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clancycatears · 3 months ago

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I-L-Y (Horangi x GN!Reader)

horangi masterlist

you lost your hearing at a very young age, and no one has ever given you the time to understand. until you meet hong-jin.

cw: angst (hope the fluff soothes the burn), medical & military inaccuracies, mutual pining (you fall first but horangi falls harder), deaf!reader but horangi is willing to learn for you, all dialogue is asl (words spelt like t-h-i-s is sign by letter rather than the full word), strangers to friends to lovers.

a/n: i am not deaf, but i am learning asl! got the idea to write this because horangi fit it best. and i love my quiet, attentive king (headcanon). <3

; 2.5k words

The world was never tranquil.

Ever since you turned eight years old, your ears have started to fail you. The process was slow and agonizing until the only sounds you could hear were the white noise ringing in your cochlea.

So you grasped at what you could. Reading lips until the hearing fizzled out and the words were only a blur, writing down your thoughts on a piece of paper, and picking up ASL in primary school once your hearing started to falter.

But it never truly worked. No person would candidly give you the time of day to try. To understand you, befriend you, and treat you like someone other than a disabled husk.

You’d made peace with the silence because, to you, it was the only thing that’d listen to you. Though sometimes, even the silence felt like a thick wall between you and the rest of the world.

The first time you met your new team, it felt like standing at the edge of a cliff with nothing but the wind and the clouds to greet you. They spoke too fast. Their jokes felt like a foreign language, their movements were full of sound and life, and you couldn’t catch up.

You tried, of course, signing as much as you could, but it was clumsy and awkward. You could feel their discomfort, the hesitation when they realized you couldn’t hear. They did their best, but it was clear that they didn’t know how to reach you.

You had always been good at reading faces, reading their lips, their expressions, but sometimes, even that failed. You were still learning their habits and quirks, their language, a blend of English and several others that you could never pick up. It was isolating. It left you on the outside of something you couldn’t join, and yet, you knew you didn’t belong on the sidelines. You were strong. You were capable. But words felt like an impossible mountain to climb with them.

And then, there was Hong-jin.

When you first saw him, you were stuck with the rest of the team, trying to participate in one of their usual operations. Hong-jin was the quiet one, the one who always spoke with his eyes, the one whose presence could make one’s skin crawl from how intimidating they were.

You attempted to sign to König (and failed), so you resorted to simple hand gestures, trying your hardest to tell him you were willing to teach him. To have him understand you.

Alas, it was a lack of success. König simply looked at you. Any and all emotion is hidden under the low drape of his mask. His eyes through the peepholes hardened with uncertainty, before they shifted to the corner of the room.

When Hong-jin walked in, his eyes met yours for the first time, and something shifted. His frame faltered for just a moment, and there was a flicker of something in his expression. Even beneath his sunglasses, you could see it—curiosity, hesitation, maybe even understanding. Unlike the others, he didn’t pull away when you signed something for him. He didn’t try to speak over you or pretend he couldn’t see your struggle. He just watched, taking in your hands, the way they moved.

He waved his hand in a small “hi” gesture, causing your head to tilt with curiosity. "You," he signed, his hands slow and deliberate, fingers trembling just slightly as if testing the waters. "O-K?”

You blinked, surprised by the simple question. He could sign? He could sign? After weeks of operating with KorTac, you’d never seen him wave his hands in the language only you understood. Why now?

You nodded slowly, still unsure how to respond. “Y-E-S,” you signed back, your hands stiff as you waved them. “Deaf."

He nodded, and you swear you could see his lips curl under his mask. He wasn’t deterred by your shaky signing or the way your eyes flickered to the ground in embarrassment. He didn’t make you feel small like the others sometimes did. Instead, he leaned in a little closer, his posture open.

“No K-N-O-W,” he signed, his eyes drooping a fraction behind his sunglasses, “Want L-E-A-R-N. T-E-A-C-H.” When he signed teach, you could see his eyebrows pinch, like the words were a question.

And that was the beginning.

For the first time in a long time, you didn’t feel isolated. He took the time to understand your language, to learn, slowly and carefully. Every day after missions, when the team was off unwinding, Hong-jin would sit beside you, quietly observing your signs, repeating them back to you in his own hands.

He stuttered through the basic phrases at first, but over time, his hands grew more fluid. And as he signed more, your heart began to loosen. He was trying. Really trying.

In the evenings, as the campfire burned low and the team laughed around you, you would catch his eyes—his eyes full of something more than just curiosity. There was a warmth there, something deeper that you couldn’t quite name. He was different from the others. Not just because he was willing to learn, but because he made you feel like you were seen.

But it wasn’t always easy. There were moments when you still felt left behind when the conversation would turn too fast or the team would get too excited. They meant well, but there was only so much you could do with your limited understanding of their gestures. And Hong-jin, despite his efforts, couldn’t always be there to translate, to slow the world down.

One night, after a particularly chaotic mission, you found yourself sitting alone in a corner of the break room, a can of a zero-sugar soft drink in your hand. You had just returned from the mission, your thoughts scattered, your body aching, and the team was gathered by the television, laughing again, talking in a whirlwind of voices you couldn’t follow. You could see them from a distance, their faces illuminated by the screen, but it felt like they were a world away.

Hong-jin was there, of course. His posture was polite, though he was unwinding. Your gaze lingered on him, watching as he spoke to Nikto. His mask shifted with every word. Every word you wish you could listen to. The voice you’d always longed to hear.

What would he sound like? Would his words make your stomach flip as much as his efforts to learn your language did? How would your name sound from his lips? Would it be gentle, scratchy, raspy? Would his speech to you be different? Soft? It had to be the worst curse you’d ever endure. To never be able to hear him.

It shouldn’t matter. You can hear him. Through his sign. The sign that he put so much work into learning. Just for you.

You crossed your ankles and used your free hand to rub your face, knuckles pushing in the tears that threatened to spill from your eyes. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair. Why were you dealt this hand? Why was life so cruel?

You’re snapped out of your thoughts when a warm palm rests on your shoulder. You jolt momentarily before your eyes snap up to see him. Hong-jin is there—how long had he been standing there?—with his brows pinched.

“O-K?” he signs, free hand moving a lot more fluently than it did months before.

Your lips curl, the urge to cry getting closer and closer to divulging. You just shake your head, giving him a silent—always silent—”no”.

He straightens, his head tilting to drag his gaze over the break room. The rest of KorTac was distracted. Never looking at you. Never concerned for you. Never willing to learn for you.

He rubs your shoulder gently, giving you a small tug. “Come,” he waves his hand, and you relent as you get up to your feet, which feel like cinder blocks are weighing them down.

Hong-jin doesn’t even bother to dismiss himself from the other operators, bringing his hand down from your shoulder to rest his palm on the small of your back. His hand was warm, grounding. You have seconds before the tears break, and he moves like he was on a mission to get you someplace more comfortable to do so.

He leads you out of the break room, blindly leading you down the hallway to the barracks. His gaze remained on you, concern edging every feature you could see from behind his mask. Your hand finds his shirt, fingers curling into the fabric at his side. His hand squeezes your shoulder in acknowledgment.

He brings you to your quarters, footsteps brisk as he guides you through the door and closes it behind you. He turns to you, taking off his sunglasses in a swift motion and tucking them into the collar of his shirt.

