#one lives in their own world and refused to look into reality and another is so-

[katyspersonal]

Posting about it like 18 hours late after waking up, but I also had such a strange dream tonight?

In it two of my enemies that worked together against me in reality actually became enemies to one another, and for what reason they did..... One of them crafted some very intricate plan to trick me into thinking I'd get full help for my countless mental troubles, including financial, if I only signed certain papers I got, and the other one disrupted her plan by simply telling me to "trust no one" over a balcony of their.... "house"? Dreams that turn the online into "reality" make little sense but I feel like most people here have them sometimes so you get it probably?

Ironically, I trusted them, and seeing how I clearly was welcomed all of a sudden, went to their place wanting elaboration. (Their house looked exactly like if their blog became a house and it was hysterical) Turned out the other one's plan was to actually not only take all money meant to support my sorry existence away from me forever, but also keep me unemployable since legally I was "helped" or mad shit like that (basically slow, hungry death). And this person turned against their long term "ally" in MY favor because, I quote, "genocide of disabled people is not a joke" gfhtjgugjj We even continued talking a lot about world and people and all other things the other one tried, all while avoiding to as much as address our own grudge.

I really don't know why I'd have a dream like this, it felt so random? It doesn't feel like wishful thinking either. 😕 But it better not be a sign that I've misdiagnosed which one of those two became more malicious in the end, or so help me

[elikajinnie]

P: Vampire!Sunghoon X Human!Reader (Recommended age 18+)

Requested by: @doudouhoon -> request

Warnings: Blood, Violence, Supernatural Elements, Hypnosis, Mature Content, Obsession, Feral Behaviour, Chasing, Blood Consumption, Suggestive Content, Stalking, Murder, Possessive Behaviour.

Wordcount: 10.4k

Synopsis: Life was going smoothly—graduation was on the horizon, and your future seemed set. That is, until the new exchange student arrives. Stunningly handsome and impossible to ignore, he quickly leaves you both captivated and uneasy. Soon, strange occurrences follow. Objects move when you're not looking, whispers fill the air, and at night, you swear you see a pair of glowing red eyes and a set of sharp teeth watching you from the shadows.

a/n: nosferatu ass.... im just kidding! please read the request before commencing!

now playing: the vampire masqurade by peter gundry | bring me to life by evanescence | judas by lady gaga | kill of the night by gin wigmore | haunted by isabel larosa | kiss me you animal by burn the ballroom

True love wasn’t something you believed in—not in this generation, at least. The idea that two souls were meant for each other, so deeply intertwined that they would do anything for one another and never love another? Yeah, right. People these days didn’t know the meaning of love. They were more interested in body counts.

That’s why, every time you watched an old movie where lovers were so consumed by each other that they would sacrifice everything—sometimes even their own lives—you couldn’t help but feel like you were born in the wrong era. The devotion, the passion, the kind of love that wasn’t afraid to burn bright and destroy anything in its path—that was what you longed for. And yet, in stark contrast, your phone would light up with another message, another boy asking you something inappropriate, something empty, something that only reinforced the view of a world that had forgotten what love was supposed to be.

So you were never interested in finding a relationship. Even now, as you were finishing your years at college, you never looked into dating, choosing instead to focus on your studies. It wasn’t that you were incapable of love—you just hadn’t found anything worth your time.

You watched your friends fall in and out of relationships, some getting their hearts broken over people who never deserved them in the first place. You listened to them cry over boys who barely remembered their favorite color, who only seemed to care when it was convenient for them. And you? You refused to be part of that cycle. You had more important things to do than entertain the idea of a half-hearted love.

The only love you entertained was the love from your fantasy romance books—emphasis on the fantasy part. The love stories within those pages were different. They all made reality seem unbearably dull.

It was the kind of love that made your heart ache, not because you had never experienced it, but because you knew you never would. Not in this world.

You would spend nights curled up with a book in your hands, losing yourself in tales of knights vowing their lives to the ones they loved, of immortal beings waiting centuries just for a single touch. You devoured every word, every aching confession. Because in those stories, love was sacred. It wasn’t something people tossed aside when they got bored.

Reality, on the other hand, had never given you anything close to that. Real love—if it even existed—seemed watered down, temporary. A series of situationships, and eventual disappointments. It was nothing like the slow-burn intensity you read about, nothing like the soul-deep connections that had you believing two hearts could truly beat as one.

So you didn’t really expect anything close to love during the rest of your time in college. You had long accepted that romance, at least the kind you dreamed of, wasn’t meant for you.

Love—real, all-consuming love—was a fantasy. And you were done chasing fantasies.

But life had a cruel sense of irony.

Because in what world would something straight out of a fairytale come to life?

Apparently, in your world.

At first, you didn’t suspect anything peculiar about him. He was just another student, another presence in a school filled with people you barely paid attention to. But the more you saw him, the more you noticed. And with that noticing came something else—something strange.

Park Sunghoon. The new student who appeared out of nowhere in the middle of the semester, walking into class like he owned the air around him. He was cold-looking, unreadable, his expression carefully blank as if he had already seen everything this place had to offer and wasn’t the least bit impressed. The type of guy who could sit in the back of the class, say nothing, and still have half the room sneaking glances his way.

You didn’t think much of him at first. Just another student. Just another stranger you’d never utter a word to.

Right?

Yeah. No.

Because, as it turned out, Sunghoon had no plans of leaving you as just another face in the crowd.

You weren’t sure when it started. The way he always seemed to be around, even when you swore you were alone. The way your name rolled off his tongue so easily, as if he had known you for much longer than a few weeks. The way his eyes—cold and indifferent to everyone else—would soften, just barely, when they landed on you.

And then there were the other things. The strange things.

Like how you could’ve sworn you saw him somewhere one night, only for him to act like he had never left his dorm the next day. Like how, when you nearly slipped on the stairs, something unseen had steadied you before you could even react—only for Sunghoon to be standing at the bottom, watching.

Like how he always seemed to know things he shouldn’t.

It was eerie. It was unsettling.

But what was worse was that no one else seemed to notice.

To everyone else, Sunghoon was just the mysterious new guy, someone to admire from afar but never get too close to. He was quiet, reserved, uninterested in making friends. A mystery wrapped in sharp eyes and an even sharper jawline.

But to you? He was something else.

Because it wasn’t just that he always seemed to be around. It wasn’t just that he knew things he shouldn’t.

It was the way he looked at you—like he was waiting for something.

Like he knew something you didn’t.

You tried to ignore it, brushing off the odd feelings, convincing yourself you were overthinking. But then the coincidences started becoming harder to ignore.

Like the time you were walking home late, your footsteps echoing against the empty streets, only to feel a presence behind you. You turned around—nothing. But the air felt heavier, like someone had been there just a second before. And when you finally made it home, locking the door behind you, your phone buzzed with a message from an unknown number.

"You shouldn’t walk alone this late."

Your heart had nearly stopped.

And then there was the time you were in the library, absentmindedly flipping through one of your favorite fantasy books. You barely noticed when someone sat across from you, but when you looked up, Sunghoon was already staring, his eyes scanning the page in front of you.

"You like stories like this?" he asked, his voice smooth, but there was something else in it.

You hesitated. Why did it sound like he already knew the answer?

"Yeah," you replied cautiously. "Why? Do you?"

A slow, knowing smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. "I guess you could say I have some experience with stories like these."

You didn’t know what he meant. Not then.

But soon, you would.

And by then, it would be too late.

Because Sunghoon wasn’t just another student. And he wasn’t just another presence in your life.

He was something else.

You never usually went out at night alone.

Stories on the internet, headlines on the news—they had done a good job of making you paranoid. You weren’t careless. You always had a companion, always stuck to a group, or at the very least, made sure you were in a vehicle when heading home.

But tonight?

Tonight, you weren’t so fortunate.

You were alone.

Your phone was hanging on to life by a thread, the battery percentage blinking in warning. You were still a bit of a walk away from your place, the streets quieter than they should’ve been. It wasn’t that late, but late enough for the usual crowds to have disappeared, leaving behind only shadows stretching long beneath flickering streetlights.

The night had started off fine—you hadn’t even planned to drink much. Just a simple outing with friends, a way to destress. But things hadn’t gone as expected. An argument, some misunderstandings, people leaving in different directions. And now, here you were.

Alone.

You glanced down at your phone, debating whether to risk what little battery you had left and call an Uber. Or a friend. Or even your dormmate—anyone who could come pick you up.

Your fingers scrolled desperately through your contacts, trying to make the most of your dwindling charge. But in your frantic searching, you failed to notice something.

Somewhere between exiting the club and now, the usual crowd had faded. The sounds of laughter and music had dulled into silence. The familiar warmth of bodies brushing past you, the comfort of knowing you weren’t alone—gone.

And it was only when you finally looked up that you realized:

You had walked too far from the club.

The streets, once bustling with life, were now empty. The neon lights that had painted the sidewalk in warm hues felt dimmer, the distant hum of passing cars too far away to comfort you.

A strange chill ran down your spine.

Something felt wrong.

And then—

A presence.

You couldn’t see anyone. But you felt it. The undeniable weight of someone’s gaze pressing against you from the darkness. Watching.

Your breath caught in your throat as you gripped your phone tighter, your pulse beginning to race.

You weren’t alone anymore.

And suddenly, you weren’t sure if that was a good thing.

Your fingers hovered over your phone screen, but suddenly, the numbers and names blurred together, your focus shifting elsewhere.

The air felt heavier. The kind of heaviness that wrapped around you like invisible hands, clawing at your nerves, making your skin prickle with unease. You didn’t hear footsteps, didn’t see movement, but the feeling of being watched was unmistakable.

Slowly, carefully, you turned your head.

Nothing.

Just an empty sidewalk stretching into the distance, streetlights casting long shadows over the pavement, the only sound being the faint buzz of electricity.

Calm down. You were probably just imagining things. Your nerves were heightened because of the situation, your mind playing tricks on you.

Still, your gut told you to move.

Forcing yourself to shake off the paranoia, you tapped at your screen, pressing the contact of the first person you could think of. But before the call could even go through—

A sound.

Close.

Too close.

The distinct scrape of a shoe against concrete.

Your heart nearly leaped out of your chest.

You spun around—again, nothing. The alley beside you gaped like an open mouth, dark and endless, but you saw no one. No shadow, no figure lingering beneath the dim streetlights.

And yet, the feeling of someone watching you remained.

Your breathing grew uneven as panic clawed its way up your throat. Your pulse pounded in your ears as you shoved your phone into your pocket, your fingers trembling slightly. You didn’t care about it anymore—you just needed to move.

Now.

Your feet hit the pavement hard as you turned away, breaking into a hurried pace. You didn’t dare look over your shoulder, didn’t want to see if someone was there. The weight of an unseen gaze still clung to you, making your skin crawl, but you refused to stop.

You just had to get out of here.

The street stretched endlessly ahead, but it felt wrong. No people, no noise, just the emptiness pressing in from all sides. You swallowed hard, your breath coming in uneven gasps.

And then—

A whisper of movement. Not from behind this time.

From ahead.

Your instincts screamed at you to get on the main road. To disappear before whatever was watching you decided to make itself known.

Without thinking, you turned sharply into an alley, the dimly lit path offering an escape—except you didn’t get far.

Because the moment you rounded the corner, you slammed into someone.

Hard.

A gasp tore from your lips as your momentum sent you stumbling backward. But before you could hit the ground, strong hands caught you.

Your breath hitched.

The grip around your waist was firm, steady. And when you looked up, your heart nearly stopped.

Sunghoon.

His face was inches from yours, his cold, unreadable eyes locked onto you. The lights from the street barely reached the alley, casting shadows across his sharp features, but even in the dimness, he looked impossibly composed.

Like he had been waiting for you.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. You were too stunned, too caught off guard by the sudden closeness, the way his hands hadn’t let go yet.

And then, finally, he broke the silence.

"Why are you running?" His voice was quiet, smooth, like he already knew the answer.

Your throat felt dry. Your mind was still spinning from the lingering fear, from the thing you had felt watching you.

"I—" You swallowed. "I thought… someone was following me."

Sunghoon’s grip on you tightened just slightly before he exhaled, his expression unreadable.

"You’re not wrong."

A shiver ran down your spine.

"What—" you started, but he was already moving, already shifting his body just enough to glance over his shoulder. His gaze flickered toward the empty street behind you, his jaw tensing.

"You shouldn’t be out this late," he murmured, more to himself than to you.

And then his eyes met yours again.

"Come with me."

It wasn’t a request.

It was a command.

And somehow, you knew—refusing wasn’t an option.

Your body tensed. Every instinct screamed at you to question him, to demand an explanation, but the way Sunghoon looked at you—the way his gaze was sharp—made the words die in your throat.

"Come with me."

