#back to our regularly scheduled programming now (hopefully *nervous laughter*)

[nc-vb]

𝐎' 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐧, 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐞

So... this is a culmination of that monster dream I had a few weeks back, and the weed-induced dream I had of Ayato a couple of nights ago, that no one asked for, nor was it even in my wips until two days ago... yeah. Uh, it didn't exactly go in the direction I was meaning to send it, but I think it's still good enough to post. Haha.

pairing -> body-snatched!kamisato ayato x afab!reader

warnings -> 18+ (minors & blank blogs dni), afab/fem-bodied reader + no pronouns used (unless i missed any, pls lmk); modern Genshin AU, major character "death" + mild description of a dead body; mild-yandereism + identity theft (is not a joke); noncon -> dubcon segue (agreement/contract involvement); mild smut (honestly like barely, ok), tentacles... not beta'ed.

notes -> "Ayato" is a body-snatching shapeshifter w/tentacles bc my dream told me so. -> it & he pronouns are used interchangeably-- "it" for the body-snatcher & "he" for "Ayato". -> italics are used for when it is specifically the "creature" speaking; normal text is for when the "creature" is using Ayato's voice.

word count -> 6.2k

No matter how stubborn you could be, the creature knew you would never be able to hold out against him indefinitely. Lately, you seemed intent on treating him no differently than a housefly, like some pest that needed to be swatted away— ignoring him when he hovers almost too closely behind you to watch you complete a task, ignoring him when he watches you bathe, when he watches you change clothes, just watching, it seems, all done to discomfort you, you’re sure, for to speak is to grant permission.

He knows you can see him, though. And the times he made it so you couldn’t see him were the times he enjoyed you most.

When you met his eye for the first time, it had been less than two weeks after the funeral service you’d attended. The sad, sorry part of your mind would tell you that you’d finally snapped; that the news and the loss and the forced acceptance of your fiancé’s death finally embraced the effects of the sheer insanity you’d been forced to engage in. An assassination? Despite the overwhelming proof, it’d been too much to try and accept so soon. By the time you bothered to, it arrived.

Maybe it was for the pure shock and awe of things, why it arrived carrying Ayato’s stiffened body in its numerous arms in the dead of night, like it only waited for you to turn the lights on in your formerly shared home so you could tie up the garbage bag and drag it to the curb— it waited for you, so you could see with your own two eyes as it absorbed the love of your life into the blackness of its own body. You’d only just begun to grieve. So why? Why… something so awful? So horrific? And why couldn’t it just finish the job?

Thinking back on the incident, you clearly lost your mind; not checking into a hospital’s psych ward for an obvious psychotic break was a mistake, wasn’t it? Maybe that had been the case before it proved itself to not be a hallucination from over-exhausting yourself. You’re stuck, now, latched onto by this being all because you acknowledged it once as your former lover— you’re stuck, and you know it. It knows this, too.

At half after five in the evening, you’d finally returned home from your place of work, the rush hour traffic at least a little forgiving on behalf of you and your sore feet. But rather than take an immediate break as you wish you could’ve, and as the creature expected and hoped that you would, you’d trudged into your room to change, only to stumble back to the kitchen to begin tackling last night’s dishes that needed soaking after you’d had the oven on too high, only reminded of them after catching a whiff of burnt food from your attempt at a veggie deep dish.

If it wasn’t such an awful smell, I’d have left it, you think, draining the overnight water into the “dirty” half of your dual sinks. But I can’t afford to be distracted.

You don’t even need to raise your head to know that the shadow looming over half of the kitchen belonged to the creature. You do your best not to react, not to look up at it and see just what kind of face it wears behind your back. Its own, or… Ayato’s.

“Perhaps I should have tossed the thing and done you a favour. Then you could put all of your focus into ignoring me the second you walked through that door rather than tending to such a tedious chore...”

Save for its eyes, the creature is mostly formless, able to twist and contort its obsidian-shaded body in all the ways the physics of reality should and do deem perverted. But those lilac eyes it wore, like a trophy of sorts, could not be touched, the “windows to the soul”. You’d wished this weren’t the case. You wish it would’ve “taken” his eyes, too. You wish that you wouldn’t have to see them again— not like this, anyway.

