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madaqueue · 2 days

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eternally, yours

chapter 4 | beneficence

synopsis: 'forever' is a peculiar concept - how can something persist, unchanged, throughout time? when our bodies halt their aging, do our minds continue to evolve? do our hearts? choso was comfortable with his version of forever, one of solitary loneliness; that is, until he meets you. forced to confront the harsh realities of being human, the fragility of life, his definition of 'forever' changes as he stares down the barrel of eternity.

pairing: vampire!choso kamo x f!reader

themes/content: non-curse modern au. fluff, smut. language, blood drinking (it's a vampire fic lmao), non-mc death, mentions of cancer, religious imagery, fingering (f receiving), oral (m receiving), p in v sex. 18+, MDNI

word count: 6.1k

a/n: WOOF got carried away on this one lmao anywayyysss been playing w diff chapter lengths so let me know if this is too long/too short/just right/whatever other thoughts :)

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The night is easy, fortunately. The distance between your bed and where he lays on the couch creates enough physical distance for Choso to finally relax, thoughts of you subsiding as he rests his eyes.

For 150 years he had been fine, alone. Just him and his brothers, that was all he needed. Things weren’t complicated, they weren’t difficult, at least not like this. He doesn’t want anything to change.

So why can’t he forget the way your hands felt on him?

Shifting under the blankets, he sighs roughly.

“Can’t sleep?” your voice rings out in the darkness.

Immediately sitting up, he turns to face you, your silhouette outlined by the door frame to your bedroom. Rubbing your eyes, a soft yawn leaves your throat.

The moonlight casts a soft glow over the man resting on your couch, his hair released from his signature ties as it cascades over his shoulders. The dark circles under his eyes show a tiredness indicative of more than just one night of missed sleep. Maybe you two are more similar than you thought.

Padding to the kitchen, you rummage through the cupboards before pulling out a mug. “Tea?” you ask, not bothering to face him as you fill the kettle with water.

“S-sure,” he stutters, suddenly overtaken with your presence. Even in the dark he can see you perfectly, the slight mess of your hair, the loose t-shirt covering your body. Perfection.

Moving easily, his eyes never leave you until you’re waltzing towards him with two steaming cups in your hands. Placing one down in front of him, you take a tentative sip, testing the temperature.

Reaching for the cup he gulps it nervously, unable to feel the scalding liquid pouring down his throat. It doesn’t affect him, anyways, the physical sustenance one he had long since abandoned the need for.

Wincing at the heat of your beverage, you catch Choso drinking it unbothered from the corner of your eye. Maybe he just likes really, really hot tea? Maybe he’s cold? You brush it off, allowing a peaceful silence to cover the two of you in the darkness of your living room.

There is something undeniably calming about his presence, something that puts you at ease. All the pain, the worry, the hurt within you seems to fade away when you’re with him, the tsunami of your emotions lulling into peaceful waves.

Which is why you find yourself speaking into the quiet. “Nights are hard,” you whisper.

“Yeah,” Choso nods immediately, intuitively, “they are.”

“It’s like…like all the shadows get taller, like there’s something dark lurking around every corner.” He pauses, allowing you to continue. For a moment, you consider retracting, folding into yourself; but before you can implode, the words continue spilling into the air. “Sometimes it feels like every bad thing I’ve ever done comes back to haunt me at night, when it’s quiet, when there’s nothing or no one there to protect me.”

Slowly, hesitantly, Choso reaches his hand over, intertwining his fingers with yours. His skin is cold where it brushes against you, but you don’t feel the need to pull away. “I’ll protect you,” he whispers.

Turning to him, you sense it: the truth of his statement. He would - he will - do anything to keep you safe. You feel it in your heart, in your bones, in every piece of your body that is alive you know that it’s true.

His eyes focus on you, an earnestness surging inside them. When he leans forward, the magnetic pull of his body tugs you closer, and closer, and closer; then, his lips are on yours.

It’s soft, at first, the way he parts his lips before tenderly sliding his tongue past yours. You sigh into his mouth, releasing a tension you didn’t know you held, as the kiss deepens. It feels right, natural, to be here with him, a piece of your soul melding into his.

His thoughts slowly become frenzied, hazy with desire as he holds you against him. He feels himself starting to slip, to give into the temptation of having you. “W-wait,” he suddenly pulls away, keeping his body an inch from yours. There’s a new nervousness to him, unable to hold your gaze as his body involuntarily tenses.

He can feel the heat radiating off you, begging him to just lean back in, to give himself to you; his hands shake as he takes in an uneven breath.

“I…I can’t,” he wavers. He utters the words as much for you to hear them as he needs to say them, his mind fighting against his body.

But you can’t stop, can’t resist the soft pink of his lips, the tenderness of his hold. Pushing yourself up, careful to avoid putting pressure on your ankle, you lean forward onto your knees. Adjusting his body, he falls back onto the couch, only supported by his forearms, maintaining the distance between you.

“Why not?,” you whisper - god, he can feel your breath fanning across his cheeks - as you softly blink your eyelashes. Sleep lingers in the corners of your body, the need for rest being pushed away as adrenaline takes its place.

