voice from within the kitchen, but his mind drains you out. He's more fixated on the pictures, unable to shake the feeling.

He doesn't say anything after that, but you don't mind the silence. Quietly humming, you put together the soup. You smile to yourself, thinking of your husband. If he had been here, he'd be behind you, arms wrapped around your waist as he peppers kisses on your neck.

Your daydream feels almost real as you feel a presence behind you. Chuckling, you shake your head and move to grab a bowl. But before you could, a voice shouts behind you.

“Did you kill him?!” The stranger yells, anger surging through his voice. Confusion strikes you, “What do you mean?”

You try to distance yourself from him and grab a knife. His hand catches your wrist harshly, and you cry out. Acting on your instincts, you fling the pot of soup at him. He yelps as the hot liquid makes contact with his skin.

With him muttering a plethora of curses, you run out of the kitchen. The cat observes the chaos, slowly wagging its tail. The stranger blindly moves to the sink and splashes water on his face to wash off the soup.

After gaining composure, he trudges out of the kitchen with a meat knife. He checks every door and room, eyes darting to all corners to find you. His skin stings and burns painfully. He winces but doesn't let it deter him.

The floor creaks beneath his foot, and he doesn't care if it alerts you. He wants you to know where he is, to be afraid of him. He wants to make you feel fear.

A smirk pulls his lips when he notices the basement door open. He stands in front of it, observing the steep set of stairs. As he descends down, a foul stench hits him, and he covers his nose.

He struggles to find the light switch and crashes into a few things. The stench is unbearable, and he cringes. After finally finding the switch, he turns it on.

Light illuminates the room, but some things are better hidden in the dark, like the dead guy tied to the wall. He can't find it in himself to scream or even utter a word. The only noise that escapes him is a gasp.

His horror intensifies when he recognizes it as his friend. “You fucking bitch! You killed him!”

But it seems that there are far graver things than his dead friend. The red pentagram etched on the ground makes his skin crawl. A turn of his head also reveals a board pinned with a map that has pictures of people pinned on several locations.

His heart stops beating when he finds his own picture on it.

A noise from the cupboard pulls him out of his trance, and he stalks to it. Yanking the door open, he finds you there, cowering in fear. You push him off you and run away from him. But there's no way out with him standing directly in front of the stairs.

He runs to you, pinning you to the wall. “You bitch!” Then, he cackles, “Aww, can't run anywhere now?” His grip tightens, and dread fills your gut. He leans in closer, “You're going to be so sorry for what you did when I gut you.”

You flinch and shut your eyes. The sound of a stab echoes through the room, but you don't feel any pain.

A heavy thud echoes through the room, followed by the sound of a body falling on the floor. Warm blood dots on your face, and some stain the cotton of your slip. You gasp and shudder, chest heaving as you struggle to breathe. Your eyes land on the injured body. Blood flows from his mouth and his chest. Three holes punctured through his chest.

You don’t need to look at him to figure out who your savior is. “Jeonghan!” you cry, throwing your arms around him. The garden fork he yields in his hands meets the floor as he hurries to take you in his embrace.

Your lips are on his instantly, kissing him with ardor. He matches your passion, both his hands on your waist, pulling you flush against him. You curl your arms around his neck, lost in the warmth of his lips. It isn’t long before his tongue prods your lips, and you’re more than happy to oblige.

His tongue glides over yours like it has countless other times. He shifts his head to gain a better angle and kisses you deeper. One of your hands uncurls to caress his face—his flawless skin, his high cheekbones, the bone of his jaw before it slides down further. You glide your hand over his shoulders, his lean biceps, and finally his crotch.

Jeonghan pulls away, out of breath and overjoyed. You mirror his grin when you find him rock-hard beneath his slacks. “Oh, how I missed seeing you kill,” you finish with a giggle.

With a playful roll to his eyes, he retorts, “it’s been barely four days since I did it.”

“And four days since I’ve seen you.” you pout, making him doe eyes at him. He melts instantly and cradles your face. “Always hungry aren’t you?”

“For you? Yes.”

“And for blood.” he adds, making you both giggle.

