pharixden

[pharixden]

i found another pretty boy yall

[pharixden]

@animangacreators Challenge #26: Fall 2023

Jujutsu Kaisen: Shibuya Incident Arc

[pharixden]

heaven on earth

caleb x femreader | minor intoxication, size kink, caleb and his stupidly fat cock, pain mention, unprotected sex | minors dni

caleb liked to think that he had a good head on his shoulders.

he graduated top of his class, gave the valedictorian speech in both high school and the flight academy. liked by his peers, active in clubs and athletics— no one ever had a bad thing to say about him. there was a natural charisma to him that plenty were drawn to, ladies attracted like moths to a flame. good grades, built body, handsome smile. the entire package.

even if he did have everything, he never went out of his way to boast. he preferred to be humble and gracious, never one to take anything for granted. his job, his colleagues, his finances were all thanks to hard work and sacrifice.

this general label of golden boy fit him well. he couldn’t deny that he was, all things considered, a pretty decent guy. respectful and earnest, his drive was all for you. you’ve had a keen eye, could sniff out the bad in everyone. you’d be the first to get in his ear when he’d bring a new friend around, warning him that the people he surrounded himself with were bad news. a lot of his good decisions were influenced by you.

everyone had their faults. caleb, as perfect as he may seem on the surface, had a pretty sick obsession with watching your tight pussy struggle to swallow up a big cock.

tonight was one of those nights where you stumbled into the shared place, house keys slammed clumsily into the small glass bowl right inside of the front door. caleb could hear your grumbles from his bedroom, door cracked slightly to welcome you in. another voice was heard, likely one of your friends that brought you home, before the front door clicked shut. he was sure you’d be crawling your way into his bed in a minute’s time, always did when you had too much to drink at work dinner parties.

soft giggles could be heard as you abandoned your heels in front of the entryway, caleb’s observant ears perking up at the clatter. you always made him pick up after you, an old habit that truly never seemed to die.

you popped your head in through the door, just like he knew you would. giving him the sweetest smile, hiccuping over the small greeting you cooed his way. caleb always felt such an intensified need to hold you and coddle you when you were like this, the same guy who stuck to you like glue during your first legal birthday. he had you on his arm that entire night, refused to let you do so much as use the bathroom on your own.

he’s the first thing you seek when you’re inebriated like this, fuzzy and disoriented, desperate for a warm body to cling to. his scent sticks out like a sore thumb, enough to find him in a crowd full of people. it’s crisp and clean yet holds the type of musk and spice that makes you wanna stuff your face right into his collar.

“there’s my girl,” he hums, knowing smirk settled on his lips as he sits up with his head against the wooden headboard. a laugh dies in his throat with the way you trudge over, feet dragging against his floorboards just to reach his side a few moments later. a strong arm catches your waist, tugging you swiftly to sit pretty in his lap. “oh, you smell potent.”

“sounds like a bad thing,” you mumble and he can practically hear the pout in your tone, chuckling to himself when he realizes that he offended you. his cheek presses into your hair as you settle down, feet wrapped up under his ankles, back reclined fully against his chest for support.

big hands run up and down your thighs lovingly, a gentle touch that isn’t meant to lead further. it’s more of an effort to ground you, one shifting up to catch your head as it flops to the side.

“yeah, that’s not what i meant,” a dry snort leaves caleb’s lips, gentle in the way he leads your face to rest against his own. cheek to cheek, nuzzling into his warmth like you were freezing cold. the domesticity of it all melts him from the inside out, still finding it hard to believe that the two of you are finally rooming together once more after reuniting.

it’s been an adjustment, learning how to live with one another all over again. you had forgotten how much he nags in the mornings and he had forgotten how disorganized you can be, experiencing lovers quarrels at least once a day. moments like these make it more than worth it, being able to hold you when you’re most vulnerable.

a soft hiccup leaves your lips, dragging him from his reminiscing.

“how was the company dinner?” he hums in that quiet voice of his, considerate of the late hour and how your mind is likely taking several extra seconds to process a simple question.

you think long and hard, something that pulls another huff of amusement from his lips. it’s a struggle to focus when his hands fiddle with the lace of your skirt, when they smooth over the fat of your thighs. all of the absent touches were part of caleb’s personality, a handsy guy through and through. he never realizes what he’s doing until he’s taken it far beyond repair, just like now.

he catches the way you stare at his fingers, experimental with how he squeezes the flesh of your thigh. your lashes flutter at the sight, gaze trailing slowly over the curve of his knuckles. his thumb caresses the skin, purple eyes shining with mischief when you pick your attention up just to catch him staring right back at you.

“well?”

“it was good,” you mumble, slurring over the fast and forced response. there wasn’t much to note, just having indulged in one too many fancy mixed drinks that were all on the association’s tab. they worked you to the bone so abusing the credit limit only felt right. it was merely compensation for your unmedicated stress and constant achy shoulders.

“well, i’m glad you had a good time.” caleb leans to whisper against the shell of your ear, touch drifting north to creep under the hem of your fluffy skirt. his fingers knead, play with your skin like dough, pulling and jiggling.

he knew the second you left that it would end like this, really. it was almost routine to welcome you back from a night out with some kisses and some love, to ease your hazy mind with pleasure. you were dressed to kill and he was your usual victim, unable to help himself from staring down into the dip of your low cut top.

“let’s get you out of this,” he murmurs in suggestion with a sweet kiss to your earlobe, patting your hip in favor of guiding you to lift. you do, albeit sluggish and half-assed, caleb only able to shake his head and assist you. luckily, he was strong enough to make up for your lack of compliance, thumbs dipping into the waistband and dragging your skirt and panties down your legs in one fell swoop.

everything blurs the minute he turns your head with a big hand, placing a firm kiss on your glossed lips. the substance is tacky and sticky and he wouldn’t have it any other way, smearing the makeup with long pecks. your jaw slackens and welcomes his insistent tongue, tasting you from teeth to cheek to tongue.

oh, how caleb loves to kiss.

it’s one of the loudest forms of intimacy, a special way of many to indulge in his heaven on earth. you always moan so pretty when he kisses you, this time no different. properly sat with your ass on top of his bulge, he has the leeway to touch. one hand groping your breast through the thin top, the other guiding his cock out of his loose sweats. this is how he liked you best.

your pussy was drooling for attention, slinky strings of your arousal sticking to his tip everytime he slapped it against your clit. each hit had you jolting, whines spilling from your lips into his own. it was filthy, the way you could feel your swollen bud pulse with need that caleb was keeping just barely out of reach. bucking your hips only helped so much, whines following when he failed to give you what you wanted most.

“sit still so i can fill you, baby,” caleb whispers against your heated skin, smiling to himself at the way you nod your head in lazy acceptance. a hiss leaves him as soon as the tip disappears between your folds, breaking that resistance with a lewd pop. you gush around him, the cum oozing out of the head smearing along your walls when he slowly pushes it in.

you choke on your heavy breaths, his cue to take things slower. soft kisses find their way down the length of your neck, careful to rub a soothing hand along your thigh, the first to jump at comforting you. getting you used to his size was a learning process but the patience has paid off, your pussy all the more accepting each time he dives into you.

“look at that,” he whispers, winded as he tilts your face down to peer at where you’re connected. it’s a sloppy mess between your thighs, poor lips puffed and battered. they hug his fat shaft, sheening him in a clear layer of gloss. “remember when you couldn’t fit all of me? felt like a monster when i made you cry and push me away.”

the reminder coaxes you to shiver, thighs shaking as you struggle to keep position, the balls of your feet planted on the duvet below you. “now look at you. slides right in, doesn’t it? you worked so hard for it so now you can take it.”

take it, you do. he helps you with two strong hands steady on the curve of your waist, fucking you on his dick with greed. the pace quickly escalates from careful to selfish, sweat gathering at caleb’s brow. the force of his hips clapping up into your ass has tears gathering in your eyes, gasping for air as he bullies his length into your sore cunt.

strings of your slick stick to his dick, snapping everytime you stray too far. they painted your thighs and his alike, a gooey mess that only worsened the more your hips smacked down against his.

“shit. i think she loves me,” a breathless laugh rings in your ears, almost mockingly. your eyebrows bow and furrow, little toes curling up. “does she? you think she likes bein’ all full and plugged like that?”

you muster a broken whimper in reply, back arching off of his chest when two digits slide against your neglected clit in sensual circles.

the sheer strength of the rhythm has your tits spilling out of your top, falling from your lowcut collar, the fabric slipping. there’s no chance that you’d be moving so consistently if it weren’t for his help, caleb doing all of the heavy lifting and hard work with his mean thrusts and his harsh tugs.

even with the cruel way he’s digging himself up into you, he’s so very sweet. attentive eyes all on your face, lips smearing each open area of skin with kisses and bites. his grunts fill your ears like honey, leaky pussy making a mess that streams all down his balls.

“can’t get enough,” he pants, damp forehead pressed into your shoulder blade, hyper-focused on fucking up into you. his cock has a delicious curve that molds inside of you, hitting depths that nobody else could dream of. it almost aches, your squeaks and squeals bouncing off of his bedroom walls. “i’m all yours. i’ve always been all yours. say it. this cock is all yours, yeah?”

“mhm!” you sputter back, barely there, brain muddled with sex and sensation that drowns you.

“mhmmm,” he groans back in reply like a reflex, one of his palms smacking the side of your ass with a gentle slap. “all you. got the prettiest girl in the world bouncin’ on me, fuck.”

his words are strained with the effort to prolong his orgasm, eager to indulge in the first time you managed to take his cock without a break. you were finally filled to the brim, could take him without needing to tap out or cry in a way that wounded him. your walls are too greedy for him, caleb far too weak to the way your pussy begs for a fill.

he doesn’t get the chance to warn you, thick arms wrapping around you as cum pumps up into your cunt. hot and thick, unlike anything you’ve ever felt before. you feel him twitch, the sensation alone aiding you in your own release. sweat and sex fills the hot air, the last braincell caleb has left yelling at him to pull out and give your poor pussy a rest.

“doesn’t hurt, right?” worry fills his quiet tone, soft pants leaving his lips. he angles his head forward, peeking over your shoulder to get a good look at your face, pleased to find pure bliss instead of a grimace this time around.

[pharixden]

FUNERAL MARCH | evil eye x fem!reader x jiji

The Evil Eye doesn't love you. It's not in his nature as a demon, and he's not sure that it was in his nature as a human either. He wasn't loved and couldn’t love, and that's why he was given to the Tsuchinoko. But he likes to possess you nevertheless, and he often thinks about cursing you so that you’re bound to him. It would be the only way to keep you, because you probably don't love him, either—no human would embrace such a horrid and ugly existence. You just love the Vessel he inhabits. (Or: You and Jiji are now engaged. Of course, you have to ask the Evil Eye to marry you too.)

10.8k words. romance, smut, mild angst & comedy. rough sex with the Evil Eye (piv, creampie, overstimulation, bizarre magic, cnc elements in the “nooo it's too much” kind of way, dubcon with the magic). content warnings: aged up characterization, implied past sexual abuse (not involving Jiji or Evil Eye), brief mentions of suicidality, religious references (Taoist ghost marriage), use of English idioms that don't translate well into Japanese (forgive me), canon-typical crass humour. mdni.

I. THE GHOST

You’re in love with his Vessel.

The Evil Eye is well-aware of this. He hadn't known love as a human, but he saw it often enough in the House. Countless families moved in over the years, husbands and wives with little children who were frightened when he tried to play with them. After photography was invented, pictures lined the walls and decorated nightstands. They immortalized brides in their white kimono, grooms with their wide smiles, elegant ceremonies, decadent banquets.

The couples always looked like they were having so much fun, the Evil Eye noticed. Not just in the photos, but in their daily lives in the House—dancing with each other, pressing their lips together, laughing and singing and holding each other. Then they'd die together, hanging themselves because of that shitty worm. The Evil Eye always felt a kind of sadness seeing them in love—he’d never had that, and he'd never get it, and it was unfair in a way that filled him with a searing rage.

But he was even angrier when they died.

It used to make him angry too, when you talked about the Vessel. When he took over and he caught you laughing at something the Vessel had said, or dancing with him, or pressing your lips together. (Kissing, you’d told him the first time it happened. It's called kissing someone, when you do that.)

Then you started kissing the Evil Eye too, and suddenly he wasn't so angry anymore—the latent rage in him for once eased.

Still, it makes him feel sullen when you tell him, “Jiji and I want to get married.”

You are lying next to him in bed. Sweat is cooling on your naked body—you always get so hot when you and the Vessel get into bed with each other, or sometimes when he’s got you bent over the dining room table, or occasionally when you touch each other in that place you call the ‘locker room’, which tends to leave you extra breathless. No matter the place or the time, you’re always lighthearted, glowing, satisfied. It's the effect that the Vessel has when he’s inside you.

(Sex, you told the Evil Eye once, it's called having sex. Or making love. Not all sex is making love, but it's making love the way that Jiji and I do it. And then the Evil Eye demanded that you show him what exactly that meant, and that's when you took him inside you for the first time. He felt so good and so close with you that for a while, it was all he wanted to do.

Wants to do.)

“What does that mean,” the Evil Eye asks, although he has a good idea. You want to live in a House with the Vessel and laugh and sing and hold each other. You want to die together too, probably, your corpses hanging side-by-side from the same bannister.

“It means we’re going to dress up and make vows to spend the rest of our lives together,” you say. “And we’ll live together and build a home and maybe we’ll have babies too.”

The Evil Eye thinks of all those babies who lived in the House, impossibly tiny humans who were cradled by their mothers before they were burned alive as sacrifices. Before he became the Evil Eye—back when he was merely the ghost of a waif—he’d tried to play with them too, making silly faces and dancing as they giggled at him. He liked to pretend that they were his younger sisters or brothers, but sometimes he wondered how it'd feel to hold them and sing to them like their parents did. How it'd feel if he were a husband with a wife and a kid, what it would be like to dance with someone in the kitchen or tuck a child away into its cradle.

But every time he tried to pick the babies up, his hands would pass right through them. Kind-hearted ghosts can't love people in such a physical way; you need to be vengeful to hold onto anything. He'd had to learn to hate all humans before being able to touch them again, and now he's so rife with hatred that he can't love them anyway. All he can do is haunt them.

The Evil Eye doesn't love you. It's not in his nature as a demon, and he's not sure that it was in his nature as a human. He wasn't loved and couldn’t love, and that's why he was given to the Tsuchinoko. But he likes to possess you nevertheless, and he often thinks about cursing you so that you’re bound to him. It would be the only way to keep you, because you probably don't love him, either—no human would embrace such a horrid and ugly existence. You just love the Vessel he inhabits, and that's why he can kiss you and that's why he can hold you and that's why he’s allowed to sex with you (sex, not love—you've never called it making love when you do it with him, and you never look lighthearted after, and you never glow from his touch: he always leaves you panting, marked up, bruised, possessed).

You love the Vessel, so it makes sense that you would want to do all that with him: live in a House together and make babies together and eventually die together.

“Oh,” he says. “Sounds fun.”

You laugh. “Yes, I hope it'll be.” Then you lace your fingers with his, and look at him in a tender way that he'll probably never get used to. In a tender way that's meant for the Vessel.

“So, then,” you say almost shyly, “Do you wanna marry me too?”

II. THE VESSEL

Auntie Seiko is as beautiful, young, and no-nonsense as ever. Between meeting her as a child, coming into her care as a teenager, and now seeking her help as an adult, Jiji doesn't think she's ever changed. Most familiar to him right now is the expression that she’s wearing, the one that suggests that he might have shit for brains. Turbo Granny, perched on her shoulder, seems equally bemused, her porcelain cat eyes narrowed into judgemental slits. He'd been hoping that Momo and Okarun would understand his feelings, but they seem equally exasperated—Momo might even be a little appalled.

Anyone else might be disheartened by this reaction, but Jiji is undeterred. These are the people who once realised his wish to protect the Evil Eye; surely, they’ll also realise his wish for him to find happiness.

“—so we talked to him, right? Or my beautiful wifey talked to him, anyway—”

“We're not married yet, Jiji,” you interrupt dryly. “Don’t call me that.”

“—my future beautiful wifey talked to him about getting married, and he said yes! I'm on board. I think they should get a proper ceremony and everything. I know it's a little unconventional since she’ll be marrying me too, but I don't mind sharing, and I'd be willing to work out any legal issues. I'm sure we can find a country where polygamy is allowed.”

