#⚔️« dark content »

[campcfhalfbloods]

@campxhalfblood || continued from here

Ares was also on his way to the grocery store until he felt somebody bumping into him, causing him to turn to see an unfamiliar face. Sally's face looks...somewhat familiar? Although, he couldn't place a finger as to why Sally's face looks familiar, he caught a glimpse of the bruise on Sally's forearm.

"You're fine, ma'am." Ares grunted out, his voice coming out rather gruff. "...forgive me for the intrusion but...are you alright? I'm asking because I see a bruise on your forearm." He then gestures his hand over to Sally's forearm as he arched an eyebrow.

[secrets-of-ty]

Danny Phantom Fanfic Masterlist

I've been meaning to do this for a bit! Since I've been in the Phandom for 10+ years I've picked up a lot of good fanfics over the years and I think it'd be great to share them again in case people have forgotten/haven't encountered them!

I mostly used Fanfiction.net in my older days so a lot of them will be linked there. I'm also pretty picky when it comes to fics being completed, so expect the ones listed to be bingeable with an ending! And finally, I'm not huge on romance/smut so most of them probably won't involve those genres, I'll point out ones that do. (These are in no particular order).

👻 Happy Reading! 👻

👻 = Regular Fic

🟢 = Alternate Universe Fic

⚔️ = Crossover Fic

💙 = Would Recommend!

💙💙 = One of my Favorites!

💙⚔️💙 Mirrored by Lynse

"As a general rule, diving into unknown swirly vortexes in the Ghost Zone is a bad idea, but this was a time when Danny had no other real choice. Meanwhile, Jake thought he was through dealing with ghosts, but Rotwood, well, he's just getting started."

I posted about this one a few years ago and the author, @ladylynse , said it's also available on AO3. This is by far one of my f a v o r i t e fanfics that I read annually or so! If you're a sucker for American Dragon too, definitely check this one out <3 The characterization of both Jake and Danny, plus watching their friendship grow, always gets me in the feels.

💙👻 Phantom's Sketchbook by AkoyaMizuno

"Mr. Lancer finds himself in an unparalleled situation, he has access to something which can give him incredible insight into the personal workings of Amity Park's local ghost teen hero, Danny Phantom."

It's been a while since I've read this one, but I remember it having a lovely characterization of Lancer plus his mentor relationship with Danny. (I loved this one a great amount back in the day that I, uh, made fanart and turned it in for a school assignment. Which is lost to the ages now 😅)

👻 Darkness by Cordria

"Maddie and Phantom are trapped in the dark. Can they come to an agreement to work together before they both die at the full moon? Part 1 of Illuminations Saga."

I don't quite remember this one but I DO remember Cordria had some absolute bangers. You'll probably see their name a few more times on this list.

💙👻💙 Masks by Cordria

"Sometimes, people hide who they truly are behind masks. This is a short story about the day that Lancer decides enough is enough when it comes to Daniel Fenton. Sequel is 'Plunge'"

When I said Cordria had bangers, THIS is one of them! Another fic that I read annually, this one involves Lancer getting closer and closer to Danny's secret while he's stuck in detention for the weekend. I love love LOVE the characterization of Danny and Lancer in this, another at the top of the favorite list!

👻 Plunge by Cordria (sequel to Masks ^)

"Sequel to 'Masks'. Now that Lancer has learned the truth and has let Danny out of his office, Danny needs to face the next hurdle: his parents."

For some reason, I always forgot to put this on my favorite list so I often missed out on reading it with my annual read of Masks. I remember it being a decent sequel where the Fentons pick up the pieces of Danny's reveal.

👻 Pits by Cordria

"Danny has been captured and thrown into the Pits by Walker to fight for his life. Listen in as he tells his dark, twisted tale of surviving despite the odds. Warning: dark and depressing. Sequel is 'Final Exam'."

Another one I don't fully remember, but it had to be a solid read since it's on my favorites haha! I have a vague sense that it was a little angst/gore-y(?) as the description warns, so just heads up!

👻 Lab Rat by AnneriaWings

"The look on my parents' faces – eager, curious, somewhat hateful – wasn't exactly hard to give away their intentions. I knew what they were going to do to me even before Mom snapped on a pair of rubbery, white latex gloves."

*** This one is definitely a vivisection fanfic with graphic descriptions, so beware that content. Again, haven't read it in a long time but it had satisfied my angst itch back in the day.

👻 Wondering by Phantomrose96

"A continuation to Cordria's starshot #69 "Wondering". Danny's been captured and tortured by his parents, but he refuses to say a word until his psychiatrist starts connecting the dots. Can he risk keeping it a secret any longer?"

*** Another angst, lab experiment-esque fic. There are definite graphic scenes (as warned in the first chapter). I do remember this fic being huge in the 2010s (definitely a staple of the Phandom). The relationships and Danny recovering from his torture were great highlights.

👻 Connections by Lynse

"Maddie knows that the Booo-merang has keyed into Danny, for whatever reason, so what's she to think when she sees it collide with Phantom?"

Don't quite remember this one, but Lynse is amazing at writing, so it's bound to be a good read.

👻 Confessions by Lynse (Sequel to Connections ^)

"Follows Connections. Danny's secret's not as safe as he thinks, what with Maddie unable to ignore her wild suspicions any longer and piecing things together and Jack asking questions all on his own."

Same as above!

💙👻 Earthquake by Turkeyhead987

"Danny leaves with his bathroom excuse and leaves Dash curious. He follows Danny and ends up the the gym room with him. While they're in there, an earthquake occurs and leaves them trapped inside. Will any secrets be revealed? No DashxDanny! They're just the main characters!"

This one is another one that I've read multiple times over the years! From what I remember, it was a fun read involving Dash and Danny being trapped in the gym after an earthquake, and explores how Danny handles his secret around Dash while they wait for rescue.

💙👻 A Jock and a Hard Place by AnneriaWings

"Danny and Dash were silent, trying to wrap their mind around that stupid, simple fact – the door was locked. They were trapped. In a janitor's closet. Together. (Collab with Haiju)"

No romance in this one! Another story where Danny and Dash get trapped together. I've read this one several times, and remember enjoying the tension of Danny's secret being revealed. I also think they explored Danny and Dash's relationship in a fun way!

👻 An Unlikely Alliance by Represent

"Maddie wants her family back. In an attempt to understand her Danny's change in behavior, she unwittingly enlists the GIW to exorcize Phantom from her son."

Gonna be real with ya'll, I don't remember this one at all. But uhhh I'm gonna throw it on here just because I can. :)

👻 Flip Turn by dreamsweetmydear

"Danny's life the last couple of years has been chaotic and pretty scary, to say the least. However, one detention with Mr. Lancer opens a window of opportunity that promises to turn his life around in more ways than one. Revelation fic. Post-"Kindred Spirits.""

Yet again, I don't remember this fic. Sorry! But it's under 8000 words, so it's a little bit of a shorter read than some of the ones on this list!

👻 Journey of Secrets by WolfKael

"First Danny Phantom fic! DXS, TXV, but not super-heavy. Lancer's class is on a trip to the Ghost Zone, courtesy of the Fentons! (Takes a couple chapters to gain momentum, and I promise it isn't your average 'field trip' fic!) T because I'm paranoid, but it could probably be K ."

Also not a fic I remember. It's got about 50,000 words so thought I'd throw it in for anyone that likes a longer fic!

👻 Vulnerable by HaiJu

"A desperate moment leads to a difficult choice, and Danny must deal with the consequences. A collaboration between Anneriawings and Haiju."

Don't remember it, but HaiJu had/has some great fics! Seems to involve Danny and Maddie after skimming the first chapter.

👻 Little Fires by Represent

"My family's supposed to be geniuses, yet they've never figured it out. Now I know why. Because they already know I'm Phantom. They must know. The better questions are: Have they known this whole time? What's in that vial? What happened to Skulker? And what's in the locked drawer?"

You know what, if I remember it, I'll say something 😂

👻 Judge, Jury, Executioner by Cordria

"The Observants and the Ghost Council are sick of the Fentons creating half-ghost creatures that disobey the rules of the universe. It's time for them to step in before more are made. Can Danny save his parents and keep his secret intact? A three-part fic."

💙👻 A Phantom Marooned by LordPugsy

"No one but Danny was suspicious when his English class was awarded an all-expenses paid cruise trip by an anonymous benefactor. Everyone but Danny thought it was bad luck when they became ship-wrecked on an island in the middle of nowhere. No one but Danny fully understood the dangers lurking in the trees. No one but Danny knew how much danger they were all in so far from home."

This one involves Danny and his class getting out of Amity Park, so it's a little more oc-filled and explores a nontraditional setting for the trio. There might be a little SamxDanny in this one if I remember correctly, but overall I do remember having fun reading through this!

🟢 Candlelight by HappyLeif

"Sam's only friend is the ever-loyal Tucker, ever since Danny began slowly distancing himself from them after some accident freshman year. She wanted a friend, but she never thought she'd find the one she was looking for in the highly debated ghostly hero of Amity Park.

AU = Danny alone during the portal accident. Looks like there's some SamxDanny in this one! Don't remember it but heck I might have to reread it since the synopsis has me interested.

👻 Crashing and Burning by GriffinRose

"For two years, Maddie has put up with Danny's ridiculous lies and excuses. She's tried everything to get through to him, but the pattern just goes on. She's so tired of fighting him on this all the time. And so, after two years, she's done. She doesn't care what her son does anymore, because Danny doesn't seem to care that he's her son."

👻 I'll Be Here by HaiJu

"Some days you can't pick yourself up. Having family means you don't have to. Danny-centric, three oneshots. Completely shameless hurt/comfort. Bring tissues… and antiseptic."

👻 What Little Girls Are Made Of by HaiJu

"Phantom and his younger double save Amity Park from a monstrous ghost, nearly destroying themselves in the process. The Fentons have always hunted ghosts; now it's time to save one."

💙👻💙 You Should Be Dead by SaphireDragon11

"Dash and Kwan are horrified to discover they've accidentally killed their classmate, but perhaps even more so when he shows up at school the next day. With his secret on the line, Danny soon discovers Dash and Kwan are the least of his worries."

THIS story is definitely a favorite and fun read! The ending battle chapters always gets me excited to reread! ***Danny does get straight up shot by Dash at the beginning so be warned for that content. But I remember a post going around a year or so ago where someone had drabbled about Danny getting up after being shot by Dash. This story explores that concept with a longer plot!

💙👻💙 Roughing It by HaiJu

"Lost deep in the woods with an undead pack on their heels, Maddie and Phantom find themselves entangled in an awkward alliance. Can they cooperate long enough to get out of this mess?"

Another favorite! This one explores Maddie and Danny's relationship, kind of similar to how the show did in the Maternal Instincts episode. I adore how HaiJu explores Maddie's thought-process with dealing with Phantom in a situation where she kind of needs him and he won't leave her alone. Great mother-son fic!

👻 Phantom of Truth by Haiju

"Locked away in a secret government lab with Phantom as her subject, nothing stands between Maddie and the truth... except, perhaps, herself."

Haven't read this one in a loooooong time, but I remember being around for HaiJu updating this fic, posting about it on Tumblr, and the Phandom being generally hyped for it. Another staple for the Phandom! It's another torture fic, so heads up regarding that content!

💙👻 Shadow of a Doubt by Haiju (Sequel to Phantom of Truth ^)

"The truth was supposed to save Danny. Fix things. The lab, the experiments, the lies, those were all in the past. Weren't they? Sequel to Phantom of Truth."

And then BAM on top of finishing Phantom of Truth, HaiJu hit us all with a completed sequel! I was super excited whenever this fic got updated, felt like I was waiting for a new episode to air on TV every time! There's some OCs in this since it explores Danny running away from Amity, but I remember genuinely loving the OCs and loved reading about Danny mentally recovering from being experiment on.

👻 Just a Boy by Tay1019411

"Maddie and Jack finally have Phantom right where they always wanted him: in there lab, helpless, but everything is different now. Now, Maddie faces the truth about what Phantom really is."

🟢 Make It Go Away by DarkNymfa

"Not for the first time, Danny cursed himself for never telling anyone about his extra-curricular activities. And now, far more injured than he could fix himself, Danny desperately wished that he had told just one person."

No one knows AU

👻 Flicker by DarkNymfa

"It had taken just one moment, one split-second in which she had seen Phantom instead of Danny. Now she found herself on a path she didn't want to be on. One she couldn't leave, not anymore."

👻 The Scientific Method by ReconstructWriter

""After two years of failures you'd have better luck asking Phantom to be your lab-rat," Jazz said. The Fentons decide to try just that."

👻 Phantom Hitchhiker by ghostanimal

"Phic Phight Oneshot: While students get to leave early after a ghost attack, teachers have to stick around for boring meetings to discuss the attack. The ghost attack was now over, but it didn't mean all the ghosts were gone. Lancer finds himself driving a certain Phantom home while reflecting on how young the poor kid is."

👻 Returning After the Reveal by Illusn

"Phic Phight attack, using a prompt by Love-ly-ish. Danny returns to school after his secret was revealed in a ghost attack, having to deal with people suddenly treating him differently."

👻 Vantage Point by Lynse

"Phantom was young. Painfully young. Somehow, Lancer had never really noticed that before. One-shot, written for the 2019 Phic Phight."

👻 Oddities by Lynse

"Jack can't deny that their ghost hunting equipment malfunctions around Danny-consistently and exclusively around Danny-and decides to get to the bottom of it, once and for all. One-shot, written for the 2019 Phic Phight."

👻 To Be a Hero by cosette141

"Danny has always known the consequences should he be captured by the Guys In White, but now Tucker is going to learn firsthand just what the stakes are for his superhero friend and what it really means to be a hero. (not slash) hurt/comfort"

👻 Family Reunion by Dp-Marvel94

"For Phango. Prompts used- Setting: Family Reunion, Wes Weston, Aunt Alicia, Stuck in the thermos. And Identity Reveal…kinda (does it count if Wes had already worked out that Fenton was Phantom but hadn't seen him actually transform so wasn't completely sure?)"

Wes Fic!

👻 Stuck by SummersSixEcho

"[OneShot] After a prank from two of his ghostly acquaintances, Danny is stuck in ghost mode during one of the most important events of his young half-life. If only he didn't have to give a speech on top of it... [Phic Phight 2020 entry; prompt by Ghostanimal]"

👻 One-Eighty by SummersSixEcho

"[One Shot] After a grueling battle, two teenagers at a diner try to sort out a night of revelations. [DannyMay 2020, Day 28: Diner]"

👻 Threads of Time by ZombieRed

""I just want to know what's going on with you, Danny! I wish I could just, I don't know, spend the day figuring out what you've been hiding from me. Then maybe I could help you. But you being closed off from everyone is only hurting you. Can't you see that?" Or Maddie keeps on waking up to Thursday morning [No PP, pretty much ignores season 3 as a whole]"

👻 Invisible Stitches by Lynse

"Family bonding time might be less dangerous now that his parents know his secret, but that doesn't mean Danny is wild about being kept in the dark when it comes to his dad's plans for the weekend. One-shot."

Loved the concept of Danny having trouble being away from Amity Park!

👻 Whenever You're Ready by SummersSixEcho

"[OneShot] Jack and Maddie try to show their son they are very supportive of Phantom once they find out his secret. They want him to tell them on his terms, but everything ends up in bigger misunderstandings and more revelations they weren't prepared for. [Belated Phic Phight entry for Star G, Arioz, Bird, Dekalkomania, and Wife]"

Written in a Journal-Entry style! Interesting format if I remember correctly.

👻 An Attempt at Camping by Seasilver17

"They should have known that even when they were in the middle of nowhere camping. Something would have to go wrong. Curse his Fenton luck"

👻 Secrets Secrets and Advice (This Teacher's Vice) by AppleScentedLazers

"After a particularly grueling day Mr. Lancer just wants to go home, kick up his feet, and read some Shakespeare. But, when he runs into two of his students looking for their missing best friend, Lancer ends up with more questions than he has answers for. Such as, who is Phantom? And just what is Daniel Fenton hiding?"

👻🟢 Going Ghost by cosette141

"My take on the moment Danny turns on the ghost portal and becomes half-ghost… as well as an alternate way for Sam and Tucker to find out. Friendship Oneshot"

👻 Lair by Lexosaurus

"When something goes wrong with a piece of Vladco tech, Valerie ends up stuck in the Ghost Zone. With Phantom."

💙👻 In Case of Emergency by Unlucky Alis

"Lancer is grading papers when he gets the call. "I'm calling from Amity West. I have an underage patient here who has named you as their emergency contact." Lancer rushes over, of course, fretting all the while about what accident Danny Fenton has gotten himself into now, because it could only be him. Except, when he arrives, it's not the Danny he expected to find."

I remember enjoying the little twist on Lancer being the emergency contact for Phantom yet having no idea. Lancer handles it pretty well all things considered. (I think you guys can tell I just like Lancer fics at this point HA)

👻 Furthest from Myself by WastefulReverie

"An accident during a ghost invasion leaves nearly a hundred citizens with inexplicable ghost powers. Little did they know, this was only the catalyst for a series of revelations."

👻 Ghost Smarts! by Dekalkomania

"When it becomes clear the ghosts are here to stay, the Amity Park school district decides they need to teach proper safety precautions. In dire need of extra credit, Danny takes Mr. Lancer's offer to be the assistant in an assembly titled, "Ghost Smarts!"

Very unprepared for what he signed up for, Danny must deal with the eccentric detective J.J. Bittenbinder, all while not blowing his cover."

[museofhis]

Blood is Hot, like Love.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ⚰️ •• 五条悟. ━━ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ˚˚˚ ──✟ ⚔️ 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐄𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐡,ㅤ𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐦𝐚𝐝𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬⠀✟ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ血液与玫瑰 ⠀⠀𝟾𝟸ᵗʰ⠀⠀[ㅤ...ㅤ]⠀“⠀𝕮꯭𝖆𝗋𝗇𝖺𝗀𝖾ּ՛ & 𝕮𝗁𝖾𝗋𝗋𝗂𝖾𝗌.⠀ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ─────ㅤ𝘴𝘢𝘵𝘰𝘳𝘶 𝘨𝘰𝘫𝘰 𝘹 𝘧!𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳ㅤ( ♱ 𝟏𝟗𝟒𝟗 )ㅤ❚ 苦涩的亲吻.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ   ׄ، ㅤ ㅤ† ㅤ 𓈒 𓈒  深红色的爱蔓延  🪦ㅤ 🦇 ⎯ ㅤ𝑆ynopsis . . . As a saint, you were destined for purity, devotion, and faith. Yet, buried deep beneath sacred walls, your existence has been anything but holy—until the night Satoru Gojo, a vampire cloaked in charm and danger, finds you.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ╉⠀🔪⠀“⠀𝖙𝖗𝖚𝖙𝖍 𝖑𝖎𝖐𝖊 𝖕𝖔𝖎𝖘𝖔𝖓ּ՛⠀&⠀𝖆 𝖇𝖑𝖚𝖘𝖍 𝖔𝖋 𝖉𝖊𝖆𝖙𝖍.”⠀satoru gojo!vampire x fem reader!fallen saint/religious figure ، slowburn ? ، dark erotica ، exploration of sin, faith, and morality through a romantic/erotic lens ، sexual content ، religious symbolism (sacred/profane contrasts, desecration of altars, themes of sin and redemption) ، biting / marking ، petnames ، dirty talk ، clit play ، breeding ، belly bulge.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤ 🪦ㅤ❤︎ 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑑 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑡. 25,187.

The monastery stood like a scar upon the earth, a stone monument that devoured daylight. Its walls were cold, eternal, and the air within reeked of incense and penance. Deep within the building, far beyond where prayers could reach, lay a forgotten basement. There, the air seemed to carry whispers, almost like a mournful sigh escaping from the cracks in the floor. The church had sealed the place centuries ago, with a fervor born of desperation, fearing what they could not understand.

She was there.

She couldn’t quite remember how she had arrived, but she knew she had once been more. A woman. A devout soul. A figure of faith. But her fate had been consumed by the flames of betrayal, her name dragged into the dust by those who had sworn to protect her. Her body—flesh and bone—was long gone. All that remained was her essence, trapped between the sacred and the forbidden, bound to that prison of stone where mortals came to forget their sins. And as eternity stretched on, fury and desire intertwined within her soul, turning her into a dangerous echo, an enigma mortals feared and the dark craved.

Elsewhere, in a world where the night seemed endless, Satoru Gojo moved with a grace only immortality could bestow. He was a vampire—one who didn’t bother hiding what he was. Humanity was his plaything, a game he always knew how to win. His eyes, blue as frost, were a warning, but his smile was a weapon more lethal than his fangs.

He had lived for centuries, and with every passing decade, the world lost a bit more of its luster. He had loved, he had hated, and now he simply existed, seeking something to shatter the monotony of his eternal vigil. During one of his hunts, while prowling human cities with his trademark carelessness, he caught wind of a rumor.

A spirit, they said. A soul unable to cross to the other side, trapped in an ancient monastery. They described her as a danger, a curse. But what truly caught his attention was how they spoke of her: a temptation wrapped in sanctity.

Interesting.

Satoru had learned that legends always carried a spark of truth, and he lived for igniting that spark to see how quickly it could consume everything.

Satoru didn’t take long to find the monastery. It was a stone colossus of forgotten faith, perched on the edge of the world where civilization seemed to dissolve into the cold embrace of the night. Beneath the moonlight, its darkened walls bled shadows, as though the structure itself knew it was a monument built on secrets and sins.

The air turned frigid as he crossed the threshold. He didn’t bother hiding his presence; no living soul would stand in his way. Yet every step echoed in the silence, a distant reverberation, as if something within the monastery recognized his arrival.

The basement called to him.

The stone steps were narrow, slick with treacherous moss that clung stubbornly to his boots. He descended in a spiral, an endless plunge, until the air around him began to change. It grew thicker, laden with a scent that didn’t belong there: wilted flowers, rusted iron, and something else—something cloying and sweet that clung to his senses like honey.

At last, he reached the final door, a massive barrier of wood and iron that had withstood the passage of time. Chains hung from it in crumbling defiance, rusted crosses hammered in chaotic patterns, as though those who had sealed it hadn’t truly understood what they faced but had done everything they could to contain it.

A faint smile curved his lips.

“They always do this,” he murmured to himself, fingers brushing over one of the crosses. “Sealing away what they don’t understand.”

With a light tug, the chains broke as if they were paper. The door creaked open, slow and mournful, as though the monastery itself exhaled after centuries of silence.

The interior was dark, but he could see you.

Suspended in the air, shrouded in shadows that seemed to move with a life of their own, there you were.

You weren’t a solid body but a whisper, a reflection caught between here and beyond. The shadows clung to you, tracing the curve of your neck, the sharp line of your collarbones, and the barely parted lips that seemed to murmur something inaudible. But your eyes… your eyes were fire, and when they met his, it was as if an invisible thread tightened, pulling him closer.

“Who dares enter here?” you asked, your voice soft yet carrying a weight that echoed against the walls.

Satoru didn’t respond immediately. He leaned against the doorframe, his smile unbroken, but there was something in his posture—a mix of respect and amusement.

“The rumors caught my attention,” he said finally, his tone light, teasing. “A temptation wrapped in sanctity, they called you. And now that I’m here… it seems they didn’t exaggerate.”

The air grew taut. You could feel his presence, the weight of his gaze fixed on you, as though trying to unravel the secrets you had guarded for centuries. But you didn’t retreat. The shadows around you stirred, alive, as if awakening from a long slumber.

“You’re the one they fear, aren’t you?” he continued, his tone casual, almost mocking, as he took a step forward.

The shadows reacted instantly, rising like a protective creature trying to push him back. But he didn’t stop. Each step seemed to challenge not just the invisible barriers around you but you as well.

And then, you moved.

Your form tilted toward him, gliding through the darkness with an unnatural grace. You let him see only a fleeting glimpse of your face, just enough for him to feel the full impact of your eyes boring into his.

“And you…” you murmured, your voice laced with a seductive defiance. “Are you another fool who thinks he can possess me?”

He laughed softly, a low, provocative sound that resonated through the room.

“No.” His eyes gleamed, the blue within them intense, almost luminous. “I don’t want to possess you.”

He took another step forward, close enough that his words felt like a breath against the shadows that clung to you.

“I just want to play with you.”

Silence followed, but it wasn’t empty. It was dense, charged with something electric, something that made even the air hum with tension. And deep within yourself, you felt something stir: an echo of what you once were, something you hadn’t felt in centuries.

The silence between you both felt alive. It wasn’t the absence of sound but the kind of quiet that wraps around two predators circling one another, neither willing to make the first careless move. The air carried an unspoken challenge, the weight of centuries pressing against your chest as his gaze refused to waver.

He stood there, his body still yet exuding a quiet intensity, as if every part of him—every molecule—was attuned to you. You couldn’t decide if he was amused, curious, or both. The soft curve of his lips suggested arrogance, but the way his sharp eyes studied you hinted at something deeper: a hunger, not for conquest, but for understanding.

Your voice broke the silence.

“You shouldn’t have come here.”

The shadows around you writhed, reacting to the shift in your tone. They pressed against the walls, spilling onto the floor like liquid night, but he didn’t flinch. Instead, he tilted his head slightly, his snowy hair catching the faint light that seeped through the cracks above.

“And yet, here I am,” he replied, his voice as smooth as velvet. He took a step forward, the soles of his boots clicking against the stone floor. “It’s funny, isn’t it? The places we’re told to avoid are always the most irresistible.”

You could feel it now, the power radiating off him like a pulse, subtle but impossible to ignore. He wasn’t like the others who had come before. The priests, the hunters, the desperate men who thought they could chain or destroy you—they had all reeked of fear. But not him.

“You think you’re different,” you said, your voice sharper now, cutting through the thick air between you. “You think you can walk in here, speak to me like this, and leave unscathed?”

He laughed, low and warm, a sound that made something in your chest tighten.

“Who said anything about leaving?”

The words hung there, suspended in the tension he’d created. Your shadows lashed out, a tendril snapping toward him like a whip. It was instinct, a test.

But he didn’t move.

The darkness stopped inches from his throat, hovering there like a blade frozen mid-strike. He stood as still as stone, his expression unchanged, and slowly, deliberately, he lifted a hand. His fingers brushed the edge of the shadow as though he were stroking something fragile, and to your disbelief, the darkness recoiled—not in fear, but in retreat.

It startled you. For centuries, the shadows had been yours alone, loyal extensions of your will. They obeyed no one but you. And yet here they were, responding to his touch like a creature curious about a stranger.

“What are you?” you whispered.

His eyes gleamed, the luminous blue of them catching the faintest light.

“Someone who doesn’t scare easily,” he said softly, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “And you? What are you, really? A ghost? A goddess? Or just another prisoner playing queen of the dark?”

The question stung, though you didn’t let it show. Instead, you stepped closer, your form gliding effortlessly through the air until you were face-to-face with him. His scent reached you now—earthy, clean, with the faintest trace of iron. You studied his features in the dim light: the sharp angles of his jaw, the almost ethereal fairness of his skin, and those eyes that seemed to pierce straight through you.

“I am not just anything,” you said, your voice laced with cold defiance. “And you… you’re a fool for coming here. Whatever you think you’ll gain, you’ll lose more.”

He didn’t respond right away. Instead, he leaned in, just enough that the space between you was almost unbearable. His presence was overwhelming, like a storm pressing against your skin, but you refused to back down.

“I’ve already lost plenty,” he said, his voice low, intimate. “What’s a little more, if it means meeting someone like you?”

For a moment, you faltered. His words weren’t what you expected, and the sincerity in his tone hit you like a blow. It wasn’t flattery, nor was it the empty bravado of a man trying to prove himself. He meant it.

You could feel it now—the centuries of pain buried beneath his smile, the weight of something broken yet unyielding.

And for the first time in centuries, you felt something other than anger or emptiness.

Curiosity.

Your hesitation lasted only a fraction of a moment, but he noticed it. His gaze sharpened, the faintest flicker of satisfaction crossing his features, as though your slip had confirmed something he’d suspected.

You drew back slightly, reclaiming the space between you. The shadows swirled around your form again, denser now, like a shield wrapping itself protectively over your skin. You���d spent centuries honing your strength, fortifying yourself against those who sought to harm or exploit you. This was no different—or so you told yourself.

“And what is it you think you’ll find here?” you asked, your voice regaining its edge. The curiosity bubbling beneath your surface didn’t bleed into your tone. It was a practiced detachment, honed through decades of isolation.

He tilted his head again, considering your question. “I could say the usual—power, answers, salvation.” He chuckled softly, shaking his head. “But honestly? I came here because I was bored.”

“Bored,” you repeated, incredulous.

“Yes, bored.” His tone was light, playful, but the glimmer in his eyes told another story. “The world is… dull these days. Too predictable. But you?” He gestured vaguely toward you, his hand cutting through the heavy air like a blade. “You’re not dull. I can feel it. Whatever you are, there’s nothing else like you.”

The compliment wasn’t what caught you off guard—it was the honesty behind it. His words weren’t rehearsed, nor were they the empty platitudes of someone trying to manipulate you. He spoke them as if they were fact, as if his presence here was as inevitable as the rise of the moon.

You stepped closer again, testing him, your movements deliberate and predatory. “Do you think flattery will save you, wanderer?”

“Not at all,” he replied easily, that maddening smile still in place. “But I’m not the one who needs saving, am I?”

Your shadows lashed out again, not with the intent to harm but to test his boundaries. They wrapped around his wrists, his throat, the tips brushing against his lips. He stood perfectly still, unyielding, though his expression remained calm. His head tilted slightly, as though inviting the darkness to do its worst.

“Go ahead,” he murmured. “If this is how you get to know someone, who am I to stop you?”

His audacity sent a ripple of something foreign through you—not anger, not fear, but something closer to intrigue. The shadows tightened, feeling for weakness, testing his limits, but found none. Instead, they recoiled again, like a beast unsure whether to attack or yield.

You glided closer still, the room shrinking as your presence expanded. He didn’t step back, his confidence unwavering even as you came so near that you could feel the faint warmth radiating from him.

“You’re dangerous,” you said softly, your voice like silk, brushing against him. “And yet you came here willingly. What does that make you?”

He leaned forward just enough that your faces were inches apart. His breath was cool, carrying the faintest scent of iron and rain. “It makes me someone who isn’t afraid to gamble,” he replied.

“And what are you gambling?”

“Everything.”

The word lingered in the air, heavy and absolute. You could see it now—his life laid bare before you, his existence shaped by losses and choices made in defiance of fear. He wasn’t lying. Whatever he’d come to find here, he was willing to pay the price for it.

A part of you admired that.

Another part wanted to destroy him for it.

But instead, you reached out, your hand slipping through the veil of shadows that clung to your form. Your fingers brushed the edge of his jaw, the faintest touch, as light as the breath between his words.

He didn’t flinch.

“And if you lose?” you asked, your voice no more than a whisper.

His smile widened, slow and deliberate. “Then at least I’ll know I played the most interesting game of my life.”

You withdrew your hand, but not entirely. The shadows at your feet shifted again, curling and uncurling like restless waves.

“Be careful, wanderer,” you said, your tone soft but laced with warning. “The games we play in the dark don’t end well.”

His laughter was quiet, almost affectionate. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

The space between you felt charged now, the tension no longer one-sided. You could sense his pull, the strange gravity he exuded, and it was beginning to unsettle you. Not because you feared him, but because for the first time in centuries, you didn’t feel entirely in control.

And that made you want to see how far he’d go before breaking.

The air between you grew heavier, suffocating yet intoxicating, as if the room itself could no longer contain the presence of you both. His words lingered in your mind, the deliberate confidence behind them stirring something buried deep within you—something you hadn’t allowed yourself to feel in centuries.

You stepped back, your movements slow and deliberate, the hem of your shadowy form brushing against the floor like smoke curling over cold stone. His eyes followed you, unyielding, the same maddening mix of curiosity and defiance in their depths.

“Tell me something, wanderer,” you said, your voice cutting through the silence like a blade wrapped in silk. “What compels a man to throw himself into the den of a monster? Is it bravery? Foolishness? Or perhaps…” You tilted your head, studying him. “Despair?”