In forcing away a particularly stubborn piece of broccoli with your steel wool scrubby, your own eyes teary and burning, your elbow rams itself into the waist of the creature hard enough that you flinch; he, however, chuckles in faux discomfort.

“Ouch,” the creature says. “Though I can appreciate just how much energy you’re putting into cleaning this dish, you might end up injuring yourself, while you’re at it… Calm down, dear one.”

Don’t call me that, your thoughts hiss, and you only wish he’d been the type of creature who could read minds. Don’t call me that with his voice.

What on earth is with this strange concern of his— ah, its…? If anything, it’s only done you more harm than good— receiving such warm regards by something that shouldn’t exist by any means, using someone’s voice that should no longer have one, and yet it’s attached itself to your home like black mold— to you, like some true fungus. And somehow, it still allows you to leave it, believing in your return.

Is it because it absorbed Ayato? Whatever similarly human feelings it displayed for you must be because of this, must be because it has taken on his former memories and thoughts, his former feelings— at least, every science fiction movie you’d ever watched encourages this belief. So then, it must also mean that this is why you keep returning to your home, because despite such an impossible situation, this creature still has his body; it still defiled Ayato’s grave to retrieve it and claim it like a prize…

Really, what was stopping you from leaving and never coming back? No other person had been around that it could bother to threaten in order to keep you shackled to it— not that you received many guests ever, anyhow, but the mere mention of “plumbing issues” had been enough for your family and coworkers to steer clear of your home. It had never displayed any signs or actions of malice; it never made to harm you nor even the random strangers who would approach your home with their business agendas, and not even the sweet Shiba Inu pup you and Ayato purchased just months before his untimely passing.

What agenda did it have, itself, then?

“What a sour expression you’re making. Oh, if only I could read your mind, my love,” the creature laments. You rinse the scrubbed away food from within the dish before submerging it in the opposite, sud-filled sink— the current the movement creates beneath the foam has it slam into the sides.

You sure you’re not playing dumb? you think, embittered by the coincidence.

“Then I might know of the hate you covet behind those beautiful eyes of yours for me— the hate, and perhaps, the depravity.”

My ass. It takes every inch of willpower stored up within you during your time away not to slam the dish into the draining rack.

“Perhaps you think of me as often as I think of you while you’re away. I know I was never present when I was… well… you know.”

The creature shifts, carrying the wind with it when it leans further over the counter. You do your best not to move, other than in regards to your dishwashing, focusing whilst reciting an ad-libbed internal monologue on the history of glass-blowing— the molten glass, with a consistency of molasses, gathers at the end of a hollow pipe to be inflated to a bubble, where it is then formed by blowing, swinging, or rolling along a smooth marver — whatever you could remember from the old How it’s Made television show that would pop up on one of those free cable channels as a kid. It does little to distract you from the warmth now curled against your spine or the strangely comforting scent it suddenly begins exuding, such a familiarly sweet spiciness that has you breathing in just a little deeper—

You shake yourself out of your stupor, wincing. Thankfully, it isn’t full-bodied.

“Perhaps you think of me as deeply as I do of you… And isn’t it just so kind of me to allow you to leave this place and return, as if nothing? “Absence makes the heart grow fonder”— you humans and your silly little phrases. I quite like this one, though.”

There is another shift, one that moves into and past your peripheral vision in front of you— two black tendrils, dark as the charr you’d just discarded, dark as the rest of him, creep toward where your hands remained busied rubbing away bits of florets of broccoli from your colander beneath running cold water, and tear the dish away from you to rinse, himself.

“I do believe I’ve been quite patient for you,” he whispers from above you, voice still carrying into your ears from a distance. You watch the water from the tap roll over the tendrils as they twist beneath it, another desperate attempt to remain distracted. “I’ve kept my “hands to myself" and minded your privacy per our agreement…”

The tendril releases its grip on the colander, placing it loudly into the draining rack. You jump.

“But the longer you choose to ignore me, the more severe your circumstance at the end of our agreement will be.” You fear your lip will split with how hard you bite down on it is. “I now ask of you… to amend our agreement. To add another clause to it, even.”

It doesn’t continue speaking. It won’t be the first to do so now. Even the strange hum-like purr from deep within its chest cavity ceases. And you know why. This isn’t an offer. It’s an ultimatum. It’s the true meaning behind “fuck around and find out” to the nth degree. The longer you choose to ignore this creature, whatever secret plan it had in store for you would only be made worse by your stubbornness. You also know what it means for you if you do speak.