“Don’t you think the bigger problem is that he's an evil spirit?!” Momo asks—yells—but Jiji only shrugs.

“Evil or not, don't you think he deserves love and romance just as much as anyone else?”

“No!”

Jiji supposes that he can't blame Momo for her reaction, given how many times the Evil Eye has nearly killed her. Deeming her a lost cause, he turns his gaze on her boyfriend instead, almost puppy-like.

“Don’t you think so, Okarun?”

“Not really,” he admits, and Jiji nearly wilts at the betrayal before he adds, “but I understand where you're coming from. The Evil Eye was like a child when he first possessed you; his greatest wish was to find a friend to play with. Now he's basically a young man who's found his first love and his greatest wish is to be with her… and she, um, happens to be your wifey…”

“Don’t call me that!” you protest, oddly embarrassed, and Jiji resists the urge to squeeze you. You're so cute when you're flustered, it's unbearable. He makes a mental note to tell you this on the way home, though he already does this every day as a rule. When you were both still students, he would say it whenever he walked you home from school; nowadays, he more often says it during long-distance phone calls, or on FaceTime, or occasionally via text if your schedules are that misaligned. But he still makes it a point to remind you everyday, no matter where he is in the world: You're so cute. You're so pretty. You're beautiful, did you know that? I love you.

I love you, he thinks as he watches you. You look bashful right now. “We both want the Evil Eye to find happiness, and I’m pretty sure marriage will make him happy. And, well…” Your gaze drops. “It’d make me pretty happy too.”

Something in Jiji’s chest swells when he sees your expression. It feels mostly sweet, but there's also a painful edge to it. He’s always carried a kind of ache in his ribs ever since the day he caught his parents dangling from the second floor of the House and had to untie the nooses himself. Nowadays, he isn't sure if the pain is from that memory or if it's from the weight of the Evil Eye’s curse. Sometimes it feels like they're one and the same. Often it feels suffocating, like he's drowning and there's nothing he can do to breathe again—not laughing or joking or playing or running.

But you're always there when it’s hard. You're always beside him when he wakes up in the middle of the night to gasp for air, the way he used to when he was haunted as a teenager: It's okay, Jiji, you tell him, voice tender, I'm here for you. You aren't alone. I won't leave you. I won't let anything hurt you. I love you. The nightmares always leave him soaked in cold sweat, so he often switches in these moments, his consciousness displaced by a lonely, crying spirit. He doesn't know what it is you say to the Evil Eye, but when he comes back his heart feels lighter, and from that he knows that you've comforted him too.

The Evil Eye loves you—that much is clear. He loves you as much as Jiji does, probably. In a different way, sure, but just as much in strength.

It follows that nothing would make the Evil Eye happier in this world than getting married to you, Jiji figures. Dead or alive, who wouldn't be elated to marry the love of their life? And Jiji knows it'd make you equally as happy; only an idiot would think that you didn't love the Evil Eye back, and he's no fool. Some people might find it weird that he wants his wife to marry another man—and an evil spirit, at that—and maybe they're right for that. But why would Jiji ever turn down so much collective joy?

So he nods vigorously, giving Momo an intense look. “It'd make us all happy. Trust us!”

Momo gives you both a long, disbelieving stare.

“Well, when you put it that way…” She sighs, resigned. “When’s the wedding?”

“That's what we wanted your help with,” Jiji says, and he gives her grandmother an earnest look. “We want the wedding to be perfect, but we're not really sure how a ceremony would work with a youkai. What dates to choose, what venue to book, who could perform the rites… I mean, could you perform the rites, Ma’am?”

Auntie Seiko frowns. She looks on the verge of admonishing both of you, but Turbo Granny beats her to it: “Idiots. You can't do a Shinto ceremony with the Evil Eye. All three of you will combust into flames.”

“Oh.” Jiji remembers all the aliens and spirits alike that have burned upon attempting to chase them into the shrine grounds. He deflates. “Then… he can't get married?”

You squeeze his hand, and Jiji suspects that it's more for him than yourself. You don't seem nearly so worried.

“Would a Buddhist temple take us?” you ask.

“Doubt it,” Auntie Seiko says around her cigarette. “They’d probably try to exorcise your hubby on the spot—and even if they didn't, no Buddhist priest here would ever stand for tying the spirit of the deceased to a living person. It's how you get hauntings.”

“I don't mind being haunted by the Evil Eye,” you say immediately, and Auntie Seiko snorts.

“I know you don't, but it’s not in our job descriptions to curse people just because they're horny for a ghost.” Momo and Okarun cough loudly, and Jiji feels himself flushing; you cover your face with your hands. “I know a Chinese Taoist who’s done a few ghost marriages, though.”

“They’re okay with cursing people?” you ask, watching her through your fingers. “I mean—not that I mind.”

“Nah—they perform it as a pacification ritual. It would be the safest way to do something like this.” Auntie Seiko studies you closely. “I'm not sure how my acquaintance would react to an evil spirit or to polygamy, but I’ll call him and ask.”

“You're the best, Ma’am!” Jiji bursts, beaming. “We’ll save you an honoured spot in the front row! Turbo Granny too!” Elders should be respected, after all.

Turbo Granny makes a skeptical noise. “Don’t get ahead of yourself, numbnuts. Even if Seiko can find a priest stupid enough to oversee this wedding, there’s something you need that you probably can't find.”

“If we could find Okarun’s balls, I’m sure we can find anything,” you joke, but Granny seems unimpressed, her paws crossed over her chest.

Jiji frowns. “What exactly do we need to get?”

Turbo Granny gives you both an ominous look.

“His bones.”

III. THE CHILD

The Evil Eye hates being in the House.

All the spirits that he carries hate it too, airy things pulsing with rage and sadness and grief so palpable that he can always easily weaponise it. Any good memories that were ever constructed in the House are eclipsed by the hangings, the knife wounds, the suffocation, and also the burnings. Especially the burnings. Especially the white-hot lava washing over him, eating into his flesh—especially his last few days as a twitching, starving, dying thing on a stake; especially being buried, then the House being built atop his remains. Then all the children and babies sacrificed after him, wailing and screaming: unfair this is unfair let me go let me go let me go it hurts it hurts it hurts please stop this please help me Mom Mommy please help me please come back I don't want to die.

Doesn't anyone love me enough to save me?

He isn't ordinarily bothered by rage; he was born of it, after all. But he doesn't like feeling so much rage around you. The Evil Eye likes haunting you and will probably someday curse you—both things he once did to the families in this House—but he doesn't want to kill you.

He glances around the basement—the man cursed by Turbo Granny is here, and so is his lover. (Girlfriend, you’d called her. Momo is Okarun’s girlfriend, just like how I'm Jiji’s. You agree to be someone’s girlfriend when you have feelings for them and want to act on them. A-ah—what? Y-yes, I do have feelings for Jiji… Why do you ask?) The dancer and the Shinto priestess aren't here, and neither is the girl with the lizard suit, but they aren't needed.

If he tries to kill you, Okarun alone could probably stop him. This is the only reason that the Evil Eye agreed to let you come in the first place.

“This is so gross,” you whine, completely oblivious. You're knee-deep in the white gunk left by that shitty Tsuchinoko worm. “I can't believe you spent a whole day buried in this stuff, Okarun.”

“It saved me and Turbo Granny,” he replies, pushing his glasses up as he digs through the mess with you. “The lava would have gotten to us otherwise. I think it probably preserved the Evil Eye’s bones too.”

“I hope so…” You turn to the Evil Eye, head tilted. “Are you sure they're here, Jashi?”

Jashi. You say his title like it's name and not a curse. (Jashi, we should go try out this cafe, you'll say, or, Jashi, let’s go check out this show, or, I missed you, Jashi, it's been too long—here, can you feel how much I need you?) Sometimes he wonders if you ever forget that he's a ghost, or if using this Vessel fools you into thinking that he's human. If you lay beneath him in bed thinking that it's technically the Vessel inside you, and not just the monster possessing him.

“I’m a ghost,” he reminds you bluntly, “‘course I know where my remains are. Dunno if they've turned ash, though. Guess you can't marry me if they have.”

“No, we’ll get married,” you say, unbothered. “I'll dig up all the dirt from this shithole and say my vows to that if I have to.”

Okarun gives you a funny look. “How are you gonna get all that dirt out?” he asks.

“I'll make you carry it.”

“Huh? Says who?”

“Says Momo. He’ll help me carry it, right?”

“He will,” Momo affirms, and her boyfriend chokes. She ignores him, scanning the wreckage. “I hope it doesn't come to that, though. Hey, Evil Eye—can’t you be more specific with where we're supposed to dig? Coordinates or a map would be nice.”

“I'm not a fucking radar!”

You give him a pleading look. “Please, Jashi? Can't you try? For your future wifey?”

The Vessel's face gets hot. Its heart does the stupid thing where it jumps when you're around, or when he holds you after the two of you have sex, or when he stares too long at the engagement ring that's usually on your finger (now hanging around your neck on a silver chain, safely away from Tsuchinoko gunk).

“...fine. Gimme a sec.”

He closes the two eyes of the Vessel so that he can focus on his third. Human vision is too bound by shapes and light and figures; it distracts and deceives him. When he can't see your face, it becomes easier to hone in on his resentment. Unfair, his remains whisper to him, this is unfair let me go it hurts it hurts please stop please stop help me help me help me I don't want to die.

Doesn't anyone love me enough to save me?

“There,” he says eventually, pointing at the ground, “it's all there. In one spot. Guess I'm still a skeleton.”

You've got something of a sixth sense—whether it’s an effect of touching the golden ball or coupling so often with a spirit, the Evil Eye can't be sure. However it came about, it seems to tell you that he's right. Your eyes go soft when you rest a hand on the dirt he’s pointed at.

“Momo, Okarun,” you say, “Thank you for your help. I can dig this up myself—you guys can take a break.”

“Huh? No, we’d be happy to…” Okarun starts, but then Momo’s dragging him out by the collar and making him squawk.

“Sure—we’ll wait outside!” she says. “C’mon, Okarun, let's look for Mongolian Death Worm remains—I saw an occult article saying that it has medicinal properties if you make a powder extract from it…”

“You can't take that stuff seriously, Miss Ayase…”

After they leave, you spend the rest of the afternoon digging.

The Evil Eye offers to help, but you are determined to do it yourself. It's okay, Jashi, you say, I’m going to do it. You're going to be my hubby—the Vessel’s heart does the throbbing thing again—so it's only right that I'm the one to unearth you.

He doesn't understand it, but he shrugs anyway. Suit yourself. And he watches as you your fingers dig into the dirt, delicate nails collecting detritus. You don't want to use a shovel, you say, because you're sure that his bones will be fragile and you don't want to damage them. Even when he tells you that his bones are likely ruined in the first place, burned to shit and frail from rot, you don't let up. You just keep digging until you’re picking them out of the dirt.

You roll out a silk cloth, revealing lotuses against a pale backdrop. One by one, you lay his bones atop the pink and ivory thread, and you've found about half of them before he realises that you're reconstructing his skeleton. It's a small, pathetic thing. Help me help me I don't want to die, he can remember himself screaming. It hurts it hurts it hurts please stop. Doesn't anyone love me enough to save me?

The ghosts of the House begin to wail with rage.

Part of him worries for you—probably the part of him influenced by the Vessel, which is capable of a love that ghosts are not. It knows that you don't deserve his wrath.

“You should leave,” he says, but you shake your head. You take your time as you gather up bones, treating them all delicately as you roll them up in the silk, holding them close to you. As if you aren't in the presence of countless wrathful spirits. As if you are with the Vessel, and not with him.

“You were so small,” you say quietly. “Sometimes I forget that you were a child when you died.”

The Evil Eye stares at you, at the pathetic bundle in your hands. “That was ages ago.”

“But it never stops hurting, doesn't it?” you say, and the walls of the House close in on him. They tell him you're right, that you're a human, that you'll hurt him just like the rest of them, that you need to die too. But you look at him, soft in a way that belongs to the Vessel, tender in a way that the waif-ghost covets, and then the House shudders and goes quiet.

“I’m sorry I didn't help you back then,” you say, and it makes no sense, but he doesn't interrupt you. “I promise I'll make your married life a good one, now that we’re together.”

That's stupid, the Evil Eye thinks of saying, pedantic: I'm already dead. But you rise from the dirt before he can protest, and then you're taking his bones out of the House, cradling him in your arms.

Doesn't anyone love me enough to save me?

For the first time since being born, his body is allowed to leave the confines of its prison.

IV. THE BRIDE

The ceremony happens at night.

You spend the whole day readying yourself. Aira helps you get into your dress, admonishing you for the satanic rituals you'll soon perform but giving you her blessing anyway. Momo does your makeup, telling you to ignore Aira. Vamola says that you look lovely in stilted, earnest Japanese. Auntie Seiko helps you with your hair; she asks you, all the while, if you would like to wear a headdress that might protect you from evil, or for her to perform a consecration on your body. Turbo Granny is less roundabout, offering to take the Evil Eye’s banana in advance of your marital rites. Serpo warns you not to let the Evil Eye take your bananas—Why are you even here!? Momo yells at him—and Reiko Kashima says you shouldn't listen to any of them. You need to hold onto your man no matter what, she advises.

She also says you're beautiful, though of course you aren't as beautiful as her.

Beautiful. Are you beautiful? You'll be beautiful when you marry Jiji, because you're certain that his PR agent will want you prettied up by a team of stylists rather than a bunch of goofballs. You will need to look good for the photos, at least as handsome as him, and you don't know if you can manage that. You will need to be poised in front of the five hundred people attending, about which ten are your friends and none of which are your family.

You're already married to Jiji, technically. The two of you had a civil ceremony that only Momo and Okarun attended as witnesses, quick and dirty and secret. But the official ceremony will make it real, and you are terrified of that. You love Jiji beyond comprehension, and you know he loves you back tenfold, but you've never been able to rid yourself of the small voice in your head that tells you that you aren't good enough for him. It's been haunting you ever since the two of you fell in love, and you think maybe even before that. Maybe it started plaguing you when you were young.

When you were a child, you used to ask yourself if anyone would ever love you enough to save you from the things being done to you—the things you were convinced would be irreversible. You had confessed this to Jiji before you had sex with him for the first time. (Making love, he corrected you, I want to make love with you, and it made you feel so shy you nearly kicked him out of your bed.) He'd replied that he did love you enough, and that he would save you as many times as you wanted (I’m sorry I couldn't help you back then, he'd added nonsensically, but now that we’re together, I'll make sure your life is a good one), and you were so happy that you cried.

Sometimes you still cry, thinking about his words. But no matter how many times you replay the memory, no matter how often you tell yourself that Jiji is an honest man, the small voice in your head always warns that he’d lied to you. That your wedding to him will be a lie, too.

You often think about how he would leave you (gently), and why he would leave you (the list is endless). And then you try to imagine life without him—no cheerful kisses peppering your features, no goofy expressions putting you in stitches, no grueling morning runs, no messy kitchen sinks, no you're the cutest girl in the world, you're so beautiful I can't believe I'm dating you, how come you don't believe me when I say that stuff, I won’t let anyone hurt you ever again, I know you can get better I'll help you, I dunno how to talk about this with anyone other than you, sorry I cried that was kinda lame of me, sorry I need to go to Spain, sorry I was away for so long, I got you this merch, I got us tickets to this show, is it my fault you're going to therapy again, can you come with me to Berlin, is everything okay, come with me to the U.S., are you okay, are we okay, I don't want to break up, I love you, I love you so much, marry me, I'm being serious please marry me, I want to spend the rest of my life with you, I promise I won't leave you—

You don't think you could imagine living without Jiji.

Your looming wedding to Jiji terrifies you, but your ghost marriage does not. You feel calm in your dress, certain in your decision. Jashi has never scared you the way that Jiji has, after all. He doesn't frighten you even when the Taoist priest pulls you aside and tells you, “You can still back out of this.”

“Why would I?”

He dabs at his temples with a handkerchief. “This ritual is dangerous with a being like the Evil Eye. Ghost marriages are meant to pacify benign spirits—not vengeful ghosts. I can't guarantee that he will be calmed by this.”

You give him a quizzical look. “If he isn't calmed, then what would happen?”

The priest swallows. “There are three potential outcomes. One—he is pacified completely and moves on to the afterlife.”