Then you can see his eyes. His chocolate-brown irises were almost swallowed by the black void of his pupils. He was worried. His hands find your shoulders, and he leans his upper body down to get to eye-level with you once more.

No words need to be signed. His eyes say everything. It’s the organ you’ve been able to read emotions from the most.

His palm moves from your shoulder to cup your cheek, and you sniffle. You nuzzle against his palm, a choked sob leaving your lips that only he could hear. All you can feel is the shudder of your body with every weep, the warmth of his palm, and the drag of his thumb as he swipes away a tear that strays from your eye.

You cling to his shirt, hands gripping the fabric like it was your lifeline, the only thing keeping you grounded.

Then his arms are around you, wrapping over your back as he slowly pulls you into an embrace. You let him, your face buried into his chest as the tears spilled like an overflowing kitchen sink. His palms grazed up and down your back, smoothing your shirt over and over again as he held you through your sobs.

You don’t know how long you’re crying. The time feels like it just slows.

It isn’t fair. Why did you have to be limited? Blocked from the world of its beautiful noise? The sounds of the wind, the wildlife, the ocean waves, and the clinking of utensils when you sit in the cafeteria?

Worst of all, Hong-jin’s voice.

He pats your back, snapping you back out of your thoughts as he encourages you to look at him. When you tip your head back up, his eyes soften. You’re disheveled, eyes red-rimmed and puffy with tears that couldn’t end.

He loops a hand around you and reaches up to his face. He tugs his mask off his ears, showing you the rest of him.

His features are beautiful, his skin soft as silk despite how much he fights for his life. A scar ran across his bottom lip, chipping it just a fraction. Though it’s healed over, a memory of what had happened to him to earn it. Your eyes rove over the shape of his jaw to the tip of his nose. You feel your chest lighten just a smidge.

His lips curl up into a soft smile, and you blink rapidly, realizing you were momentarily staring. You tilt your head up to find his face.

His eyes flicker with concern, and his smile falters. He tilts his head, further examining your saddened face. His hand dips up from your cheek, thumb tracing the very bottom of your eyelid. Again, you let him. Your heart lurches, longing for him to just tell you words of affirmation, comfort, and reassurance. Fuck, any words. Anything.

But he can’t. Well, he can—But you wouldn't hear them.

You choke up again, and his eyes widen a fraction before softening. He cradles your face with his other hand, and you feel your heart stutter before you spill tears once more.

He still hasn’t spoken a word. His lips haven’t moved an inch, not even a twitch. His focus is solely on you, his eyes unwavering.

Until he’s leaning forward.

He pressed the softest whisper of a kiss right on the pinch of your eyebrows, and your entire face softened. You sniffle, vision slowly clearing as your eyes dry of tears. Your eyes shut briefly, as he presses another peck to the same spot.

You inhale, the action shaken, as your eyes open back up to look at his face. You raise a hand, signing a slow “sorry” against your chest. His head shakes firmly, and one of his palms leaves your cheek to rest on your knuckles.

He lifts his hand, your own longing for his warmth against it once more. “Don’t say sorry,” he signs, hands moving firmly and a tad faster than they usually would.

Your gaze hardens. “I’m a burden,” you reply, fingertips trembling as you sign the words groggily. He’s quick to shake his head once more.

“Never,” he signs, lips curling into a frown. His hands find yours, and they close around your knuckles as he gives them a gentle squeeze. The touch soothes you further, his warmth making your shoulders sag.

Your head dips down, another harsh sniffle burning your nostrils. Then his hand is on your cheek again, guiding your face back up to look at him. His pupils are still dilated, his eyes flicking over every corner of your face. His thumb glides back over your cheek, drying the tear streak that was once there.

Then his hands are moving, and your eyes follow along as he drags out the motion slowly.

“I-L-Y.” I love you.

Your heart stops before it’s beating faster. You feel the sting of his signs before you can even process it—an emotion you hadn’t been prepared for, a deep yearning that wasn’t just loneliness anymore. It was something different. Something softer, but heavier at the same time.

His lips curl up slightly. “No matter your disability,” he adds fluently.

You’re hugging him tightly in seconds, and his form freezes before he returns the embrace. His arms held you tighter, and you feared you’d slip from his grasp if you loosened your grip just a tad.

The words echo in your mind, carrying the weight of acceptance you never knew you craved so deeply. His embrace is grounding, warm, solid, a refuge from the self-doubt that gnawed at your insides. The world around you fades as you clutch him tighter.

He doesn’t let go. His grip is firm, fingers splayed across your back as if he could hold every broken piece of you back together. You can feel his heartbeat—steady, reassuring—against your racing pulse.

When you finally pull back, it’s only enough to look into his eyes. The hint of a smile lingers on his lips, patient and gentle. He signs again, slow and deliberate, fingertips brushing the air as if tracing the very letters onto your skin. "I mean it."

You swallow, the lump in your throat heavy with words you couldn't speak. The trembling in your fingers had stilled, giving you the stability to sign in reply. “I love you too.”

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bloodblanks · 1 year ago

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the sun will always rise again [kaneki ken x reader]

In an alternate timeline where despite his defeat by Arima, Kaneki retains his memories, and during his imprisonment in Cochlea, meets you instead.

author's note: this fanfiction will contain mature content, including explicit sexual acts, kidnapping, mentions of violence, and similar themes.

additional notes: this was supposed to be a yandere (prisoner 240) kaneki x reader but he turned out extremely soft. warning you right now that this is also the least sexy smut i’ve ever written and kaneki just cries for the vast majority of it. sorry in advance tehe...

please read at your own discretion.

this work has not yet been proofread.

Even the darkest night will end and the sun will rise.

Those words were the ones that resonated the hardest with Kaneki when he read Les Misérables, the book you lent him. After all, the nights in his cell were long, cold, and lonely. And so, to him, you were like the rising sun; the first ray of light to grace his eyes when he woke up the next day. The beam of luminescence that shone through the dense, smothering darkness shrouding his days.

Prisoner 240 was what the wardens and investigators stopping by would refer to him as. It was as if his name was forgotten, his identity erased and reduced to mere numbers. He couldn’t help but wonder if that was all he would be remembered as, when he eventually dies in this desolate, forsaken place. If he was even remembered at all, that is. More likely than not, he would just be a case file stored away in the vast archive of the CCG. And all that would remain of him—the fact that he ever existed—would be old, yellowing documents.

As time passed, Kaneki slowly began to accept that would be the harsh reality he’d endure. The bleakness of his situation and the grief weighing heavily on his heart were the source of many sleepless nights, ones where he’d ceaselessly cry, lamenting the tragedy that was his life. His eyes were not only irritated but also beginning to show signs of infection from all the scratching and rubbing he’d uncontrollably inflict. Any food that was brought to him was left untouched. He simply didn’t have an appetite. Eventually, the hunger settled into a dull ache accompanied by nausea, and he could feel his body begin to weaken, the mere act of standing up becoming straining.

“Kaneki?” It had been so long since he heard the sound of his own name, he almost didn’t recognize that you were speaking to him. It was only when you repeated his name a second time that he tentatively turned his head towards the source of the unfamiliar voice.

