#kazuha.txt

[lovesicksumus]

I’ve been away from Tomo-senpai for a bit, and it’s making me miss him..

I want to curl up in his warm chest like a cat, and listen to him talk like we used too. The idea is making me blush. It’s alright, I’ll get to see him tomorrow at least.

[sserasin]

LE SSERAFIM

these are all works of 18+ fiction. none of them are real depictions on the real life idols; they are solely names and faces. please do not translate, copy, modify, or repost any of these works as your own on any platform or form of use. everything is created for entertainment purposes only.

these works also may be triggering for you, as some are considered dead dove do not eat. you can filter your tags by using ‘# cw’ and then the kink after. (i.e. #cw stepcest)

i do not write for eunchae.

find all le sserafim writings under #lsf.txt.

CHAEWON

find all chaewon drabbles under #chaewon.txt.

breeding kink (1.4k)

SAKURA

find all sakura drabbles under #sakura.txt.

YUNJIN

find all yunjin drabbles under #yunjin.txt.

special treatment (1k)

bring it on (1.5k)

blowjob (0.9k)

KAZUHA

find all kazuha drabbles under #kazuha.txt.

[kkaeyva]

from the affection of maple leaves

𐐪𐑂 includes: kazuha, kazuha’s friend!reader

𐐪𐑂 summary: occassionally, he opens his mouth and flowers come out instead of words.

𐐪𐑂 genres + warnings: angst, major character death, kazuha has hanahaki disease, blood mention, implications of vomiting, this was rushed(?)

𐐪𐑂 note: definitions marked by asterisks are at the bottom of this post!

𐐪𐑂 word count: 0.6k

it was raining that night. kazuha remembers it clearly as if the rain shed tears and wept for your passing.

you were always more reckless than the maple-patterned boy you called your closest friend. you were the one always diving deep into the heart of danger for the sake of proving yourself, building yourself, more and more. though the calm-tempered kaedehara kazuha could never be as impulsive as you were, he promised he would always fight alongside you as a comrade in arms.

the time kazuha spent with you was the most fun he ever had in his life. oh, how radiant the sun was when you set off on your travels. and when it rained, it poured shimmering beads of liquid crystal, dazzling each blade of grass and each flower’s petals. nature loved you. kazuha’s heart danced to a different type of beat the day you gifted him an asagao*, a beautiful shade of indigo that stood out on his being. it clashed with the red on his clothes.

“the musou no hitotachi,” you started, one day.

your words cut through his daydream like a polished blade through autumn leaves. kazuha looked up at you, perplexed. “repeat that?”

“have you heard of it? a sword art. the musou no hitotachi.”

how couldn’t he have heard of it? his upbringing would only let him learn about the regality behind the art of the blade, so he informed you. only the raiden shogun could unleash such a skill; a show of her immense power and control. though, the cost of experiencing it is one’s life.

he never should have told you. the glimmer in your eyes was unmistakable. you would stop at nothing just to prove yourself. more and more.

the winds said nothing, that day. kazuha said nothing more, either; the asagao* had become stuck in his throat, restricting his airflow just enough so his words could no longer escape. it wasn’t that bad. one day, kazuha thought to himself, humming a distant tune, one day you will hear my song of yearning.

and then came the vision hunt decree.

if only you had told him what you were planning.

didn’t you know he would risk his life for you? the asagao were enough proof of that, weren’t they? (though he supposes it was his fault you were never aware of them.)

didn’t you know he’d march straight into a storm if you had asked him to? (why didn’t you ask? even a whisper would’ve done the job. the wind would carry your message to his ears, anyway.)

so why was it that when he finally arrived at tenshukaku, the wind whipping and whirling around him in panic and in anticipation, your blade had already clattered to the ground? why did the raiden shogun, as powerful and immense her glory was, announce a sentence of divine punishment? and why was your name uttered by her lips? why did you go so far (without him)?

the red of your blood clashed with the beautiful shade of indigo lightning.

in your last moments, what expression was on your face?

when kazuha fled with your dying vision in his hands, the winds were already changing. they wailed in your absence. the rain clouds were rolling in, echoing a song of passing and death. kazuha could still hear the drumbeat of thunder and see the flashes of lightning behind the radiant glow of the holy raiden shogun. with each clap of thunder, each strike of lightning, sparks of fear ran through his body up until he finally escaped from the omnipresent eyes of god herself.