The last word struck a nerve. You saw it in the slight twitch of his jaw, the way his posture stiffened ever so slightly before he regained his composure. It was fleeting, but enough to confirm your suspicions.

“None of the above,” he replied, his tone still light, but his eyes betraying the weight he carried. “I’m here because I’m curious. About you. About this place. About why someone like you…” He gestured around the room, the crumbling stone and rusted chains, the relics of a forgotten war against you. “...chooses to stay locked away when you could be ruling everything.”

The question was a knife, carving through your carefully constructed indifference. His words didn’t sting because they were false, but because they struck at a truth you’d long buried.

“Do not mistake my restraint for weakness,” you said, stepping forward once more. “This is not a prison. It’s a sanctuary. One I built for myself, to keep your kind from meddling in things they do not understand.”

“And yet, here I am,” he murmured, that teasing smile returning to his lips.

The shadows around you bristled in response, shifting like a living storm, but you forced them to still. His composure, his utter lack of fear, was a challenge you hadn’t encountered in centuries.

“You’re bold,” you said, circling him now, your voice dropping to a softer, almost hypnotic tone. “I’ll give you that. But boldness is no armor, wanderer. The last man who stood where you stand thought his faith would protect him.”

“And what happened to him?” he asked, turning his head slightly to follow your movements.

You stopped behind him, your presence pressing against his back like the weight of the night itself. Leaning in, you let your breath brush against the shell of his ear as you whispered, “He prayed to his god, and when no answer came… he screamed for mine.”

The words were a blade, cold and sharp, meant to cut through whatever façade he was wearing. But instead of recoiling, he laughed—a low, rich sound that sent an unfamiliar shiver through you.

“Is that supposed to scare me?” he asked, turning his head just enough to meet your gaze from the corner of his eye.

“It should.”

“And yet…” He turned fully now, closing the space between you until there was nothing but air separating his body from the shadows clinging to yours. “I’m still here.”

The tension was unbearable now, an electric charge that crackled in the silence. You hated how easily he unsettled you, how his presence made you feel exposed in a way you hadn’t since the night you were sealed in this place.

“What do you want from me?” you asked finally, the question slipping past your lips before you could stop it.

His smile softened, losing some of its arrogance. “I told you—I’m curious. I want to know what you are. Who you are. And maybe…” He paused, his voice dropping to something softer, almost vulnerable. “Maybe I just want to know what it feels like to face something that’s truly alive.”

The admission caught you off guard. It wasn’t what you expected, not from a man who carried himself with such reckless confidence. For a moment, you saw the cracks in his armor, the pain and exhaustion he kept buried beneath that smile.

“Alive,” you repeated, the word foreign on your tongue.

He nodded, his gaze steady. “More alive than anything else in this hollow world.”

For a fleeting moment, you allowed yourself to wonder what it would be like to take his hand, to pull him into the shadows with you and show him the depths of what you were. But that part of you—the part that yearned for connection, for something more than solitude—was quickly silenced.

“You don’t know what you’re asking for,” you said, your voice colder now, sharper. “To face me is to face the end of everything you’ve known. Are you ready for that, wanderer?”

He stepped closer, his voice low, intimate. “Maybe I am.”

The room seemed to hold its breath, the weight of his words settling over you both. You could feel it now, the undeniable pull between you, the way his presence stirred something within you that had long been dormant. For the first time you weren’t sure if you wanted to push him away—or pull him closer.

The silence stretched between you, but it wasn’t empty. It thrummed, electric and charged, with words left unsaid and questions that hung in the air like a blade waiting to drop. The space between you and him felt smaller than it should, as though something unseen was closing in, forcing you to confront the abyss he represented.

You could feel his gaze fixed on you, but not in the way others had looked at you before. There was no fear in his eyes, no hollow reverence for what mortals could not understand. No, what burned in his gaze was something far more dangerous: interest, raw and unadorned, a mirror of the very thing you had buried beneath centuries of solitude.

“If what you seek is to confront something greater than yourself,” you began, your voice distant, as though the weight of your words did not belong to you, “I can assure you, you will not live to comprehend it.”

You expected him to falter, for that flicker in his eyes to extinguish. But instead, his smile widened—slow, deliberate, like he was savoring the danger laced in your words.

“And what if I didn’t come here to understand?” he replied, stepping closer. The sound of his boots against the stone floor echoed, a steady rhythm that seemed to mock the stillness of the chamber. “What if I came to see how far you could go before you break?”

The shadows coiled around you, restless and reactive, wrapping themselves around your form like a protective shroud. His words weren’t those of an ordinary man, and though you wanted to dismiss them as foolish bravado, you couldn’t ignore the fire behind them.

“Break,” you repeated, the word rolling off your tongue with a mixture of disbelief and venom. Your voice dropped to a frigid whisper, sharp as the edge of a blade pressed against someone’s throat. “You’ve underestimated monsters before, haven’t you? Let me guess: none of them lived to tell the tale.”

“The difference,” he said, almost playfully, though his eyes betrayed his seriousness, “is that none of them were as interesting as you.”

Another step closer, and the air between you seemed to ripple with something tangible. You could feel the heat radiating from his body now, a stark contrast to the cold that permeated the chamber. But still, you did not move.

“You say I’m interesting,” you murmured, leaning in just enough that your voice could reach his ear like a veiled threat. “Why? What do you think you see in me, mortal?”

He didn’t retreat. Instead, he raised his chin, his expression a mixture of defiance and something deeper, something you didn’t want to name.

“I see a cage,” he said at last, his words cutting through the stillness like shattered glass. “Not for you. For the rest of the world.”

Your breath caught for the briefest moment, just long enough for him to notice. There was no malice in his voice, no mockery. Only truth, raw and unpolished.

“The cage exists for a reason,” you said, forcing your voice to steady. The shadows writhed at your feet, searching for something to anchor to. “The world doesn’t deserve what’s inside.”

“Or maybe it’s the other way around,” he countered, his response immediate, as though he had been waiting for those very words. “Maybe you don’t face the world because you know it doesn’t belong to you anymore.”

His words struck deep, their precision slicing through the armor you had crafted over centuries. It was a half-truth, but it was enough to shake you in ways you weren’t prepared to admit.

“Your arrogance will be your downfall,” you warned, stepping closer until your eyes were level with his. The shadows rose, curling around his neck like serpents, tightening just enough to remind him of the danger he was in. “There are things in this world you cannot conquer with words or bravado. I am one of them.”

The spark in his eyes didn’t falter. If anything, it burned brighter. “And what happens when I realize I don’t want to conquer you, but understand you?”

His words hung in the air, a truth more naked than any threat you had ever spoken. You could feel it—that fracture forming within yourself, an opening he was exploiting with every word, every glance.

There was something about this man that defied logic, defied instinct. He wasn’t like the others. Where others would have fallen to their knees before you, he stood firm. Where others would have recoiled from your shadows, he seemed to welcome them.

But that didn’t mean he wasn’t dangerous.

“Your curiosity will kill you,” you said at last, pulling the shadows away from his neck with a sharp gesture. Behind you, the walls seemed to whisper, echoes of warnings no one else could hear. “You’re a man lost in waters far too deep. Leave now, before you drown.”

He didn’t move. He didn’t speak. He just watched you, as though he were seeing more than you were willing to show.

The tension lingered, heavy and palpable, even as your shadows retreated to the edges of the chamber, curling and hissing like a nest of serpents disturbed. The man before you—this enigma wrapped in defiance and audacity—did not move. He stood as though the weight of your presence was nothing more than a breeze brushing against him.

His eyes, piercing and endless, held you captive, daring you to look away. But it wasn’t his confidence that began to gnaw at your composure—it was something subtler, something you couldn’t yet name. The air around him seemed charged, thickened with an energy that didn’t belong to a mere mortal.

“Who are you really?” you asked, your voice steady but carrying the faintest tremor of suspicion. You didn’t often ask questions—you didn’t need to. But something about him demanded it.

A corner of his mouth twitched upward, his smile teetering on the edge of mockery and amusement. “Haven’t you already guessed?”

The chamber grew colder, and yet the heat radiating from his presence remained. Your senses, honed and sharpened through centuries of existence, began to unravel the threads of his being. The steady pulse of life that mortals carried was absent in him, replaced by a stillness that spoke of death. Not the natural, fleeting death you had once known, but something darker, something eternal.

You stepped closer, your movements slow and deliberate. “There’s something wrong with you,” you murmured, almost to yourself. Your gaze narrowed as you searched his features for a crack, for a tell. “You don’t belong here. Not in this world. Not among the living.”

His laugh echoed softly, a sound as rich as it was unsettling. “Neither do you,” he said, his tone almost kind, though the weight of his words struck deep.

The realization came not as a sudden shock, but as a creeping certainty that slid into place with perfect, horrifying clarity. The way he carried himself, the unnatural stillness of his movements, the way his eyes burned with a hunger that no mortal could contain—it all fit together like the final piece of a long-forgotten puzzle.

“You’re a vampire.” The words fell from your lips, sharp and sure, yet tinged with disbelief.

He didn’t deny it. Instead, he took a step closer, his movements fluid and predatory. “And now you’ve said it,” he replied, his voice low and dangerous, as though the admission itself carried power. “Does that frighten you?”

Frighten. The word hung between you like a fragile thread, waiting to snap. No, you were not afraid—not in the way he might have expected. But you were... unnerved. Not by his nature, but by the implications of his presence here, in your sanctuary.

“I’ve faced things far worse than vampires,” you said, lifting your chin. It was the truth, but even as you spoke, you couldn’t shake the feeling that he was unlike any of those creatures you’d encountered before.

His smile widened, and for the first time, you caught the faintest glint of his fangs—a fleeting glimpse, but enough to send a ripple of something primal through you. “Worse,” he echoed, his tone almost wistful. “Perhaps. But I wonder... have you ever faced something that could match you, truly?”

Your shadows twitched, responding to the unease you refused to let show. “You’re bold for a creature that feeds on scraps,” you said, letting your words cut like glass.

“I don’t feed on scraps,” he countered, his voice soft, intimate. He tilted his head, studying you with an intensity that felt invasive. “And I wonder... what would you taste like?”

The question hung in the air, dark and tantalizing, but you refused to give him the satisfaction of a reaction. Instead, you closed the distance between you, your movements calculated and deliberate. “You wouldn’t survive the attempt.”

His expression didn’t waver, but something shifted in his gaze—a flicker of curiosity, of challenge. “Wouldn’t I?”

For a moment, neither of you moved. The chamber seemed to hold its breath, the flickering torchlight casting shifting patterns on the walls. He was close enough now that you could see every detail of his face—the sharp angles, the pale glow of his skin, the faint pulse of something ancient behind his eyes.

You felt it then, the weight of his existence pressing against your own, a force that was neither living nor dead but something in between. It was intoxicating and infuriating all at once.

“I should destroy you where you stand,” you said, though the conviction in your voice wavered.

“Then why don’t you?” he asked, leaning closer, his breath cool against your skin. His voice was a whisper, a challenge, a taunt. “What’s stopping you?”

You didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Because the truth—the one you refused to acknowledge—was that something about him had already sunk its claws into you. And the more you tried to pull away, the deeper they seemed to dig.

The night had a breath of its own—a low, steady rhythm that whispered through the leaves and caressed the stones beneath your feet. The sky above was a velvet canvas, smeared with clouds that threatened to veil the full moon, though its light managed to spill through in soft silver beams. You stood at the edge of the cemetery, the stillness pressing against you like an old friend.

And there he was.

Satoru sat on the slanted roof of the crumbling chapel, his legs stretched out in a relaxed sprawl, one arm resting lazily over his knee. His white hair caught the moonlight like frost, shimmering against the backdrop of night. He looked utterly at ease, as though he belonged there, perched above the graves of the dead, a king surveying a silent kingdom.

“You’re late,” he called down, his voice carrying across the quiet like a blade slicing through silk.

“I don’t answer to you,” you replied, stepping onto the cracked stone path leading to the chapel. Despite your words, there was no venom in them—just the ease that had grown between you over these past weeks.

He tilted his head, a smirk tugging at his lips as he watched you approach. “Of course you don’t,” he said. “But I was starting to think you’d forgotten about me. And that would’ve been terribly rude.”

You stopped at the base of the chapel, staring up at him with a raised brow. “I think you’d survive the disappointment, vampire.”

He laughed, the sound low and warm, carrying with it that infuriating charm he wielded like a weapon. “Perhaps. But I think we both know you wouldn’t enjoy the silence.”

You didn’t dignify that with a response, though the smallest of smiles ghosted across your lips as you stepped inside the chapel. The hollow shell of the once-holy place bore the weight of time and neglect. The pews were splintered and rotted, the stained glass shattered, leaving shards of color scattered across the ground.

From above, you heard the faint sound of Satoru shifting. Moments later, the creak of wood and the soft thud of his landing broke the quiet. When you turned, he was standing behind you, his hands stuffed casually into the pockets of his coat, that ever-present smirk lingering on his lips.

“Do you always come to places like this?” he asked, glancing around the ruined space with mild curiosity.

“Do you always follow me to them?” you shot back, folding your arms.

He grinned, sharp and unapologetic. “Maybe. You’re more interesting than the alternative.”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t press the matter. Instead, you turned your attention to the altar at the far end of the room. The candles that once adorned it had long since melted into unrecognizable lumps, and the crucifix above was weathered and tarnished. Yet even in its decay, there was something comforting about the familiarity of it.

“You used to believe in this, didn’t you?” he asked, his voice softer now, almost reverent.

You hesitated, your gaze lingering on the altar. “Once,” you admitted. “A long time ago.”

He nodded, though he didn’t press further. That was something you’d come to appreciate about him—despite his sharp tongue and endless curiosity, he knew when to let things lie.

The silence between you was comfortable, like a well-worn cloak. You weren’t sure when it had shifted—when he had gone from being a threat, an intruder in your sanctuary, to this. A strange constant. A presence you’d come to tolerate, and perhaps even...

“Do you ever miss it?” he asked suddenly, pulling you from your thoughts.

“Miss what?”

“Belonging somewhere,” he said, gesturing vaguely around the chapel. “Having faith in something.”

His question caught you off guard, but you didn’t let it show. Instead, you met his gaze, your expression unreadable. “Do you?”

He chuckled, though there was no humor in the sound. “I’m not sure I ever belonged anywhere to begin with.”

The honesty in his words struck you, carving a crack in the armor you’d spent so long building. He wasn’t what you’d expected—not when you first met him, and certainly not now. For all his arrogance, his bravado, there was a depth to him that you couldn’t ignore.

You took a step closer, your shadows trailing behind you like a living cloak. “Why are you really here, Satoru?”

He tilted his head, his smile fading into something quieter, something more sincere. “Maybe I just like the company.”

You held his gaze, searching for the lie, but there was none. He meant it, as much as someone like him could mean anything.

“Then you’re as foolish as you are stubborn,” you said, though your tone lacked the bite it once carried.

He smirked again, the playful glint returning to his eyes. “And you’re not as scary as you think you are.”

“Careful,” you warned, though the corner of your mouth twitched upward despite yourself.

“Or what?” he challenged, stepping closer now, his voice dropping to a murmur. “You’ll finally decide what to do with me?”

The tension between you was different now, lighter but no less charged. It was a game you both played, though neither of you had defined the rules.

“Don’t tempt me,” you said, your voice soft but firm.

His grin widened, his fangs just barely visible in the moonlight streaming through the broken windows. “I’d like to see you try.”

The silence stretched, and for a moment, the only sound was the distant rustle of leaves and the faint creak of the old chapel settling.

Neither of you moved. Neither of you spoke. But in that moment, you understood something you hadn’t before: whatever this was, whatever he was, it wasn’t going away.

And, against all odds, you weren’t sure you wanted it to.

The nights grew longer. Time, ever fluid in your strange existence, seemed to stretch in his presence. Satoru was everywhere and nowhere all at once—a figure that flitted between shadows, appearing only when he chose, lingering only as long as it amused him.

You found him again a week later, perched atop a weathered mausoleum in the heart of the cemetery. He sat cross-legged this time, balancing a small book on his knee, his pale hair almost glowing under the pale moonlight.

“You’re late,” he remarked without looking up, his voice tinged with that ever-present hint of amusement.

“And you’re predictable,” you countered, stopping at the base of the mausoleum and crossing your arms. “You can’t seem to stay away from this place.”

“Neither can you,” he said, closing the book with a soft thud and finally meeting your gaze. “And yet you still pretend it’s coincidence every time we meet.”

“I don’t pretend anything,” you replied, though even as the words left your lips, you weren’t sure they were entirely true.

He jumped down effortlessly, landing before you with the grace of a predator. The proximity was unnerving, though you refused to let it show. You simply tilted your head, holding his gaze.

“You enjoy this,” he said, his tone low but certain.

“What?”

“This,” he said, gesturing lazily between the two of you. “The game. The banter. You’d be bored without it.”

You scoffed, though you felt the faintest flicker of warmth at the edges of your defenses. “You think too highly of yourself, vampire.”

“Do I?” he asked, stepping closer. His smile softened, losing some of its sharpness. “Or do I just know you better than you’d like to admit?”

The question hung in the air, heavy with implication. You hated how easily he could unsettle you, how he seemed to peel back the layers you’d spent centuries building without even trying.

“You don’t know anything about me,” you said, your voice steady but quiet.

“Maybe not everything,” he conceded. “But I know enough.”

“Enough to what?”

“Enough to know you don’t really hate this,” he said, his eyes boring into yours. “You don’t hate me.”

His words struck deeper than you wanted to admit. You opened your mouth to respond, to deny him, to say something, but the look in his eyes stopped you. There was no mockery there, no malice—just a quiet, unsettling sincerity that left you at a loss.

The silence stretched between you, broken only by the distant chirp of crickets and the rustle of leaves in the wind.

“You’re insufferable,” you said finally, though there was no real venom in your tone.

“And yet, you keep coming back,” he replied, a smirk tugging at his lips once more.

You didn’t answer. Instead, you turned and began walking away, your shadows swirling at your heels. You didn’t look back, though you could feel his eyes on you, heavy and unyielding.

“Goodnight, little ghost,” he called after you, his voice carrying across the night like a whisper on the wind.

It wasn’t long before you saw him again. He always found you first, appearing out of the darkness like he belonged there.

This time, it was on the outskirts of the forest that bordered the cemetery. You were perched on a low stone wall, gazing out at the moonlit expanse beyond. The soft crunch of footsteps behind you announced his arrival, though you didn’t turn.

“I thought vampires were supposed to be subtle,” you said, your tone light but laced with an edge of amusement.

“Only when we want to be,” he replied, coming to stand beside you.

The two of you stood in silence for a while, the quiet stretching between you in a way that felt almost... comfortable.

“You’re not like the others,” he said suddenly, his voice softer now.

“The others?” you asked, glancing at him.

“The ones who cling to their humanity,” he said. “The ones who pretend they’re still part of the world they’ve left behind.”

“And what about you?” you asked, tilting your head. “What are you clinging to?”

His gaze turned toward the horizon, his expression unreadable. “Nothing,” he said after a long pause. “Maybe that’s the difference.”

You studied him for a moment, the pale moonlight casting shadows across his sharp features. There was something in his voice—a hint of vulnerability buried beneath the layers of charm and confidence.

“You’re lying,” you said, your voice quiet but firm.

His head turned sharply, his eyes narrowing slightly as he met your gaze. For a moment, you thought he might deny it, might brush you off with some clever retort. But instead, he sighed, running a hand through his hair.

“Maybe,” he admitted. “But if I am, it’s not to you.”

The honesty in his words caught you off guard, and for a moment, you didn’t know how to respond.

“You’re exhausting,” you said finally, though there was no real heat behind the words.

“And yet, here you are,” he replied, his smirk returning, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

For the first time, you wondered if perhaps there was more to him than you’d allowed yourself to see.

The forest stretched around you, dense and quiet save for the occasional murmur of the wind through the trees. The stone wall you leaned against was cold beneath your fingers, its surface worn smooth by time. Satoru stood beside you, his presence a strange constant now, like the way the moon returned every night to cast its pale glow over the world.

“I’ve been wondering something,” you said finally, breaking the silence.

“Oh? And what’s that?” he asked, turning his head to look at you.

“You’ve been alive for centuries, haven’t you? Seen things, experienced things most people couldn’t even imagine.” You paused, glancing at him. “Does it ever stop meaning something? The passage of time?”

Satoru’s expression shifted, his usual smirk softening into something more thoughtful. He leaned back against the wall, folding his arms across his chest. “That’s a heavy question, little ghost.”

“Do you have an answer?”

“Maybe,” he said, his gaze drifting toward the trees. “The world changes, people change, but some things stay the same. The quiet of a forest at night, the way the moonlight feels on your skin, the weight of loneliness…” He trailed off, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “That doesn’t go away, no matter how many centuries pass.”

His words hung in the air, heavy with a sadness that felt too raw, too human for someone like him.

You frowned, studying his profile. “You’re lonelier than you let on.”

“Careful,” he said, his smirk returning, though it lacked its usual bite. “You’re starting to sound like you care.”

You rolled your eyes, though you couldn’t ignore the faint pang of something in your chest—sympathy, maybe, or understanding. “I just don’t understand you,” you admitted. “You don’t act like the monsters in the stories.”

“Maybe the stories got it wrong,” he said simply, his tone unreadable.

“Or maybe you’re just good at pretending,” you countered.

His grin widened, and he turned to face you fully, leaning in slightly. “Maybe,” he said softly, his voice a low purr. “But isn’t that part of the fun?”

You held his gaze, refusing to let him see the way his proximity unsettled you. “I don’t think you’re as clever as you think you are.”

“And I think you’re afraid to admit you like having me around,” he shot back, his eyes glinting with amusement.

You opened your mouth to retort, but before you could, a sudden rustling in the trees caught your attention. Your head snapped toward the sound, your instincts sharpening in an instant.

Satoru’s expression shifted immediately, his playful demeanor melting away into something colder, more dangerous. He straightened, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the darkness.

“You hear that?” you whispered.

“I hear it,” he said, his voice low and steady.

The forest seemed to hold its breath, the shadows deepening as the rustling grew louder. You stepped back instinctively, your hand brushing against Satoru’s arm. He didn’t move, his focus locked on the trees.

When the source of the noise emerged, it was nothing more than a fox darting across the path, its sleek body disappearing into the underbrush in an instant.

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, your heart still pounding in your chest. “It’s just a fox,” you said, shaking your head.

Satoru chuckled, though the sound was quieter this time, almost subdued. “You’re jumpier than I thought.”

“You don’t live as long as I have without learning to be cautious,” you shot back.

“Fair enough,” he said, his smirk returning. “But I’m here, aren’t I? What’s the worst that could happen?”

You didn’t answer, though the weight of his words lingered. What was the worst that could happen?

Later that night, as you both walked back toward the village, the air between you felt different—quieter, heavier somehow. Satoru kept glancing at you out of the corner of his eye, as if he wanted to say something but couldn’t quite bring himself to.

Finally, he broke the silence. “You never answered my question.”

“What question?”

“About why you keep coming back,” he said, his tone softer now.

You hesitated, your steps slowing as you considered his words. “Maybe I don’t know the answer,” you admitted.

“Or maybe you don’t want to admit it,” he said, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips.

You stopped walking, turning to face him. The moonlight illuminated his face, casting shadows across his sharp features. “And what about you?” you asked. “Why do you keep showing up?”

His smile faded, replaced by something quieter, more genuine. “Maybe I like the company,” he said simply.

The honesty in his voice took you by surprise, leaving you momentarily at a loss for words.

“Don’t look so shocked,” he said, his grin returning, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Even monsters get lonely.”

You stared at him, the weight of his words sinking in. For all his confidence, all his charm, there was a fragility to him that you hadn’t noticed before.

Without thinking, you reached out, your fingers brushing against his arm. He stiffened slightly at the contact, his gaze snapping to yours.

“You’re not as invincible as you like to pretend,” you said quietly.

“And you’re not as indifferent as you want me to believe,” he countered, his voice just as soft.

The tension between you crackled like static, the air growing heavier with every passing second. You could see the faint glow of his eyes in the dark, could feel the steady rhythm of his presence pressing against your own.

But neither of you moved. Neither of you spoke.

And in that moment, it felt like the entire world had fallen away, leaving only the two of you suspended in the quiet between breaths.

The silence between you grew heavier, thicker, until it seemed the very air around you was holding its breath. You could feel it again—that strange pull that seemed to surround him, like gravity bending space and time to make room for him alone. It wasn’t just the way he looked at you, sharp and piercing, but the way his presence filled every corner of the moment, leaving no room for escape.

And yet, you didn’t move.

“I think you’re afraid of me,” he said finally, breaking the stillness. His voice was low, soft, almost a whisper.

“I’m not afraid of you,” you replied, though the words sounded more defensive than you intended.

He tilted his head, his expression caught somewhere between amusement and curiosity. “No?”

“No,” you repeated, firmer this time. “If I were afraid of you, I wouldn’t be here.”

He studied you for a long moment, his pale eyes flickering like embers in the moonlight. “Fear isn’t always about running away,” he said. “Sometimes it’s about the things we can’t walk away from, even when we should.”

Your chest tightened at his words, though you weren’t sure why. “What are you trying to say?”

He stepped closer, his movements slow, deliberate. The shadows clung to him like a second skin, shifting with him as he moved. “I’m saying,” he murmured, “that you’re standing too close to the fire, little ghost. And you don’t even realize you’re burning.”

His words sent a shiver down your spine, though it wasn’t fear that gripped you—it was something else, something deeper, darker. You wanted to look away, to break the tension that was building between you, but his gaze held you captive.

“I’ve been burned before,” you said quietly, your voice barely more than a breath.

“Not by me,” he countered, and there was something almost predatory in the way he said it.

You swallowed hard, the weight of his presence pressing against you like a storm about to break. “You like to play these games, don’t you?”

“Maybe,” he admitted, a ghost of a smile tugging at his lips. “But this doesn’t feel like a game, does it?”

You wanted to argue, to deny him, but the words caught in your throat. He was right—this didn’t feel like a game. It felt like something else entirely, something you couldn’t quite name.

“What do you want from me?” you asked, your voice trembling despite your best efforts to keep it steady.

His smile faded, replaced by an expression you couldn’t quite read. “Maybe I just want to know you,” he said softly. “The real you.”

The sincerity in his voice startled you, leaving you momentarily speechless. No one had ever spoken to you like that before, with such quiet, unyielding intensity.

“You don’t even know who I am,” you said finally, though the words felt hollow even as you spoke them.

“I know enough,” he said. “Enough to know you’re not as lost as you think you are.”

His words hit harder than you expected, cutting through the walls you’d built around yourself with unnerving precision. You hated how easily he could get under your skin, how effortlessly he seemed to see through you.

“I should go,” you said abruptly, taking a step back.

But he didn’t move, didn’t try to stop you. Instead, he just watched you with that same quiet intensity, his eyes glinting like silver in the dark.

“Goodnight, little ghost,” he said, his voice soft but steady.

You turned and walked away, your heart pounding in your chest. You told yourself you were leaving because you wanted to, because you needed to. But deep down, you knew the truth—you were running, and it wasn’t from him.

It was from yourself.

Days turned into weeks, and though you told yourself you wouldn’t go back, you found yourself drawn to him again and again. He was always waiting, always ready with that infuriating smirk and those sharp, knowing eyes.

The rooftop of an abandoned manor became your meeting place. It was perched on the edge of the village, its crumbling walls and shattered windows a testament to time’s relentless march. You sat together on the slanted roof, the world sprawling out beneath you like a painting brought to life.

“Why this place?” you asked one night, your voice breaking the comfortable silence that had settled between you.

“Why not?” he replied, his tone light.

“That’s not an answer.”

He chuckled softly, leaning back on his elbows. “It’s quiet here,” he said after a moment. “No one to bother us. No one to get in the way.”

“No one to see you for what you are,” you added, glancing at him.

He raised an eyebrow, his smirk returning. “And what am I, exactly?”

“A monster,” you said, though there was no malice in your voice.

“Maybe,” he said, unbothered by the accusation. “But monsters have hearts, too.”

You scoffed, shaking your head. “Do they?”

“Do you?” he countered, his gaze locking onto yours.

You opened your mouth to reply, but the words caught in your throat. His question hung in the air between you, heavy and unrelenting.

“I think you’re more like me than you want to admit,” he said quietly.

“Don’t compare me to you,” you said, though the heat in your voice felt more like desperation than conviction.

“Why not?” he asked, his voice soft but firm. “We’re both creatures of the dark, aren’t we?”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t.

Instead, you turned your gaze to the horizon, your mind a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions you couldn’t untangle.

He didn’t press you, didn’t push for a response. He just sat there, his presence a steady anchor in the storm that raged within you.

And for the first time, you wondered if maybe, just maybe, he was right.

The stars stretched endlessly above, their cold light casting silver trails across the sprawling graveyard. The broken stones and crumbling statues looked almost alive under the pale moonlight, their jagged edges softened by shadows. You sat on the edge of an old mausoleum, your legs dangling over the side, while Satoru leaned casually against a nearby angel statue, his white hair glowing faintly in the dark.

It had become a habit, these stolen moments in the quiet hours of the night. You weren’t sure why you kept coming back to him, why you allowed him to slip past your defenses so easily. But there was something about him, something magnetic, that you couldn’t seem to resist.

“You’re quiet tonight,” he remarked, his voice cutting through the stillness like a blade.

“I’m thinking,” you replied, your gaze fixed on the horizon.

“That’s dangerous,” he teased, though his tone was softer than usual.

You glanced at him, your lips curving into a faint smile. “Says the man who thrives on danger.”

He smirked, pushing off the statue and stepping closer. “Fair point,” he said, his voice dropping into something lower, something almost intimate. “What are you thinking about?”

You hesitated, your fingers tracing idle patterns on the cool stone beneath you. “Do you ever regret it?” you asked finally.

“Regret what?”

“This,” you said, gesturing vaguely to the world around you. “What you are. What you’ve become.”

His expression shifted, the playful mask he wore so often slipping away to reveal something raw, something vulnerable. He didn’t answer immediately, his gaze drifting to the stars above.

“Regret is a funny thing,” he said after a moment. “It eats at you, like a parasite. But you learn to live with it. Or you let it destroy you.”

“Which one are you?” you asked softly.

His eyes flicked back to you, and for a moment, you saw something in them that made your chest tighten—pain, perhaps, or longing. “Maybe a little of both,” he admitted.

You studied him in silence, the weight of his words settling heavily between you. It was easy to forget sometimes that he was more than the sharp wit and disarming charm he so often wielded like a weapon. Beneath it all, he was something else entirely—a creature shaped by centuries of solitude and blood and darkness.

“What about you?” he asked suddenly, his voice pulling you from your thoughts. “Do you regret this? Being here? With me?”

The question caught you off guard, and for a moment, you didn’t know how to answer. Did you regret it? The nights spent in his company, the way your heart seemed to beat a little faster whenever he was near?

“No,” you said finally, the word leaving your lips before you could second-guess it. “I don’t regret it.”

His gaze softened, the edges of his usual smirk fading into something quieter, something almost tender. “Good,” he said, his voice barely more than a whisper. “Because I’d hate to think I was the only one who felt this way.”

Your breath caught in your throat, your pulse quickening as his words sank in. “What way?” you asked, though you weren’t sure you wanted to hear the answer.

He stepped closer, the distance between you shrinking until he was standing directly in front of you. His hand reached out, his fingers brushing against yours where they rested on the edge of the stone.

“Like this,” he said simply, his voice laced with something you couldn’t quite name.

The air between you felt electric, charged with an energy that made your skin tingle. You could feel the faint warmth of his hand against yours, the steady weight of his gaze as he looked at you like you were the only thing in the world that mattered.

The air between you felt electric, charged with an energy that made your skin tingle. You could feel the faint warmth of his hand against yours, the steady weight of his gaze as he looked at you like you were the only thing in the world that mattered.

“Satoru…” you began, your voice trembling slightly.

But he shook his head, a faint smile playing at his lips. “Don’t say it,” he murmured. “Not yet.”

His words left you breathless, your heart pounding in your chest as you tried to make sense of what was happening. You could feel the pull between you, the invisible thread that seemed to bind you to him, growing tighter with every passing second.