Clenching his shaking hands into fists, his teeth bite down on his lower lip. He can’t, he’ll lose control, he can’t.

Yet, when you find yourself positioned on top of him, his back now flush against the couch, he feels himself surrendering, his moral grip loosening.

Sensing his apprehension faltering, a sly grin forms across your face, still so close to his that he can practically feel your lips curling into a smile. “At least let me repay you for fixing me up earlier,” you hum.

Slowly dragging your gaze up from his parted lips to his eyes, a feral desperation behind them, he nods. Despite everything inside him screaming, warning him not to, he gives in.

He doesn’t even have a moment to process his indiscretion before your lips cover the skin of his neck, your hands hurriedly pawing at the black slacks he had been wearing to dinner. A shocked gasp escapes his throat as you shift lower, lifting his white t-shirt to place open-mouthed kisses along his waistband. Your fingers imprecisely brush along his v-line, making the man beneath you shudder. Finally undoing his belt, you tug his pants down, revealing the outline of his hardened cock through his boxers.

Brushing your palm over his length, a soft, “Fuck,” leaves his throat. Heat starts to pool between your legs as you slide down his boxers, his cock twitching, precum beginning to leak from his tip. As moonlight drapes through the window, a shared sense of awe fills the air. Somehow, he’s even more perfect than you imagined.

Your mouth hangs open at the sight of him, having to stop yourself from drooling as your fingertips trace his veins. Lolling your tongue out, you swirl the muscle around his tip, a guttural groan echoing through the empty room as his eyes flutter closed.

A part of you wants to tease him, to draw this moment out forever, but even you begin to lose your grip on your restraint as you watch his teeth bite into the skin of his lip, gentle groans vibrating his throat.

The world seems to fade away, the night curtaining you save for the spotlight landing directly on Choso. With ease he captures your attention, your eyes following his every twitch and gasp, each individual eyelash as they flutter over his midnight-toned irises, the contours of his tattoo moving into the grooves of his skin with the slight crinkle of his nose, the plush pink of his lips filling in the space between his pointed canines as he struggles to keep in the soft whines threatening to fill the silence. Every move is so unintentionally perfect, a captivating performance of his adoration.

Unable to hold back any longer, you slide his length into your mouth, evoking another deep, rumbling moan. Your head slides down him, hitting your gag reflex as a strained choke is forced from you. Pulling back momentarily, you gather your resolve before opening your throat, shoving him further and further into you.

He thinks he’s never felt something so good, so purely addicting, as this. The warmth of your mouth around him, the subtle movements of your tongue, have him grasping at shreds of his restraint. His nails dig into the flesh of his palms, grounding himself in anything, even pain, as long as he can hold himself back.

Nearly reaching the bottom of him, you feel yourself hitting your limit as his hips stutter up, his body reacting on its own despite his best efforts to hold back. His tip knocks at the very back of your throat before he pulls back.

“S-shit, sorry,” he moans above you.

Adjusting back onto your knees, you continue pumping his length, licking a languid stripe up the underside of his cock as your gaze locks onto his face. His eyes are tightly closed, fists grasping at the blankets covering the couch, jaw clenched as his chest heaves.

“Choso,” you giggle, his eyes opening before they finally find yours. Seeing you between his legs, tongue slowly circling his needy tip, he twitches in your palm. “You can touch me, y’know,” you breathe, gaze traveling to his hands.

Following your focus, he slowly unclenches his fists, nail marks dug into his palms. Sucking in an uneven breath, he shakes his head. “Can’t,” is all he can get out, too overcome with the feeling of your fingertips traveling along him, each point of contact with your skin leaving trails of electricity in its wake.

“Choso,” you purr, pushing him closer and closer to a breaking point you aren’t even aware of, threatening to drag both of you off an unseen precipice.

Shaking his head, his eyes close again. “I’ll hurt you,” he mutters quietly, returning his grip on the blanket, the soft material crumpling in his grasp.

“No, you won’t,” you follow on instinct. “I know you won’t.” The profound sense of trust you feel towards him reassures you; deep in your soul, in some ancient part of your body, you know he wouldn’t hurt you. He swore to protect you, after all.

Your touch sears his skin, igniting flames under him; each grace of your fingertips draws him closer into the heat of his own unique hell, one tortured with pleas of passion.

His eyelids flutter as he looks back down at you, a fervent desperation within them barely held back by the bars of his determination. His thoughts are clouded, a tormented conflict of more and stop echoing through his mind.

When you look up at him so sweetly, a smile forming across your lips, he feels himself cracking.

“Please?” you whisper.

Who knew that 150 years of willpower, of isolation, could crumble with one word?

The first thing you feel is his weight on you, his chest pressing against you as your head hits the couch. Suddenly on top of you, his eyes bore into your very soul, a new darkness within them. His lips attach to yours, roughly sliding his tongue into your mouth as he explores the space, claiming it as his own.

Cool hands trace your body, grabbing, pulling, holding every part of you he can find. Tugging your shirt up with one hand he palms your breast as the other snakes between your legs.

“Fuck, you’re so wet,” he groans, feeling your soaked panties under his fingertips.