He wasn’t asking. And somehow, deep down, you knew he had a reason.

Your heart still hammered from the chase—or whatever that was. The feeling of being watched hadn’t disappeared, but standing here with Sunghoon, something shifted. It wasn’t gone, but it was different.

Like whoever—or whatever—had been following you wasn’t as eager to approach now that he was here.

Your breath caught. Did he know?

Sunghoon didn’t give you much time to think. His fingers tightened briefly around your wrist before he let go, turning on his heel.

"We need to move," he muttered, already walking.

You hesitated for half a second, but then another wave of unease crashed into you, the prickling sensation of a gaze making the hairs on your arms stand.

So you followed.

The alley stretched into a maze of turns and side streets, leading you farther from the club, farther from where you thought you should be. You tried to memorize the path, but Sunghoon moved too quickly, like he already knew exactly where to go.

"Where are we going?" you finally asked, your voice hushed but urgent.

"Somewhere safer."

"Safer from what?"

Sunghoon didn’t answer.

You gritted your teeth, frustration creeping in. You had no idea why you were listening to him, why you were blindly following someone you barely knew through empty backstreets in the dead of night. But something about his presence, his certainty, kept you moving.

Eventually, he stopped in front of what looked like an old bookstore—one of those places you never really noticed, tucked between taller buildings, its windows dark and uninviting at this hour.

Sunghoon pulled open the door, glancing at you expectantly.

"Inside."

You hesitated, glancing over your shoulder. The street behind you was empty. Too empty.

Your fingers curled into fists as another cold shiver ran through you.

Whatever had been watching you earlier… it was still there.

Without another word, you stepped inside.

The door clicked shut behind you, and with it, the heavy feeling of being hunted finally lifted.

But when you turned to face Sunghoon, you found him watching you carefully, as if you were the mystery, searching for something beneath your skin that even you didn’t know was there.

"Where are we?" you pressed, stepping closer. "Where did you bring me"

But he didn’t answer.

His expression didn’t shift. He didn’t even look like he was considering responding. Instead, he simply turned away, his attention flickering toward the door, as if waiting.

Irritation bubbled up inside you. After everything—the fear, the chase, the unanswered questions—he was just going to ignore you?

You exhaled sharply, rubbing your arms as another chill ran down your spine.

Fine. If he wasn’t going to give you answers, you’d just figure things out yourself.

Your gaze wandered to the window. The streets outside were still. The emptiness from before hadn’t changed—no people, no movement, nothing but the glow of streetlights.

Had you imagined it? The feeling of being watched, of something lurking just beyond your sight?

Your fingers curled slightly as you turned back toward Sunghoon, ready to demand an answer again—

But he wasn’t there.

You blinked.

The space where he had been standing just moments ago was completely empty.

Your heart stuttered.

You whipped your head around, scanning the dark bookstore, expecting to see him a few steps away, maybe wandering between the bookshelves.

But there was nothing.

No sound.

No sign that he had moved.

Nothing.

Your pulse quickened. How? How had he disappeared so silently? The store wasn’t that big—you would’ve heard his footsteps, the creak of a floorboard, something.

And yet, he was just… gone.

A lump formed in your throat.

This was wrong.

This whole night had been wrong.

But before you could turn back toward the door, before you could even think about stepping outside, something inside you—something deep, something instinctual—shifted.

It wasn’t fear.

It wasn’t panic.

It was a pull. A whisper in your bones.

Move deeper into the store.

You hesitated, glancing toward the rows of bookshelves stretching into the dimly lit space. The deeper you looked, the darker it became, the light from the front windows barely reaching past the first few aisles.

Logic told you to leave.

But something else—something stronger—urged you forward.

And before you could stop yourself, your feet started moving.

Your steps echoed softly against the wooden floor as you moved past rows of towering bookshelves. Your mind screamed at you to stop, to turn around and run out of this cursed place. But your body? It refused to listen.

It was like you were being guided, dragged forward by some invisible thread pulling at your very soul.

Your breathing quickened as you passed worn-out seating areas and dusty reading nooks, the air growing heavier the deeper you went. You tried to force your feet to stop, but they kept moving, like you were trapped in a dream where no matter how hard you fought, you couldn’t wake up.

Your heart pounded violently in your chest as you rounded another corner, stepping into an aisle far darker than the rest, the towering shelves casting deep shadows that seemed to swallow everything whole.

Your footsteps slowed as you reached the end of the aisle, stepping into a section that felt… different.

The books lining the shelves weren’t like the others. Their spines were darker, older, some bound in cracked leather with gold lettering that had long since faded. And the titles...

Legends of the Undead. Bloodlines of the Eternal. The Shadowed Ones.

The supernatural.

Your breath hitched as you stepped closer, eyes scanning the books before a sudden thump echoed through the silence.

You froze.

Slowly, you turned toward the sound, your pulse hammering in your ears.

A book had fallen from one of the shelves, lying face up on the floor.

There was no draft, no reason for it to have moved.

And yet…

Something inside you whispered, urging you forward.

You swallowed hard but obeyed, stepping toward the book like you had no other choice.

The cover was worn, the edges tattered from age, but the image printed on it sent a strange chill through you.

A couple.

A woman with wide, longing eyes, and a man who stood behind her, holding her close. But his face—his features—were strikingly sharp. His skin was pale, almost ghostly, and draped over his shoulders was a dark, flowing cape.

And then, you saw them.

His teeth.

Sharp, glistening.

Fangs.

Your stomach twisted as your fingers unconsciously tightened around the book.

A vampire.

Swallowing the unease clawing at your throat, you quickly shoved the book onto the nearest shelf—definitely not the one it had fallen from, but you didn’t care. You just wanted it out of your hands.

Then, without a second glance, you turned on your heel and scuffled your way back toward the entrance, your pulse thrumming in your ears.

You wanted to leave.

Reaching the door, you grabbed the handle and twisted.

It didn’t budge.

Your breath hitched.

You tried again, jiggling it harder. Locked.

Your stomach dropped.

Fumbling, you checked for a latch, a keyhole—something. But nothing worked. The lock wouldn’t turn, wouldn’t shift, wouldn’t so much as budge.

Your chest tightened.

No. No, this wasn’t happening.

You peered outside, but the streets were just as empty as before. No cars, no distant figures, nothing but a dark, lifeless city.

Panic curled around your ribs as you pressed your forehead against the glass.

You were trapped.

A frustrated groan escaped you as you spun back toward the darkened bookstore.

"Sunghoon!" you called out, voice echoing between the shelves.

Silence.

Your throat felt dry as you called his name again, louder this time.

Still nothing.

He had to be here. He had to be.

He wouldn’t just leave you locked inside a bookstore all night… right?

"Sunghoon, where are you? This isn’t funny!"

No response.

Your fingers clenched into fists as you hesitantly stepped between the shelves, your voice growing more frantic each time you called Sunghoon’s name.

The silence was suffocating.

You peeked into one of the sections, your heartbeat drumming against your ribs. The air felt heavier here, like something unseen was pressing against your chest.

And then—

A cold breath ghosted over the back of your neck.

Your body went rigid.

The sensation was unmistakable—icy, deliberate, like someone was standing right behind you.

Your breath hitched as your entire body screamed at you to run. But when you turned around sharply—

Nothing.

No one.

The aisle was empty. Your paranoia spiked. Your mind raced with every horror scenario you’d ever read, every urban legend about being alone in places you weren’t supposed to be.

You had to get out.

"Sunghoon!" you shouted again, your voice echoing through the vast store.

And then—

A soft creak.

Your eyes snapped to the left, where a door—one you were certain hadn’t been there before—slowly swung open.

A dark figure stepped out.

Sunghoon.

He looked… perfectly normal. Calm, even.

His dark eyes met yours, and his lips curled into a small, amused smile.

"There you are," he said casually, as if you weren’t on the verge of a panic attack.

For a second, you just stared, your mind struggling to comprehend the sheer absurdity of the situation. He had just appeared from a hidden door like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Your initial shock quickly turned into anger.

"Are you kidding me?!" you snapped, stepping toward him. "You left me alone in here! The door is locked, and I—" Before you could finish, he reached out and grabbed your wrist.

Gently.

Yet firmly enough that it sent an unexpected shiver down your spine.

"Come on," he murmured, his voice low and smooth. "This way."

Without waiting for your response, he led you through the mysterious doorway.

The second you stepped inside, your breath hitched.

It was another section of the bookstore—except this one felt different.

The air was filled with the scent of old parchment and something faintly metallic. The books here looked ancient, their bindings cracked with age, their pages yellowed and fragile.

This place… it felt untouched. Hidden. Like a secret only a select few were meant to see.

You swallowed, your heart pounding in your chest as you turned to Sunghoon.

"What is this place?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

"The literary section," he answered simply.

Your steps felt heavy as Sunghoon led you through, then without saying much, he stopped in front of an old door, pulling out a small pair of keys from his pocket. The metallic click echoed in the silence as he unlocked it.

You expected to find another dark corridor, or maybe some secret, ancient room filled with more strange books.

But instead…

It led to the outside.

The cold night air hit your face as you stepped out, blinking in confusion. You turned around, watching Sunghoon lock the door behind you.

What even was that place? And how did he know about it?

Before you could ask, Sunghoon gently nudged you toward a sleek black car parked nearby.

"Come on. I’ll drive you home. It’s not safe for you to be out here alone," he said, his tone calm yet strangely... protective.

Your mind was spinning, struggling to process what had just happened. You barely noticed as Sunghoon opened the passenger door for you, guiding you inside before slipping into the driver’s seat.

It wasn’t until the engine roared to life, and the car began smoothly gliding through the empty streets, that you finally snapped out of whatever trance you’d been in.

"Wait, wait, wait," you blurted out, turning to him with wide eyes. "What the hell just happened back there? What was that place? And why do you have the keys to some creepy store that—"

"Calm down," Sunghoon interrupted, glancing at you with that same unreadable expression. "I told you, it’s a bookstore. A safe space."

Your eyes narrowed.

"And what does that even mean? How do you know about it? Why were you even there?"

Sunghoon let out a soft chuckle, as if your panic amused him. "You ask too many questions."

You scoffed. "Because none of this makes sense!"

He glanced at you again before turning his eyes back to the road.

"Some things aren’t meant to make sense."

That only made your frustration grow.

"You’re seriously not gonna explain anything?"

Sunghoon smirked faintly. "I probably just saved you from some creep. You could at least say thank you."

You stared at him in disbelief.

He was avoiding your questions. Clearly.

But the way he spoke… it was like he knew something. Something you weren’t supposed to know.

Who exactly was Park Sunghoon?

The rest of the car ride was filled with silence. The streets blurred past the window as you watched the empty city, but your mind was stuck on Sunghoon.

You stole a glance at him from the corner of your eye. His face was calm, as if none of what just happened was strange at all.

"You’re really not going to tell me anything, are you?" you muttered, breaking the silence.

"Would you even believe me if I did?"

Your brows furrowed. "Try me."

He let out a soft chuckle, but didn’t answer.

Frustration bubbled in your chest, but at the same time...

There was something about him that made your heart race in a way you couldn't explain.

You barely knew this guy, yet it felt like he was pulling you into something that you could not comprehend.

And the scariest part?

A part of you... wanted to know more.

Before you knew it, the car slowed down in front of your dorm.

Sunghoon put the car in park and turned to you. His gaze softened slightly as he spoke,

"Get some rest. It's late."

You hesitated, unsure whether to step out or demand more answers. But something about the way he looked at you left you speechless.

With a sigh, you reached for the door handle and stepped out.

But just as you were about to close the door, Sunghoon’s voice stopped you.

"Sweet dreams."

Your breath hitched as you turned to face him, as he only gave you a small, knowing smile before driving off into the darkness.

You stood there, watching the taillights disappear into the night, your heart pounding in your chest.

What the hell just happened?

Sunghoon was always composed. Always. His life had been shaped by discipline, by the strict standards of his legacy, a lineage built on elegance, refinement, and control. His every move, every glance, was carefully calculated. His desires? Contained.

Except for now.

Now, as his eyes flickered over to you across the classroom, something was breaking inside him. Something he couldn’t control.

You.

You, sitting there, so effortlessly beautiful, your presence radiating something he couldn’t ignore. Something he couldn’t bury, no matter how hard he tried.

You were tempting. The way your hair fell over your shoulder, the curve of your lips as you smiled at your friend, the soft laugh that escaped you when something amused you. It was all too much. And as your scent teased the edges of his senses, it became overwhelming.

He had been keeping his distance, maintaining control, but now—now—it was slipping through his fingers like sand.

One sip. One taste.

He could already imagine it: your blood, sweet and intoxicating, flowing as he licked it from your skin, savoring every drop as if it were the finest nectar.

He clenched his jaw so hard it hurt, trying to suppress the need that burned within him.

You were special.