Your original agreement was simple: allow the creature to remain at your side, within the confines of your home; to share the same space you and Ayato once shared; converse and engage with it, and in return, it won’t harm you. But after spending the past few months forced into an exchange of dialogue that had you on the verge of tears whenever it spoke in Ayato’s voice, you could barely bring yourself to get a word out besides the odd, dry response to appease it, until radio silence.

The creature didn’t like this. Still, it never resorted to violent acts to frighten you. As if it drew inspiration from Ayato’s memories, it followed you through the halls and rooms of your home, keeping a conversation going one-sidedly, and studied your expressions and body language to its heart’s content. Whenever you expressed annoyance, anger, or petulance, this had been something Ayato did while alive, too, until you would cave in and discuss the problem.

It wants me to renege our contract? you bite back the scoff that tries bubbling out of your throat. What worse can it do than keeping me an emotional prisoner?

Because as much as you do wish you could flee, this creature still has Ayato’s body. Your Ayato. It has his voice, and his eyes. How can I possibly abandon him twice?! You find your brain is close to tearing from the weight of each choice hanging from either half— renege, or take whatever consequences might eventually come out of your refusal.

You grit your teeth and reach for the hand towel you’d tossed onto the clean part of your counter prior to starting, pat your sudsy hands dry, and turn on the spot. You don’t immediately look to the creature, your gaze focused on any other part of him— its narrow-but-still-large waist, its broad chest, the tendrils floating through the air from all part of its body, wiggling and writhing with such eagerness that makes you writhe uncomfortably in return.

Your esophagus burns, bile threatening to rise and spew out on an almost dramatic scale, when your eyes finally meet. They still belonged to the man you once loved, after all. To see them free-floating within the voidal mass has been… an incontrovertible pain to be felt.

Its eyes narrow down at you, too obviously pleased by your submission through its intense and perverse stare. You know it’s just thriving; simply by making itself tall enough to look down at you (by nearly four of your own heads) provided it with the control over you it so obviously desired. Despite the forms you’d seen it take, “human” was never one of them— until you submitted, you don’t think it would bother. Not until you submitted.

All of which, explains your confusion, as the creature before you starts to morph.

You’d never seen it happen first-hand; it had always been while you were away at work or to run errands (the only two tasks it permitted you to perform as it meant keeping you alive) or while you slept, both circumstances meant to provide shock and awe (questionable) to its target (read: victim). And yet, in all of its threatening forms, it never once harmed you. Too obviously so, it yearns for you, and it still does, hence its desire to have you change the agreement.

The first night it appeared, it made this known through its visceral ignorance of your personal space— standing before it now, closely enough that you could feel its warm breath bear down on your neck where it indulges in you — you, your own human warmth, your scent, the pulse hidden beneath your jawline — you’ve only allowed it to do so again.

“The amendment,” you say, your voice catching from its disuse. “What… what is it.”

The creature smiles at you, a barely noticeable split appearing where its mouth should be. Strangely, it’s one full of mirth, of relief that you’d consider its new proposition.

“First,” it says, that strange purring in its chest beginning once more. “Revoke our current agreement. One cannot be made as another exists.”

You refrain from sighing at it, and instead draw your arm up from where it’d been tucked between your bodies, recalling how the previous deal had gone down— an exchange of handshakes. “Fine. I… I revoke our current agreement.”

Your first mistake.

The creature chuckles almost excitedly, and it draws your gaze up from your own hand to look to him, eyes wide with expectant fright when its tendrils rise altogether. “Excellent.”

“W-Wh—”

There’s simply too many to count, too many to try and evade or fight off when they curl and unfurl toward your flailing limbs. You’d turned at the last possible second in an attempt to break past the barricade it’d managed to create with its body, even bothering to half-climb the counter for a height advantage against it. The tendrils free-floating near its head reach out for your waist, wrap around it and tug, dragging your one leg bent along the counter’s surface away and along with the rest of your air-suspended body.

“S-Stop!” you shriek, your panic clear and evident in your expression and tone, in the way your arms flail around to squeeze at the closest tendril, in the way your nails dig as deeply as your flesh would allow to no obvious effect. “Let go of me—”

“______, I thought you loved me,” the creature nearly trills; you’d caught the way Ayato’s voice warbled out of pitch with what you could recall the creature’s original voice to sound like. “We’re getting married next month, aren’t we?”

