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magioftheseas · 3 years

Text

Palliate

For @i-demand-a-hug and @badthingshappenbingo

Prompt: Biting taken from here.

Rating: T+

Warnings: Vampirism with all the implications you’d get from a story still rated T+.

Notes: This is a continuation for Pariah, written for 2/2 also known as the in-game day Akechi and Protag-kun confirmed their love in Persona 5 Royal. But also with Vampire!Akira because lmao why not. However, it’s kinda angsty. Have fun.

***Alternate Ao3 Link***

Commission? Donate?

“It’s not a problem, right?” At one point, Akechi had asked that with a perfect and plastic smile. Head tilted, eyes crinkled, a smile emphasized with only soft curves. Not a flash of teeth—until now. “Right, Kurusu?”

The raw Akechi Goro was still such a sight to behold. He wondered if he ever doubted that for a moment. He supposed he should at least be glad for the scarf wrapped tightly around the neck. Somehow, his teeth still ached.

The words before had been like poison.

“Can you stay a bit?”

He knew from the second he asked that he made a mistake. And Akechi’s reaction—

The Detective Prince was perfect and plastic. Always offering a smile. Always assuming an act of innocence even when tucking his hair back to expose his throat. The image of charm, graceful on the line between friendly and intimate. It had only been those eyes that indicated his danger. A soft and sweet front—but there was no hiding that sharp and intelligent stare.

A stare which is now just a glare, lips pulled into a sneer.

“This sentimentality isn’t going to cause problems, right?” Any sweetness that could be gleaned was dripping with sarcasm. Ah, has Akechi always had sharp canines? Maybe that was just projection. “I can trust you to cooperate, yes?”

And, then.

“It’s not a problem, right? Right, Kurusu?”

Of course it’s a problem, he wants to scream. It’s been a problem since the day you shook my hand.

It’s been a problem since the day you came back with a godforsaken cocky fucking smirk.

I’ve been stuck on you like a parasite from the start.

“You didn’t answer the question,” is what he says instead.

“It’s a stupid question,” is Akechi’s blunt response. “What do you expect to get from continuing this?”

“I...” You speak so detachedly. “It’s the last chance I’ll get to taste you.”

With just the right stare of his own, Akechi stills. It’s not like a deer in headlights, not yet, but Akechi does stiffen when Akira strides towards him.

“You knew,” he said. “From the start. And you were curious. You always pressed so close, acting so innocent. If we were both normal humans, that’d be one thing. Maybe I could brush it aside.”

“Even if you were a human, you wouldn’t be normal,” Akechi said, clipped. “But, you’re not much of a vampire, either, are you?”

He’s not. But he can still practically taste the memory of Akechi’s thumb pressed against his fangs. Akechi’s grabby little hands. On his teeth, on his back, on his shoulder. Akechi, who knew and still acted like that.

Akira grips the damn scarf. Akechi doesn’t stop him, but he doesn’t rip it away. The fabric gives under his grip, but he doubts Akechi will care about a few extra wrinkles in the folds.

“You’ve never even bitten a human before,” Akechi said next, and those sharp blood-red eyes bore into him. Reflected back is an unwavering shadow. “I didn’t need to confirm it, although the lack of bite marks on any of your merry gang of thieves did strengthen my conviction. They always showed their wrists and necks without a hint of restraint—how comfortable they were around you.” Akechi’s long lashes lower, and there’s still no falter. “You look at me differently. Full of surprises, aren’t you.”

His thumb hooks into the scarf.

“Let’s not talk about that.”

With that, he pulls, pulls, pulls—

Until Akechi is standing in the attic, staring him down. The scarf has unraveled a little, but the fabric sticks to his throat like a flimsy shield. He has thin bedsheets that would provide more of a defense.

Haah.

“I would have been fine just admiring from afar,” he finds himself saying. “But then you had to go and get yourself killed.”

“And now I’m back,” Akechi says, too unimpressed to muster up a smile, no matter how sardonic. “Don’t you feel indulged?”