And yet, neither of you moved. Neither of you spoke.

It was as if the world had stopped, the only sound the quiet rhythm of your breathing and the faint rustle of the wind through the trees.

Finally, he stepped back, breaking the spell that had held you both captive. The loss of his presence left you feeling unsteady, as if the ground beneath you had shifted.

“We should go,” he said, his voice quieter now, almost hesitant.

You nodded, though your mind was still reeling from the moment you’d just shared. “Yeah,” you said, your voice barely more than a whisper.

But as you followed him down from the mausoleum, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something had changed between you—something fragile and unspoken, but impossibly real.

The walk back to the edge of the village was quiet, but not uneasy. The silence between you and Satoru felt heavier now, not from tension but from the weight of something unspoken. Every step you took beside him seemed to bring you closer to a precipice you couldn’t quite see but could certainly feel.

You hadn’t noticed it before, the way his presence seemed to alter the very air around him. It wasn’t just his physical beauty, though that was undeniable—it was the way he carried himself, as if the world bent slightly to his will. You wondered if he even realized it.

“Why do you come here, Satoru?” you asked suddenly, breaking the silence. Your voice sounded strange in the stillness, too loud and too soft at once. “Why this place? Why me?”

He glanced at you, a flicker of surprise crossing his features before he smiled, slow and deliberate. “Isn’t it obvious?” he said, his voice carrying that familiar playful edge.

You frowned, your gaze narrowing. “No games,” you said firmly. “I want the truth.”

His smile faded, replaced by something quieter, more serious. He stopped walking, turning to face you fully. The pale moonlight bathed him in an ethereal glow, his silver hair catching the light like strands of starlight.

“The truth,” he repeated, almost to himself. His gaze dropped to the ground for a moment before meeting yours again, and for the first time, you saw uncertainty in his eyes.

“I come here because it’s the only place I don’t feel… alone,” he admitted finally. “And I come to you because you’re the only person who doesn’t look at me like I’m something to fear or worship.”

His words struck something deep inside you, a pang of understanding that you couldn’t quite name. You hadn’t realized how much you’d needed to hear them until now, how much you’d needed to know that he saw you not as a curiosity or an obligation but as something more.

“You’re not what I expected,” you said softly, the words tumbling from your lips before you could stop them.

He raised an eyebrow, his smirk returning faintly. “Disappointed?”

“Confused,” you admitted, your voice barely more than a whisper. “You’re not like anyone I’ve ever met.”

“And you’re not like anyone I’ve ever met,” he replied, his tone matching yours. “That’s why I keep coming back.”

The honesty in his voice was startling, leaving you momentarily breathless. You wanted to look away, to retreat back into the safety of your own thoughts, but his gaze held you captive.

“Satoru,” you began, your voice trembling slightly. “What are you afraid of?”

His expression shifted, the playful mask slipping away once more to reveal something raw and vulnerable. For a long moment, he didn’t speak, his eyes searching yours as if looking for something he couldn’t quite name.

“I’m afraid of losing this,” he said finally, his voice so quiet you almost didn’t hear it. “Of losing you.”

The weight of his words settled heavily between you, the air thick with a tension you couldn’t quite place. You could feel your heart pounding in your chest, the sound of your pulse loud in your ears.

“You won’t lose me,” you said, the words leaving your lips before you could second-guess them. “Not unless you push me away.”

A faint smile tugged at his lips, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “That’s the thing about me,” he said quietly. “I always push people away. Eventually.”

“Then don’t,” you said simply.

He looked at you for a long moment, his expression unreadable. “It’s not that easy,” he said finally.

“Why not?”

“Because I’m not like you,” he said, his voice laced with something you couldn’t quite name—regret, perhaps, or fear.

You stepped closer, the distance between you shrinking until you were standing only inches apart. “Then show me,” you said, your voice steady despite the nervous fluttering in your chest. “Show me who you are.”

His eyes searched yours, and for a moment, you thought he might refuse. But then he sighed, his shoulders slumping slightly as if in defeat.

“You won’t like what you see,” he said softly.

“Let me decide that,” you replied.

He hesitated for a moment longer before nodding, his gaze never leaving yours. “Alright,” he said quietly. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Before you could respond, he stepped back, his movements slow and deliberate. The shadows around him seemed to ripple and shift, as if drawn to him, and the air grew colder, sharper.

And then, you saw it—the truth he’d been hiding from you all along. His eyes glowed faintly in the dark, a silver light that seemed almost otherworldly. His fangs, so carefully hidden before, glinted in the moonlight as his lips parted in a soft sigh.

Your breath caught in your throat, your heart pounding wildly in your chest. You’d known, of course—deep down, you’d always known. But seeing it, seeing him like this, was something else entirely.

“Do you still think I’m worth staying for?” he asked, his voice quiet but steady.

You didn’t answer immediately, your gaze locked on his. He looked almost fragile like this, despite the power that radiated from him, as if he were bracing himself for rejection.

Finally, you stepped forward, closing the distance between you once more. You reached out, your fingers brushing lightly against his cheek, and he flinched at the touch but didn’t pull away.

“You’re more than this,” you said softly, your voice steady despite the storm of emotions raging within you. “You’re more than what you’ve become.”

His eyes searched yours, and for a moment, you thought he might break. But then he smiled, faint and bittersweet, and the tension between you seemed to ease, just slightly.

“Maybe you’re right,” he said quietly. “Or maybe you just see what you want to see.”

“Maybe,” you admitted, your lips curving into a faint smile. “But I’m still here, aren’t I?”

For the first time that night, his smile reached his eyes, and the weight that had hung between you seemed to lift. After spending decades in the basement of a monastery, you felt like you weren’t alone.

The silence that followed felt fragile, as if the night itself were holding its breath, waiting to see what would come next. Satoru’s gaze lingered on yours, and though his usual smirk had returned, it was softer now, tinged with something that almost resembled hope.

“You’re brave, you know that?” he said finally, his voice low and warm, like velvet brushing against your skin. “Most people would’ve run by now.”

“I’m not most people,” you replied, a small smile tugging at your lips.

“No,” he murmured, almost to himself. “You’re not.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke, the weight of everything unsaid settling around you like a second skin. You could feel the cold of the night seeping into your bones, but it was nothing compared to the warmth radiating from him, an impossible contrast to what you now knew him to be.

“I still have questions,” you said after a while, your voice breaking the quiet.

“Of course you do,” he replied, leaning back against the crumbling stone of a nearby grave. His relaxed posture was almost theatrical, but his eyes—those piercing, silver-lit eyes—remained locked on you, unyielding. “Ask, then.”

“Do you… feed?” The question felt heavy in your throat, your voice faltering slightly. You hated how naïve it sounded, but the truth of his nature was still sinking in, unsettling and mesmerizing all at once.

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he tilted his head, studying you with a curious intensity that made your skin prickle. “If I say yes, will it change the way you look at me?”

You hesitated, the weight of his words sinking in. You wanted to say no, to reassure him, but there was no denying the unease curling in your stomach. Still, you met his gaze, refusing to shy away.

“I don’t know,” you admitted finally. “But I want to understand.”

His lips quirked into a faint smile, though there was no humor in it. “Honest,” he murmured. “I can respect that.”

He straightened then, stepping closer until the space between you was barely more than a breath. The intensity of his presence was almost overwhelming, and you found yourself holding your breath as he spoke.

“Yes,” he said simply, his voice steady and unflinching. “I feed. Not often, and not the way you’re imagining, but it’s a necessity I can’t escape.”

Your heart raced, your mind conjuring images you weren’t sure you wanted to see. But his voice, calm and measured, pulled you back.

“I don’t kill,” he added, as if anticipating your thoughts. “Not anymore. I don’t take more than I need, and I don’t take from those who don’t offer.”

“Offer?” you repeated, your voice barely more than a whisper.

He nodded, his gaze unwavering. “There are those who seek it out,” he said. “The thrill, the intimacy of it. They come willingly, and I take only what they give.”

The idea was strange, almost unfathomable, but the conviction in his voice left little room for doubt. You searched his face, looking for any trace of deceit, but found none.

“And if they don’t offer?” you asked carefully.

He hesitated, his expression darkening slightly. “Then I don’t take,” he said finally. “No matter how hungry I am.”

The weight of his words hung between you, and you realized with a start that you believed him. Despite everything, despite the fear and uncertainty still lingering in the back of your mind, you trusted him.

“Does it hurt?” you asked after a moment, your curiosity getting the better of you.

His lips curved into a faint smirk, the playful glint returning to his eyes. “Only if you want it to,” he said, his voice laced with something darker, something almost… seductive.

Your cheeks flushed, and you quickly looked away, your pulse quickening. His soft chuckle filled the night air, and you could feel his gaze lingering on you, amused and knowing.

“You’re impossible,” you muttered, though there was no real heat in your voice.

“Only when I want to be,” he replied smoothly.

The conversation shifted after that, the tension easing as you fell into a more familiar rhythm. You asked him questions about his past—where he’d come from, how long he’d been this way—and he answered with a surprising openness, sharing fragments of a life that spanned centuries.

You learned about the places he’d seen, the people he’d met, and the loneliness that had followed him through it all. And as he spoke, you found yourself drawn to him even more, the weight of his existence both fascinating and heartbreaking.

At some point, you found yourself sitting on the cold stone of a nearby grave, your knees pulled to your chest as you listened. Satoru sat across from you, his long legs stretched out lazily as he gestured with his hands, his voice weaving stories that felt like they belonged to another world.

The hours slipped away unnoticed, the chill of the night forgotten in the warmth of his presence. And as the first light of dawn began to creep over the horizon, painting the sky in shades of soft pink and gold, you realized that something had shifted between you.

He wasn’t just the mysterious, infuriating man who had disrupted your quiet existence. He was something more now, something you couldn’t quite name but felt deeply nonetheless. You didn’t feel afraid of what might come next.

The horizon began to blush with the faintest light, the inky black of the night softening to a deep blue. You remained seated on the cold stone, your legs tucked beneath you, listening as Satoru’s voice wove through the thinning darkness. There was a comfort to his words, a rhythm that held you still, though the stories he told were anything but ordinary.

He spoke of distant cities, their streets alive with sounds and scents foreign to you. Of empires that had risen and fallen, some you had read about in crumbling texts, others lost to history. His voice dipped lower when he recounted betrayals and darker truths. The weight of his centuries pressed into the space between you, but he carried them with such ease it felt almost unreal.

“And yet,” he said, his tone softening as his eyes found yours, “through all of it, I’ve never seen a sunrise quite like this one.”

You glanced away from him, toward the east where the horizon glimmered faintly. The light was fragile, like a thread stretched too thin, but it promised warmth. His words lingered, though, making you feel his gaze on you rather than the sky.

“Do you miss it?” you asked after a moment. “The sun?”

His expression shifted, though it wasn’t sadness that settled over him. “Not the way you’d think,” he said, leaning back on his hands. “I miss its warmth, sometimes. The way it feels on your skin. But there’s beauty in the night, too, if you learn to see it. You’d be surprised how many people never notice the stars.”

You looked back at him, your breath catching for a moment. The light was faint but enough to paint his features in delicate strokes of silver and shadow. There was a sincerity in his voice that made your chest ache.

“I suppose you’ve had enough time to notice them,” you said, trying to sound lighthearted.

His smile returned, slow and easy, but there was something in his eyes that hadn’t been there before—a gentleness that didn’t fit the sharpness of his usual demeanor. “Time isn’t the same when you’re like me,” he said. “It stretches, folds in on itself. Centuries can feel like days, and moments can last forever.”

You leaned forward slightly, drawn in by the quiet intensity of his words. “And this moment?” you asked. “How does it feel to you?”

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he held your gaze, the space between you charged with something you couldn’t quite name. His expression softened further, his smile fading into something far more vulnerable.

“Like it could last forever,” he said finally, his voice barely more than a whisper.

The air around you seemed to still, the sounds of the waking world fading into nothingness. For a heartbeat, you forgot everything else—the weight of his past, the danger of what he was, the uncertainty of what lay ahead. All you could feel was the warmth of his words, the sincerity in his eyes, and the way your chest tightened as if the moment itself had reached inside you.

You looked away first, your cheeks warming under his unrelenting gaze. He chuckled softly, the sound breaking the spell, and you felt yourself relax slightly. “You’re impossible,” you muttered, though the words held no bite.

“And yet, you’re still here,” he replied, his tone light but his eyes still heavy with meaning.

The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable. If anything, it felt like a shared understanding, a thread connecting you in a way words couldn’t quite touch. You let yourself sink into it, the weight of the world slipping away as the pale morning light grew stronger.

But as the sun began its slow ascent, its golden light stretching farther across the horizon, Satoru shifted, his movements uncharacteristically cautious. You watched as he stood, his frame casting long, shadowed lines against the stone.

“I should go,” he said, though the words seemed reluctant. “The day isn’t kind to me.”

You stood as well, brushing the cold from your legs. “Will you be back?” you asked, hating how uncertain your voice sounded.

He turned to you, his expression softening. “You’ll see me again,” he said. “You always do.”

The promise in his words sent a strange warmth through you, though you couldn’t ignore the flicker of something darker beneath it. You didn’t ask him to stay—it felt like too much to ask of someone like him, someone bound by rules and dangers you couldn’t fully understand.

Instead, you stepped closer, the space between you shrinking until you were close enough to feel the faint chill of his presence. “Be careful,” you said, your voice softer than you’d intended.

His smile returned, faint but genuine, and for a moment, he looked almost human. “Always,” he replied, though the glint in his eyes told you he rarely played by the rules.

He didn’t move at first, his gaze lingering on yours as if he were committing you to memory. Then, with a step backward, he was gone, his figure melting into the shadows as if he had never been there at all.

The warmth of the morning seemed colder without him, the sun’s light less vibrant. You stood there for a long moment, staring at the spot where he had vanished, the weight of his presence still lingering in the air around you.

When you finally turned to leave, you couldn’t shake the feeling that the space between night and day—between you and him—was growing smaller with each passing moment.

The air that night carried a sharp chill, the kind that pricked at your skin and made the world feel just a little more alive. The moon hung high, luminous and unrelenting, casting its cold light across the crumbling stones of the cemetery. You walked slowly, your steps deliberate, as though afraid to disturb the fragile quiet that had settled.

He was there, of course. You’d known he would be. It was becoming a pattern now, a rhythm between the two of you that you couldn’t bring yourself to question. He stood atop a weathered mausoleum, his figure sharp and dark against the silver sky, one knee bent as though he were some tragic angel surveying his fallen dominion.

The sight of him stole the breath from your lungs. The way he stood, his white hair catching the moonlight, the faint smirk tugging at his lips when he noticed you—it felt like stepping into a dream you didn’t want to wake from. He dropped down in a single fluid motion, his landing so soft it barely stirred the earth.

“You’re late,” he said, his voice teasing but soft.

“Or you’re just early,” you replied, matching his tone.

He stepped closer, the shadows clinging to him like old lovers, reluctant to let him go. There was something languid in his movements, something that felt almost too practiced, too deliberate. Yet there was a tension beneath it, a restlessness he couldn’t quite hide.

“Walk with me,” he said, extending a hand.

You hesitated for only a moment before placing your hand in his. His fingers were cool, his grip firm but careful, as though he were afraid you might break under his touch. Together, you moved deeper into the cemetery, the stones and statues rising around you like silent sentinels.

The world seemed to shrink as you walked, the edges of reality blurring until it felt as though there was nothing beyond this place—just you, him, and the quiet pull of something neither of you dared name.

At last, you reached a clearing, where an ancient tree stood sentinel over a patch of wild roses. The air was thick with their scent, heady and almost intoxicating. He let go of your hand and moved toward the tree, his long fingers brushing over its gnarled bark.

“This place,” he said, his voice low and distant, “has seen more grief than it should. But somehow, it still stands. Still blooms.”

His words sent a shiver down your spine, the weight of them sinking into your chest. He turned to face you, his expression softer now, the sharp edges of his smirk replaced by something gentler.

“It reminds me of you,” he said, his voice barely more than a whisper.

You looked away, unable to hold his gaze. The intensity in his eyes felt too much, like staring into the heart of a storm.

“I’m not sure I know what you mean,” you said, though your voice betrayed you.

He stepped closer, the space between you shrinking until you could feel the faint chill of his presence. He reached out, his fingers brushing against your cheek, so light it felt like a ghost’s touch.

“You endure,” he said simply. “Even when the world seems intent on breaking you.”

The words struck something deep within you, something raw and unguarded. You looked up at him, and for the first time, you saw not the predator, not the centuries-old enigma, but the man beneath it all—the man who had carried more than his share of grief and yet still found it in himself to offer you this moment.

His hand lingered on your cheek, his thumb tracing an impossibly gentle line along your skin. You felt the world tilt, the air around you thickening as though the very night was holding its breath.

And then he leaned closer.

It wasn’t a kiss, not yet. He stopped just short, his breath warm against your lips, his eyes searching yours for permission. The moment stretched, the tension between you tightening like a bowstring.

Your pulse thundered in your ears, your chest tightening with a mixture of anticipation and fear. But you didn’t pull away.

He tilted his head slightly, the angle of his approach almost agonizingly slow. It reminded you of the stolen moments you’d read about in forbidden novels—the kind where the lovers moved as though the world might shatter if they moved too quickly. Like Catherine and Heathcliff under the relentless skies of the moors, like a specter of longing that had taken root between you.

When his lips finally brushed against yours, it was so soft, so fleeting, you almost thought you’d imagined it. But then he kissed you again, this time deeper, with a hunger that belied his earlier restraint. His hands found your waist, pulling you closer as though he feared you might vanish if he let go.

You lost yourself in the moment, the scent of roses and earth mingling with the cool taste of him. There was a desperation in his kiss, a longing that felt like it had been buried for centuries, only to erupt now, with you.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his breath coming in uneven gasps. His hands remained on your waist, grounding you in a way that felt both overwhelming and necessary.

“I shouldn’t…” he began, his voice hoarse, but the words trailed off, swallowed by the intensity of his gaze.

“Then don’t,” you whispered, your voice trembling but certain.

The corners of his lips twitched, a faint smile breaking through the storm of his expression. He stepped back slightly, though his hands lingered, his touch light but steady.

“This,” he said, his voice soft but firm, “this is dangerous.”

“Then why does it feel so right?” you asked, the words escaping before you could stop them.

For a moment, he didn’t answer. He simply looked at you, his expression unreadable. But then he leaned in again, pressing a kiss to your forehead—a gesture so tender, it left you breathless.

“Because sometimes,” he said quietly, “the most dangerous things are the only ones worth having.”

The stars had scattered themselves generously across the night sky, their cold light spilling down over the darkened village and its many small chapels. These places of worship were scattered like forgotten relics, their spires reaching towards heaven in silent plea.

Satoru walked beside you, his movements as fluid as shadow, silent as the night itself. You, on the other hand, were a study in contrasts. The hem of your dress dragged against the uneven cobblestones, and though your steps were cautious, there was a reverence to your every movement.

You’d passed many churches before tonight, their doors closed and sanctuaries quiet. But this one—the smallest yet, its heavy wooden doors slightly ajar—drew you like a magnet.

“You shouldn’t go in,” Satoru murmured from behind you, his voice low and tinged with unease.

“Why not?” you asked, pausing in the doorway to glance back at him. “You’ve come with me to every other one.”

“This one feels... different,” he said, his pale gaze flicking to the building. “I don’t know why.”

You tilted your head, studying him for a moment. “Are you afraid of a church, Satoru?” you teased gently.

“I fear nothing,” he said, but his tone was softer than usual, lacking its usual arrogance. “Only for you.”

You ignored the weight of his warning and stepped inside. The interior was dim, lit only by the faint silver of moonlight filtering through the cracked stained-glass windows. The air was thick with dust, the scent of old wood and decayed incense clinging to your senses.

As your eyes adjusted to the dark, your gaze was drawn to the altar at the far end of the room. At first, it seemed like nothing more than another statue, another saint cast in marble. But as you drew closer, your breath caught in your throat.

The figure was unmistakable: a woman draped in flowing robes, her hands clasped in prayer. Her head was tilted slightly downward, her expression one of serene devotion, but it was the details that stopped you cold.

The curve of her lips. The slope of her nose. The eyes, though carved from stone, held a haunting familiarity.

It was you.

The realization struck you like a physical blow, your knees nearly buckling beneath the weight of it. Your mind reeled as you stepped closer, your fingers trembling as they reached out to touch the cold marble.

Satoru’s presence loomed behind you, his silence heavy. He had followed you, as he always did, but he said nothing. When you finally turned to face him, the look on his face was unreadable.

“What is this?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

He didn’t answer immediately. His gaze flicked from the statue to you, his expression one of careful control. “You’re surprised?” he said finally, though his tone held no mockery.

“Of course, I’m surprised,” you said, gesturing to the figure behind you. “Why would there be a statue of me in a place like this? Why would they carve me as—”

“A saint,” he finished for you.

You stared at him, your heart pounding. “That doesn’t make sense. I’ve never been—”

“Haven’t you?” he interrupted, stepping closer. His voice was soft, almost reverent. “Perhaps not in this life. But the soul remembers, even when the body does not. And they... they must have remembered you.”

The weight of his words settled over you, a strange and terrible thing. You turned back to the statue, your thoughts racing. “But why?” you asked, though you weren’t sure who you were asking—him, the statue, or the heavens themselves.

“Because they saw what I see,” Satoru said, his voice so close now that you could feel his breath against your neck. “Someone who could save them. Someone who would give everything of herself, even if it meant losing everything in return.”

You closed your eyes, the truth of his words sinking into you like the sharp edge of a blade. There was a part of you that had always known, always felt the weight of something greater pressing down on you, even when you couldn’t name it.

But now, standing here in the shadow of yourself, you felt exposed in a way you never had before. And when you turned back to Satoru, the look in his eyes only made it worse.

“You think I’m still that person?” you asked, your voice trembling.

“I don’t think,” he said, his gaze holding yours with an intensity that stole your breath. “I know.”

His words were a challenge and a confession all at once, and they left you standing on the edge of something vast and unknowable. He reached out then, his fingers brushing against your wrist, and though his touch was cold, it burned in a way that felt dangerously familiar.

“You don’t understand what you are to them,” he said softly. “What you are to me.”

“And what am I?” you asked, though your voice was barely more than a whisper.

“A miracle,” he said simply.

The word hung in the air, heavy with meaning, and for a moment, neither of you moved. The only sound was the faint creak of the old church settling around you, as though the very building was holding its breath.

And then, slowly, he stepped closer, his hand rising to cup your face. “But even miracles have their limits,” he murmured. “And I fear I may test yours.”

You wanted to argue, to tell him that you were stronger than he believed, but the look in his eyes stopped you. There was a vulnerability there, a quiet desperation that left you speechless.

So instead, you leaned into his touch, your eyes slipping closed as his thumb brushed against your cheek. “Then test me,” you whispered, the words a challenge and a plea all at once.

And in that moment, beneath the shadow of your own likeness, you felt the weight of something ancient and eternal settle over you. The past and the present blurred together, and as Satoru’s lips found yours, you realized that perhaps some part of you had been waiting for this—waiting for him—all along.

The air between you was heavy, almost electric, as if the small chapel could no longer contain the gravity of your shared presence. The dim moonlight filtered through the fractured stained glass, casting broken hues of crimson and sapphire onto the worn stone floor.

Satoru stood before you, closer than he had ever dared to be, his hand still cradling your face as though you might vanish if he let go. His thumb traced the line of your cheekbone, his touch featherlight but purposeful, and every nerve in your body seemed to sing in response.

“You're trembling,” he murmured, his voice a low vibration that sank into your chest.

You hadn't realized you were, but now that he said it, you could feel the faint tremor in your hands, in the way your breath hitched with every exhale. “I'm not afraid,” you whispered, though the truth was more complicated than that.

"I didn't say you were," he replied, his gaze holding yours with a quiet intensity that made it hard to think. "But there's something..." His eyes dipped briefly to your lips, and the faintest smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Something you're holding back."

Your heart pounded against your ribs, but you forced yourself to speak. "And what about you?" you asked, your voice steadier than you felt. "You've been holding back since the moment we met."

His smile faded, replaced by something darker, heavier. "You don't understand what you're asking of me," he said softly, his hand sliding down from your face to rest against your neck, his fingers splayed against the rapid pulse beneath your skin. "What it would mean if I let myself... take."

"Then help me understand," you said, stepping closer, so close now that you could feel the coolness of his body against the heat of yours. "Show me."

For a moment, he didn't move. The tension between you was palpable, a taut string stretched to its breaking point, and you wondered if this was the moment it would snap.

But then, slowly, his other hand rose to your waist, his touch firm but hesitant, as though he was still unsure of his own strength. He leaned down, his lips brushing against the curve of your jaw, and the sensation sent a shiver racing down your spine.

"You don't know what you're asking for," he murmured, his breath warm against your skin despite the chill of his body.

"Maybe I don't," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. "But I know I trust you."

That seemed to undo him. He pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes searching yours for something you couldn't name. And whatever he found there, it seemed to break whatever restraint he had left.

He kissed you then, slow at first, as though testing the limits of your resolve. His lips were cold but soft, and the way he moved against you was deliberate, almost reverent. It was as if he was memorizing the shape of you, the taste of you, with every passing second.

You responded in kind, your hands sliding up to tangle in his hair, pulling him closer as the kiss deepened. There was no hesitation now, no space left between you, and the feeling was intoxicating, overwhelming in a way that left you gasping for breath.

When he pulled away, his forehead rested against yours, his eyes half-lidded and heavy with something you couldn't quite name. "You make it impossible to stop," he admitted, his voice low and ragged.

"Then don't," you whispered, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw.

His laughter was soft, almost bitter. "You have no idea what you're inviting," he said, but even as he spoke, his lips found your neck, pressing slow, deliberate kisses against the delicate skin.

You arched into his touch, your breath hitching as his hands slid lower, anchoring you against him. Every movement felt weighted, charged with a kind of intensity that left no room for doubt. This was no longer just about desire; it was about something deeper, something that tied you together in ways you couldn't yet understand.

"I could destroy you," he said against your skin, the words more a confession than a warning.

"Or you could save me," you replied, your hands tightening in his hair.

For a moment, he froze, the words hanging between you like a blade poised to fall. And then, with a low, guttural sound, he kissed you again, his hands gripping your waist as though you were the only thing keeping him tethered to the world.

Time seemed to blur after that, the boundaries between you dissolving until there was nothing left but the sensation of his touch, the sound of his breath mingling with yours, and the unspoken promises that lingered in every kiss, every caress.

And though the shadows of the chapel seemed to press closer, as if to bear witness to the moment, you found that you didn't care. All that mattered was him -the way he held you, the way he made you feel as though you were the only thing in the world.

The chapel walls seemed to pulse with a life of their own, heavy with the weight of centuries of faith and despair. The altar before you remained still, a silent witness to a moment that, in any other context, might have seemed heretical. But here, in the dim light fractured by the pale glow of the moon, there was no room for judgment—only for what existed between you and him.

The air was thick, seizing your lungs, but the cold of his hands against your skin was the only anchor keeping you from dissolving entirely. Satoru was there, closer than he had ever dared to be, and the devotion in his gaze robbed you of all coherent thought.

“There was a time,” he murmured, his voice a whisper as his fingers traced the delicate curve of your collarbone, “when I wondered how someone could be so untouchable and yet so human.”

“And now?” Your voice barely rose above a breathless whisper, trembling and unfamiliar.

“Now I understand you’re not untouchable.” His gaze dropped to your lips, and the hunger in his eyes was almost suffocating. “You were only waiting for someone willing to fall with you.”

The confession left your knees weak, threatening to buckle beneath you, but before you could falter, his hands were there, steadying you with a tenderness that felt almost reverent. Slowly, he guided you toward the base of the altar, his movements measured as though he feared the moment might shatter.

“Tell me to stop,” he whispered, leaning in just enough for his lips to graze the shell of your ear.

You didn’t. You couldn’t.

Instead, you brought your hands to his face, forcing him to meet your gaze. “I don’t want you to.”

The words ignited something within him, something dark and ravenous that could no longer be contained. In one fluid motion, his lips found yours, and the kiss was everything you had imagined and more: searing, desperate, full of a need that seemed impossible to quench.

His hands, cold yet impossibly steady, explored your body with a precision that left you breathless. Every touch, every caress, was a reminder that this man was not human, and yet, in that moment, he felt more real than anything else in your world.

“My entire existence,” he murmured against your lips, his voice low and dangerous, “I have walked in shadows. And now here you are, burning even in the darkness. How could I not want more?”

The weight of his words felt like a second skin, and as his lips trailed down your neck, leaving a path of fire in their wake, you found yourself clinging to him as though your very life depended on it.

The warmth of his breath cascaded down your neck, juxtaposed against the coolness of his lips. Each kiss was slow, deliberate, and yet there was an undercurrent of restraint, as though he was fighting a battle with himself even as he touched you. His hands, firm and certain, traced paths over your waist and hips, memorizing the curves beneath his fingers.

You tilted your head back, granting him access, your own hands threading through his silver hair, tugging him closer. His low groan reverberated against your skin, and the sound sent a shiver racing through your body.

“You have no idea what you’re doing to me,” he whispered, his voice ragged, the edges fraying with something that felt dangerously close to need.

“Show me,” you replied, your words a challenge, your breath catching as his lips moved lower, grazing the hollow of your throat.

The kiss deepened, shifting from reverence to something darker, hungrier. His fangs grazed your skin, a fleeting touch that sent a jolt of heat pooling in your core. You knew he was holding back, denying himself, but you could feel the tension in the way his hands gripped your hips, the way his breath came quicker as he pressed his forehead against your shoulder.

“I could hurt you,” he murmured, his voice breaking with an edge of self-loathing, yet his lips refused to leave your skin.

“You won’t,” you breathed, your hands moving to cup his face, pulling him up so that your eyes met. “I trust you, Satoru.”

Something shattered in his gaze, and the wall he had so carefully constructed crumbled beneath your words. He kissed you again, and this time, there was no hesitation. His lips were demanding, his body pressing you back against the cold stone of the altar, and you welcomed the weight of him, the way he anchored you to the moment.

Your fingers fumbled at the fabric of his coat, tugging it from his shoulders, desperate to feel more of him. He allowed it to fall away, his own hands sliding up your back, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you.

“Satoru,” you whispered his name like a prayer, your voice trembling with the weight of everything you couldn’t put into words.

He answered with a kiss that stole the air from your lungs, his hands traveling lower, his touch setting your skin ablaze. His lips left yours only to trace a line down your jaw, your neck, his teeth grazing the delicate curve of your shoulder. The sharp press of his fangs was fleeting, a tease, and the anticipation alone was enough to make your breath hitch.

“Tell me to stop,” he said again, but his voice held no conviction this time.

You shook your head, your fingers tightening in his hair as you whispered, “Don’t you dare.”

And that was all the permission he needed.

He lifted you with an ease that was both inhuman and effortless, settling you atop the altar as though you were something sacred. His hands roamed your body with a reverence that made your heart ache, his lips following wherever his fingers led.

Time seemed to blur, the world fading until there was nothing but him—the feel of his hands on your skin, the sound of his breath mingling with yours, the way he made you feel as though you were the only thing that mattered.

“Tell me what you want,” he whispered, his voice a low growl against your ear, and the rawness in his tone sent a shiver down your spine.

“You,” you replied, your hands gripping his shoulders as you pulled him closer. “I want you, Satoru. All of you.”

His eyes darkened, the silver of his gaze nearly eclipsed by black, and for a moment, you thought you saw something almost primal flicker there. But instead of fear, all you felt was desire.

His breath caught at your words, and in that moment, the tension between you unraveled, giving way to something raw and unrestrained. His hands slid beneath the fabric of your dress, tracing the lines of your thighs as though every touch was an act of worship. The coolness of his fingers contrasted with the heat of your skin, sending shivers racing across your body.

“Do you even realize,” he murmured, his lips brushing against the sensitive spot just below your ear, “what you’ve done to me? How you’ve consumed me?”