Heat flushes your cheeks but you can’t bring yourself to feel embarrassed, too overwhelmed with the way he slides the cloth to the side as he inserts a finger into your warmth.

Your mouth opens into a moan, Choso taking the invitation to bite down gently onto your lower lip. He uses the pause of your momentary shock to bully another finger into you, your back arching at the slight stretch.

Unsure what force has gained control of his body he tosses his normal precision to the wind as he allows his instincts to take over. He hasn’t touched anyone like this since before he was turned, a time that now feels eons away, but something in him esoterically understands what to do, what you need.

Curling his fingertips, he easily finds the spot inside you that has you seeing stars. Shooting a hand down you grab onto his wrist, holding him in place. “Right there, Cho,” you whimper, eyes closing in pleasure as he continues hitting the same gummy spot over, and over, and over.

Lust blooms in his chest as he watches you writhe under him, your cheeks flushing a soft pink, how intuitively he knows your body, like you were truly made for each other.

“Mmm, m’close,” you whine, tension building in your stomach as his fingers rut into you.

All Choso can do is watch, a deep groan rumbling in his throat as you come undone.

Opening your eyes, your vision is fuzzy as it focuses on the man above you. His black eyes stare down at you, his lips slightly parted as he pants; he looks hungry.

“More,” he growls.

The cold of your apartment shocks your body as your panties are ripped from your legs. Before you can react his lips are back on yours, kissing you greedily.

His cock presses against you, tip barely entering before the searing stretch reaches your senses. The warmth of your body against him scorches his mind, blinding him in pleasure.

“C-Choso,” you whimper into his mouth, “s’too much.”

Continuing to slowly push into you, the stinging pain turns to pleasure. “Y’can take it,” he groans, “know y’can.”

His words have your mind cloudy, body relaxing under him as he bottoms out. “Please,” you beg mindlessly, unsure if you’re asking him to speed up or slow down, just desperate for more.

With that, his hips pull back before thrusting harshly into you, a low grunt leaving his throat. Your mouth opens as you mewl at the sensation, Choso lapping up every noise that escapes your lips.

“Forgot, fuck, how good this feels,” he whispers to himself.

Rolling his hips he continues bullying his cock into you, angling to hit the same spot that had you losing your mind just moments prior.

Despite the sin of the act, Choso has found salvation in your body. Your very soul created a new kingdom, one he proudly obeys, his rough thrusts proof of his servitude. In you he sees deliverance, the gates of heaven opening to his own personal paradise.

“Need this, need you,” he pants, “forever.” The last word a desperate plea, a claim. Once he’s gotten you, he can’t lose you: not now, not ever.

His hips continue rutting into yours, the sound of skin on skin echoing through your empty apartment far away as it hits your ears. In the haze of your ecstasy, you can barely make out his words, a hurried whisper against your lips.

“Mine,” he mutters, “mine, mine, mine.” Each word is punctuated with another thrust, reaching impossibly deeper into you each time.

So lost in pleasure, you only loosely register the tightening in your chest, his motions bringing you closer and closer to your release. As it continues building, all you can get out is a weak cry of his name.

Clenching around him, he picks up his pace, wanting to feel you, needing to feel you. His fingertips dig into your hips, bruisingly firm. He will never let you go.

Blinding white suddenly clouds your vision as you lose yourself in bliss, hands grabbing anywhere you can find, digging into Choso’s biceps as he fucks you through it.

Above you, his body shakes as he releases into you, broken moans of your name falling from his lips. As warmth fills your body, he finds new heights of his dedication, an attestation of his love for you. He is yours, now and forever.

His body collapses, yet he’s careful to avoid your injuries, not putting pressure on your ankles or wrists. Both of you pant, desperate for air as you melt into each other. Your hands find their way to his back, drawing small patterns into his spine, his body still somehow cold despite the heat between you.

Pulling away, his face hovers inches above your own. “I - shit - are you okay?” he breathes.

Your fingers trace their way to his face, holding his jaw as you brush his loose bangs from his eyes. “Yes, Cho,” you grin lazily, “are you?”

While you meant to tease him, he really does look dazed, hair frayed, gaze unable to focus through his blown-out pupils, somehow darkening his already deep irises. His cheeks are pink, lips remaining parted as his arms noticeably shake under his weight. “Mhm,” is all he can get out through a tired nod.

But he wasn’t really okay - after an eternity alone, he was here, with you. He suddenly feels bare as he lays on top of you, the moonlight shining through the cracks of his soul. His mind races in panic. Shit, was this a mistake? Do you regret it? Even worse, did he hurt you?

The gentle touch of your hands on his face returns him to reality as you press a soft kiss to his cheek. “Let’s get cleaned up and get some sleep, yeah?” you whisper.

“Okay,” he weakly smiles.

༝ ˚ ｡⋆ ༝ ˚ ｡⋆

There is something so innocently sweet about Choso you hadn’t noticed before, but now, as he rests in your arms, in your bed, it’s undeniable. Despite the dark circles that line his eyes, evidence of a visceral exhaustion, he feels so light.