and as he collapsed onto the ground, his heartbeat pounding in his ears, he heaved a great deal of flowers that heavily contrasted the muddy dirt ground staining his hands and clothes.

as expected, the brilliant purple asagao petals he was so used to rushed out his throat like a flood and littered the forest ground.

he coughed once more, and out came the last emblem of his unrequited affection.

a single, ruffled petal born from pink carnations.**

*asagao - japanese morning glory - “brief love”

**pink carnations - “i will never forget you”

[darkvindr]

His duty rests on the edge of his sword.

As a member of the Order of Knights led by Beidou, his main job is to protect and entrust his life to clients in need of them. It was an unbearable responsibility that chained him to unknown lands for certain periods of time, and currently, he was at the pinnacle of his career. Kazuha yearned for nothing more than the foreign path of an adventure, but he had a more important moral dilemma, being his job.

In the midst of that dilemma, however, something improbable happened.

As if the gods were punishing him for impertinence, Kazuha was assigned as guardian and protector of a princess from distant lands. The princess was betrothed to one of the Yashira Commissioners, Kamisato Ayato, in a marriage that would connect nations in the future. It was not so complex to adapt to a routine that would be predictable, being a job he was not unfamiliar with, but still, nothing prepared him for the fall. He was not warned in any manual, much less informed in advance, of the events he would face.

You.

Kazuha expected many things from a princess, except someone like you. You came to him like cherry blossom petals at the change of season, soft against his skin, and bright under the mantle of the sun. You had a particularly infectious smile, and an aura that pulled everyone to adore you. You were the palace's lotus flower, and over time, you had become his — almost fairytale-like, enchanting the heart of a samurai navigator unfamiliar with the settlement.

Soon, you began to pull him to tea evenings, or to nocturnal escapades in castle passages. You encouraged him to practice the art of dancing, and submit to the pleasures of reading. You took him to the edges of his knowledge, where a pen and paper were his companion, scrolls and scrolls of poetry dedicated to a vessel that could not receive them.

His duty as a knight was to take care of you until the day your future betrothed claims your hand, and he knows this to perfection. Beidou stressed to him on multiple occasions that becoming attached to their recipients would never bring any good, and he always thought he would be cautious enough to avoid it. It would be impossible for someone like him to put professionalism aside, being someone who takes the aspects that his responsibility brings very seriously.

When the palace was rocked by the information that Kamisato Ayato would be visiting in a few days, however, he couldn't help the hatred that coursed through his veins.

Was it sickening to feel like this?

It was the first occasion he had imagined the edge of his blade at someone's throat. It is the first occasion that his hands have trembled with anger, and his fist has slammed against the glass of his room. It's the first time he's been devastated, pacing endlessly in his chambers, wondering if it wouldn't be simpler to kill the aforementioned and make it look like an accident. 

Or rob you before he does.

His usually calm, glitter-laden eyes have lost their usual intonation, narrowing to two calculating rubies, unable to let you out of their sight. As much as he wants to be an ineffable, capable and ideal knight, his mind has become plagued with idiocy. He has begun to dream of you with tears in your eyes, his cock in your soft mouth. He has begun to fantasize in the middle of the night about slamming you against the little table where you did your make up every morning, forcing you to look at yourself in the mirror while he has one hand on your stomach, marking you with his cock. He has begun to see you in a light that underscores possessiveness — where your warmth overwhelms only him, and no one else.

Kazuha thinks it's a tragedy, these one-sided, forbidden feelings. He is seething in the lurking darkness of jealousy, his calm features reduced to solemn expressionlessness when his feet have guided him to the peacefulness of your chambers, looking at you from the corner of his eye.

There are multiple costly gowns in every expanse of the cabin, jewelry from every province, and objects plated in gold with diamonds. He knows it's anticipation of your fiancé's arrival. 

(For some reason, that just makes his mood even more deplorable.)

“Princess.”

He calls to you, closing the door behind him. The moment you turn to see him, the emotion visible on every expanse of his face, a shudder runs through his body. He hates him. He advances a footstep toward you. He wants to destroy him with his bare hands. Hands behind his back. He's going to bathe in his blood.