You tremble in its grasp, your eyes quickly filling with tears of frustration. Its hold on you is unrelenting, but not painful— it only restricts your movements and prevents any semblance of freedom as the rest of the tendrils join in, wrapping around your middle and pulling you into it— i-into, into h-him?

“______, dearest.” Ayato calls out to you, his kind lilac eyes shadowed by his pale blue bangs— not only would the creature intend on violating your — broken — agreement, but it would defile Ayato’s memory, your last memory of him. Hands still freed, you brace yourself against the creature’s body and meet his stare, and the tears accumulated on your waterline finally fall. “Why do you cry?”

You sniff loudly; Ayato reaches over your lap to grab the small package of tissues tucked into your nightstand’s drawer and hands you one. “Weren’t you watching the same movie as me?!” you weep, your hands rising to press into your eyes.

“Of course, I was, dearest,” he answers. “I chose it, after all.”

“You could have warned me it was going to be sad!”

“I-In hindsight, I suppose it would have been smart of me to warn you, but I just didn’t wish to spoil it for you…”

“I’m not mad or anything; gosh, I just—” your eyes drift down to the end of your bed where Taroumaru watches the two of you, only whimpering when you meet his eyes, and your eyes begin to water again. “I could’ve used a warning…”

Ayato pats his lap once, and ever faithful, Taroumaru rises to lay across yours— Ayato knows that when your cries grow a little louder, it’s out of relief for their tag-teamed comfort, and you squirrel a little deeper into his chest.

“Hm… Wasn’t that one line nice?” Ayato hums, only to rest his cheek atop your head. “You should never forget anyone you have loved”… If Hachi wasn’t the embodiment of loyalty, I couldn’t say what else is.”

“… h-he really was so loyal,” you say, voice muffled by his sweater.

“Then why do you cry, dearest?” Ayato thumbs away the freshly fallen tears. “What can I do?”

“... you can let go of me.”

You’d stilled, hands still resting upon its voidal form— once more, you avoid its eyes, Ayato’s eyes, because beyond it is the pale flesh of Ayato’s face; seeing it and knowing what truth exists for it is too much to bear.

They creep up carefully, these smaller tendrils that have deviated from the one curled around you, slithering across your cold, trembling skin with an unfortunate vigor until they reach your neck, your chin, your lips— you shudder, eyes squeezed shut when your head is tilted up and forward.

“Do you no longer value my loyalty?” it inquires in Ayato’s voice. You leap in its grasp when what feels like a thumb swipes across your lower lip before it rubs away a fallen tear. “It’s all I’ve wanted since my death… to return to you… to prove my loyalty… to show you I haven’t abandoned you.”

“You’re not him. You’re not Ayato. Y-You’re not… what I want, I-I don’t want your loyalty!”

“Isn’t this enough?” Two “hands” take hold of either side of your face and force you to face him. “Isn’t it enough to see his face and hear his voice?”

“They should still be buried six feet beneath the cold earth!” you shout at it. “What you’ve done to his body…! There’s nothing loyal about it! What the hell are you that you can’t comprehend this?!”

“I… I am… Kamisato Ayato.”

Is it… confusion? Is it instinct? It never explained why and how it chose your fiancé out of every other corpse that lies in that graveyard. Had it been because he was the newest to be lain there? More nefariously, did it see you and stake a claim on you?

“You… are not him,” you spit. “You stole him. Get…” You raise an arm, the only free one, to try and rake at the creature’s face. Instead, it grabs your wrist and forces your palm flat against its cheek. “… get… off… s-stop—”

“I have Kamisato Ayato’s mind,” the creature says. “I have his voice. I have his face— his whole body. Now, I have the human he loved. How… am I not Kamisato Ayato?”

A sob trapped in your throat escapes you, fuelled by the creature’s sudden decision to begin morphing again. It shrinks, though not by much, and the pale flesh of Ayato’s skin spreads lower, down its neck, into its broad chest, into its arms and torso, lower and lower and lower— your trailing eyes snap upward and away as it manifests all of Ayato’s former self. He is naked, unlike the way you saw him that night it appeared to you by the curb, cradling your dead lover in its arms.