His gaze flits across your face, lazy grins plastered on both of your features as you stare at one another in the comfortable silence of your room. Cool fingers circle your lower back, your arms draped across his torso. It feels so comfortable, so right, to be held in each other’s arms like this.

As your eyes grow heavy in tiredness, his never leave you, watching your every move, every breath, until your motions slow, easing into the tranquil respite of sleep.

If he could find himself in bed with you every night, maybe, just maybe, he, too, could finally rest.

Yet, in the peace of the moment, he can’t help but let his thoughts wander, dragging him into the dread he’s grown to call home. How many more nights do you have together? How many more does he deserve?

༝ ˚ ｡⋆ ༝ ˚ ｡⋆

As the beeping of monitors surrounds Choso, all he can find himself thinking about once again is you. After your night together, his obsession only continued to grow over the following weeks until you filled his thoughts, his very being. In another light he might almost find it ironic - the one destined to consume now consumed by another. Yet, he finds peace in it, allowing the edges of his soul to blend with yours.

Fortunately, work had been slow, the magnitude of emergencies slowing as summer began drawing to a close. He was afforded more time per patient, covering his distraction as dedication as his eyes lazily scan through the charts of those brought in overnight.

A familiar name jolts him from his lust-filled haze as he reads the new admissions to the emergency department. Quickly glancing through her chart, dread shoots down his spine. Rising from his chair he marches to the patient’s room.

“Mrs. Sato,” he announces, cracking open the door following his soft yet determined knock.

“Dr. Kamo,” her voice calls, “it’s good to see you again.”

Stepping in, his eyes land on the older woman laying in bed, the thin hospital-issued sheets covering her body. “You too,” his deep voice cuts through the silence of the room as he walks towards her, “although I wish it was under better circumstances.”

A sly smile crosses her lips. “Now, don’t tell me you’ve already grown tired of seeing me.”

Sliding over a stool, he sits next to her. “You know I’d never get tired of you,” he smirks. From up close, he can see just how thin she has gotten under the sterile gown, how frail she has become over the past few months. “So, Mrs. Sato, tell me what brought you in tonight.”

“Well,” she begins, a breathy chuckle leaving her throat, “where do I even begin? You know, this damn cancer has everything going bad, it seems. First I was just too tired, and now, I have this headache I can’t shake, and I can’t seem to catch my breath.”

A pang of fear shoots up Choso’s spine. “Mrs. Sato, I have to tell you, I checked your labs before coming in, and things don’t look good. But, the good news is there are still things we can do, treatments we can try-”

“Dr. Kamo,” she interjects, “I know what this is.”

“If you’ll just listen-”

“I know it’s my time.”

His body freezes as his gaze meets hers. A soft smile graces her lips, a tired determination behind her eyes.

“I’ll be okay,” she whispers. Reaching a wrinkled hand out, she takes his cool one in hers, holding him. “I’m ready.”

He adjusts to rest his free hand on her wrist, silence falling between them. Mrs. Sato is suddenly overtaken in coughs, her whole body shaking as air is forced from her lungs. Holding her arm out, she keeps Choso at a distance, a small reassurance.

“I’m okay,” she manages to choke out. Allowing the fit to subside, Choso’s watchful eyes never leaving her, she weakly chuckles. “Now, now, don’t look at me like that, Dr. Kamo,” she laughs.

“Like what, Mrs. Sato?”

“Like you’re about to say something to try and make me change my mind.”

Taking in a steadying breath, Choso sighs. Of course he’s already thinking, plans formulating - there are other medications, new clinical trials, more aggressive options - but he silences them. Despite it going against everything he believes in, against the vows he took to care for others, he honors her wishes. “I won’t try to convince you of anything.”

“Thank you,” she smiles.

“But isn’t there anything I can do to make you more comfortable?” he pleads.

Another airy chuckle leaves her throat. “You really are something else.”

“How so?” He cocks his head to the side with a curious smirk.

Pausing, she locks eyes with him again, a shared fatigue lingering in the air. “How long have we known each other, Dr. Kamo?”

Recalling the past year, the frequent hospital admissions, the late-night conversations they shared, Choso answers confidently. “Eleven months.”

“And in those eleven months, you’ve learned a lot about me - you know I’m strong, and stubborn, and that I’m done fighting this thing.”

Choso sighs.

“But,” she continues, “I’ve also learned about you.” The room suddenly feels tense as she shifts her body to fully face him. “I know what you are, Dr. Kamo.”

“I’m not sure I understand what you’re getting at-”

“Oh honey, I’m far too old for you to bullshit me,” she chuckles. “You think I didn’t notice that you never ate when I asked you to share a meal with me, how even when I asked you to hold onto my hot-packs your hands never warmed up, or how you’d come and go from the blood bank every few weeks with a new pep in your step? I’ve heard the fables, the rumors, but I always knew there was truth to the stories whispered in the dark.”

Shit. His mind settles into dread - how did she notice? What can he say? How can he convince her that he’s not exactly what she knows he is?

“Dr. Kamo,” she breaks his panic, returning her hand to his. “Over the past eleven months, you have helped me more than you could possibly know. Now, I’d like to do something to help you in return.”