“It's time for your evening walk. I thought you might want to visit the garden.” The garments of his uniform cling to his complexion, black forging every muscle, fresh bandages on his knuckles and abdomen. There is a small gauze on his cheekbone, the hardened features remaining unchanged. It's the first time he hasn't forged a smile, and he can see it unnerves you. It is inevitable, then, as he is currently burning with envy. “Commander Beidou informed me that once you begin your union in marriage, I will be transferred to another division.” He added, cutting gaps with your body, his height giving him enough authority to look down on you from above. His white hair fell messily down his face, one palm on your shoulder, the other on your lower lip. He ran his thumb over the area. “Pardon my intrusion. Some of your lipstick was smeared.” How he wished the cause was his cock in your throat. He distanced his hand, as if touching you was akin to burning in the flames of hell. “I am sure that once you marry young master Kamisato Ayato, you will not require my presence. You will be safe.”

No. Truthfully, you won't be.

No one can protect you like him. No one deserves you as much as he does. No one can be like him.

“Yet, still, I find myself delusionally hoping…”

A prolonged sigh left his lips, and he swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing. May you be mine once and for all, he forgot to mention. May you be mine and no one else's. 

I don't want you to be someone else's. 

I can't let you be someone else's.

“... Do you wish for me to escort you?”

Offering you his arm was the only thing he could do.

And in the process, he hoped he wouldn't lose his train of reason. Because if Kazuha loses his reasoning completely, he knows the consequences well enough.

He just prays to the Gods you don't tempt him.

(Temptation is such a fickle little thing, and he finds succumbing not unappealing. At all.

But, for your fiancé, such things are to fear, as he might kill him.)

Kazuha.

Night falls penetrating the large windows that adorn her room in the big castle, the tender moonlight kissing the wooden floor and part of her bed as she looks at herself in the mirror on the small table. There is a certain sadness and disappointment reflected in her features as she looks at herself, but it is as if nothing has changed.

This is not what I want. She repeats over and over, at the verge of salty tears.

Countless nights rolling on the sheets of her bed without being able to sleep, questioning why this had to be her life, why she did not have the option of being free and being able to choose, but it was the curse of being the eldest sister of the family and the legitimate heir to the throne. To have to take someone's hand forcibly for the simple fact of reigning and uniting lands and thus being able to prosper. Bullshit. Absolute bullshit.

But it was the price I had to pay for living up to the expectations of the family, always trying to please others just to see a smile on their faces, not to hear complaints or have to fight or say anything about it. Trying day and night to be the perfect daughter figure, trying to do everything to the letter but... for what? To live a life she didn't even want, with someone she didn't even love just because her parents wanted her to?

Her eyes shift from her reflection to the ring resting around her ring finger, and she feels a churning in her stomach as she looks at it, contempt reflected in her eyes to the point that it forces her to take it off and leave it on the rustic wood.

Her fiancé, Ayato, he was a good man, a prince from a distant land, kings friend of her parents who since they were in diapers had planned the long awaited union, you could say he was the perfect boy. He brought her flowers whenever he visited her, and made sure the letters arrived safe and sound, little poems written on an old leaf that could take anyone's breath away, he was good, and she was sure he could be a good king, a husband even, but... it wasn't what she wanted. It wasn't him.

She still remembers when she was first introduced to him, never in her life had her heart beat so hard at his figure, managing to take the breath completely out of her lungs and she still remembers the way the heat rose quickly to her cheeks, forcing her to swallow hard. Pure muscle memory that moment when her hand touched his and a current of electricity hit them lightly, smiling shylt at the little spark.

And since that day it's been just sleepless nights, in the dimness of her room thinking about the young man who escorted her every night to her room. Playing with myself at the mere thought of his rough hands running over every inch of her body, soft lips kissing the expanse of her skin making her sigh his name and nothing but his name with every calculated touch.

A smile spreads across her face at the thought of the young man, and just as she finishes applying her makeup and rising from the comfort of her chair, the aforementioned stands in front of her. "Kazuha.", voice trying to hide the palpable excitement. "Yes please, let's go. It's been a while since we went there.", her eyes scan every inch of his features, trying to memorize every detail and enjoy the sweet sound of his voice.