He had always known it. There was something about you, something different that called to him in ways he couldn’t explain. Something about your blood—it was made for him.

One taste and he would be hooked, he knew it. The craving had only grown since the moment he first laid eyes on you, and now it clawed at him from within.

His fingers dug into the side of the table, the wood creaking under the pressure of his grip.

You were a forbidden fruit, and resisting you was a battle he wasn’t sure how much longer he could win.

His gaze flickered back to you, and his heart clenched, a familiar hunger coiling deep within him.

Oh, how he craved you.

The sound of the classroom around him faded as his attention remained fixated on you, his mind racing with thoughts he couldn’t control. He tried to focus on the lesson, tried to pay attention to the teacher’s voice droning on, but it was useless. All he could hear was the pounding of his own pulse, the quickened rhythm that matched the beat of his desires.

You shifted in your seat, and it was like a jolt to his senses. His eyes followed the movement, the way you tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, the way your fingers tapped lightly on the desk. Each little thing you did, each breath you took, only deepened the ache inside him. It was all too much, and his restraint—once ironclad—was beginning to feel fragile, delicate, like it could snap at any moment.

There was no doubt in his mind anymore; he was losing himself.

I can’t do this, he thought desperately, his grip tightening on the table. But it was futile. The desire was too strong, too consuming.

One sip.

Just one.

He could already taste it—the sweetness, the richness that he knew would flood his senses. He needed it. And if he didn’t get it—he didn’t know what would happen.

His fingers dug deeper into the table, the wood now splintering under the pressure of his growing need. His eyes narrowed as he tried to compose himself. But the more he stared at you, the more the temptation grew.

Control, Sunghoon. You have to keep control.

His entire being screamed for him to act, to close the distance between you two and finally claim what he so desperately wanted. But he didn’t move. He couldn’t.

The bell rang, shattering the tension, and students began to gather their things, but Sunghoon stayed rooted in place, his eyes never leaving you.

You stood, gathering your bag, oblivious to the storm that raged inside him.

He tried to steady himself, fighting against the instinct that begged him to step forward, to take you, to make you his.

But he stayed still, watching you walk out of the room with every ounce of restraint he had left.

Not yet.

Okay, you were officially convinced Sunghoon was a weirdo. After that night in the bookstore, it was like he had some sort of uncanny ability to appear wherever you went. He was always there—just lurking.

And it didn’t stop there. You started seeing him in your dreams. How? You had no clue. All you knew was that those dreams were way too personal to even think about, let alone talk to anyone about. There was something intensely wrong—and yet strangely captivating—about them. And the worst part? You weren’t sure if you were afraid of him, or if you were afraid of what you might feel about him if you let yourself admit it.

So you did what you thought was the logical thing. You avoided him. At all costs.

You tried to keep your distance—barely acknowledging his presence when you passed him, pretending you didn't notice when his gaze lingered too long. But that was when things got worse.

The more you tried to avoid him, the more he seemed to indulge in it. It was like he enjoyed watching you squirm, like he was learning everything there was to know about you with every passing second. You could feel his eyes on you—always.

Every time you saw him, his stare was impossible to ignore.

It wasn’t just a passing glance. No, it was like his eyes zeroed in on you—completely and utterly fixed, like he was searching you. Every time your paths crossed, he didn’t just look at you. He studied you, like he could see something no one else could. His gaze didn’t break, didn’t waver, as if he was trying to memorize every detail of you, every movement you made.

It was maddening.

There was no subtlety to it—his stare was intense in a way you couldn’t explain. It felt like his gaze was undressing your soul, pulling at the parts of you that you didn’t want anyone to see. It was suffocating. You couldn’t breathe when he looked at you like that, as though you were a piece of prey and he was waiting for the right moment to claim you.

You tried to look away, to avoid his gaze, but it felt like you were trapped under his spell. It made your skin crawl, your heart race. And for some reason, you hated the way your body responded to it. How your mind kept spiraling into the thoughts you desperately wanted to avoid.

What the hell was he doing to you?

He was becoming unbearable to ignore, but you really couldn’t do much with him around. It was like he was everywhere.

Around campus. Around the dorms. At the local cafe you frequented. And worst of all, he was in your dreams, invading your nights in ways that left you breathless and disoriented by morning. Every time you woke up, it took everything in you not to curl up and hide from everything in shame.

You were going insane, weren't you? You tried to tell yourself it was just a phase, just some weird, creepy obsession you could shake off. After all, it was easy to dismiss someone like Sunghoon, right? He was weird, and you had every reason to avoid him. But somewhere, somehow, that strategy had backfired.

The worst part?

You didn’t mind it.

At some point, your mind had started craving his attention. The same attention that used to send chills down your spine, that once made your heart race with dread, now made your chest tighten in an unfamiliar way. You started looking for it, hunting for those moments when his gaze would fall on you again, when his eyes would lock with yours across the room or across the street.

And every time it happened, you felt it—this rush of something deep inside you, something almost giddy.

Like you were waiting for it.

And every time it happened—when his eyes found you, when he was close enough that you could feel him but not quite touch him—you couldn’t deny it. Something in you lit up.

You hated it, but you couldn't stop it. It was like you were addicted to it, to him. His attention became a drug you didn’t know how to quit.

Because of these dreams, you hadn’t been sleeping well at all. You’d wake up in the middle of the night, your body slick with sweat, your heart pounding like a drum. The sheets would be tangled around you as you gasped for air, your breath uneven and shallow, the images from your dreams still haunting the edges of your mind.

Every time you woke up like that, you’d look around your dark bedroom, feeling an overwhelming sense of being watched. The feeling would crawl up your spine, creeping into your thoughts until you were certain someone was lurking just beyond the edge of your vision. But when you flicked on the bedside lamp, the room was always empty. Just you. Alone.

Still, the feeling never truly left. It lingered in the corners of the room, under the bed, in the darkened space between your dresser and the wall.

It was always the same. Every night. The dreams. The shame. The emptiness that followed you as you tried to settle back into sleep, but no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t shake it off. It had become a cycle, one that was slowly unraveling your sanity.

And it started to show on you.

You could feel it in your body—your mind was exhausted, and it was taking a toll. You’d fall asleep in the middle of class, your head dropping onto the desk as you fought to stay awake, but failing miserably. Or during lunch, when you would try to sip at your coffee, but your eyelids would feel too heavy to keep open.

But those naps never lasted long.

You’d wake up suddenly, the whispers of your dreams still clinging to you, leaving you disoriented and groggy. Sometimes, you would even jolt awake, your body trembling as if you had been running or fighting for your life. And every time you opened your eyes, you’d be met with the same mundane reality.

It was driving you mad.

You wanted it to stop. You needed it to stop. But it was like a chain around your neck, one you couldn’t remove no matter how hard you tried. The pull of Sunghoon’s attention, the lure of his eyes - it was suffocating you.

But it seemed like Sunghoon's presence was messing with more than just your sleep. The effects were trickling into other parts of your life, too.

The little nap accidents during classes? They were starting to catch up to you. You were behind on your work, falling behind on assignments, and you could feel your grades slipping further and further away. The last assignment had been a disaster, and your professor had been kind enough to give you a second chance, offering extra bonus work to help make up for it.

So there you were, sitting at the local café, long past your usual hours. The light above your table flickered slightly as you typed away, hunched over your laptop, trying to focus on the work in front of you. You knew you had to get it done. You had to show your professor you could pull yourself together, that you were still capable of doing this.

But the longer you sat there, the harder it was to ignore how exhausted you felt. Every line you typed seemed to blur, your thoughts fragmented, the constant hum of the café around you mixing with the dull throb in your skull. Even the smell of coffee no longer held its usual comfort—it just made you feel sick to your stomach.

And yet, you kept pushing through it, knowing that if you didn’t finish tonight, you’d only get further behind.

By the time you finally wrapped up the work and rushed to submit it, the café was closing. The lights were dimming, and the staff were tidying up, cleaning tables and stacking chairs as they prepared to lock the doors for the night. You barely noticed as you walked out, your mind focused solely on the task you had completed, the slight relief of being done with it for now.

The sky had darkened while you worked, the deep blue stretching across the horizon, stars barely visible against the faint glow of the city lights. The streets were quieter now, the hum of cars and chatter from nearby shops muted.

You could feel the cool night air biting at your skin as you walked. And as you pulled your jacket tighter around yourself, you became busy scrolling through your phone, trying to distract yourself from everything.

But then, you heard it.

A sound—disgusting and wrong. A wet, slurping noise, like a dog drinking from a bowl. Only it wasn’t right. It was too sickening, too unnatural.

Your feet stopped moving before you could think. You hadn’t meant to, but your body had reacted on its own. Your eyes darted towards the dark alleyway ahead, and the sound was louder now, almost suffocating. A gut-wrenching instinct told you to keep walking, but something inside you refused. Something dark and curious tugged you closer.

Despite every ounce of your being screaming to leave, you did the one thing you shouldn’t have: you turned on the flashlight of your phone and pointed it into the alley.

Instantly, you regretted it.

The beam of light cut through the shadows just enough to reveal the nightmare you had walked into.

A woman lay on the ground, her body limp and lifeless, eyes wide open and white, her skin a sickly shade of pale. Her blood… it coated the ground around her in a dark pool, soaking into the cracked pavement. And beside her, bending over her body, was a man.

The man… was feeding on her.

He was hunched over her, his face a mess of blood, his mouth smeared with the crimson liquid as he drank from her throat. The wet sounds filled your ears, but what made your blood run cold wasn’t just the act—it was his eyes.

He looked at you.

His eyes were red. Red as the blood he was drinking.

Your heart dropped into your stomach. Your breath caught in your throat as you stumbled back, instinctively trying to move away, but your feet wouldn’t obey. You were frozen, your body rigid with terror.

Then, as if to drive the horror deeper, he parted from the woman’s mangled neck. The blood dripped from his jaw, splattering to the ground, and he slowly, deliberately, ran his tongue over the blood that covered his lips. His tongue was long, unnaturally long, and as he licked the blood, you saw it—

Fangs.

Oh no.

The world spun around you. Your pulse raced as your body screamed at you to run, to escape, but your legs were frozen in place. Every part of you was screaming in panic, but it felt like you were drowning in fear, unable to move.

And in that moment, you were certain of two things.

One, this wasn’t a man.

Two, you were his next meal.

The man’s red eyes never left you as he slowly rose from the woman’s lifeless body, blood still dripping from his chin. He straightened himself, his movements slow, as if savoring the moment. You felt the chill of terror crawl up your spine, your entire body locked in place as you tried to find your voice.

His lips curled into a sinister, satisfied smile, revealing the sharp fangs that glistened under the dim light.

“You…” he murmured, his voice smooth and dark, laced with hunger. “You smell… so delicious.”

Your breath hitched, your body trembling, as his gaze seemed to pierce right through you. It was as if he could see straight into your soul, and his words sent a cold wave of dread over you.

“I can hear your heartbeat,” he continued, taking a step closer, his eyes scanning you as if assessing you. “It’s racing. Thumping so hard, so fast. It’s music to my ears. The way it echoes in your chest… it’s irresistible.”

Your knees felt weak, but you still couldn’t move, paralyzed by fear and the unnatural intensity of his gaze.

“You are a special one,” he whispered, his voice low and intoxicating. “I can see it. Your blood… It will be more delicious than hers. More… rich. I can already taste it in the air.”

You wanted to scream, to run, but the words didn’t come. All you could do was watch as he stepped closer, his presence overwhelming.

“I’ll take every drop from you,” he whispered, a dark chuckle escaping his lips. “Every. Last. One. You won’t be left with a single drop.”

With that, he discarded the woman’s body carelessly, the limp form slumping to the ground with a sickening thud. She was nothing to him now—just a hollow shell. His attention was entirely focused on you now.

You couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think straight.

His steps grew louder, closer, and all you could do was tremble, hoping for some miracle, some way out of this nightmare.

And before you could even process what was happening, a blur of movement shot past you, fast as lightning.

The vampire-man let out an animalistic snarl, his head snapping toward the figure that was attacking him. For a moment, you couldn’t see clearly. It was as though the air around you had thickened, time slowing down. The shadowy figure collided with the vampire, and they tumbled to the ground in a flurry of motion. You could hear the sounds of a vicious struggle, but all you could do was stand there, frozen in fear, completely caught off guard.

In the chaos, your phone slipped from your trembling hand and clattered to the cold ground. You scrambled to pick it up, eyes glued to the scene unfolding before you. The vampire-man hissed, but the figure didn’t back down.

The hissing grew louder, more frenzied. The air seemed to crackle with tension as the vampire-man struggled beneath his attacker.

You couldn’t stay there any longer.

Your heart pounded in your chest as your instincts screamed at you to run, to get away before you became the next target. Your legs felt like jelly as you backed up, tripping over your own feet and tumbling away. You were shaking, the fear gripping you tighter with every step.