He momentarily felt disappointed when he couldn’t see anyone, only the heavy steel door that served to confine him. He felt foolish for thinking he would see anyone inside; the door hadn’t been opened since he arrived. Any conversations—or rather, interrogations—took place with the door in between, and any food was brought through the flap at the bottom of the door.

But then he saw the top of your head, your eyes peeking at him through the small windowpane, the knuckles of your hand softly rapping against the reinforced glass.

“Can I come in?” you asked.

He agreed.

—

Kaneki quickly learned your name. He learned that you weren’t an investigator, but rather a newly hired staff member to assist in rehabilitation. Almost like a therapist, you had explained with a soft laugh. He learned that he appreciated the sound of your laughter, the tune of your voice. It was the closest thing to music that he could hear.

He learned that you, too, liked to read. Upon the mention of literature and discovering his interest, you offered to lend him some of your books. It was the only thing someone had provided him since he was brought here, excluding the food that he didn’t have an appetite for.

“I want you to eat, though,” you had insisted. “You can’t read anything if you starve yourself to death.”

He ate. He slowly regained his strength, your company motivating him to continue getting through the days. Continue surviving in this world.

He didn’t have the ability to keep track of time, but he learned that you visited him every day in the morning, not long after he would wake up. This quickly became a routine that he would look forward to, the only thoughts on his mind before he fell asleep being ones of seeing you the next day.

It was far too late for Kaneki when he realized what he felt for you was more than just appreciation and gratefulness. More than just platonic admiration and enjoyment of mutual, shared interests. More than even just a crush; the budding blossoms of childlike adoration having already bloomed into a garden of unadulterated infatuation.

By the time he learned of his own emotions, he had already sunken too deep, drowning in a sea of longing and desire for you. Perhaps it would’ve been more accurate to describe it as quicksand—any attempts at barricading his feelings or struggling against them only served to further strengthen them. The more he thought about you, the more he thought about how he shouldn’t want you, the more he found himself miserably flailing in a bottomless pit of coveting.

“Kaneki.” You were sitting on his bed as you spoke. There wasn’t much furniture in his room, so during your interactions, you preferred to just sit on his bed. It’s not exactly professional, you had told him the first time you kicked off your shoes, sitting cross-legged on his mattress. But I don’t like to stand, and I doubt they’ll bother me about it too much, as long as I’m still doing my job. “Have you figured out what you want to do yet?”

He had been standing next to the bed as he always did. Despite the overwhelming urge to get closer to you, to sit next to you, he always held himself back. You were just doing your job, after all. While you were kind to him, it was impossible that you would genuinely care for him.

For even if only partially, he was still a ghoul.

He knew what you were referring to; you had mentioned that the CCG would like for him to join them as an investigator. It was something he was extremely reluctant about. While he didn’t inherently disagree with the CCG’s existence, he struggled with the idea of having to turn against his friends, the place he once thought of as ‘home.’ To some extent, he still considered it that, but he wasn’t sure how much of it was even left. It was a thought he tried his best not to dwell on.

While joining the CCG itself was a conflicting choice to make, there was something else that he couldn’t help but wonder, ever since you mentioned the subject.

What would happen to us?

How ludicrous of him; he was nothing but a patient to you. He couldn’t—shouldn’t—be thinking of more. The mere notion of having anything with you was something forbidden, something sinful.

And yet, simply conceptualizing his days without your company was enough to overwhelm him with a debilitating fear.

The question had been plaguing his mind ever since you first mentioned the subject. No matter how hard he tried to ignore it, the constant terror of losing you was gnawing away at the recesses of his sick, twisted mind.

It seemed as though he wasn’t the sole person feeling unsettled. As you waited for his answer, he noticed the way your gaze was more intently fixated on him than usual, the way your fingernails were anxiously picking at the skin around your thumbs.

“Is something wrong?” he asked, though as much as he should’ve, he wasn’t expecting the answer you gave him.

“You need to join them.” Your voice was low and tense, almost as if you were afraid of the words themselves. As you spoke, you averted your gaze, a visible frown forming on your usually cheerful face. “They’re getting impatient. I’ve been trying to buy you more time, but if they deem you to be useless, then...”

He didn’t need you to finish your sentence to know what you were referring to. He should’ve seen it coming, but he was too distracted by you. He foolishly blinded himself with your light, temporarily forgetting the darkness he resided in.

“What happens to us?” The words tumbled out of his mouth before he could stop himself. He internally cursed himself for daring to ask such a thing. He had no right.

Still, the words had been said, and all he could do was wait for your response, the individual seconds seeming to stretch on for an eternity each.

“We might pass by each other in the offices, but other than that, I doubt we’ll be interacting much.” Your words were nothing short of dreadful to him, and he didn’t want to hear the rest of what you had to say, but he had no choice. “My work with you will be considered ‘concluded,’ and they’ll assign me another person to work with. I suppose we could speak outside of work hours, but I don’t really know enough about investigative work to say for sure. From what I’ve observed, the investigators seem pretty preoccupied with their work, and their hours seem different from mine, too... Ah, sorry for rambling,” you said with a soft laugh. What once was a pleasant melody to him now only served to increase his torment as he realized even that was being taken away from him.

The reason for him to wake up every morning. The peace he needed to fall asleep each evening. The sole ray of sunshine to grace his days of somber solitude.

Without the sun to rise back up again, would he be plunged back into the abyss?

No, he couldn’t accept that. He couldn’t accept losing the comfort of your company, he couldn’t accept losing the warmth of your smile, the chime of your laugh. He had already experienced the way the other investigators treated him, the way they looked at him. He knew what they thought of him, and he knew their opinions would never change.

You were the only one to treat him like a person. He had lost enough in his life. He couldn’t lose this—he couldn’t lose you, too.

“No,” he whispered, his body riddled with terror. “No, you can’t—”

“I’m sorry, Kaneki,” you sighed, glancing at him with a wistful smile. “I don’t have much of a say in this.”

“No,” his voice was louder this time, though you were clearly able to hear the trembling in his pitch as he spoke, for your eyes widened in surprise. And in contrast to the way his hands were shaking, his mind was made up and unwavering. “I’m sorry.”

—

Even the darkest night will end and the sun will rise.

That’s what Kaneki kept telling himself, repeating the words over and over in his head like a mantra. But even the sun, as majestic and benevolent as it was, was bound to burn out one day. Scientists estimated that the sun would die in about five billion years, but it felt as if the rays of light engulfing his world had already perished.

Despite the dim, dingy atmosphere in his cell, your smile had always been enough to light up the small room. Now, with the sun having set into the clouds, the sky’s vermillion tint being stained by darkness, would your presence still provide the same glowing luminescence that it used to?

Kaneki couldn’t help but ponder that question, ruminating over it again and again as he gently laid you on his bed, careful not to wake you. As much as he wanted to deny it, as much as he wanted to convince himself otherwise, all the thinking he did only brought him back to one conclusion—sunlight would no longer reach his world.

And it’s all your fault, his own mind told him. You ruined everything. Because you’re selfish. Because you’re weak. Because you’re a coward.

No, he furiously shook his head, as if trying to physically expel those thoughts from his own mind. It’s not my fault, it’s not my fault... I did what I had to do! I had no other choice!

As he finished dusting off the last of the furniture in his bedroom, he glanced up towards you. You were still asleep, your expression eerily peaceful as you rested. Almost as if this was just another evening for you. As if you were just sleeping at home. As if he hadn’t rendered you unconscious and escaped Cochlea, bringing your inanimate body back to his former apartment—an abandoned and dilapidated space.