This is only the start of that.

He leads Akechi to the bed, seating him, keeping him upright. Tugging at that scarf until, finally, Akechi’s pale neck was exposed.

At the laundromat, I wanted nothing more than to pull you close and sink my teeth in. Just to see if you were really alive, I thought to myself, because I couldn’t believe my ears which picked up not only your voice but your heartbeat.

And what a frantic heartbeat it had been! Even now, it’s beating fast in spite of Akechi Goro’s stoicism.

When fighting you, your heart raced so much that I worried it would come beating out of your chest.

Akechi sighed, tilting his head. His eyes closed, and resignation washes over his features.

His heart is still so agitated.

So much so that Akechi does flinch when a hand comes around the side of his neck.

It’s human to fear death, Akira thought. With his other hand, he plucked off his glasses to set them aside.

“I did find it strange,” Akechi commented suddenly. “Did Maruki not know about your condition?”

“It’s not something I go around telling people.” Not a very good attempt at lightening up the mood. Come on, Akechi, you’re better than this. “Very few people figure it out on their own, too.”

Akechi’s lips pull into the straight, thin line.

On impulse, Akira leans in close to kiss the corner of them. That gets Akechi to jump.

“What,” he growls. “The hell—”

Akechi freezes completely when a fang nicks his jaw. Locked in place. Just like that. His heart pounds against his ribcage, not calming even as Akira rubs his sternum with his thumb.

“Afraid?” he asks. Even if he meant to be teasing, his breath comes out in a chill against the other’s ear. “I don’t want to hurt you. Even if I should.”

Traitor. Killer. Tease. You’re as dangerous to others as you are to yourself.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he repeats. “Which makes desiring you a bit of a problem.”

Akechi does blink.

“Goro,” Akira sighs against him, and the spell is broken.

Akechi’s gloved fingers weave through his hair and yank without mercy. And Akechi is the one to bite him hard on the neck, hard enough to draw blood.

“Ah,” Akira mumbles blandly.

His teeth are sorta sharp.

And they dig in so fiercely, too. Grinding in frustration.

How human.

“Oh, Goro,” he murmurs, holding him close, pressing him closer. He feels the tension in Akechi Goro’s shoulders get tighter, precarious like a rubber band holding the blades together. “Please, please stay with me.”

Akechi bites down harder than before. When he pulls back with that defiant glare, his lips are speckled with the same shade of crimson as his eyes. The wound stings, blood beading along the surface. Wiping that away with his thumb, he smears it against Akechi’s mouth. Strokes his puffy lower lip, and kisses him.

Gently. Mouth closed, even when Akechi nips at him.

“You spineless piece of shit,” Akechi breathed harshly, huffing. “What the actual fuck are you doing?” His fists ball up in his coat. “Are you going to bite me or what?!”

He pulls at Akira’s hair, his stare narrowed.

“Well?”

Akira runs his fingers through the other’s hair in return. The soft caramel strands don’t even get tangled. Akechi is still so particular about his appearance regardless of the world’s state. Akira thinks about pulling, but he can’t bring himself to do it.

“Well?” Akechi repeats, hissing. “What are you doing, Kurusu?”

“How did my blood taste?” he finds himself asking.

“It tasted like shit! What’s your point?!”

Shit, huh? Yeah. Vampire blood isn’t appetizing at all. Appetizing—

Then, something happened.

Akechi bit his own lower lip. Like before, he bit down hard. Hard enough to draw blood, which dribbles down his chin. Immediately, Akira leans in to catch it on his tongue.

Fuck.

He laps it up and tastes Akechi’s vicious smirk with it.

“Goro, you...” Cutting himself off so that his lips can close around that hole in Akechi’s lip. Akechi shudders against him, but he’s still grinning wildly, amused to the point of a soft puff of laugh scraping its way out between his teeth. “God.” Akira wanted to laugh, too. “I hate you.”

“Kurusu—”

Akira nuzzles into his neck and doesn’t wait another second before sinking in his teeth.