A voice—low, urgent—whispered in your mind.

Run. Now.

And that was all you needed to hear. You didn’t need any more encouragement. With everything in you, you bolted, sprinting down the empty street, the sound of your heavy breathing drowned out by the roar of blood rushing in your ears.

You didn’t dare look back.

Not until you reached the safety of the main road, where you collapsed against a lamppost, gasping for air, eyes darting around the empty roads.

What just happened?

Okay, you did not believe in vampires. At all. Count Dracula, Count Orlok, Bram Stoker—everything was just fiction. Fantasy. The stuff of stories, movies, and nightmares.

But what you saw last night? That… you knew it wasn’t some wild hallucination. There was no way your mind could have conjured something so real, so grotesque. You felt it—every instinct screamed that what you witnessed was not just some twisted dream. And you knew that too, because when you returned to the alley the next day, the woman's body was gone.

But the blood—the blood was unmistakable. Streaks of it still marred the ground, dark and congealing under the harsh light of the morning sun. It was a dead giveaway.

Your stomach twisted as you crouched down to get a better look, staring at the stain on the pavement. No body. Just the unmistakable remnants of what had happened.

You wanted to go to the police. Hell, part of you felt like you had to—because this was serious. Someone had been murdered, right there in that alley. You could almost hear the sirens, see the flashing lights of the patrol cars, the officers coming in to take statements, investigate.

But then something in you hesitated.

Would they even believe you? You were certain they’d just look at you like you were crazy. A paranoid college student, half asleep, imagining things. They’d probably tell you it was some late-night prank or a random street fight gone wrong or even accuse you for taking drugs. And what could you possibly say? “I saw a man with red eyes and fangs, drinking the blood of a woman in an alley”?

You winced at the thought. It sounded insane even to you.

What if it was just… something else? Some twisted person? But even then, the red eyes? And the fangs? That didn’t make sense. Not in a world you knew.

So, instead of making the call you needed to, you backed away from the alley, stood there for a moment, staring at the bloodstain on the ground as your heart raced.

Your mind was a proper mess.

You couldn’t ignore it anymore. You had to do something, anything, to make sense of what had happened. So you did what you had to do—you investigated. And you knew where to start.

After classes, you didn’t go straight to your dorm. Instead, you found yourself heading toward the bookstore—the same one Sunghoon had taken you to that one night. There was something about that place, something that made you feel certain that the answers would be there, tucked away among the pages.

As you pushed open the door to the bookstore, the familiar scent of old paper and dust enveloped you. The bell above the door jingled softly, and you were greeted by the sound of a old woman behind the counter, softly snoring, her glasses slipping down the bridge of her nose. You looked at her for a moment, but quickly moved past, not wanting to wake her up.

The store was quiet, with only a few customers scattered around. A woman sat in a chair near the back, completely engrossed in a romance novel—so much so that she probably hadn’t noticed you enter. A man stood near the science section, holding a stack of books, flipping through one, while another man was sorting through books, likely an employee.

But none of them mattered.

You knew exactly where you needed to go, and it didn’t take long for your eyes to find the familiar shelf. You scanned the titles, your pulse quickening as you spotted it. There it was—the same book. You almost let out a small, victorious sound as your fingers closed around it, pulling it free from between two other books.

As your fingers traced the familiar cover, that familiar sense of fascination stirred in your chest. You glanced around the shop, making sure no one was paying you any attention, before you carefully flipped it open.

You opened the book, expecting to find answers—maybe facts, some history, or even some sort of guide that could help explain what you had seen that night. But instead, you were met with something entirely different.

It wasn’t what you had imagined at all.

The first page was full of elegant prose, describing a vampire's longing for the taste of a mortal’s blood, how the scent alone would send him into a frenzy. The words were written with such intensity, each line dripping with yearning, and you couldn’t help but feel an unexpected heat rise in your cheeks as you read on.

The story was not a factual account or even a mythological tale; no, this was a love story. A sensual love story about a vampire and his human. The lines were filled with descriptions of blood—how the vampire wanted sink his fangs into his lovers delicate skin and drink.

Your fingers trembled slightly as you flipped through more pages, the story growing more heated. You felt as if you were intruding on something private. Something you should not be reading. But you couldn’t stop. You were drawn in, unable to turn away.

You felt your breath quicken, and in the back of your mind, a voice warned you that you were treading too close to something dangerous. This book wasn’t just telling a story—it was shaping something in you. Something you didn’t want to face just yet.

You slammed the book shut, heart pounding in your chest, as if you'd been caught doing something wrong. The words on the pages still lingered in your mind, their heat echoing through your thoughts. But before you could shake the feeling off, a voice broke through the haze.

"Can I help you with something?"

You whipped around, startled, to see the man you had noticed earlier—the one sorting through books. He had a gentle yet curious expression, his eyes scanning you as though he were waiting for an answer.

You took a slow breath, trying to calm yourself. "No, thank you. I’m just looking."

He nodded, accepting your answer, but then turned to leave. However, before he could walk away, he glanced back over his shoulder, his voice low.

"If you're looking for something more… to your taste, there’s a literary room in the back," he said, his gaze flicking towards a door. "It's where we keep the rarer collections. The kind of books you might find interesting."

Your stomach dropped at the mention of the door, the memory of that night when Sunghoon had led you through it coming back like a rush of cold water. You quickly glanced at the door, unease crawling up your spine.

"Thank you," you managed, offering a tight smile.

He gave you a nod, before walking away.

You waited until the man disappeared into the next aisle before making your move. With a quick glance around to make sure no one was watching, you slipped toward the familiar door. Your heart pounded as you grasped the handle and slowly pushed it open, squeezing through the narrow gap and quietly closing it behind you.

You wasted no time, scanning the shelves for anything that would point you toward what you were looking for.

"Vampires... vampires..." you whispered to yourself as your fingers traced the spines of the worn books.

Minutes passed, and you found yourself with three books in your arms, each one titled with something related to the creatures of the night.

"The Blood Covenant: Tales of the Immortal"

"Nocturnal Desires: The History of the Nightwalkers"

"Marked by the Moon: The Forbidden Bond"

Your hands tightened around them as you glanced back toward the door. You still had the original book you’d found, making it a total of four. The unsettling feeling in your gut only grew stronger, but so did your curiosity.

What were you even hoping to find? Proof that what you saw in the alleyway wasn’t a hallucination? Or maybe... something that could explain Sunghoon and the strange pull he seemed to have over you?

Taking a shaky breath, you turned toward one of the small, round tables tucked between the shelves and set the books down. You hesitated for a moment before flipping open the first one.

As your eyes skimmed the pages, the words seemed to bleed into your mind, descriptions of ancient creatures who thrived in the shadows, who fed on human blood, who could manipulate and lure their prey with nothing more than a glance.

Your pulse quickened.

Because with every word you read, you realized...

It all sounded too much like Sunghoon.

Of course, it was only a hunch, a theory. Because in reality, vampires shouldn’t exist in this timeline... right? So he could not possibly be..

But there was never any solid proof that they didn’t.

And if the legends were true, vampires could live for hundreds of years. What if... this was one of those rare cases?

You shook your head, pushing the thought aside as you continued skimming through the books. Your eyes scanned the pages, absorbing every detail about ancient rituals, feeding habits, and the hypnotic allure that vampires possessed.

Time slipped away from you faster than you realized, and when you finally glanced at your watch, your eyes widened.

You were here way too long.

Quickly gathering the books in your arms, you slipped out of the room and made your way to the counter. The old woman, now wide awake, adjusted her glasses as she scanned the books one by one. The employee from earlier stood nearby, watching you with mild curiosity.

You paid for the books without much thought, too eager to get out of the shop and back to your dorm to properly dig through what you'd found.

As you turned to leave, the soft chime of the doorbell echoed through the quiet shop, and you stepped out into the streets.

What you didn’t notice, however, was the sneaky glance that passed between the old woman and the employee as you walked away with a bag full of vampire books.

Almost as if... they knew.

It wasn’t that dark outside, but the streets were quiet enough to make you uneasy. The streetlights barely illuminated the cracks in the pavement as you hurried along, clutching the bag of books tightly to your chest.

Your mind was racing with everything you'd read. The idea of vampires living among humans sounded absurd, but after what you'd seen in that alley...

You shook the thought away and picked up your pace.

What you failed to notice, however, was the shadow trailing behind you.

Silent footsteps echoed yours, perfectly in sync. Whoever it was, they were keeping a careful distance, blending into the dimly lit streets like a predator stalking its prey.

You turned a corner, the familiar sight of your dorm building coming into view, and felt a small wave of relief wash over you. Almost there.

But that relief was short-lived as you barely had time to react.

A cold, calloused hand clamped over your mouth, silencing the scream that tried to escape your throat. You were yanked backward, dragged effortlessly into the shadows of a nearby alleyway.

Your heart pounded violently in your chest as you thrashed against the grip, eyes wide and frantic as you tried to make sense of what was happening.

That’s when you saw him.

The man had eyes that glowed a deep, sinister red, and when he parted his lips, you saw them.

Fangs.

Sharp. Deadly. Hungering.

He leaned in closer, his breath ghosting over the sensitive skin of your neck.

You felt like you were going to be sick.

This wasn’t like the scenes from the book. There was no heat pooling in your stomach, no fluttering anticipation.

No, this was wrong.

The fear that coursed through your veins was paralyzing. Your body instinctively fought against him, twisting and struggling with every ounce of strength you could muster — but it was useless.

He was far too strong.

And the worst part?

You could feel it.

The way his cold lips brushed against your skin. The way he inhaled deeply, savoring your scent.

"You smell... divine," he murmured, voice dark and sickly sweet. "So much sweeter than any other human."

Your eyes burned with tears as you squirmed, panic clouding your mind.

He wasn’t going to stop.

He wasn’t going to spare you.

He would drain you dry, leave your lifeless body to rot in this alley, and move on to his next victim without a second thought.

No.

No, you couldn’t let that happen.

Your body moved on instinct as you kicked, elbowed, and clawed at him with everything you had. Your nails scraped against his face, but it was like scratching against stone.

“Stop—” you tried to scream against his hand, your voice muffled and desperate.

But he only chuckled darkly.

"Fight all you want," he sneered. "It only makes your blood taste better."

You felt the sharp point of his fangs press against your neck.

A wave of terror surged through you, and you writhed harder, adrenaline pumping through your veins as you fought tooth and nail to keep those fangs from piercing your skin.

But he was too strong.

You felt yourself slipping, your strength fading...

But before the vampire could sink his teeth in a blur of movement flashed before you, and suddenly the vampire was ripped away from you with inhuman force. You gasped for air as you saw the creature that had been about to kill you now pinned against the alley wall.

And the one who had saved you?

Sunghoon.

His eyes glowed a deep crimson, darker than the other vampire’s, and his fangs were fully bared as he snarled. “You dare touch what’s mine?” Sunghoon’s voice was dangerous, filled with a venom that sent chills down your spine.

The other vampire let out a guttural snarl, his eyes burning with rage as he lunged back at Sunghoon, claws out and fangs bared.

Sunghoon met him head-on, moving with inhuman speed as their bodies clashed. You stumbled back against the cold brick wall, heart hammering as you watched them move like shadows, too fast for your eyes to fully follow.

The sound of hissing and grunting echoed through the alley as Sunghoon drove his knee into the other vampire’s ribs, sending him crashing to the ground. But the creature didn’t stay down for long, leaping back up with blood dripping from his mouth and launching himself at Sunghoon once more.

Sunghoon caught him mid-air, slamming him against the wall with brutal force. The concrete cracked beneath the impact, and the other vampire let out a strangled cry as Sunghoon's grip tightened around his throat.

“Pathetic,” Sunghoon spat, his fangs glistening as he bared them.

The other vampire hissed, struggling against Sunghoon's hold, but he was clearly weaker.

Sunghoon twisted his arm, snapping bone as the creature howled in agony. Yet, even through the pain, the other vampire’s eyes flicked to you — hunger and desperation burning within them.

That only seemed to enrage Sunghoon further.

With a violent shove, Sunghoon threw the vampire to the ground, sending him skidding across the blood-stained pavement.

“Leave,” Sunghoon growled, his voice low and deadly. “Before I tear you apart.”

The other vampire coughed, blood dripping from his lips as he slowly scrambled to his feet, eyes narrowing at Sunghoon, before turning and disappearing into the shadows, limping and defeated.

You stood there, frozen in shock as the alley fell silent once more.

Sunghoon stood still in the dim light, chest rising and falling with heavy breaths, his hair a mess and his clothes stained with a little blood. His fists remained clenched at his sides, the tension still radiating off him as his eyes remained fixed on the darkness where the other vampire had fled.