Upon seeing the serenity displayed over your features, he couldn’t help but feel a twinge of guilt, the doubts in his mind getting louder. You’ll never see her like that again, he unwittingly told himself.

Next time she looks at you, she’ll see you for what you really are—

As soon as that thought came to his mind, he could feel his chest being set ablaze, his ribcage serving as firewood for the flames that licked at the cavity of his heart. Similar to the sensation of smoke clogging up his lungs caused the mere act of breathing to become difficult. Kaneki grasped at his own chest. The thought of digging it inside out tempted him, though he knew his efforts would be fruitless. Instead, he desperately clasped his hands over his own ears in a futile attempt to shut out his own thoughts.

No. I’m not a monster!

“—’m not, I’m not—” His words were barely coherent; a string of frantic mumbles spilling past his lips in between trembling breaths and violent gasps. The tears welling up in his eyes distorted his vision, though he paid no mind. Instead, his focus was on repeating the same phrase, as if each utterance of the statement would make it more true. “—not a monster, not a monster, not a monster—”

Then, what do you think she’ll see you as? Do you truly believe she’ll think of you the same way?

Kaneki’s hands shook incessantly, the grip of his fingers tightening as he fought to silence his own mind. Though the tears finally escaped past his waterline and splashed down his pale cheeks, his sight remained a blur, newborn teardrops continuing to glaze over his eyes as he vehemently sobbed.

“E-Even the darkest night will end,” he wheezed, the words barely able to make it past the hard lump that had formed at the back of his throat. His hands instinctively went to his eyes, harshly and hastily wiping away the tears that had left streaks down the sides of his cheeks. He forcefully rubbed at them, though the same instant he did so, the memory of all the times you comforted him—helping him calm his tears—instantly struck him, alongside the knowledge that he would likely never experience that again.

And it was all his fault.

The same phrase from the book you initially lent him was now being chanted much like a prayer, though he wasn’t sure what he was praying for, or to whom. “—and the sun will rise. Even the darkest night—”

“Kaneki?” As soon as he heard your voice, he froze. He wanted to explain himself, he wanted to beg for your forgiveness, he wanted to— “Why are you crying?”

Reminiscent of the first time you had called his name, the words once again almost failed to register. But as the seconds passed, and he finally consciously recognized what you were saying, he couldn’t help but feel a spark of hope reigniting in his chest.

Foolish, he could hear his own thoughts reverberate within the chamber of his mind. She just woke up; she clearly hasn’t realized what you’ve done. But when she does...

A fresh wave of terror washed over Kaneki’s body, the blood in his veins seemingly having turned to ice. For a moment, all he could hear was the throbbing of his own pulse, each beat seeming to send ripples through his skull. The tightness in his chest appeared to worsen, almost as if his body was a wet rag being twisted in someone’s fists. Despite his inability to form coherent sentences or will his body to move, the tears in his eyes never stopped their cascading, small puddles forming on the floor directly below his chin, where fresh droplets would splash against.

His body quaked with each sob, trembling as if the weight of his wrongdoings was simply too much to hold up.

“What’s wrong? Are you hurt?” you asked, prompting Kaneki to finally raise his head and look directly at you. He could see you rubbing your eyelids as you propped yourself up into a sitting position, and he could see the way your gaze quickly scanned the room you were in. You definitely had realized what had happened now, and any concern you had for him was surely gone.

He wasn’t far from you—just a few feet away from the bed, a distance which he hurried to close without thinking, stumbling forward to wrap his arms around your body. His knees harshly collided against the floor as he knelt by the bed, his face buried in your sternum as he desperately clung onto you.

The words came out rushed and unfiltered as he babbled; a coalescence of anguished pleas and tormented wails.

“I’m sorry!” With his lips barely a centimetre away from the fabric of your clothes, his voice was relatively muffled, making it harder to distinguish his already garbled speech. “I’m sorry, I’m really sorry! Please—” Forgive me, he wanted to say. But did he even have the right to ask for something like that? Kaneki quickly discarded the thought, taking in a sharp, quivering inhale as he started a different sentence instead. “I know what I did was wrong. I know I shouldn’t have, but... I was just so scared. I was afraid I’d lose you—”

When Kaneki felt you shifting your arm, trying to tug it out of his grip, he knew he had both irrevocably and irreparably fucked up. His grip around you loosened for a moment, the overwhelming feeling of defeat causing him to second guess himself. Maybe this wasn’t the right decision. Maybe he should’ve just suppressed his urges. He would still be able to see you around the workplace, even if it wasn’t often. He would still be able to enjoy your company, even if you never returned the extent of his feelings.

Maybe then, the sun would still rise.

“The foolish Icarus forsook his guide,” he whispered, his voice barely audible, “and, bold in vanity, began to soar, rising upon his wings to touch the skies.” Another strangled sob left his vocal cords, the following lines playing through his head. But as he neared the scorching sun, its heat softened the fragrant wax that held his plumes; and heat increasingly melted the soft wax—he waved his naked arms instead of wings, with no more feathers to sustain his flight.

“Where are you?” you mumbled, your arm slipping out from his weakened grip. “In what place shall I seek you, Icarus?”

Kaneki was still registering your words when he felt a light touch to the back of his head, the sensation instantly causing his body to tense. Of course, you couldn’t actually inflict any harm on him, but the unforeseen action still startled him. He couldn’t tell what you were doing or why you were doing it, something that made him both anxious and hopeful.

As pathetic and unrealistic as it was, he couldn’t help but hope that maybe the fact that you hadn’t pulled away yet or screamed at him meant that you wouldn’t reject him.

So, when your palm and fingers lightly smoothed down the back of his hair, not just once, but twice, three times, and continuing—the embers of yearning only intensified, his impious desires burning bright like his shame.

“There’s nothing for you to be scared of.” Your voice was so gentle, so soothing, that he could only think of one thing. I must be hallucinating. “You aren’t losing me. I’m not going anywhere.”

For a brief moment, Kaneki was rendered speechless. Everything you had just said was everything he wanted to hear, so much so that he couldn’t bring himself to believe it.

“But I—” he stammered, struggling to finish his sentence, “I—” He knew very well what he did. Yet he couldn’t bring himself to say his actions out loud, for if he didn’t, it would be easier to pretend otherwise. Though, he wasn’t sure if he was trying to convince you, or himself.

“—It’s okay,” you interrupted him, saving him from the need to finish his sentence. “I understand. I’m not upset at you.”

“You’re lying!” Kaneki shouted, his arms wrapped around you tensing with his sudden agitation. “You’re... You’re just saying that. You don’t mean it!”

He noticed the way you flinched at the sudden raise of his voice and the guilt came flooding back, as if someone had directly injected it into his bloodstream. He hadn’t meant to scare you; that was the last thing he wanted to do. As much as he coveted your acceptance and affection, he simultaneously feared it. If something seemed too good to be true, then it usually was. That lesson had cost him a lot to learn.

Despite knowing that it would be far more reasonable to doubt your words, Kaneki so desperately wanted to believe them. He wanted to believe that—even for a second—he could be forgiven. He could be cared for. He could be loved.

What a pitiful creature he was.

