#endstyle

         AND THE NEXT THING he’d felt, was the cold. Having his head finally crumble away into nothingness, everything from then on, became a blur. His head waits, in the darkness ––– saying no words, thinking no thoughts.

        He’d remembered talking to Shinobu, and he remembered her smiling –––– but soon, he was here again, alone, waiting to fade away like a forgotten memory. The spark to his eyes was dull; disappearing as he feels himself begin to disappear. Where is he going? Is he sinking into the pits of hell?

         Perhaps it would be fitting, to end up there with no one besides him –––– a proper fate, for a monster. His head sits in the darkness – not even his parents waited for him – he was entirely alone. What remained of his consciousness fading, he begins to think.

        And tears roll down his cheeks, when he thinks of the pain he’d caused. Shinobu seemed so full of life, when she talked to him –––– he wishes he could have said sorry, before she’d ran off to a place he could never follow.

       Douma doesn’t ask for someone to save him, he doesn’t beg for hell to cease swallowing him whole –––– his head merely waits for whatever is coming, because in his heart, he knew he deserved it. He’d killed countless people, and now, this is what was coming for him ––––

                        –––– loneliness.

      Quietly, he finds himself sobbing ––– holding no hands to wipe away his tears. Death was merciless, and he doesn’t fight it – but even then, the tears refuse to stop. He feels, and he feels with everything he’s had ­–––– for the first time in his fruitless existence, he feels emotion –

⎾ @endstyle​ asked: 5'4" & ready to duel | is kyou the arm rest or is your muse the arm rest ( heigh comparison ) | accepting! ✹

“AHAHA!”

@endstyle​ said: "--- you make things so difficult," he huffs as he draws him down for a kiss, teeth sharp against his bottom lip as he nips at him, pushing himself to be harsh against the need to hold Douma tenderly, or kiss him softly. It's hard, when his heart aches for something sweet as it flutters in his ribcage, and Akaza eventually parts from the kiss to rest his forehead against his chest instead, because it would be so easy to request this all meant something more, and he's torn, he's torn, he's torn.

         AND HE’S SILENT, as he’s pulled down into their next kiss. Humming as their lips press together, paired with a light jolt as the other’s fangs graze against him –––– Douma looks down at him, as hands find themselves drifting to his shoulders.

          To pull him in, or to push him away ––– what a predicament. However, Douma was particularly enamoured with the rush every kiss brought –– and so, gently, he guides him to step away before he bends down.

        He kisses him again. Fervently. Selfishly. Wanting to scratch that itch again, and again, and again. Despite the taste of blood from a healed wound lingering against his tongue, he enjoys the feeling of adrenaline pumping through his veins.

        For the demon, there was no TEAR in his very being, every time they were brought together. To him, it was without question, to devote himself to the other. It was fun, it was new, it was entertaining ––––

                      –––– But deep down, there was also a void within him,                                     that he was silently begging Akaza to fill.

          AND HE HADN’T REALISED that Akaza had been visiting him so often. Perhaps that was the reason he dreamt of him so regularly –––– but even over time, the longer he came to sleep, the more the other’s scent faded. It wasn’t the most glamorous reintroduction ––– licking the blood from his claws and wiping the crimson from his lips ––– when he sees him for the first time in so long, however,

           he still smiles, all the same.

     “–––akaza-dono...?”

                      He forgets about the blood, he forgets about being presentable. In a moment without thinking, he shuffles to the edge of his bed, reaching out for him –––– As if he hadn’t seen him in years.

      He can barely speak, but he tries.

@endstyle​ said: itssl n;;ot tr,ue yo;re es o ,ugl,y

           AND HE GIGGLES ––– how cute! He was embarrassed! “–––you know,” he gives a sigh, perching by the other, “–––we should be honest, don’t you think? i’ll start! i love your tattoos.”

       He leans against him, gently.

      “–––they really suit you, akaza-dono! they really make your features so much more...”

@endstyle​ said: rolls his hair back to see if hes bald or not

         GENTLY SMACKS HIS HAND away.   “–––please stop checking if my hairline is receding, akaza! it’s mean!”

        AND SHOULD HE BE FOLLOWED, gradually, Douma’s feet would find themselves being lead to a cliff by rushing water. He steps to the edge, colourful sights peering over the edge ––– before it was with a sigh, he presses his hands together.

INTERVIEW THE MUSE // @endstyle​ said: ‘ do you need a hug? ’

         AND THERE WAS A PAUSE, as Douma comes to consider his answer to such a question. Affection was something he welcomed, but the use of the word ‘need’ was what threw him off. Did he need anything? The answer was no. He didn’t need anything, he was only left following cravings and desires ­–––– What a sad existence.