“Kurusu,” Akechi pleads, voice strangled. “Kurusu...”

His pulse is fluttering like a trapped bird. Fitting, isn’t it? For all that aggression, Akechi Goro is still vulnerable like any other human, like any other living creature at another’s mercy. And he tastes so great, warm with a hint of spice.

“Don’t you feel indulged?” Akechi had asked then, and he only whines now. He really had no idea—did he even imagine? “A... Akira...”

Warm and alive—there wasn’t a doubt about it, especially with the way Akechi squirmed when a hand slipped under his coat—

“Enough,” Akechi gasped out. “T-That’s enough, Akira.”

He applies a bandage to the bitemark but tells Akechi that it shouldn’t take long to heal.

“It’s not a replacement for proper treatment, but my saliva does have healing qualities,” he says, handing Akechi an opened water bottle. “Don’t move around too much...”

“I know the standard procedure for dealing with blood loss,” Akechi snapped. He takes a swing before Akira can stop him. Even if he chokes a little and swallows it down wrong, there’s not much to do besides let him be.

Akechi’s glove has been rolled up a little. Akira’s fingers twitch when he notices.

“With that, all is settled?” Akechi asks, lips wet with his grip on the bottle tilted. “Are you satisfied?”

Fuck it. Just what does this guy expect when he asks?

“We’re not taking the offer,” he says as he takes that hand with the unruly glove. Rather than smoothing it down, he traces the vein of his wrist. Once, twice, each stroke harder against the skin. Until he leans down and kisses that pulse. The flutter is enough to make his lips tingle. “That should be enough.”

“You’re not the type to go behind someone’s back, for better and worse,” Akechi sighed, and he turns away rather than pulling his hand back. “I can trust you. Don’t disappoint me.”

Akira’s grip on his hand tightened. He thinks of biting both of Akechi’s wrists, to let blood drip from them like severed puppet strings.

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

Akechi didn’t look at him. He refused, only giving a polite nod.

#Magi fics #bad things bingo #shuake #akeshu #p5r spoilers

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kuchee1 · 6 years

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meet me in the middle

2k / stan/kyle fluff / on ao3 🌲

summary: A pleasant evening, a terrible choice of snack, and some enlightening conversation.

(OR I was so ill that I felt sappy enough to write a got dang marriage proposal lmao)

The wind whips sharp around Kyle’s head as he walks down towards the edge of the water. It feels like his ears are going to fall off. He probably should have brought his hat, and he can definitely (well, almost) see the logic in the mop of hair he used to have as a kid; in its protective qualities, at least. It’s March, but years of living in the city has dulled his intuition a little about how cold it can be in the ass end of nowhere, namely South Park. Stan is probably feeling the same next to him, his steps a little too bouncy from the chill.

Kyle had asked him to come down here, take a break away from both their families. Not that he doesn’t want to be spending time at home (he does miss his parents and especially Ike, when he’s in Denver) but there’s been something very Stan-related on his mind lately - for a long time now - that he needs to get out.

There’s really no reason to be out by Stark’s Pond in the evening except out of some sense of childhood nostalgia, which is usually Stan’s forte, not his. Well, that's kind of why Kyle wanted to come here. He wants to do this somewhere that the sentimental part of Stan will see the value in. The right setting will do half the work for Kyle - something he really needs, considering how bad he is at this stuff.

He’s not gonna ask right now - of course not. But he wants to scope out where they stand. It’s been a while since the topic has come up, and Kyle has thought and over-thought every aspect of his feelings to a stupid point since then.

They’ve skirted around it enough. He needs Stan to know just how okay he’d be with it. Marriage, that is.

Stan runs ahead, and in a matter of moments he's skipping stones on the water. Kyle decides to stay back. He's not sure his hands are steady enough for that right now, despite how nonchalant he’s trying to feel. He automatically opens the bag of chips he's carrying to keep them busy. Cheesy poofs. Definitely not his first choice, but he didn't really get a choice. Ike’s been is back home, too, on spring break, and he devours the snack cabinet with admirable speed. Kyle can't keep up with that anymore. He probably shouldn't be eating crap right before his mom's dinner, anyway, but he rationalises it with the fact that he's on vacation.