Heart flipping the moment his thumb makes contact with her lips, and for a millisecond she imagines sucking on it, but instantly recomposing herself. "Yeah...," a lump forms in her throat at your words. "I wish you could stay by my side — just a little bit longer. I don't think I'll ever find someone like you.", she says this last whispering more to herself, praying you haven't heard her as she wraps her arm around yours, feeling your muscles tense under her grip and slowly begins her calm walk.

The only thing you hear in the background are both of your footsteps, candles adorning the long, grand corridors of the establishment as you make the familiar walk. There is a sepulchral silence adorning the atmosphere, and a heavy sigh is the only thing that comes from within as she rests her cheek on your shoulder, looking up at you. "I missed this." You.

She just hopes she could find the right moment to say everything but... would you feel the same?

[iridescene]

for the kiss prompts, 33 (kissing it better) w/ kazuha ehe luv you

a/n: self-indulgent biker au. gender neutral reader. word count: ~600  warnings: minor character death, graphic description of pain and injury. also angst aha ost: 🎶 ‘homura’ by lisa

kazuha moves gentle like the wind.

so tender and kind were his movements that when he first walked into the humble gas station convenience store where you worked part-time, he had caught you off guard. compared to the other burly, hardened truckers and bikers you faced on a daily basis, his presence seemed delicate, graceful, ethereal almost; completely out of place among the harsh badland routes and their even harsher people.

when he rides, he rides fast, blending in seamlessly with the rest of his crew; but when he rides alone, the speed of his bike is but a means to amplify the meagre desert winds, one of the many facets of nature he sought so earnestly to appreciate. against the unforgiving landscape his heart shines unreserved and bright, his exuberance echoing the scintillating gold of the desert sands, his unabashed laughter defying the cloudless sky overhead, its serene blue a stark mockery of the cruel world beneath it.

kazuha moves gentle like the wind.

so when you hear his frantic pants and heavy footsteps echoing towards your front door, you know something is wrong.

no sooner had you heard those noises had you undone the locks on your door, pulling it open for him. he tumbled into the house in a frenzy, pushing the door shut as he leaned against it and slumped to the floor. his beloved maple print jacket was in tatters, his face marked in grazes and bruises, and from his right hand, palm and fingers singed with raw, angry burns, fell the molten remains of a biker’s helmet, the decal of a white cat visible against the blue plaid pattern across its surface.

“kazuha–” your eyes grow wide as you fall to your knees and reach for his injured hand, only to have him pull away in a single swift motion. tears sting the corners of his eyes as he grits his teeth, a hitched breath escaping the confines of his chest. he balls his injured palm into a fist and, with as much force as he could muster, brings it down against the floorboards. “fuck!” he yells.

you flinch. you had never seen him like this before. yet he cares not for the concern you exhibit nor the pain surging through his nerves, for he is too absorbed in his own grief, his own frustration, his own incompetence to care for anything else. even as his wounds begin to seep an ominous, clear fluid, he showed no sign of ceasing his frenzy, bringing his fist upon the floor repeatedly. “shit. fuck. FUCK!”

you blink yourself out of your initial shock and reach for him. the grip with which you halt his motions is firm yet reassuring, and you hope with all your heart it did not add to his pain. in your grasp you watch as he begins to relax, if only a little; and though he refuses to meet your gaze, you hope the single, tender kiss you press to the back of his fingers is enough to convey all the comfort you wished to offer him.

his shoulders droop even further now, hitched sobs becoming more audible as he allowed the knot of sadness within his heart to come undone. gently you release his wounded hand, shuffling towards him as you envelop him in a gentle embrace. as your arms wrap around him his do the same around you, his sobs turning into wails as he clings to you in desperation; to your warmth, your kindness, your love, to his only beacon of light in that dark, tragic night. 

“shh… it’s okay. you’re here. you’re safe now,” you whisper those comforting words to him as you stroke his pale, disheveled hair, allowing him to ride out his sadness, to stay in your arms for as long as he should need. 

“i’m here for you, for now and for always.” 

[lovesicksumus]

I want to curl up on Tomo-senpai like a cat and take a nap..

[lovesicksumus]

I didn’t want to be the first person to post on here 👉👈 its okay, im just embarrassed aah..

