#⚰️church! | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

museofhis · 1 day ago

Text

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.

“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.

#⚰️ •• 五条悟. ━━#satoru gojo #gojo satoru #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #gojo x reader #gojo smut #jjk x reader #jjk smut #看他对她做了什么，她的眼睛里现在有星星了

133 notes · View notes