You couldn’t answer, not with the way his hands and lips were moving, with how your body felt as though it was coming alive under his touch. Instead, you tilted your head back, offering him more of yourself as a soft gasp escaped your lips.

His mouth found your collarbone, his kisses trailing lower as his fingers gripped your hips, pulling you closer to the edge of the altar. The position forced your legs around his waist, and the intimacy of it made your heart race, your breaths shallow and uneven.

“You’re trembling,” he said, pulling back just enough to study your face, his silver gaze searching yours. “Is it fear, or…”

“Not fear,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “Never fear.”

A low growl rumbled in his chest, and before you could process it, he leaned in again, his lips crashing into yours with a fervor that stole the breath from your lungs. His hands tangled in your hair, his grip firm yet tender, as though he was holding on to something fragile and precious.

Your hands slid over the broad expanse of his shoulders, pulling him closer, needing him closer. The fabric of his shirt was a frustrating barrier, and you tugged at it, your fingers working to free him from it. He allowed it to fall away, revealing pale, sculpted skin that seemed to glow faintly in the moonlight.

For a moment, you just stared, your breath catching at the sight of him, at the beauty of someone who wasn’t meant to exist. He smirked at your expression, a hint of amusement flickering in his eyes.

“Like what you see?” he teased, his voice low and laced with that familiar arrogance, though it softened at the edges as he cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing against your lips.

Instead of answering, you leaned forward, pressing your lips to his chest, letting your kisses speak for you. His breath hitched, and you felt the way his body tensed beneath your touch, the control he was so carefully holding onto slipping bit by bit.

“Satoru,” you whispered his name, your voice laced with a mix of longing and vulnerability. “I want…”

“I know,” he interrupted, his voice strained, almost pained. “I know what you want.”

He lifted you effortlessly, his strength a reminder of just how different he was, yet in his arms, you felt safe. He lowered you onto the altar, his body pressing against yours, and the cold stone beneath you only heightened the heat between you.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” he said, his voice softer now, his gaze holding an unspoken plea.

“It’s not,” you assured him, your hands threading through his hair as you pulled him down to you. “It’s never too much with you.”

His lips claimed yours again, the kiss deeper, more consuming, as his hands explored your body with a precision that made you feel as though you were unraveling beneath him. Every touch, every kiss, was deliberate, as though he was committing you to memory, and you could feel the weight of his restraint, the way he was holding himself back even as he gave you everything.

The world outside the chapel ceased to exist; there was only him, the weight of his body against yours, the way he whispered your name like a prayer as his lips trailed over your skin. Time seemed to stretch and blur, and all that mattered was the way he made you feel—as though you were something sacred, something he could never deserve but would worship regardless.

The air between you was electric, a tangible thing that coiled and snapped like a storm ready to break. His lips were a contradiction: cool yet burning, precise yet unrelenting as they claimed every inch of your skin, branding you in ways that words could never articulate. He kissed you like a man starved, each movement imbued with a hunger that no eternity could satisfy.

“You’re intoxicating,” he murmured against your collarbone, his voice a low, gravelly whisper. “I should have walked away from you the moment I saw you… but how could I? You’ve ruined me.”

You shuddered at the confession, his words carving themselves into your soul. Your hands moved to his face, cradling him as though you could hold his torment and his desire in equal measure. His eyes, those piercing silver orbs, met yours, and in them, you saw everything he couldn’t say aloud: a longing so profound it threatened to consume him.

“Satoru,” you whispered, his name falling from your lips like a prayer. “You don’t have to hold back with me.”

For a moment, he froze, his body taut as though your words had struck something deep within him. Then, slowly, a smile—soft, achingly tender—curved his lips. “You have no idea what you’re inviting,” he said, his voice tinged with something almost dangerous.

“Then show me,” you breathed, your fingers tracing the sharp line of his jaw.

The restraint in his movements shattered. He captured your lips in a kiss that was unlike any before it—raw, searing, a confession of every emotion he had kept buried. His hands gripped your waist, pulling you flush against him as though he needed to feel every part of you to believe you were real.

You gasped against his mouth as his fangs grazed your bottom lip, the sharp sensation sending a jolt of heat through you. His tongue followed, soothing the sting, and the sound he made—a low, guttural groan—ignited something deep within you.

“You taste like sin,” he murmured, his voice dripping with both reverence and desire. “And I’d happily drown in you.”

His hands roamed your body, mapping every curve and hollow with a reverence that made your heart ache. There was no hesitation, no rush—only deliberate, unhurried movements that made you feel as though time itself had stilled for the two of you.

The cool stone of the altar beneath you grounded you, a stark contrast to the fire spreading through your veins. His lips trailed down your neck, lingering at the hollow of your throat, where your pulse beat wildly beneath his touch. He paused there, his breath warm against your skin, and for a moment, you thought he might bite.

But instead, he pressed a kiss there, slow and deliberate, as though marking you in a way that went beyond blood.

“You’re mine,” he whispered, his voice low and possessive. “Do you understand that? No one else will ever touch you like this.”

His words sent a shiver down your spine, but they didn’t frighten you. If anything, they made you feel claimed in a way that was both terrifying and exhilarating. You nodded, your fingers tangling in his hair as you pulled him closer.

“And you’re mine,” you replied, your voice steady despite the tremor in your limbs.

His smile was wicked, his teeth gleaming in the dim light as he leaned down to capture your lips once more. This kiss was slower, deeper, and you felt as though he was pouring every unspoken word, every buried emotion, into it.

The world outside ceased to exist; there was only the two of you, locked in a moment that felt both infinite and fleeting. Every touch, every kiss, was a promise, a declaration, a prayer spoken in the language of your bodies.

The weight of him against you, the way his body molded so perfectly to yours, was intoxicating. His lips explored every inch of your skin, as though trying to memorize you by touch alone, while his hands skimmed the contours of your waist and hips with reverence. His fingers, cool and precise, slipped beneath the fabric of your dress, inching it higher as his kisses trailed downward, leaving a path of fire in their wake.

The shift of your clothing revealed more of your skin to him, and the way his eyes darkened at the sight made your breath hitch. He looked at you as though you were something sacred and forbidden all at once, his restraint unraveling thread by thread.

“Do you even realize what you do to me?” he murmured, his voice rough, filled with both awe and torment. His hands gripped your thighs gently, holding you steady, his thumbs brushing slow, deliberate circles against your skin.

You couldn’t respond, couldn’t form words under the weight of his gaze, so instead, you reached for him, your fingers curling around his wrist to anchor yourself. He smiled—soft, devastating—and leaned down, his lips brushing against the curve of your knee, his breath warm against your skin.

His kisses traveled upward, slow and languid, as though savoring every moment. Each press of his mouth sent sparks of heat skittering across your body, your breaths coming quicker with every inch he claimed. His touch was careful, precise, but there was an intensity behind it that betrayed his own struggle to remain in control.

“Satoru,” you whispered his name, the sound barely audible, but it was enough to make him pause, his eyes meeting yours.

There was a flicker of hesitation in his gaze, a shadow of the beast he kept caged within himself, and you could feel his restraint wavering. But then you reached for him, your hands sliding up his arms, grounding him, and the tension in his body eased under your touch.

“I’m here,” you said softly, your voice steady despite the way your pulse raced beneath your skin. “I trust you.”

Those words unraveled him completely. He surged forward, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that was both desperate and tender. His hands framed your face, holding you as though you might disappear if he let go, while his body pressed against yours, every movement a silent plea for more.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, and the low sound he made in response sent a shiver down your spine. He shifted, his weight settling between your thighs, and the intimacy of the moment stole the air from your lungs.

“Tell me to stop,” he murmured against your lips, his voice trembling with the weight of his restraint, though his body betrayed just how much he wanted this—wanted you.

You shook your head, your hands sliding down to rest against his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your palm. “I won’t,” you whispered, your voice trembling but resolute.

His silver gaze burned into yours, and for a moment, the world around you seemed to fall away, leaving only the two of you suspended in this fragile, infinite moment. Then his lips found yours again, and this time, there was no hesitation, no restraint.

His kisses deepened, his hands sliding beneath the fabric of your dress to explore the bare skin beneath. His touch was like fire, igniting every nerve, and you arched into him, your body responding instinctively to his. The cool stone beneath you was a sharp contrast to the heat between you, grounding you even as you felt yourself spiraling.

His fangs grazed your skin as his lips moved to your neck, the sharp sting sending a jolt of electricity through you. You gasped, your fingers tightening against his shoulders, but instead of fear, all you felt was exhilaration, a heady mix of pleasure and surrender.

“Do you feel it?” he whispered, his voice a low growl against your ear. “Do you feel how much I crave you, how much I need you?”

“Yes,” you breathed, your head tilting back to give him more access, your body trembling beneath his touch. “I feel it. I want it—I want you.”

The admission broke something in him, and he pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, his silver eyes molten with desire. “You’re mine,” he said, his voice a soft, reverent growl, as though speaking the words aloud solidified them.

“And you’re mine,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper, but the certainty in it left no room for doubt.

He kissed you again, his movements growing slower, more deliberate, as though savoring every second. Time stretched and blurred, and the weight of his body against yours, the press of his lips, the heat of his touch—all of it felt like a communion, a merging of two souls that transcended the boundaries of flesh and blood.

The night stretched endlessly around you, the chapel a silent witness to the bond forged between you. And in that moment, beneath the watchful eyes of the stone saints, you knew there was no going back.

You were his, and he was yours, bound by something that neither time nor eternity could break.

His hands moved over you as though you were carved from the most fragile marble, his touch reverent yet deliberate, like an artist shaping his masterpiece. Every kiss he placed on your skin was an act of worship, slow and unhurried, leaving behind a trail of fire that seared into your very soul.

The fabric of your dress slipped away under his fingers, pooling around your hips in a soft whisper of surrender. The cool air kissed your exposed skin, but the warmth of his body pressed against yours kept you tethered, his presence grounding you even as you felt yourself unraveling beneath him.

Satoru’s gaze devoured you, silver eyes gleaming in the flickering candlelight like molten steel. The intensity of his stare left you breathless, the hunger in it impossible to ignore. He was looking at you as though you were something divine, something he had craved for centuries but never dared to touch until now.

“You’re perfect,” he murmured, his voice low and thick with longing, the faintest tremor betraying the depth of his emotions. His hands trailed up your sides, his thumbs brushing against the curve of your ribs, and the softness in his touch was almost unbearable. “Too perfect for someone like me.”

“No,” you whispered, your voice trembling but certain. You reached up to cradle his face in your hands, your thumbs brushing against the sharp lines of his cheekbones. “You’re exactly what I’ve been waiting for.”

The words seemed to break something in him. His lips crashed against yours with a force that stole the breath from your lungs, his hands tangling in your hair as though he couldn’t bear to let you go. His body pressed against yours, pinning you to the altar, and the intimacy of the moment made your heart race, your blood singing in your veins.

Your hands found their way to the buttons of his shirt, your fingers trembling as you worked to undo them. The fabric fell away to reveal the pale expanse of his chest, the faint glow of his skin illuminated by the moonlight streaming through the stained glass above. You couldn’t stop yourself from running your hands over him, marveling at the way his muscles tensed beneath your touch.

He groaned softly at the contact, his head tilting back as though your touch was both pleasure and pain. “You’ll ruin me,” he whispered, his voice raw, as though the admission cost him something.

“Then let me,” you replied, your voice barely audible, but the weight of your words hung heavy in the air.

His gaze snapped back to yours, and for a moment, the world seemed to stand still. Then he was kissing you again, deeper this time, his hands exploring every inch of you with a fervor that left no doubt of his intentions.

Your legs wrapped around his waist instinctively, pulling him closer as the tension between you reached a breaking point. The feel of him against you, solid and unyielding, sent a shiver through your body, and you couldn’t stop the soft gasp that escaped your lips.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” he murmured against your neck, his voice trembling as his lips ghosted over your skin.

“It’s not,” you replied, your fingers threading through his hair. “Don’t stop.”

Something in your words seemed to ignite him. His movements grew more urgent, his hands sliding beneath the fabric of your undergarments to touch bare skin. His touch was like fire, igniting every nerve, and you arched into him, your body responding instinctively to his.

His fangs grazed your neck again, and this time, you didn’t flinch. Instead, you tilted your head to the side, baring your throat to him in a gesture of trust and surrender. The low growl that rumbled in his chest sent a thrill through you, and when his lips closed over your pulse, you felt the sharp sting of his bite.

Pain and pleasure mingled in a heady rush, your body trembling as you clung to him. His arms wrapped around you, holding you steady as he drank from you, his mouth moving against your skin in a way that was both carnal and tender.

When he finally pulled back, his lips were stained with your blood, and his eyes burned with an otherworldly light. He pressed his forehead against yours, his breath ragged, his hands cradling your face as though you were something precious.

“You’re mine,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper, the words laced with both possessiveness and reverence.

“And you’re mine,” you replied, your fingers tracing the lines of his face, memorizing every detail.

The night stretched on, the boundaries between pain and pleasure, heaven and sin, blurring until there was nothing left but the two of you, entwined in a bond that went beyond blood, beyond flesh, beyond time itself.

The chapel fell into a heavy stillness, broken only by the sound of your shallow breaths and the faint rustle of fabric as his hands moved over you. The world outside the stained-glass windows no longer existed; there was only Satoru, his cool touch igniting heat beneath your skin, and the overwhelming intensity of the bond now sealed between you.

His fangs had left two faint crescents on your neck, but the pain was forgotten, replaced by the electric hum that coursed through your body, binding you to him in ways you couldn’t explain. He pulled back to study his work, his lips painted with the faintest streak of your blood. There was something primal in his expression, a raw hunger tempered by reverence, as though he saw you not just as his equal but as his salvation.

“You’re trembling,” he said softly, his voice a low vibration against your skin. His fingers ghosted over the bite mark on your neck, the contact so tender it sent a shiver down your spine.

You met his gaze, your breath catching at the way his silver eyes seemed to devour you. “It’s not fear,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

He smiled then, slow and devastating, a flicker of wickedness curling at the corners of his lips. “Good,” he murmured, his hand sliding to cup the side of your face. “Because I’m far from finished with you.”

His words hung in the air like a promise, and the weight of them sent a rush of heat through you. His lips found yours again, softer this time, as though he were trying to soothe the fire he had lit within you. But his restraint didn’t last long. The kiss deepened, his hunger bleeding through, and you responded in kind, your hands moving to his shoulders, pulling him closer.

The press of his body against yours was maddening, a perfect balance of coolness and heat that left you breathless. His hands roamed your sides, tracing the curves of your body with a reverence that bordered on worship. When his fingers brushed the fabric of your undergarments, you felt your breath hitch, anticipation coiling tight in your belly.

“Let me see you,” he whispered, his voice rough with restraint as his fingers toyed with the edge of lace. “Every part of you.”

You hesitated for only a moment before nodding, your fingers trembling as you helped him guide the last barrier away. The cool air of the chapel kissed your exposed skin, but the heat of his gaze was what truly burned.

He didn’t speak, didn’t move for a long moment. He simply looked at you, his expression unreadable, though the hunger in his eyes was unmistakable. When he finally moved, it was with a slowness that bordered on agonizing. His hands skimmed up your thighs, his touch light but deliberate, sending shivers cascading through you.

“You’re a masterpiece,” he murmured, his voice so soft you almost didn’t catch it. His lips followed the path of his hands, leaving featherlight kisses against your skin, and the tenderness of it stole the breath from your lungs.

When his mouth finally found yours again, the kiss was slow and consuming, as though he wanted to claim every part of you with it. His hands explored with a confidence that left no room for hesitation, each touch drawing soft gasps and sighs from your lips.

“Satoru,” you whispered his name like a prayer, your hands threading through his hair to pull him closer.

“Say it again,” he murmured against your skin, his voice low and commanding, his teeth grazing your collarbone in a way that made your pulse race.

You obliged, his name falling from your lips in a breathless whisper as his hands and mouth continued their exploration. The line between control and surrender blurred until you couldn’t tell where you ended and he began.

His kisses trailed lower, his lips brushing against the curve of your hip, and the intensity of the moment left you trembling. Every movement, every touch, was deliberate, as though he were determined to savor every inch of you.

“I could spend an eternity here,” he said, his voice rough and almost reverent. “And it still wouldn’t be enough.”

The words sent a shiver through you, but before you could respond, he shifted, his lips finding yours again in a kiss that was both searing and soft. Time seemed to slow, the weight of his body grounding you as his hands moved to intertwine with yours, pressing them above your head against the cool stone of the altar.

“You were made for me,” he murmured against your lips, his voice heavy with conviction. “Every part of you.”

“And you for me,” you replied, your voice steady despite the trembling in your limbs.

He smiled then, a flicker of triumph in his expression, before his lips claimed yours once more. The world fell away entirely, leaving only the two of you, bound together in a moment that felt both infinite and fleeting.

The silence between you was charged, heavy with unsaid words and unfulfilled desires. Satoru loomed over you, his frame a perfect juxtaposition of danger and devotion. He had unmade you entirely, stripped you of every defense you’d clung to, leaving you bare before him—body, soul, and everything in between.

“Look at you,” he murmured, his voice like silk stretched thin over steel, his silver eyes blazing with an intensity that felt like it could undo you. “Do you even know what you’ve done to me?”

Your breath hitched as his fingers brushed the side of your neck, tracing the faint crescent marks of his bite. His touch was featherlight, a deliberate contrast to the weight of his gaze. You shivered under the caress, the heat pooling low in your belly spreading like wildfire.

“I should stop,” he whispered, though his actions betrayed his words. His lips found the line of your jaw, trailing downward in a path that made your pulse race. “I should leave you to your innocence, untouched, unbroken.”

“You already broke me,” you said, your voice trembling as you tilted your head, exposing your neck to him in a gesture of both surrender and challenge. “Don’t stop now.”

The faintest growl escaped him, low and reverberating, as though he were barely holding himself together. “You’re playing with fire,” he said, his tone caught between warning and desire, though the way his lips skimmed the sensitive skin of your collarbone belied any true resistance.

“Let me burn,” you whispered, your hands sliding up to tangle in his hair, pulling him closer.

And burn you did.

His hands moved over your body with a precision that bordered on worship, each touch lighting a spark that threatened to consume you entirely. He kissed you deeply, hungrily, his tongue brushing against yours in a dance that felt both forbidden and fated. Your moans were swallowed by him, his name a whispered prayer against his lips.

The fabric of your gown was an afterthought, discarded with reverent care as though he were peeling away layers of sanctity to reveal something far more divine beneath. His lips followed the path of his hands, trailing heat down your shoulders, the curve of your breasts, the soft plane of your stomach. Each kiss was deliberate, lingering just long enough to leave your skin tingling.

When his mouth dipped lower, your breath hitched, your fingers clutching at the stone altar beneath you as the sensation left you trembling. He was meticulous, his kisses and touch perfectly balanced between tender and unrelenting, his name spilling from your lips in gasps that you couldn’t suppress.

“You’re so beautiful like this,” he murmured against your skin, his voice low and reverent, as though you were something holy. His hands gripped your thighs, spreading you for him as his lips left no inch of you unexplored. “Like you were made to be ruined by me.”

You couldn’t respond, the words caught in your throat as his mouth moved lower, his touch deliberate, skilled, until coherent thought became impossible. Every nerve in your body was alight, every ounce of tension spiraling into a crescendo that left you breathless.

“Satoru,” you gasped, his name breaking like a confession from your lips, your body arching into him as he pulled you closer to the edge of oblivion.

He looked up at you then, his silver eyes blazing with a hunger that left you undone. “Say it again,” he demanded, his voice rough, commanding, yet softened by the reverence in his gaze.

“Satoru,” you repeated, the syllables trembling as his touch consumed you entirely, the pleasure building to a point of no return.

“Good girl,” he murmured, his voice a low growl of approval, before his lips claimed yours once more, sealing the moment in an embrace that left no doubt of his devotion.

He held you as though you were his salvation, his movements a careful balance of reverence and possession, and you surrendered to him completely, the line between sacred and profane blurred beyond recognition.

“Do you know what you’ve done to me?” he murmured, his voice rough and low, vibrating through you like the echo of a prayer in an empty cathedral.

You swallowed hard, your chest rising and falling as you met his gaze. “Tell me.”

A slow, devastating smile curved his lips, but there was nothing playful about it. “You’ve made me a sinner,” he said, his thumb brushing against your lower lip, and the weight of his words sent a shiver down your spine. “And I’ve never wanted anything more.”

His lips found yours then, claiming them with a hunger that had been restrained for far too long. The kiss was deep, consuming, his hands threading into your hair as he pulled you closer. You melted into him, your own restraint crumbling as you pressed against him, your fingers clutching at the fabric of his shirt.

“Satoru,” you whispered against his lips, your voice trembling with a mix of anticipation and need.

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his silver eyes darkened with desire. “Say it again,” he commanded softly, his hands sliding to your waist, steadying you as though you might collapse under the weight of the moment.

“Satoru,” you repeated, the sound of his name a plea that you couldn’t suppress.

He groaned softly, the sound reverberating through you as his lips found the curve of your neck. His fangs grazed your skin, a sharp reminder of what he was, but instead of fear, it only heightened the anticipation coiling in your belly. His hands moved over you with deliberate intent, tracing every curve, every hollow, as though memorizing you by touch alone.

“Let me see you,” he whispered, his voice a low growl that sent a thrill through you. “All of you.”

Your breath caught as his hands slid to the laces of your gown, his fingers deftly untying them with a reverence that bordered on worship. The fabric fell away, pooling at your feet, leaving you bare before him.

He stepped back slightly, his gaze raking over you with an intensity that made your skin flush. “You’re perfect,” he said, his voice rough with awe. “Like something carved by the divine.”

You shivered under his gaze, your arms instinctively moving to cover yourself, but he stopped you, his hands gentle but firm as he guided them back to your sides. “Don’t,” he said softly. “Let me look at you.”

And look he did, his silver eyes tracing every inch of you as though committing you to memory. When he finally moved, it was with a deliberate slowness, his hands gliding up your sides before settling on your hips. He kissed you again, his lips demanding and possessive, his hands pulling you against him as though the space between you was unbearable.

The rest of his clothes were shed quickly, and the sight of him left you breathless. He was all lean muscle and sharp lines, a predator wrapped in elegance, and yet the way he looked at you made you feel powerful, as though you were the one who held him captive.

When he lowered you onto the cool stone altar, the contrast of its hardness against the softness of your skin sent a shiver through you. His lips followed, trailing heat down your neck, your collarbone, the swell of your breasts, each kiss drawing a soft gasp from your lips. His hands moved with the same deliberate care, exploring every inch of you with a precision that left no room for hesitation.

“You’re shaking,” he murmured, his voice low and filled with something between concern and pride.

“I’m not afraid,” you managed to say, your voice trembling as his lips continued their descent.

He smiled against your skin, the curve of his lips wicked. “Good.”

His mouth found your most sensitive places, his touch both reverent and unrelenting, and the sensation left you gasping, your fingers clutching at his hair. The tension built quickly, spiraling higher with every stroke, every kiss, until it felt like you might unravel completely.

“Satoru,” you whispered, his name a broken plea on your lips.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured, his voice soft but steady, and the conviction in his words grounded you even as he pushed you further into the abyss.

When the tension finally broke, it was like a dam bursting, the release washing over you in waves that left you trembling in his arms. He held you through it, his touch gentle, his lips pressing soft kisses to your temple as you came back to yourself.

“You’re mine now,” he said softly, his voice filled with a quiet intensity that left no room for doubt. “In every way.”

“And you’re mine,” you replied, your voice steady despite the lingering tremors in your body.

He smiled then, a rare, genuine smile that lit up his face. “Always.”

The silence of the space shattered with the wet, urgent sound of your bodies meeting, a raw echo in the vast darkness surrounding you. The chill of the marble beneath your back contrasted with the searing heat of his hands, his mouth, his body claiming you without mercy.

Satoru didn’t speak. There were no words on his lips—only a hunger that devoured everything in its path. His tongue traced fierce lines down the column of your neck, biting just at the edge of pain before descending to your breasts. His mouth latched onto you with an intensity that stole your breath, sucking until your skin turned red and bruised with his presence. Each pull of his lips sent waves of pleasure straight to your core, and you moaned, not caring to stifle the sound.

“Don’t you dare hide from me,” he growled against your chest, his voice rough, as if he was on the verge of losing all control. His large hands gripped your hips, lifting you with ease so you fit perfectly against him. “I want to hear every sound, every moan, every damn scream you give me.”

Your breathing was erratic, your fingers digging into his shoulders, anchoring yourself in a storm you couldn’t escape. When his hand slipped between your thighs, there was no gentleness, only a fierce need that made you arch instantly. His touches were filthy, slick, relentless.

“Satoru…” Your voice broke, caught between gasps and sighs.

He smirked, arrogant and ravenous, but the tenderness in that expression was overshadowed by the way he slid his fingers inside you without warning. Your back arched, a sharp cry tearing from your throat at the exquisite stretch, the dirty, utterly possessive act of it.

“Stay like this for me,” he whispered, his tone burning as hot as his touches. His movements were calculated, brutal, his fingers working a rhythm that matched the erratic thrum of your heart. “You’re made for me, don’t you see it? Every part of you…”

He withdrew his fingers, leaving you aching, empty, but there was no time to protest. In one fluid motion, he turned you, pressing your back against a stone column. Your hands clung to the cold edge, and his body found yours again, pressing firmly against you from behind, his hardness unmistakable against your hips.

When he finally took you, it was with an insatiable hunger. He thrust into you in one sharp movement, his size filling you so completely that it stole the air from your lungs. You screamed his name, loud and shameless, and he growled in response, his hands gripping you so tightly you knew they’d leave marks.

The pace he set was merciless, his pelvis slamming against you with a sound almost as erotic as the moans filling the air. Each thrust drove you closer and closer to the edge, the delicious friction blending with the weight of his body, the grip of his fingers on your hips, and the heat radiating from him like a fire you couldn’t escape.

“Tell me you’re mine,” he demanded, his voice low and guttural, almost an animalistic growl. One of his hands slid up to your throat—not to squeeze, but to keep you utterly under his control. “Say it.”

“I’m yours,” you gasped, your voice trembling with the pleasure consuming you. “Only yours.”

“Always,” he murmured, leaning down to bite the curve of your neck, his tongue tracing the spot before his teeth sank into your skin. The pain was sharp, but so was the pleasure—a wave so overwhelming it made you scream as the climax tore through you like a violent storm, leaving your body trembling against his.

Satoru kept moving, even as you shook and moaned, pushing your body past every limit you thought possible. He consumed you entirely, every part of you trembling, every part of you screaming his name as he took you over the edge again and again, until the final climax washed over you like a flood, leaving your legs shaking and your mind in tatters.

At last, he stilled, his heavy breathing hot against your back as he stayed buried inside you, his forehead resting against your shoulder. His lips brushed your ear, a whisper laden with possession and promises:

“I’m never letting you go. Ever.”

And from the way your body still craved him, you knew you’d never want him to.

The silence that followed wasn’t calm—it was charged, vibrating with the tension that still crackled between you. His hands hadn’t left your body, roaming slowly now, possessively, as if grounding himself in the aftermath of what he’d taken from you. The raw friction of his skin against yours only reignited the ache he’d left, a dull, relentless thrum that begged for more.

Satoru pulled back slightly, just enough to turn you around and face him, his icy eyes burning with a fire that seemed endless. He cupped your face, his thumbs brushing over your swollen lips, and his voice was a low growl when he finally spoke.

“You think I’m done with you?” he asked, his tone almost taunting.

Before you could respond, his mouth was on yours again, demanding and devouring, his kiss so intense it stole the breath from your lungs. His tongue pushed past your lips, claiming you with a brutal intimacy that made your knees weak.

He didn’t let you fall—his hands were already gripping your thighs, lifting you as if you weighed nothing. The cold stone behind your back did nothing to cool the heat building between you as he pressed you against the column again. His hips rolled into yours with deliberate slowness this time, dragging a moan from your throat as the still-sensitive nerves inside you clenched around him.

“Satoru, I—”

“You’re not leaving this time,” he interrupted, his voice rough against your ear. “Not until I’ve taken every scream, every cry, every bit of you.”

His teeth grazed the shell of your ear before his mouth traveled lower, trailing kisses and bites along the column of your throat. He left marks wherever he touched—proof of his possession, blooming like bruised flowers on your skin. When his mouth closed over your collarbone, his teeth sank in deeper, the sharp edge of pain blurring into pleasure so intense it made your vision blur.

“Mine,” he growled again, almost to himself, as if branding the word into your very soul.

His hands slid down your sides, gripping your hips tightly before lifting you higher, forcing you to wrap your legs around his waist. The angle was obscene, exposing you entirely to him, and the smirk that curved his lips told you he reveled in the vulnerability.

“You look perfect like this,” he murmured, his voice dark and filled with a cruel kind of affection. “So messy. So fucking ruined.”

The first thrust was slow, deliberate, and agonizingly deep, and you cried out, your head falling back against the stone. He held himself there, buried to the hilt, savoring the way your body clenched around him, the way your breath hitched and your nails dug into his shoulders.

“Do you feel it?” he whispered, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear. “Do you feel how perfectly you fit me? Like you were made for this. For me.”

The next thrust was brutal, pulling a scream from your lips that echoed in the hollow space around you. He didn’t stop, didn’t hold back, setting a pace that was punishing and relentless, driving you higher and higher until you thought you might shatter.

Every sound, every cry, every gasp of his name only seemed to spur him on. His hands gripped you tighter, his nails digging into your skin as if he couldn’t bear the thought of letting you go. His mouth found yours again, swallowing your moans as his hips slammed into yours with a ferocity that left you trembling.

And then his hand slid between your bodies, his fingers finding the most sensitive part of you, circling with expert precision. The combination of his movements and the overwhelming heat of his body sent you spiraling out of control, your climax crashing over you like a tidal wave.

You screamed his name, your body convulsing around him, and he followed soon after, a deep growl tearing from his throat as he buried himself in you one final time. The warmth of his release filled you, the sensation both shocking and strangely intimate.

For a moment, the world stood still, the only sound the heavy breaths you both shared. His hands gentled, his grip loosening as he cradled you against him, pressing soft, reverent kisses to your temple, your cheeks, your lips.

But the tenderness didn’t last long.

Satoru pulled back just enough to look at you, his eyes still blazing with an unquenched hunger. His lips curved into a smirk, one hand brushing your hair back as the other gripped your waist firmly. “I’m not finished with you yet,” he murmured, his voice a low growl that sent a shiver down your spine.

Before you could respond, he moved, flipping you effortlessly so that you were straddling his hips. The movement left you gasping, your thighs pressed against his as he leaned back against the column, his hands already sliding down to grip the curve of your ass.

“Ride me,” he commanded, the words both sinful and sweet, his tone dark but his gaze soft. “I want to see how desperate you are for me.”

Heat flushed your cheeks, but there was no hesitation. The lingering ache between your legs only intensified as you adjusted yourself, letting him guide you until he was pressed firmly against your entrance. Slowly, you sank down, the stretch making you gasp as he filled you completely, his size forcing you to take him inch by inch.

“Good girl,” he breathed, his voice rough, his hands gripping your hips tightly as you settled onto him. “Look at you. So perfect. Taking me so well.”

The praise sent a thrill through you, but it was the raw friction, the way his cock stretched and filled you, that left you trembling. You moved slowly at first, rolling your hips experimentally, but his growl of impatience spurred you on.

“That’s it,” he murmured, his hands guiding your movements now, urging you to pick up the pace. “Don’t hold back. Show me how much you want this.”

The rhythm you found was frantic and unrestrained, your body moving on its own as waves of pleasure coursed through you. His hands alternated between gripping your hips and smacking your ass, the sharp sting of his palm sending jolts of sensation that only heightened your arousal.

“You like that, don’t you?” he teased, his smirk widening as he watched your reactions. “You like being ruined by me.”

His words were filthy, and you hated how much they turned you on. Your nails dug into his chest as you rode him harder, chasing the release that felt just out of reach.

“You’re so fucking tight,” he groaned, his voice thick with pleasure. “You’re gonna make me lose it.”