“Do you not miss him?” the creature asks. “His voice? His face? Are you not… loyal?”

“S-Stop.”

“Do you not miss his touch?” Ayato’s hand squeezes yours. “You loved these hands… and he… thought about it so often…”

“S… stay out of his memories—”

“— thought about you so often—”

“— get out—”

“He loves you dearly. When I claimed his body… and assimilated with him… it was his last thought before his death.”

“— no… I—”

“He could not tell you then, and so I…” The creature’s hold on you slackens, allowing you to rest on your bare feet again, but despite your adrenaline, your knees buckle— instead, the creature raises two thicker tentacles to hold you up beneath your arms, Ayato’s hands still cupping your face.

Don’t say it, your thoughts plead.

“I love you.” Lilac eyes flicker between your teary ones and your trembling lips. “He… I… I love you…”

Ayato dips his head low to capture your lips, this time, and easily spreads yours apart to slot his own between them. You grab for him, fingers squeezing along the length of his forearms from his wrists, traveling quickly up the naked expanse of his chest and up to his face where your fingers curl beneath his jaw to hold him closer.

Oh, god… what am I doing?

“You—” your mumbling against its lips is nothing more than a nuisance to it; this, you know, by its insistent attempt to shove its long tongue into your mouth to silence you “— are not my Ayato…” Gently but firmly, you shove him away with a sharp exhale. Ayato licks his lips. “… but you have him, and that has to be enough for me… or I’ll lose my mind. You aren’t going to let me go, I… I know this! And so I… I have to accept this… but…!”

The creature draws back, its eyes so focused and trained on you that it becomes less unsettling, and more so embarrassing after you’d allowed it to kiss you.

“Don’t think of this like that,” it says, once more reverting to using Ayato’s voice rather than its own pattern of trilling and warbling. “This is a second chance with your beloved Ayato. Is this not what you’ve dreamt of?”

Another tentacle emerges, wriggling around from behind Ayato’s back to press against your abdomen. Through your teeth, you seethe.

“S-Seeing his face and body being used by some… tentacle m-monster—” you inhale sharply, the tendril’s reach extending into the pant leg of your shorts; it squirms itself past the hemline of your panties with clear intent, and curls in time to dip into you. “W-Why…!?”

Ayato hums disapprovingly as it twists in your entrance.

“You’re too dry down there, dear,” he notes, his own human-like hands falling to hold your hips, thumbs rubbing the line of your waist with anticipatory fervour.

“Why wouldn’t I be,” you demand through your teeth, and when the tendrils push just a little further, your eyes slam shut— you fear not even your glass-blowing knowledge will distract you. “Do you think any of this i-is… a turn on?”

“… I do suppose you have a point.” The tendril retracts completely from you, disappearing behind Ayato’s back; you’d winced. “If I want your understanding, your… affection… I don’t think we’ll be able to proceed with anything but him present. So, I will wait my turn.”

Somehow, the creature manages to shrink down to a more human form, this time, the same height of Ayato’s own body. Your fears shift priorities. The eyes that once contained so much adoration for you that now held inhuman perversion; the flesh that would warm your own so easily, now cooled and pale, not even bordering life and death when his body already met and crossed its threshold; the hands that once cradled you so delicately, so intently— you fear the truth in the creature’s words: With Ayato present, you know it will get what it wants.

“Why,” you start, hands shakily rising to try to push his thin wrists away when his hands slide down your thighs, dragging your shorts and undergarments down with you. While alive, Ayato had been averagely strong, yet you were still able to put up a fight in times where it mattered— too much teasing, too many tickles. This strange, gentle strength the creature displays while in his form doesn’t even allow you to budge a finger of his— “why me? W-Why Ayato? I-I don’t—” and as a result, your clothes are dropped to your ankles.

“Going after this man was not so specific, you must understand,” Ayato says, his fingers skirting across your abdomen, your body twitching at each touch. “My kind simply are attracted to the warmest body.”

“A-Ayato was dead,” you try to reason awhile pinning your shirt at your side— his eyes flit up to yours, lidded in a silent warning. Hands off. You lose your hold, lips spreading thin as they instead reach to hold the counter behind you almost bruisingly tight. “… he was dead… h-he was cold—”

“I did not mean him. Choosing which body to inhabit comes down to how soon after it dies— how much time has passed since they took their last breath. Crossing paths over his ceremonial burial had been a coincidence; it could have been any other body newly buried in that cemetery.”