This would scare you ordinarily, but you know Jashi well enough to understand that he would never move on. “Okay. What else?”

“Two—he is unaffected, and things remain the same.”

You wait, watching the way his fingers tremble. A wind blows; it carries the scent of burning sandalwood from the wedding altar.

“And?”

“And three—the most likely possibility—he will attach himself to you and curse you.”

“Oh.” The thought should scare you, but you don't think it's fear that’s squeezing your heart. “What would a curse be like?”

“Devastating. You'll never be able to live a normal life, nor will you have a proper afterlife.” The priest shudders at this possibility, which apparently frightens him too much to further describe. “Listen—if the Evil Eye doesn't pass on, you must not complete the marriage. Completing it would make the attachment permanent, and it would realise any curse he places upon you.”

“‘Completing the marriage”?”

“Consummating it.” His face is white. “Sex magic is unspeakably powerful. I don't believe anyone would be able to break a curse that’s born from it—at least not involving such a great yaoguai.”

Anyone else might laugh at his words, but you remain quiet. After spending so long chasing golden balls and bananas, after nearly a decade of fighting off aliens trying to have sex with Momo and Aira, you know that he is telling the truth.

And besides—you know just how permanently a touch can linger (a lifetime, forever, doesn't anyone love me enough to save me?), so you aren't surprised to hear the kind of curse it inflicts.

“Okay,” you say. “I promise I won't let it happen.”

It is only with this vow that the Taoist consents to overseeing the marriage.

The affair is a hodgepodge of Chinese funerary practices and Western weddings—foreign in every respect, but not uncomfortable. Auntie Seiko, clad in red-and-white robes and a golden headdress, walks you down the aisle. Against all her counsel, a white veil sits atop your head and chases after your shoulders. You stop before an altar of offerings and summoning talismans, Taoist spells lit up by the full moon hanged above. Instead of a bridegroom, you are next to a coffin that holds a tiny skeleton. The priest is before you, now possessed by a death god that will call Jashi back to his remains. Supposedly it is a Taoist deity, but its presence feels more extraterrestrial to you than anything spiritual. You will need to ask Serpo about it later.

You study the audience as the priest begins the summoning ritual. Jiji sits in the front row, watching you intently; if all goes well, Jashi will leave his body for the duration of the ceremony, along with all the vengeful ghosts that once resided in the sacrificial house with him. The spirits of the house scare you more than Jashi; you do not know how they will behave once cleaved from his control. There's a banquet for them in the back, a long table with a spread of incense, flowers, rice, and fruit—but you do not know if it will be enough to pacify them.

Your wedding party is equally on edge. As the White Impermanence begins its rituals, Jiji’s body slumps, and everyone else stiffens in their seats. The air grows rife with malevolence. The stars and moon blink out of existence, the world around you grows silent, and a suffocating darkness overtakes the night—almost as if you have been submerged in Empty Space. Tiny cyan flames erupt in the air around the banquet table, their glow eerie in the darkness. They must all be onibi, you guess.

Jashi himself emerges before you, standing over the coffin that holds his bones. You’d expected him to look like the emaciated child that he'd died as, or perhaps the stick-thin monster that used to haunt Jiji—but he takes another form altogether, a formless shadow that your mind can barely comprehend. You're vaguely aware of Turbo Granny covering Momo’s eyes, Okarun transforming, Auntie Seiko readying her bat—but you don't look at any of them. You only stare, as if in a trance, at the single vertical eye that is now peering at you from the darkness.

It is probably strange that you feel so calm. If you were a normal person, you'd probably run from your wedding altar of incense and offerings. Or, actually—if you were a normal person, your mind would be fraying at the edges, gripped by a desire to self-destruct. You would sob and beg the Evil Eye to lift its gaze and let you go and to return to you your life.

But you are not a normal person. The Evil Eye has never really made you feel particularly suicidal, nor have you ever really wanted to beg for your life before it. Your gaze is calm as you recite your vows from memory:

I shall marry this man. No matter what tragedies may arise, I will love this person, respect this person, console this person, help this person—until death, and beyond it. I swear these things before the gods.

When the Evil Eye makes his vows, it is in speech that human ears cannot understand. From the wedding banquet, the spirits of the house cry, their wails cacophonous and wrathful, and suddenly you realise that something has gone terribly wrong. Something has changed with this ghost wedding, and not for the better, but when Seiko rises from her seat, you raise a hand.

Finally, the Evil Eye recedes. The darkness lifts, although the spirits linger. Jiji’s eyes flutter open, immediately anxious and disturbed. You give him a reassuring smile—and the rest of your wedding party, too.

Something has gone terribly wrong. Still, you go about your business cheerfully. You thank the Taoist priest, and you insist to him that you will clean up the altar yourself. You greet your friends and say that they should head for the reception, which will have food for humans rather than ghosts. You peck Jiji on the cheek, beaming at him, and he relaxes and congratulates you.

He cups your face tenderly, kisses you on the nose. “You look happy,” he says.

Something has gone terribly wrong, but you still smile and tell him, “Yes.”

V. THE OFFERING

Your marriage bed is an altar.

Ivory petals are scattered across the bed, along with whole lilies and chrysanthemums. Sweetness permeates the room, carried by the smoke of burning incense. Flames dance upon red candles, flickering as they cast a gentle, soft light. This is your attempt to set an intimate mood, but the Evil Eye does not feel any form of love—he only knows greed. Every object in this room is an offering for the dead, meant for ghosts to consume, and you are the greatest offering of all, waiting for him on the centre of the bed in white silk. You are more fragrant than any joss, riper than any fruit, and he is the most ravenous ghost in existence.

“Isn't this romantic?” you say, beaming at him, and this is when the Evil Eye understands that he absolutely cannot have sex with you.

The wedding was meant to pacify him, perhaps even allow him to move on, but it only did the opposite. Seeing you before him at the altar, vowing to spend a lifetime with him despite all his resentment and ugliness made bare—it only made him more covetous. To move on would be to give up all the love you’ve offered him, the kind of love he'd been denied his whole life.

The kind of love he cannot return.

But he wants it anyway. And like any ghost, he’ll take it—take your love, your heart, your body, your life—if he is allowed to spread your legs and fuck you.

He knows this intuitively, although Turbo Granny also told him this. If you care for her even a little bit, she'd groused, you won’t go through with it. Then she'd threatened to take his banana and his nuts.

But vengeful spirits cannot care for human beings, not truly. It's a wonder that the Evil Eye is hesitating at all, why he feels a pit when he thinks about trapping you. It must be a consequence of his Vessel, who loves you so selflessly that even his body resists hurting you.

“We shouldn’t do it,” he says outright. You blink at him.

“Why?” You tilt your head. “...are you getting wedding night jitters? Do ghosts get nervous?”

He stares at you, uncomprehending. “What? No! I'm not fucking nervous!”

You frown. “Then what's the matter?”

It'll be dangerous for you, he tries to say, but then you're giving him a shy look and untying the sash around your waist. He swallows as the silk robe drops around your shoulders, pools around your thighs. The ivory lace covering your breasts and your core is so sheer that he can practically see through it. It's delicate, pretty—and he wants nothing more than to tear it off and ruin you.

“Don’t you”—you look so flustered, so cute, an echo tells him—“don’t you wanna make love to your wifey?”

Part of him thinks he might cum in his pants. The other part of him wants to leave. Wifey, making love—those are all words that you use on the Vessel. All words that are meant for the Vessel. You're confusing the Evil Eye with your real lover, under the delusion that he is human, unaware that you're being haunted. The Evil Eye is not the man you wish to marry, to live in a House with, to make babies with, to grow old with.

Unfair unfair unfair it hurts it hurts it hurts please please please I don't want to die. I don't want you to die. Why can't I touch you? Why can't I hold you? Please please please—

“I can't.”

Your brow arches. “What do you mean?”

“I can't make love to you.” He pauses, feels a kind of frustration bubbling up when you give him a confused look. “I don't love you.”

Your mouth opens, and you make a faint, strangled noise before asking, “What?”

“I don't love you.”

It takes a moment. You stare at him; you look down; you close your eyes. Your shoulders shake. You'll probably get angry and throw him out, or you'll just calmly ask him to leave. However you do it, you would cast him out, and it would be for the better. You would remain uncursed, free to live out a proper life with the Vessel, and the Evil Eye would get to keep his nuts.

But instead of doing either of those things, you start sniffling—and all the blood leaves his face.

“You”—your voice is so fragile, and it cracks and breaks and his throat feels like it's closing up—“what do you mean you don't love me?”

The Evil Eye's mouth drops open as you start to sob. “W-wait, wait—why are you crying? Don’t cry!”

You start to wail. “You don't love me! I just married you and you don't love me! How am I not supposed to cry?” Between hiccups and sniffs, you pick up one of the pillows and throw it at him. He's paralyzed, forgets to dodge, and it hits him square in the face. “What did I do wrong?!”

“Nothing!” he yells. His heart is pounding. It's squeezing and twisting and it feels so bad that he nearly wants to dispossess the Vessel. “You didn't do anything wrong! It's not you! It's—”

“If you say ‘It’s not you, it's me’, I'll kill you! I'll really kill you!”

“I’m already dead!”

“Then I'll beat your ass!”

“You can't beat my ass! You're not strong enough!”

“Then I'll banish you! I'll spray Jiji with hot water everyday and I won't let you come out! Not even to have Pampy! Not even to play with Okarun!”

The Evil Eye’s mouth drops open. “That's fucking mean!”

“You're fucking mean!” You look at him, and your gaze is so watery and pained that the Evil Eye can't help but go to you. He doesn't realise that he's wiping away your tears until his fingers are wet, and he can’t find it in himself to push you away when you press your face into his shoulder and cling to him. His arms—no, the Vessel’s arms; it must be the Vessel doing this—tighten around you.

“Why—why don't you love me?” you whine between hiccups, and the Evil Eye should call you foolish for expecting him, a spirit who intends to kill all of mankind, to ever love a human. To think that you could spend all these years around him and be so delusional about his true nature—is it that you've forgotten that he drives people to suicide? That his intent is to someday kill all of you, after killing Okarun? The spirits of the House scream at him to grab your face and force you to look at his hideous third eye, to remind you of what he is, to say you're a human you should die like the rest of them you’re as guilty as all of them, you would lock me in a cage too, you would burn me alive and bury my bones beneath a House.

Instead, he rubs your back until your breath begins to even out. And rather than grabbing you and threatening you, he clears his throat.

“I'm… a vengeful spirit,” he says lamely. “Love just isn't something that's in our nature.”

“Why not?” you sniff.

“‘cause if it were, we wouldn't be vengeful. We wouldn't even be ghosts in the first place, probably.”

“B-but,” you whimper, “we've been dating for so long. We live together and sleep together and eat together. You take care of me and I take care of you. We go on dates and hold hands. We even have sex—like, a lot of sex. You initiate it!” You sound accusatory, and the Evil Eye doesn't understand why. Of course he wants to have sex with you; it's one of the most addictive things about having this body. The part of the living world he wants most, nowadays. “If you didn't feel anything for me, why would you do any of that?”

He bristles. “Of course I feel something for you,” the Evil Eye says, oddly agitated. “Just ‘cause I can't love doesn't mean I can't feel. Resentment is what anchors ghosts to this world in the first place.”

“Then what do you feel for me, if not love?” Your fingers dig into the Vessel’s white suit. “Resentment?”

The Evil Eye stares blankly. He doesn't know how to describe it all—the longing, the greed, the envy for the Vessel. The euphoria and closeness of being inside you, a feeling so good that he didn't even know that such joys existed when he was human. The idea of living in a House filled with wedding photos, the thought of making babies with you that he might hold and touch and kiss. So many things that he never had in life. So many things that he can't help but want in death.

So many things that he can't help but want to trap you for them.

“...no, I don't resent you,” he says. “It’s more like I wanna curse you.”

He expects you to cry more—after living for such a long time among humans, he now has enough manners to understand that it is rude to curse someone who has only ever treated you with unconditional love, even if in error—but instead, you become strangely quiet.

You pull away from him so that he can see your face. It's—hopeful?

“You wanna curse me?”

“Yeah. Curse you—haunt you, possess you, control you.” He shrugs. “The usual things that ghosts do when they're so attached to something that they can't move on. You know.”

“Oh.” You wipe your eyes, and the Evil Eye has to stop himself from helping. “I'm so happy.”

“...you're what?”

“I'm so happy that you feel that way about me.”

He stares at you. “You're happy that I wanna curse you?”

“Yeah.”

The Evil Eye studies you. You never react to him in ways that make sense—you’re endeared by him when you should be afraid; you treat him sweetly when you should be callous; you even seem to enjoy his violence when everyone else always punishes it. Now you’re touched by the idea of being cursed.

“Why?” he asks flatly. “I thought you wanted to be loved. Or make love. Something like that.”

You give the Evil Eye a long, thoughtful look.

“Jashi,” you start, voice gentle now, “what do you think love is supposed to look like?”

A married couple in a House. A baby in his mama’s arms. Three children dancing in a field, giggling in the sunlight.

“Dunno.” When you stare at him, as if expecting something, he grows agitated. “I said it's not in my nature. Talk to the Vessel about that stuff, not me.”

One of your brows arches. “Why? You're my husband”—his heart kicks violently at that; he hates this fucking body sometimes—“I want to know what you think love looks like. And besides…” Your voice gets all quiet, and you look away. “It’s not like Jiji would necessarily agree with my views anyway.”

That gets his attention. “What do you mean?”

You hum. “How do I explain it… well, for example—if I found happiness with someone else and left to be with them, Jiji would be heartbroken, but he would be happy for me. Because he loves me, it's ultimately most important for him that I'm happy.”

A married couple in a House. Two corpses dangling from the rafters. A baby in his mama’s arms. A child suffocating in the darkness, crying for his parents. Three children dancing in a field, giggling in the sunlight. Starving in a cage nearby, I'm so hungry, I'm so cold. Unfair unfair I don't wanna die I wanna play with other children I want to dance in the field please please please why can't I touch you why can't I hold you why why why—

“That's fucking stupid,” the Evil Eye blurts out.

“But that's what he’s told me—and I believe him.” You smile at him. “Now, how do you think I'd react if someone took you or Jiji away from me?”

This feels like a trick question. He squints at you. “The same?” he tries.

“That would be ideal. But honestly,” you admit, “I would resent you all for the rest of my life and then think about killing myself. That's what love looks like for me.”

“Oh.” The Evil Eye nods, relaxing. “Yeah, that makes way more sense.”

You laugh, sounding genuinely amused. “Jiji doesn't think so. It really worries him that I feel this way. It would worry most people, actually.” Then you get a little quiet. “I do want to get better for him, but it doesn't come naturally to me, the way that he loves me.”

He doesn't like the tone you're using—soft, uncertain. Mournful. You feel like one of the spirits in the House right now. He thinks about the way you cradled his bones, and his hold on you tightens.

“Where are you going with this?”

“I'm saying that I don't mind that you want to haunt me, or possess me, or whatever.” Your eyes are earnest. Steadfast with the confidence you had as you unearthed his grave. “To be honest, being cursed by you isn’t nearly as frightening as being loved by Jiji.”

The Evil Eye cups your face, thumbing away your tears. Would you cry like this if you knew what it would mean, to be possessed by him? Would you regret your offer to him, the way that the Vessel regrets his? Or would you stare at his true face as you did at the altar and vow to love him anyway?

Instead of asking you any of this, he allows you to loop your arms around his neck.

“I want you to make love to me,” you murmur sweetly as you climb atop him, and that makes him pause.

Two corpses dangling from the rafters. A child suffocating in the darkness, crying for his parents. Starving in a cage nearby, I'm so hungry, I'm so cold. Unfair unfair unfair why can't I touch you why can't I hold you why why why—

“I said I don't know how to do that.”

“Fine,” you say, and then you’re pressing your lips against his, grinding your cunt against his hardening cock. “Then curse me instead.”

VI. THE DEMON

You've always known that the Evil Eye couldn't love you in a normal way.

It was obvious from the outset, simply cataloguing him for what he is: a monster born from human sacrifice; a curse that drives people to madness, to suicide; a thing that regularly exploits Jiji for his body and makes him commit violence against his will. Jiji and Okarun and the rest might be delusional about the Evil Eye nowadays—thinking that he's just like a kid, that he just wants to play, that he’s in love and wants to get married and play house—but you are not. He can't play with Okarun in normal ways, and he can't love you in normal ways. Every desire ends in blood. That's how it began for him, after all. How he was born.

