Archive of Our Own

Becoming a well-known author in the creative industry was something you wished for before. You just wished the commitment would not have stumbled down a domino effect.

"Let me— go!" you screamed, desperately yanking out your arms away from your obsessive fan's firm grip, but you couldn't. Using your legs and feet was no use; you kept tripping, and you already had no energy from your authors' conference.

You weren't sure how this even happened; you were just in your room lazing around, and this fan came from your open window and behind you. If you were to write him in a book, it'd be an infatuating stalker who wants to kidnap their favorite author after reading their first book published. It seems like a perfect description of him, if only he was a random side character you wrote among the concepts you made.

"C'mon, I've done everything to support and usher your popularity through the charts!" he exclaimed. He had a disturbing grin that will undoubtedly rest in your mind for months. "Let's be together!"

You barely have the energy to fight him off verbally when it's already worse physically.

You struggled a lot. He was relentless. You were neither a strong fighter nor a serial killer. Ultimately, it felt hopeless as you managed to pull away from his grip and stagger back, about to collapse. Your wrists have been bruised from the amount of times he held your wrists roughly. You wanted to end this now.

He lunged towards you and got ahold again of your wrist. But the desperation surged through you, and by a raw instinct, you leaned forward to his forearm to bite in it deeply, using your last strength to get him down.

You sank your teeth into his forearm as it gave way under pressure, and a rush of the thick, metallic blood soon coated your tongue. Tasting the lingering saltiness as the blood seeped your throat. It was such a nauseating taste, heavy and bitter, but your sudden cannibalistic urges held you back, biting harder and tearing more of his skin and tendons.

Luckily, it got him down, contorting in pain, pulling himself away from you. Seizing the moment, you used that to thrash across his face and collarbone. You hear the numerous cracks among the firm hits you made and moving downwards to his chest by punching his abdomen hard, enough for blood to spew out of his mouth.

Vitality was at a loss, but it seems like he's currently focusing on the forearm that you ate a part of. You know doing this wasn't enough, so what better way than to just resort your cannibalistic instinct and pick up your desk lamp to stab him in the chest?

Running quick to your desk to grab the lamp you bought from your local online shopping brand, anchoring the lamp directly on top of his chest, you thrust the lamp repeatedly. The initial blow was strong, puncturing his skin till his heart had been stabbed and stabbed, and the room echoed with wet, visceral sounds—

Then you stopped.

Your bedroom was becoming a mess, soaked in the warm red blood of your crazy stalker-fan. Blood lingered through every bit of the room — sight, smell — such a total mess.

You begin trembling as a whole and stare blankly at his body. You were breathing shallowly and shaking, with the lamp dropping from the bloody hands with ease. Your mind is spiraling out of control.

"I fucking killed someone."

Wow. You never thought to this day, you'd actually kill someone or something, and to make it worse, you ate a part of their forearm, seriously. You can still taste the awful bitterness of blood and flesh in your stomach. You were given flashbacks of that dark web chatroom you joined a year ago; you were given flashbacks of Angel.

Right, Angel. You totally forgot about her ever since your fan broke in to your bedroom and tried to kidnap you. Now that you actually did human cannibalism, it was so humiliating; she has been the center of a cannibalism-related running gag, and before she could've even become one, you got to it first.

Oh, and, not to mention — she's your girlfriend.

Your body was still trembling; you crossed your arms and held a firm grip on your elbows as you kneeled in front of the most gory scene you ever witnessed, and it was because of you. How should you react again? Your surroundings started to become a blur, slipping yourself into a haze with a tightened chest and stifled sobs. You didn't want it to end like this, but it had to.

Officially, this is the most traumatizing day for you. And in addition to that, the day hasn't yet finished: you have to clean everything else.

Undoubtedly, you can't do it. You did not and probably will never recover from this incident. Therefore, how?

"..."

"I need her help."

Your sight instantly unblurred itself as you wiped the streaming tears from your face. You can't almost breathe, but you will settle that aside later.

You undergo a rush to search for your phone, just when you find it near your bed, where it presumably fell off from the bed. Gently picking up your phone, hands still covered in blood that isn't yours. You directed yourself instantly to the chatroom, to the channel: #killer_shit.

Your fingers dragged up to switch to the direct messages of Angel, god forbid Misaki's last message.