Frustrated, flustered, and confused, the creature deigns to continue its explanation.

“You deceased humans are either burned or buried, and when you are buried, your organs are preserved during the embalming process. It is sometimes difficult to find humans so recently intact; many times, the organs are missing from their bodies for donation to other humans. When we inhabit their cold bodies, they never feel the same warmth they would while alive— their hearts do not beat, so their blood does not circulate, nor is there any blood to circulate. But they can sense another’s warmth. A lover’s warmth.

“At the time, I still hadn’t fully been able to understand humans and their need for a true connection. My kind doesn’t normally ask politely. But you were there that day— his lover. Your tears, your cries, your warmth, is the reason he was chosen. I desired your warmth. Your love. Your tears. I wanted to sense them for myself.”

“… and you thought using his body for your desire was the best way?” In steeling yourself, you cast a look at the creature, at Ayato, and this time, you don’t bother to attempt to keep the tears at bay.

You really messed up. You knew this earlier, but now... the realization of it just senses like having a sledgehammer connect with the back of your skull, like experiencing severe whiplash or like having been stuck upside down on the loop-de-loop of a rollercoaster— all uncomfortably painful things you pray you never have to experience firsthand. You’ve seen enough painful things play out in the movies and television shows you’ve watched, and so you’ve been fine with playing it safe in recent years— you’ve tempted your god with your arrival far too many times as a teenager and, for the most part, you’d have learned your lesson since.

Almost as if by means of a hallucination, you can just see Them standing in wait for you, at the end of your failed pursuit of euthymia. Breaking your agreement to “coexist” was a catastrophic mistake. Because now, coming to terms and accepting your fate is what your definition of euthymia has turned into. Coexisting is… likely no longer a viable option. It has become almost wholly one-sided, to be caught in a net made of tentacles. To embrace it all as you’d tried to moments before is to turn your back on whatever god you can bring yourself to believe in, to turn your back on your weak idea of overcoming your grief and moving on.

“It is like I already said,” the creature murmurs, much closer to your ear than you cared for, “my kind doesn’t normally ask politely.”

It just doesn’t seem possible anymore.

You feel them before you see them— the tentacles. They extend toward your limbs with a will, curling around each limbs tight enough to elicit a gasp past trembling lips— “Ayato” leans forward into you, forcing your lips apart with an abnormally wet tongue, an abnormally long tongue, that has you wondering if it’s the saliva or its length that chokes you as they both slide down your throat. You squirm in his multi-appended grip, body fruitlessly thrashing against his unmoving form; you can’t even draw your head back with the cool grip he has on either side of your head.

Your gag is loud, messy, and it makes the creature shudder, Ayato’s eyes rolling back slightly when its tongue travels just a little deeper down the back of your throat, swirling and curling along, tasting; testing. Your chest lurches forward, unable to ignore the awful gagging and tickling the creature had been intent to end your life with any longer, and with a sharp gasp, he’d finally retracted it. Your heart seems to race at the same speed your rapid breaths take, and you can’t seem to will it to grow calm again, not when it begins to matter most.

There’s no longer a barrier of clothing barring him from you, your blouse and brassiere lifted away during the brief respite the creature gave you to breathe, tongue extracted quickly and with an all-too unsettling, devil may care expression to match.

It’s unfair, you think, shutting your eyes once more so you don’t have to see it approach you with its tongue again. This is so unfair.

This time, he is gentle, not so intent on stealing your submission and instead curious on how best to earn it— it’s already learned the trick of getting you to respond, the trick being using your former lover’s image to stoke your flames, using his memories to recall what he’d last done for you while in the throes. Strangely, it feels shame for doing so— the last time you’d spent tangled together had been the morning of the incident. Human emotions are… complicated. But it is not without the understanding of loss.

His hand rises to rest along your sternum, a delicate gesture that sends a different kind of tingling down your spine. Your eyes snap open to find Ayato’s staring back at you, and your skin grows hot under his lilac gaze; surprisingly, when you pull away, he allows you to.

“W-Why are you looking at me… like that?” you demand, panting heavily. “S… stop looking at me like that…”

“He loved to look at you,” the creature answers. You swallow harshly. “Out of everything he had and everything he owned, you were his most prized possession. Ah, he also knows you don’t like that word.”

