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aibouOriginal Prompt: In which Izanami and Yosuke are a couple: I've seen this abstractly, and if anyone can point out a fic where this thought is explored thoroughly. I want smut, I want evilness, I want I/Y, please!
She only ever tells him one truth, the first night she comes to him.
Her fingers are under his chin and her eyes are dull red mirrors, reflecting nothing. She brings the fog with her and obscures everything, whites out the quiet little town with its empty streets and two-faced people and its boring, boring existence.
She brings something new and exciting.
What she says is: "I am doing this to hurt him," and he can hear what doesn't need to be voiced.
You're not good enough.
The jealously starts there and he can't get rid of it.
"Does that bother you?" she asks on another visit, the fifth or sixth or tenth, and he can't see her face through the fog, can only make out a blank canvas of white. Her fingers are wet when she touches him, his cheek, his chin, his neck, and he heats up.
She's cold in a way he's never felt before and her fingers scratch his skin.
"That's not who I want to be."
Later, he demands it to be punched out, experiences a few hours of being empty of it. It's like being born again, like someone removed a cloth from over his eyes.
She lays him down and fills him up with it again, stares at him with eyes that are thinking of someone else.
Thinking of him.
And when he comes, she smiles, sated, content, pleased with the thought of how much this will hurt his best friend.
She doesn't see him at all.
He trashes his room when he wakes up, beats himself up. It doesn't help. The next time he sees Souji, anger and hate make his head ache, and his hands shake because it's not what he wants to feel, it's been put there by someone else and he can't get rid of it.
"You were good," she whispers to him as they make their way through her dungeon, and he knows that's a lie. But that's fine because if he knows, he can ignore her, can fight her and fix himself while he still has time. "Now do this one last thing for me."
He doesn't know what it'll be. He tells himself he won't do it, but he remembers her touch, biting cold against his flushed skin, and he's not sure he'll be able to resist.
She only ever tells him one truth, the first night she comes to him.
Her fingers are under his chin and her eyes are dull red mirrors, reflecting nothing. She brings the fog with her and obscures everything, whites out the quiet little town with its empty streets and two-faced people and its boring, boring existence.
She brings something new and exciting.
What she says is: "I am doing this to hurt him," and he can hear what doesn't need to be voiced.
You're not good enough.
The jealously starts there and he can't get rid of it.
"Does that bother you?" she asks on another visit, the fifth or sixth or tenth, and he can't see her face through the fog, can only make out a blank canvas of white. Her fingers are wet when she touches him, his cheek, his chin, his neck, and he heats up.
She's cold in a way he's never felt before and her fingers scratch his skin.
"That's not who I want to be."
Later, he demands it to be punched out, experiences a few hours of being empty of it. It's like being born again, like someone removed a cloth from over his eyes.
She lays him down and fills him up with it again, stares at him with eyes that are thinking of someone else.
Thinking of him.
And when he comes, she smiles, sated, content, pleased with the thought of how much this will hurt his best friend.
She doesn't see him at all.
He trashes his room when he wakes up, beats himself up. It doesn't help. The next time he sees Souji, anger and hate make his head ache, and his hands shake because it's not what he wants to feel, it's been put there by someone else and he can't get rid of it.
"You were good," she whispers to him as they make their way through her dungeon, and he knows that's a lie. But that's fine because if he knows, he can ignore her, can fight her and fix himself while he still has time. "Now do this one last thing for me."
He doesn't know what it'll be. He tells himself he won't do it, but he remembers her touch, biting cold against his flushed skin, and he's not sure he'll be able to resist.
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