“Come on now, you gave me something to take care of.” With a pat on his bulge, you pull him up the stairs. Jeonghan happily follows but throws a cautious glance at the presumably dead body. He smiles, catching no sign of life in him, and trails behind you.

You strut to the dining table that adjoins the kitchen and the living room and sit on it. He grins at your place of choice, and lust taints his visage when you spread your legs, inviting him.

He stands between your thighs, taking a moment to appreciate the beauty in front of him. Little drops of blood decorate your face, but the look in your eyes entrances him. A myriad of emotions swirl beneath your irises, but he recognizes all of them, mainly lust and hunger.

His eyes dip down to the column of your neck, which he glides his forefinger over. His finger slowly ventures down and undoes the knot of your slip. He tuts, complaining about the blood on them. “That’s fine. It gives me evidence of your love.”

“I’m right here. The living proof of my love for you,” he pecks your lips and pushes the slip off you.

He pulls you to the edge of the table. His fingers ghost over the cloth of your underwear, brushing against the wet spot on them. His warm breath wafts down to your breasts when he kisses your neck and chest. “I can prove it now, if you want me to.”

A breathy moan escapes you, giving him somewhat of a ‘yes.’ With another kiss to your jugular, he pulls away and kneels down. He kisses your heat through the cotton material and smirks, eyeing the wet patch formed by your arousal. In one sly movement, he removes your hipsters. His lips are on your heat before you can process it. He kisses your little nub and gives kitten licks to your hole. His eyes dart to your eyes, mischief swirling under his dark irises. “Jeonghan! Please!”

“Please what sweetheart? You have to use your words.” You feel his smile on your core, and his warm breath wafts against it.

“Please, eat me out!”

He groans and obliges to your wishes right away. He dives right in, licking and kissing your folds. He moves above, wrapping your clit between his soft lips. He sucks on the bundle of nerves, tongue flicking at the bud softly. He makes sure to look at you the entire time he’s buried between your legs.

You relax and lay back down on the table. He spreads your legs further and licks up stripes on your sopping cunt. His tongue provides you the utmost pleasure, and moans fall from your lips freely. He switches to a slower pace as if he’s making out with your cunt.

His tongue prods your folds, licking and savoring your taste. His hand moves to spread your lips, and he places a wet, loud kiss on your clit. A gasp escapes you when his tongue slips past your hole. He slowly moves his tongue in and out while he thumbs at your clit, drawing circles.

He tones up his pace, getting faster and faster. Your legs tremble around his head as the coil in your stomach tightens. You cum the easiest whenever Jeonghan touches you after a “long time”—which is three days at the least. He seems to have some magic hidden up his sleeve to bring you the utmost pleasure possible. And, of course, all your years of marriage add to it.

The pressure on your clit builds up, causing your entire body to shudder and tremble. Your back arches, lifting off the table, but Jeonghan pushes you down, holding you firmly. And now that he has secured a tight grip on your hips, there is no escape from his tongue.

“Jeonghan!” you moan his name, hand shooting to grip his black locks. You push his head further into your cunt and move your hips in sync with his tongue. He smiles lazily between your legs, eyes holding nothing but awe and mirth.

The coil snaps, pushing you over the crescendo of pleasure. Wanton moans fill the room, and you cum on his tongue, giving him all your sweet nectar. Jeonghan licks you dry, caressing your trembling legs before he stands up.

Though you achieved your climax, the sight of your husband undoing his belt warms you up again. You sit up eagerly, hands flying to unbuckle his belt and slacks. He only chuckles, patting your head and muttering a low coo of ‘that's my girl.’

He slips off his shirt along with his slacks and boxers. It prompts you to undo your brassiere, presenting yourself bare to him. With a grin, he approaches you. You fawn at his rock-hard cock and undo your legs unconsciously.

Overwhelmed with the urge to feel him inside you, you pull him to you. He crashes his lips on yours in the process, giving you a searing kiss that sets your body aflame with desire. Your hands don't stay put, eager to roam all over his body. He does the same, hands relearning the route of your body for the nth time.

The heat of his body on yours melts your brain, knocking every thought out of you. The only thing you remember is his name and the way he makes you feel. Not the dire situation at play now or the dead body in your basement.