It was only when he turned to face you that you realized your legs felt weak, the adrenaline leaving your body as reality crashed down on you. Your legs gave out beneath you, but before you could hit the cold pavement, strong arms caught you.

Sunghoon was there, moving with inhuman speed as he wrapped an arm around your waist and steadied you against him. His grip was firm yet gentle, like he was afraid you might shatter in his hold.

"Easy," he murmured, his voice softer now.

Your hands instinctively clutched at the front of his shirt. Your breathing was ragged, your heart racing in your chest as the weight of everything you had just witnessed pressed down on you.

"You... you're really...," your voice trembled as you tried to form the words.

"A vampire," Sunghoon finished for you, his dark eyes watching you carefully, as if gauging your reaction.

You couldn't speak, your mind spinning with fear, confusion, and something dark and magnetic that drew you closer to him.

"I wasn't supposed to get involved," Sunghoon admitted, his gaze falling for a moment. "But when I saw him touch you, I couldn’t... I wouldn’t let him take what’s mine."

Your breath hitched at his words.

Sunghoon’s hand moved to gently cup the back of your head, his thumb brushing over your cheek as he tilted your face up to meet his eyes.

You wanted to push him away, to run as far as you could from whatever dark world you’d stumbled into. But your body refused to move. Instead, you leaned into him, your heart betraying your fear as it pounded relentlessly against your ribs.

"What... what happens now?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Sunghoon’s eyes darkened, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip as he leaned in closer. "Now you stay with me," he whispered, his voice low. "I’ll keep you safe."

You opened your mouth to question, but before you could, his lips brushed over yours—a soft, slow kiss that was strangely gentle.

Your body froze, the kiss a shock that sent heat pooling in your stomach. The feel of Sunghoon’s lips, the dizzying sensation of his touch—it all became too much, too overwhelming. Your breath hitched as his grip on your neck tightened, not in a way that hurt, but in a way that made it clear he wasn’t letting go.

Your hands instinctively clutched at his arms, trying to ground yourself, to steady the rapid pounding of your heart.

Then, as if sensing your sudden hesitation, Sunghoon loosened his hold ever so slightly. His lips parted from yours just enough for you to catch your breath, his eyes searching yours. They weren’t glowing like before, but they still held an intensity that made your stomach flip.

“You’re shaking,” he murmured, his voice softer now. His thumb traced over your jawline in a slow, almost soothing motion. “Are you afraid of me?”

You swallowed thickly, unsure of how to answer. Were you afraid of him? The logical part of your mind screamed yes, you should be terrified. You had just been attacked, just seen something straight out of a nightmare. And yet, standing here in his arms, fear wasn’t what was keeping you frozen in place.

“I don’t know,” you admitted quietly.

Sunghoon’s fingers brushed against your cheek as he let out a slow exhale. “I’ll take you home,” he said after a moment, his voice gentle. “You need sleep.”

You should have protested, but the exhaustion in your body made it impossible to argue.

Sunghoon didn't let go of you as he led you toward the street, keeping his arm firmly around your waist as if he expected you to collapse at any moment.

Your steps felt heavy as you leaned more into Sunghoon’s side, your body weak and trembling. With every step, you could feel his body against yours, and it made your head spin. Being this close to him, his scent filling your senses, his arm wrapped tightly around you — it felt dangerous.

You risked a glance up at him, only to find Sunghoon’s jaw clenched tightly, his eyes fixed ahead. He looked tense, almost strained, like he was fighting some inner battle.

Was it because of what just happened? Or... was it because of you?

Your breath hitched when his grip on your waist tightened for a moment, his fingers pressing into your side as if grounding himself.

“Sunghoon…” you whispered, barely able to form words through the haze clouding your mind.

His eyes flickered to you, and for a brief second, they glowed that same deep crimson from before.

You felt your stomach drop.

He quickly looked away, jaw tightening even more as he swallowed thickly.

“You shouldn’t look at me like that,” he murmured, voice strained.

“Like... what?” you asked, your voice shaky.

“Like you want me to lose control.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

You didn’t know what Sunghoon was holding back, but whatever it was... you wanted him to break. "I-I don't…" you tried to deny it, but the way your body leaned into him, the way your eyes kept drifting to his lips, told a different story.

Sunghoon let out a shaky breath, his grip on you tightening as if he was afraid you'd slip away.

"You don't get it," he whispered, his voice strained. "I’m not… myself. Not around you."

Your heart skipped a beat.

"But you keep coming around me," you murmured. "Why?"

He let out a bitter chuckle, his head tilting slightly as he looked at you. "Because I can't stay away," he admitted, his gaze burning. "Your scent, your blood… everything about you calls to me."

Your breath hitched.

This wasn’t normal. None of this was. Yet, here you were, walking through the streets with a man who quite literally fought off another creature of the night to protect you. And now, he was saying things that sent shivers down your spine — things that should terrify you… but instead, they pulled you in deeper.

You were already too far gone.

Before you could respond, your knees buckled slightly, your body still weak from everything that had happened. Sunghoon caught you effortlessly, pulling you closer to him. His strength reminded you once again that he wasn’t human.

"Come on, let's get you back," he muttered, his voice softer now as he contiouned guided you through the empty streets.

The world around you felt hazy, your mind clouded with too many questions, too many feelings. But one thing was clear — Sunghoon was dangerous. But you couldn’t help but want to know more.

More about him.

More about the darkness he was hiding.

You wanted to know what it felt like to make him lose control.

You were dangerous — too dangerous for Sunghoon.

After that night, when the truth of what he was had unraveled before your eyes, he tried to stay away. He gave you space, expecting you to react like any human would — fear, anger, or maybe the desire to drive a wooden stake through his heart.

But you didn’t.

On the surface, you acted like everything was normal. You went to class, hung out with your friends, and lived your life as if the darkness that lurked beneath the world you knew hadn’t brushed against you.

But Sunghoon could feel you.

He felt the way your heart beat faster whenever he was near. The way your breath hitched when his gaze lingered on you for too long. The way your body, your soul, seemed to call for him, even when your mind tried to resist.

And it pleased him.

Because your body already knew what you refused to admit — that you belonged to him.

He didn’t need to chase you. He didn’t need to lure you in with empty promises or sweet words. No, Sunghoon knew it was only a matter of time before you came to him.

After all, he had chosen you as his human lover.

No.

Claimed.

But it seemed like his fellow brethren of the night did not get the memo.

He felt the lingering stares from strangers in dark corners, shadows that seemed to follow you no matter where you went, even when you were not alone.

Cause they could smell you.

The way your blood called to them, sweet and irresistible. The fact that Sunghoon had laid claim to you only made it worse. Because now, you were not just a measly human.

You were marked.

And vampires were drawn to what they couldn’t have.

It was driving Sunghoon insane.

Every night, he could sense them lurking nearby, watching you with hungry eyes, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. And every night, he fought the urge to rip them apart.

Because if they dared touch what was his...

There would be no mercy.

Yet, the thought of scaring you, of pushing you further away, held him back.

So, instead, he followed you from the shadows, protecting you from the monsters that hid in the darkness.

You didn’t know it yet, but the only reason you were still breathing was because Park Sunghoon had already decided that you were his.

Forever.

You were struggling.

Every day that went by where Sunghoon acted like you didn’t exist made something in you shrivel and cry.

You wanted his attention. But at the same time, you didn’t.

Because this was what you wanted, wasn’t it? For him to stay away from you?

But that was back when you thought he was just some weirdo lurking around campus. Well, you still did. But now, he was a handsome weirdo. And more importantly—a handsome weirdo who could snap your neck effortlessly if he wanted to.

That should have been enough to keep you away. It should have made you relieved that he was ignoring you.

But it didn’t.

Instead, it made your chest ache, made your fingers twitch with the urge to reach for him, made your mind spiral every time you caught a glimpse of him in the distance.

Because no matter how much he tried to pretend you didn’t exist, you could feel it.

His gaze.

He was still watching you.

Still lurking in the shadows.

Still waiting.

And despite every logical thought in your mind screaming at you to run... You wanted him to come back.

You wanted him to come back to you.

To hold you.

To kiss you.

To bite you.

And that insane thought? It all stemmed from that stupid vampire romance book you kept hidden under your pillow.

It really wasn’t your fault.

The words in that book were too tempting, too dark, too lustful.

The idea of something ancient and supernatural desiring a mere human woman with such obsession, such hunger...

It sent shivers down your spine when you’d read the vampire’s point of view—how he’d describe his love, his yearning, his absolute need to have her, to consume her in every way possible.

It made your heart race.

It made your body ache.

And it made you realize...

That was the kind of love you’d craved all your life.

Something dangerous.

Something eternal.

Something that would ruin you.

And Sunghoon?

He was the perfect monster for it.

Every night before bed, you found yourself returning to the book.

Over and over again.

The words blurred together as your eyes skimmed each page, but you didn’t need to read every line anymore—you knew them by heart.

Your bottom lip was caught between your teeth, your fingers trembling slightly as you felt the flutter of hidden butterflies in your stomach.

Your skin would flush, heat creeping up your neck as you read about the vampire’s longing.

And then, when you went to bed only to wake up in the middle of the night, drenched in sweat, your mind would be tangled.

A dream of Sunghoon.

A dream you wanted to experience in real life.

You wanted to feel his touch—the way his fingers would press into your skin, as if he knew exactly where to make you ache.

You wanted to feel his fangs, how they would scrape gently against your neck before finally sinking in, claiming you in the most primal way possible.

And as the fantasy lingered in your mind, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were no longer just reading about it.

You were craving it.

And you were starting to wonder if it was only a matter of time before Sunghoon would make you feel it.

You knew you shouldn’t be thinking this way, but the urge was undeniable. The way Sunghoon had stayed distant—emotionless, cold, and detached—was making something inside of you burn with frustration. You couldn’t stand it. You needed him to crack, to show even a hint of that desire he clearly had for you.

It was maddening how composed he was, how he kept his distance, even though you knew—deep down, you knew—he was just as drawn to you as you were to him.

Vampires weren’t just creatures of the night—they were predators. They thrived on control, yes, but they also thrived on hunger, desire, and need.

But Sunghoon was strong, and composed. Every time you thought you saw a crack in that exterior, it was quickly sealed, leaving you desperate.

You cursed under your breath, frustrated by how easily he resisted. Why couldn’t he just give in?

Wasn’t this what he wanted too?

You didn’t chase, you never did. But there was something about Sunghoon that had your thoughts spiraling. You didn’t want to keep playing this game of push and pull, but you knew that the temptation would soon be too much for him. Vampires, after all, went feral under the right circumstances. And Sunghoon? He was no different.

His control would snap eventually. You were sure of it.

It was only a matter of time.

You just needed to give him that little helpful push.

Make him crave you more than he ever had before.

You had a plan—nothing too drastic, just subtle enough to see if he would slip.

You just needed to tempt him a little bit.

You knew what you were doing. You could feel it in your veins, the heat of the game you were playing, and the temptation building between you and Sunghoon. The subtlety of your actions was a carefully calculated move, a challenge thrown directly at him, whether he realized it or not.

You started small, just enough to get his attention.

You wore shirts that left your neck exposed, the skin just there for him to notice. You let your hair fall just right, grazing your shoulders, drawing the eye. When he would stare—and you knew he was staring—you would play it off, biting your bottom lip or twirling your pen in your fingers like you weren’t aware of the effect you were having on him. But deep down, you knew. You felt the shift when his eyes lingered longer than they should even if he tried to hide it.

And then, you started getting even bolder. In class, you’d casually lean into the guy sitting next to you, letting your laughter sound just a little too loud. You’d let your hand brush against his, acting oblivious to the way Sunghoon’s eyes would flash in your direction. Every glance, every flicker of jealousy you noticed, fed the fire inside you.

You didn’t need to chase him, not really. You knew Sunghoon’s pride wouldn’t allow him to come to you unless you made him. And so, you teased, gently pushing him to the edge without a single word.

Sometimes, you could see the tension in his posture, the way his jaw clenched, or how his fingers tightened into fists when his gaze locked on you. And when you caught his stare, you would give him that smile, the one that spoke louder than words, daring him to break.

It was a game, a dangerous one, and you were playing it to perfection.

You never expected it to happen like this. The tension you had been so carefully building, the game you thought you were controlling, had taken a turn you hadn’t anticipated. And that turn came the moment you stepped out of the cafeteria, your mind still buzzing with the satisfaction of teasing Sunghoon, of drawing him in little by little, only to have him slip into the kind of state you’d been aiming for.

You headed inside to the bathroom, absentmindedly running your fingers through your hair, still riding the high of your victory. You stood in front of the mirror, adjusting your top just a little to make sure it was perfectly placed. You knew Sunghoon had been watching, and the idea of that made your heart race with excitement. You were about to put on a layer of lip gloss when the door to the bathroom swung open with a loud, forceful bang.