But just as you felt yourself teetering on the edge, he shifted, grabbing your hips and flipping you onto your back in one swift motion. You barely had time to gasp before he was on you again, driving into you with a force that left you breathless.

“Satoru!” His name was a broken cry on your lips, your hands scrambling for purchase on his shoulders, his arms, anything to ground you as he fucked you into oblivion.

“Don’t hold back,” he murmured, his voice low and commanding as his hand slid down to toy with your clit, the pressure making your vision blur. “Come for me. I want to feel you.”

The climax hit you like a tidal wave, your body clenching around him as you screamed his name. He didn’t stop, his movements rough and unrelenting as he chased his own release, his growl of satisfaction echoing in your ears as he came, spilling into you with a heat that left you trembling.

But even then, he wasn’t done.

Even as you lay trembling beneath him, your body still pulsing from the overwhelming release, Satoru didn’t stop. His hand trailed down your thigh, gripping it firmly as he pushed it higher, spreading you further beneath him. The vulnerability of the position made heat flare in your chest, but the hunger in his eyes erased any hesitation.

“You think I’m done with you?” he murmured, leaning down so his breath ghosted over your lips. His smirk was wicked, almost cruel, as his hips rolled into you again, slow and deliberate, sending shocks of overstimulation rippling through your body.

Your gasp turned into a moan, your fingers clutching at his arms as the friction reignited the fire low in your belly. “Satoru—”

“Shh,” he whispered, his voice soothing despite the intensity in his gaze. “You can take it. I know you can.”

The weight of his body against yours kept you grounded, his touch commanding yet oddly tender as he began to move again. The rhythm he set was slower this time, almost teasing, but the way he filled you—every thrust deliberate, every movement precise—kept you on the edge of sanity.

One of his hands slid down to your belly, pressing just above where the base of his cock stretched you wide. The sensation was overwhelming, the pressure making you gasp as he smirked down at you.

“Feel that?” he asked, his voice dripping with arrogance. “That’s me, buried so deep you’ll never forget it.”

Your cheeks burned at his words, but the way your body clenched around him betrayed you, drawing a low growl from his throat. He leaned down, capturing your lips in a bruising kiss as his thrusts became sharper, rougher, driving you closer to the edge once again.

The pleasure was almost too much, your body caught between the sharp sting of overstimulation and the addictive pull of another release building deep within you. Satoru seemed to sense it, his hand slipping between your bodies to rub slow, teasing circles against your clit.

“You’re close again, aren’t you?” he murmured against your ear, his voice rough but laced with a cruel kind of affection. “Go on, let go for me. I want to feel you come undone.”

His words were your undoing, the tension snapping as your orgasm crashed over you in waves. You cried out his name, your body arching into his as the pleasure overwhelmed you, tears pricking the corners of your eyes.

He growled your name, his pace unrelenting as he chased his own release, his teeth sinking into the curve of your shoulder hard enough to leave a mark. The sharp sting only heightened the pleasure, sending another shockwave through your body as he thrust into you one last time, spilling into you with a guttural groan.

For a moment, the only sound in the room was your heavy breathing, his weight pressing you into the altar as his lips trailed soft kisses along your skin.

“You’re mine,” he whispered against your ear, his voice still rough but filled with a quiet tenderness that made your chest ache. “Every part of you.”

You nodded weakly, your body still trembling beneath him as his hands began to wander again, stroking over your thighs, your sides, your waist. The intensity in his gaze hadn’t lessened, and a small, wicked smile curved his lips as he leaned down to press a kiss to your temple.

“I hope you didn’t think I was done,” he murmured, his voice dark with promise.

And before you could respond, he was moving again.

The cold, unyielding surface of the altar pressed against your back, its edges biting into your skin as Satoru loomed over you. The juxtaposition of the sacred and the profane wasn’t lost on either of you. His movements seemed to echo the blasphemy of your union, his body commanding yours as though staking his claim on something once deemed untouchable.

His hand gripped your thigh, pulling it higher over his hip as his body pinned you firmly in place. The sensation of his cock still buried deep inside you left you trembling, the weight of him making it impossible to escape even if you wanted to.

“You’re divine like this,” he murmured, his voice reverent despite the filthy words. “Spread out on this altar, looking like a fallen saint.”

Your chest heaved, every nerve alight as his other hand roamed over your body, his touch teasing and possessive all at once. Fingers brushed over the swell of your breasts, pausing to toy with your nipples until you whimpered beneath him.

“Satoru…” His name fell from your lips like a prayer, though no deity would answer in a place desecrated by the heat of his touch.

“Say it again,” he demanded, his tone a mixture of arrogance and need. “Say my name like you need me to save you.”

When you obeyed, his response was immediate. He thrust into you sharply, drawing a cry from your lips that echoed off the ancient stone walls. The rhythm he set was relentless, each movement driving you closer to the brink, the altar beneath you creaking with every snap of his hips.

The sound of skin meeting skin filled the space, mingling with your desperate moans and his low, guttural groans. His hand slid down your body, gripping your waist to pull you even closer, even deeper, as though he could somehow fuse the two of you together.

“Do you feel that?” he asked, his voice rough as he leaned down, his lips brushing against your ear. “Do you feel how perfectly you fit me? Like you were made for this—for me.”

You could only nod, your body too consumed by the pleasure to form coherent words. His lips found your neck, teeth grazing your skin before biting down hard enough to leave another mark. The sharp sting made you cry out, your hands clutching at his shoulders as your nails dug into his skin.

“Good girl,” he murmured, his voice dark with satisfaction. “I want everyone to see these marks. To know you’re mine.”

His free hand found its way between your legs, his fingers rubbing quick, deliberate circles against your clit. The added stimulation pushed you over the edge, your body arching off the altar as your orgasm crashed over you like a tidal wave.

“Satoru!” you cried, your voice breaking as the pleasure consumed you.

But he didn’t stop. Even as you trembled beneath him, he kept moving, his thrusts rough and unrelenting as he chased his own release. His grip on your thigh tightened, his pace quickening until he finally stilled, spilling into you with a growl that sent shivers down your spine.

The silence that followed was heavy, your bodies tangled together on the desecrated altar. His lips brushed against your temple, then your jaw, then your lips, the kisses soft and almost tender despite the raw intensity of what had just transpired.

“You’re mine now,” he whispered, his voice filled with quiet conviction. “No turning back."

The cool stone of the altar beneath you was a sharp contrast to the heat that burned between your bodies. Satoru’s lips ghosted over your jawline, trailing down to your neck as his hands wandered, calloused fingers gripping your hips with a possessiveness that sent a shiver through you.

“You’re trembling,” he murmured against your skin, his breath warm and teasing. “Is it the cold... or me?”

His words sent a rush of heat through you, and your hands found his shoulders, clutching at him as though to anchor yourself. “It’s you,” you admitted, your voice barely more than a whisper, but it was enough to make him chuckle darkly.

“You’re honest, at least,” he said, pressing a kiss to the hollow of your throat. “That’ll make this easier.”

He pulled back slightly, his gaze sweeping over you with a hunger that made your pulse race. The way he looked at you—like you were something sacred and forbidden all at once—sent a thrill through your chest. Slowly, deliberately, he trailed a hand up your thigh, spreading your legs further apart as he settled between them.

“You look like you belong here,” he said, his voice low and reverent. “A saint turned sinner, laid bare on this altar for me.”

Your cheeks burned, but there was no time to respond before he lowered his head, his lips brushing against the inside of your thigh. His tongue followed, the warm, wet sensation drawing a gasp from your lips as he worked his way higher, his hands gripping your legs to keep you still.

“Satoru,” you whimpered, your voice shaking as the anticipation built.

“Patience,” he said, his voice tinged with amusement. “You’ll get what you want. What we both want.”

When his mouth finally found you, the sensation was overwhelming. His tongue moved with precision, every flick and stroke driving you closer to the edge. The way he held you—firm but gentle—made you feel completely at his mercy, your body arching into him as soft moans spilled from your lips.

He worked you expertly, drawing you higher and higher until the tension coiled so tightly within you that you thought you might shatter. His hands gripped your thighs, holding you steady as his tongue delved deeper, the intensity of his focus making your head spin.

“Satoru, please,” you gasped, your fingers tangling in his hair as you tugged him closer.

The sound of your desperation seemed to ignite something in him. He hummed against you, the vibrations sending another wave of pleasure through your body. It wasn’t long before you were falling apart, your release crashing over you in a wave that left you trembling, his name a broken cry on your lips.

As you tried to catch your breath, Satoru rose to his full height, his lips glistening with evidence of your pleasure. He looked down at you, his expression a mix of satisfaction and something darker—something possessive.

“You taste even better than I imagined,” he said, his voice low and rough.

He didn’t give you a chance to respond before he was pulling you to the edge of the altar, positioning you so your legs wrapped around his waist. His hands gripped your hips as he pushed into you slowly, inch by inch, until he was buried to the hilt.

The sensation was overwhelming, the stretch and fullness leaving you gasping as he leaned down, capturing your lips in a kiss that was all-consuming. He didn’t move right away, his body pressed flush against yours as though savoring the moment.

“You feel perfect,” he murmured against your lips, his voice soft but laced with intensity. “Like you were made for me.”

And then he began to move, his thrusts slow and deliberate at first, each one driving deeper until he found the spot that made you cry out. He smirked at the sound, his pace quickening as he chased both of your undoings, the friction and heat building until it felt like you might unravel completely.

Each thrust sent a wave of pleasure rippling through you, his pace steady yet unrelenting, building an ache that felt like it would consume you. The sharp edge of the altar pressed into your back, grounding you in the sensation of his body against yours.

Satoru leaned down, his lips brushing against your ear as his voice dropped to a gravelly whisper. “Do you hear yourself?” he murmured, the words laced with both amusement and adoration. “So pretty when you beg for me.”

Your cheeks flushed, but you couldn’t stop the sounds spilling from your lips, your hands clinging to his shoulders as though he were the only thing keeping you tethered to reality. His hands roamed your body, one sliding down to your thigh to keep you spread open for him, the other tangling in your hair to tilt your head back, exposing your throat.

He kissed and nipped at the sensitive skin, each bite leaving faint marks that he soothed with his tongue. The contrast of pain and pleasure had your body arching into his, every nerve alight with the intensity of his touch.

“Look at you,” he said, his voice a low growl. “Falling apart for me on this altar like the good little sinner you are.”

His words sent a shiver down your spine, and he smirked at your reaction, his thrusts becoming sharper, deeper, until you felt like he was claiming every part of you.

“Satoru,” you gasped, your voice trembling as you clung to him.

“I know,” he replied, his tone softening just slightly, his hand brushing against your cheek. “I’ve got you, sweetheart. I’ll take care of you.”

The intensity of his movements increased, his body pressing you further into the altar as he chased the edge of pleasure. You could feel the tension coiling tightly within you, threatening to snap at any moment. His fingers found your clit, rubbing in tight, deliberate circles that had you crying out, your head falling back as your body trembled.

“Come for me,” he commanded, his voice firm but laced with tenderness. “Let me feel you.”

And you did. The release hit you like a tidal wave, your body arching against him as you cried out his name, your walls tightening around him as you shattered beneath his touch.

He wasn’t far behind, his pace becoming erratic as he chased his own release. When he finally stilled, his body pressing flush against yours, you felt the warmth of his climax spill into you, the sensation both overwhelming and grounding.

For a moment, neither of you moved, the only sound the mingling of your heavy breaths. His hands gentled, one brushing against your cheek as the other cradled your hip. He leaned down, pressing soft kisses to your temple, your jaw, your lips, his touch reverent in contrast to the rawness of the moment.

“You’re mine,” he murmured, his voice filled with quiet conviction. “Completely.”

“And you’re mine,” you whispered in return, your fingers brushing against his cheek.

His lips curved into a smile, rare and genuine, as he pulled you into his arms. The weight of the moment settled between you, the desecration of the altar and the sanctity of your connection intertwining in a way that felt both wrong and inevitable.

As the night deepened, the two of you remained entwined, the cool stone beneath you a stark reminder of where you had surrendered to him. And though the world outside might have judged you, in that moment, there was no room for guilt—only the unshakable bond forged in the heat of your union.

© museofhis all right reserved. do NOT copy, heavily inspire, plagiarize, repost and translate my work.

[spider-stark]

house of the dragon masterlist // link to my general masterlist

General Warnings -

⚔️ This blog is 18+

🛡️ This particular masterlist currently contains only Aegon II Targaryen, Benjicot Blackwood, Aeron Bracken, Gwayne Hightower, and Criston Cole. however, i am open to writing about other hotd characters

⚔️ All of these fic's contain dark themes or content that is considered inappropriate by some readers, so adhere warnings! I am not responsible for your content consumption; so please read responsibly!

🛡️ If you happen to notice that something is not tagged appropriately or you feel a fic needs a particular warning, please let me know and I will do my best to correct this mistake.

⚔️ And, as always, happy reading!

A CRUEL FATE

⚔️ SUMMARY - Having been in love with Aegon your entire life, you always assumed that he never felt the same. Now set to wed his brother, Aemond, your frustration finally peaks and leads to you confessing your feelings.

🛡️ WARNINGS - suggestive language/actions, light use of y/n (sorry), sad aegon lol, obvious incest

LITTLE DRAGON

⚔️ SUMMARY - Your elder brother, Jace, attempts to teach you how to wield a sword. Aegon, your new betrothed, interrupts.

🛡️ WARNINGS - slight Jace x Reader, incest

THE CONQUEROR'S CROWN

⚔️ SUMMARY - After being captured by a member of the Kingsguard on your way to Winterfell, Aegon calls for you in the throne room.

🛡️ WARNINGS - light smut, oral, kidnapping, blades/blood, possible hematolagnia, eludes disappointed mom!rhaenyra (absolutely no bashing tho), and obvious incest

JEALOUSY

⚔️ SUMMARY - Dealing with the consequences of making Aegon jealous

🛡️ WARNINGS - abusive/toxic relationship, definite masochism, choking, brief mentions of blood, brief mentions of blades, targcest

PRECIPICE

⚔️ SUMMARY - Forced to attend a stuffy ball, you find yourself hiding beneath a table with Aegon.

🛡️ WARNINGS - implied targcest

SPARRING PARTNER

⚔️ SUMMARY - You and Aegon have hardly spoken since sharing a particularly sensual moment a month ago. Now he thinks he stands a chance in a sparring match.

🛡️ WARNINGS - implied targcest, hints to smut, blood, horny/stupid argon & reader

SWORN RIVALS

⚔️ SUMMARY - Taking up sparring with your sworn rival is likely never a good idea.

🛡️ WARNINGS - kieran burton fan cast, all character 18+, barely edited, blood, implied fighting, suggestive language but no real smut, likely ooc given that the episode hasn't even aired yet lmao

LADY STRONG

⚔️ SUMMARY - Stuck in the Riverland's on a marriage tour, you pretend to be Lady Strong when Benjicot Blackwood doesn't recognize you as the Princess of the Seven Kingdoms

🛡️ WARNINGS - kieran burton fan cast, all character 18+, not edited!!

THE BRIDGE

⚔️ SUMMARY - Your wardship with House Blackwood was meant to bridge the chasm between your families. Years later, you return to Stone Hedge as the whispers of war spread—only for Lord Tully to call for a hunt.

🛡️ WARNINGS - fem!reader, complicated sibling relationship, fighting, (probably excessive) mentions of blood, talks about hunting/killing wild animals, !angst!, adult language, reader def suffering from identity crisis, probably deviates from canon some, kieran burton fan cast for benji, all characters 18+

THE GOLD TANKARD

⚔️ SUMMARY - Benji is a regular at the tavern you work at—and you're starting to think he's forgetting his coin on purpose.

🛡️ WARNINGS - fem!reader, kieran burton fan cast, all characters 18+, suggestive/sexual language, not edited bc I'm lazy and wrote this for fun in like an hour

GOLD

⚔️ SUMMARY - You go sneaking through Bracken territory for some time alone with Aeron.

🛡️ WARNINGS - fem!reader, blackwood!reader, mentions of blood, mentions of fighting, no real plot, hurt/comfort, subtle rivals-to-lovers, aeron grabbing boobies lmao, maybe some grammar errors idk

LITTLE BRACKEN KNIGHT

⚔️ SUMMARY - You sneak into Aeron's room at Stone Hedge.

🛡️ WARNINGS - fem!reader, blackwood!reader not edited, suggestive language, hints towards smut but there is none, secret relationship trope ig, blackwood!reader being a little shit

A CONVERSATION BETWEEN OLD FRIENDS

⚔️ SUMMARY - Devotion will never be enough to make the Gods forgive you for the sin of your existence. They will keep finding new ways to punish you.

🛡️ WARNINGS - fem!reader, bastard!reader, septa!reader, mostly edited, heavy religious themes & guilt, angst, yearning, *slightly* ooc gwayne but mostly cause he's drunk and bitter lmao

SWORN PROTECTOR

⚔️ SUMMARY - After sneaking back into the Keep from a night spent out in the city, you find your sworn protector, Ser Criston Cole, waiting for you in your room.

🛡️ WARNINGS - fem!reader, targtower!reader, not edited, reader has mommy/daddy issues, duty turned devotion type bullshit, criston can't just guard a woman without falling in love ig, yearning

[mocchiixxx]

What SEVENTEEN Members Would Be Like as Yanderes

⚠️ Warning: This is a dark concept. Read at your own discretion.

🍒 S.Coups— The Controlling Alpha

Seungcheol doesn’t ask for your love. He demands it. He makes decisions for you, whether you like it or not. “I know what’s best for you,” he says, tone final. His grip on your wrist is just tight enough to remind you of his strength. He’d never hurt you, of course, unless you try to leave. Because no one gets to take what belongs to him. And you? You’re his, forever.

😇 Jeonghan— The Devil in Disguise

Jeonghan is sweet, charming, deceptive. He never raises his voice, never threatens you outright. Instead, he plays with you, twisting words until you doubt yourself. “Do you really think they love you like I do?” he asks, tilting his head. And suddenly, the world feels smaller, because, somehow, he’s convinced you that he’s the only one who truly cares.

🦌Joshua— The Soft-Spoken Possessive

Joshua’s love is gentle, almost suffocatingly so. He never yells, never forces you, he simply waits, his patience endless. “I’ll always be here,” he says softly, his fingers brushing against yours. “No matter how long it takes.” But his patience? It’s a trap. Because no matter how far you run, he’s always there. Watching. Waiting.

🐱 Jun— The Eerily Silent One

Jun doesn’t speak much, but his actions scream louder than words. He follows without making a sound, appears when you least expect it. You never see him, but you feel his presence. And when you finally confront him, he simply smiles. “I’ve always been here,” he murmurs. And suddenly, you realize, you were never alone.

🐯 Hoshi— The Unstable Lover

Hoshi loves with everything he has. His passion is intense, overwhelming. One moment, he’s laughing and holding you close, the next, his grip tightens, his eyes dark. “You wouldn’t leave me, right?” he asks, voice trembling. Because if you do? He might just break.

🐈‍⬛ Wonwoo— The Quiet Stalker

Wonwoo is subtle. You won’t even notice his presence until it’s too late. He’s the shadow in the corner of your vision, the quiet click of a camera in the distance. His obsession runs deep, he knows everything about you, from your childhood memories to your preferred coffee order. He watches from afar, content with just observing, until someone gets too close. That’s when he acts. Because you’re his favorite story, and he won’t let anyone rewrite the ending.

🍚 Woozi— The Genius Puppet Master

Woozi doesn’t need to threaten you. He simply controls the game. He weaves lies so intricately that you believe them yourself. “I do everything for you,” he says, voice soft yet final. And when you finally realize the truth? It’s too late. You’re already tangled in his web.

🐸 The8— The Cold-Blooded Yandere

The8 doesn’t show emotion, but don’t mistake that for apathy. He’s patient, calculating, and when he acts, it’s swift and final. “I won’t beg,” he says, watching you struggle. “You’ll come back on your own.” And the scariest part? He’s right.

🐶 Mingyu— The Overprotective Lover

Mingyu is suffocatingly affectionate. He needs to be around you, needs to know where you are at all times. His biggest fear? Losing you. He’ll do anything to make sure that doesn’t happen. He’s the type to guilt-trip you into staying with him, arms wrapped around you so tight it almost hurts. “You wouldn’t leave me, right? You love me, don’t you?” And if you so much as hesitate, his grip tightens.

⚔️ DK— The Desperate Clinger

DK is too sweet, too loving, too desperate. His world revolves around you, and he makes sure you know it. “I can’t live without you,” he whispers, voice shaking. At first, you think it’s a joke. But when you try to leave, he breaks down, because without you? He’s nothing.

🍊 Seungkwan— The Emotional Blackmailer

Seungkwan feels everything too much. His emotions are your cage. “If you leave, I’ll break,” he sobs. And you believe him, because the weight of his love is too heavy to bear.

🐢 Vernon— The Detached Obsession

Vernon seems calm, chill, but underneath, his love runs deep. He doesn’t get jealous, he simply eliminates competition. “They were in the way,” he says simply. And suddenly, you realize, you’re his now.

🦦 Dino— The Devoted Follower

Dino worships you. You’re his everything. And he’ll do anything to keep you. “I’d do anything for you,” he whispers, and you know he means it.

[eth3real-ess3nce]

My Astro Observations (Part 8)

🚫If your Mercury, Mars, Rising placements are water or earth influenced, you probably prefer that your phone is on silent or DND 🗣️If your Mercury, Mars, Rising placements are air or fire influenced, you probably don't mind your phone being loud af 😂

⚖️Natives with their Mars in Libra grew up taking the role of the "mediator" in their family or other environments. It is observed that when people around them seem to disagree or experience conflict, they ask this native to pick a side rather forcibly at times. This might lead them to develop people-pleasing tendencies. It's also the "lawyer at heart" placement.

😏Aquarius men usually look awkward in photos so they just decide to throw their signature smirk in there from time to time (ex. Ashton Kutcher, Joseph Gordon-Levitt)

🥵Mars in Aries natives' physical bodies react so dramatically to stimuli it's hilarious! I know someone with that placement that, whenever he eats food that is just SLIGHTLY spicy, his head starts sweating like he jogged for 2 hours! Another friend of mine, has this thing where every time she laughs for a bit longer than needed her eyes will fill with tears. But I'm talking BUCKETS of tears😂

💪Your 9th house sign represents your philosophy in life. But your 10th house sign represents your life motto.

For example: My 9th house is in Pisces, I do have a humanitarian outlook at the end of the day and I'm deeply spiritual My 10th house is in Aries, my life motto is "Fortune Favours The Bold". Self-explanatory. My philosophy: ✨🔮 My motto: 👹⚔️

👨‍🍳I've noticed that men with Virgo placements, one way or another, like to practice their culinary skills. They won't let you lift a finger in the kitchen and this is a way for them to show their love for you. Also, they're usually specialists when it comes to food or wines/alcohol in general

🏎️I have never met a Leo sun, moon, rising that owns a vehicle and has NOT received a speeding ticket before! Also why do you have 0 patience? And you end up driving clumsily! Leave that one to Aries please 😂

👹If one of your dominant planets is Mars or Pluto, you probably literally get high off horror content. Either films , books...horror subreddits👀. You just love being thrilled, especially Mars, you like to chase the andrenaline. And you don't even care if you won't be able to sleep at night. It was worth it😂 Honourable mentions: Mercury-Pluto , 8H Mercury , Scorpio Mercury

🖤If your natal Black Moon Lilith makes hard aspects (conjunction, square, opposite) to your personal planets (especially luminaries, sun and moon) you were born to be the Black Sheep. It's easy for you to stand out in the crowd, usually because you are not afraid to embody your "dark" wisdom. You might be minding your business yet your authenticity can deeply trigger people. This placement attracts envy and obsession, be it acquaintances or lovers. Beware of stalkers. One pro though, is that, you can be immaculate when it comes to manifesting.

The rest of my observations appear on my profile x

[thewritetofreespeech]

pairing: Aemond x Reader x Alys

tags: kinktober - dub!con, warning: dubious consent [alleged magical influence or mind control] heterosexual sex (m/f), lesbian action, voyeurism, threesome, cowgirl, facesitting, breeding, female cuckhold themes, book!alys, book!aemond

-------------------------------⚔️--------------------------------

You should have killed Alys Rivers when you had the chance.

When Aemond flew to Harrenhal to take it from his uncle, he had taken you with him. He did not know how long the battle would be and he would not have you parted. Too many enemies. Too many whispers about the new Prince Regent and how he got his crown. He couldn’t protect you if you were so far away.

The fortress fell with ease. Plopping into Aemond’s hand almost as quickly as Alys did. She bought herself time by promising him the secrets she had slithered out of Daemon, and went to work on both of you just as quick.

With Aemond she played to his ego. Telling him how strong he was. How superior of a dragon rider he was. How no one could possibly understand genius and that was why people scratched at him so.

With you she played to your vanity. How beautiful you were. How much in love you and his majesty clearly were. How someone as pretty as her was jealous of you and that love, and wished she could have a taste of it someday.

She dripped words of honey into your ear. Easy enough access to it as she was appointed your new lady’s maid just short of your arrival. Aemond insisted.

Her presence was constant. Soon, once where it had been unnerving to have those wild eyes on you, you felt a sense of contentment whenever Alys was near. It wasn’t odd that she was there, you one day decided. It was perfectly normal. It was also perfectly normal for her to be there in your room one night when you and Aemond were making love. Her figure just all of a sudden appearing in a chair across the room. Those dark eyes staring at you both. Her hand up her skirts. In the throws of passion you decide that it’s perfectly normal for her to be there. Alys constantly praised both of you for your beauty and your love. Why wouldn’t she want to see it firsthand?

The two of you give her plenty of chances. You are both young and in love. Aemond bedding you was as common to your nighttime routine as sliding into the sheets. He was a vivacious lover, now that he had someone to appreciate him. You weren’t sure when Alys started moving closer, be it the chair or just her, until one night she was right in front of you. Positioned on top of Aemond. Riding him the way he liked with slow rolls of your hips. The two of you no longer facing the head of the bed frame in your love making anymore, but always positioned now to face towards Alys’s chair. You open your eyes after a very long moan and find her staring at you. Appearing all of a sudden, like she had in her seat, with those dark eyes and wild hair flooding your vision and keeping you focused on her even with your husband deep inside you.

Then she kissed you.

The move not sudden at all as her hands slowly came up to clasp your face in her hands gently like a wounded bird. Yet with all that time afforded to you couldn’t move away.

She had kissed you before. First on the cheek like friends. Then on the lips like sister. Now her tongue was swirling around inside you with a new kiss entirely. Your hands come up from Aemond’s chest to weakly struggle against Alys, but the hands around your face grip tighter and they fall back down with no more fight in them like the rest of you.

Alys’s chair is gone after that. She doesn’t need it anymore. Her place now is in the bed next to you. Fully clothed. Then one day not. Her hands comfortingly combing through your hair or Aemonds. Touching your cheek. Then moving lower one day to touch your breasts, commenting on how perfect they were and how lucky the prince was to have a woman with such perfect tits for his heirs.

She kissed you both after that. As if in congratulations for Aemond spilling his seed inside you, or perhaps well wishes for sons. Alys inserted herself into the final throws of your love making and after that she was not just a constant presence but an active one.

You lay in bed with your wood witch. Tangled up in Alys body & mind as you lazily kiss on the bed. Her lips soft. Her words sweet. Although you only assume they are sweet, as at this point Alys words rarely reach you in full with the haze that seemed to permanently cloud your mind.

“You started without me.”

Aemond’s voice is the only thing that can break through your cloud. You and Alys pull away from one another as he came into the room. His gait irritable. His cloak thrown across the back of a chair that was once Alys’s chair that is now just a chair again. He’s upset about something. But for the life of you you can’t be bothered to ask about what with Alys’s thigh rubbing against you between your legs.

“My fault your grace,” Alys apologized for the both of you, “but can you blame me?”

Your cheeks tint at her compliment as she held you closer. More shy about that than being wrapped naked around another woman in front of the man you had promised yourself to before the Gods. You were always naked in your rooms though. Aemond preferred it. Or at least that’s what Alys told you.

Aemond’s gaze softened. He doesn’t seem as angry anymore, which made you happy. Hopefully whatever he was upset about wasn’t as important. You couldn't think of anything more important than what was happening right now. "No. I suppose not." He agreed as he came to the side of the bed and pulled you in for a kiss by your chin.

You try to follow after him when he pulls away, but Alys held you tight. You moan as she began to play with your breasts. Eye fixed on Aemond as you watched him undress but mind on Alys as she toyed with your body.

The prince came back to you once he was naked. Climbing onto the bed with his knees before crawling like a cat. Coiling around the two of you like adders in a nest. Alys doesn't let you go until Aemond was on top of you. Your body never let to rest between the two of them. Never alone. Always together.

Alys does not go far though. Uncoiling herself from the two of you before slithering up towards the pillows to settled herself there. Her legs your new crown.

Aemond glanced up at her. Touching her leg at the knee before and perhaps saying something, before his attention was back on you. "She should be all ready for you, your grace." Alys’s voice broke through the sweet moment of your kissing. "I take my duties as a bedwarmer very seriously."

There was a laugh in her tone, but you could not think of what was funny. All you could think about was Aemond and how much you wanted him to touch you. Be inside you. Consume you. Your prince is of course eager to grant your every desire, and he slid his hard cock inside you with little resistance. The two of you are well practiced at this point, and yes Alys was quite skilled.

You arch your back off the bed as Aemond slowly began to make love to you. He always started slow, deliberate. He had a need to do everything right and thoroughly, otherwise what was the point in doing this at all. This included how he lay with you. Hips rolling into you evenly. Hands touching your body. The head of his cock piercing that spot inside you that made you see stars and call to the heavens with as much precision as he had with his sword.

“Fill up your queen, your grace.” Alys told him. Commanded him. Aemond’s thrusts became hard and faster as she reached across you to tuck his soft, silver hair behind his ear. “You will need a new prince soon. Sooner than you think. You need this one fat with babes before Second Seed.” You moan and tilt your head back just thinking about it. A piece of Aemond always inside you come spring. Growing your child. Building your legacy. Your vision swam with pictures of a silver haired child. Too frail and petite like all Targarygen children to tell if it was a boy or girl, but that didn’t matter. All that mattered was that they were real and had Aemond’s fair complexion but with your fuller cheeks. You weren’t sure why they had Alys’s eyes.

Aemond’s hips fell out of rhythm and his lean frame shook all around you. His head fell in the crock of your neck. Hair fanning out over you like a veil as he whispered, “give me a son, give me a boy” in your ear. Kissing your heated skin with affection and adoration.

“There. Now that duty is over. Time for some fun.”

You both glance up at Alys just long enough to see her wicked cunning smile narrowed down at you. She pushed Aemond off you with ease. Catching him off guard. The only explanation on how such a frail frame could overpower the prince, right? He fell back across the bed opposite you with a lewd pop as his cock suddenly slipped free of you. You gasp. Lost at the sudden loss of him. Your raven climbed over your body and straight for Aemond. Sitting on his cock, still hard and wet with you, in an equally sudden move that made Aemond hiss. Grabbing her hips hard to the point that those long fingers would bruise. But that didn’t stop her.

Alys set an almost brutal pace on your husband. Riding him like an unbroken stallion she intended to break come dawn. Aemond can’t do anything to her except lay back and take it. Lost in a way you hadn’t seen him in a while. “Take your seat upon your new throne, your grace.” Alys’s voice called out to you. Somehow still clear and bright despite all the panting and sounds of wet slapping echoing around the room. “Let his grace taste what will soon make his heir.”

You do as you are beckoned and crawl across the bed past them towards the back of the bed. Aemond opened his eye to look at you and you look back at him. You weren’t really sure way. Permission maybe? Just lost in the haze that was your mind these days? Whatever you were doing it stopped and you move to straddle over Aemond’s face. The dragon’s tongue already on you before you were seated, making you cry out as the warm muscle penetrated your still sensitive womanhood.

You shutter and gasp. Your breath coming out in little hiccups as you tried to make sense of what was happening to you. Then Alys’s hand was on your face, in your hair. Drawing your focus back to her before she pulled you into a kiss. You moan from the deepest part of your gut into the kiss. Alys tongue in your mouth. Aemond’s tongue in your cunt. Surrounded by the two of them. Attacked. Consumed.