Your mind has always known this, but your body only learned it the first time you had sex. The Evil Eye doesn't know how to make love to you the way that Jiji does. You’ve tried countless times now, and he's even demanded that you make him do it that way so that he knows what the Vessel gets to feel during sex with you. You've kissed him deep and slow, gently touched him until he felt desire, taken him inside you and pressed your forehead to his. Just like that, you encouraged him countless times, you're doing so good. Good boy. You're doing so well. I love you.

You always end up with your face pressed into the mattress, cheeks wet with tears and throat hoarse from screaming. Sore and bruised and fatigued and it's too fast, it's too big, I can't, please, and with any other man you'd probably hate it but when it's Jashi you always end up moaning and begging for more. You'd always thought you’d be disgusted with yourself for having this kind of sex, but with him, you feel too good to really care. All you can think about is his teeth marking your neck, the cruelty of his rough hands, how his cock fills you so well that you can hardly breathe.

He’s taken you like this countless times, but something feels different about it right now. It might be the incense, so thick in your throat and your lungs that you're dizzy with it. It might be the fragrant petals crushed beneath you, soft and strange things that you stole from your wedding altar. Flowers for the dead, the priest had said to you, given to the ancestors, or to bodies as they're lowered into the ground.

You think maybe that's happening to you, right now: you’re dying, you're being torn apart, you’ll break in Jashi’s hands. It'll leave a mark on your body for a lifetime, forever—and you don't need to be saved.

But even after being fucked so many times, even after your mind has been made so hazy and distant, you're still trying so hard not to come apart at the seams. An agonizing pressure is building in your belly, and you can't let it burst. It’s inconvenient when you get too wet; it makes Jashi switch, which is normally hilarious but would feel catastrophic right now, when you’re drunk on the feeling of his cock inside you and don't want any of this to end. But it's so hard, keeping yourself from drenching him—you can hardly think when he's fucking you like this, let alone control yourself.

“I c-can't anymore,” you whine. “Jashi, you gotta stop, I need a break, please—”

Jashi doesn't care. He takes and takes and takes, and of course he does. It's in his nature as a vengeful ghost, as an existence so empty it can't do anything but consume the life around it. It's not enough that you’ve been ruined by his cock, that you're being used like a fleshlight. It's not enough that he’s made you cum countless times—not out of consideration to you, but simply because he's addicted to the feeling of you squeezing and milking him. It's not enough that he's spilled himself inside you more times than should be possible, uncaring of the consequences. It's not enough, it's never enough—he always needs more from you; more tears, more begging, more feverish, white-hot pleasure.

You shouldn't be surprised when you feel his hips start to stutter again, his cock twitching inside you. Some distant part of you is alarmed anyway, even as your cunt tightens around him, eager to be filled. You've never let anyone fuck you raw before tonight, never had anyone fill your womb up like this—not him and not Jiji; you've always been too afraid of pregnancy—but with each passing moment, it is harder to remember why. Not when it feels so good to be pumped full by him, your body flooded with a strange warmth each time. Unnatural, you keep thinking, this feels weird, he's doing something to me, he's cursing me, he's claiming me. But all you do is wrap your legs around his waist when he cums again, greedy for more, and you sigh in relief at the feeling of it.

He has to stop after this. He has to be sated. He pulls out, his cock throbbing against your swollen pussy, painting it a creamy white—and then he throws your legs over his shoulders and sinks back into you.

“Nooo,” you moan, squirming, thrashing, knowing you'll burst if he fucks you again. “I can't, I can't—I can't hold it in anymore, I can't—”

“Then don't,” he grunts. He looks straight down at you, his weight heavy on you, oppressive, unnatural. You hold your breath as you look at his face—dark and vicious, the vibrant eye on his forehead enrapturing. For the first time in your life, you feel a madness creeping in as it stares at you, fraying at your control. You can't move, can't resist him, can't think, and when he starts thrusting again, your body floods with a euphoria so hot that all you know how to do is cry.

You’re going to break from the ecstasy.

“W-what,” you gasp, “what are you doing to—”

Something hits your sweet spot, and your voice clips off into a desperate whimper. His cockhead starts grinding against it, and you try so hard to squirm, to stop, to control yourself—but whatever he's done to you has made you weak, pliant, and you feel yourself start to pulse. Pinned beneath his gaze, you can neither get away nor fight it. You can only surrender. The pressure is too much, your womb is too hot, and suddenly your back is arching and you feel like you're dying as you gush all over him.

You're in hysterics as you come down, panting and gasping for breath. “No more, no more,” you beg, squeezing your eyes shut, clinging to him. You sob into the crook of his neck, and finally—finally—he relents.

He’s gentle as he pulls out, careful as he sets you down on the bed. Kisses pepper your cheeks, your eyelids, your lips. Then, finally—his forehead pressed against yours, lashes fluttering against your skin.

“You're alright,” Jiji murmurs. “You’re alright. I’ve got you.”

VIII. THE CURSE

The Evil Eye has cursed you.

Jiji saw it on your body: a sunburst of strange characters on your stomach, an eye in the centre. The Taoist priest had broken into a pale sweat at the sight, its implications: if anyone else tries to touch you, whether with the intent to do harm or pleasure, then the untold carnage will be wrought upon them. Should you ever try to leave the Evil Eye, he will drag you back with such violence that it will shatter you. That so long as that vengeful ghost is bound to this earth, then so too shall be you.

Jiji is less worried than he probably should be. He doubts that the Evil Eye would truly ever hurt you, and also doubts that you’re physically capable of leaving him anyway. Ever since being marked, you haven't been able to go a day without having either of them inside you—brutally if it is with the Evil Eye; gently if with Jiji. Either way, you’ve been desperate for their touch, plagued by an all-consuming lust if you can't have them. It puts a wrench into all the plans for your respective careers and for the long distance arrangement. Auntie Seiko plans to train you to suppress the curse, but it isn't sustainable.

Privately, though, there's a part of Jiji that doesn't mind the excuse to see you all the time. It’s not that he wants to deny you your freedom, quite the opposite, but—you're his beautiful wife. And he's ridiculously in love with you. He can't help but miss you every day you're apart, and he also can't bring himself to complain about this particular aspect of the curse.

He also understands the Evil Eye for doing this to you. Sure, cursing you wasn't Jiji’s first act as a newlywed—but he also kinda gets it.

Jiji shares dreams with the Evil Eye, sometimes. He sees within them everything that the Evil Eye has experienced—not just as a demon, but as a spirit, a child, a waif. Sometimes he hears the thoughts that he once had, the ones that made him turn vengeful: unfair, this is unfair let me go it hurts it hurts please stop please stop help me help me help me I don't want to die.

Doesn't anyone love me enough to save me?

After all that? Of course the Evil Eye doesn't experience desire the way that a human would. Of course playing with someone is the same thing as killing them. Of course loving someone is the same thing as cursing them. And the Evil Eye loves you—that much is obvious, would be obvious to Jiji even if they didn't share a body—so of course his instinct was to carve you open and mark you with his spell.

Jiji feels poorly about it sometimes, guilty and selfish and like he should have ended things after all. Then you'd be free to love whoever you want, without the threat of certain death looming over you. But then you smile at him in bed, so tender and pretty and glowing beneath him. “I'm glad I get to be with you both,” you sigh, and then he can't really complain. After all, you're his beautiful wife. Jiji is ridiculously in love with you. Of course he wants you to be happy.

If it really ever comes down to it, if you really ever wanted to leave—Jiji knows he'd have himself exorcised. He'd rather die than hurt you. But the possibility seems so distant right now, with how you're studying the stone monument before you. You seem peaceful, tranquil, a calm figure cut against a placid, blue sky. Jiji guesses that's appropriate: cemeteries are meant to be resting places.

This plot of gravesoil belongs to the Enjoji family, and there is a spot carved out for you, right next to the space reserved for him. You bear his surname now, so when the two of you pass, you’ll be allowed to rest side-by-side. He already knows what the Evil Eye would say to that: you'll live in a House together and make babies together and eventually die together and be buried together. And if Jiji could talk to him, if he could for once directly speak with the monster inhabiting him, he'd beam at him and say yeah, we sure are.

But the Evil Eye would miss one thing, and it's that he'd also be buried with you. He'd be buried with both of you.

In your hands is an urn, plain but dignified. It carries the ashes of a waif hundreds of years old, the remnants of a brutal sacrifice. The last step of a ghost marriage is to bury the bones of the bride with the remains of the groom, but you're an Enjoji now, and Jiji’s family does cremations, not burials. When the time comes, you'll be burned, and your ashes will be mixed with those belonging to Jashi. He’ll go before either of you: by the end of the day, his remains will be in the crypt, though Jiji doubts his spirit is going anywhere.

“We’ll be interred with each other, someday,” you say to the ashes, tender. “But first we’ll spend a lifetime together.”

Then you turn to Jiji, your smile sunlit. It's shy, because you're always shy around Jiji—even though he's now your husband and you’ve married him in front of five hundred people and he's made love to you every which way on every piece of furniture in the house since then—and you add, “And we’ll spend a lifetime together too.”

Jiji laughs. “I guess you're stuck with me,” he says, and a frown briefly overtakes your face.

“We’re all stuck with each other,” you correct him. “You're cursed as much as I am.”

“I guess.” He scratches his cheek, sheepish. “Sorry you ended up with a husband who’s possessed by a ghost.”

“I wasn’t talking about Jashi,” you say, and you seem a little uncertain, but Jiji can't help but smile. Partly because he appreciates it when you're earnest with him, but mostly just because he loves you.

“You're so beautiful,” he says, “did you know that?”

You huff at him, turning around. “You’re too much,” you chide, but he hears the fondness in your tone. Jiji grins, and—in the privacy of the cemetery—takes the opportunity to loop his arms around you. You giggle when he squeezes you, and then your voice goes quiet.

“I love you,” you say, “did you know that?”

“Uh huh.” He spins you around so he can waggle his brows and give you his most reassuring look. You snort violently at his expression. “It’s super obvious. You can't resist my charms.”

When your laughter passes, you look down at the ashes in your arms—the child that you carried out of the House.

“Do you think,” you ask, voice odd, “he knows that?”

Jiji’s eyes soften. Because he shares dreams with the Evil Eye, and sometimes he shares thoughts with him too—like the pain in his chest that's been aching ever since he found his parents hanging side-by-side from the second floor, the one that grew every time he found the body of a spirit medium, the one that choked him when his relatives called him cursed and slammed the door in his face. He slept on the ground in front of their house after that—he didn't want to go back to the place where his parents nearly died—and called Auntie Seiko the next day, when he realised that they truly didn't want him around.

Sometimes he shares dreams with the ghost haunting him, and when he screams in his sleep he can't tell if the voice in his throat is truly his or if it actually belongs to the Evil Eye. But no matter its origin, it goes quiet when you hold him in bed and kiss his forehead. Just like how it went quiet when you carried that skeleton out of the House.

Doesn't anyone love me enough to save me?

“Yeah,” Jiji says. “Yeah, he does.”

END

some general notes:

this was a weird fic to write. ordinarily I would write the evil eye as having a childish and immature narrative voice; however, I (1) had to balance it with an aged up characterization, and (2) did not want to get cancelled, so I instead ended up with something in-between that feels a little awkward

there is jiji-focused companion fic that is like 50% done about him fucking you nasty after he switches places with the evil on your wedding night. I will probably finish it and post it when s2 comes out LOL

i know this is not my best writing rip please forgive me

some cultural notes:

taoism has real-life sex magic practices and places a lot of significance on, err, certain bodily fluids in terms of spiritual energy. none of these beliefs have anything to do with getting cursed via freaky ghost marital sex, but they served as the general inspiration for the curse in the fic (alongside dandadan canon, which coincidentally also places a lot of spiritual significance in sex and sexual organs lol)

the vows recited by the reader are a modification of standard japanese wedding vows (found on Google, take with a grain of salt). incidentally, western-style weddings are apparently quite popular in Japan, hence the decision for the bridal dress.

a lot of the wedding details are inspired by chinese funerary practices in addition to actual taoist ghost marriages. I took a lot of creative liberties with the wedding scene in general; real-life ghost marriages are quite different (from my understanding; I have never attended one)

[pharixden]

objects in the mirror | j. togame

✮ tags ; afab!reader + fem!reader, reader is so painfully dense / naive, ambiguous relationships, friends to ???, somewhat unrelieved sexual tension, sex toys, guided masturbation kinda, kissing, groping, nipples play, squirting, dialogue heavy, vaguely post canon, petnames (kame-chan and jo-chan for togame, baby for reader) 18+

✮ wc ; 6.4k (you have got to be fucking with me)

✮ a/n ; the one fic i wont be mad if you ask for part two on lolol. title from a mac miller song (my favorite mac miller song) that reminds me of a lot of characters but i felt really fit this fic.

go listen to it. his best track. also this like... mega got away from me. togame sorry for blueballing you.

✮ synopsis ; your only goal is to have a half-way decent orgasm. togame, as your best friend, is determined to help you reach it.

"So," Togame leans back into your bed. "You bought a vibrator and... can't use it? Because you keep psyching yourself out?"

"Yeah," You sigh with your head hung low. "Paid good money for it and it's collecting dust in my drawer. I'm miserable."

Togame smiles a little from where he's laid across the width of your bed, back propped up against the wall slightly with his legs hanging off one edge. You kick his side lightly as he fails to contain his amusement.

"Do you enjoy seeing me suffer, huh? You take amusement in my pain, you bastard?"

"Pfft," He snickers, turning a little to face you better. "It's kinda hard not too. Just seems..."

"You think it's stupid," You frown. He scratches his jaw.

"I wouldn't say that. A little silly but—"

"Which is another word for stupid," You point out. He shakes his head.

"The connotations different. Stupid would mean I'm insulting you. I don't think it's stupid. Ridiculous, maybe." And then he laughs to himself like a jackass. "No... I take it back. It's definitely ridiculous."

"You asshole. I should kick you out of my house."

He smiles knowingly, lazy and bemused. "You're not gonna,"

Smug bastard. You groan in defeat. "But I should."

He doesn't reply, brushing you off as easy as ever. "Sorry. Just not sure what exactly you want me to do with that information."

You throw your hands up in the air. "I dunno? Fucking help me. Offer solutions. Use whats left of your brain after getting the shit beat out of you as a teenager. Something."

"Now who's being an asshole." He quips. You frown.

"I'm sorry," You say easily. Togame smiles softly though you miss it while you're looking away. "But...ugh."

"Got such a way with words." He hums sarcastically before sobering a touch. He's scrolling through his phone not entirely paying attenion. "I don't really get why you're askin' me. Don't you have better candidates for this conversation?"

You give him a long-suffering look. "No. Unfortunately I live here, so the answer is not really. I can't talk to Kotoha or Tsubaki about this. We talk about guys and stuff but it's usually pretty PG."

"So I'm your stand in for a girl best friend?"

You tilt your head. "Huh? No. You're just my best friend. I would bitch to you about this either way."

He stares at you for a long while before scrubbing a hand down his face. You can't understand his sudden reaction, watching in confusion as he takes a deep breath.

"Right. Right, I'm your best friend." Togame mutters mostly to himself, sighing before going back to his usual demeanor. He rubs his under his eye. "Really dunno what you're asking for. You can whine however much you want, though."

"I'm not whining," You pause before sighing again. "Okay. Maybe I am whining, like, a little. But you would too if you were me, okay? I want to..." You make a face, the words suddenly feeling clumsy on your lips. You're not even doing anything and you're getting all weird about it. "I just wanna...cum."

Togame pauses. He sits up, sort of suddenly after that and finally has the decency to take off his boots. He scoots to the edge of the bed with his feet on the floor to do it, and you can't see his face when he speaks again. You don't think twice about it.

"Have you not? Like... ever?"

"Huh? No, I have but it's not really satisfying. It doesn't scratch the itch for me, you know? That's what the toy was for."

Togame takes another minute or two of silence as he takes off his boots. You wonder if it always takes him so long to take them off. Seems inconvenient.

He goes back to laying down, leaning on the wall with his legs spread out. "What kinda toy is it anyway?

"Oh, it's—" You stop in the middle of your sentence, brow furrowing. "Wait. Should I be telling you this?"

"Are you suddenly gaining self-awareness? Little late for that." He smiles.