You looked up in the mirror, expecting to see another female student—maybe one of the girls from class, who always seemed to pop in to check their reflection—but the sight that met you was far from what you expected.

Sunghoon.

He stood in the doorway, his presence instantly consuming the room. His hair was a mess, the strands messy and wild as if he had run his fingers through it over and over, tugging at it in frustration. His grip on the door was so tight his knuckles were white, and the sound of the door slamming shut behind him sent a wave of tension through the air.

And his eyes.

Those glowing, red eyes. They were locked on you, burning with an intensity that made your stomach drop. The same intensity you had been teasing, pulling at with every little move you made, but now, it was so much darker, so much more dangerous than you could have ever imagined.

His mouth was slightly open, and for the first time, you saw it. His fangs. Long, sharp, and hungry. Your heart skipped a beat.

He looked like a predator on the hunt.

His jaw was tight, his entire body rigid with the effort to hold back whatever was boiling inside of him. But you could tell. He wasn’t holding back anymore. Not with you.

"Sunghoon..." you whispered, your voice barely audible over the pounding of your heart. But the way his name left your lips felt so... different now. Almost like you were calling to a stranger. Something had shifted, and you weren’t sure if you wanted to know what that meant.

He didn’t speak, his lips curling back into a barely controlled snarl, his eyes never leaving you.

You backed up away from the mirror, but it didn’t matter. Sunghoon was already moving toward you, his steps slow but sure, like he was walking toward his prey. You felt your breath catch in your throat, your instincts screaming at you to run. But your body was frozen, captivated by the way he looked at you—like you were both the prize and the challenge.

You hadn’t expected him to break so completely. The way he stalked toward you, the hunger in his eyes, it was almost as if he had been holding onto his restraint just for you. But now?

Now he was done.

"Do you have any idea what you’ve done?" he said, his voice low, the growl in it sending a shiver down your spine. Every word was laced with that dangerous edge, the one you had known was buried deep inside him. And now, there was nothing left to hide it.

You opened your mouth, but no words came out. This wasn’t how you had imagined it. You hadn’t expected him to break now, not when you had just been playing with fire.

But Sunghoon? He was fire.

And now, he was burning everything.

You felt your heart racing, panic starting to surge through you as you kept backing up. "Sunghoon, wait!" you tried, your voice barely steady as you looked around, desperately hoping for some sense of reason to return to him. "This isn’t the right place! You can’t—"

But Sunghoon didn’t seem to hear you. His focus was so intense, his gaze locked on your neck, it was as though nothing else in the world mattered to him.

“Sunghoon, please!” You tried to push him back, your hands pressing against his chest in a weak attempt to stop him, but he was unyielding. With a speed you couldn’t keep up with, he grabbed both of your wrists, holding them in place with a force that left no room for resistance.

Before you could react, he pulled you toward him, dragging you into a random booth, and with a loud click, the door behind you was locked.

The coolness of the booth's wall pressed against your back as Sunghoon backed you into it. His grip on your wrists remained tight, and then, before you could say another word, his lips were on yours.

It was everything you wanted, intense and desperate, with no control. And the feeling of his fangs grazing your lip sent a jolt of something through you.

Then, the sharp pain.

A soft nick from his fangs, and before you could even process it, blood welled up on your bottom lip. And with a quiet, almost satisfied sound, he licked the blood from your lip, his tongue brushing gently against the small wound.

The sensation sent an unexpected rush of heat through your body, but it only intensified the swirling mess of thoughts in your mind.

Sunghoon suddenly pulled back, his eyes filled with desire, as he licked the blood from his lips. A deep groan rumbled from his chest, and for the first time, you saw the full extent of his struggle. His usually composed and controlled demeanor was gone, replaced with a raw, animalistic hunger.

Before you could even process what was happening, Sunghoon’s hand was at your neck, tilting it to the side. You barely had time to gasp before you felt the sharp sting of his fangs sinking into your skin.

Your body tensed in response, but the sensation of his fangs breaking through the surface of your skin was like nothing you’d ever experienced. It wasn’t pain—it was something else that pulled at you, making you feel both afraid and captivated all at once. His lips were against your skin now, and you could feel him drinking, each pull sending a dizzying wave of sensations through your body.

You should’ve been scared. You should’ve pulled away. But the way he held you, the way he drank so deeply, it was overwhelming in the most confusing way. Your mind screamed at you to stop him, to get away, but your body was betraying you, craving his touch, his closeness.

Sunghoon didn’t stop. He drank from you slowly, as though he couldn’t get enough. And in that moment, all you could do was stay still, lost in the pull.

As Sunghoon continued to drink from you, you felt your knees shaking, the strength slowly draining from your body. Every pull burned, everything inside you was on fire. Your whole body was buzzing, alive in a way that was almost too much to handle. You could feel your pulse in your neck, each beat, and with each pull, it felt like your very soul was being drawn into him.

If not for Sunghoon holding you against the wall, you would’ve collapsed on the floor right then and there. His grip was firm, keeping you upright as your legs became too weak to hold you up. You barely had the strength to breathe, your breath shallow as you fought to stay conscious.

You felt every second pass as he drank, the heat spreading through your body, mingling with the growing weakness. His body was pressed so close to yours that you could feel the tension in every muscle, the way his chest rose and fell with each breath, the way his lips moved against your skin as he drank from you. And yet, through all the overwhelming sensations, part of you wanted it to continue. A twisted, needy part of you craved more, even though you knew this was dangerous, that this wasn’t normal.

When he finally pulled away, he huffed softly, wiping the remnants of blood from his chin with the back of his hand. His gaze remained sharp, studying you intently. He tilted your jaw slightly, his fingers firm as he examined the mark he'd left on your neck.

You stared up at him, your mind still dazed, trying to process everything that had just happened. Your pulse still raced, and your body trembled, not just from the draining sensation but also from the lingering heat in your veins.

Without warning, Sunghoon leaned in again, his lips brushing against yours in a soft kiss, gentle, almost hesitant, as if he were waiting for you to pull away. But you didn’t.

His hand, still on your jaw, moved to cradle your face, his thumb gently caressing your skin as he deepened the kiss. There was something both tender and urgent in the way he kissed you now, it made you forget about the chaos of everything else.

For a moment, you lost yourself in it, letting the kiss stretch on, unable to think clearly. You didn’t know where this would lead, what would happen next, but right now, in his embrace, you didn’t feel the need to fight it.

It was only when the reality of the situation began to settle in, and your body started to weaken from the blood loss, that you slowly pulled back, your breath shallow, your head spinning.

Sunghoon’s eyes remained fixed on you, you could feel him still holding on to the edge of control, but only just.

He gently cupped your face, tilting your chin up so you could meet his eyes. “You’re exhausted,” he murmured, his voice soft but firm. “Sleep. You need rest.”

His words were like a soothing balm, and before you even realized it, your eyelids fluttered, heavy with the weight of everything that had happened.

He moved closer, his arms sliding around you to support your frame as you swayed against him. “I’ll take care of you now,” he whispered, his voice barely a breath.

And with that, like a spell, your eyes closed. The last thing you felt was him holding you close.

Waking up to soft sheets after having the best sleep you'd ever had was something you did not expect. More so, you did not expect a heavy arm draped around your waist.

Your breath hitched as you slowly turned your head, only to find Sunghoon lying beside you, his face relaxed and peaceful in sleep. The usual sharpness in his features had softened, and for a moment, you forgot about everything that led you to this moment.

You carefully tried to shift, but his arm only pulled you closer, his face burying into the crook of your neck as he let out a soft sigh. The sensation sent shivers down your spine.

You wanted to try and get up, maybe find your phone and at least get your bearings, because honestly, being this close to Sunghoon was doing something to you.

Your fingers gently tried to peel his hand off your waist, but it was much harder than you expected. His grip was firm like he had no intention of letting you go. You were so focused on your little escape plan that you failed to notice the subtle shift in his breathing or the fact that his eyes were now open, silently watching you.

It was only when his hand suddenly moved, effortlessly flipping you onto your back, that your heart jumped to your throat. Your eyes met his, and the intensity in his gaze made your breath hitch.

“You’re not going anywhere,” Sunghoon murmured, his voice low as he hovered over you.

Your breath caught in your throat as Sunghoon’s face stood mere inches from yours. It was enough to make your head spin.

"I marked you," he whispered, his fingers tracing the faint bite on your neck. "Do you really think I’ll let you go that easily?"

Your mind screamed at you to push him away, to run, to escape this strange pull he had on you. But your heart, your very soul, seemed to crave him.

"I-I just wanted my phone," you stammered, voice barely above a whisper.

Sunghoon's lips curled into a faint smirk. "Your phone can wait."

Before you could respond, he leaned down, brushing his lips softly against your neck, right where his mark was. The sensation sent shivers down your spine, making you grip the sheets beneath you.

"So beautiful," he murmured against your skin.

Your heart pounded wildly as he slowly pulled back, studying your flushed face with a look that made your stomach twist. He looked... satisfied. Like a predator who had successfully caught his prey.

He brushed your hair away from your face, fingers trailing down your cheek, tracing the curve of your jaw, and slowly moving down to your neck. His touch was light, almost teasing, before he traveled lower, fingers grazing over your waist and resting on your hips.

He leaned in, his breath hot against your neck as he inhaled deeply, a low curse slipping from his lips. "You smell so damn good," he murmured, his lips brushing against your jawline as he slowly worked his way down to your neck. "Do you know how hard it is... to resist you?"

Your breath hitched as he inhaled deeply, his fangs grazing your skin ever so lightly, swallowing hard, you tried to inch back, but Sunghoon’s grip tightened as he dragged you right back against him.

"You're being a brat," he muttered, eyes burning into yours. "Denying me when you know exactly what I want."

Your heart raced as his hand kept you trapped against him.

"Why do you keep running from me?" Sunghoon's voice dropped to a whisper, filled with something almost... desperate. "You already belong to me."

Your lips parted to respond, but before you could speak, he leaned in, brushing his fangs against your neck once more.

A shiver ran down your spine as his fangs barely grazed your skin, sending a wave of heat through your body. You could feel your pulse quickening, and Sunghoon, with his heightened senses, could too. He was toying with you, testing your limits, waiting for you to give in completely.

"Please stop resisting," he murmured. "I know what you crave," his lips brushing against your ear. "That burning desire for a love that consumes you. A love that makes you feel wanted... worshipped."

Your breath hitched as his words pierced through every wall you'd tried to build around your heart.

"I've felt your loneliness," he continued, "how hopeless you've been, aching for someone to truly see you. To make you feel alive."

Your eyes fluttered shut as his touch sent shivers down your spine.

"I can be that for you," Sunghoon said, voice low and filled with something dark. "I can give you everything you've ever dreamed of. I'll worship you... as the woman you are. My woman."

Your head spun at his words, your body reacting before your mind could catch up.

"You... you want me that badly?" you asked, barely able to speak.

Sunghoon chuckled darkly. "More than you'll ever know."

Your heart pounded so loudly, you were sure he could hear it. And as much as you wanted to deny it, he was right. You’d unable to resist the pull he had on you.

“I… I’m scared,” you admitted, your voice trembling.

Sunghoon’s expression softened, and he gently tilted your chin so you could meet his eyes.

“Of me?” he asked quietly.

You hesitated. “Of what I’m becoming… because of you.”

His gaze darkened with something unreadable, and for a moment, you thought he might pull away. But instead, he leaned in closer, his lips brushing yours in a barely-there kiss.

“You don’t need to be afraid,” he said softly. “I’ll take care of you. Always.”

And with that, he kissed you fully, this time with more passion and longing. You felt yourself melting into him, all your resistance crumbling as his hands gripped your waist, pulling you impossibly closer.

When he finally pulled back, his breath was ragged, eyes glowing crimson as he rested his forehead against yours. But it wasn’t enough for him. Not even close.

“Please…” Sunghoon’s voice trembled as he slipped down to your neck, his lips brushing against your skin, leaving trails of kisses that sent shivers down your spine. “I need another taste.”

You felt his hands tighten around you as he pressed his body closer, his desperation pouring into every touch, every kiss. “I’ve been holding back… for so long. But I can’t anymore.” he murmured, his fangs grazing your skin.

Your heart raced at his words, and the way he was losing control because of you made your head spin.

“Sunghoon…” you whispered, unsure whether to give in or stop him.

But he groaned softly against your neck, his lips lingering as he begged once more, “Please... let me have all of you."

Your body betrayed you as you tilted your head slightly, giving him access to your neck. And with that silent permission Sunghoon’s fangs pierced your skin just above your collarbone. A sharp sting shot through you before it melted into something strangely euphoric.