Alys broke your kiss with a slick smack. Staring at your likely disheveled face with a devilish grin. “Cum for me, my sweets.” Both you and Aemond crumble at her command. Your thighs shaking around Aemond’s head, while his stomach tightened under your hand.

Your eyes roll back into your head for a moment as you collapse on to the bed off of Aemond. The prince taking his first full breath of air for a while and his lungs seemed desperate for it.

Alys continued to ride Aemond for a few more strokes before she dismounted herself. The picture of composure compared to the two of you: panting, slick, weightless, witless. She leaned up and licked Aemond’s face, mouth still slack for want of air. Collecting your juices and some of his own seed still there before she kissed him. “Let’s hope this time it worked. Otherwise, we’ll have to try again come morrow.”

You and Aemond just nod dully at her words. Not even registering what she was saying, just that Alys was speaking.

Aemond’s hand reached for yours by his side, and you gripped it back tightly when his fingers locked with yours.

You should have killed Alys Rivers when you had the chance. Now you would never be free of her.

[wintershieldbingo]

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[aphroditelovesu]

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No longer updated!!!

✿.｡Welcome to my blog! My name is Larissa, but feel free to call me Lari or Lady L, which is how you know me. I'm Brazilian 🇧🇷 and I was born on October 15th. English is not my first language. My pronouns are she/her and I am bisexual 💖💜💙. I am Libra ♎️ and INTP.

⤷♡. If you want to support my work or to just tip me, can you buy me a coffee? ☕️

⤷✿.Here I've gathered all my series, masterlists and some additional things to make them easier to find. Enjoy my blog, dear reader.

© aphroditelovesu, 2022. all rights reserved. do not translate or repost my work without my permission. you are free to use my edits, but I only ask that you credit me.

⤷♡.+ disclaimer: some of my works may have nsfw content in addition to the yandere genre. if you are sensitive to these topics, I recommend not reading.

⤷♡.+ genre: yandere/dark!au.

⤷♡.+ Requests are OPEN. Asks and concepts are open.

⤷♡.+ character ai: aphroditelovesu.

⤷♡.+ Rules and Fandoms List;

⤷♡.+ Emoji Prompt List + Prompts List;

⤷♡.+ Wips; 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6; 7; 8;

⤷♡.+ Commissions;

‘‘Love you so bad, love you so bad, mold a pretty lie for you.’‘ ˚˖੭ Fake Love, BTS.

⤷♡.+ BTS; 💜

⤷♡.+ BLACKPINK; 🖤

⤷♡.+ ITZY; 🧡

⤷♡.+ Stray Kids; 💙

➷ EXO: Yandere Baekhyun (Romantic), Yandere Suho (Romantic).

➷ TWICE: Imagine as Classmates.

⤷♡.+ Greek Mythology; ⚡

⤷♡.+ Egyptian Mythology; 𓂀

⤷♡.+ Historical Characters; 📜

➷ The Lost Queen | Yandere!Alexander the Great ❝You woke up near a military camp without remembering how and why you got there, you didn't understand why they were dressed like ancient Greeks, all you knew was that you weren't safe and you needed to get out of that place as soon as possible. Too bad for you that you found yourself attracting unwanted attention from the Macedonian King and he won't let you go so easily.❞ The Lost Queen Series Masterlist

⤷♡.+ The Vampire Diaries + The Originals; 🧛

⤷♡.+ House of the Dragon; 🐉

⤷♡.+ Game of Thrones; ❄️

⤷♡.+ The Sandman; ⌛

⤷♡.+ Outlander; 🗿

⤷♡.+ Wednesday; 🎻

⤷♡.+ Brooklyn Nine-Nine; 👮‍♂️

⤷♡.+ Bridgerton; 🐝

⤷♡.+ Shadow and Bone; ☠️

⤷♡.+ Outer Banks; 💰

⤷♡.+ K-Dramas; ❤️

⤷♡.+ Reign; 👑

⤷♡.+ The Tudors; 🗡️

⤷♡.+ Hannibal; 🍽

➷ The Bloody Viscount | Yandere!Anthony Bridgerton ❝You had fallen in love with Viscount Bridgerton and he had fallen in love with you. The marriage seemed perfect, but then why did Anthony Bridgerton always come home late and bloodstained?❞ Prologue; Chapter 1; Chapter 2; ➷ The Shadow of the Golden Dragon | Yandere!ASOIAF/HOTD/GOT ❝You have always been an avid reader and your greatest passion was delving into the pages of "A Song of Ice and Fire" by George R.R. Martin. You knew every character, every twist and every detail of the Seven Kingdoms as if they were part of your own life. But what you never imagined is that an unexpected encounter with a mysterious antique book seller would change your life forever.❞ The Shadow of the Golden Dragon Masterlist

⤷♡.+ Percy Jackson; 🌊

⤷♡.+ Harry Potter; 🔮

⤷♡.+ A Court of Thorns and Roses; 🌹

⤷♡.+ A Song of Ice and Fire; 🔥

‘‘We were born to be alone but why we still looking for love?’‘ ˚˖੭ Lovesick Girls, BLACKPINK.

⤷♡.+ Attack on Titan; ⚔️

⤷♡.+ Naruto; 🍥

⤷♡.+ Miraculous: Tales of Ladybug and Cat Noir; 🐞

⤷♡.+ One Piece; 👒

⤷♡.+ How To Train Your Dragon; 🐲

⤷♡.+ Death Note; 📓

‘‘Don’t you know that you’re toxic?’’ ˚˖੭ Toxic, Britney Spears.

⤷♡.+ Marvel; ۞

‘‘I wish you would love me again, no, I don't want nobody else.’’ ˚˖੭ Love Me Again, V.

⤷♡.+ Love Letters; 💕

⤷♡.+ Love Letters II; 💕

⤷♡.+ Kinktober 2023; 🎃

➷ A Black Rose | Yandere!Ian Daerier ❝A cruel and narcissistic reaper falls in love with the woman he was supposed to take the life of.❞ Oneshot;

[twstbookclub]

Love in the dark

Summary: Having feelings for a delinquent is... hard. Having feelings for said delinquent and changing him for the better is worse. You thought he would've forgotten you, but even with your feelings in the dark, you had hope that he would. Pronouns: Gender Neutral POV: 2nd Admin/Writer: Kai⚔️ Tags: Deuce Spade, Deuce angst. very light angst, delinquent Deuce, open-ended, I could follow this up one day... could Word count: 3,458

A/N: I was g o i n g to post this one after the Parallel Lines fic, but I was way too excited to post about Epel and Azul angst(I was so proud of them), that I put this on the back burner. I know we had a 2 week post period and now I've left it for a month yes I KNOW, but I was trying to let this one take a while to post, because honestly... we have no content right now.

On a technical scale, we do, at least I do, I have like 2 of them in the basement ready to be edited and like 4 as WIPs, and I'm honestly writing other fics that aren't twst related(heh follow my personal Tumblr), but there's still things to do plus life stuff SO ty all for being patient !

Your home wasn't exactly in the best neighborhood. You had a parent who was barely around due to work, which meant you were home alone most of the time. You had some good entertainment, though. These poorly built apartments had thin walls, and you lived beside the one family that was a complete 180 from yours. 

The Spade family.

You didn't know them enough, but only a mother and son existed. It was the home of a short-tempered woman and a teen delinquent, but you knew the teen.

Deuce Spade, notorious for constantly yelling and leaving the house in the middle of the night after an argument, was the main piece for your noisy neighborhood. His mother had blue hair with blonde highlights, yet Deuce only had blond hair. He used to have naturally blue hair, though.

I mean, he is a delinquent.

His mother was sweet and patient despite her son's behavior. She made sure you would eat, have clean clothes, and a clean uniform. She was practically like your mother. She would sometimes invite you to stay over for dinner, and why not accept such a kind offer?

Plus, you liked seeing Deuce. The first time you saw him was the first day of middle school, and you caught him as you were leaving your home, his teal eyes stopping on yours for a few seconds. After the first day, you went home to see his mother waiting for you right by your front door.

That was when she found out that you often stayed alone at home, and she offered you a snack of peeled apples. Since then, she would sometimes knock on your door to ask to come over for dinner or help her run an errand, which resulted in you staying over.

This was one of those times. She invited you to have dinner with her since her son had left the house again, but you were studying at the table since your home was too quiet to concentrate.

“Uhm, Miss Spade—”

The door suddenly opened, revealing a beat-up Deuce with a scowl and torn-up clothes. His eyes instantly landed on you, and his scowl grew worse.

“What the fuck are you doing in my house—”

Smack!

Deuce's mom suddenly hit the back of his head with a rolled-up newspaper, with a scowl on her own face. “Don't curse in my house, you rude brat. They are my guest, and you will respect them.”

Deuce held the back of his head with a wince and growled, looking towards his mother. “Lady—!”

Smack!

“Quit that. I am your mother and not the one you're mad at. Leave the anger outside and get showered for dinner,” she said, dropping the newspaper on the counter to finish with dinner.

“Sweetie, could you help him out with those wounds?”

You perked up at Miss Spade calling you, and then you nodded and closed your books before standing up.

“Oh, and one more thing,” she says happily, smiling at you. “Just call me Dylla. No need for formalities.”

“Oh–Dylla…” You said carefully with a nod, then smiled back and went with Deuce for him to get ready for dinner. This wasn't the first time you've witnessed this; you already knew the familiar routine after doing this a few times.

You grabbed the first-aid kit and followed Deuce to his bedroom, being stopped at the door. “You thinkin’ to replace me as my mom's kid or somethin’? You got your own lonely house next door.”

You stared at Deuce for a moment and sighed before you smiled at him. “Not at all. Being around a good person feels nice, but you take that for granted,” you spoke confidently, giving him a pat on the cheek and handing the first-aid kit to him.

“If you want to be rude, tend to your own wounds,” you said and walked off, returning to the table to study and do homework despite hearing Deuce groan and slam his door shut.

When Deuce came back, he heard how much his mother was laughing with you and serving you a bowl of food with rice. Dylla hadn’t laughed that hard in ages, and you were all smiles, too. Deuce knew all too well how his mom had taken a liking to the neighbor’s child due to how much time they spent alone, but this was excessive.

You turned and saw Deuce standing there, and then Dylla served the rest of the bowls so everyone could eat. “I don’t understand why you want them here so much. Can’t they ask their own parents to cook for ‘em?” Deuce mumbled, sitting in his spot at the table.

“Because this is my house, kid. You are my child, and they are a child that needs care. Now, stop hiding that kind heart and eat,” she said, followed by Deuce groaning and starting to eat his dinner.

It was quiet, most likely because of your presence and Deuce's tension with his mother.  After everyone finished eating, you helped with storing food away while he washed the dishes. Dylla was gone to buy fruit and snacks, leaving you and her son in awkward positions.

“Hey?” Deuce called, his voice a bit guilty and quiet. The sudden voice spooked you, making you instantly freeze and look at him.

“Hmm? What’s up?”

Deuce turned off the sink and looked at you, looking regretful. “So, I had a pretty big fight with my mom and, you know, left the house. A few days ago, though, I heard her talkin’ to my grandma about how she thinks I turned out like this 'cause she didn’t raise me right or somethin’. So, I kinda wanna ask you for a favor.”

You looked at Deuce with a tilted head, shocked about how he was different after just a little while of being able to think. “Uhh, what’s the favor?”

“Help me get my grades up. I—” Deuce stopped, looking away from you and taking a breath. “I do love my mom, and I can’t stand seeing her cry like that over me. It ain’t her fault I became such a douche, either! I just—I don’t know.”

His statements and requests made you stop to think about what the hell he was saying to you right now. 

“I’ll do it,” you responded, giving him an honest smile. His eyes lit up and he grabbed you by the shoulders, getting excited at your response. “But you have to be committed to this.”

“Seriously!? Yes!” Deuce exclaimed, pulling you close for a random hug and you tried to push him back out of instinct.

You sigh and let him hug you from the side after a bit of fighting, giving in to his efforts. “We start tomorrow, but first, please get rid of that splotchy blond you got.”

Deuce let go with a raised eyebrow. “Tch. It’s a good blond.”

“It makes you look washed out, and you still have some roots showing, so it just looks like a bad job,” you responded, grabbing your study books and placing them on the table.

“Wh—Okay, yeah, maybe you’re right about the bad job,” Deuce mumbled in defeat while touching the dead ends of his hair. “Is it really that bad…?”

“Yes. Yes, it does.” You say and try not to laugh with a small chuckle escaping your mouth, Deuce starts to laugh at the same time and he gently hits your shoulder.

After that, you and Deuce spent day after day studying once you got to his place. It was hard at first since Deuce barely studied and he wanted to distract himself with other things instead of completing the textbooks. 

“Deuce.”

“What!? This stuff is boring! Why can’t they make learning fun or somethin’.”

You let out a sigh and tapped on the textbook page he was on, “Do the page or I tell your mom to cancel on getting you snacks later.”

In an instant, Deuce stopped his shenanigans like a child and got back to work. The sight was honestly funny.

The boy was stubborn, but it took time. You did like spending your days with him regardless. You got to see him in certain ways, like when he was asleep or concentrated, and you even had to start packing him lunch since he wanted to study with you at school, too. 

The classroom was quiet since you both retreated to the science lab for a quiet atmosphere, and you were picking at the rice in the lunch box that Dylla made for you while reading ahead in your notes.

You took a glance towards Deuce and saw him studying diligently. It was charming, even if it didn’t suit him well with that blond hair and the jacket he always wore with his group of friends. When Deuce looked over due to sensing eyes on him, he raised an eyebrow and set down his notebook.

“What's up with you?”

“Huh—” you let out, being caught off guard, “Oh, nothing. You just—you look like an honor student studying so well.”

Your comment made Deuce silent for a few seconds, but then let out a cheer for himself. The sound surprised you, but you remembered that he wanted to have the image of an honor student, so you made his day like that.

“That’s what I’ve been trying to achieve! Perfect! Ooh ooh! How about like this?” He suggested while leaning back and crossing a leg over the other, making himself appear focused.

His behavior only made you laugh, and he didn’t stop until the first bell rang. He tried to continue, but you had to remind him that class was soon, and a star student shouldn’t be late.

The exams went by, and the day the grades were posted was so loud in your neighborhood. 

Deuce ran over to your door and knocked until you opened up, and you were met with a picture of the exam grades on your face. He had made it in the top 60% of the year, meaning he could graduate without problems.

“Do you see this?! That’s what I could do!!” He exclaimed before picking you up for an excited hug. You didn’t have a chance to speak at all.

It made your heart warm to see him so happy.

He deserved it.

“I could only do it with your help.” He spoke more, finally calmer now that he could let it all out. He looked at you with a smile of appreciation.

You just stared at the behavior in front of you. It was so new and weird, but it felt right. He really did deserve this.

You caught yourself staring more and more in the silence, and your ears began to burn before you looked away.

Deuce was staring too, but when you looked away, he did the same with his cheeks growing flushed. Another new behavior.

“Uhm—” you started, trying to get your thoughts together fast enough. “I'm glad you did well, and that I could help with that. It seems you do… have the capability.”

There was a heavy tension. It was awkward. Deuce took a moment to look around through the silence and noticed the boxes around your living room.

You noticed and quickly made up something. “Oh—it's just my family wanting to put some stuff into storage for space.”

“Oh… I see. Well, uh, my mom also told me to let you know that we'll be going out to celebrate her next day off, and she wants to take you with us! So… there's that.”

“Gotcha. Thanks, Deuce.” You thank him before he leaves and you close the door behind him, letting out a quiet sigh before shaking your head.

When Deuce heard the door close, he clutched his chest and let out a breath, then quickly went back home as if he didn't notice that moment.

Over the weeks, Deuce's hair grew out and he got frustrated with its length. He wanted a change now that middle school was coming to a close and he would be going to a different school at Sage Island. 

When he returned home after school one day, you and Dylla looked at the door but suddenly froze. The blond went back to blue.

Your heart began to race as it felt like time had stopped, but you couldn’t stop thinking about one thing—

He looked… like the day you met him.

Whoa.

Deuce saw your expression and raised an eyebrow, staring at you in confusion. “What’s got you all spaced out? Oh, I must look that good if you’re staring!”

“Not at all. You look like you want to be gloomy,” you said sarcastically and turned back around to study. Dylla watched as she saw how you grew flustered.

Deuce’s mother laughed and went to go and mess up his hair by ruffling the strands, causing Deuce to get annoyed. 

“Mom, come on! I just got this done!”

“How can I not? My handsome young man is back!” She responded sarcastically and even attacked him in her motherly hugs for extra effect.

Listening to them argue and joke around was heartwarming, but you couldn’t interrupt them. You carefully got your things and left them to spend the day as a family, retreating to your house.

Deuce started to disappear more in preparation for his transfer to his future school on a whole other land, and you could feel a distance grow.

Deuce started to look more lively and he acted differently; yet still had his pumped personality, but he didn't have the time to spare you a glance anymore.

With Dylla working more to make sure she had the tuition for Deuce, she was gone too. Your apartment was starting to look more and more vacant as all of this went on, a clear sign of what was about to happen.

This was how it was supposed to go anyway. You were never meant to get this close to him. You were the one who kept to themselves. So, this was good. Right?

On the day before the graduation, Dylla suggested you and Deuce hang out and gave spending money as a way to make one last memory.

You let out a sigh as you sat on the blanket in White Rabbit Park, looking up at the colorful evening sky with its orange, purple, and peach hues coloring the clouds.

Deuce came up with a couple cold drinks and ice creams in a bag from the vendor nearby, but there was still that awkward tension.

You and Deuce hadn't talked since exams were over and he began to fix himself onto a better crowd, but now the inevitable was tomorrow.

After tomorrow, when would you ever see him again?

Your thoughts were cut off by the sound of Deuce opening a can of soda, which made you jump from surprise. Your reaction made Deuce laugh before he handed an ice cream to you.

You looked at it and your expression fell a bit. You didn't like this flavor anymore. You checked the other soda can too, but it was the same thing. Did he forget what you liked?

No.

He just hasn't been around to find out what your new palette is like.

You ate the ice cream anyway under the silence of the still sunsetting sky, not wanting his gesture to go to waste. It made you feel guilty to reject something he bought for you.

“So, tomorrow is the day.” Deuce spoke after a long silence and by this point, the moon was already out to say hello for the night. 

Neither of you looked or spoke to each other, finding it too nerve-wracking to do it.

“It is, but it was a good time.” You responded with a small smile, feeling a lump in your throat starting to form.

“It was. Thanks for helping me study and getting me to where I am right now.”

Deuce looked at you shortly after, and your head instinctively turned to return his gaze. His eyes were filled with slight regret, but also had gratitude.

“It's not a problem at all. Really.”

It was silent again with stares that could pierce the heart, but he walked you home after a short moment.

“See you.” You said, watching him get to his own door.

Deuce looked at you and let out a chuckle, “See you tomorrow.”

He was right next door, but seeing him walk off like that made it seem as if he was farther than usual.

You felt your eyes water with every step you took inside your home, being met with more emptiness.

By now, your home was as empty as could be for someone who was also moving away. You stood in the middle of the box-covered living room and let out a sigh of defeat, knowing that tomorrow was inevitable.

At the ceremony, some cried and some were happy to leave, but your eyes could never stop glancing at Deuce, who looked stoked to graduate now that he had his diploma in hand. It was nice to see him like that after the trouble he put himself through.

The day went by without a single worry and all its students were just as carefree. They were happy to now move on to the next chapter. You stood at the school gates with your diploma and a small flower bouquet that Dila got for you as congratulations for your hard work.

You watched as Deuce and his mother spent their time together, and you were waiting for your own parent, yet they never showed up to anything. As you decided to leave, Deuce called out to you and ripped the second button off his uniform, placing it in your hands.

Your eyes widened as you looked at him, “Wh—what?” was all you could mutter out of your shock. 

“To… remember me, I guess. Thank you for helping me get there,” Deuce said, then he gave you a smile and went back to his mom.

You were left speechless but were slowly overshadowed by a wave of sadness. This was one of the last times you’d see him. He was moving away to go to a school on Sage Island, and you were moving to be closer to your soon-to-be high school.

But they didn't know that.

That button was the closest to his heart, and it’s known that most give it to the person closest to them. You let out a small laugh before sighing, and then after taking one last look, you left the campus.

Deuce headed up to your apartment door and knocked, a bit nervous as he knew that giving you the button was risky on his end, but he knew what he felt.

He listened, but no one opened the door. He kept knocking with a look of confusion, but still no answer.

He grew worried, so he put his hands on the doorknob to see if it was locked.

“It's open…?” Deuce said to himself before he went in. He was met with nothing.

Not a sound.

Not a noise.

Not a soul in the home.

It was dark, but everything began to click in mere seconds. Before Deuce knew it, he ran back into his home and tried to call your old phone number, but nothing went through.

You were gone, and he didn't know if that was the last.

The weather had then changed from spring to summer, followed by fall, until the days started becoming darker a lot earlier in accordance with winter. You were cleaning a cup at a restaurant job you picked up, and it was almost time to close. The seating area had a few people, but it was normal for a weekday.

You started to reminisce about your high school days and how everything was back then. It gave you a smile to remember that boy. You had your own changes to your appearance since then, but you were still the same.

The dinging of the door caught your attention and cut off your train of thought, giving a smile to greet anyone who just came in, “Welcome in! Take a s—”

Silence.

Your breath hitched as you saw the pair of eyes you were just thinking about.

His own reaction showed a bit of surprise, but he looked unfazed. Unchanged from the seasons that have passed.

He looked the same to you, and you were the one who changed this time.

“You—” followed by a pause, not knowing how to continue.

The boy gave you a warm smile as he kept standing at the door and had his hands in his pockets. He came up closer to the counter before he sat down.

“Hey.”

[campcfhalfbloods]

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Devilish Desires - 7/8

Dangerous Temptations, Irresistible Touch 🎞️❤️‍🔥🌹⚔️🖤💻🖱️

Sub!Logan Howlett x Dom!OC (They/Them)

Summary: Logan, typically guarded and dominant, finds himself captivated by E, a mysterious being with a devilish allure and ancient presence that challenges his control.

Context: This story unfolds 'within' the "Days of Future Past" new timeline, during Logan's early years as a history teacher at Xavier’s School. It’s set well before his consciousness from the original timeline reconnects with him in 2023, as seen at the film’s end.

Content Warnings (for the whole story): Smut 18+ (Dry humping, Edging, Unprotected p in v.) - Dom!Logan into Sub!Logan - Pet Names (Good boy, pretty boy, pet, pup, amongst others...) reversed age gap (Logan is younger) - OC Notes: Established name, backstory, powers, fighting style, female body but gender fluid character (Logan misgender them at first because he doesn't know, even in the descriptions) - Mention of other character from the MCU and subtle references to the comics for flavor (not mandatory to understand what is happening) - Flash back and mention of past trauma - Very quick mentions of drugs - Fluff with Dark Undertones: Emotional tension and possessive affection - Worship Themes: Religious imagery, reverent language and awe - Ancient Mysticism: References to otherworldly or demonic presence - Mental Health: Power dynamics, personal vulnerabilities - Trope: Rivals to lovers.

I'm back after 10 years of iatus and fairly new to how things are done on tumblr now, so sorry if I missed any warnings. Also english isn't my first language so there might be typos/weird sentences...

Notes: Got very inspired by sub!Logan and repeated listening of "Between wind and water" by Hael. Cover made with canva from an idea I got from this post. If you know who made the picture, tell me so I can credit them - Click on the divider to find the creator. Also this was meant to be an imagine turned into a full story. Just so you know, some chapters are very short, other are long. I'm in the process of editing/writing/rewriting parts so I'll post a chapter everytime I have one fully edited.

I kept getting derailled by stuff but El Famoso Chapter 7 (as my hubby has been calling it those last weeks) is finally done T^T I think my ADHD brain doesn't want me to finish this story because once it's done, it's done and I'll have to say goodbye to Ezekiel and this Logan. Regarding the poll I made about male x male smut, as the results were mixed, if I write anything between Logan and Zeek, I'll make this a bonus scene. Okay, people, it's time to feed the hunger again :)

Need some music? I've got you

Previously: in Devilish Desires

Chapters: 7/8

Word Count: 12.4K / 60K+ for now

E opened their eyes as the ray of the sun stroked their skin. The golden light filtered through the curtains, casting a soft glow across the room. Next to them, Logan was still sleeping, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm, his expression peaceful—more so than E had ever seen since their first encounter in that tense hallway weeks ago.

They let their gaze roam over the lines of his face, memorizing every detail: the scruff along his jaw, the way his lashes rested against his cheek, and how his tousled hair fell messily across his brow, lending him an almost boyish look. The sight stirred a rare, warm smile from E, a glimmer of something fragile and cherished flickering within them.

Despite the contentment that coursed through their veins, a seed of resolve pressed at the back of their mind, they didn’t want to disturb him, nor did they want him to wake up alone, with only the ghost of their presence left in the warmth of the sheets. But time wasn’t on their side, as the rest of the mansion was about to awaken.

E brushed their fingers lightly along Logan’s arm, feeling the solid muscle shift beneath their touch even as he slept, the faint brush of their fingers drawing a soft, instinctive hum from him. Slowly, his eyes cracked open, still heavy with the haze of sleep.

The sharp alertness that often defined him flickered briefly before his gaze landed on them. Almost immediately, his features softened, the edge of wariness melting into something softer.

“Hey,” he murmured, his voice rough and hoarse, but so low it felt like a quiet confession.

E’s lips curved in a small, tender smile. Something in his tone, softer than anything they’d ever expected from him, made their old, dusty heart stutter in their chest. For all the years they’d walked the earth, never had they been spoken to in such a way.

“Hey,” they responded in kind, voice almost shy as their eyes traced his features—the rugged lines of his face, the way his hair stuck up slightly, the barest hint of something unguarded in his expression.

Logan shifted slightly, his arm flexing beneath their touch, though he made no move to pull away. “Leavin’ already?” he asked, the whisper still rough but edged with something else—an unspoken reluctance, maybe, or the wish to hold onto this fleeting moment a little longer.

E leaned in, their lips brushing against his temple. “Wouldn’t want people to find out they’re right about us, would we?” Their voice was tinged with light humor, but the reference to Scott’s pointed remarks during the trial still lingered between them. The subtle accusation—that it was easy for lovers to fight in sync—now felt like he had seen right through them, and they both didn’t like that.

Logan’s face turned thoughtful, a shadow of concern settling over his features. “Is there anything we can do about it?” he asked, the question heavy with the understanding that staying under the radar was going to become increasingly difficult in the days yet to come. “Turn their feelings around, maybe?”

“There might be a solution,” E said, their tone serious. “But you’re not going to like it.”

He frowned, curiosity mingled with caution. “Go on, lay it out.”

“We act like something happened between us,” they explained, eyes flickering with a hint of reluctance. “Something bad. We make them believe we can’t stand each other anymore.” They paused, studying Logan’s reaction. “It has to be convincing, Logan. Real mean. We’ll need to sell it, even if it means hurting each other in the process.”

Logan exhaled slowly, the tension in his jaw tightening as the weight of the plan settled on him. “You’re right—I don’t like it. But I see how it could work.” His eyes met theirs, resigned but resolute. “If you’re game, I’m in.”

A small smile, bittersweet and fleeting, crossed E’s lips as they leaned in and kissed his cheek. “We may have to do it more than once.”

“Yeah,” Logan said with a heavy nod. “The more we do it, the more convincing it’ll look.”

They sat in the stillness that followed, letting the warmth between them linger just a moment longer before the masks would have to come on and the distance between them would become painfully real.

The silence in the room grew heavier, the weight of what they were about to do settling over them. In a rare moment of connexion, E reached for Logan’s fingers, the tips of their own brushing against his in a soft, tentative dance. Logan’s response was immediate; he closed his hand around theirs, the warmth a brief comfort against the cold edge of reality.

“It’s a difficult time to go through,” they murmured. Their voice, barely above a whisper, carried the tremor of uncertainty. They tried to sound reassuring, though the words were as much for themselves as for him. “We need to focus on the moments we’ll be alone. Let’s not let ourselves get lost in our own lies.”

Logan nodded, his thumb moving in slow circles, brushing gently over the back of their hand. His expression was raw, the look on his face saying everything words couldn’t—the pain of what lay ahead, the quiet acceptance of it, and the unyielding resolve to shield them, even if it meant taking the fall himself.

The hurt, etched into the hard lines of his face, was a reflection of everything E felt. They both knew this was the quickest way to shift the tide, to keep E safe from the suspicion tightening around them like a noose. And if it meant bearing the brunt of it, he would—because of the fierce, protective feeling blazing in his chest, but also because he trusted them.

E let out a heavy sigh, their lips pressing into a thin line before they smoothed back the strands of his hair with their free hand, fingers brushing through the dark mess. They were about to speak when Logan’s head turned slightly, his ears twitching as he picked up the faint sound of running water. It came from the direction of Kurt’s room, judging by the echo through the walls.

Logan’s gaze shifted back to them, softer now but edged with urgency. He brought their hand to his lips, pressing a gentle, lingering, kiss to their knuckles. “You have to go,” he said, voice low and reluctant. “People are starting to wake up.”

E exhaled deeply again, the air leaving their mouth almost trembling, but they nodded. They leaned forward, pressing their forehead against his in a quiet, intimate gesture that said everything they couldn’t put into words.

“See you around, pretty boy,” they whispered, the familiar teasing lilt in their voice dulled by the reality of what was to come.

Logan gave a small nod in return, the reluctance in his eyes mirrored by the heaviness in his chest. The thought of what they were about to do—the lies they’d weave to protect their arrangement—made the air between them feel sharper, more fragile.

He watched as they slipped out of the room, the emptiness they left in their wake pressing down on him like a weight he couldn’t shake. It was a stinging sense of loss, one he knew would linger long after the door closed behind them.

Once he found himself alone, he rose from the bed, the space around him cool and empty in the absence of E. Their scent lingered faintly in the room, and his heart ached with want—no, the need—to see them, to have them against him, to touch them.

What was happening to him? Was he that far gone already? Wrapped around their little finger? His head felt foggy, exhaustion creeping in at the edges of his awareness, adding to the strange weight pressing against his chest. He rubbed a hand over his face, trying to clear his thoughts, willing the heaviness away before heading to the bathroom.

The steady patter of water as he showered grounded him, but it did little to clear the memories that crowded his mind. E’s teasing smile, their eyes dancing with mischief; the way they’d pushed and pulled at him the night before, challenging him yet surrendering with a trust so deep it shook him to his core.

The thought of it sent warmth coursing through him, a pulse that beat in time with the thrum of the water. They had told him they were a giver—always putting others first. For so long, they hadn’t allowed themselves to be selfish, maybe not ever. Only once in their long, lonely existence.

But with him, they had.

That truth sank into him, mingling with a sense of awe that twisted into longing. He knew a thing or two about keeping things—instincts, urges, emotions—in check for years, decades, centuries even. The weight of being chosen by someone who, like him, had kept their guard so high for so long was something he felt with every fiber of his soul, making him shiver with pride.

He’d known satisfaction before, shared heated moments with countless partners over the span of nearly two centuries—men and women, different faces and places—but this… this had struck deeper than he thought possible.

Rinsing the shampoo from his hair, Logan let out a breath that fogged the glass wall of his shower. His mind replayed the previous night, as if on loop: the way E had looked at him, unguarded and raw; how their movements had mirrored a kind of surrender that words couldn’t touch.

That feeling of being seen and wanted—not just as a weapon, not just as a mutant or a means to an end, but as himself. Whole. Flawed. It was dangerous, intoxicating. A craving took root in his chest, a quiet yet insistent need for more of that feeling, more of them.

Stepping out of the shower, he dried himself off, wrapping a towel around his waist before brushing his teeth. The routine motions were automatic, but his mind spun with those vivid images, heat already pooling low in his belly.

He styled his hair, the habitual tug of the comb pulling him back to the present, but not completely. Not when his senses were still keenly aware of their scent lingering on his skin despite the shower, faint but unmistakable, as if they had marked him as theirs.