“I’m sorry,” And so the apologies came spilling again, a deluge of miserable excuses rushing past his lips. “I didn’t mean to scare you... I didn’t mean to...” His voice came out feeble and small, the continuous watering of his eyes sure to have soaked through the fabric of your top by now.

“This isn’t what I wanted... I just wanted to be with you. I just wanted us to be happy together. I know it’s wrong, but,” he sniffled as he lamented away, “but you’re all I have! What else was I supposed to do?”

His voice was strained with despair as he wailed, his weeping becoming louder while his breathing quickened, growing frantic as he felt that oxygen was no longer reaching his lungs. In between panicked inhales, he managed to choke out the words, “I’m so sorry...”

“It’s okay, Kaneki,” you whispered, the rhythmic feeling of your fingers stroking his hair continuing to repeat as you spoke. “Try to steady your breathing—everything is okay.”

Your words were so reassuring, so much of everything that he had ever hoped for, that he couldn’t help but seek for more.

“No, that’s not true,” he protested, wanting nothing more than to receive more validation from you. You should be ashamed of yourself, his mind said. And he was; he was deeply ashamed. Still, he couldn’t bring himself to act otherwise. Weak, his own voice replied, you can’t control your own impulses. And look what happened. “You... You really just hate me, don’t you?”

“And why would I hate you?” What left your lips was a question, but you surely knew the answer. Were you just trying to make him say it? Force him to admit what he had done wrong? Perhaps you were punishing him. But he deserved it, didn’t he?

“Because—” he croaked, trying his best to expel the words from his throat. “Because I’m a monster!”

“Kaneki,” When you said his name, he braced himself for the pain of rejection, but it never came. “You’re not a monster, and I don’t hate you.”

He had to be dreaming. He had to. But the tenderness of your hand caressing his hair, the warmth of your body held in his arms, and the lingering scent of your fragrance mixed with the dried scent of rust where some blood had accidentally splattered over you earlier that day—all of it was too vivid, too visceral to be fiction.

Moments passed with the both of you still, the only evidence that time hadn’t stopped right then and there being the steady pulse of your heart beating so close to his ears.

“If anything,” you finally spoke after some time, your voice hushed as if you were confessing your sins to a priest, “I’m kind of glad that you did this.”

Your words caused Kaneki’s eyes to snap wide open, and he lifted his head from your chest, gazing up to meet your eyes at last. His lips were already parted in a silent gasp when he spoke.

“What? Why would you be?—” His words were cut off short when your hand left the back of his head, the momentary absence worrying him until you brought it back, but this time to his face, lifting away the strands of ivory locks that had fallen in front of his eyes. He felt the flat surface of your thumb against his tear stained cheek, your finger sliding across the surface of his skin to wipe away some of the lingering wetness.

“You think you’re the only one who wants something you can’t have?” A small smile tugged at the corner of your lips, your eyes gazing directly into his with such sincerity that he struggled to maintain eye contact. The expression in your eyes was something foreign to him; he wasn’t used to having someone look at him like this.

“You don’t mean that,” he couldn’t help but demur, though his voice shook with uncertainty. What once was a mere scintilla of hope had quickly become a much larger spark, its light seeping through the cracks of his defenses. “How could you—” ever want someone like me?

But then Kaneki felt your hand trail down his face, thumb no longer against his cheek but rather his bottom lip, and his question died on the tip of his tongue, the words only ever uttered in his mind before he ceased thinking altogether. He couldn’t tell whether his heart had stopped, or if it was instead beating too fast for him to distinguish between each pulse.

“It feels nice, you know?” Your voice was nothing short of alluring, and the simple act of your finger brushing over his lip enough to send shivers down his spine and a rosy flush rising up his cheeks. The intensity of your gaze was mesmerizing, and at the same time he felt like a deer caught in headlights, unable to do anything but stare. “Being needed by someone else...”

In that moment, he could have sworn he lost the ability to comprehend language, barely even a word able to leave his lips. “But—”

“—Is it wrong of me?” you asked, your thumb still grazing over his lip. “Is it wrong of me to want you like this?”

“No, but—”

“—I need you too, you know.” You once again cut him off. “I like you. I like that I matter to you.” As you admitted that, you let out a soft laugh, the mere sound alone making his intestines tangle around the frantically beating organ that was his heart. “I suppose I’m the sick one.”

“No, I...” Fuck, his words were catching in his throat as he desperately tried to conjure up a coherent sentence. He wasn’t sure what to say; he wasn’t even sure what was going on. But he knew he wanted to insist on one thing. “You’re not sick.”

Your thumb barely flicked over the edge of his lower lip as you pulled your hand away.

“May I?” you breathed.

May I? The question echoed in his mind, and only then he realized that all of this was happening to him, and it was all real. You had just asked him to kiss. You, who were undeniably sweet and enchanting, with a smile that rivaled the luminosity of a supernova, eyelashes gracefully brushing over endless pools of compassion, and him. Him, a ghoul—a monster that feasted on the flesh and blood of your very kind, a selfish coward that plucked you out of the comfort and safety you once had, all because he was too weak to control himself.

And yet you wanted to kiss him, something utterly incomprehensible to him. But, as wrong and irrational as it was, he wanted it, too.

“I—” Kaneki found himself pathetically spluttering, trying to put his emotions into words. “I don’t deserve any of this,” he started, inhaling shakily as he tried to steady himself before continuing. “But even though I shouldn’t, I... I still want you to, if that’s okay.” His voice had become so small, barely even audible as he finished his sentence. His eyes were watering again, the conflicting feeling of his guilt battling with his desire for you enough to make him want to cry, to look away, to run—but he remained firmly in place, his eyes fixed on yours.

The first thing Kaneki noticed when you leaned in, your free hand tangling itself into the back of his hair, was that your lips were incredibly soft. The second thing he noticed, a horrific realization that dawned upon him that very second, was that he had no idea what he was doing. Although his grip around you relaxed, he had no idea where to put his hands, or what exactly he was supposed to do with his mouth—he’d never actually kissed anyone before.

He figured that closing his eyes would be a good start, which he did, attempting to make a mental note of what you were doing. It was incredibly difficult to think straight, or even at all, with the warmth of your lips against his, but he tried his best to mimic your actions, mirroring the same movements. Was he doing this right? He couldn’t tell.

When you pulled away for air, he opened his eyes once again, greeted by the sight of your smile, lips now slightly glistening.

“I doubt it’s very comfortable on the floor,” you chuckled, and to his embarrassment, he only then noticed that he’d been kneeling on the floor next to his bed this entire time. “Why don’t you come over here?” You moved to allow more room for him, patting the mattress gently in a gesture for him to sit there. He nodded, climbing onto the bed.

Now that he was on level height with you and no longer barricaded by the edge of the bed, the physical proximity between the two of you suddenly felt a lot closer. It wasn’t something that made much sense, considering how you were kissing just a minute ago, but now there was nothing separating the two of you. Even though you were sitting right next to him, he couldn’t help but want you closer. But it didn’t stop there; he didn’t know if simply holding you would be enough; he wanted to merge with your very bones—something not physically feasible, but still desirable nonetheless. The acknowledgement of his craving for something more intimate felt blasphemous to him. He had already received more than he could have ever dreamed of. More than he could have ever deserved. He should be content with just that, and yet...