The brush of his fingers on your nipples, the poke of his cock against your inner thigh, the sensation of your sweltering skin making contact with his, the glide of his tongue on yours—all of it pushes you over the edge, driving you insane. Your arousal drips down your core, and it throbs with desire.

“Hannie,” you whine his name, your desire burning with a rage only he can control. “Fuck me.”

“As you wish, dollface.”

His cock slips past your entrance with ease, filling you up in an instant. You hook your legs behind him, your foot digging into his back to push him in further. Your gummy walls envelop him in a warm hug that makes him dizzy.

You moan in unison when he bottoms out, in bliss with how perfectly he fills you. Throwing your arms around his neck, you prompt him to move. The first thrust is easy, given how your cunt drips down with arousal. It fills you with a pleasure that makes your body tremble.

He sets his pace, fucking you with eagerness. Each slap of his balls against your ass makes your eyes roll to the back of your head, and you cling to him for dear life. Sinful moans rumble from your throat with each snap of his hips.

His lips find yours again, but this time the kiss is sloppy and messy, with moans passed between your tongues and erratic snap of his hips. You meet his hips with the same vigor. You fuck him with an animalistic desire in your veins, and he gives you back just the same.

“Ah—fuck! God, I love fucking after we kill.” you yelp between your moans. He groans, replying with a “fuck, yes.”

Jeonghan grips your hips firmly, driving his cock in and out of you with a vigorous pace that numbs your nerves. Your nails dig into his back, and you scratch his delicate skin, leaving red marks for him to admire. “Ah, ah, ah, ah!” you moan, unable to control your pleasure. The table squeaks in response to the vigor of his hips. You press your tits against his chest, desperate to feel more of his warmth.

You look down to where your body meets him. The sight of his cock disappearing into your cunt with a wet squelch each time makes you moan. A creamy ring forms at the base of his cock, and some of your arousal drips down to the table.

Jeonghan shifts one of his hands to harshly grip the back of your head, forcing you to look up at him. A grin decorates his face at the hazy look in your eyes. He keeps up his pace while moving his other hand to squeeze your mouth open. You push your tongue out eagerly, waiting for him to spit in your mouth. He does, and you happily taste him before swallowing it.

“Good girl,” he kisses your forehead, sliding his hand down to wrap around your throat. He grips your throat, squeezing it lightly. A chuckle erupts from his chest, watching your eyes roll back. He kisses your forehead again, only for him to deliver light slaps to your cheeks. Warmth pools in his chest when you whine and push yourself closer to him.

“Fuck, I love it when you go dumb on my cock.” He whispers into your ear, tickling you with his breath. His cock kisses your sweet spot, and you feel him twitching inside you.

You clench around him on purpose. He groans a low curse, and his movements turn erratic. You continue to do so till he eventually stops, whining a string of curses. “Stop it. Stop doing that,”

Obliging to his wishes, you observe him as he takes a few seconds to compose himself. His eyelids flutter, and his lips fall apart as he tries to regain control. A knowing smirk graces your lips, knowing the effect you have on him.

“Brat,” you only giggle in response, which is cut short when he thrusts with a force that has you shuddering. His tip kisses your cervix, sending shudders of pleasure through your body. Tears prick your waterline and eventually cascade down your cheek as you cry out his name.

All it takes is one more thrust to push you over the crescendo again. This time, it's more intense and mind-numbing. You moan his name over and over again, like a prayer for salvation. He follows suit and fills his load inside you, shuddering the same as you.

His hands wrap around you tightly and, yours around him. Leaning your head against his shoulders, you catch your breath and try to control the shivers through your body. His warm breath on your back calms you, and so do his feather-light touches.

Your eyelids feel heavy as slumber descends upon you. And, before you know it, you fall asleep in his arms.

[ … ]

“We have to let the others know about this,” Jeonghan informs, stirring his cup of tea with a spoon. You nod wordlessly, sipping your own cup of tea.

Slumber hasn't left you completely, and the tiredness weighs down on your bones. Your eyes slowly close shut again, and you lean back on the loveseat. Jeonghan sighs to himself, setting his cup down on the coffee table. He takes away yours before you can spill it on yourself.

Your soft groans make his heart flutter, and you stir awake again. The first thing you see is your husband sitting on the floor as he massages your legs.