One night. That’s all it had taken for them to make him theirs. He got dressed before making his bed with the practiced precision of someone who’d been a soldier for a long time, the last trace of E smoothed out beneath the taut sheets. Moving on, his hand reached for the small, worn notebook on the nightstand—a habit, a piece of routine that kept him anchored. But today, even that felt different. His eyes flicked over the scribbled notes—reminders and plans for his lectures—but they barely registered. His mind was still caught in the gravity of E’s laughter, the way it had curled around him, warm and dangerous.

Logan made his way to his desk and sat down, the notepad now forgotten in his grip. No matter how many mornings he’d seen after tangled nights, none of them carried this. None of them ever left him feeling whole the way E had, even if just for a fleeting moment—before the hollowness crept in as soon as they were gone.

His reflection caught his eye in the mirror: rougher around the edges than usual, but still carrying that stubborn resilience he never seemed to lose. Tugging at his shirt collar, he adjusted the fit of his flannel, then ran a hand through his hair to push it back into place. A breath shuddered out of him as he wrestled the knot in his chest, forcing himself to focus.

With one final glance, he made sure everything was in order—boots laced tight, notepad folded neatly on the desk’s edge, though the ghost of last night still clung to the room. He inhaled deeply, the faint scent of E lingering in the air, uninvited in the way it stirred memories too raw, too exposing.

The space felt emptier than it should, as though a piece of it—and him—had left with them. Closing his eyes briefly, he centered himself, then rose and made his way down the hallway to the mansion’s first floor.

The hum of early morning voices grew louder as he neared the kitchen. He could already pick out Jean’s quiet laughter and Scott’s steady, self-assured tone. The familiar sounds grounded him, even as a faint tug of anticipation simmered at the edges of his thoughts.

When he entered, the conversation quieted momentarily as their eyes turned toward him. Jean and Scott shared a glance, surprised to see him this late; Logan was usually here long before either of them. He nodded their way—silent, but not unfriendly—before crossing to the counter. Grabbing the coffee pot, he filled his mug and brought it close, the steam curling in the air.

He was still lost in thought when E entered, their stride confident, eyes sharp with mischief. The air shifted the moment they stepped in, crackling like an unspoken challenge. Their smile was subtle, but unmistakably smug, as if they owned the space.

“Morning, everyone,” they greeted, their voice silk, effortless. Two of the three people they addressed didn’t seem entirely comfortable, their wariness obvious, but E wore their nonchalance like armor, as though they couldn’t care less. They moved through the room with practiced ease, every motion so deliberate, so fluid, that it made Logan’s pulse quicken in a way that used to irritate him—but now, it simply thrilled him.

They made this masquerade look effortless.

Their eyes met his, a flicker of shared understanding passing between them before they glanced away, the moment hidden beneath a mask of casual indifference.

They reached for the coffee pot, their fingers brushing Logan’s where his hand rested casually on the counter. The touch was fleeting, something no one else in the room would notice, but it left a warmth that lingered between them. The slight squeeze they gave him was enough to send a silent message: brace yourself. His jaw tensed, but he masked it with a sip, his gaze hardening as he prepared for whatever came next.

“Black coffee again, Logan?” E’s voice broke the silence, playful and biting. “You ever consider trying something with flavor?” They poured themselves a cup, their smirk deepening as they glanced over their shoulder at him.

Logan’s response was automatic, rough, as he played along, letting them lead the dance of their back and forth. “Coffee’s coffee. Doesn’t need all that extra crap.”

E’s eyebrows arched, their grin widening as if they’d caught him off-guard with a well-placed jab. “Ah, a man of simple tastes. Should’ve figured.”

He met their eyes, a silent challenge sparking between them. “What’s that supposed to mean?” The words came out with an edge, but there was a tension in his chest that had nothing to do with annoyance.

“Oh, nothing.” E shrugged, taking a sip of their coffee, their eyes dancing with amusement. “Just that I thought someone with your experience might be a bit more adventurous.”

Logan felt the tension coil tight in his chest, the line between reality and performance starting to blur. He forced his expression into one of irritation, letting a spark of anger flicker in his eyes. Leaning into the feeling to give the act weight, he set his mug down with a deliberate thud.

“Careful there, sweetheart. Last time someone thought they had me figured out, it didn’t end too pretty,” he said, letting the hint of a growl seep into his voice. Jean and Scott exchanged glances, brows raising as they picked up on the shift in atmosphere.

E’s smirk grew sharper, almost daring. “Wouldn’t dream of it, old man,” they retorted, a flick of mock respect in their tone that had the others in the room shifting uncomfortably. Jean's eyes darted between them, curiosity turning into concern as the tension thickened.

Logan clenched his jaw, leaning forward just enough to invade E’s space, his face a mask of barely-contained fury. “Old man? You better watch your mouth or I’ll remind you why you don’t cross me, kid.”

Scott’s gaze snapped to them, mouth opening to intervene, but E beat him to it. They laughed, a sharp, biting sound that bounced off the walls and made Logan’s skin prickle. “Oh, I’m terrified,” they said, their words dripping with sarcasm. “Please, Logan, save the dramatics. You’re not as intimidating as you think, kitty cat.”

The silence that followed was suffocating, and Logan felt his pulse thunder in his ears. He reminded himself that this was part of the plan, that E’s sharp jabs were calculated. But damn if it didn’t cut deeper than he’d expected. He caught the brief flicker of apology in their eyes, barely noticeable to anyone but him.

Jean’s voice cut through the standoff, soft but steady. “Is everything okay here?” she asked, trying to smooth the tension with a touch of authority.

Logan didn’t break eye contact with E as he replied, “Peachy, Jeannie. Just a friendly morning chat.”

“Yeah, friendly,” E added, their tone so falsely sweet it made Jean’s frown deepen.

Scott’s eyes narrowed, suspicion clear as day. “Well, if you two are done, maybe we can all get on with our morning without the theatrics.”

Logan bit back a retort, taking a step back and grabbing his coffee cup. The room was stifling now, and he could feel the way E’s presence tugged at him even as they stood apart. “Yeah. We’re done,” he muttered before turning his back and leaving, letting the act settle like a stone in his gut.

Behind him, he heard E’s soft chuckle, a practiced sound meant to sting, and it did. But they’d both agreed—this was the way it had to be. And so, the distance began.

Logan spent the hours following the kitchen fight lost in his thoughts, the conversation replaying in his mind like a broken record. He knew it wasn’t real—that much was clear—but E’s words had hit harder than he’d anticipated. Not because there was any truth to them, but because they came from them. A part of him hated how it lingered, stirring something raw inside. He wasn’t the type to let something like this gnaw at him. He was the Wolverine, damn it. But it still dug under his skin.

He tried to shake it off, but the feeling wouldn’t fade. He needed to see them. To remind himself it was all just an act.

By the time he reached the library, the weight in his chest had grown unbearable. E was hunched over a stack of papers at one of the long oak tables, their focus intent on something that looked law-related. Figures. Logan leaned against the doorframe for a moment, watching them. He was always amazed by how easily they could shut everything else out. He let the silence hang for a beat before pushing himself off the door and making his way inside.

E glanced up when he approached, the brief flicker of relief in their eyes catching him off guard. “Logan,” they said softly, setting the pen down. The words were warm, but there was something unreadable beneath them.

“Got a minute?” he asked, his voice quiet, almost careful.

“For you? Always,” E replied, their smile faint but genuine.

Logan sat across from them, his rough hands resting on the polished surface of the table. He didn’t quite know how to start, what to say, but when he opened his mouth, the words just poured out of him, unguarded. “That stuff in the kitchen,” raw emotion coated the rough edges of his voice, “I know it’s all for show, but… damn, you didn’t hold back.”

E winced slightly, their gaze dropping to their notes. “I know. I’m sorry. I hated saying it.” They took a breath, their eyes meeting his again, darker now, their expression tight. “Unfortunately, we might need to take it up a notch. Be even more convincing.”

Logan leaned back in his chair, trying to keep his voice casual. “It’s fine. I ain’t gonna lose sleep over it.” He shot them a look, though—he wasn’t convinced by his own lie. Not entirely. “But if we need to go harder… what’s the plan?”

E’s eyes searched his face for a moment, their fingers brushing against his where they rested on the table. It was brief, but it caught him off guard, something warm and unspoken passing between them. “We make it meaner,” they said quietly, their voice low, tinged with a hint of regret. “You push me, I push back harder. We have to make them believe it’s personal.”

Logan nodded slowly, though the idea of making it worse, of biting deeper, didn’t sit well with him. “You sure you’re up for that?” he asked, his voice gruff despite himself.

“If it means we’ll have better days, then yeah, I am.” E’s hand lingered for a moment longer, their thumb tracing an absent pattern on his skin. The small touch, so simple but with the weight of everything unspoken, grounded him, a silent reassurance amid the chaos they were building. “Are you?”

The question hung in the air, and for a second, the noise of the world outside the library faded away. He exhaled slowly, the tension in his chest releasing with the breath. “Yeah. I’m in.”

A slight twitch at the corners of E’s lips. There was something almost tender in their gaze, a fleeting softness. But that moment was broken by the sound of footsteps approaching. Their expression shifted in an instant—like a switch had been flipped, delicate features hardening suddenly—and their hand pulled away from his, curling into a fist.

Before Logan could react, they smacked him across the face with a loud slap, the sound echoing in the quiet library. “Who the hell do you think you are, Howlett?” E snapped, their voice cold and cutting, each word like the crack of a whip. “Talking to me like that? You think you can just come in here and throw your weight around?”

Logan blinked, the sting of the slap still fresh on his skin, but it wasn’t just the pain that lingered—it was the venom in their tone, keen and raw, that struck deeper. A flicker of heat stirred low in his gut, unbidden and maddening, the kind of sensation that set his instincts on edge. Damn it. He hated how his body responded to the bite of it, to the fire in their eyes. It wasn’t the first time he’d felt this twisted pull, the way pain and tension tangled together in a way that left him craving more.

His gaze flicked toward the doorway, catching Hank standing there, a stack of books balanced in his arms. The doctor’s expression was frozen in surprise, his wide eyes darting between them. Logan forced the heat back, burying it under a frown.

Without missing a beat, his face twisted into a scowl, his jaw tightening as he played along. “You’re lucky I don’t throw you outta here, witch,” he growled, his voice low and dangerous, practically vibrating with barely-contained intensity.

E scoffed, their eyes blazing as they leaned into the act. “Oh, don’t you worry, you rabid dog. I’m leaving. I can’t stand to breathe the same air as you right now.”

They swept up their papers in one sharp motion, the sound of rustling edges filling the heavy silence. Their shoulder brushed his as they stormed past, the contact deliberate and forceful. Logan didn’t move, his hands curling into fists on the table, every muscle in his body taut as he fought the urge to call after them—or worse, follow.

Hank stood rooted to the spot, his mouth opening slightly like he wanted to interject, but whatever words he had died before they could form. He stared after E, then shifted his gaze to Logan, clearly hesitant.

Finally, Logan broke the silence with a grunt, shoving his chair back roughly. The scrape of wood against the floor was loud in the stillness. “What’re you starin’ at, Hank?” His tone was gruff, laced with irritation, but the effort to keep the edge in his voice felt heavier than before.

Hank raised a single eyebrow, his composure sliding back into place like a well-worn mask. “I was about to ask if everything is all right, but… I suppose I already have my answer.”

Logan didn’t reply. Instead, he stalked toward the door, his steps heavy and deliberate, a growl rumbling low in his chest. The act was working. Too well, maybe. And for reasons he didn’t care to admit, that fact sat heavier in his gut than he liked.

Later that night, when sneaking into each other’s rooms wasn’t an option, they both found themselves in the forest clearing. Neither had planned it, but some unspoken pull brought them to this spot, far from the prying eyes and ears of the mansion. It was theirs—a sanctuary untouched by the chaos of their daily lives.

The clearing was quiet, the kind of stillness only the forest could hold. The soft rustle of leaves danced with the cool night breeze, and a sliver of moonlight spilled onto the grass, casting long shadows across the ground. Logan stood a few paces away, rolling his shoulders as he circled E, his gaze locked onto theirs. There was no need for pretense out here.

“You sure you wanna do this tonight?” he asked, his voice low and gruff, carrying a hint of concern that he couldn’t quite mask.

E’s lips curved into a smirk, their stance relaxed, yet poised. “What’s wrong, pretty boy? Afraid I might embarrass you?”

Logan snorted, his mouth twitching into a brief grin. “Ain’t no chance of that, darlin’. But you ain’t exactly fresh off the bench after today.”

“And you are?” E shot back, lunging forward with a quick burst of energy. Logan sidestepped with ease, their movements more familiar to him now. They twisted on their heel, throwing a jab that he caught mid-air, his hand closing firmly around their wrist. A shiver ran down their spine, stoking their hunger in the most exquisite way.

“Point taken,” he muttered, his voice tinged with amusement as he pulled them closer, his smirk returning.

The sparring unfolded in a steady rhythm, their movements fluid and purposeful. It wasn’t just a fight—it was a conversation in motion, a silent exchange of trust and challenge. Each strike, dodge, and counter carried its own cadence, a private language spoken in the dead of the night.

By the time they called it, E was sprawled on the grass, breathless and flushed, sweat glistening on their skin in a way that made Logan’s gaze linger a moment too long. He dropped down beside them, leaning his back against a tree, his eyes roaming over them as a heat that coiled low in his gut tightened, stirred by the sight of them so alive, so unguarded under the moonlight.

“You gotta work on that right hook,” he teased, the grin on his face softening the edge of his words.

E huffed, propping themselves up on their elbows. “I landed it once.”

“Once don’t make a streak, sweetheart,” Logan countered, his voice quieter now as his fingers brushed against theirs in the cool grass.

For a while, they both simply stayed there, the silence between them comfortable, filled only with the soft chirp of crickets and the distant whisper of leaves. Eventually, E sat up, leaning into Logan’s steady frame. Their hand rested lightly on his stomach, fingertips itching to slip beneath his shirt, but as his warmth enveloped them in a way that felt safe, grounding, they didn’t want to break the peace.

“It’s harder than I thought,” they said softly, the words barely breaking the stillness.

Logan turned slightly, his brow furrowing. “What is?”

“This whole thing.” E gestured vaguely at the forest, at him, at everything. “The fights. The secrecy. Hurting you. Hiding—just to be us. It’s only been one day, and I already hate it.”

Logan’s chest tightened, their words circling in his mind, refusing to settle. ‘Just to be us’. The unintentional confession lingered in the air between them, heavy and unspoken. It wasn’t just the exhaustion from the sparring session that had them speaking so openly—it was trust. Trust in him.

He looked down at them, nestled against him, their breathing steady. Their guard, that armor usually so rigid that centuries had forged, had slipped, leaving behind a version of them few ever got to see. There was a softness there, a vulnerability they rarely allowed, and it filled him with something between awe and a quiet ache. That they thought of them as a ‘us’, even subconsciously, stirred something deep in his chest—a mix of pride, longing, and adoration. That they trusted him enough to bare this side of them made his heart flutter in a way he hadn’t expected.

His hand moved without thought, his fingers brushing through their dark hair with a slow, deliberate reverence. The wavy strands slipped like silk between his fingers, tethering him in the moment, a silent reassurance that this wasn’t just a fleeting dream.

“It’s rough, Angel,” he said softly, his voice gravelly in the quiet. The nickname slipped out naturally, a little softer than usual, carrying more weight. He hesitated, letting the words sink in before adding, “But we’ll push through.”

E’s lips twitched into a faint smile, though their eyes remained fixed on his free hand, resting next to theirs on his stomach. “Yeah, I know,” they murmured. Their fingers shifted, brushing his for a moment before lacing them together. The contact felt soft, simple, yet charged with an unspoken understanding.

They exhaled, their voice tinged with frustration. “It would be easier if we could plan the fights, but we can’t. If we do, it’ll feel… off, staged. They’ll figure us out.”

Logan nodded slowly, his thumb sweeping over their knuckles in soothing circles. “You’re right. It’s gotta feel real… for them and for us.”

That last part slipped out before he could stop it, and he tensed, unsure if they’d catch the hidden meaning. E turned their head, meeting his gaze, their eyes searching his face. “And you’re okay with that?”

His lips quirked into a smirk, his defenses sliding back into place just enough. “I’ll live. Ain’t my first rodeo, sweetheart.” He reached up, brushing a stray strand of hair from their face, his hand lingering against their cheek before finding hers again. “‘Sides, I’ve had worse things thrown at me than words.”

They leaned into his touch, their eyes fluttering closed for a brief moment before reopening, their expression softening. “I hate that it has to be this way,” they admitted quietly.

Logan let out a low, thoughtful hum, lowering his head to nuzzle lightly against theirs. “Me too, Eki,” he murmured almost hesitantly, his voice softer now. “But we’ll get through it. I know we will.”

It was the first time he called them this way. The name rolled off his tongue with a warmth he hadn’t intended, but it was there all the same—gentle and intimate, carrying more weight than he realized.

They stiffened ever so slightly, not out of discomfort but surprise. A flicker of something unfamiliar sparked in their chest at the sound of it, a flutter, and a quiet warmth bloomed around it as they tilted their head to glance at him, lips parting as though to respond, but no words came. The urge to kiss him, to lick and nip at his lips gripped their gut, but they couldn’t, not without harming him.

Instead, they stayed like that, the night wrapping around them both, the stars scattered above like silent witnesses. E sighed, leaning back into him, their head resting against his chest, and he instinctively tightened his arm around them, pulling them closer.

“At least we’ve got this,” he murmured after a long stretch of silence, his voice low but heavy with meaning.

E smiled faintly, their hand squeezing his. “Yeah,” they whispered, warmth coating her tone. “This is nice.”

Logan bent his head, pressing a tender kiss to the top of hers, the gesture unhurried and sincere. “It is,” he agreed.

For now, this was enough. The clearing remained their sanctuary, a pocket of time untouched by the outside world, as they held onto each other, finding strength in their shared determination to see this through, no matter the cost. Whatever came next, they’d face it—together.

The fights had started happening more often—small sparks igniting without warning, flaring into roaring fires. Every little thing became an excuse to clash, to bruise each other for show. It was a performance they played, and the mansion was their stage. It didn’t matter what set them off—a look, a comment, a minor disagreement—each moment seemed to lead them to scrape against each other’s nerves. Yet, beneath the verbal clashes, another kind of pyre burned. This one was different, stoked not by anger but by their need to reassure each other once the curtain fell. It consumed them in private, a fire that was anything but an act.

Logan could feel it burning now, simmering, as he watched E coming out of Charles’ office. He’d been on his way to his first class of the day when his gaze landed on them, and an unexpected warmth blossomed in his chest. They looked composed, calculating as usual, every line of their body a testament to the control they wielded so effortlessly. It was that same composure that made something inside him twist—a familiar frustration, a gnawing at his gut that tainted the lukewarm affection he felt for them.

He hated it—not the ache in his gut or the sight of them, but the distance their polished exterior created. It was a weight he couldn’t shake no matter how hard he tried. Every time, it reminded him that what they had now wasn’t simple anymore, wasn’t easy. There was no space for softness between them, not in public, at least until further notice.

A sigh slipped between his lips, and he braced himself. This was the perfect opportunity, and he couldn’t let it pass. So he picked up the pace, his boots echoing in the hallway as he approached, each step deliberate. E’s eyes caught him, but they didn’t flinch, though there was a flicker of something unguarded flashing across their face—caution—just for a second before the mask fell back into place. Their poise didn’t falter, but Logan saw through it.

“Well, look who’s here,” he drawled, playing the part, his voice loud enough to draw attention, the edge in his tone slicing through the quiet of the hallway, freezing a passing student in their step. “The school’s puppet master.”

E turned to face him fully, their gaze sharp and unreadable as they assessed him. “Howlett,” they replied, stepping into their role, voice low and steady, but it carried a warning. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t start something here.”

“Oh, come on, sweetheart, I ain’t starting anything,” Logan shot back, a sly smirk tugging at his lips. “Just calling it like I see it.” He took another step, closing the gap just enough to feel the tension coil tighter between them. “You’re always scheming, aren’t you? Pulling strings, keeping everyone in line.” His voice dropped lower, each word sharper than the last. “Bet half the staff’s already eating out of your hand.”

They straightened their stance, jaw tightened, the only crack in their armor. “I’m a qualified lawyer and I’m doing my job,” they said smoothly, though the words came out clipped. “You might want to try that sometime.”

Logan let out a bitter chuckle, his tone laced with mockery. “Oh, I’m workin’ just fine, sweetheart. Don’t need your little lectures. ‘Qualified lawyer,’ huh? Tell me—what’d you do to earn that title? Cheat your way through the bar exam? Maybe pay someone off?” He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a low, venomous growl, still very much audible to the audience gathering not far from them. “Or was it somethin’ else? Maybe you just slept your way to the top.”

The words hung in the air like a gunshot, the hallway falling deathly silent. A collective gasp rippled through the few students and staff watching the exchange, their eyes darting between the two of them, waiting for the fallout.

But against all odds, E’s face shifted, their expression a razor-thin mask of mockery, as if the words Logan had thrown at them were beneath consideration. “Watch your mouth, Howlett,” they snapped, voice cutting through the tension like a blade. “Another comment like that, and I’ll have you up for sexual harassment.”

For a moment, everything froze. The crowd held its collective breath, the charged stillness pressing in on all sides. Logan’s fists clenched against his thighs, his muscles taut as if ready to snap, to strike at something—anything—to vent the storm that seemed to be brewing inside him. His breath hissed through his teeth, the silence surrounding them hanging thick in the air, leaving only the sound of his heartbeat drumming in his ears.

A few feet from them, the door to Charles’ office swung open, its creak slicing through the tension, a subtle command that immediately stilled the room. The professor’s calm voice followed, cool and unyielding. “That will be enough.” The steady words cut through the sharp air with authority.

Every head turned as the headmaster entered the hallway, his gaze sweeping between Logan and E, the tension palpable. Logan stood bristling, fists still clenched at his sides, while E remained unflinching, their posture a perfect balance of defiance and composure.

“Logan,” Charles began, his tone measured but leaving no room for argument. “This behavior is unacceptable. Whatever concerns you have, this is not the way to address them. Such language and accusations have no place here.”

Logan’s jaw ticked, his teeth grinding together as he shot a glare toward Charles. “You don’t get it, Chuck—”

“On the contrary,” the Professor cut in, his voice firm but even. His eyes, clear and resolute, locked onto Logan’s with quiet strength. “I do. I know exactly what’s happening. But I’m telling you now: it stops here.”

The words hung in the air, firm. He shifted his gaze briefly to E, who stood calm and unaffected, their expression unreadable but charged with unspoken triumph. Logan’s chest rose and fell sharply, frustration seemingly rolling off him in palpable waves. His jaw remained clenched, posture taut, keen eyes betraying nothing but the simmering tension in his frame—a masterful performance that left no cracks for doubt.

Still, Charles continued, his focus shifting back to Logan with unwavering steadiness. “E has earned their place here,” he said, each word measured, deliberate. “Through hard work, expertise, and dedication. Qualities I expect you to recognize and respect. Whatever grievances you harbor, they do not justify this behavior.”

Logan’s chest tightened, his fists flexing against his thighs as a growl rumbled low in his throat. His eyes flicked to E, blazing with fiery defiance that looked convincingly real to anyone watching. Meanwhile, E, ever the picture of composure, turned to Charles with the ease of someone who knew how to play their cards perfectly.

“It’s fine, Professor,” they said smoothly, as if brushing off the situation as a passing annoyance. Their voice carried just enough weight to draw the attention of the onlookers. “Logan’s entitled to his opinions, misplaced as they are. My work isn’t for him to recognize—it’s for the students. That’s what matters.”

A faint murmur of admiration rippled through the crowd at E’s collected response. Logan’s shoulders tensed further, his apparent fury simmering just beneath the surface, but his eyes held a flicker of something almost imperceptible—an edge of satisfaction in how well the act was landing.

Charles nodded at E, his expression approving. “I admire your commitment, E. Truly. However,” he continued, turning back to Logan, his tone sharpening once more. “You are an example here, Logan,” he said, his words leaving no room for argument. “Consequently, I expect better from you. For now, I’d like a word with you in my office.”

Charles turned his wheelchair toward the open door, gesturing for Logan to follow. Logan didn’t move immediately, his body remaining taut, every muscle coiled as if ready to snap. His gaze stayed fixed on E for what felt like an eternity, the tension between them almost electric. But with a reluctant growl, he finally shifted, his heavy footsteps echoing as he stepped into the Professor’s office.

The door clicked shut behind him, its sound reverberating through the hall, leaving hushed conversations in its wake. The lawyer remained still for a moment, head held high, their composure unshaken as the students’ gazes lingered. Curiosity mingled with admiration in their stares, though none noticed the faint smirk curling at the corners of E’s lips—a near-invisible aura of triumph. Without a word, they turned, their stride deliberate, whispers of victory trailing behind them like shadows of their success.

In Charles’ office, the door clicked softly shut, sealing off the muffled hum of conversations outside. Logan crossed the room with deliberate strides, his arms folding tightly over his chest as he stopped in front of the Professor. His stance was taut, his brows drawn, and his jaw clenched—all the hallmarks of frustration expertly crafted into an act that, to anyone else, would seem entirely genuine.

Charles, ever composed, sat calmly behind his desk, his fingers steepled in front of him. His steady gaze met Logan’s, but the faint glimmer of amusement in his eyes betrayed an edge of knowing that Logan instantly caught. The flicker of amusement sent a ripple of unease through Logan, but he held firm to the role he’d been playing all morning.

“My friend,” Charles began, his voice smooth and measured, “I think it’s time we discuss this little… performance of yours and E’s.”

Logan’s brows furrowed, his expression hardening with practiced defiance. “If you’re about to tell me to cut it out—”

“Quite the contrary,” Charles interjected, his lips curling into the faintest smile. “You and E are charming idiots, both of you. In fact, I’d say your commitment is remarkable. The arguments are convincing. Almost too convincing.”

Logan’s jaw tightened, though the flicker of his gaze betrayed his uncertainty. “So, you knew?” he asked, his voice low, the usual gravel edged with something lighter—caught between annoyance and relief.

Charles leaned back slightly, his expression softening with patience. “Logan, I am a telepath. Nothing escapes me in this mansion. Did you really think something as… vibrant as your exchanges with E, along with your little settlement, would go unnoticed? I suspected it from the very beginning, but the confirmation came quickly enough.”

Logan shifted his weight, rubbing the back of his neck as he looked away, his discomfort evident as the mask slipped from his features. “If you think it’s a waste of time—”

“I think,” Charles cut in smoothly, “that it’s clever. Effective, even. E has been earning the team’s trust far faster than they would through conventional means. Their role as the so-called ‘victim’ in your dynamic has not only won them sympathy but also admiration. And your willingness to take on the role of the aggressor,” he added, his voice dipping with warmth, “speaks volumes about your character.”

Logan’s shoulders stiffened, the compliment settling awkwardly on him. He huffed, shifting his gaze to the side. “Ain’t about me, Chuck. It’s about makin’ sure they get a shot. At the whole thing.”

Charles inclined his head slightly, his smile softening further. “Even so, it takes courage to play the villain, especially when it places you under scrutiny. Your actions show a deeper understanding of what this team needs to thrive.”

Logan scoffed, the heat creeping up his neck. “Yeah, well, don’t go spreadin’ that around. Got a reputation to keep.”

Charles chuckled softly, his amusement tinged with genuine affection. “Your secret is safe with me, Logan. Just be sure to keep the balance. This arrangement, as effective as it is, can’t come at the expense of mutual respect—or your sanity.”

Logan’s lips twitched into a faint smirk, his usual gruffness returning as he grumbled, “We’ll manage. E’s tough—they can take it. We both can.”

Charles nodded, his gaze steady. “I trust that you will. But remember, my friend, even the best performances need the occasional intermission.”

Logan snorted, the corner of his mouth tugging up in reluctant agreement. “Noted. Thanks for not blowin’ it up. Now, if we’re done here…” He gestured vaguely toward the door, his tone laced with impatience but lacking its usual edge. “Got a class to run.”

Charles waved him off with a faint smile. “Of course, my friend. Now, if you would, make a bit of a show as you leave. It wouldn’t do for the others to think you got off easy. And try not to terrorize anyone else on your way out.”

Logan smirked faintly at that before turning away. The tension in his body had eased slightly, and he inhaled deeply, drawing the simmering anger back into his gut to slip into character. With deliberate force, he yanked the door open, letting it slam against the wall. “Got it, boss,” he called over his shoulder, his voice cutting sharply through the room.

He stormed into the hallway, his boots striking the floor in heavy, echoing thuds. His scowl was perfectly crafted—a tempest of irritation that sent students scattering like leaves in a gale. Pale faces turned away, and whispers followed him, swirling in his wake.

Before he could make it far, a door to his right creaked open. A hand shot out, gripping his arm with surprising strength, and hauled him into the shadowy confines of a supply closet. The door clicked shut behind them, sealing them in near darkness.

“The hell—?” Logan grunted, his surprise barely surfacing before the familiar scent of spice and smoke wrapped around him. His glare softened in an instant, his lips twitching into something close to a smirk. “Eki?”

“Shh,” they whispered, amusement lacing their tone. They pressed closer, their presence steady and teasing. “You’re supposed to be in trouble, remember?”

Logan huffed, his eyes narrowing, though there wasn’t a trace of real irritation. “What’re you playin’ at?”

E leaned in, their hands trailing up his chest with slow, deliberate intent, pausing at his shoulders. The faint light slipping through the door’s edge slanted across their face, highlighting the wicked curve of their lips. “Heard you stomping out of Charles’ office like a wounded bear,” they murmured, their voice dripping with mock concern. “Thought I’d check on you.”

His brow twitched, the stubborn set of his jaw softening despite himself. “Checkin’ on me involves draggin’ me into a closet now?”

E’s smirk widened, their tone a mix of teasing and confidence. “Don’t act like you mind.”

Their movements were playful but edged with intent. They leaned closer, their breath warm against his neck as their lips hovered near his ear. The subtle press of their body against his sent a ripple of heat through him.

“Besides,” they whispered, their voice dipping lower, more intimate, “I wanted to tell you something.”

His hands moved to their hips without a second thought, his fingers settling naturally along the curve of their waist. “Yeah? What’s so damn important it can’t wait?”

E’s fingers drifted lazily over his arms, their touch light but electric. They tilted their head, their lips brushing his ear in a deliberate, measured move. “You were so hot when you yelled at me earlier,” they murmured, their voice a sultry purr. “All fire and fury… made me want to slap you again just to see what you’d do.”

Logan’s breath hitched, a low, guttural sound rumbling in his throat as his grip tightened on their hips, just enough to warn. “You’re playin’ with fire, Angel.”

E pulled back slightly to meet his gaze, their eyes glittering with mischief and challenge. They could feel his hunger feeding their own. “Am I?”

Their voice was soft but charged, every syllable a spark fanning the flames between them. The pull was undeniable, intoxicating, and he felt himself give in, just enough to let them reel him closer. Damn it—he didn’t want to fight it. Not this time.

“You’re lucky we’re in this closet,” Logan muttered, his voice dropping to a low, rough tone that sent a shiver through the confined space.

E tilted their head, their smirk softening into something warmer, almost tender. “Lucky?” they asked, their tone playful but carrying a trace of sincerity. “Or smart?”

A quiet huff of laughter escaped him, the tension in his hands loosening slightly as his grip softened on their hips. But his fingers stayed, a lingering reminder of the fire simmering beneath the surface. “Maybe both,” he admitted, his voice quieter now.

The air between them grew heavy, thick with a charged anticipation neither seemed willing to shatter. Time stretched, every heartbeat amplifying the pull between them, the unspoken heat crackling like a wildfire ready to ignite, a match struck on a flint.

Then, faint footsteps drifted in from the hallway—distant, but clear enough to cut through the tension.

They both froze.

Logan recovered first, his voice steady, though the faint edge in it betrayed his reluctance. “We should get outta here before someone catches us.” Yet he didn’t pull away, didn’t move to create the distance his words suggested.