Tomo-senpai bought us stuff to make sweets when I told him the body was depressed. He didn’t hesitate at all, he’s got such a warm heart waaa it makes my face red /)/////(\

Just the notion of him immediately springing to cheer me up already made us feel much better.. ❤️

I feel my heart thumping just thinking about it.

[darkvindr]

His heart is in mourning, buried in a coffin of what could have been and is not, shredded earth hiding the bones of a love that still beats. If the thorny molded-undergrowth clings to the veins of his aching throbbing, he can feel it in every footstep he takes, as if he were yielding—surrendering with hands of sand a will of steel never ever to be seen, placing his forehead on the sole of his enemy's shoe.

It was a merciful defeat, almost tragic and with honors. He lays all his weapons on the ground, turns his back never to return, and abandons dreams of cherry-flavored kisses against his lips. In his confessional, Celestia and the stars—the very ones who know of his sins; the latent desires to see other people's blood on his sword, or to possess, to possess so raw that there is no more left—forgive his faults, offering absolution from his chains. And perhaps, under the imminence of absolution, he can avoid lowering his gaze a second more. He can avoid seeing you, with that smile that resembles a firelight glimpsing the horizons. He can avoid feeling a malicious pressure; a rustiness in his subconscious, begging him for more—to encompass, to steal, and to take.

Kazuha, however, gives in.

He yields to curiosity. To the question that haunts his darkest thoughts, when the nightlight is at its apex in the softness of his room, and his bloodied knuckles embrace that sweet handkerchief you prepared for him. When his breathing is quicker than usual, and his sword looks sharper. When your watery eyes brush like a flash under his eyelids, and his eyes look so green that envy is palpable.

(What if I were to kill everyone who desires her, and only I am left —

wouldn't such a thing be an ideal world?)

“I missed this, too. It has been quite a while.”

His pause is unanticipated, the skin grazing turning him more susceptible to your body heat, attentive to your every word. In such situations he could be reduced to a devotee, waiting for the final command of a deity. His eyes resemble shimmering pearls as they gaze at you, admiring your every drop, curvature or gesture. At the end of the day, in the penumbra of his psyche, no one knows you better than he does. He has studied you under the blessing of firmaments, universes or constellations, oblivious to his heavy gaze — but you, star of his days; warmth of his loins, will always end up there. 

By his side, where no one can steal you, and his selfish but greedy hands dare to kill in your name.

“However, the moon…”

A garden beautiful to the naked eye, the echoing of his shoes leading you down the louvered driveway, where crickets sang to the sound of the fountain in the center, and the light fire kissed trees stretching in floral trails. 

“The moon is particularly lovely tonight, isn't it?”

A chink of a smile appears on his facade, as false as his mask of divine absolution. Kazuha discovers, too late, beneath the silhouette of the star illuminating your bodies, that absolution is not required. As long as your body is so close to his, and your lips murmur what he so longs to hear, to hell with absolution. His blood-stained hands may cling—but for a second—to futile innocence, and fear not if the cracks reveal a countenance devoid of fire, leaving the living flesh on display.

If you tilt your face a little, perhaps, you can see it. 

The extent to which he’d be willing to go for you.

“On nights like these, under the firmament and the stars, I remember perfectly the first occasion on which I saw you.” Footsteps advance a margin, stopping in front of the fountain, the splash of water so audible that he feels it throbbing in his ears. “I remember your bare feet, hair loose, and the white dress that came to your knees. I remember the crown of flowers that framed your face, and the dance of your hips. I remember flushed cheeks, along with soft tears kissing your eyelashes. I, amongst all these things, vividly remember seeing you, and thinking… How fortunate any man who tread the face of the earth would be — ”

A heavy absent-minded breath, his bulky form veering, and a whole hand traveling to your cheek. As he lets his fingers run across your dermis, he ignores the fire that springs up in the tips of his phalanges — a fire that burns every expanse of his flesh akin to sinfully receiving divine chastisement for yielding to the desires of the ambitious, claiming what is not his own. 

For you, he supposes, it is well to burn.

For you, he will take the brunt of this sin.

For you he will be Adam, and he will be Eve — he will bite the apple, and possess forbidden knowledge. 

He will defy the incompetence of Gods, he will play with the stipulated threads of fate, he will slaughter the law of the aristocrats — he will let his sword corroborate those who oppose him, even if he has to crucify them.