Oh, aren't you just so screwed?

Angel is on the way, but that means you will have to wait for her; you will have time for yourself and reflect on what you have just done.

Lifting yourself with the entirety of your strength, you staggered to your bathroom to wash yourself, even if it was just your hands and face.

The faucet becomes stained with pure blood. The blood is effortlessly withdrawn from your hands and face. You decided to examine yourself in the mirror and saw you, an insatiable person. You take heavy breaths against the cold mirror; it becomes hazy. The faucet is still running.

Thinking about it again, it is quite ironic. Angel. She was the one with the cannibal label pressed on her. How can you tell her you've eaten and killed someone simultaneously?

You gently closed the running water of the faucet, preparing yourself to walk back to your bloody room.

Time doesn't wait, they say, and you sure hope it wasn't. The clock ticks slowly; you really hoped it wasn't waiting for you.

It ticks more until a high-pitched voice calls out your name; it's her.

As you gently open the door, the hinges creak softly, and Angel suddenly pulls you into a tight, warm embrace once she sees the glimpse of you.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she gasps. "I wasn't there to protect you; I promised I would kill anyone for you. But..."

Her warm and radiating presence soothes your tensed body. Better yet, the tight embrace grounds you in a sense of comfort, of freedom; you cried against her collarbones; the crying felt more satisfied than ever, thanks to her presence.

"It's— It's fine," you hiccupped. "Let me hug you for another minute, please."

Angel wraps her hands around the back of your cranium, squeezing her hands; she threads her fingers against your hair, running through your hair soaked in dry blood. She pulls you closer than before. Her lidded eyes examine the current state of your room and the corpse.

"I'll dispose of the corpse; I'll clean everything. Would... That be all right?" Angel asks, her voice faint and gentle, soothing to your ears.

"Later," you replied, your voice steady and firm, "I want you to leave it all like it is."

Angel blinks, her eyebrows slightly furrowed as she processes your words. "Ah, does this mean... you wanna do the talking first? I'll clean you up too."

You sensed the unwavering uncertainty on her face, so you gave her a slight gesture of a nod. And she pulls you out of the embrace, tracing her fingers against your arms to your hand, just to intertwine it together. She tenderly pulls you away to help you clean up in the bathroom and go into a new atmosphere in the living room.

Now you're on the couch with her; she offers you tissues. You've been crying for the past few minutes, and you can barely breathe. You've been avoiding her gaze, but you can sense her face mixed with emotions. She shoves herself closer to you, clasping her hand with yours as she almost closes the gap between you and her.

You take the biggest breath-ins and breath-outs you've had before. "I killed him, but I didn't mean to," you stated, keeping your voice steady and firm as it was earlier.

"..Of course you didn't," Angel replies softly, "so? How do you feel right now?"

Silence lingers through the room till you snort out, turning into bitter laughter. "It's, ironic! Isn't it?" you giggled with a curled-up smile.

The same unwavering uncertainty appears again on Angel's face. "What are you trying to say?"

Another set of laughter bursts out of you, laughter so dry and bitter your throat becomes hoarse once you try to speak. You can see her face turning to worry; her gaze softens, and she squeezes her hands in your hand tentatively.

"I ate a part of his forearm."

...

Silence again lingers; the tension is heavier and tightened.

You averted your eyes away from her face, but you know damn well she had those wide eyes, slightly parted lips, mixed in the shock and bewilderment. Her unspoken words left you hanging in a closed-space atmosphere.

"Is that all?"

"Huh?" you blurted before bringing your sight to Angel's face.

"I suppose the picture you sent gave me a hint that you ate his forearm."

Despite being in such a situation, a dry chuckle escapes from your lips as you try to suppress your amusement. "Really? I should've expected it, coming from you," you muttered, subconsciously pulling out a smirk.

Angel's gentle expression instantly changed into a sharp and withering look at you. "Oh, shut it," she shot back, lowering her head slightly as she sighs with a now softened gaze, still looking at you with her clasped hands onto yours. "Look, I just want you to feel safe with me, okay? I'll make sure no one will find out about this, not even anyone from the server."

The moment you saw her tender and soft look, your poker face faltered, feeling more of the heavy weight of your true emotions falling down. Her sweet, gentle voice full of sincerity and care brought slight tears unbidden to your face; of course she would know; she has always felt safe with you, even in chat. Now it would probably be the time for you to feel safe in her presence.