"That's true," You reply, relaxing again with your arms crossed. "Nothing complicated. A rabbit vibrator, but the kinda expensive ones."

"How much?"

"Twelve-thousand yen. I got it on sale too,"

"No wonder you're so peeved you can't use it," Togame comments evenly. "A lot of money to be collecting dust. You even take it out the box?"

You deflate all over again. "Yeah. Charged it. Cleaned it too. But I put it back."

"Lemme see,"

"Huh? Oh, okay. Sure."

You don't bother asking why Togame wants to see your sex toy. It doesn't occur to you that there'd be any reasons outside of plain curiosity which you can understand. Togame dated a girl long-term so he knows some things, but you figure any girl with a decent boyfriend wouldn't need to make the same use of toys as you do. It'd make sense he's never seen one up close and personal.

You scoot to the edge of the bed and lean slightly as you open the side drawer and pull the toy out where it sits in nice, cardboard package. You pass it off to Togame before sitting back comfortably against your headboard.

He sits the box in his lap and stares at it for a long while.

You wonder if this is weird.

It doesn't bother you much either way, but it it is...

Odd, just how long Togame stares at it. He undoes the top of the folded box, pulling it back to reveal the soft, baby blue vibrator. It's six inches long and curved, with a soft rubber attachment to stimulate your clit and angle for your g-spot at the same time. Made with a high quality velveteen silicone. It has a lot of settings, and does the sort of rumbly vibrations you know feel good as opposed to the mechanical buzz of cheaper kinds.

Completely unused, Togame holds in his hands for a while, grabbing it by the ends. He doesn't touch it in a way that's weird. More like he assesses it. Measures it. You don't know for what though.

"It's cute."

"Huh?"

"The vibrator, I mean." Togame comments, putting it back in the box. His expression is unreadable. Something simmers under the surface of his neutral face but you can't place what exactly. "It's a cute color and the little pointed part here is cute."

You place a hand on your chest and close your eyes in sincerity. "Thank you. I also think I have excellent aesthetic taste."

Another pause. Brief but not.

"Do you want help using it?"

"Wha—"

"The vibrator," Togame clarifies before you get through the rest of your sentence. "Do you want me to help you use it?"

Your mind blanks. Your mouth moves faster than you can.

"...In what way?"

Togame remains steady. "Getting you comfortable and putting in you. As far as solutions go, it's the best I've got."

...Huh?

"Wouldn't that be awkward for you?"

"Is it awkward for you?" Togame replies back.

You stop to consider the question then shake your head.

"I mean...It's you. I trust you and I'm grateful but this..." You furrow your brow and look towards him. "Can you really do something like that with me? Just to help me?"

"Yeah." He replies. The words come so easily to him you're startled. Was he always this casual? You guess in a way but still. It's surprising. "It's the most direct route to solve your problem, I think. Once you've done it once with someone else, you'll definitely be able to do it alone right?"

You reason about this and find it's a somewhat optimal solution. You can't figure out the exact source of your unease about all of it, though it's there. You can't figure out Togame either. You appreciate how much he seems to want to help you but it doesn't make your worries go away.

You frown a little deeper.

"You're thinking about it too hard." Togame interjects. His tone is warm and easy.

"You're not thinking about it hard enough," You respond back. "What are you trying to do anyway? To help."

"Scratch the itch for you. Just think of it like that."

"Does that do anything for you?"

He dodges the question. "Don't worry about me. I'm offering. Promise it's fine."

You frown with your legs crossed, staring at the empty space of the bed. "...I g-guess it's fine? I can't think of a reason to say no."

"You don't mind doing this with me? Or is it because you're okay with anyone?"

You shake your head.

"What are you saying? Of course it's because you're the one asking. I trust you."

He smiles genuinely at that, eyes closed in what seems like relief. "I just wanted to make sure."

Togame opens his eyes again and casts them your way. Your breathing feels shallow under the weighted glance. He sits up a little more and shrugs his jacket off his shoulders, placing it on the pillow next to you. He feels broader without the layer of fabric over his torso, white shirt stretching over his frame as he sits on the bed on his knees.

"Lay down. Get comfortable."

You nod, adjusting the pillows and things and trying not to feel self-conscious or get cold feet. It speaks to your desperation that you're taking this help so willingly and from your long time best friend no less. In the back of your head, you do feel a little strange.

Togame is just being a good friend, that's what you tell yourself. You believe it too.

He hovers above you first. You tilt your head to look at him, the short gap of space between you feeling particularly small while also being miles wide. Your stomach flutters as Togame's eyes fix on your lips.

He leans forward and presses his mouth to yours. It's chaste. You wonder if you look even half as surprised as you feel.

"What was that for?"

"Breaking the ice."

You mumble. "Oh..."

Togame kisses you again that time, and then one more time before speaking up. "You're so naive."

"Huh? No I'm not,"

He brushes you off again that time before sitting up again. He sits between your legs where you have them spread. You have no idea what he's thinking or why he's doing this.

Unlike most people, you usually do have a good read on what Togame is feeling. He's upfront most of the time, despite his posturing seeming wishy-washy. It's a little weird to feel so out of bounds around him, like he purposely has his guard up. You wonder if that guard is for you, or for him. Is he uncomfortable somehow? Is he trying not to hurt your feelings by not being interested? You're not really expecting that.

But if that were the case, there's no reason he would help you this way.

Before you get too entranced in your thoughts, Togame snaps you out of them.

"How do you normally do this?"

You blink and look up.

"Do what?"

"Get off," Togame answers. Your eyes meet and you find yourself wanting to look away. "You said it was unsatisfying so I thought it'd be better if we started there,"

"Uhm," You feel embarrassed trying to talk about this. You're not sure why. It's not something you'd feel self-conscious outside this specific context but Togame just seems more... intense then usual. Like he's being serious about your silly problem. "D-depends? Sometimes I watch porn or listen to audios or read. Not always."

"Got it. How do you touch yourself then?"

He looks expectant. You turn your head to look away from him. The minutes tick by.

"Uhm... just rubbing my c-clit usually. I have uhm, other toys I'll use sometimes too but I need to touch my clit to get off." You wonder if these are too many details. Togame is listening to it so carefully. "Uhm. If i-its too sensitive I'll touch over my clothes too. Sometimes I cum like that."

His face shifts. It lingers long enough for you to notice but not enough for you to process what it was. He's back to his usual self so quickly you wonder if you've made the entire thing up.

"Right. I think I know what your problem is,"

You feel a little relieved at that. "Really?"

He pauses before smiling a little with a friendly nod that reminds you of how you were when you were kids, a face that's unexpectedly kind. "Really."

You look at him expectantly.

"I think you're not building up to it enough." Togame comments, smoothly. You blink at him. "You're a girl, you know? Can't jump straight into it, you need to stimulate yourself more first and relax. You're so focused on cumming it backfires. I'll help you."

"How...?"

"I'll help you relax and help you figure out what you like. Don't think about it too hard and focus on feeling good."

"You really don't have to do this for me," You mumble. He smiles at you.

"C'mon. You just said I was your best friend right? I don't mind, so chill out and let me help."

"Okay," You nod, bright eyed. "Okay....thank you."

He makes a face at you before nodding. "Uh-huh. Of course."

Togame hovers above you with lazy smile. You close your eyes on instinct as you feel your lips press together. His lips are softer than you thought they'd be. A hand cups the back of your neck and brings you closer to him. The weight of his body makes you self-conscious about his proximity. You can smell the scent of his skin, feel his presence surround you as he kisses you soft to start.

The shift in the air surrounding you is gradual in a way that reminds you so much of Togame. He's not intense at the beginning, never is really is - but then his hand goes to hold your knees and pull your legs up. His tongue slips against the closed seam of your lips until they part, until he touches yours and you have to reconfigure how you breathe. He's so good at kissing you it makes you wonder if he's kissed you before and you can't remember. But then it feels good and you're reminded—

If it felt this good there's no way you would've forgotten it.

When you pull away for air to breathe, or start to stumble through a question on how this is helping - Togame shuts you up. It takes it happening twice for you realize it's deliberate. Every time he kisses you a little deeper, and the last time he slips his tongue in so far you'd think he's trying to eat you whole.

You're wet. You're unsure if you're allowed to feel guilty about it, or if you're even meant too. Anyone would be turned on getting kissed like this. You're really unsure about all of this but you're fine because it's Togame. There's no way he'd do anything bad to you or for you.

He's over protective in general, though he's rarely frank about it.

(If you were any less clueless, you'd would know that most times Togame is doing his best to protect from himself. Most times, he feels like the biggest danger to you)

Togame pulls away from your lips when you moan a little. You feel embarrassed at the state your left in and how he looks at you. Picking you apart in his mind but not with ill intent. Like he wants to know every thread of your want.

Again, you think he's going to tease you. Light but still teasing.

"Does that feel good?"

It's a serious question. It stuns you. Just a little. His hand on the back of neck feels hot. You notice the way his thumb caresses your nape and try not to stutter.

"Uh..y-yeah." You reply, trying not to look stupid. "I like kissing. Uhm. In general."

He doesn't react to that, nods in a way you find curt in comparison to how passionately he was kissing you just moments ago. "It'll help you relax." And then, a little softly. "If you want to kiss again and we're not already, ask."

An odd request but you acquiesce with another soft noise.

"Do you feel a little warmed up?"

His eyes are so strangely shaded in this light. You open your mouth to the awkward confession. "Oh... nn. I'm... y-yeah. I'm wet already."

"From kissing?"

You give him a sheepish look. Togame responds with another kiss that makes you feel like you're being driven into a corner. This one is hot and heavy, doesn't build up but starts with an almost oppressive air. He nips at you, teeth tugging at your lips and licking in earnest to your mouth. Long and deep until your brain feels melty, your thoughts swimming and clouded. Longing for touch and release. Arousal threads through the fibers of your muscles, makes you feel wound up tight - a serpents coil. You clench your thighs on instinct at the worsening wetness.

Your mouth feels swollen and bitten when you pull away again and Togame looks a little more like you're used to him looking. An underlying sense of smug self-satisfactions on his face as he looks down at you, not outweighed by his genuine ease.

A look on his face like he likes your company. You find him comforting in how easy it is to see.

"Is it okay to touch you in other places?"

"Uhm. Anywhere above the belt is fine, I think."

"Makes sense,"

He leans up and slides both hands underneath your hoodie. You're not really prepared for... this. You don't know if you can call it sex or not but whatever it is, you weren't intending for it to happening.

"You're not wearing a shirt," His hands feel so big on your waist. Big and calloused, split skin scarred over from fighting. "A bra?"

"A sports bra."

"Right."

He slides your hoodie up over your torso until it's bare and takes your sports bra along with it in one go. Your tits fall from them with a soft swish with how quick he does it, the light bounce making your skin grown hot. Togame hovers above you as he eyes them, palms just underneath but not touching.

"Stop looking so hard."

He brushes past that. "They're nice."

"Shut up," You say for the first time. Togame smiles slightly.

"Not a nice way to talk to someone who's helping you," He says sarcastically. You pout but refuse to apologize. He remains unbothered then goes back to being alarmingly serious. "Do you play with them?"

"H-huh? When I masturbate? Not really. I've never thought too."

"Why's that?"

You shrug. "The guys I dated used to touch them but it mostly felt weird, not good. Never thought of trying on my own."

He gives you a looking asking for permission. You nod. This really does not feel normal but the arousal clouding your brain is a lot louder than your sense of shame.

Togame's hands slide up your sides until he's cupping the roundness of your chest. His thumbs hover against hardened nipples, constrained in the touch. It's different than how other guys have done it for you. He's paying attention to that bit most, and he's going about it softly. Pushing the hardened bud with a light flick that sends a jolt of shock through your body.

He's quick to notice your reaction, green eyes flickering up before doing it again. You squirm, stretching your legs and shifting as another tick of arousal goes through your whole body. Your clit is starting to throb so much it hurts. If it were you, you would've started touching yourself a long while ago. As soon as you felt yourself get wet.

Togame is taking his time, though. And you're feeling it so much it's a little shameful for you. He does it again, touching your nipples - both side at the same time. Your body is pushing for more.

You've managed to keep the noise down but you're pushed over your usual limits. A moan spills from your lips as you push up into his touch. "That's good, huh? Just needed it a little softer and more focused."

You try not to be any more embarrassing. Wouldn't anyone feel weird over this?

He's the most important person in your entire life, and he's seeing you like this. Not judging you, just remaining even and consistent. Teasing you but not enough to make you upset. He's being so careful. Is this the kind of boyfriend he is? You think that must make him popular, so then... why does it never work out? He's never dated anyone longer than a year.

But he's being so sweet to you despite not dating. He's always kind but this is different. You can't imagine who would see this part of him and break up.

You try not to think about any of this but the only other thing you can focus on is him rubbing your nipples and how nice it feels. The moan of his name is pitchy, sounds foreign to your own ears with how high and broken it is.

"Kame-chan," Your voice is warbly when you ask. You just want to stop thinking. "Kiss?"

He pauses. You think he's going to deny you at first.

"Fuck. That ain't fair, you know?"

You don't know what he means, but he complies and kisses you open mouthed as he plays with your tits. Rubs and flicks them just the way you like. It feels so good. You've never felt anything like it before. Your tummy flutters, honeyed lust dripping down your inner thighs.

Your body moves on it's own, your hands carding through his hair as arousal starts to pool. Your panties feels soaked and sticky, through the fabric. You shift again trying to relieve the feeling, brain scrambled by Togame's touch.

You're so horny you can't make sense of anything. Your body is a relentless echo of your wants and needs - demanding attention. His attention, specifically. Need curls up in your chest.

Between kisses you confess this to Togame, who you trust now more than ever despite feeling so incredibly vulnerable. How could you not go with it when he's taking such good care of you?

"Wanna cum so bad," You mutter, sloppy between kisses. Togame takes in a deep breath as he pulls away.

"You think you're worked up enough for it?"

You see through him instantly even in your haze. "Don't be mean to me, you jerk."

"Caught me, huh? Okay, okay. How do you normally do this?"

"Do what?"

"Fuck yourself with something,."

The words send heat sparking against your spine. You tuck your face against his jacket where it's laying besides you and huff. It smells like him. "Ngh. Usually finger myself a little first."

"Got a good idea then." He hums. The sound of his voice, low and smooth, makes you feel comforted. "I'll lay next to you and help keep you distracted while you open yourself up, yeah? Nothing below the belt 'n all. And when you're already I'll put in for you and turn it on."

You sniff. "Okay."

He smiles at you, pulling his hands and body away from you before laying besides you instead. He lets you rest your head against his arm and shoulders - sneaking the rest of his arm around and underneath you, squeezing one of your tits. He presses your body into him and gropes around the bed for the box with your toy, grabbing it from inside before shoving it away.

Up close, you can feel his muscles even better than you could. You wonder how someone so relaxed could be this built but try not to let it burden your brain. He smells so nice. Did he always? You feel too horny to remember, but you like it.

You can feel him glancing down at you, amused.

"Comfy?" Togame's voice vibrates through your whole body.

"Uh-huh."

"If you turn your head towards me I can kiss you and touch you. Keep your mind occupied a bit."

"Oh. That makes sense."

"It does right? Go ahead and start."

You think you should tell him not to watch. Keeps his eyes for himself. But the focus of his gaze makes you burn so much hotter you don't bother. He's already seen so much, anyway.

You shimmy out of your sweat pants until they're down at your ankles revealing your panties. Baby blue printed boyshorts, fabric soaked until they look a nearly new navy shade. You feel his laughter less than you hear it, turning your head to glare at him. He smiles a little at you.

"Those are cute too," Togame comments. You can hear his voice so clearly like this you think you'll collapse if you pay too much attention to it. "Too bad you made 'em all messy."

You swallow a sound, too horny to protest. He stops you before you can take your panties off.

"Didn't you say you normally touch over the fabric when you're sensitive? Do that."

"But—"

"Just trust me," He promises. He kisses your hair. Your heart thuds when he does it. It's an innocent gesture. "It'll make it more satisfying, okay?"

Your shaky as you spread yourself a little wider and slip your hand down between your legs. All the desire you're holding starts to unwind as your middle finger slides over the soaked seam of your cotton panties. They're cuter than normal, printed with florals and lace trimmed. Absolutely drenched in your arousal. You rub a small circle into your clit and your whole body breaks out into shivers, your eyes fluttering closed at the sensation.