“Poor thing, you must've had a hard time.” The pout on his lips makes you smile. “Not really,” you chirp, feeling more energetic as the seconds pass.

“Oh really?” he muses, and you hum. He shakes his head, worry marring his features. “What if I didn't get here on time? Why did you even allow him in?”

“I was bored.” To which he glares at you, a tired sigh falling from his lips.

“And, He visited.”

Jeonghan stops massaging your legs and looks up at you, confused. You see the tinge of fear in the clench of his jaw and the hold of his breath. You point to the black cat that has made itself home despite all the chaos that went down a few hours ago.

He visibly calms down and bows his head at the cat meows in return. He looks back at your smiling figure, and it strikes him. “Right, I asked for your safety to Him.”

“He saw our pictures,” your words barely audible as you look at the big wall covered with all your pictures with him. A soft smile graces your lips when your eyes fall on your wedding picture. 14th October, 1949.

Then you cackle, recalling the realization and terror on that guy's face. “Oh, you should've seen his face.” Jeonghan laughs along with you and resumes his ministrations on your legs. You relax on the cushion and let out a blissful sigh.

He sighs and zeroes in on the blood spots on your vintage slip. One of his many gifts to you, and it's something you've treasured for over seven decades.

“Ugh, it's fine. You can always buy me a new one.” You say, and a smirk adorns your lips when your eyes fall on the Johnny Cash vinyl on the shelf. You stand and walk towards it, pulling it out gently.

You flash your husband a grin, and he mirrors your visage. Placing the vinyl on the platter of the vinyl player, you move the tonearms and set it on the vinyl.

The world tunes into a buzzing background as you dance with him. His hands are gentle on you, holding you delicately. The setting is all a little too familiar to him, and before he knows it, he takes a trip down memory lane.

But the only one he can remember is the time when he almost lost you to death. The image of your bed-stricken figure flashes through his mind. He holds you a little closer.

In his life plan, Jeonghan never even imagined that you'd be diagnosed with cancer fifteen years into your marriage. Nothing held out, and it was hard to be optimistic with his wife on the lifeline.

And as he was holding your pained body in his arms, he cried and cried. What kind of god would allow this? Why should you be taken away? He felt life slowly slip out of you, and he couldn’t stop it.

They say to never pray to the gods that answer at night, but that’s all he could do. Turning his back on religion and righteousness. His love for you blinded all reason, and he yearned to be in your embrace once again. He could never live without you—what he feels is an immortal desire, lust, love. Even if he is to die, the ground around him will flourish and sprout your favorite flowers—an amaranthine yearning.

So he did it. He prayed and prayed, and when He finally answered, he vowed to do anything and everything that He wished for. Immortality for the curse of bloodied hands. He cringed at the sight of blood staining his skin, but as your bloodied hand intertwined with his, all felt right and in place.

His hands take purchase on your hips, holding you as you sway to the gentle hum of the music. You smile at him and lean on his shoulders, content in his embrace. He mirrors your smile and kisses your forehead.

What a blessing it is to be here with you? To gently sway to some music in the living room of your home with your blood-stained slips and his stained soul?

He kisses you, and you kiss him back. You bite his lips just enough to draw blood. A thousand ways to bleed, but you are his favorite.

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arabellasleopardcoat · 10 months ago

Text

Bestiary (Daemon Targaryen x Reader)

Summary: Your husband and you do not speak the same language. During your wedding night, you find out that High Valyrian and the Common Tongue pale when compared to the way your bodies allow you to communicate.

Warnings: Heavy smut, not much dialogue. P in V sex. First time.

A/N: Who would have thought the most enthusiastic consent I have ever written with Daemon would be in a fic with nearly no dialogue?

Being coached through your wedding vows is not a good omen for your marriage. At least, that is what your husband must think, by the thunderous look on his face. You fight the urge to scream at him that you have practiced for this moment and that you do not need to be coached through the vows. It would be no use. The two of you do not understand each other.

Everything is strange to you in Westeros, from the language to the wedding ceremony. They make you cut your lips and hand, in a procedure you do not enjoy. Your husband does the same. Your blood flows into a goblet, from which you will have to drink later on.

It's barbaric. You suppose it must symbolize the joining of bloodlines in the crudest way.