Trusting Angel and yourself, you let go of all the weight in your body and embrace her warmth again.

Once you dropped the weight of your body onto her, your face pressed against her shoulder, the faint scent of her delicate fragrance lingering on her clothes, mingling with the chaos that still clung to the air. Her arms wrapped around you instinctively; you could feel the steady rise and fall of her chest, her breathing calm and rhythmic, as if willing your own to match her pace. There and there, you can feel the soothing sensation that you feel every time you text and call her.

"Just promise me you won't tell anyone," you sighed.

Angel's fingers trace a circle around your back, her touch light and soft. As she pulls you closer, her eyes lingered to the door to your bedroom. "Of course, just like what you've done for me," she assures, and she pauses. A faint puff comes from her: "Here, look at me."

Anything to look at her pretty and tender face, you lifted your head from her shoulders, and your gaze meets her again.

Immediately, and without warning, her hands cupped your cheek, feeling her cool, soft palm against your warm, dry tear-streaked face; her thumbs brushed softly around the edges of your jaw. Before processing the gesture, she leans in, pressing her lips onto your lips. You sensed the same soft and delicate lips that you first encountered during your first visit to Angel's, or de la Rosa's, house.

You kissed Maria de la Rosa again. How would you write this kiss? Maybe something like 'de la Rosa's lips were as soft as cotton, yielding gently against yours. The faint scent of her perfume, a sweet and floral aroma, drifts between you and her, enveloping your senses in its fragrance. Her lips carried a softness that was otherworldly. As time stretched, it was so passionate yet intoxicating, but you decided to savor this moment she wove for you.'

And you really did savor the moment; it took care of all the overbearing weight you seeped in from that obsessive now-dead fan of yours. The kiss, her presence, everything about Angel, Maria de la Rosa, the Heartsick Angel, grounded you entirely.

On the other hand, you yourself still had that taste of a cannibal; the metal tang still stenches through your mouth and throat; you could taste it, and she would've, but she seemingly ignores it.

You pulled yourself away from the prolonged kiss that was your salvation; the sweetness of her scent and the lingering sensation of her lips left a spectral mark, probably for the rest of your life too.

"Fuck..." Angel whispers, her cheeks flushing a pale pink color, her eyes darted to nowhere, a heavenly sight for you to see. Were you even allowed to see? Who cares? Angel seemed awkward as she shifted in her position. "Sorry, if the kiss was too sudden, I thought it was a way to soothe you, did it?" she gently asks.

You immediately giggled, "oh, but of course it did. What, were you caught off guard too?"

Angel sighs, hinting a sense of defeat, "perhaps I didn't meant it to go way further, and as for the taste.."

"Ah— you did taste it?" You assert, a sheepish smile forming on your face. It was expected, but you didn't think she would comment about it.

"You told me you ate a part of their forearm, so I was expecting it," Angel firmly replies. "Even so, it's not like I would've have disliked it," she snickers, with a slight blush of acknowledgement. Fuck right off, of course she wouldn't!

"Holy shit you actually admitted to liking it: you're a well-nigh cannibal."

The blush on Angel lingers longer and deepens with the boldness of her to just abruptly admit she liked the taste to you. At this point, you knew her subconscious carnivorous desire had begun stirring up in her senses, just as you imagined.

Angel pouts. "Well, you're an actual cannibal, for I, am just a well-nigh cannibal." She smirks, with a tone reeking of playfulness and tease.

You didn't respond to her antics, other than an eye roll.

"However, getting that aside, I'll clean the corpse and everything else," Angel states, glancing you with a tentative smile. "Would you like it if I stay for the night? I'll send a notice to my agencies and my channel."

"Yeah, I'd like that," you reply, your voice quieter than you intended, but you felt safe, and that's all it matters. You managed to curl your lips into a small, grateful smile. "Thank you."

"Anything for my man-eating girlfriend." Angel coos, plastering a playful grin with a light and cheerful giggle.

You blink, the weight of realization sinking in slowly; the cannibalism joke has been turned against you instead of Angel. You sigh in defeat and with a sting of disappointment; should you try relenting? No... You know better as an author, and even if it was just a one-time.