You could cum like this. Just from this. But you want something more, something better so you force yourself to go slow.

"It's messy," Togame hums, nonchalant. "You get easier than I thought you would. Are you going slow so you don't cum right away?"

"Don't point it out, aah,"

"You should cum if you want too," Togame suggests.

"No," You whine. "Wanna cum with the toy."

"Wanna cum with a cock inside you, ya mean? A silicone one but still. Not enough to just touch yourself, you need something more, is that it?"

He says the words so casually, so lightly. Almost friedly despite how filthy they are. There's no malice in them.

Spoken like high praise or affection. The kind you'd show a kitten,.

"Kame—"

"Didn't know your had such a need pussy. No wonder it's hard to cum all by yourself, huh?"

"Stop being mean," You gasp. "I'll cum,"

He laughs at that. It's genuine and bright.

"Too much for ya, huh? S'okay. Take these off now. Finger yourself. Make sure you get all that mess you made so we can use on your toy. It'll hurt if it's dry going in."

You feel blindsided by just how much Togame is talking. He's been so quiet, so brief and unreadable. He feels like his usual self too much, to your complete detriment. His voice is teasing, yet warm and sweet. He smells good and he's pressing you all against his chest. Your fingers tremble as you slide your panties down to your ankles same as before. You end up shimmying the rest of your clothes off.

You're so aroused it's easy to get the first finger in. Your hole twitches, the entrance pleasurable as slowly ease your middle finger down to knuckle. You til your head towards Togame as you get adjusted to the intrusion easily from how wet you are, pouting your lips. He gives into the kiss right away, warm tongue and soft lips familiar to you now. You ease yourself into the pace of his kiss, whimpering into his mouth as you slowly open yourself on second finger.

"I want it so bad," You mumble. He laughs against your mouth.

"I can tell. Can barely string a sentence together. You want to cum huh?"

"Uh-huh."

"What a naughty pussy. You're trembling from just fingering yourself. Won't you cum right away if I put in you at once? I'll have to go slowly," Togame explains. He speaks the filth so naturally. "Take my time so you're stretched nicely and not scared anymore. I'll turn the vibrator on after it's already inside so you can't run away from it. You can cum to your hearts content, then."

"I'm still scared," You admit. You're just so horny you're unsure of what else to do. He leans down to kiss you again, nose brushing against yours intimately.

"Don't be scared. Just focus on stretching so you're not so tight. I'll praise you if you take it in easily."

Your voice gives once you manage to get a third in. Togame doesn't stop kissing you, barely giving you enough air to breathe. He plays with your chest with his free hand, and holds the toy with the other.

A string of spit connects you. Your thighs are aching, body burning hot as you look at him directly.

"Wanna cum," You slur your words, speaking in short sentences. Togame grins a little.

"Take your fingers out and show them to me."

Your stomach flips but you comply with the request. Your face burns from how soaked they are.

"Good. Rub them on the toy now. Get it as sticky as you can."

Your heart is pounding is loud in your ears as you clumsily coat your new toy with your own mess. You watch it gain a fresh shine, baby blue turning reflective as you push it against and between your fingers until all of it's coated as best you can.

"That's it, good. Spread your legs now. Gonna put it in. Want me to kiss you?"

You nod sheepishly and close your eyes. Togame laughs warmly before kissing you again.

Your whole body throbs in anticipation for it. A muscular forearm and hand slip between your legs as you spread yourself open, your feet flat on the bed for easier access. Togame forces his tongue into your open mouth, kissing you wet and hard as he tweaks your nipples. You feel pleasantly suffocated from the pressure before gasping into his mouth.

The swollen silicone head of your toy stretches your pussy more than you thought it would. You've never had a toy with angles so the sensations are all new. You can feel it so well inside of you, you can barely keep your composure long enough to stop moaning as just the tip slides in. Togame swallows each noise from your mouth. His kisses feel almost ferocious now when they were so composed before, free hand cupping your jaw from one side.

He fucks it in slowly, rocking the toy by its handle slowly until you get used to it - giving you moments between to adjust. You can feel it bottom out inside of you, the head pressing so precise on your swollen gspot you could cum from bucking your hips. Your sensitivity is over the top. Every touch and and tease and bump makes your cunt clench and throb.

The blunt end of the rubber attachment presses against your needy little clit. Togame moves the toy a little, fucking you with it slightly again. Barely. It still nearly makes you cum.

You feel like he's edging you. Anymore than this, you think you'll go crazy.

"Kame-chan." Your voice is beyond wrecked, throat as one of your hands reaches to cling desperately to his short sleeves. You fist it, teary. "Jo, turn it on please. Make me cum. Wanna cum so bad, 'm so close, please, please. C'mon."

"Turning it on, baby. Easy."

The word baby makes your body melt.

A slight click sounds as Togame turns on the vibrator.

Your whole body lurches at the sudden change. Togame pins you with his own, keeps his hands steady and the toy inside of you without skipping a beat. The soft whirr of the first setting completely unravels you. It feels like every nerve in your body is being pulled apart, electricity through a frayed copper wire. The muscles in your body aching with anticipation after so many dissatisfying orgasms clench tight as your body prepares itself for something so vast your mind can't process it at all. Your hands fist at your sides, clutching the sheets as you get close to cumming.

You're thrashing from the sensation. It's so much, too much - you've never felt anything like it before. You feel full and euphoric and your head is spinning. It feels so good it terrifies you, makes you clench up hard in how unbearably unrelenting it is. There's no pace, no where to escape from. The vibrations are strong but not overwhelming to the point you can't feel them.

You're so senstive all over your body and it's touching you in two places.

Your spine starts to curl into an arch, hips stuttering and twisting as you feel it rushing over your consciousness. Fuck, you've wanted this for so long. It's exactly the high you've been chasing after on your own for so many months it's making your brain feel like like mush. Animal instinct forces your hips up, bucking against Togame's hand where he holds the toy. You're fucking yourself on it. You can hear him laugh as he moves to meet you ruts.

You feel like you're losing your fucking mind.

"G-gonna—fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck! I can't, I can't, I can't. Feels so good, Ican't."

He leans in and gets close to your ear, tongue caressing the lobe before biting it soft.

"Yes you can. You want it so bad don't you? Wanna cum all over this cock so bad you've been aching for it. I know you want it, I can see it. Look how much your moving your hips." His voice is shaking, hands flicking your nipples messy and harsh as he speaks. "Look what a mess you're making. You're leaking everywhere. You want it badly right? Don't think about it and cum. Cum as much as you want. Cum for me,"

The last words are the ones to snap the thread inside of you.

Your brain bluescreens as your body seizes before finally, finally giving you the orgasm you've been chasing. You smash your lips against Togame's as your spine arches off the bed, thrashing in place. Something in you undoes - and you feel a wet rush spray from between your legs at the same time your orgasm hits. Your mind feels completely and utterly blanked. Your body is in total rapture, uncontrollable pleasure fucking your brain until you're stupid and slack jawed. It feels so good, so so good. You didn't know anything could ever feel that good in your life. It's scary.

You feel like you could get addicted. Your high rides out for much longer than ever before. In between sloppy kisses, you say the same words over and over and over. Togame grips you close to him as you do.

"Jo," You mutter. "Thank you, thank you, thank you—feels so fffucking good, fuck. I can't, I can't. Off, off. 's too much, I'll pee."

Instead of turning it off, he turns the vibration up by one. Your eyes fly open as you gasp, words rushed. Panicked.

"I can't," You swear, looking at him for mercy. His face is flushed. "I can't, Jo-chan, I'll cum again, I'll—"

"Cum." He says, demands - voice rougher than you've heard it all night. "I know you can. Cum,"

On demand practically, your legs seize up and you cum again a second time in near succession. You feel so fucking incredible you think you're going to die.

"Fuck!"

You squirt again, body nearly giving out as more short spurts soak your sheets and mattress. Your pussy is pulsing in the after math, trembling and clenching so violently. You whine loudly as Togame stops the vibration and pulls the toy out, shivering as it catches on your tight hole before coming out of it with a soft pop.

Your legs are twitching.

Even though Togame has no more reason to kiss you he does. And even though you're well past the point of needing to kiss him back, you do more affectionately than any time prior.

"You made me feel so good it's freaking me out." You admit, shaking uncontrollably.

Togame pauses before breaking out into genuine laughter. He kisses your head, arm wrapping around your shoulders until you're hugged against him.

"You were so sexy like that."

You blink at him, face flushed.

"Sexy?"

"I was really hard seeing you cum," He says, casually looking down. "I didn't know you could be cute and ask for kisses. You're usually more—"

You put a hand over his mouth.

"Whatever you're gonna say shut up,"

He just smiles, cheek against your hair. "I'm glad you got to feel good."

"What about you?" You mumble, feeling your heart pick up just asking. "Are you still hard? I feel like I should pay you back somehow,"

He looks at you seriously. "Do you know what you're implying?"

You fold a little but nod anyway. "Yeah."

"Do you really? The monk thing is a joke, you know. If you offer something like that, I won't be able to stop."

"It's fine," You say confidently before adding, much quieter. "I r-really want to do... it with you."

Togame pauses before kissing you deeply. Your whole body feels molded to him now.

"Damn it." He looks down at you, black hair sticking to his skin. You wanna feel his undercut with your hands in his hair. "You know this ain't normal between friends, right?"

"Uhm, yeah? I figured."

"Don't go around getting help from anyone."

You shake your head. "It's only 'cause it's you."

He scrubs a hand over his face and laughs. "You don't need to stir me up anymore. I'm already hard enough. Can't keep my composure at all."

You tilt your head in confusion. Togame just sighs.

"Don't worry about it." He says, shaking his head. "How soon can I get my thanks?"

Your eyes widen as you clench again. "Uhm. Now, if you want it."

He grins a little lazy, eyes swimming with adoration.

"I do," He hums, laying back as you get up from where you've been laying. "Come over here and let me touch you properly then."

"Is that what you really want?"

You climb ontop of him, bare naked almost as your hoodie falls back down over your torse. Togame slides the fabric up and gives you a meaningful look.

"More than anything,"

[pharixden]

cannot do this anymore this man is all i think about

[pharixden]

Kaiju No. 8 episode 16; angy Narumin gifs

[pharixden]

I PUT SCOOBY-DOO SONG ON THIS.

[pharixden]

GEN NARUMI | kaiju no. 8

[pharixden]

i found another pretty boy yall

[pharixden]

Gachiakuta || Enjin Episode 3

[pharixden]

athletic trainer and godzilla fan iwaizumi hajime !!

[pharixden]

You write him so beautifully 🥹🫶🏻

TORN FROM YOUR SILHOUETTE; SAY GOODBYE, WATCH ME FALL — Y. ENDO

How much longer would I have had to take before you would’ve ruined my life by ending yours?

summary: takes place during this fic. endo finds reader at their wit's end, questioning their relationship and their place in the world, and he doesn't take it very well. cw: 18+ mdni. DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT. depictions of depression and heavy implications of suicidal ideation. highly manipulative, toxic relationship. heavy angst, slight comfort. not my typical endo because in this au he is fed tf up with reader (so infatuated he can’t think straight and developing hints of yandere tendencies). wc: 2.1k.

The wind nips at your nose as the fog settles over your shoulders, rolling in from the coast and casting an opaque gray over the horizon. The sound of the ocean is nearly the only indicator that you are somewhere other than your own mind. It’s a lot easier to be lost in thought when there’s nothing to see, after all.

The sound of his car is unmistakable. you hear it from miles away, clearly faster than the marked speed limit, up the side of a mountain, no less. Rocks and dust get kicked up behind you; you hear it but you don’t move a muscle. The car door opens, it slams, and he walks up behind you. 

His voice is another chill up your spine, steady and stern, “Get up, and get in the car.” 

Your hair flows in the wind, but you don’t move a muscle. The rocks crunch behind you as he steps closer. 

“Get. In. The. Car. Now.”

“I’m not leaving yet.”

“Is that so?” he’s next to you now, looming over you, eyes burning into the side of your head. When you don’t look up at him, he falters, staring out into the sea. He sighs, exasperated, gesturing vaguely at you and trying to make sense of the situation, “What are you even doing, baby? What is this?”

“I just wanted to be alone for a while. And think.”

“Well, of course. Surely that couldn’t be a bad thing,” he chides, kicking rocks over the cliff edge and watching how long it takes them to reach the slippery rocks below. He swallows, and his own spit seems heavy when it hits his stomach. “I bet I made it just in the knick of time, huh?” he scoffs.

You roll your eyes. “I’ve been out here for hours, Endo.”

The use of his last name hurts. He scoffs, “Well, forgive me for having a hard time finding you when your phone’s been dead for hours and–” His eyes follow yours, downcast and locked onto the sea foam below you. He sets his jaw, pausing before he speaks up, more quietly than usual, “Or are you trying to say that if you were going to do it, you already would have? Is that it?”

He barely wants to look at you. Endo knows you well enough to know the answer, and that you’ll spend the rest of your life with him dodging the question. His face twitches under the stress, and bile rises in his throat when you supplement him with something indirect, as always.

You don’t move, entranced by the crashing waves that seem to grow louder and louder. “I wasn’t going to do anything.”

“You expect me to believe that?” he bites. He thinks back to that time, in that house you used to foolishly call home. He hated you going there, and you knew that, but sometimes he was suffocating in his endeavors to protect you. From Endo’s perspective, every day you spent there dodging his texts and calls, your ‘home’ became closer and closer to a grave. Had he not found you there when he had enough of waiting on you, he would have had to wait until his deathbed to meet you again.

Your eyes meet his, slowly, every feature on your face twitching and fighting tears in favor of forming a weak scowl. He squats down, sighing as he sits back on a small patch of grass with you. The two of you sit in a heavy silence, shoulders blanketed with mist. The air around you seems to want to be comforting, but it only thickens the tension.

He thinks for a long time before he speaks up, eyes straight ahead into the fog, “It’s not gonna solve anything, you know.”

You sigh, “That’s not what I was here for.”

He wishes he could throttle you when you lie to him, finally getting the strength to look at you again, “Then what?”

“I already told you. Space. Away from you.”

“So you think I’m the problem now?”

“Not what I said.” Does he ever listen?

You wince a bit, because the problem is really that he listens too much. Endo can’t help but read into everything, even if the conclusions he comes to aren’t quite right. He’ll convince himself he knows everything about you, and in a way he does, but with enough time in his day to be left with his thoughts, they grow into something deluded, projecting his own insecurities onto you. 

You’ll never be happy. Neither will he. You need him. He needs you just as much. You are like home to him. You told him the reverse of that, once. His nostrils burn and tears prick at his lash line as he comes to a realization.

“What…whatever happened to being like home to you, huh?”

You freeze. You’re not used to hearing his voice so shaky. But you remember that you’re only a temporary filling for what he craves— it isn’t you that he longs for. Not really. Cavities line the flesh of his heart, decaying more and more each day that his love isn’t reciprocated. Once, it was you who was patching him up, but the rot spread faster than you could comprehend how to fix, and soon you realized it was futile from the start. Sought after, then suffocated. There is no end to this cycle.

He’s had a hard time figuring you out– you’re a mess like Takiishi, but not in the same way. Sure, you’re selfish at times, but others…your care for your own well being flies out the window with no warning. Endo would always be there at your beck and call, confused, but doting. It doesn’t matter how hard he tries to figure out the cause of your spirals— you are inconsistent in your mentality. Keeping him on his toes by loving him one day and hating yourself the next. Your smile could light up his room some mornings, and be nowhere in sight the next day.

He used to affect you more. Your moods, your senses— you were so influenced by him. Passion in the form of canines tugging at his collar. Innocent affection and heart bursting laughter. Comfort in the shape of your bodies tangled together on the floor, butterfly kisses and giggles and tickles. Solace in his presence alone. The understanding that you are broken and alone together, ignoring facets of yourselves to admire each other.

It didn’t take long to fester.

You aren’t sure how to answer him. Time has blurred together since you met him. You wonder if everyone who crosses paths with him feels that way, but what you don’t know is that he hasn’t let anyone in before you besides Takiishi.

You heave a deep sigh, “I– I can’t do this right now. Can you just…go?” It’s not the last thing he was expecting you to say, but he can’t hide the hurt on his features. For once, he stammers, only for nothing to come out. 