Your breath hitched as he latched on, drinking from you slowly, It was nothing like the violent and ruthless feeding from before. No, this was different, it was like he was savoring every drop, as if your blood was the very thing keeping him alive.

Your fingers instinctively tangled in his hair, holding him closer despite the dizziness slowly creeping in. His hands gripped your waist, steadying you as he drank deeper, letting soft groans escape between sips.

You should’ve been terrified. But instead, you felt… wanted. Craved. Like you truly belonged to him.

When he finally pulled back, his lips were stained crimson, and his eyes, glowing with hunger, softened as they met yours.

“You taste... unreal,” he whispered, running his tongue over the fresh puncture marks as if soothing the wound he’d left behind, savoring every drop of your blood as if he couldn’t get enough. The warmth of his breath fanned against your skin, sending shivers down your spine as he licked the remaining crimson from your neck.

When he finally pulled back, his eyes — clouded with hunger — locked onto yours. The sight of him, with blood staining his lips and his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths, made your heart race uncontrollably.

“Sunghoon…” you mumbled, barely above a whisper.

At the sound of his name, a desperate groan escaped him, and before you could react, he leaned in once more. His fangs sank into the soft skin near your throat, sharper and more urgent this time.

Your breath hitched as your body tensed, but soon, that familiar wave of pleasure and dizziness washed over you.

You weakly pulled him closer as he fed from you with a hunger he could no longer control. You felt yourself slipping, your mind clouding, but Sunghoon’s hold on you tightened, keeping you steady against him.

The world outside faded, and all that remained was the vampire who had claimed you, body and soul.

a/n: AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! i love desperate and feral men! whos with me!? :D anyways i hoped you enjoyed reading! reblogs and commentary are welcomed! ^^ (Divider made by @kodaswrld )

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[solxamber]

Lilia, Romantic, Bird of a feather by Billie eilish

I know you said no angst no comfort for this event, but as bittersweet as you could?

It's fine of not, ignore this if it's against the rules

"I'll love you 'til the day that I die" || Lilia Vanrouge

lowkey hurt my own feelings with this, i'm so sorry lilia lovers. (also set pre book 7)

𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐲 𝐕𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐞'𝐬 𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐭

𝐒𝐨𝐧𝐠: BIRDS OF A FEATHER by Billie Eilish

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 720

𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐬: Bittersweet :(

Lilia had always loved like a wildfire—bright, uncontainable, burning through everything in his path. It had always been in his nature to live fully, to laugh like each breath was his last, to tease and provoke and hold the world in the palm of his hand with the confidence of someone who thought he had forever.

But time, cruel and indifferent, had caught up with him. And it was slipping through his fingers like sand.

He had known it from the first moment he had felt his magic begin to wane. A subtle thing, at first—a momentary exhaustion after casting a spell, a hesitation in his once-effortless teleportation. He had ignored it, brushed it off with a smirk and a joke, unwilling to acknowledge the weight settling in his bones. But deep down, he had known.

For a fae, magic was life itself. And once it faded… so did they.

Lilia never told you. How could he? You, with your wide-eyed wonder and your stubborn insistence on clinging to hope. You, who looked at him like he was something eternal, untouchable by the hands of fate. He couldn’t bear to see that light dim, not because of him.

So he did what he always did—he loved you harder.

He laughed louder, even when his throat ached. He held you tighter, savoring the warmth of your touch, memorizing the feel of your fingers threading through his hair. He kissed you deeper, as if trying to imprint himself into your very soul, leaving something behind even when he was gone.

Every smile, every lingering glance, every whispered word of affection was another way of saying, I love you. I love you. I love you.

And you, unsuspecting, simply basked in it. You met his intensity with your own, thrilled by his endless devotion, never once suspecting the desperation laced within it. You thought he was just being himself—bold, dramatic, insatiable in his affections.

You didn’t notice the way his hands trembled when he thought you weren’t looking. The way his eyes lingered on you just a second longer, as if trying to commit you to memory. The way he sometimes faltered, his strength betraying him, before he covered it up with a sharp grin and a teasing remark.

It wasn’t until one evening, when he nearly collapsed after the simplest of spells, that the truth shattered your world.

“Lilia?” Your voice wavered, alarmed, as you reached for him. He caught himself before falling, but it was too late—he had seen the realization dawn in your eyes, the horror, the heartbreak.

“No, no,” he said quickly, grasping your hands, forcing another one of his dazzling smiles. “Don’t look at me like that. I’m still here, aren’t I?”

“But for how long?” Your voice cracked, and Lilia swore he felt his already fading heart crumble at the sound. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

He sighed, his thumb brushing against your knuckles, a sorrowful smile ghosting over his lips. “Because you would have tried to stop it. And, my darling, not even you can fight time.”

Tears welled in your eyes, and you shook your head fiercely. “That’s not fair. That’s not—”

“I know.” He pulled you into his arms, holding you so tightly it was as if he was trying to fuse your souls together. “I know. But if I had to choose between telling you and watching you break, or keeping this secret and having just a little more time like this… I would choose you. Every time.”

You sobbed into his shoulder, and he simply held you, whispering soothing nonsense against your hair, as if that could keep the inevitable at bay.

And yet, despite the pain, despite the cruel weight of reality, you refused to let go. If Lilia wanted to love as fiercely as he could until the very end, then so would you.

For as long as you had him, you would love him just as wildly.

That night, as the stars blinked in the vast sky above, you cupped his face in your hands, searching his eyes for any lingering fear. He only smiled at you, soft and full of something deep, something eternal.

“I love you,” you whispered.

His fingers laced through yours, his grip steady despite the weight of everything left unspoken. “Till the day I die.”

And he meant it.

Masterlist ; Valentine's Event

[alexiroflife]

"my duty to you"

fluff, pining, suggestive themes, kingdom au, (i was inspired by the dynamic in the movie "Epic" w/ queen tara & ronin or this one if yall know what i'm referencing)

bodyguard!toji fushiguro x royalty!reader

Synopsis: toji, a man raised in poverty who has been forced to turn to violence for the sake of survival, finds himself at the princess' side as her personal bodyguard

to sum it up: toji has never been fond of royalty, yet he submits to his responsibility to protect you with passion he has not shown to anything else

WC: 14,242

Warning(s): mentions of trauma, violence, assault, vaguely suggestive themes

Toji knows he was never cut out for an uppity lifestyle.

He’s a gruff man, rough around the edges with an air of dark mystery radiating about him. He has never believed himself to be an attractive man, at least in the realm of those who make women drop to their knees and swoon with romance. He’s more fermented, well-aged, well experienced, and he has the looks of someone who has endured hell and more, not those of a freshly groomed prince blooming in his wake.

Toji, though a man of difficult upbringing, having undergone more of reality’s harsh lessons than almost anyone in this world, has a specific set of skills that comes in handy no matter the setting. He is not a man of incredible wealth, prowess, or poise, but he can associate himself with the likes of those who are by means of what he does, and what he does remarkably well. His talents are the only reason, he believes, why he has been in your service, smack in the middle of your world for teetering into two years now.

Raised in the slums, orphaned by his absent parents, Toji taught himself a way to live. He thinks that he was born hard, when he looks back, for no one else could have survived the way he had after those years of scrounging around for food, desperately searching for change and a decently comfortable pile of grass he could sleep in. As the world grew harsher, pushing against his growing mind and body, Toji pushed back harder, angrier, more solid and more grounded. He was blessed from the moment he entered this earth with unique physical qualities that gave him an advantage when fighting to live, his internal and external mold serving as an inhuman benefit, as though he was meant to struggle the way he had all of his life. As though fighting was his destiny. 

The dark haired man had encountered many different means of keeping himself afloat over the years too, some more grim than others that he refused to look back on. Nevertheless, after the will of the merciless wind had tossed him around feverishly for far longer than he realized would have been normal for anybody else, he understood that his place in this world was to stand proudly as a man capable of unspeakable violence, inept at the art of killing for the sake of his own gain. 

It’s a dog eat dog world. Toji learned this before he even hit puberty, and therefore, he learned what it meant to transition himself into one - a far more gnarly beast than any of the world’s nastiest entities of evil could conjure. If he only had the choice of eating or being eaten, Toji was going to devour before another dog could get the chance to bare his teeth at him. 

Well into his familiarity with his own brutality, his craft honed in and sharpened to perfection and his years of youth having flown by with the snap of his fingers, Toji is recognized by a crowd that he’s despised for as long as he can remember. 

He is in the middle of a boxing match, one of many he participates in for the hell of it and the cash rather than as a profession, when a representative from the palace ogles him from the crowd, standing out as a sore thumb amidst the screaming patrons clinging to the velvet ropes of the ring, drunk off stinking liquors and spit flying excitedly from their mouths in awe as Toji, undefeated, lands a particularly gruesome blow to the face of his opponent. His foe collapses, blood smearing from his crooked nose, and the jade eyed man filled with years of pent up rage and stress, straddles the nearly unconscious man’s torso and plows his fist into his face repeatedly with wild, shrunken eyes and tight lips. 

Toji only takes notice of his visitor in the midst of his abuse, eyes flickering up quickly to mull over the crowd when he finds a terrified face masked in a black cloak, attempting to shrink into the rest of the room. But Toji sees him clearly, a palace ambassador with no place in an underground ring so far from home.

The dark haired man refuses to even look at him as the owner tells him that he has a guest. He unravels the wrap from his stained fists, back tensing. Toji tells him to fuck off, not even having to whip his head around to see who it is. He can tell by his boss’ tone and the silence of the said visitor that he is exactly who he believes him to be. That, and Toji never receives visitors, for the people who are well aware of his reputation stray far away, fearing the worst from his seemingly deadly lust for blood. 

His owner, however, does not turn the man away. Toji understands that he must have been paid a good deal in jewels by this cloaked man to allow him to stay back here, not leaving until he asks for some kind of favor. An agitated exhalation rises in Toji’s chest, heavy eyes tossing over his shoulder to glare at the ambassador. He gulps, trembling hands reaching up to lower his hood.

“The fuck do y’want?” Toji spits.

The ambassador’s hesitant gaze scatters over his bare back, his fists, the scars littering his skin and lip, and the murderous glow in his venomous eyes. He looks terrified for his life, face dotted in beads of sweat and eyes still full of innocent light quivering. “I-I’m here on- on behalf of the King and Queen.”

Toji stills, brows drawing together. The man’s words seem to have an impact on his boss, normally an uncaring man, for he leaves with a swiftness once royalty is mentioned, sworn to silence by hush money. 

Toji scoffs, shaking his head and turning back around to refocus on his task. “You got the wrong guy,” he dismisses. “Now beat it before I kill ya.”

But he doesn’t, standing his ground rather poorly, clearly shaken by the fact that his life has been threatened for what Toji can only assume to be the very first time. He rolls his eyes at the sentiment, at how weak, fragile, and perfectly stupid palace folk are. “S-Sir, please-”

“Sir?” Toji raises a brow, crouching to sit down heavily on his bench, tossing his bloodied bandages onto the ground before him. His abdominals, bulky and intensely defined, ripple with his movements as he slides his towel from his shoulders, swiping it over his skin roughly. “I ain’t no sir, pal.”

The ambassador stiffens, lips pursing together. “Um- Mr. Toji…?”

Toji twists up his mouth at him unimpressed. “Fushiguro.”

“Yes! Y-Yes, Mr. Fushiguro.”

“Christ, it’s just Fushiguro.”

“Oh,” he nods erratically. “Yes, then. Fushiguro,” he clears his throat. “I’m afraid it’s a matter of great importance.”

“Clearly it is to you lot, or else your dumbass wouldn’t be here,” Toji grumbles, settling a hand on his thigh. “I don’t have time for bullshit. You either get to the point, or the King and Queen are gonna be down one messenger.”

Toji is a violent man. He has had to be violent in order to live, in order to eat, in order to sleep, and now in his late thirties, it has become embedded in who he is. Violence is his first response to every circumstance, to every person who approaches him, to every dirty look that he is thrown, to every unknown within this world that has been nothing but greedy, cruel, and selfish to him. 

Even so, he is not always keen on his word when he threatens such things. He knows that if he were to lay a hand on this toothpick, he would be hanged and quartered within the hour, and Toji isn’t too keen on allowing the kingdom dickheads be the reason his life comes to an end after he fought so desperately to even reach past his twenties. This ambassador knows this, and yet, he is still shaking like a leaf as though Toji has any authority over him, because in truth, he does here in his territory, only temporarily. Toji can use the fear he inspires and the intimidation of his capabilities and large frame to attempt to shake a palace ambassador off of his ass, but there is nothing more to his stern words other than a desire to be left alone.

“You must listen,” the little man continues to press. “The King and Queen- t-they send me for the sake of their daughter!”

Toji groans. “I don’t give a shit who they sent you for, you’re barkin’ up the wrong tree.”