At least Daemon kisses you at the end, a cold brush of his lips against yours that tells you he is still mad. He had probably felt betrayed, being forced into this arrangement you entered willingly.

If you had known he was that petty, you would have not shown your hand so fast. Your father had wanted dragons, which meant becoming part of House Targaryen. Daemon was the only one available for you to ensnare in your web.

As any good hunter, you had watched your prey first, taking notes of his behavior. Only an afternoon was needed to understand you started the race with a disadvantage. His eyes followed Princess Rhaenyra, Princess Rhaenys and her little daughter, but never lingered on other women.

While you might have lacked the silver hair, you did not lack the wits and charms necessary to be taken in consideration.

You had needed a few days to ready your song, but you had approached him not even a week later. He had been sitting in the library, so you had knocked on the table twice to draw his attention.

Daemon had lifted his eyes from the scroll he was reading, annoyed. He had a handsome face, decorated with age lines that only served to make him look more regal. He looked more the part of the King than his brother, a decaying corpse that you had heard had also acquired his own nubile bride.

Such was the fate of the daughters of powerful men. Sold to other powerful men, old enough to be their fathers, birthing them their own litter of sons and daughters. Sons that would grow up to become powerful men in their own right, daughters that would become pawns to establish dynasties. On and on it went.

Daemon had spoken then. His words were much harsher than those of the language you were used to, lacking the airy song of the languages similar to the one from the Rhoynar. You had not understood. You did not speak a lick of the Common Tongue.

No silver hair, no words, but plenty of resources. You had placed the book you had brought with you on the table, and looked at him.

His eyes had lit up with curiosity. He recognized the title. He spoke again, intrigued.

Despite his tone sounding much more auspicious, you had no other option than to shake your head and speak, with a tremulous voice.

“Bodmagho.” It's the only word you know, one that you have prepared especially for this. But just in case your pronunciation is not perfect, you open the book and mimic the gesture of passing the pages.

Daemon looks stunned. He says something else, still in the Common Tongue. You were able to tell from the intonation he was asking a question, but you didn't know what it was about.

“Bodmagho.” You repeated, stubbornly. You placed your book down and pointed to it.

Daemon sighed. He pointed to the chair. You sat, happy as a clam.

“Prince Daemon.” He pointed at himself. Then, to you. “Lady…?”

You told him your name. He nodded.

“Daor.” He shook his head. “No.”

You stared. He shook his head again. You understood that no, daor and shaking head meant the same.

“Daor. No.” You shook your head. Daemon squeezed your shoulder, a proud smile on his face.

Your father told you that afternoon that you were to be married to him. Just as you had made efforts to catch Daemon, your father had been setting his trap.

Daemon did not oppose, nor encourage the match, but he was angry at you. Angry that you knew before him and tried to charm him into doing your bidding.

Men like him, you learn, like to be the ones pulling the strings. They hate being treated like hounds, even if that is what they are.

You get no further lessons.

This is how you manage to get to your wedding feast only knowing two words. Teach and no. It makes you the most riveting company, and so, it's no wonder you are soon ushered into a chamber with your new husband.

You had not noticed before, but it is the first time you are alone with him since the morning at the library. To you, it had been a matter of no consequence. You had to marry a powerful man, one day. Your father decided it should be him because he wanted dragons. It was as simple as that.

As a rich man, your father had known rich men only get richer at times of unrest. And unrest was coming for the Seven Kingdoms. He could smell it in the air, hear it in the whispers of the common folk. Princess Rhaenyra wasn’t going to inherit without issue.

Your family moved here for that reason. An opportunity to get richer could not be dismissed. Your father had taken one look at the dragons and decided that they were the key to turning his legacy into an empire.

Giant war machines that could level castles in one afternoon. Raze a city to the ground in mere hours. Fire so hot it could melt stone. They could not be bought, you had to be a Targaryen to have them. It was only natural to turn into one, then.

Your children would get dragons. You would provide funds and as many children as you could, and House Targaryen the magic in their veins. Simple business transaction. But apparently, Daemon disagreed.

His face is thunderous. You can tell he is about to berate you. He starts talking, brows pinched together and an accusing finger pointed towards you.