(That sounds good. 

If you are his, that sounds good.)

“... if they were to wake up at your side, and be able to say that you belong to him and only him.”

A hand descends down your neck, traveling slinkily down your arm, crossing your hip and brushing the softness of your thighs with knuckles caressed by violence — heavy body kneeling under the moon's mantle at your feet, holding your hand between his fingers, resting snake-venom tinted lips on the back, so sweet they can be kissed by yours. 

It is there, beneath you, on one knee and a solemn expression, that glimpses the gentleness of a heart run amok.

“On the way, as your appointed knight, I made a fatal mistake that deserves my head to be cut off.” His forehead rests against your skin, an unbridled heartbeat pounding against his ribs, raging like a storm in a stream. “My heart has grown ambitious, unpunished by the consequences of the law, succumbing to illusory pleasures and vain dreams.”

His complexion ascends, and his gaze is modified for a millisecond. Longing rests amidst gentleness, but the eye of a hurricane is born in the depths of his distorted musings, the grip on your hand shifting to your wrist, imprisoning it between enlarged fingers.

The arch of the garden hides the birth of a sin in Eden itself, with his tall figure and messy hair trapping you in a gaze that demands your defeat. If you both let go of inhibitions, soon, he knows his hands will get what he desires most—his lips can lock with yours, and his arms embrace your figure as he has so often dreamed, drowning you in the pressure of his body.

(At worst, Kazuha can simply steal you away.

And if he has to memorize his name in your loins, or carve it into your breasts and revel in carnal pleasures, he will.

Oh, for Archons, he will.)

“I have begun to desire that you belong to me heart, soul, and body. I have begun to desire to be that man myself.”

Intimidating footsteps being advanced, pushing you against one of the trunks resting beside the cecilias, raising the hand that had imprisoned above your head. Long white hair falls across his face as he lowers his head to watch you, rubies scanning every facial expression, pausing on rogue tinted lips he's always been tempted to taste with the tip of his tongue.

“Like a fool, envy has grown in my loins — I have become a daring beast, and my reasoning has succumbed to the darkness of the abyss.”

He holds your chin with his free hand, forehead against yours, quickened breath upon your lips. His heart beats to the sound of galloping horses; his bowels twist, where butterflies leave their cages. The veins in his neck follow the path of those in his hand, self-control shrinking to a fine line that could be cut with a scissors.

Oh, how appetizing were your lips —

“Princess Zaira.” Raspy voice, lips being bitten by sharp fangs, until the blood threatens to spurt out in coarse agitated sighs. “Zaira, please,” Eyes closing, the brush of a feather-kiss against your flesh, the hint of his body jerking under such simplicity sending electricity to every point of his complexion. “I regret to tell you that I no longer possess the rationality for contentions, and my whims have crossed the fine line past professionalism.” The same thumb that was on your lips previously plays with your lower one, fluttering desperate exhalations against your mouth. “I'm losing my mind bit by bit, being caged by a sin so fruitful and at the same time, within reach of the palm of my hand.”

If he has you now, he's afraid to say that —

“But I, if you would ask me… For just a second…” He tilts his face, pushing you a little further against the trunk, his knee spreading your legs to bar your escape. “I would crucify a million men and hang their heads on the palace gates if it would guarantee that I could taste your lips as many times as I felt like, and hold your body against mine until my last dying breaths.” A press of lips, the guttural birth of a growl in his chest, vibrating in the expanse. “I beg of you…”

The tension is palpable in his rigid musculature, releasing your hand to rest it on his shoulder, and clinging to your delicate hip to pull you further into his frame and allow you to feel him under heavy fabrics. He is desperate, in the way he contradicts himself, giving pass only to his actions. There is a bead of sweat descending from his forehead down his torso, losing itself in the boob window to his pecs, where his chest rises and falls in sync with the acceleration of his senses.

Deep down, even under his affable self-control, he knows —

“Stop me, or I'm afraid if I taste your lips and let myself get lost in your warmth…” He opens your mouth a little wider, just for him, licking his lips. “I won't let go of you ever again, and I'll do whatever it takes—I'll take whatever lives it takes—to assure that you’re mine, and mine alone. No one else's.”

If Kazuha tastes you, even if it is just a little, there will be no turning back.