You take his silence as an excuse to explain yourself, “I was trying to sort things out— in my head, and then you just fucking show up. Like you always do,” you ramble, “But that’s not what I need. I need to sit here, alone, so I can clear my head, so that I don’t end up at rock bottom—”

“And have you ever stopped to think that if I hadn’t come around, you’d already be there?” He bites.

Your breath hitches in your throat.

Your worst fear is that he could be right. He appeared in your life at the perfect time to witness you at your worst and act like any improvements to your well-being were his doing. But there’s this nagging feeling that a life without him would be to your detriment. That maybe you, alone, wouldn’t have had the means to keep on going. And then he gave you a reason to.

Your silence kills him inside, and he can barely muster up the brain power to say anything nice even when his heart is throbbing in his chest, begging him to just reach out and hold you, despite everything. He spits, “Fine. You wanna pretend I’m not the only reason you’re still fuckin’ alive? By all means, go ahead. I’ll fuck off, and you can sit here and think—“ his tone is mocking, as if that’s what you need, “and maybe you’ll finally realize that I saved you. Tch. Some thanks I get.”

Grunting, he rises to his feet, dusting off his pants as he shuffles towards his car. Hope pools in his chest when he glances back at you, his silent plea that all you wanted was to be saved again. That the thought of him leaving would be enough to get you off your feet and in his arms again. A hundred fractures split through his heart when you don’t turn around.

Your ears ring through it all. The heavy footsteps through the rocks, the slamming of his car door, the absolute silence before a frustrated, muffled scream, and the silence that follows after. You can practically hear him waiting for you to stand up. Begging with eyes burning holes into the back of your head, even through the dark tint of his windows. You don’t even flinch when he starts his car up, and your shoulders relax the more distant he gets. 

You still miss him.

Hours later, when it gets cold, and dark, and you hear rustling in the bushes, you walk back to your car. 

The drive home is blurry. Streetlights meld together in thin lines like taffy stretching along the freeway. Every taillight sparkles like a north star and your lungs sting. It always reminds you of him. Everything does. 

The front door creaks when you creep through, the sound of crickets and the buzz of street lamps dimmed to nothing after you shut the door behind you. The sound of jingling keys and hurried footsteps round the corner, and suddenly you’re eye to eye with a disheveled Endo. 

His eyes are puffy, you note. And you’re sure you’ve never seen him with such prominent eye bags. He lets out a deep breath as his eyes search you, shoulders slumping in relief at the realization that you look the same as you did when he saw you hours ago. He wipes down his face with his hand as he closes the distance between the two of you, wrapping his arms tightly around you and pulling you into his chest. 

His voice is raspy when he speaks, “Had me worried half to death. Was about to go searchin’ for you again. Did ya really need 6 hours just to think, for fucks sake? In the dark?”

You don’t have any energy left to respond in any way. No tears, no laughter to convince him you’re fine, no real answer to his questions.

“…I’m just glad you’re back,” he pulls away to level your eyes, hands on each of your shoulders, “Don’t you ever think about pullin’ that shit again. You hear me?” Despite the glassiness of his eyes, it’s been a while since you’ve seen him look so desperate. So sad.

You nod, “Loud and clear.”

He sniffles as he tries to lighten the mood, “Or else I’ll have to lock you up.” He’s only half-joking. You both know this.

“I’m not leaving again, Endo. I…I need–” 

“Stop calling me that, baby. Breakin’ my heart,” his voice wobbles, overcome with emotion that conflicts itself. Torn between your unspoken promise to him and the way you keep yourself distanced. He misses hearing his name, the one you called him when he convinced you to love him. 

Your voice is quiet, but you’d do anything for him, in the end, “Need you...Yamato.”

He breaks, all his weight wrapped around you as he brings you both to your knees. In the early hours of the morning, tangled together in an embrace, he sobs into your hair and holds you, drowning in guilt that he didn’t do this before. 

He grieves for a love that will never really end, one that binds and separates you all at once. 

[pharixden]

Absolutely stunning. Sooooo well written, this needs a lot more love. 🫶🏻

TORN FROM YOUR SILHOUETTE — Y. ENDO + C. TAKIISHI

summary: in a feat to fill a void in his own relationship with takiishi chika, endo yamato’s love consumes you until there’s nothing left. cw: 18+ mdni. gn! reader. angst w/ no comfort. nsfw. reader is referred to as pretty, sweetheart, baby. yandere themes, dubcon, highly manipulative, toxic behavior, depictions of depression, polyamorous relationship, abuse (takiishi hits endo), one brief mention of blood. wc: 5.1k. a/n: please see content warnings before reading. lots of themes/plot points are implied, and lots of little timeskips. please feel free to send asks if there’s anything unclear or if there’s anything you’re unsure of. :p obviously self-indulgent. I really love these two. hope you enjoy <3

I.

You wake up in a grey room. The curtains are drawn; no sun seeps through to warm you. Despite being draped in layers of blankets, you shiver at the sound of his quiet, shallow breaths from behind you. You can’t find it in you to turn over, or get up. So you lie awake for a while, stiff and unmoving and blanketed in some kind of gloom you can’t shake.

You aren’t sure how much time has passed when you feel a dip in the bed behind you, soft murmurs and a grunt followed by a light smack, because he’ll always wake Takiishi first. Another dip, this time heavy enough to shift your body backwards, and his cold, chapped lips press against your cheek. He greets you with a cheery tone, as he always does in the morning, “Time to get up, sweetheart.” His calloused palm sweeps over your upper arm; another gesture he wishes Takiishi would take as well as you do.

You can’t help but yearn for how things were before.

It was nowhere near romantic, a rainy day and some dark alley and you’d been doing this for a few weeks— responding to his texts at random times of the day just to meet up and do a whole lot of nothing. 

You shoot teasing banter back and forth, he flusters you every now and then, and you make him laugh. It’s new for him. Refreshing. He comes back for more and more, obsessed with the push and pull.

He invades your personal space to compliment you— caging you in to tell you you’re so pretty under the street lights, or you have the most wonderful laugh, or he loves the way you can make him smile so easily. He gets so close all you can see is him. The vignettes of dark clouds behind him are mostly obscured by black curls, weighed down with raindrops. Every word he says is paired with a dreamy lidded stare into your eyes, and you’re always so sure he’ll lean in. But he whirls around, changing the subject and leaving you blushing, and feeling a little stupid.

When you’ve finally decided he’s just playing with you, leading you on out of boredom and keeping you around as eye candy, it’s nearly impossible to hide your disappointment. He just can’t get a smile out of you, and he wants to smooth out that furrow between your brows. So he does what he does best, staying persistent, poking and prodding at your cheeks, whining and pouting for you to just give him that pretty smile he loves to see.

But your head hangs low, averting your gaze as you start rambling about needing to get home, it’s so late, and the weather’s gonna give you a cold. The last thing he wants is to see you turn your back on him, and he takes hold of your wrist to spin you around, using his other hand to lift your chin.

His sad eyes search yours until they land on the pout of your lips. Always so tempting. He moves without thinking, pressing a soft, sweet kiss to your lips that sends a shiver up your spine— if it’s because of the shock or the cold rain that falls on your head, you can’t tell.

The last thing he expects is the way you kiss him back so desperately. 

Thunder rumbles in the distance as your heart pounds against your ribcage. His kiss is consumption; using the curve of your lips and the slip of your tongue to feed his desires. Even better, you pull him in with hands around his neck. Greed grows as he tastes you, coming back for more and more, feeding off the way you match him. It makes him giddy, so he squeezes at your waist as if to say, thank you for wanting me.

He wishes he could get all his oxygen through you. His lungs almost burn as he pulls away for a breath, ready to dive back in even as his knees wobble, weak and threatening to give out. In a way, it feels good. Endo’s always loved at his own detriment, after all. So he leans in before he’s ready, only to be stopped with a gentle hand to his chest.

“Breathe with me for a second,” you pant.

“It hurts,” he laughs. 

You feel it too, the discomfort of trying to give your lungs air after depriving them. You offer an olive branch. “Wanna stop?”

Lighting strikes. For an instant, the sky shatters into pieces, bright white illuminating just the rims of his cheekbones while his features fall into darkness. An agonizingly slow rumble crackles through the air, and a second of silence passes before it crescendos into a deafening boom. His voice is imperceptible, but the movement of his lips is unmistakable.

Never.

You were comfortable for a long while. How couldn’t you be— he worshipped you. There wasn’t a thing you could’ve asked for that he couldn’t get you, and all he ever asked for in return was affection. To be heard, to be seen, and to be touched. It was easy to listen to him ramble for hours about nothing and everything, and you picked up on what bothers him in no time. You were there to ease the burden on his heart that he tried so hard not to acknowledge. His arms wrapped around you so perfectly you’re sure with enough time, the two of you could have melded into one. 

And in return for your affection, Endo practically kissed the ground you walked on. 

You’d worried from the start that his admiration was too good to be true— a part of you knew you were too vulnerable to get involved with anyone new. Pain once nestled deep in your ribcage, wrapped in vines and thorns to barricade a broken heart, yet seizing your breath with every move. 

It’s why the love he gave you felt so intoxicating, addictive in the way he poured his all into your being without hesitation. Feeling wanted— it’s what you needed at the time. Little did you know that Endo Yamato’s want is more than that; it is all encompassing, it is consumption, it is a trap. 

Endo had found you beautiful, caught up in your glow until it became blinding— an incandescence that drew him in until his temples throbbed, spots consuming his vision. Stubborn, his palm casted a shadow over the light that blinded him, peeking out between two fingers. 

In his efforts, he only dimmed you down. The pressure was too much, or it didn’t exist at all, you can’t ever be sure.

The two of you often lie in your bed late into the night. Lights off and under covers is how you share thoughts with each other never before shared with anyone else. A confessional, of sorts.

“I hope I can introduce you to Takiishi soon.”

“Why haven’t you?”

He considers it for a few seconds. “I think I’m nervous.”

You roll towards him. It’s dark, and he’s staring up at the ceiling. “Because you want us to get along?”

You sound so hopeful. It makes his heart flutter. He sighs, “He means a lot to me, you know.”

The implications of his statement make your shoulders feel heavy. “I know.”

Ding. Ding. Ding.

From: Endo Yamato Miss you.  Where have you been? Am I gonna have to stop by and see you myself?

You ghosted him a while ago, and you swear you can feel his eyes on you. He hasn’t done anything, but he hasn’t stopped texting you either, and the timing of it seems to always be when you’re feeling your worst. It makes you feel paranoid, haunted, paralyzed. 

It’s silent in your apartment, with the exception of a ticking clock and a leaking faucet. You know you’re alone, but you never really trust what you think you know anymore. 

Flitting your eyes to your phone, you heave a sigh. How did things ever get so complicated?

Endo gives you butterflies, really. Hope sits heavy in your chest, flushes over your cheeks at the thought of being missed. Being wanted. And there he is, enticing as ever, with open arms waiting to sweep you off your feet and spoil you. 

A few months away from him and you were lonely. He’d given you so much, everything you asked for and more; he’d just about smothered you in affection and without him, you felt a void. An emptiness that deemed your own self soothing futile. Isolation forces your hand.

To: Endo Yamato Drop a pin. I’ll be there in 10.

II.

You understood what Endo saw in Takiishi when you met him. 

He was exactly as Endo described him, beautiful, unpredictable, self-serving, and not too big on talking. And yet, Endo yaps his ear off the same as he does to you. You briefly wondered if he ever looks at you the way he looks at Takiishi. 

Playing it safe, you kept your distance. Endo fed the both of you a candlelit dinner of burgers and fries– Takiishi’s favorite– gushing about how excited he was for the both of you to meet. Knowing what you know now, you felt like an intruder in their home. At the same time, it hurt your heart to watch Endo pour his everything into a basin that drains it all out. 

Takiishi knew Endo had been seeing you, and he wasn’t sure he cared. In fact, he rather enjoyed the silence and an entire bed to himself at night. He had access to his card, and Endo kept the kitchen stocked, and he came home almost every day anyway, just to check on him. There was always a mess to clean up after; dirty dishes and trash on the coffee table, used towels on the bathroom floor. Nothing unusual, yet.

Until the day Endo comes home, greeting Takiishi as usual, tainted with your fragrance. Takiishi isn’t sure why he feels such a knot in his gut, but the distance it takes for him to feel the need to swing is cut in half by your lingering scent in the air. A familiar metallic smell fills Endo’s senses. 

You hadn’t expected Endo to come back that night. Opening the door, your heart drops to your gut. Dejected, sad eyes and a bruised nose. You beckon him in, sitting him down and holding him gently until he’s ready to speak.

“...I don’t think Takiishi wants me to go back home anymore.”

You freeze. “What? Why not?”

His voice trembles, “I can’t leave him.”

“You don’t have to, baby. Where’s this coming from?”

He babbles, rambling, taking breaks to sniffle, replaying the scenario from his perspective. Guilt brews inside of you, even more so when you realize you don’t exactly want him going back home to that anymore, either.

“It sounds like he might be jealous, sweetheart.”

He shakes his head no, black tendrils flopping around frantically. “It’s not like that. It’s– he can’t.”

You sigh. “The Endo I know wouldn’t say that. He’d say Takiishi can do anything.”

He perks up just a bit at that, a forced smile wobbling onto his lips. 

“But…there is one thing he can’t do, in my opinion.”

He sniffles, glossy eyes meeting yours expectantly.

You want to tell him it’s for the best, to stay with you, and leave Takiishi to his own devices. You just can’t bring yourself to remove a piece of your lover’s own heart. So you indulge him, “He can’t live without you.”

Endo chokes on a sob, heels of his palm buried in his eyes. You rub his shoulders as they shake, as his heart splits in two.

You and Takiishi stare at each other, face to face. As much as you want this to work out for Endo’s sake, the way Takiishi looks at you makes you feel small. Determined, you step aside, walking right past him. “Excuse me.” You feel his stare even as your back is turned.

Though your house hasn’t been sold yet, Endo helps you move most of your things into your new bedroom at his shared home with Takiishi. He stays out of the way for the most part, holed up in his own bedroom or out doing what you assume to be nefarious things. One day, you think you see him leave with fireworks in hand. 

The plan to share a living space with Endo’s boyfriend who isn’t fond of you, to say the least, clears up a few issues. They can spend time together until Takiishi inevitably gets overstimulated, smacking Endo away so he trails into your room like a sad puppydog. It means that you and Takiishi both get reasonable amounts of alone time, and Endo can spend as much time as he wants with his two favorite people. In a perfect world, it could’ve worked out this way forever. 

The summer months are an illusion of bliss. The little moments you share help you hold it together; keep you sane.

“Yamato, quit!” you giggle, lightly sputtering as he presses a dripping ice cream cone against your lips. 

“You wanted some though, didn’t you? Don’t be shy, have some more!” 

“It’s— stop! It’s getting all over me!” With all your might, you push against his forearms as sticky vanilla seeps through the linen of your pants. 

His smarmy smile breaks through, a glint in his narrowed eyes, “Is it just me or have we had this conversation before? I’m getting deja vu.” 

You glare. He giggles. Takiishi’s in some other world. 

It’s nearly the same as when you first met, but the lightheartedness is only temporary; a breath of fresh air that threatens to run out, leaving you suffocating and begging for help.

You have to walk on eggshells a bit with Takiishi.

You’ve seen the way his mood swings with Endo, who is admittedly a lot less careful than you in general, and from what you’ve seen, you really don’t want to be on Takiishi’s bad side.

Endo left ages ago to pick up Takiishi’s favorite food on the other side of town, leaving you two alone in the house together. It’s been quiet since the second the front door closed on Endo’s way out. But you know Takiishi is patching up his jacket in the spare room, meticulously sewing a hole shut that he obtained in a scuffle with some randoms he picked a fight with last week.

The room he works in is on your way to the living room, and to your surprise, he never really closes the door. You can’t help but take a peek at him every time you pass, but he never looks up. 

Today, you walk slow, feeling nosy. He’s hunched over the desk, working a needle through fabric with a carefulness you didn’t know he had. It’s easy to tell when his hair is air dried, red locks fluffy and light, ruffled and framing his face. The golden tips are loosely tied up in a messy bun, tendrils sticking out around the nape of his neck. You swear you catch the beginning of his eyes flitting towards you the second you pass the doorframe, and you wonder if he always notices your staring.

“Hey.” You freeze. A beat passes. You take a step back, just enough to peek at him from around the doorway. He doesn’t look up from what he’s doing, and he doesn’t say a word. You almost wonder if you were hearing things. When you open your mouth to ask what he wants, he stands, taking one step towards you and yanking you into the room with him.