Has he forgotten you do not speak his language? You step closer and poke his arm, hard.

It was the wrong choice. Daemon's face turns even more murderous. His lips twist into a snarl, teeth bared. His posture turns aggressive. He puffs up his chest, he advances on you. The Prince tries to intimidate you through his body language alone.

You are not a small woman. But you are young, and you do not train as much as he does. His looming over you feels menacing, and it reminds you once again of the fate his late wife was rumored to have suffered.

This was a bad idea. A terrible idea. Daemon is forcing you to walk backwards, pushing your forehead and nose with his. You either move, or get a broken nose and a concussion.

Daemon is terrifying. You will not cross him again, you think to yourself. Only a fool goes around poking dragons with a stick. You feel your palms starting to sweat, a knot forming in your throat. You fight the urge to cry.

The back of your knees hits the mattress, and you fall into the furs with a small noise of surprise. Your husband does not lose any time. He gets right into your face, trying to intimidate you even more.

But if you hope to survive this marriage, to make it work as your father has requested, you can't bend. Daemon will never respect you if you do. He will see you as no more than a frightened girl, who will not disagree with him and serve for little beyond warming his bed. You are not that. You will build an empire, a dynasty out of his dragons and your wealth. The only thing you can do is persevere or break trying.

Daemon scowls at you. He notices the change in your eyes, the fight coming back to you.

“Daor.” You say, staring him down with all your might. It doesn't matter if you are lying down, and he is hovering over you, pinning you under him. You will triumph.

Daemon doesn't heed the warning. He starts tugging at the buttons of your bodice, tiny pearls sent flying all over the room. The gesture is as brutal as it is calculated. It is meant to remind you of your place, always under him from now on. Daemon has a right to your body, and he intends to exercise it as he sees fit. You are no more than an object, and if you cry or scream, it is not relevant.

Despite knowing why he is doing it, you can't avoid grimacing. He looks more beast than a man, snarling over you, ripping your clothes. It's a sight that would scare any woman, no matter how cold.

You look up at him. You give him your own little snarl. Daemon pauses. It's not the reaction he was expecting. He wanted you to cry. You would never give him the satisfaction.

It's a balancing act. You will have to bring him to heel, but soothe his pride in the next act, less he turns on you. Push away a man too much, and he will think you are disrespecting him. He will call you names, thinking you are the problem. Daemon feels entitled to you. You need to show him he is not, but that you are giving yourself to him. He needs to value you. The treasure to his dragon.

“Daor!” You say, firmly. You push him away. Whatever he anticipated, you giving him a fight wasn't something he was prepared for. It shows in the way he folds, stunned by your behavior. You give him hard little slaps to the chest, until you manage to get him off you.

Daemon's scowl turns more confused than angry. He looks at you as if you are a particularly challenging riddle to crack. He rightens his clothes and starts to retreat.

“Daor.” You repeat, grabbing at his shirt to keep him in place. You do not want him to leave.

Daemon wretches free from your grip on his arm. He mutters something, angered.

“Daor.” You use his trick against him, stepping right into his path and forcing him to back off. You use your body to make him advance backwards, toward the bed.

He sits on the edge of it, still scowling. You giggle, making Daemon madder still. You look at him with what you hope is a seductive expression and pull your bodice down.

“Bodmagho?” You ask him, as your dress pools around your feet, leaving you in a sheer shift. Daemon's eyes darken. His expression changes into an amused smile, and he gestures for you to come to him.

You do. You step closer and get on his lap. His hands envelop your waist, warm and calloused.

Then, the unexpected. Daemon grabs your hair and pulls, forcing your head back. You moan, pain and arousal mixing into an unknown emotion that makes the place between your legs slick.

You can feel his breath against your neck, making you shiver. His face comes closer, and closer. Daemon stares into your eyes, lips slightly parted. You mirror his expression, feeling as if you are being consumed by your lust.

He arches an eyebrow. Never been one to shy away from a challenge, you brush his lower lip with his thumb. Daemon parts his lips and sucks it in his mouth.

The shock must have shown on your face because he laughs, giving your thumb a playful bite. You squirm, instinct overpowering modesty, and roll your hips against his.