So here they are, one of the few bearable places in the least bearable vacation spot. Kyle finds an empty patch of ground, brushing a few sharp stones away with his hands. It's completely dry, uncharacteristically, no rain or snow in sight for the few days that they’ve been here.

Stan comes and plops his ass down next to Kyle after a few minutes, raising his eyebrows at Kyle’s snack of choice. “That’s not really romantic, dude. You couldn’t have gotten, I don’t know, strawberries or something?”

Kyle laughs lightly. “Oh, we’re here to be romantic?”

Stan shrugs with a sheepish smile, shoving his hands into his pockets and drawing them taut. “I don’t know,” he says, sing-song. “The sun’s setting.”

It is.

Stan goes to stick a hand in the bag, but Kyle snatches it away, earning a flick against his temple.

Kyle ducks away. “Ow. Dude.” But Stan’s playfulness does ease the tension a little bit. He offers Stan the bag for real now, and they sit for a while, just munching and watching the colours bleed in the sky. Kyle digs the toes of his boots into the dirt.

He can do it. He can bring up the fucking topic. It’s conversation; it’s just conversation. (But it isn’t).

Stan bumps a shoulder gently against his. “Are you okay? You seem a little agitated.”

Kyle leans his head against Stan’s in reply, catches the scent of his hair and his cool skin. It makes him jittery right now, despite how the familiarity of it usually calms him. “Yeah. Just thinking.”

When Stan puts an arm warmly around his back, he decides to turn and look at him properly. “Actually, there is something I wanna talk about.”

“Yeah?”

“You know... what we said before… about, uh, getting married and stuff.”

What Stan knows, and what they’ve decided again and again in the course of long night-time conversations over the years, is this: they’re fine without it. It doesn’t have any bearing on the fact of their life together - this is the real deal, for both of them. How could it not be? They don’t need to get married (though Stan really wouldn’t mind it), because what’s the point of complicating something that’s worked so well for so long? When they know where they stand with each other anyway?

Or, that’s how Kyle thought he felt.

He continues, “I’ve been thinking about it a lot lately, because - well, I know how you feel about it.” He adds quickly, struck with a sudden apprehension, “Actually, wait - can you just remind me?”

Stan’s brows draw, a little puzzled, and his eyes are getting wider, but he rushes in as soon as Kyle says the words. He seems confused at having to state those feelings again, apparently so randomly. “How I feel? I’d want to. You know that I would.” Kyle eases instantly, feeling equally stupid and relieved.

Stan looks down at the ground, a small smile playing on his lips. He continues, looking at Kyle’s collar. “And I know you think that it’s super outdated or unnecessary or heterosexual or whatever -” He rolls his eyes with humor, but it’s betrayed by a tremor in his voice in his next words, and Kyle’s heart rushes because he knows that it’s not from the cold. “But I like the idea of being married. To you.”

Kyle’s aware that his heart has probably leapt into the fucking water.

Stan holds his gaze with earnest eyes.

He’s known that Stan has wanted to get married one day practically since they were twelve. Like a life goal or something. Rarely spoken, but it was obvious to anyone who knew Stan well. Definitely obvious to Kyle. He’d never doubted when they were kids that Stan would grow up and marry some girl and be the perfect husband, kids and dog and maybe even a picket fence. It’s just how Stan’s brain worked. Though he’d never admit it to anyone except Kyle, on account of it being, well, totally gay.

Truthfully, the idea back then had never made Kyle feel as jealous as he thought it would. It only created a certain distance - a mercifully stark sign that he wasn’t supposed to be with Stan, in the end; a reminder of reality that would help cut the cord of his longing for however many days. Because that was one thing Kyle just couldn’t imagine for himself. It was old-fashioned. He thought, as cleverly as any teenager did, that marriage was only designed to make people pop out babies while thinking about God.