The feeling of your hand on his shoulder snapped him out of his thoughts temporarily, his full attention back on you as your other hand went to the parallel shoulder, swinging one of your legs over and around his so that your thighs were on top of his, straddling him.

This new position instantly caused Kaneki’s eyes to widen in shock, his body instinctively leaning away before he realized it was already pressed against the wall. Despite having been yearning for proximity, having you sit on his lap, the slight pressure of your weight, the feeling of your arms brushing against his, your face so close to his—he felt like he was burning up, as if a wildfire had spread across his cheeks. He wasn’t sure what shade of red he was blushing at this point, but this was the most flustered he ever experienced up until now, and reasonably so, with his lack of experience.

One of your hands moved to his cheek, cupping it gently as you looked directly at him—into him.

“Is this okay?” you asked, and as much as he wanted to respond, he couldn’t bring himself to do anything more than bashfully nod. His reaction appeared to worry you, as your eyebrows furrowed with concern at his response, or rather, lack thereof.

“We don’t have to do anything you’re not comfortable with, okay?” As soon as you said those words, he could feel your weight shift off of him, eliciting an instinctual reaction from him. His arms instantly wrapped around you and pulled you towards him, your chest firmly pressing into his. He could feel his fear spike, a fresh wave of terror washing over him.

She’s going to leave, his mind said. She’s going to leave. She’s going to abandon you, because you can’t do anything right.

“No!” Kaneki cried, burying his face into the crook of your neck. He could feel your pulse through your carotid artery, pulsing against his cheek with each thump of your heart. “No, don’t go! I’m sorry—”

“—It’s okay.” You didn’t try to pull away, letting him continue to embrace you as you spoke. “I’m not going anywhere, but I don’t want you to do anything you’re not comfortable with.”

“No,” he repeated himself, his voice beginning to crack as tears once again filled his eyes, leaking out onto his cheeks and splattering down against your shoulder.

So stupid, his own crying further fuelling the cauldron of hatred that was boiling over in his chest. So incompetent, he thought. She’s being nice to you, and all you do is cry.

“I’m not—” he tried to say, mustering the ability to say how he felt, despite the shame, despite the constant reminder in his mind that this was wrong. He shouldn’t be doing this with you. You were too good for him. “I’m not uncomfortable, I—”

Kaneki gulped, taking a deep breath.

“I want this,” he finally declared. He didn’t know how it was possible that you still wanted him—he was a mess. Not only did he have no idea what he was doing, he had also been pitifully crying this entire time. He was sure that this was the least attractive thing you had ever seen, and it was astonishing that you hadn’t simply lost interest by now.

“Okay,” you replied, “but just let me know if you want to stop, or anything like that.” You insisted, before adding more, “I won’t be upset.”

The reassurance you gave him was enough to have him finally loosen his grip around you, arms no longer coiled around your frame as he leaned back against the wall, a soft smile on his face as he nodded.

With that, your lips were back on his, though this time he was able to match his movements with yours, the taste of your mouth oddly pleasant as his tongue brushed against your own. Everything in the room felt hot, too hot, like someone had turned the heating to its maximum. Not only did the temperature feel like it had risen tremendously, but the sensation of your lips melting against his combined with the small shifts of your weight on his lap was also—much to his horror—causing his brain to send signals straight down to his hips. His eyes widened as he felt his own member twitch, the blood seeming to leave his head to fuel his erection instead, something that had quickly transformed from absence to demanding full attention. The weight of your body and each fraction of a movement you did gave it just enough friction for him to notice, but not nearly enough to satiate his newfound need. But as soon as that thought ended, he came to a terrible conclusion.

What if you could feel it, too?

No, he couldn’t let you notice—the act of kissing you alone was sinful; to covet this was nothing short of sacrilege.

What should I do? He wondered, frantically going through his options. Should I try to adjust our position and move her off my lap? Or should I pretend that nothing’s going on, and hope she doesn’t notice?

As he was contemplating his options, he felt you pull away, peering at him with confusion visibly written over your features.

“Is something wrong?” you inquired, causing him to realize that he was inanimate for a second too long, with how much he was caught up in his own thoughts. It had clearly taken him too long to think of a response, and he was certain his face was betraying his embarrassment, because your eyes glanced downward for a second, and that was all it took for you to put two and two together. “Oh, you—”

“I’m sorry!” Kaneki instantly blurted out, mortified at the situation. Maybe now, you’d think he was a pervert—some kind of creep. He could swear he wasn’t; he had never thought about you in this way before, and curse his body for reacting the way it did. He never imagined he would have such unwanted reactions; it wasn’t like he usually had an extremely high libido or paid much attention to such things. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he continued to apologize, “I—”

—Didn’t mean to? Shouldn’t be thinking about you this way? Don’t want to make you uncomfortable? Everything he could think of saying sounded like pathetic, miserable excuses, and was he really about to cry again?

“I didn’t say it was a problem,” you mumbled, and though you were still able to meet his gaze, he saw your eyes flicker away to the side for a moment, the hints of colour staining your cheeks deepening. Your hands cupped the sides of his cheeks again, your touch light as you touched your lips to his forehead in a gentle, reassuring kiss. “And there’s nothing for you to feel bad about.”

The kindness with which you treated him, the look of sheer adoration in your eyes—it was all too much for him. He was so undeserving of this, and yet, he couldn’t bring himself to reject any of what you were offering. He couldn’t even stop himself from wanting more, knowing for himself then that greed knows no bounds.

A tear slid down the side of his cheek. When you saw it, you laughed softly, fingers swiping the small drop away.

“You know,” you started, “With how much you’re crying, I feel like I’m doing something wrong.”

“You’re not!” Kaneki was quick to disagree with your statement. It was almost absurd to him that you could possibly think you were doing anything incorrectly, and he rushed to explain otherwise. “It’s just... Is this— Is this really okay?”

He knew he was pitifully begging for your validation, eyes glancing at you in a silent plea, but it nonetheless had his heart bursting with fireworks when you replied.

“Of course,” you smiled, leaning back in to press a chaste kiss against his lips, and he was just about to kiss you back when you shifted to the side, lips touching his cheek.

As you trailed kisses down to his jaw, then his neck, he could swear each time your lips were on him it felt like molten iron, hot and searing individual marks on his skin. He had never been touched there before, and the few times he had, it was all violent bites or agonizing stabs. The contrast between those experiences and the languid, tender way your mouth gently brushed against the surface of his skin was almost jarring, but entirely, pleasantly so. Every singular action of yours—your mouth was now on his collarbone—both tickled and felt delightful at the same time, an inexplicable concoction that had him unwittingly tilting his head back to expose his throat to you, wordlessly begging for more.

You indulged him, trailing more kisses back up to the exposed flesh, this time taking the slightest bit of skin between your lips, dull teeth grazing over his neck in an entirely unfamiliar, painless way that made him whimper. Your mouth felt so incredibly, almost agonizingly warm when you took more of his flesh in, before letting go a second later, your teeth pleasurably scraping his neck all the while.

Kaneki felt one of your hands trail down to his lap, resting at his inner thigh almost reluctantly. Just close enough for him to understand what you were hinting at.

It shouldn’t have been surprising to him at this point, considering the events that had transpired leading up to this, yet he nonetheless found it hard to accept that this was all really happening. But the sensation of your mouth on his neck and the blazing heat that emanated from every spot you had graced with your touch was more than enough to render him feverish and dazed.