“Mrs. Sato-”

“Please,” she lightly squeezes his hand, “let me do this for you. I want my life force to live on in someone who I know will honor it, honor me.”

A shaky sigh fills the silence as he processes the information. Without ever having to say it, he understands her request, the implicit desire to offer her life - her blood - to him. He couldn’t do this, right? Yet, how could he bring himself to turn down a dying woman’s last wish? Who is he to refuse her final plea?

Dropping his shoulders, he acquiesces. “Okay,” he sighs.

A soft smile crosses her features. “Thank you,” she whispers. Locking eyes, a mutual understanding flows between the two. “I have to know though,” she follows, “does it hurt?”

“No,” Choso reassures immediately, “quite the opposite.”

At that, her body seems to relax, sinking into the thin mattress below her. Holding out her wrist, she nods. “I’m ready.”

“Mrs. Sato, I just - a-are you sure?”

“Dr. Kamo,” she states, a new determination flowing through her, “I’m ready.”

Choso nods, his eyes falling to her outstretched hand. Meeting her gaze one final time, she offers him a smile.

His thumb finds her pulse, sensing the blood flowing through her veins. Leaning his head down, his mouth hovers inches above her, nervousness coursing through his body. How long had it been since he bit someone? How many years had passed with him perfectly satiated with his life consisting of cold plastic blood bags? He hadn’t even considered the possibility for over a century before the night you met, yet now he finds himself unable to chase away the thought of feeding from you. If he had never known you, would things be different now? Would he be here, about to take the life of an innocent person?

His concerns are quelled by the woman above him as she softly speaks. “It’s okay, Dr. Kamo.” She pauses, loosening his apprehension. “I want this.”

Something in her words steadies him, easing the emotional turmoil raging inside him. For the first time tonight he finally allows himself to fully exhale, breathing out any remaining hesitancy as he remembers his duty to do good, to do right by others. Bringing her wrist to his mouth, his canines easily pierce her flesh. Warm blood quickly fills his mouth, a novel sensation against the familiar metallic taste.

The sheer weight of the moment, the loss of a patient, one he had grown to call a friend, hangs in Choso’s mind. Tears slowly spill down his cheeks as the sanguine proof of her life becomes a part of his.

“Thank you,” she whispers, the steady beep of monitors filling the room as her soul leaves it.

༝ ˚ ｡⋆ ༝ ˚ ｡⋆

After your night with Choso, it felt impossible to think of anything, or anyone, else. The one exception, of course, is Megumi, a constant brightness that seems to easily cast out the shadows. As his injuries continue to heal so does your life, no longer plagued with darkness around the corners of your home. As your father disappears for longer and longer stretches of time, the brief flashes of his presence brighter than usual, you allow your fear to meld into the setting summer sun.

Megumi’s enthusiasm never falters, manifesting as a constant badgering to be surrounded by others, his new friendships strengthening as your heart similarly blooms with love.

Between Choso’s overnight schedule and your own duty to care for your brother it’s been difficult to see each other, but short texts and conversations throughout the day extend your bond. In the few weeks you’ve been apart he never fails to convey his love through small gestures, namely sending you pictures of the moon every night on his walk into work. Recalling your love for it, the simple beauty of the galaxies hanging above you a reminder of your place in the universe, he begins to find you in it, too. Each image comes with a sweet message, some iteration of “thinking of you,” a manifestation of his remembrance.

In the absence of his company, time nevertheless continues marching forward. The chill of early fall fills the streets as you begin planning for Megumi’s school year to begin, collecting notebooks and pencils in his favorite colors. It nearly feels normal to be doing this again, a welcome return to an ordinary life.

When Megumi wakes you the final weekend before school starts with a cry of “Pleeeeease can we go to the park?” you can’t find it in your heart to turn down his request despite the preparations you know you should be making.

Walking hand-in-hand through the streets, the first leaves falling overhead, you and your brother make your way back to the park. He immediately finds his new best friend, a sweet pink-haired boy you’d seen him play with every time you had ventured out together over the past few months. As he runs off, you settle into a bench in the sun, enjoying the fading warmth of summer.

“Didn’t expect to see you here,” a familiar deep voice calls from behind you.

Turning your head you’re suddenly met with Choso’s wide frame behind you, the spice of his cologne filling the air as he walks towards you. Despite the initial shock, his presence is a welcome one, your cheeks already beginning to blush in excitement as he settles in next to you.

“I could say the same,” you tease, “you don’t strike me as much of a ‘let’s go to the park’ kind of guy.”

A smirk plays across his lips as he looks ahead, the sound of children’s giggles in the background. “I take my brother when I can,” he explains. “But, I do spin a mean tire swing.”

A laugh erupts from your throat as he turns to face you, his smile widening. Behind his familiar dark irises - wait.

Something has to be wrong.

As your gaze travels across his face, his eyes aren’t their standard black - they’re red.

Before you can fathom the discrepancy, his deep voice echoes through the park.

“Hey, Yuji, don’t be so rough with him!” he shouts.

Turning to find the subject of his focus, you see Megumi roughhousing with the boy you recognize as his self-proclaimed new best friend. Tufts of pink hair poke between Megumi’s dark locks as the two wrestle on the ground.