Wars have been fought by his right hand, and he has never been a coward to win one. 

What would a couple of kingdoms be, if his reward is you?

(Nothing.

Absolutely nothing.)

Kazuha.

Her heart swells and creaks against her chest at his sudden words, not wanting to get her hopes up in anticipation of such sayings even though she knows their traditional meaning beforehand. Instead, she merely limits her actions to smiling, her eyes deposited on your profile before the gloom of the night.

"Yeah… so pretty.", eyes never resting on the sky from above, admiring your calm features. "It never looked more beautiful I'd say."

There's an ache in her heart, blinding feelings that push her further into an impulse from which she doesn't know if there's any turning back. A forbidden love from which would not only steal judgmental glances and her mother's disapproval, but also the consequence of never seeing you again if something were to happen outside of people's gossipy stares.

But when you start talking about that fateful day, there is nothing else that floods her mind but that mere memory of the sweet gleam in your beautiful eyes, a warmth that had not been matched by anyone else and a soft smile that welcomed her with open arms.

"I never thought you would remember it in such detail." a smile escapes her, recalling a calm voice asking her if everything was all right as hot tears were shed over the pink of her cheeks. The truth had to be told, that had been the very day where she had had a very heated fight with her mother over her duties as the future heir to the throne. Having to be forced to marry someone completely unknown to her eyes and heart, just for the benefit of nations but the prejudice causing a bitter taste on the roof of her mouth. Being your presence the only thing bringing her down to earth since then.

Her fists clench at the very memory, a prickling sensation in her chest and that urge to want to escape and never be seen again every second grew stronger. But her dream of leaving everything behind to have the life of a fugitive and hide in the gloom of the forest inside a lovely cabin near the river, was now a goal she longed for to be fulfilled, especially since she had a recent addition. You.

Now more than ever, listening intently to every sentence that comes out of your mouth in despair, her gaze losing itself in your lips and her throat rising and falling as your rough fingers make contact with her skin, sending a current of electricity coursing through her shivering body from head to toe and causing her imagination to run wild, yearning for those words she so longs to hear that have only been spoken deep within her psyche, buried in her imagination for no one but herself and her conscience o hear.

Pulse pounding, silence is all you get coming from her but it's just a signal for you to keep speaking freely. Feeling like in a dream when the man who has been the master of her darkest fantasies and the thief of her quick breaths and sighs of your name in lonely nights, admits with the rawness of his heart those feelings, that seemed to be just an illusion, ate him up inside.

Her delicate white nightgown that reaches her bare knees barely rises as you corner her against the trunk. Her breath gets stuck in the deepest recesses of her throat as she has never been so overwhelmed by your proximity, feeling the heat of your body immediately transmit to hers and your hot breath collide against the opening of her partially parted lips. A surge of nervousness fills her, but when you say her name, the please rolling off your tongue to reach her eardrums bathed in that sweet tone, that thread of self-control by which she was barely hanging on, breaks completely.

"Kazuha.", sweetly calling your name, the darkness of the night not letting you see the ruddy tint on her cheeks but if you were to tilt your head just a little, the bright moonlight would allow you to. "What am I, if not a sinner myself, when I have loved a man who's not the one I'm supposed to?"

Her palm rests on your clenched jaw at her confession, slender fingers caressing your cheeks, dilated pupils gazing at you with mere desire and adoration, making it possible for her to inspect your every expression as she slowly closes the distance, shifting her gaze between your orbs and your appetizing lips. "I'm not going to stop you—" she says simply, whispering only for you to hear. "Endless are the nights I've dreamed of you. In them you touch me, you kiss me… you proclaim your love for me over and over again, it would be too selfish of me to do so when I desire it just as much."

"It's only you I want to be with.", her lips barely brush, her hands have now descended to your biceps, lightly squeezing your musculature over your clothes as she feels every brush with your skin burn into her, begging to be able to feel even a little more. A small whimper escapes her mouth as you press her tighter against you, causing her to rub over your leg.

"I want you to tell me I'm yours, and I want you to be mine too." Never let me go, she wants to say, her bottom lip caught between her teeth and at this point her hands rest on the back of your neck, playing with and lightly tugging at your silky tousled white hair as you feel the sharpness of her nails graze your bare skin. "So go on — kiss me so I can belong to you."