“Are you comfortable undressing?” The way your gaze seemed to pierce through Kaneki’s very soul made him shudder. It felt as if he was already exposed, and he decided that he enjoyed the way your eyes threatened to devour him whole. As if the eye contact alone was enough to put him in a trance, he nodded without thinking, fingers slipping underneath the waistband of his sweatpants. He was glad that he had already showered and changed before you woke up.

However, as soon as he tugged his sweatpants down an inch, revealing the hem of his underwear, he paused. He hadn’t ever undressed for anyone; not like this. He hadn’t thought about or realized it earlier, but now that he was actually doing it, he felt his characteristic shyness return.

“I— I’ve never—” He was practically squeaking when he choked those words out. The urge to bury his face in his hands, or hide himself in some way or another, was overwhelming.

“It’s okay,” you whispered, gingerly pressing your lips to his cheek once again. The way you touched him was so light, all your movements feathery and barely skimming the surface of his skin. As if he was something fragile and frail—as if you were the one afraid of breaking him. “Do you want me to stop?”

Kaneki shook his head.

“No, I don’t want you to stop,” he mumbled, before adding an apology, “I’m sorry...”

“What are you sorry about?” you laughed, pressing another kiss to his cheek, this time firmer. As you finished your sentence, you ran your fingers over the form of his member, and despite the two layers of clothing that separated you, Kaneki’s breath instantly hitched.

The sensation was almost too much for him, a feeling he wasn’t used to experiencing before, not from someone else’s hand. Though he couldn’t even remember the last time he had touched himself; Cochlea’s cells did not exactly have a sensual atmosphere.

At the same time, it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t even close to enough. He wanted—needed—more, his fervent desire temporarily overshadowing his bashfulness.

As your fingers hooked onto the edge of underwear, seemingly intent on taking both articles of clothing off at once, he reached for his pants, gently lifting his hips up as he helped you undress him. His eyes were averted to the side as he undressed, though a quick glance revealed how hard he was, his cock begging for attention, small drops of pellucid fluid already leaking from the glistening, pink tip.

“I don’t understand why you would want to do this,” he muttered, still unable to meet your eyes.

“I’d say it’s probably the same reason that you’re hard right now.” Before he could conjure up a response, he felt your fingers on his length, and all coherent thoughts left his head, replaced by a strangled gasp.

The feeling of your fingers slowly wrapping around his erection, gently lifting it up and away from his abdomen was something that seemed to light up nerves that had previously not existed. He tried to take a breath to steady himself, but as soon as his lips parted, he felt a small, experimental stroke. What left his mouth was instead a trembling moan, the possibility of regaining his composure instantly dissipating with the next movement of your hand. Each pump of his cock—your hand feeling inhumanly warm around it—seemed to send a fresh wave of electricity through his body, and within seconds, he found himself reduced to nothing but whimpers. Each sound he made was higher pitched and whinier than the last.

“Does this feel okay?” Kaneki heard you ask, causing him to turn his attention back onto you.

“Ah—” he mewled as your thumb brushed against the back of his tip. You beamed at his reaction, seemingly pleased with yourself.

“I’ll take that as a yes, then,” you said. As he looked at you, glanced from the way your fingers were gliding up and down his length, then upwards to the surrounding area of your collarbones, he couldn’t help but feel bothered by the sight of your clothing. The fabric that was previously insignificant and meaningless to him was now something frustrating, and he longed to see how your skin looked underneath. His desire for you appeared to be a bottomless pit, an abyss that he continuously fell deeper in, with no end in sight. He wasn’t sure if it’d be okay to ask you something like that or not. On one hand, you had been astonishingly fine with everything occurring up until now, but on the other—

“Hng—” The way you tightened your grip wasn’t lost on him, the heat pooling in his groin threatening to overflow. He could tell he was already close, too close, but—as much as he should just be satisfied with this—he wanted more.

“Ah— I—” He could barely think, let alone speak, each stroke of your hand like a bolt of lightning, something igniting every circuit in his brain so much so that they were frying. “I don’t want to—” he desperately tried to speak before it was too late, “not yet—”

Your hand quickly came to a stop, and your fingers left his throbbing cock, now aching for release more than ever before.

“Do you want to do something else?” you asked him. He took a second to catch his breath before responding, nodding earnestly as he gathered up his courage to admit what he wanted.

“I-I want to make you feel good too,” he stuttered, his resolve dissolving as fast as it materialized. “If that’s... not too much to ask for.”

“Of course not,” you answered, not seeming apprehensive at all, something that had Kaneki’s heart fluttering, like it was a small creature of its own that had grown legs and wings and was seeking to break free from the constraints of his ribcage. “I’d love to, should I...” For the first time, you appeared just as bashful as he was, your eyes diverting to the side as you spoke. “Should I get undressed?”

He hesitated for a moment, unsure if it was really okay to ask you something like this.

“If you don’t mind,” he finally said.

You were still avoiding his gaze as you slid your top off, the rest of your clothing following soon after. He remained unmoving, simply taking in the sight before him with utter awe and admiration.

The sight of your body and bare skin was nothing short of entrancing; Kaneki could only stare at you with utter awe and admiration. With each piece of fabric that was put to the side, you showed him parts of yourself that he never imagined he’d see. And all of it was stunning.

Your skin looked so smooth, so dewy—he longed to feel it against his own—and your body perfectly shaped, each dip and curve too ethereal to not have been sculpted by the hand of a deity. Someone as flawless and divine as you could not be anything but a gift from the gods themselves.

But the gods would never give something so good to a monster like him. His desire for you went deeper than skin and flesh, a craving that was nestled deep within the marrow of his bones. Yet he felt paralyzed. The thought of this being likened to desecration kept him from reaching out towards you.

“How long are you planning to stare at me for?” you chuckled, taking his hand in yours and bringing it to your chest. Your flesh rested in the palm of his hand as he tentatively squeezed, his eyes instantly enlarging. Just from looking at you, he already knew how lovely and delicate you were, but not even his imagination could measure up to how soft everything was.

“I-I—” Kaneki tried to find the right words; it only felt appropriate to say something and not be completely silent. He settled on something simple, unable to quite find the words to perfectly express his thoughts. “You’re so... so pretty.”

This time, when you replied, you looked off to the side, almost seeming embarrassed. “Thank you,” you smiled, before returning the compliment. “So are you.”

The oxygen in his lungs was instantly depleted when you crawled back over his lap, a hand on his shoulder to steady yourself, the other on his member, eliciting a needy whine from him.

“Is this really okay?” Kaneki couldn’t stop himself from asking one last time, just to ensure that you were certain about doing this. “Are you sure you want to do this?” With me, he thought.

But you already know her answer, his own mind scoffed. You just want to hear her say it. You just want her to lie to you, and tell you that you’re not a mon—

“I’m sure,” you replied, unknowingly having interrupted his internal monologue. “Do you want to?”

Of course, he thought, but what came out instead was something different. “Do I— Do I really deserve something like this? Do I really deserve to feel this good, this happy? A monster like me...”

“Kaneki,” Your voice was firm. “You’re not a monster, and even if you were, I’d still love you.”

He didn’t know how long exactly it was, but he knew that he spent a long time simply processing those words.