A round of giggles erupts from both boys as they separate their limbs, covered in a mixture of sand and dirt. “Not my fault I’m stronger!” Yuji yells before Megumi suddenly tackles him, his back hitting the ground as they return to their tussle.

Waves of shock and recognition wash over you as you turn your attention back to the man beside you.

“Wait, that’s Yuji?” you ask incredulously, unable to bury your surprise. The boy’s pink hair and golden eyes couldn’t be more distinct, in a similar way to Choso’s striking appearance, yet they found themselves in a dichotomy, with no overlap between their bold features.

“Yup,” Choso affirms with a hum, eyes not leaving the two boys as shrill screams of excitement continue filling the air.

“B-but, but…how? He-”

A smirk reappears on Choso’s face as he glances at you out of the corner of his eyes. “He doesn’t look anything like me?”

Your cheeks flush in embarrassment as you realize your assumption. “Y-yeah,” you stammer.

“He’s more like my half-brother,” he chuckles, “but he’s a spitting image of my older brother.”

“Oh, that makes sense…” you trail off. Truthfully, you had forgotten he had another sibling - had you unknowingly seen him over the past few weeks you’d been taking Megumi to the park? Clearly he and Yuji had grown close, there’s no way a six-year-old would be walking here by himself, right?

As if on cue, the duo marches up to you, hand in hand. Sheepish grins form across their faces, skin flushed from the intensity of their play.

“Could we get ice cream?” they both blurt in unison before giggles erupt between them at their synchrony.

Glancing at Choso, you share a knowing glance at their ploy. “Megumi, buddy, you know we can’t,” you begin.

“Pleaaaaaase?” he begs as both boys fall to their knees, hands clasped as they pout. “It’s our last day before school starts!”

“And!” Yuji’s high-pitched voice fills in where Megumi’s left off, “what if they run out of ice cream and this is our last chance to ever eat it?”

A low chuckle leaves Choso’s throat as he reaches a hand out to ruffle the boy’s strawberry hair. His piercing red eyes meet yours for a moment before he sighs dramatically. “I suppose you make a compelling argument,” he laughs softly. Extending his hand, he stands, awaiting yours. “What do you say, should we take advantage of our ‘last chance to ever eat ice cream’?”

Rolling your eyes, you place your hand in his as you rise. “I guess I can’t say no to that,” you giggle.

༝ ˚ ｡⋆ ༝ ˚ ｡⋆

Back at the park, the boys run through the open field as they carefully eat their comically-large ice cream cones. A sticky mess covers Megumi’s hands as it melts, chasing Yuji with his palms out as they both scream.

You and Choso lay in the shade of the trees, your head resting on his chest as his fingers absentmindedly play with your hair. Twirling a strand around his finger, you move to fan yourself with your hand; despite the summer drawing to a close, the heat never fails to exhaust you.

“Warm?” he asks, observing your attempt to cool off.

Nodding, you continue your motion despite the futility of it, knowing the only way to truly feel better would be a cold plunge in the nearby lake, a prospect becoming more and more tempting as sweat continues to seep through the cloth of your tank top.

“Here,” he adjusts slightly, resting his palm on your forehead.

Almost immediately the heat under your skin dissipates, replaced with the coolness of his. His other hand trails behind your neck, his fingertips tracing gentle circles along your nape. A relieved sigh involuntarily escapes your lips as you lean into his touch, a welcome respite from the humidity surrounding you.

As you shift further into him, your gaze travels across his face again. When his eyes meet yours, a chill shoots down your spine.

Red.

His eyes are still red.

“Too cold?” he prompts as you shiver nervously. “Sorry,” he mumbles, pulling his hands away.

Grabbing his wrists, you hold him in place. “No, it’s not that,” you murmur, averting your focus to the ground. “It’s just…your eyes are a different color.”

He tenses. Shit. He hadn’t expected to see you today, he shouldn’t have done what he did at work the previous night, he knew it was too big of a risk. It had been stupid, selfish, to consume blood from another person, but his empathy got the better of him.

“It must just be the light,” he blurts out, nervously chuckling, before turning away from you.

Opening your mouth to respond, your conversation is cut short as Megumi suddenly tumbles into you. Remnants of ice cream cover your clothes as the two boys plow into where you lay on the ground, shared screams of shock from all four of you breaking the tranquil silence.

“Man, what’re you guys doing?” Choso disappointedly laughs.

He easily picks up Yuji despite his attempts to wriggle from his grasp, high-pitched repeats of “Put me down, put me down!” leaving his mouth through giggles.

“It’s my fault!” Megumi proclaims as he struggles to stand, wiping his hands on his shirt.

“No, no, it’s my fault!” Yuji follows as Choso places him in the grass beside him.

“I don’t care whose fault it is, but you both better apologize,” he states, glancing at the chocolate-colored stains covering your shirt.

“We’re sorry!” both boys exclaim together, running to hug you as sticky fingers hit your skin.

“It’s okay,” you can’t help but laugh at the absurdity of the situation, “but Megumi and I better get home and get these clothes in the wash.”