And being older, still, it didn’t appeal. The nagging feeling in the back of his head told him that much: it wasn’t for people like him.

Well, he was too much of a realist, anyway.

He looks at Stan now. Thinks about how the span of the last four, five years could change his mind so completely.

He’s usually stubborn, he swears it.

Stan is still looking at him with conviction, and Kyle can hardly feel the pebbly ground under him, or the breeze around him. He looks at Stan’s expectant eyes, feels overcome with the admission in them: there’s something soft and something daring and something totally unguarded in him, in a way Kyle only wishes his own feelings could be. Stan is nervous, but he doesn’t let that get in the way.

Kyle could give him this.

He could let himself have it.

He starts, shakily, “I mean - I sort of know what you mean, now. I think I get it. It makes sense with where we are, and you really want to, right? And I guess it’s not like anything would really have to change, and, there’s tax breaks and all that, obviously.”

And, and, and. Kyle wishes he could slow down the rush of words coming out of his mouth, but the way Stan is looking at him now, head tilted and eyes widening again, is not helping. “You know what I’m trying to say, right? It’s a good idea? Fuck, dude, help me out here -”

At that, Stan exhales with a nervous laugh, and Kyle can do nothing but join him in relief. The pure joy in his face now is what’s enough to make Kyle stop in his tracks. He feels embarrassed at how he let his nerves run, words as superfluous as usual.

“Stan,” he says quietly now, pleading, because his brain jumped in too, for all the good it’s doing him now. “Am I making sense?”

Stan doesn’t reply, eyes still wide. Kyle dumbly offers him the bag of chips again.

Stan shakes out of it, digging the last cheesy poof out of the bag eagerly. He looks so fucking happy, staring at it like he’s forgotten what you’re supposed to do with food.

Kyle’s head is full of the words when Stan clears his throat, takes them from him, and speaks them for him.

“So, do you wanna marry me?”

“I was gonna say that part! Dude!”

For half a second, Stan looks incredulous. Then he falls backward, laughing like crazy, barely managing not to hit the ground.

“Kyle! Seriously?! That’s your reply?”

But Kyle’s grinning like a madman when Stan comes back to him. They both are. Stan puts their faces close, hands resting around Kyle’s neck, the question still hovering in the air between them.

Kyle breathes in sharply. He can’t think of anything he wants more in the world. It feels like a punch in the gut.

Stan says again, softer, “Do you?”

The rush of affection flattens Kyle like a wave. He puts the bag down, opens and closes his mouth noiselessly before stammering, “Fuck, of course,” around the treacherous lump in his throat. He kisses Stan clumsily, finds his lips and his cheek and the corner of his jaw, over and over and over. Stan’s palms are clammier than he would have expected when they wind tighter around the back of his neck, and his cheeks feel hot cradled in Kyle’s trembling hands. Kyle blinks hard and fast.

He backs away, just to take in the sight. Stan looks elated, eyes sparkling. Kyle can’t remember the last time he saw an expression like that, if ever. He can’t imagine ever having felt a shred of doubt over whether this was a good idea.

He snorts, “Wait, you have something on your - sorry, that’s probably my fault -” and he’s giggling hard, and Stan is too, as he brushes cheesy poof dust off Stan’s cheekbone and the shoulder of his coat. “See, this is really romantic.”

Stan only pulls him in again. “I love you so much, dude,” he says, still half-giggling, and he drags the back of his hand over his eyes with a sniff before resting their foreheads together. Kyle wants to give him the whole world.

It’s getting dark. Kyle shivers, but it’s not an unwelcome feeling. The cold feels like a blanket of secrecy around the two of them now, bring him blissfully to Stan and away from the rest of the world. He says quietly, trying to keep his voice even, “You know, getting engaged wasn’t part of the plan today.”

Stan smiles. Kyle knows that he’s taken those words for their true meaning: a declaration, of the sheer, exhilarating weight of Kyle’s feeling.

#sp style #style fanfiction #south park #my fic #style

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