“Can—” It was as if his tongue had tied itself into knots upon knots. He could barely speak, too astonished by your words to formulate coherent words. “Can you say that one more time?”

“Kaneki,” you repeated his name. He knew he was being desperate, he was being pathetic and needy; he didn’t care. Not when he could audibly hear those words that he had always—despite knowing that he shouldn’t—hoped for. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” he breathed, “and... I want this with you.”

Your eyes bore into his very being, and he maintained eye contact this time, affectionately holding your gaze. He could see the dusting of coral in your flushed cheeks, your slightly parted lips that he never wanted to stop kissing, the way your eyelashes framed your irises so gracefully, and your smile, brighter than any quasar.

It felt as if he, himself, had fallen into a galaxy’s glowing core when your body enveloped his own. He felt your walls wrapping around his cock as you slowly lowered yourself, ensheathing the entirety of his length in your warmth, your thighs once again resting on top of his.

His eyes snapped shut for a moment as he tried to steady himself, desperately drawing in breaths. The blazing warmth engulfed everything. Every point of contact between the two of you was a convergence of intense, sweltering heat and eternally detonating fireworks. The sensations were overwhelming. His senses were so heightened that the stimulation was far much more than he could handle; the signals that each miniscule movement sent demanded every last ounce of attention from his overloaded brain. His body practically recoiled at the slightest touch, as if it were a live wire waiting to be shocked.

When his eyes opened again, he saw you sheepishly grinning at him, one of your hands on his shoulder and the other on the back of his neck.

“Okay?” you asked. Kaneki nodded.

You gently rocked your hips against his, every move causing a newborn wave of pleasure to wash over him. Strings of whimpers and whines left his lips as he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you in closer to him. Your chest was firmly pressed against his, his laboured breathing tickling the nape of your neck with each staggering exhale.

“Mm, Kaneki,” You stilled your hips momentarily as you spoke. He could feel your hands leave his upper body and tug at the sides of his shirt instead. “Take this off.”

He nodded quickly and briefly released his grip on you, hastily removing the last article of clothing that separated the two of you and throwing it aside. As soon as he did, he felt your hands on his back, just underneath his shoulder blades. He mirrored the action, the both of you pulling each other close until your bodies were flush against one another’s, skin touching skin.

Amidst his own sounds, he heard the melodic sounds of pleasure you made as you continued to move against him, your hips shifting back and forth. Each sway of your hips caused more parts of his brain to light up like a circuit board, and despite his mind resembling the brightly lit city of Tokyo with its blinding lights—he was at the same time seeing stars.

“Does this feel good?” you asked. You leaned in closer, your lips ghosting over his but not quite touching yet.

“It feels...” he whined as he spoke, “You feel amazing—”

You smiled before pressing your lips to his. He shut his eyes as he leaned into the kiss, the heat emanating from your mouth made his own melt. He was no longer sure if he was devouring you or the other way around, but that was of little significance as you hungrily kissed him back.

Kaneki’s hands slid down your back, coming to a halt near the bottom of your thighs, his fingers grasping at the soft curve that connected your hips to your legs.

“Is this okay?” he broke apart from the kiss momentarily to ask. His fingers were digging into the soft, delicate flesh of your backside.

“Yes,” you gasped, “it’s okay.” Your lips collided once more.

The starvation with which your lips danced together was nothing but pure, unadulterated desire. A coveting so strong that neither of you could resist submitting to it—something so powerful that it dominated even the dark recesses of his mind.

It’s okay, you had said. It’s okay. The usual noise occupying his mind finally quieted down, your words causing the constant onslaught of fear to subside. Your flesh fit nicely in his palms as he lifted you up slightly, grinding his hips into yours, his apprehensions at last dissipating. His movements were frantic, his hips desperately jerking up and against yours as he moved you alongside the length of his cock.

Maybe just for a second, Kaneki could allow himself to believe that this really was okay. That even if he didn’t deserve what he had, it was alright for him to accept it, nonetheless.

And maybe just for a second, he could stop thinking about any of that. None of it mattered then, because all he had to do was permit himself to be immersed in the present moment. All he had to do was immerse himself in the softness of your lips fused with his, the warmth of your hands affectionately held onto his skin, the rapid thump of your pulse pressed so tightly to his bare chest that he could feel your heartbeat, and the coalescence of your bodies intertwined—each passionate roll of his hips against yours sending shockwaves through his body.

When the final tides of fire licked their way through his bloodstream and his world became an incandescent brilliance, he was helpless to do anything but cry out your name. Somewhere in the background, he could hear you doing the same, his name exquisitely rolling off your tongue.

As the white, hot radiance slowly began to fade into the softer iridescence of a nebula, he could feel the moisture of the sweat glistening upon both your bodies and hear the sound of your ragged, panting breaths as he returned to mortality.

Kaneki’s body was unbearably warm, but despite the way your body heat almost painfully engulfed his flesh, he found the feverish state you both basked in to be oddly cathartic. Your heart was still forcefully pounding in your chest, as was his, the sound of flowing blood loudly ringing in his ears. Your body was slumped against his, entirely limp and fully resting on him. Despite his exhaustion, he wrapped his arms around your torso, holding you closely.

He could feel your lulling caress as you stroked his hair once again, gently smoothing it over as the two of you shared a moment of serenity, the only sounds audible being your breathing.

When you finally pulled away from him, pushing yourself up, you began to giggle. Just as he was about to ask you what was so funny, you spoke.

“What are you crying for, now?” You brushed your damp hair out of your eyes. Kaneki, too, laughed, shaking his head as he responded.

“I’m just really happy,” he smiled, another tear escaping the corner of his eye and dripping down his cheek.

“Right,” you chuckled, laying down on his bed and stretching your body out. “Come here. I’m tired.”

Kaneki nodded, moving to lay down beside you. He pulled the blankets up to cover your body, before crawling underneath the covers to nestle himself by your side.

His hand ghosted over the side of your cheek as he moved the stray hairs out of your face. He watched your eyes close as he ran his fingers through your locks, stroking your hair in the same tender manner that you did for him. The gentle petting of your hair continued while he watched any remaining tension beneath your eyelids dissolve with your slumber, only stopping the repeated movement when he was sure that you were sleeping soundly.

Kaneki took in your peaceful expression one last time prior to closing his eyes, etching the sight of your features into his mind as a permanent engraving. Just before he allowed the fatigue to take over, his thoughts came to one resolute finality.

He would protect you.

As much as he wanted to keep living in blissful ignorance, he knew that it was only a matter of time before the CCG would raid his apartment in search of him. Even though he loved you dearly and wanted to keep you by his side, he wasn’t sure he was strong enough to do so. And so, when the time eventually comes, it would be his turn to protect you—like you had protected him every single previous time—be it through taking other lives, or sacrificing his own.

Because even the primal fear of death pales in comparison to his fear of losing you.

He knew that it was entirely possible for this apartment to be raided in the dead of the night, with investigators coming to save you from the monster everyone besides you believed him to be. He was sure they would think of you as a victim; you hadn’t even been conscious when he brought you away.

As Kaneki fell asleep, he came to one final conclusion. Even though this rest may be his last, even though he may never wake up again, even though the darkest night may never end—he could accept that.

For as long as you exist, the sun will always rise again.

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