Collecting your brother’s hand, you stand to leave despite the disappointed groans from the pair. Finishing dusting the dirt from your shorts, Choso’s fingers gently graze your wrist in an effort to garner your attention.

“When can I see you again?” he softly murmurs, ignoring Yuji’s pokes along his chest as the boy continues laughing, vying for his attention.

In spite of the chill his eyes send through your body, you feel your heart warm at his words. “Next weekend?” you tentatively offer.

“I have work, but I’ll make time,” he grins softly. “I just…miss you,” he admits.

Your cheeks blush, face further reddening under the summer heat, as you nod. “Next weekend it is. See you then, Cho.”

“Can’t wait,” he smiles with a squeeze of your hand.

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c-t-r-l14 · 3 days

Text

Tennesee Waltz

“I remember the night, and the Tennesee Waltz

Now I know just how much I have lost.”

———————-💔————————————

Synopsis: You introduce an old friend to Xanthus.

Based off of this post.

———————-💔———————————-

You were never one to believe in soulmates. That concept simply never made sense to you. The notion that some “universal force of nature” chooses the person that is “perfect” for you, how it ties an invisible red string of fate to you and your lover's pinky finger—forever making you two bound to each other for all eternity—was simply ludacris.

Sometimes, when you were out with your friends, they’d talk about how they met their lovers, and how they just instantly knew that they were the ones. And they’d say it with the tenderness, warmth, and certain fondness of love swimming in their bright eyes. You’d watch how their bodies swooned with adoration, how the corners of their lips were lifted up into a smile of utter enchantment. As you sat there, watching them whisper and swoon about how the “stars aligned for them to be together,” with their hands on their hearts—their bright, love struck eyes gazing longingly at the sky—you couldn’t help but think that for a moment, for just a moment—how nice it would be if the theories of “soul-ties” and “soulmates” were real. But, as soon as those thoughts came, they vanished just as instantly—fading away from existence like the steam that permeated from your hot cup of tea. Although it was a nice thought in theory, it was absolutely ridiculous in practice. There is no destiny, or “path of fate”, when it comes to falling in love. There are no “outside forces” pulling the strings behind the scenes—no cupid or Eros to shoot an arrow of love in your back. You simply meet someone, get to know who they are, fall in love, and eventually settle down with them. A completely natural process—one with no red strings attached. And for a little a while, that’s what you truly believed.

That is, until you met Xanthus.

You were drawn to everything about him—his air of mystique, and his beautiful golden hair, how his bangs fell over his forehead and framed his pale face, how his eyes of red seemed to sparkle brightly with the radiance of rubies—and how his thin lips seemed to form the most gorgeous smile you’ve ever seen. You loved the way he held you in his strong arms; the way you melted in the cocoon of his warm embrace. When the evening made way for the night—when the red, orange, and yellow hues morphed into a midnight blue, you’d be comforted by the faint sound of his breathing and the smell of cologne lingering in the air; and as the night made way for the dawn, your heart was filled with so much bliss—so much happiness—simply because you were lucky enough to wake up to him sleeping beside you. You thanked your lucky stars every time he used you as his muse for any new book he composed. Your body felt lighter than air when he recited the sonnets he wrote for you. You beamed brightly every single time you posed for any painting he’d create in your honor. With him, the world was bathed in pink hues—bursting with absolute beauty.

And, on one clear night—without a single twinkling star in the sky—when there was nothing but the luminescence of the full moon hanging over the city, he held your hand tightly as he stared into your eyes, and said to you:

“Dearest, my love for you is deeper than the deepest depths of the vastest oceans, and is as plentiful as the stars in the sky. It extends to even the most remote regions of the universe—reaching a distance above the very heavens itself; a devotion so strong that it breaks the concept of time. Whenever you’re around me, my heart sings—a simple song morphs into a symphony whenever I look at you. You bring me comfort on my darkest nights, and laughter in my lowest moments. You’re a beacon that melted the ice of my once frozen heart. And that is why, I want to be there for you—for as long as you allow me to be.”

You can practically hear the fast paced thumping of your heart beating loudly in your chest. And your vision blurred with tears as he reached into his pocket.

“I promise.”

In his hand sat the most beautiful ring you’ve ever laid your eyes on—complete with brilliant red rubies encrusted in the golden band. Ruby red—the color of his eyes. Your mouth, although quivering—quirked up into a smile as he slid the ring onto your finger. And he smiled back as he took out another ring, with diamonds that shone with the luminance, beauty, and color of your own eyes—sliding it on to his own finger.

You let the tears flow. And, on that clear night—without a single twinkling star in the sky—you two shared a tender kiss under the ethereal glow of the full moon hanging over the city.

It was a moment that you cherished for a long time. But even as you stood there, staring lovingly in his ruby red eyes, his face and blond tresses bathed in the pale white glow of the moonlight—you still didn’t understand what your friends swooned and sighed about.

Because despite the immense love you felt, and the sweet aroma of romance wafting through the air, you still didn’t believe in soulmates.

…..

As you ascended the long staircase, you nervously fiddled with your hair, trying your best to give your whole ensemble a finishing touch. Your stomach was swimming with apprehensiveness, and a bit of anxiety as you got to the top—your heart thumping wildly in your chest as you came face to face with the large ballroom. You huffed as Xanthus chuckled with pure amusement.