“That’s oddly hypocritical of you to bother saying.”

“… perhaps. But he thought you to be most beautiful. Hm, yes…” The creature’s eyes lower for a moment as if in thought. “Yes; most beautiful.”

Once more do you flush with heat. How cruel.

Still under its hold, the creature feels you go slack rather suddenly— Ayato raises a brow in confusion. Are you planning to give in again? This time, honourably? A part of it wishes you won’t. Not for the sake of winning the fight, but to have won you over. To have earned your loving gaze the way the real Ayato did; to have earned your warmth. It’s aware it may be deluding itself into ever receiving such a gift.

“… all of this has been for your own benefit… with zero consideration of me, the source of that warmth you so desire…” The palm resting at your collarbone travels past it, sliding up the curve of your neck until it reaches behind your head, his fingers running along your scalp as if to soothe. You bite back the whimper that tries to claw its way out of your throat, the anticipation of the creature’s next move almost too much to bear waiting for, and instead of drawing away, you force yourself to lean into his palm.

Ayato’s eyes widen— the creature is sure that if the man before you had any blood still pulsing through his body, he would be flushed pink.

You hate that the feeling of being held this way doesn’t make you angry— the acid in your stomach doesn’t bubble, doesn’t rise up into your throat and burn along the way. And you know why.

What desperation existed after you’d heard the news to find him the day of his attack, to be with him, to help and promise him that he’d be alright, to tell him that “it’s not as bad as it seems” and hold his cheeks with your hand— the guilt of being at his side would eat at you, even up until this moment.

By some sick twist of fate, Kamisato Ayato stood before you once more, offering the forgiveness you would beg any god to receive from him. This creature is not a manifestation of the heavens— this, you also know. Guilty of the crime of body snatching to its apogee but untouchable by humanity’s laws, you were stuck with him. You, the only person made privy to its secret. No longer would you be able to look his sole living kin in the eyes and share your feelings of grief without thinking of the monstrous betrayal of trust you’d just committed by not telling her of such a truth, but Ayaka would never be able to accept such horrendous news. You, alone, are the lucky one, now saddled with the grandest of burdens to bear.

Your mental state already carved as a rickety slope, what is one more notch to its road?

“Have it, then. My warmth.” The creature’s surprise by your words is made obvious by the flickering in his visage; for a moment, the skin of his face goes pitch black, a nod to its natural voidal form, only Ayato’s eyes remaining and seemingly hovering in the center of it. “Our new agreement… whether you’re willing to be capable of it or not… No harm is to come to me nor anyone around me. You can’t leave this apartment, not until I c-can… figure something out. You can’t be seen; Ayato was too well-known.”

“I understand,” the creature says, nodding, and its visage slowly gradients itself back into Ayato’s palette. Bound by the parameters surrounding the creation of your contract with one another, the creature’s tentacles are forced to retract— you ignore the subconscious curiosity that questioned his intent, his next moves, and instead force yourself into collection — while his arms remain on either side of you, pressed into the counter. “But… your exchange… you said I have zero consideration for you. I don’t wish for that to be truth. What… can I offer?”

“Time,” you immediately answer. “Your patience. My pain is overwhelming and you have done nothing but… sow its seeds and encourage the speed of its growth! And don’t manhandle me! That’s the whole reason that first agreement was made. D-Don’t… You can’t do scary things like that anymore, okay?”

“I—” the creature huffs in response, casting Ayato’s gaze down at the floor between you almost… petulantly? He was just chastised, and probably for the first time. “I will refrain.”

You exhale, yourself, adrenaline still coursing through your veins like fire in its attempt to keep you on high alert. It truly took making a deal with the devil to keep it at bay; at least now, you know your general safety is secured.

If I truly have no choice… if this creature were to simply follow me for the rest of my life… at the very least, I’ll live that life on my own terms.

“G-Good,” you nod, turning slowly on the spot to face the small pile of cookware remaining,. “Then… let me finish these dishes… They smell.”

You nearly shrivel up when in the corner of your eye, you see his elbows bending, and soon, you feel its cool breath on the back of your neck before its icy lips land at its curve.

“… that’s not quite the smell I was hoping we’d prioritize, dearest,” Ayato murmurs into it. Another smaller breath escapes you.

How cruel, indeed.

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