The two of you stare at each other. Closer, and closer, until his features blur, until two purple eyes turn into one. A dragon turned cyclops by the mere force of lust. There is hunger and want, and confusion. Both of you are so close that you are sharing the same air, the same breath. And Daemon pulls, and you are kissing, and you shake in his arms, feeling like how you think the gods must have felt when the cyclopes formed the lighting.

His hands go to greedily knead at your thighs, slipping under your shift. His palms feel rough against your skin, impatient. The shift rides up, up, up. You mewl against his mouth, desperately reaching for something unknown to you but that you know Daemon will help you reach.

You are restless as he pets you, biting at your mouth, hands sinking in his hair. You tug him towards your neck, knowing his kisses, scorching hot, would burn even sweeter along your nape and ears.

Daemon, though, has other plans. He pulls away and pecks you on the lips. “Vūjigon ” He says. He touches his mouth. “Vūjigon”

You kiss him, softly. “Vūjigon”

He pets your hair.

“Vūjigon.” And he points to his collarbones. You frown in confusion, thinking perhaps the word doesn't mean what you think it does. He sighs and leans in, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to the space between your collarbones.

“Vūjigon.” You perk up, and start kissing his shoulders. Your hands pull his shirt more open, letting you bite and lick more of his flesh. The urge to consume and be consumed is overpowering, making you desperate to touch him.

Daemon laughs. He pulls you upwards. Can't he see you are starving?

“Daor.” He says, when you try to go back to it. You give him your fiercest pout. Daemon tuts at you.

He squeezes one of your breasts, making you moan, before cruelly twisting the bud. You gasp, your nails digging on his naked shoulders.

“Shhh.” Daemon soothes you, his hand going to squeeze your breast tenderly once more. “Daor?”

You don't know how to tell him what you want, so you grab his hand and make him pinch the tender bud again. Daemon smiles. He kisses you, muttering something fervently on your lips.

He lays you down on the bed, despite your attempts to sit up. Daemon pins you down with a growl, hand on your chest.

You can't help it. No matter the warning, you squirm as if you were in pain. It certainly feels like it. There is some sort of hunger in your belly, making you want to rub your core against him. You can feel your shift starting to become wet right above your tailbone. Daemon has you so bothered you are dripping into the shift and the bed.

Daemon gives you another growl and leans down to bite your breast over the fabric of your shift. It's meant to be punishment, but you arch into it, gasping.

He laughs. He takes as much of it as it can fit in his mouth, sucking greedily. The noises are obscene. The sight must be, too. Your mouth, open, moaning yourself into a frenzy. Daemon, nipping, biting, sucking, like a man starved. Your shift with two giant wet spots, one at the chest and the other by your arse.

You moan, surprised at the feeling. You had never thought bodies could be used in such a way before. Nor had you hoped for him to please you so eagerly.

His lips close around your bud. His tongue twirls around it, lavishing it with attention. You grab at his hair, his nape, desperately trying to hold onto something. Daemon just sucks harder on your breast. You moan, and moan, and moan some more. Desperate little sounds, gathering in the air around a desperate girl.

He switches to your other breast. Your shift feels sticky on your skin, so you start trying to take it off. The task distracts you enough for his hand to find its way to your core, and you squeak at the first sensation of his fingers against it.

Daemon smiles against your skin. He presses a finger inside you, and you squeal some more. He lets go of your breast to better gaze into your overwhelmed face, seemingly getting an enjoyment out of it.

Another finger joins the first. You cry out. It stings a bit. Daemon shushes you, kissing your cheek. He rubs at something above your opening that makes you squirm in delight.

His other hand comes into your sight. Daemon makes a gesture, two fingers together, separating. You stare. He nuzzles you, his cheek against yours, before repeating it.

You nod with a pout.

He starts prying you open slowly, this time. Despite enjoying causing pain, it appears your cooperation has granted you privileges with Daemon. He understood the distress on your face, and read you correctly enough to know it was not going to go well if he kept going as he was.

Daemon rubs at your shoulders, soothingly. You understand you need to relax, and force your body to do so. He kisses you in reward, slow and sweet, coaxing you to him.

You nod again. Daemon moves back, settling himself by your side. He takes your shift away, pressing soft little kisses to each new inch of skin revealed.