“Dearest,” he laughed, “there is nothing to worry about. The way you look tonight will take everyone’s breath away.”

“Thanks, Xanthus, but this is the first time I’ve ever been to a ball! We’ll be dancing in front of people, too. I have to make sure I don’t mess up.”

He chuckled once more. “We’ve danced with each other many times before; it’s not really anything to fret over.”

“Okay, but the difference is that people will be watching.”

“You worry too much, my dear. You’ll do wonderful.”

He gave you a reassuring smile as he offered his arm to you, and you took it—smiling back as you both sauntered into the ballroom.

You were taken aback from the level of absolute grandeur that encompassed every single inch of the ballroom. The silk velvet drapes, which were the color of old red wine, cascaded from the ceiling to the ground—their gold trimmings almost sweeping against the marble floor—its own tiles embellished with swirling patterns and geometric shapes. Frescoes—paintings that were vibrant in colors and rich with lore—adorned the high ceilings as it stretched far across the room. And, in the center of it all, was a crystal chandelier looming overhead—casting a beautiful, soft glow—almost as astonishing as the moonlight that engulfed you and Xanthus just a few days prior.

The room was filled with people who were dressed to the nines—opulent gowns and dresses that cascaded all the way down to the floor, grazing it as the women walked. Men dressed in their best suits and tailcoats, standing with nonchalance as they carry on a conversation with the person talking to them. And, besides from the magnificent harmonies melted together by the woodwinds, percussions, and strings played by the live grand orchestra—the quiet sounds of excited chatter, laughter and clinking wine glasses filled the air. However, within the sea of fancy dresses and tailcoats, you spotted a familiar face—one you hadn’t seen in what felt like a million years. Still as beautiful as they were on the last day you saw them, their smile as radiant as ever—their laughter loud and full of life. And while they did go many names, you chose to call out the one that was most familiar to you.

“Love!”

In an instant they caught your gaze, and their own eyes lit up as you two made your way over.

“Well, I’ll be! It’s been so long!” They exclaimed, grabbing your hands and squeezing it.

“Too long!” You laughed, “Oh, and before I forget—Love, this is Xanthus.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Love,” Xanthus said—with a certain softness in his tone as he extended his hand.

“Pleasure’s all mine,” they responded shyly, shaking it.

And for a moment, they both stood there, staring into each other’s eyes—almost as if they were in a trance, or under some sort of spell. But, there was something different in Xanthus’ gaze; while it was true that he had looked at you with adoration and astonishment swimming in his eyes, there was something very unfamiliar about the way he looked at Love. There was a certain something in his stare—something that never appeared when he looked at you. And, that very same something gleamed in Love’s eyes.

Enamour.

Suddenly, the excitement that swam in your stomach—and the warmness that filled your heart froze over. You opened your mouth to say something, but then the live orchestra started playing a song that made all the women squeal and drag their dates to the dance floor.

The Tennessee Waltz.

Xanthus pulled away from you, and took their hand.

“May I have this dance, Love?”

“Yes you may,” they giggled.

You watched as they sauntered to the dancefloor, hand in hand, never once letting the fire of captivation fizzle out of their bright eyes. You couldn’t bring yourself to call after them, because even if you tried, the words would get stuck in your throat. So, you stood there, and watched from afar as they waltzed.

You watched as the melody consumed them—never taking a step out of turn—always on beat.

You watched as they laughed when Xanthus gave Love a twirl—his smile so wide that his teeth were showing. He never smiled at you like that.

You watched as they still held each other close, even when it was time to switch partners. They danced as if they were in their own little universe.

And, while the orchestra played the finishing note, you watched as they both shared a tender kiss, bathed in the soft glow that was casted by the chandelier looming overhead.

Your heart clenched, and a pain that burned like a wildfire consumed your chest. With great haste, and blurry vision, you ran out of there. The ballroom air was suffocating; it was filled with their new found love, and the scent was so thick and strong that it was getting harder to breathe.

You stumbled into the ballroom garden, and let the tears flow—heaving sobs and broken cries filling the atmosphere. It was a clear night, without a twinkling star in the sky—with nothing but the luminescence of the full moon hanging over the city. You cried under the very same sky your darling Xanthus declared his love for you.

The night you believed in soulmates wasn’t the night he recited his first sonnet to you. It wasn’t the night he used you as his muse for his first book, or when he made his first painting. It wasn’t even the night he gave you a promise ring, vowing to stay by your side for as long as you’d let him.

No, the night you believed in soulmates was the night Xanthus found his.

The night your friend stole your sweetheart from you.

The night they were playing the beautiful Tennessee Waltz.

———————————💔———————————

A/N: Sorry this took so long, I had so much things to do. I’m glad to be back! Have some angst!

Masterlist

#zsakuva #sakuverse #xanthus zsakuva #zsakuva xanthus #when I saw that Xanthus could’ve possibly cheated on his former partners my mind immediately went to this song #you should totally go check it out #link to it is on the title of the song #ily #I love Doris day

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