E leaned in, their lips brushing lightly against the crook of his neck. The touch was fleeting, soft as a feather, yet it left a mark he couldn’t ignore. They lingered for a moment before pulling back, their voice a low murmur. “Guess so. But next time, Howlett…”

They let the words hang for a beat, their smile teasing but layered with something deeper. “You owe me a real fight.”

Logan smirked, one corner of his mouth quirking up in that familiar, roguish way that made it impossible to tell if he was amused or intrigued. He cracked the door open, peering into the hallway. Satisfied the coast was clear, he glanced back, kissing their cheek quickly and murmuring, his voice a quiet promise, “You’ll get one.”

He stepped out into the corridor like nothing had happened, his boots striking the floor with a steady, confident rhythm. The sound echoed faintly as he disappeared down the hall.

E lingered in the closet for a moment, their smile turning satisfied as they watched him go. Something flickered in their expression—anticipation, maybe hope—as they slipped out in the opposite direction, the promise of what was to come hanging thick in the air between them.

The common room resonated softly with the chatter of Ororo, Marie, and Kitty. Seated in a cozy cluster around a small table, they were quietly planning their next trip to the mall. Kitty leaned in, her eyes sparkling as she described a sweater she had spotted online, while Ororo listened with a small, indulgent smile that softened her regal demeanor. Marie occasionally chimed in, her voice warm and lilting, adding her own thoughts about colors and styles.

A few feet from them, E sat upright on the couch in the center of the room, one leg crossed over the other, a cup of tea resting steadily on their knee. They watched the television with quiet focus, as the news anchor’s voice delivered updates about local events. There was a trace of weariness in their posture, the kind of exhaustion that settled behind the eyes and hinted at a long day spent poring over legal documents.

The moment Logan entered, the room’s tranquil atmosphere shifted. He strolled in with his usual swagger, the faint scent of cigar smoke trailing him. His flannel sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, revealing his sturdy forearms. His gaze swept the room briefly before he plopped down beside E without a word. His hand brushed their knee as he reached for the remote on the coffee table, a casual but deliberate motion that claimed space.

Click.

The news was replaced by the vibrant green of a baseball field, the roar of the crowd pouring from the speakers. A game was already in progress, the commentary animated and full of energy.

E let out an audible sigh, their lips pressing into a thin line. “Seriously?”

“Game’s on,” Logan replied casually, settling back into the couch, his feet on the coffee table, as if nothing were amiss. He didn’t even look at them, his eyes fixed on the screen, his poise relaxed but unyielding.

E’s hand shot out and snatched the remote from his grip, flicking the channel back to the news. “I was watching that.”

Logan straightened slightly, a flicker of annoyance crossing his face. “Yeah? Well, now I’m watchin’ this.” He grabbed the remote again, switching it back to the game, with a decisive press on the TV clicker.

The tension between them crackled like static electricity, the air thick with unspoken challenge.

E’s jaw tightened. “Are you five? Grow up, Howlett.” With measured precision, they took the remote again and returned the television to the news. Their movements were controlled, deliberate, as though refusing to let Logan’s antics rattle them.

His eyes narrowed, his voice dropping as he leaned in. “You’ve got somethin’ to say, witch?” The word was low but sharp, cutting like a blade slipping between ribs.

Behind them, the conversation amongst the others faltered. Ororo exchanged a glance with Marie, and Kitty froze mid-laugh, her eyes darting between the two.

E didn’t rise to the bait, not at first. They simply set the clicker down on the arm of their side of the couch, their gaze fixed on Logan. “I’m trying to stay informed. Something you should try once in a while.”

Logan smirked, though there was no humor in it. “Informed, huh? That why I don’t see you in the Danger Room? Too busy stayin’ ‘informed’ to pull your weight?”

E’s expression hardened, their composure cracking slightly. “I’m not a soldier, Logan. I never signed up to be. Unlike you, I have an actual job that involves more than swinging claws or quoting history. Being a lawyer means spending hours—days, even—preparing cases, handling crises, and keeping this place from falling apart.”

“Sure,” Logan drawled, leaning back with an exaggerated shrug. “Real noble. But we’re all bustin’ our asses for this school, so what makes you so special that you can skip out on the hard work?”

E’s voice dropped, each word razor-sharp. “The work I do is just as important as your training sessions. Or do you think the contracts you sign, the legal battles I fight, and the protections I negotiate are meaningless?”

Logan chuckled darkly, the sound low and mocking. “Contracts don’t save lives when the next fight comes knockin’, sweetheart. Maybe you’re just lookin’ for excuses. It’s easier to sit on the sidelines than to get your hands dirty, huh?”

The jab landed. A flicker of hurt flashed in E’s eyes, quickly masked by steely resolve. They inhaled deeply, their voice steady but heavy with disappointment. “I thought we were on the same side, Logan.” The weight of their words hung in the air, each syllable a quiet accusation. “Guess I was wrong.”

The room’s silence was suffocating, the atmosphere unbearable.

Logan’s jaw tightened, his fists clenching on his thighs, and for a moment, it seemed like he might back down. Instead, he stood abruptly, his gaze hard and unyielding. “You don’t know the first thing about loyalty.”

The words hit like a hammer, reverberating in the heavy silence that followed. Before anyone could react, Logan turned on his heel and strode out, his boots thudding against the wooden floor with each step.

E remained seated, their face unreadable save for the faint trembling of their hand as they gripped the arm of the couch. After a moment, they set their tea down with careful precision and stood, smoothing their clothes as if to steady themselves.

“Wow,” Kitty murmured, breaking the silence. “What the hell’s his problem?”

Ororo’s gaze lingered on E, sympathy softening her sharp features. “Are you okay?”

The lawyer managed a tight smile, though it didn’t reach their eyes. “I’m fine. Thanks.” Their voice was composed, but there was a brittleness to it, like glass under strain. With a measured motion, they reached for their teacup, lifting it carefully as if it provided some small anchor in the wake of the exchange. “I should…get back to work.”

Without another word, E left the room. Their posture remained straight and unwavering, but there was something fragile in their steps, as if they carried the weight of Logan’s words with them.

Behind them, Ororo, Marie, and Kitty exchanged quiet glances, their subdued chatter shifting to murmurs about Logan’s behavior. They kept their voices low, but their concern lingered in the air, tangible and unresolved, as though the room itself hadn’t quite recovered from the tension.

The Danger Room’s hum vibrated softly in the air as the team gathered, the younger members shifting with barely contained energy while the veterans stood with their usual aura of quiet confidence. Charles’s voice rang out, calm and commanding, as he outlined the day’s objective: clearing one floor of a simulated building of hostile threats and rescuing the hostage.

As usual, people paired off naturally. Scott and Jean exchanged a glance, already stepping into position together. Ororo teamed up with Kurt, offering a serene nod in his direction. Kitty, Marie, and Bobby gravitated toward each other, chatting quietly in low voices.

That left E and Logan, awkwardly standing in the cleared center of the room, where the group had split into smaller teams around them. The silence between them bristled with unspoken tension.

Scott frowned, his visor glinting under the cold light. “Are we seriously pairing them together?”

“They did well during the trial last week,” Charles reminded him, his tone firm yet patient. “Better than anyone expected. It only makes sense for them to try working together again. And perhaps channeling that aggression as a team will mend some of it. ”

Skeptical glances passed between the team members. Logan crossed his arms, his stance as rigid as stone. E stood beside him, their posture stiff and guarded, though their eyes darted toward the others, catching every raised brow and murmured whisper. At least they didn’t sense outright hostility from the rest of the group, which was a small relief amidst the tension.

Finally, Charles’s voice cut through the room with quiet authority. “Begin the simulation.” The words were directed at Hank in the command center, where Charles was now heading as the machinery of the room began to hum louder.

The walls around the X-Men and E shifted, morphing into the interior of a crumbling high-rise. The floor beneath their feet groaned ominously, and the sound of distant gunfire echoed from somewhere above.

Logan glanced at E as they moved cautiously down a simulated hallway. “We take the stairs. Blitz ‘em all the way to the hostage. End it quick.”

E raised an eyebrow. “Blitz? That’s your plan? You think we’re going up against a horde of mindless zombies, or did I miss the memo?”

Logan growled low in his throat. “Look, sweetheart, I don’t have time for your lawyer talk. You want to win, you hit hard and fast.” He punctuated his words by striking his left palm with his right fist.

E stopped mid-step, their gaze catching on the floor layout displayed on a nearby wall. They gestured toward it, a hint of strategy sparking in their tone. “Or, we could think for more than two seconds. See this?” They pointed to a narrow corridor on the map. “That’s a bottleneck—perfect for an ambush. We lure them in, control the fight, and pick them off one by one.”

“You mean drag it out,” Logan muttered.

“Ororo?” E called out over their shoulder. “What’s your take?”

The white haired woman, walking a few feet behind with Kurt, tilted her head thoughtfully. “It’s a sound strategy. Fighting smart is just as important as fighting hard.”

Jean chimed in, her voice measured and calm. “Agreed. Brute force only gets you so far. For all we know, there could be fifty of them in there.”

Logan turned to Scott, silently hoping for backup, but his teammate merely folded his arms and gave him a look—a pointed one, like Logan had just suggested fighting blindfolded. Even Kurt’s tail twitched awkwardly, as though uncomfortable with Logan’s stubbornness.

“Fine,” Logan grumbled at last, his voice dripping with reluctance. “We’ll do it your way.”

“Good choice,” E quipped, already moving ahead.

Scott stepped forward, his visor glinting in the dim light as he addressed the team. “Here’s the plan. Storm and Nightcrawler, you’re on decoy duty—draw their attention toward the main corridor. Shadowcat, Rogue, and Iceman, you’re the scout team. Find the hostage and get them to safety. Jean, Wolverine, and E, you’re with me at the choke point. We’ll hold the line and clean up any stragglers.”

The group split seamlessly into their designated roles. Ororo and Kurt advanced toward the wide-open hall at the far end of the floor, preparing to lure the enemy, while Logan, E, and Jean moved into position at the narrow corridor for the ambush.

Ororo stepped into the open, her eyes faintly glowing as she summoned a swirling gale. A deafening crash echoed through the space as she hurled a metal filing cabinet into a crumbling wall, scattering debris and drawing immediate shouts from the mercenaries.

Kurt vanished with a soft bamf, reappearing behind two guards. Before they could react, he disarmed one with a sharp tail swipe and incapacitated the other with a swift punch. A third guard spun toward him, but a gust of wind sent the man’s weapon skidding out of reach.

“That’s our cue,” Ororo murmured, retreating into the shadows. Kurt followed, the sound of their retreat baiting the mercenaries into pursuit.

At the bottleneck, Logan crouched low, claws unsheathed, his muscles taut as he prepared for the enemy to funnel in. E stood to his left, chakrams glinting in the dim light as they adjusted their stance.

“Remember: controlled chaos,” E said lightly. “Try not to go feral too fast.”

“Funny,” Logan muttered, his eyes narrowing as the first wave of mercenaries rounded the corner.

Jean stood behind them, her focus locked as she created a shimmering telekinetic barrier to intercept the inevitable projectiles. The mercenaries opened fire, but their bullets froze mid-air, suspended like raindrops caught in time.

Logan surged forward, slashing through their ranks with brutal precision. E darted to his side, chakrams spinning in graceful arcs that deflected bullets and struck with unerring accuracy. A guard raised his weapon, only for one of E’s metal disks to slice through it before returning to their hand in a fluid motion.

“Not bad for a desk jockey,” Logan muttered, slicing through another mercenary with a savage sweep of his claws.

E smirked, ducking under a wild swing and planting a chakram squarely into an enemy’s knee. “Thanks, lumberjack. Didn’t know you even knew what a desk was.”

Logan snorted, sidestepping an incoming blow. “I know plenty. Like how not to overthink in a fight.”

E shot him a sharp look, flicking their chakram with a flourish that knocked a gun from another guard’s hand. “Overthink? Sorry, some of us like to use both brains and brawn. It’s called multitasking.”

“Focus!” Jean snapped, her barrier flickering briefly under the hail of bullets as she reinforced it with a concentrated burst of telekinetic energy.

“Scout team, status?” Scott’s voice crackled over the comms.

Kitty’s reply was calm but clipped. “Hostage located. Three guards in the room. Reinforcements heading this way. We can’t engage yet—too many nearby.”

“Understood,” Scott replied. “We’ll clear the path soon.”

“Yep, soon would be great,” Bobby’s voice chimed in, followed by the faint sound of ice cracking.

Scott turned his attention to Ororo and Kurt. “Decoy team, double back and draw reinforcements away from their position. Make it loud and chaotic.”

Ororo gave a nod and turned to Kurt with a playful smile. “Time for a distraction?”

He reached out, grabbing her hand with his blue-skinned one, his smile matching hers. “Let’s make it count.” They both vanished in another one of his characteristic bamfs.

The team at the bottleneck only heard the distant sounds of chaos—shouts, clangs, and the occasional explosion—as the decoy team created their diversion.

“Chaotic enough for you?” Kurt’s voice crackled over the comms.

“Nice work, keep going,” Scott instructed.

Not far from him, the fight intensified. More mercenaries poured in, Logan's large frame crowding them into chaotic clusters in the narrow corridor. One lobbed a grenade, but E reacted quickly, their chakrams spinning out and deflecting it into the wall. The explosion sent a shockwave rippling through the space, leaving E’s ears ringing but sparing the team from serious harm.

Logan growled, claws carving through the crowd with brutal precision. “They just keep comin’,” he muttered, elbowing a guard in the face before slashing another across the chest.

“Almost like they’re programmed to, huh?” E quipped, catching one of their chakrams mid-spin and flicking it toward an approaching guard.

Scott’s optic blast tore through the adjacent wall, collapsing part of the corridor and forcing the mercenaries into an even tighter cluster.

“Nice,” E muttered, resetting their chakrams on the hooks at the back of their shirt.

Logan, now drenched in sweat, glanced over his shoulder at Jean. “Think you can drop somethin’ on ‘em?”

Jean nodded, her telekinetic energy flaring as she wrenched a section of the crumbling ceiling down onto the remaining guards. Dust and debris filled the air, muffling the mercenaries’ groans as they scrambled to recover.

“All clear on our end,” Scott called into the comms. “Scout team, you’re up. Decoy team, escort them back.”

On cue, the younger team members escorted the hostage out, covered by Ororo and Kurt. Together, they retreated under the relentless flow of enemies, making their way to the staircase—the designated extraction point according to the simulation.

The high-rise dissolved back into the metallic walls of the Danger Room as the simulation halted.

“Nice work, team,” Charles’s voice echoed from the speakers above.

Logan rolled his shoulders, claws retracting with a metallic snakt. “Would’ve been faster my way.”

E wiped a bit of sweat from their brow, tossing him a dry look. “Faster, maybe. Messier, definitely.”

Logan smirked, something feral flickering in his eyes. “I’ll give you messy, sweetheart.”

Before E could retort, Logan lunged.

Gasps rippled through the team as his massive frame barreled toward the lawyer. But instead of bracing for impact, E moved.

They dodged to the side, fluid as water, sliding past his outstretched arms. Logan whirled around, but E was already behind him, darting away like a shadow slipping through cracks.

Their movements became a dance—graceful, calculated, almost mesmerizing. E sidestepped his strikes, ducked under his swipes, their bare feet gliding across the floor with uncanny ease. A faint smile tugged at their lips, their eyes alight with challenge.

Logan, by contrast, was all force and fury, each swing of his arms carrying enough power to send anyone else sprawling. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t catch them.

“Quit dancin’, witch,” he growled, his voice rough and strained.

“You quit swinging, old bear,” E shot back, twisting out of his grasp once more.

The onlookers watched in stunned silence. To anyone else, it might’ve looked like Logan was furious, his teeth bared and his movements unrelenting. But the subtle nuances of his posture—how his shoulders stayed loose, how his strikes never fully committed—told a different story.

And, of course, E saw everything.

Finally, Logan managed to grab them, his arms encircling their waist in a vice grip. He pressed them firmly against his chest, his breathing heavy, his pulse hammering against theirs.

From the outside, it looked like he wanted to crush them. But up close, the heat of his gaze burned with something far more intense than anger.

E’s breath hitched, and they fought to keep a smirk from curling their lips. Instead, their fingers brushed against his chest, reluctant to break the embrace, but they needed the show to keep going so they pushed him back with all their strength, slipping free of his hold.

“That’s enough!” Charles’s voice cut through the tension like a whip as he entered the room again.

Logan stepped back, his chest heaving, though the predatory gleam in his eyes didn’t fade. “Logan. E. My office. Now!”

The rest of the team stared as the two of them followed Charles’s voice toward the exit, leaving the charged silence of the Danger Room behind.

“Am I the only one who thinks that was…” Kitty began, searching for the right word.

“Terrifying?” Kurt offered.

“Hot,” Marie muttered under her breath, earning an amused eye roll from Ororo.

But no one dared say anything else.

Charles sat behind his desk, his fingers steepled as he regarded Logan and E with a calm but pointed gaze. They stood across from him, arms crossed in a near-mirror of each other, just as they had during their discussion about Logan’s contract weeks ago. However, the tension between them now was markedly less volatile than it had been back then.

“You did well today,” Charles began, his tone measured. “The training session proved that the team has accepted you, E. They trust your skills and instincts. However…”

Logan shifted his weight with a grunt, already sensing where this was headed.

���…you both need to work on mending the… tension that you’ve been projecting toward each other,” Charles continued.

E raised an eyebrow, their lips twitching with mild amusement.

Charles’s gaze flicked between them. “You’ve played this ruse of animosity so convincingly that it’s starting to unsettle the team. If they find out you’ve been misleading them, it could lead to feelings of betrayal, even resentment, and undermine all the progress you’ve worked so hard to achieve.”

“Great,” Logan muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “So what, we’re supposed to just stop fightin’ all at once?”

“Not quite,” Charles replied with a small smile. “I suggest spacing out these little arguments. Gradually lessen the intensity. Make it appear as though you’ve come to a mutual understanding over time.”

E exchanged a look with Logan, their shared exasperation reflected in his expression. “Honestly? That sounds like the most exhausting part of this entire charade.”

“No kidding,” Logan grunted. “It’s been weeks of butting heads during the day, and I hate it.”

“You hate it?” E shot back, their voice dripping with mock incredulity. “Try being on the receiving end of your constant growling.”

“Yeah, well, you’re no picnic either, sweetheart.”

Charles raised a hand, silencing them before the exchange could escalate further. “I trust the two of you can manage for the sake of the team.”

Both of them nodded, though they shared a small, sheepish smile.

“Good. That will be all for now.”

As they walked down the hall, the guarded tension dissolved entirely now that they were alone, replaced by an easy companionship they both found natural. The faint murmur of voices drifted from the dining room, and both of them slowed instinctively, ears pricking as snippets of conversation reached them.

“I think we’ve been too hard on E,” Marie was saying, her tone tinged with guilt. “They’ve got good instincts, and they’re a damn good strategist.”

“Agreed,” Ororo added. “Their fighting style is intriguing—fluid, adaptive. We could all learn something from that approach.”

Hank’s thoughtful voice joined in. “I did some research on kalaripayattu, their preferred martial art. It’s not just excellent for coordination but also sharpens the mind. A fascinating discipline.”

“You’re all missing the bigger picture,” Scott interjected, his voice edged with frustration. “Logan’s the real problem here. He’s been acting irrationally for weeks.”

Kurt spoke next, his tone hesitant but sympathetic. “He has not left the mansion in a long time. Perhaps he is… how do you say… getting cabin fever?”

“I personally think Logan is an ass, and that’s not gonna change overnight,” Scott added, drawing a few chuckles. “It’s just his basic instincts resurfacing.”

“Or maybe it’s some kind of twisted mating ritual?” Bobby quipped. “Am I the only one who noticed how they were watching each other during that fight? I couldn’t tell if they were going to kill each other or just have sex on the floor.”

Laughter rippled through the room, and Jean’s voice was the next to cut through. “I think he’s taking it out on E because they’re both such strong personalities. And, let’s face it, they couldn’t be more opposite if they tried.”

Logan and E exchanged a glance in the hallway, a slow, knowing look passing between them. A faint smile tugged at both their lips, underlining the shared triumph. Mission accomplished.

Neither of them said a word at first as they continued walking, their footsteps echoing softly against the polished floors. As they reached the next corridor, Logan glanced around, checking to see if they were alone. Then, with a swift motion, he leaned in and pressed a brief kiss to their cheek, his voice low as he murmured, “See you later, Angel.”

The warmth of his words and the kiss lingered as he turned and strode toward his room, leaving E to stand there for a moment, their fingers brushing the spot he’d kissed. They watched him disappear around the corner before turning on their heel and heading in the opposite direction, a small, lingering smile playing on their lips.

To be continued…

Notes: If you enjoyed it, don’t forget to comment and spread the love 😊 More on the way!

✨ Masterlist ✨

Don’t forget to follow the tags “Devilish Desires” and “xpressit writings” to stay tuned for the next chapters 😁

🔖 @quillycrow

[dizzy-dudd]

🦋 A Star is Born 🌟

On one winter’s night, as the cold wind blew, Meta Knight looks up into the sky atop the towers of Castle Dedede.

“A star shines bright in the skies of the north, prophesying the birth of another astral starborn. It has been a very long time since an event such as this has occurred, when Kirby made their way to this planet during a spring breeze, but that felt like eons ago.

I wonder why the galaxy believes it needs another one of us again, is there another threat that has yet to put our land in peril? Is there a danger that lurks in the dark once more? Whatever it is, it is clear that there is a reason for this occurrence.

I wonder what you will be like when you arrive. Will you be kind and compassionate like Kirby? Will you be strong and heroic like Dedede? Will you be as brave and considerate as Bandana?

Or will you threaten this land once more like dark matter did years ago?

Will you wish to care for and nurture this land? Or will you wish upon its destruction?

Nay, I mustn't let such thoughts plague my mind, I must stand firm and observant in my judgment…

…and yet I just cannot wait for you to arrive, young one.

I raise my mighty blade in the air for you, awaiting the advent of a brand new star.”

Meta Knight ⚔️

Table of Contents | Chapter One >

[queenofshenanigans]

All your WIP concepts sound awesome! How about 🐉, ⚔️, and 👩‍👩‍👦? 🤍🤍🤍

Thank you! And thanks for the ask! (Sharing a bit more than three sentences, but this is Tumblr. Rules don't apply here or something.)

🐉

Steve prized himself on his quick reflexes and general athleticism, but he still he managed to lose his balance and fell straight on his ass as the dragon launched itself out of the closet. The creature took quick advantage of his graceless tumble to snuggle into his arms and let out a content rumble. It was heavier than it looked. “Well. It’s safe to say it doesn’t want to barbecue you.” Steve didn’t have to look up to know that Eddie was holding back a laugh. “Are we sure this is a dragon and not a cat?”

⚔️

Nancy ignored Michael, and called out to the nude man. “What are you doing?” “Trudging,” the man answered, not looking up at them. His voice was deep, and there was something compelling about it. He was tall, pale beneath the dirt, mud and shit, with dark curly hair that had seen better days. Dark ink snaked its way up his arms, and there were other tattoos as well, not something seen on many travelers on the Blooming Road, or for that matter, elsewhere in the realm. He's too thin, Nancy thought, the way most people who walked this road were too thin.

👩‍👩‍👦

Liz hated hospitals, this hospital specifically. Had ever since she was young, and her parents had brought her here to watch her grandmother die. She'd hated it during her labor and delivery with Steve, and through the horrible few days when Steve had been six and needed his tonsils out. She hated it now, fourteen years later as she walked through the long, sterile corridor towards her son's hospital room.

My inbox is still open! WIP WEEKEND!

[scrunckled-idiot]

Heyyyy! :D

this is @scrunckled_idiot (obviously) and ummm… just information about myself here I guess?

About me!

has the incurable bisexual sickness 😔

i am genderfluid so please refer to me with any pronouns you like i really dont mind :3

I like to draw silly little doodles of my favourite fandoms, which is mostly tf2.

I don’t like racists, homophobes, pedos yada yada yada blah blah blah you know the drill ladies and gents.

I’m a bit challenged and I’ll leave it at that.

has crazy procrastination. so if you see a new post, it was probably supposed to be posted a week ago.

i like g/t content cus it makes me feel happy and safe and silly. I hate the fetish stuff because it makes me uncomfortable and I would rather tear off my skin and bathe in salt and freshly cut limes than be associated with it or interact with it.

i do NOT GIVE A FUCK about this "euuugh minors dni" bullshit like dawg DO WHATEVER THE FUCK YOU WANT. I DO NYATT CONTROL WHO SEES MY BLOG. ITS THE FUCKING INTERNET I HAVE MORE IMPORTANT THINGS TO BE WORRIED ABOUT.

FANDOMS I WILL DRAW FOR:

tf2 (obviously)

spooky month

batim/batdr

profile pictures or banners for these fandoms

creepypasta

Favourite fandoms:

Team fortress 2

Bendy and the ink machine/dark revival

Half life

Portal

monkey wrench

amazing digital circus

sonic the hedgehog

spooky month

cuphead

don't starve

favourite musical artists:

weird al yankovic

imagine dragons

the happy fits

rare Americans

the hatters

will wood

jack stauber

mother mother

saint motel

tally hall

cosmo shelldrake

tom cardy

fish in a birdcage

the Orion experience

People i consider family on here because I'm lonely irl

@tf2addictedmann

@melondaskelet0n

@canisxx

@another-delta-lover

@scouts-cosplays

@darkcloudsatnight

@ionlypostmymeemocs

@rainderthesomeone

@tf2-pony

@moon-0f-m4rs

@bluespace-stuff

@circushaven

current ocs! (in order of apearence):

mary hall (the first oc)

Sunny Agafonov

pocket merc

✨my AO3✨

Progress on my current fic: “the pocket merc”

Current word count: dude lots

progress till completion: currently 4 chapters written BUT they were all from 2022-2023 and need to be re written :\

stay tuned!

Think to my YouTube channel where I post animations, memes, and nature videos :3 👇

ASK ANSWER PROBABILITY TEIR LIST!:

🪨common🪨: text posts. one sfm render.

💚uncommon💚: shitty little sketch.

🪻💎rare💎🪻: mini comic.

✨🌟epic🌟✨: polished traditional sketch. 9 page+ comic

⚔️❤️legendary❤️⚔️: gif by me

🎞️🌌mythical🌌🎞️: video by me

tags i own:

#g/t merc shenanigans

#scrunckles collage sketches

#scrunckles fanart

the fanart board 👇

EVRYTIME I GET FANART I GET SO FUCKING EXCITED LIKE- FOR ME??? REALLY??? NOT JOSHING??? YOU LIKE ME TO THE POINT OF CREATING... – @scrunckled-idiot on Tumblr

[thevexinator]

Since Asagiri won't give you Guild content, I will. Headcanons, but they're based on irl facts I found within 5 minutes of googling. [These are just my hcs you can add your own if you wanna]

Louisa May Alcott 💌

- Louisa and Nathaniel are family friends. Irl, Louisa's father was one of Hawthorne's pallbearers [pallbearer - someone helping to escort of carry a coffin]. In the setting of BSD, their families were in close relations due to operating at the same church. Even though Louisa doesn't remember, Nathaniel often looked after her since the older girls [Louisa's older sister Anna and Nathaniel's older sister Elizabeth] were often helping around with the adults.

- She really likes pulp fiction.

- She's knowledgeable about the medical field. The real Louisa was a nurse during World War 1.

- Speaking of war, Louisa is a major history nerd.

Margaret Mitchell ☂️

- While BSD Margaret dresses like what if Mary Poppins was a British aristocrat, the real Margaret Mitchell actually preferred dressing in men's clothes. Thus, whenever she's not on duty in the Guild, she's chilling in something she stole from Nathaniel.

- She's afraid of fire. Why? When Margaret was a child, her clothing ended up catching fire on accident. She's never been the same since.

- She also has driving anxiety. When she was 12, her dad hit a deer on the road. She's never been the same since.

Nathaniel Hawthorne ⚔️

- Generally avoids discourse about the Salem Witch Trials. An ancestor of his played a big part during it, two others were married to women who were accused of being witches. Thus, he added the 'w' to his last name.

- He's surprisingly good with glasswork. When the real Nathaniel and his wife moved into their home, the etched poems into the glass of the windows.

- For a large part of his life, he lived in a commune.

- Occasionally, he sees ghosts. The real Nathaniel once said he saw the ghost of his friend reading his own obituary.

Edgar Allan Poe 🦝

- He's an orphan. He doesn't tell people that.

- He likes being alone. Until he gets the feeling that someone is somewhere in the room with him.

- Insanely intelligent. He knows exactly what he's doing.

- Very weak constitution. One time, when the Guild were all drinking and whatever else they were doing, Poe blacked out after one drink of wine. Everyone genuinely thought someone tried to kill him until they found out he couldn't handle alcohol.

- Unphased. He's seen it all. Death? Child's play. Heartbeat under the floorboards? Normal Tuesday. Corpse falling off the roof? Crazy. Someone walking into the party dressed in red? Standard party etiquette.

Lucy Maud Montgomery 🪆

- Also an orphan. Doesn't tell people about it.

- Very charming. She can flirt. She just chooses not to. She knows she's too powerful.

- Cripplingly depressed. Self-explanatory.

- Has girl nights with Louisa and Margaret, basically a few hours of them doing girl activities. They tried to summon Bloody Mary at least seven times to no returns.

H. P. Lovecraft 🦑

- Lovecraft has monochromacy, a condition where someone can only see in grayscale. This is derived from irl Lovecraft's "The Color Out of Space," essentially Lovecraft's low education being the reason why he didn't know about the electromagnetic color spectrum.

- He's afraid of crowds. He hates it here so much.

- Has epilepsy. The only thing that can stop this eldrich monstrosity in a human trench coat is the average disco party.

- Loves cats. He is so normal about them. Cats run to him like crazy.

- He glows in the dark. Why shouldn't he? He's earned it. He's also deficient in vitamins science hasn't discovered yet. His ankles popping sound like rogue gunshots.

- AroAce. Intimacy is a concept he doesn't understand and doesn't want to.

John Steinbeck 🌳

- He's very much a dog person. His family keeps dogs. His favorite breed is the Australian Sheep dog.

- He was very sick as a child.

- Really into marine biology. [Steincraft fans stay winning.]

- Before the Guild, he worked as a construction worker, newspaper reporter,and caretaker.

- Ironically enough, he has a pollen allergy. It's not severe, just watering eyes and sniffles. He hates it.

Mark Twain 🔫

- So normal about the ocean. He takes Lovecraft and John with him when he goes boating.

- Into geology. He's the guy who collects rocks whenever he's outside.

- Guild game night isn't game night is Mark isn't beating everyone in every board game to ever exist.

- So normal about cats. The real Mark Twain has 19 cats, all with titles like Apollinaris, Beelzebub, Blatherskite, Buffalo Bill, Satan, Sin, Sour Mash, Tammany, Zoroaster, Soapy Sal and Pestilence to name a few. BSD Mark has one ginger cat he adopted off the streets of Yokohama he names Sal, occasionally calling her Sin whenever she's around Nathaniel.

- He almost drowned twice. One would think that would kill his passion for boating, but he baller'd his way out of it.

Francis S. K. Fitzgerald 🪙

- Dyslexic and in denial. Louisa tried to gently bring it up to him that half of his work email was spelled incorrectly, but he was in denial and chalked it up to it being 3 in the morning when he wrote that work email.

- He worked as a screenwriter before the Guild. Coincidentally, he met his wife there!

- He strikes me as a guy who owns a copy of "A Pickle For the Knowing Ones". If you don't know what that is, please look it up. I promise it's worth it.

- Makes too many dad jokes. John and Nathaniel officially want him dead.

- He forgets to sleep. He just forgets. Even though he looks like he died and got resurrected without prior notice and everyone in the Guild is asking him if he had a breakdown, he forgets to sleep.

Hermine Melville 🐋

- At some point in his life, he lived in the Pacific Islands.

- Hiking enthusiast. He likes the mountain terrain a lot.

- His office smells like smoke. No one knows why. It just does.

- Not much about him to be honest. I wish there was more screentime for him. <//3