The sudden removal of your last layer makes you shiver a little. Your skin is wet from his previous ministrations and rapidly cooling. You plaster yourself to him, seeking warmth.

He chuckles, grabbing your arse to move you slightly out of the way. You scowl, not sure why Daemon is doing so, until you realize he is taking off his breeches.

“Daemon.” You whisper, softly. There is a part of you that is already cringing at the promise of pain the loss of your maidenhead will bring.

“Daor?” He asks you, one of his hands petting your cunt. It makes you shiver.

“Bodmagho.” You grasp at his shoulders, steadying yourself. Daemon lines the two of you. You feel his member at your entrance, holding you open and threatening to spear you apart. It feels scorching against your skin.

He helps you impale yourself on his member. It's not pleasant at first. Property dictates that you should not let him see your discomfort. You should just bear it like a good wife and allow him to chase his pleasure unbothered.

But you know Daemon enjoys causing pain. He thrives on it. So you let your eyes fill with tears, and your face goes slack and overwhelmed.

He smiles. He licks your tears away, and mumbles something. You squeal, and it only excites him more.

“Bodamagho.” Daemon pinches the flesh on your hip, clearly calling you to focus. His hands move your pelvis back and forth, back and forth, until you are hissing in pleasure, your hands on his chest, doing the movement yourself.

“Vūjigon.” You demand, moving your hips just like he taught you. Daemon is too focused on aiding you bounce by thrusting upwards to pay attention to you. When he doesn't obey, you give a tug to his hair.

He snarls at you. You snarl back. So he grabs your wrists and pushes sideways, and suddenly, you are under him and Daemon is still thrusting into you.

You are desperate for closeness. You scrunch up your face and wrap your legs around his back. Daemon looks down at you, and bites your shoulder. He is not pleased with your perceived attempt to take control.

Realizing your mistake, you shake your head.

“Daor.” You rub at his back with your foot, gently. You hold him close, and nuzzle his neck, delighting in his scent. Never you had thought before you would enjoy the smell of sweat and some sort of aromatic oil, yet here you are. “Vūjigon.”

Daemon's expressions softens. He leans in and gives you a kiss. You make pleased, chirping noises, trying to show him that was precisely what you wanted.

He complies, releasing your hands. You enthusiastically hug him. It helps you anchor yourself against the unrelenting waves of pleasure.

His hands, now freed from yours, are everywhere. Twisting your buds, rubbing at your pearl, squeezing your waist. Daemon whispers nonsense in your ears, takes the lobe between his teeth. He aids you, tilting your hips with his hands, reaching deeper.

You heard a story once, about Westeros. A white hart was said to come to the greatest Kings alive. A magnificent beast, tall as a man, with skin made of the purest snow and antlers as long and imposing as the branches of an ancient tree. If a King encountered it, it was a good omen for his rule. It would be just and prosperous, blessed by the Gods.

What did they do with the hart? Keep it in Kingswood, perhaps? You had made the mistake of asking, once. You had been told that they used the best spear they had. That men held the hart down, and they gutted it from head to belly.

The perfect, regal beast, fur as pale as snow. The pristine white sheets under you. Blood tainting the white. What a way to go.

You understood then why they called it a small death. You were sweating, squealing like a beast being gutted, thighs trembling under Daemon's hands. It was too much and too little, and you felt yourself reaching it, yearning for it.

You did not care if you burned, moth to a flame, maiden to a dragon. Daemon seemed to realize it because his hand went to rub at your pearl, and he leaned in.

“….” He was talking, but it was in that strange language of his, and your ears were ringing, you felt about to explode. Your body responded to his tone, though. Gentle, loving, coaxing you over the edge with a scream so fierce you might as well have been one of those weeping women that appeared far north.

Daemon grinned at you. A fierce, proud expression, eyes crinkling in the corners. You pulled him into a kiss, and raked your nails down his back, feeling the skin yield like butter under your fingers. It spurred him on, and with a gasp and a bite to your shoulder, Daemon was shattering inside you.

He collapsed on top of you with a laugh. You smiled. Daemon pulled you to rest, back flush against his chest, and you understood each other better than those who spoke the same, common tongue, did.

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