You yelp, his grip on your wrist tight as he twists you so your back faces him. Suddenly, his chest is pressed against you, one arm wrapped around your waist while the other sweeps his sewing supplies across the table. 

“Takiishi— wh–” 

“I’m bored. Endo’s been gone too long.” With one finger, he pulls at the hem of your sweats until they sit just below the curve of your ass. A calloused palm smooths over you, slapping hard enough to leave a handprint when you flinch away from his grasp. His hand travels up, pressing an arch into your back and smoothing up your spine, stopping when his fingers reach the base of your neck. 

“Besides,” he starts, warm breath on your spine as he grinds against you, “I’ve been wondering what he finds so interesting about you.”

You didn’t intend for Endo to see you packing an overnight bag. 

“...Whatcha up to?” 

His voice nearly makes you jump out of your skin. You shoot forward, whirling around with wide eyes. How did he walk up behind you without a sound? “Yamato, fuck, you scared the shit out of me.”

His eyes flit behind you. “Going somewhere?”

You sigh, “I…think I’m just going to go home for a few days. Feeling a little homesick, I guess.” 

Panic takes over his features for a split second. It’s like he forgets to breathe before he speaks.

“Home? You don’t feel at home enough here? Your old house is empty, baby. You don’t really wanna go back there, right?”

“Well, it’s not like that, I just—”

“Then what? Is it Takiishi? You know he’s not mad, it’s just how he is. Don’t let it get to your pretty little head.” His feet are inches from yours now. He won’t let you get a word in. Vines tighten in your chest. He rambles on. “C’mon, let’s put these down.” Snatching your bags from your hands and placing them on the bed, he removes your things as hastily as you’d packed them away.

You breathe in deep. “No, stop, listen, I just want to be alone for a while, I’ll come back–”

He interrupts you. His soft, reassuring tone replaced with something stern, “That’s not good for you and you know it.”

“Don’t tell me what’s good for me like you know,” you snap.

He freezes, meeting your eyes. His features twist even as his eyes widen. “So what, all of a sudden I don’t know you?” He scoffs, standing upright. It’s not often you see him like this, intimidating, towering above you. He tsks, “Sweetheart, please. Don’t look at me like you’re scared. C’mere.” It seems like he waits for you to open your mouth before moving behind you, one arm wrapping around your waist as the other sits atop your head, gently scratching just the way you like. You can’t help but melt into his palm for a moment, even though your shoulders tense up. 

“There, there, that’s better. See, I know just the way to calm you down, right baby?” His voice is low as he leans down to speak against your ear, “Now tell me, who is it that knows you better than I do?”

You tug against his hold. “Endo, nobody, this is what I mean, I just need to—”

“You need some rest, I know, I know. Come lay down with me.” 

He takes you with him as he falls back onto the bed, cradling you and petting you until a silent tear falls down your cheek. Defeated.

You’d never deny the way Endo makes you feel worshipped. Sinking into you with a look of awe as you molded perfectly to fit him inside, “L-love you. Love you so much, I can’t— fuuuck!” Endo’s voice is often laced with such desperation, breathy and whiny as if a second of proximity was lost, he’d fall apart. He clings to you tightly as though the slick sweat on your bodies threatens to let you slip past his grasp. 

Though you’re sure it was for you, how could you ever be certain when Takiishi’s in the room, too? 

Takiishi truly creates the rhythm, teeth latched to the muscle of Endo's shoulder as he thrusts into him. Warm tears fall against your chest, and the weight on top of you is nearly suffocating. The way Endo whines and sobs, throbbing inside you makes up for it. He’s delirious with pleasure, sandwiched between his lovers, and you wonder how someone so enveloped in love can be so miserable sometimes.

You suppose he’s not the best at picking them, but your gratitude for the view above you outweighs your judgment. 

Takiishi is rough, a knee knocking into your side when he readjusts for leverage. Suddenly, you’re no longer caged in, Takiishi having snatched Endo’s arms to hold behind his back. You watch his eyes roll back into his head before Takiishi thrusts hard enough to knock the wind out of both of you. You roll your own hips up, teaming up to match his pace and ruin Endo in the process. He babbles how he can’t take it, it’s too much, but Takiishi shuts him up with an arm around his neck, capturing him in a chokehold and rolling his hips against him. The strangled groans and depraved loll of his tongue is enough to do you in.

He collapses on top of you when he comes undone, whispering declarations of love into your skin. Pushing away sweaty locks of hair, you press barely-there kisses onto his forehead. His entire body twitches, so overstimulated you almost feel bad for him. The proximity lets you hear his voice clearly, even as he pants between each broken sentence, “...Love you. S’much. ‘S so good. Love you. Love you.”

Takiishi flops down next to you to take a breather. He glistens with sweat. He’s beautiful and confusing to you, and you wish you understood where you stand with him. 

Endo’s head lifts weakly when he feels the bed dip, meeting his eyes. You feel like an outsider watching something you shouldn’t intrude on as they stare at one another, panting. Takiishi moves to press an unexpectedly lingering kiss to Endo’s cheek before standing to clean himself up.

You wonder how many times Endo has told Takiishi he loves him in secret. He never said it out loud, but you saw him mouth it on his skin, letting his tongue tease the soft skin of his neck in doing so, I love you. I love you.

Takiishi warms up to you— in his own way. He’s realized you keep Endo out of his space more than usual, which is…mostly fine. Sometimes, he’ll pop in when he’s feeling bored, staring at the two of you from the doorway for a while. His presence is hard to ignore, to say the least. You startle when you feel it, alerting Endo. Usually, he would notice first, had he not been giggling and pressing kisses into your neck.

“Takiishi!” His eyes always sparkle when he sees him. “Need somethin’?”

He blinks. “What are you doing.” You know he’s genuinely asking, but his questions sound like statements. His eyes flit to you before going back to Endo.

“Giving each other manicures! You want one? I’m not the best, but…” He nudges you, lopsided smile and raised eyebrows like a cartoon character. 

To your surprise, Takiishi checks his nails, considering them for a few moments before he walks in. He stands above the two of you, staring, like he doesn’t know what to do. 

“Here! Sit. I’ll get us drinks,” Endo chirps, letting Takiishi take his spot on the floor pillow. 

“Yamato, your nails aren’t dry, sit down.” He ignores you, flashing a reassuring smile and a careful thumbs up when you look at him in a panic for leaving you alone with Takiishi.

You turn around to meet the intense gaze boring into you, hands laid out on the small tray between you. You take a moment to observe them. They’re a lot less battered than you would have thought, soft in appearance despite the obvious worn and reddened knuckles, scars from split skin riddled about. It all suits him, you think. His nails are only slightly chipped, but a few are broken, presumably from throwing punches, but maybe also from his aggressive approach to opening snacks and jars. 

Motioning to his choice of lacquer colors, you twist to grab the polish remover, hearing a few small thunks of glass bottles on the table. When you turn, you find he’s picked a few colors, and he’s rummaging through your bag of nail charms and stickers. 

Endo returns with a full heart seeing the two of you together, matching polish to chrome powder as Takiishi nods along to your suggestions.

Endo stills, spilling into you, groaning in pleasure as you roll your eyes. As he trembles, panting and boneless from the aftershocks, you get an idea. Hooking a leg around his waist, you use the leverage to push him off, flipping the position so you’re on top. 

His eyes are wider than ever while yours remain low, an almost bored expression that makes his dick twitch. 

His mouth opens and closes as he stammers, shocked by your overtaking. He doesn’t get a word out before he’s hissing at the sensation of your palm wrapping around him and pressing him into your warm center. 

“Ngh— hah! Oh— oh fuck b-baby…” he babbles. You’ve always been fond of the way he sounds overstimulated. Being the one in control this time, though, is new territory for both of you.

Using him to work yourself closer and closer to your orgasm, an overwhelming pleasure builds up in your core that you haven’t felt in months. Adrenaline courses through your veins as Endo lays limp below you, practically melted. Messy black locks spread out on the pillow and his lidded eyes gloss over with lust and adoration. How long has it been since you’ve had the upper hand? Have you ever? 

The thought alone makes your stomach twist, chest suddenly tight as you feel the need to gasp for air. It’s strange, you think, how you simultaneously feel euphoric, so, so close to coming undone. 

In that moment, Endo brings a hand up to your hips, squeezing hard enough to make you jolt and ruin your rhythm. Goddamn him. Such a small change in pace and you’re back to where you started, high you worked so hard to chase dissipating into frustration. And yet he still looks at you with those eyes. 

With such a lost faith in him, you can’t imagine he didn’t do it on purpose. You feel as though he read your mind, got a keen sense that you felt some sort of power over him and he just had to remind you— to keep you in check. His palm feels like it’s burning through your skin, setting every nerve alight with lividity. How can he give you everything and take everything from you all at once?

You don’t even think before it happens. 

Smack. 

Everything stops. 

Your hips come to a halt, holding your breath. He isn’t touching you anymore, fingers hovering just above your hot skin as if he’d burned himself. Only the side of his face is visible to you, and you see pinpricks of blood rushing under the surface of his skin in the shape of your hand on his cheek. He lies there, still for what feels like a lifetime, just blinking in shock. 

Your mouth is dry. You stammer, “Yamato, I—“

“Do it again.”

He slowly rolls his neck so you’re face to face again, an eerily calm air in his demeanor. A look that says, trust me. You know you shouldn’t; you know that you don’t. 

But you raise the same hand, backhanding the opposite cheek, and he moans this time, dick twitching inside you. A giddy giggle makes its way through your bitten lips, hips slowly grinding again as you swing your hand across his cheek once more. 

The sting on your hand feels good. He chokes on his breath, writhing, hips bucking. You slap him again, speaking through a smile, “Quit moving.” 

It’s the most thrill you’ve felt in months.

III.

You can’t remember why you ever went back. Had you blocked Endo’s contact in the first place, you never would’ve ended up as the shadow of the person your lover loves most.

Endo picks up on it, of course. Nothing gets past him. The dark circles don’t go unnoticed, nor does the half finished food on your plate or the laundry piled up on the floor. He takes care of it all for you, like he always does. To take the burden off your shoulders, he’d do absolutely anything— with the exception of letting you go.

Hot, soapy water sloshes around you as Endo’s large hands work shampoo into your hair. His thighs cage you in, extra warm and slick against your skin. You sigh, exhausted, nearly sinking below the bubbles as you nod off against his chest. 

He frowns. “Just a little longer, sweetheart. Here–” he hooks a strong arm around your stomach, holding you upright, “How’s that? Comfy?” 

You huff in response. He feels so nice, but your chest hurts. Tight with the pressure of heartstrings that threaten to snap. You’re stuck– empty with him, empty without him. The stream of water against your skull quiets your thoughts for a few seconds. He feels like sobbing, squeezing you tight, head to his heart so you can hear the way it beats for you. 

Your entire being has grown dim. He no longer has to peek through his fingers to bear your light; instead, he shivers, reaching out to cling to you in hopes to feel the warmth you once engulfed him in.

Steam floats around the bathroom like a sauna as he wraps you up in a warm towel, sitting you on the counter so he can dry your hair, too. “We’re going out today. Just you and me. Anything in particular you wanna wear? I’ll bring it to you.”

He isn’t even sure you heard him. 

He drives you up to a mountain that overlooks the sea, cool air and wildflowers, your favorite spot since before the two of you even met. When you’d shown him originally, the first thing he thought of, of course, was Takiishi. He gushed to you how Takiishi loved high places too, and that you’d all have to come here together sometime. Somewhere along the way, your life before Endo and Takiishi was erased, replaced, as if there’s not a thing you could have just for yourself. 

The view brings tears to your eyes, but it doesn’t mean the same to you anymore.

The sight makes him smile. The sparkle has always been so beautiful on you, and he’s relieved to see you’re still capable of feeling anything. He works at the peel of a tangerine, citrus and sea salt filling his senses as he tries to steady his breath. Juice drips down his wrist as his trembling hand lifts a slice to your mouth, only then noticing the darkness of the sky. 

A total solar eclipse. The moon blocks the light of the sun, casting a shadow on earth. 

It hurts to look.

[pharixden]

⌕ wind breaker ✗ yamato endo.

♡ like or reblog if you save/use.

[pharixden]

⌕ kaiju no. 8 • gen narumi.

♡ like or reblog if you save/use.

[pharixden]

Hi! Would it be possible for you to write one where he’s pushing down on her stomach and he can feel himself inside her?

18+ NSFW, Penetrative Sex, Stomach Bulge, Hints of Overstimulation, Squirting, Creampie, Reader Passes Out (Miguel Continues), Somnophilia/CNC, Breeding Kink

Enjoy, loves!

"Miggy! 'S too much!"

Your wobbly sob completely fills the room, but it doesn't look like it even reaches Miguel. His eyes are trained to your fluttering cunt, hypnotized by the way your pretty pussy swallows and flutters around his thick cock. A foamy ring of cream sticks to his base, and he can feel it dripping down his balls as the gravity of his thrusts makes it slowly trickle down. Your skin is soft and dented where his hands eagerly grasp onto your hips to pull your weak body back onto him.

He can see the recoil of your skin as his pelvis rapidly slams against yours with inhuman speed, both of you knowing your thighs will be sore come morning. A thin layer of sweat coats both of your bodies, damp hair sticking to your forehead and cheeks. You've been moaning and crying so prettily for him over the past two hours, painting his cock with your precious cum. You should be fucking bloated from the two loads he pumped into you, but he can see how it seeps out from your hole as his cock slams into your gummy cervix.

But his favorite sight of the whole night, excluding the way your face looks when your eyes roll back as you gush around his dick, is the fucking bulge that raises in your stomach everytime he pushes his cock into your tiny cunt. It has him fucking drooling, desperately speeding his thrusts up so he can watch the way it reappears and disappears. You might be too fucked out to register anything, but Miguel sure as hell doesn't entertain even the idea of letting this go unnoticed.

"Pussy was made t'take thick fucking cock, hm?" He asks, reluctantly pulling his eyes away from the raised skin to look out you.

Your eyes are droopy, mouth dropped open with a series of moans as you weakly nod your head. Your face is completely flushed, and Miguel knows your cockdrunk mind didn't process a word he just said.

"Wanna see baby?"

You answer with another high-pitched keen, your eyes fluttering shut as you desperately grab at the sheets to stabalize yourself against Miguel’s thrusts. Miguel has to pry your hand away from the sheet, his teeth gritted as he takes it and places it over your stomach. You let out a squeal the same time he moans once he presses your hand down with his. You get impossibly tighter around him as he presses the bulge down onto his cock. He can barely move his cock out of you like this, and pleasure spikes through his spine as you twist and turn to get away from the newfound wave of pleasure. Miguel grunts, teeth gritting as he presses harder against your stomach to keep you still.

"Stop running away, not done fucking this pretty pussy."

Your thighs kick out around his shoulders, trying to push his body away from yours as you feel pleasure burning through your body to your twitchy clit. Your whole body is shaking with his rough thrusts, and you try to pull your hand out from under his to take away from the pleasure. Miguel can feel his balls tightening with a release, but he tries to hold it off as soon as possible. Before anything else happens, he wants to know how it feels like to have you milk his cock dry with his bulge glued to your walls.

He shifts, angling his hips up so his tip pokes out your walls and his bulge slams into the palm of your hand. You fucking scream at the feeling, your body spasming before it locks. Miguel moans as your pretty juices spray from your cunt, drenching his stomach and thighs with your squirt. Your body shakes violently as your cunt pulsates around him, and Miguel’s eyes roll back as his cock twitches and thick globs of cum fill your cunt for the third time tonight.

His hips still as his balls empty, his breathing harsh as he slowly eases up the pressure on the bulge of your stomach. You let out a little whimper of relief, your eyelids slowly fluttering closed until your breaths even out, and your body goes limp. Fucking hell. Didn't know it would be that good.

Slowly, Miguel pulls his hips back. He hums as your walls drag over his length as he pulls out. A small pop sounds as his tip escapes, the sunction of your cunt disappearing. It isn't soon after that a combination of your and his release trickles out of your fluttering hole, coating your cunt in more cum. Miguel groans as he wraps a hand around his sticky, still-hard cock. He gentlly pushes his cum back into your hole, fucking you with his tip.

He'll be damned if he doesn't have your stomach bulging with his baby after this.