“I fear they are fully aware of who they sent me to speak with,” the ambassador’s brows angle with a sense of urgency. Toji, having been bored by the conversation, rubs his fingers over the bridge of his nose and tilts his head tiredly. “N-Not many of us know about the things you do, but I was told to seek out the strongest, and you are… him.”

“What the hell do they want me for? I ain’t got shit for you pricks. Just leave me be.”

“Fushiguro,” he calls again before Toji can stand and turn away. “I understand you may not care about what the kingdom needs, but you are being offered a great deal of money. A generous salary.”

Toji’s ears perk up at this. He rises slowly, sauntering over to the man with slim, suspicious eyes and a taut jaw. Sweat glistens his bare torso, rolled up sweats hanging low on his waist. As he grows closer, the ambassador takes notice of his great size up close, and his eyes widen as he cowers away slightly from the man that casts a shadow over him completely. 

Toji stares down over his nose and tilted chin with a frown. “A salary? From the King and Queen themselves?” he repeats, and the man whimpers a hum in affirmation. “The hell is going on? What could possibly be turning their panties in a bunch to offer a job to someone like me?”

“It’s their daughter,” the man re-emphasizes. 

“Who?”

“The princess!” he says as though it is obvious, a desperate expression taking his features. “She needs security.”

“From what?”

“The King and Queen grow old, and so does the princess. Their reign is coming to an end, and with that, the princess’s life is often endangered by those seeking to take her right to the crown while her parent’s grow less capable of ruling. There’s already been two assassination attempts and one assault attempt within the past few months,” the ambassador explains, severely. “The princess needs someone to look after her, to be by her side as she prepares to rule as queen and as she looks for a husband.”

“And you want me to be her bodyguard?” Toji raises his brows.

“In a sense… yes.”

The dark haired man snorts in the ambassador’s face, the latter deflating at his reaction. “Of all people, you want me?”

“...Yes. That is correct.”

“What, the brat doesn’t have knights or something?”

“None that are capable of what you do.”

“And how the hell do you know what I do? You come to one match and think you're an expert on my life?” Toji grits his teeth, leering down at the poor man. The ambassador raises his hands in defense, stepping back anxiously. “I see everyone and everything that crosses my path. I’ve never seen you before in my life, and all of a sudden now you show up with a job offer from the fucking King and Queen. Gimme a break.”

He walks off, irritatedly throwing his towel in the corner and ripping open his locker on the other side of the room. “You’re right. I haven’t been watching you, but I’ve been asking around town about someone who could fit the role for weeks, and everyone was too afraid to mention you until a few days ago. Since then, I’ve heard stories.”

“People here like to gossip,” Toji murmurs.

“But your name scares people, right?”

“I don’t care what my name does.”

“Fushiguro, please,” he begs. “I don’t believe you are a man who cares about what happens in the palace-”

“I’m not.”

“But you must care about a sense of duty? Of justice? Of compensation, at least?”

“Obviously I care about money more than I do any of the other shit you just mentioned. But you tell me one thing,” his face hardens. “What the hell has the kingdom done for sorry asses like me, huh? Why should I be the one to help them when they haven’t helped me a day in my life? They’re all a bunch ‘a stuck up, frilly airheads stuck in their own bubble of what they think is urgent. So what if the princess gets a little spooked here and there? Maybe it’ll teach her a life lesson about what the world is really like. ‘Cause I’ll tell ya this, the girls where I come from don’t get to have a bodyguard before bad shit happens to them.”

Toji isn’t entirely sure why he is making a point to shame the people at the top when in the end, he knows he is going to take the job. Money, Toji finds, is incredibly valuable where he is from, and considering the hands he has dirtied in the past to get it, this proposal is practically nothing. Still, that doesn’t mean he likes the kingdom any more for their lack of involvement with the lower classes. His morals, which remain very few, go against this proposal he already knows he is going to accept - slaving away for those who made him a slave to gruesome fates, but hell, what can a man really do when he’s at his wits end and unfathomable riches are being presented to him on a silver platter?

He can complain, yes, but nothing can rank higher than the money the palace is practically drowning in. Besides, he doesn’t have to stay, he thinks. He can entertain this little charade for as long as he has enough funds to set him up for life, and then he’ll be out of there. In and out, quick and easy, and this place would never see his face again. 

A grim look befalls the ambassador’s face while Toji rummages through his belongings for his clothes. He is clearly discomforted by Toji’s words, which was the goal the man aimed to achieve in the first place. 

“We can not force you to do anything you do not desire to do yourself,” the ambassador starts, and somehow, Toji senses that the man is lying for the sake of making it appear as though Toji has a choice. “But I implore you to consider. The princess is unlike her parents. She is younger, eager. There is a legacy she must carry and people she must lead. Without her, the entire kingdom collapses. Including your village.”

Toji’s nose twitches. “Maybe that’ll do this shithole some good,” he grumbles.

The ambassador sighs, shoulders slumping. “Please… think about it.”

Toji rolls his eyes, turning and knuckling a hand to his hip. “How much money ‘we talking here, buddy?”

And oh, is the pay fucking obscene.

Toji doesn’t think he’s ever fathomed such grand numbers and jewels in his head, having been restricted by his village’s limitations, but once he hears his pay manifested into reality by a simple verbalization, his guilt trip seizes and he is signing his life away almost happily.

From then on, Toji is bound to the likes of you, his signature scribbled messily over a royal contract and securing him to you from now until your death… at least, that is what the fine print says. His plans, however, differ, and when he has fled from you, he will be hundreds of miles out of the kingdom’s reach.

That is his plan. To run away, but you unfortunately do not make this a very plausible task for him.

After days of training that Toji does not at all listen to, of watching elder royalty turn their nose up in disgust at the way he speaks and carries himself, of hearing murmurs of disapproval as he saunters down red carpeting with the head guard to meet yet another person that he will not remember the name or importance of, of being sworn to secrecy - to only serve as a protective, lethal air of silence and nothing more - to refuse any and all physical or verbal interaction with the woman in his protection, and of being fitted into a stuffy black uniform clad with gold detailing that serves only for show since he would have hardly bothered to lift an arm in that uncomfortable ass thing, let alone kill someone, Toji finally meets you.

And he has to admit that you are not at all what he expects.

Adorned in a regal soft pink gown that crowds from your waist and pools down to the floor, cuffing delicately at your wrists through sheer sleeves and tugging over your torso snugly with a corset, you stand before him in your chambers like an angel gracing earth. Your bejeweled gold crown sits upon your head with complementarity and your ringed fingers clasp each other before your lap. You're decked in what Toji can only assume to be century old gems, necklaces, and chains which he has to physically fight himself from reaching to pluck from your body and run off with. Standing before him, he decides that you are worth at least twenty times more than the almost forty years of life he has spent picking around for specs of funds. 

The thought agitates him. 

While he wishes he can say that he is the only one agitated, he notices a flick of fire in your (e/c) eyes as you size him up, trace your gaze over him with judgment and a pout on your glossed lips. Your presence is almost frightening with power as the two of you stare at each other, him with blank indifference and you with very apparent disappointment. 

When the head guard eventually takes his leave now that you are in the hands of your newly bestowed bodyguard, the door closing behind the two of you as you enter the hall in preparation to go handle your duties, you stop in your tracks, dress ruffling along with you. Toji, who has been told to remain ten feet behind you at all times, freezes like a statue, eying you when you whip your head around to glare at him.

Toji’s heard of elegant aestheticism, of the otherworldly beauty that the royal family carries, but he hadn’t believed it until he sees you face to face - though he’ll admit, he imagined you to appear less… aggravated and more peachy? Light. Dimwittedly sugary.

“Listen up,” you demand, a shocking bass carrying in your tone. You’re dominant, he noticed, or at least you are attempting to be. You stand proud, tall, chin lifted and eyes narrow. This certainly isn’t the picture of spoiled naivety that he imagined you to be previously. “I don’t know whatever the royal guard told you, but I’m not a damsel in need of protecting. I didn’t agree to whatever this is or whoever the hell you are invading my life.”

Toji’s brow lifts in intrigue. You certainly are not what he expected. Not at all.

Encouraged by your tone, his lips quirk up into a subtle smirk. You drag your brows together in confusion, eyes catching the scar that stretches over the right side of his lips. “Do you find me amusing?” you frown.

“A little bit,” the dark haired man responds quickly, leading you to reel slightly in shock. He appears so unaffected by you, and you’ve never encountered a person who hasn’t scrambled to kneel in your presence or nervously abide by any and everything you say. The gaul of this stranger, you think, to stand before you so casually and smile as though your position of authority is some sort of joke.

“I beg your pardon?” you scoff. “You should mind yourself when you speak to me.”

“I’m not paid to speak to you, doll, let alone be sweet on you,” Toji scratches under his jaw, his posture slipping into something resembling his nature rather than that of a rigid guard. His hands find the pockets of his uniform slacks, hardly caring at all how disrespectful the stature appears to you. “In fact, I think you’re bein’ a little rude by tryin’ to strike a conversation with me in the first place.”

“Well, I did not advise you to answer me. I expected you to simply listen,” you state firmly. “Clearly, you are incapable of doing so without having something to say.”

Your comment is snarky, judgmental, and Toji at least finds that you match the idea of snobbiness that all royalty withhold. “If I got somethin’ to say,” he starts. “I’ll say it. You don’t gotta worry about me being untruthful with ya, I’ll tell you that. I’ll give it to ya straight.”

“And how do you think the royal guard would feel about such a thing?” you posed. “If they were to hear even a second of what you are saying to me now, you’d be booted from my side and this palace immediately.”

“And what exactly makes you think that I care about that?” he chuckles, watching you shift with sudden uncertainty. This man does not appear to be swayed by you in the slightest, and it is a bit off putting to you as a woman accustomed to your every beck and call being honored. “I thought you weren’t happy about what the ‘royal guard’ had me doin’. Besides, if you wanted me out, you’re the princess, yeah? You could kick me out yourself. I ain’t stoppin’ ya.”

Your lips tighten, eyes digging further together. His attitude is strange to you as well as his dialect, the manner in which he speaks. Even his appearance is strange, for while he is dressed in your palace’s fabrics, he is drabber than everything around you. And even with this royal clothing, his face and build do not match his suit. 

He has tired bags under his poisonous haze of ivy hues. Dark tendrils of inky hair sprout over his forehead, his ears, and into his sharp gaze. His facial structure is hard, mature with hints of stubble sprouting over his chin, remnants of what you assume to be the guard forcing him to shave. He’s bulky as well, remarkably so. He’s an unnaturally large man, and his muscles bulge against his clothing as though it is going to burst with the raise of his arm. 

His eyes, however, are pools of green you have never seen before - not once in all your twenty seven years of living. While the people that you surround yourself with carry a light in their twinkling gazes sparked by a passion for protecting your throne and the privilege of the lives they lead, your new bodyguard’s eyes are a stark contrast. Even from afar, you can see the exhaustion swirling about them as he looks at you slyly. He’s weary somehow, the windows of his soul revealing a glimpse into his world, into the things he has seen, and that is how you deduce that he is not the same as you. Not at all. 

This observation of yours only gives you more reason to question him.

“Who are you?” you command. “You’re not from here.”

“You must be a smart one,” he quips sarcastically.

You grit your teeth. “Answer me, now.”

“You know my name, darlin’. That’s all you need from me.”

“Not if your princess demands to know your identity.”

“You ain’t my princess, girlie,” he stops you. “You’re my job. And I don’t do a lot of talkin’ on the job.”

You make a noise of displeasure, something between a grunt and a gasp, and Toji only revels in the way he has thrown you off. You sputter, taking a step forward with emotion. “Now you wait just a minute-“

“Princess!” a voice calls for you from around the corner, down at the end of the long narrow hallway by your bedroom door. You quickly swish yourself around into the direction of the address, and Toji watches how your dainty fabrics dance along with you, even long after you have stopped moving. Seconds later, an ambassador appears, peeking his head around the wall. “Are you well? You are needed in the second floor den to review some papers regarding your upcoming coronation.”

Frazzled, you nod unceremoniously. “Yes. Yes, my apologies,” you breathe out. “I am coming. My guard and I were just… I was merely informing him of my expectations here on out.”

Toji would have rolled his eyes at the way you all speak, the sound of it on his ears rather exhausting. He can hardly keep up with the properness of it all. 

“I see,” the ambassador nods. “I shall inform everyone that you are on your way.”

The man leaves, and you take a moment to breathe in and dust yourself off. You murmur under your breath to yourself what Toji can only deduce as assurances and affirmations, little words you tell yourself to keep your rather striking confidence instilled. You clasp your hands once more, bracelets clinking as you regain your composure. Toji stands in silence, watching boredly.

“Whoever you are,” you begin, turning your head to your shoulder so that your voice is audible. “I don’t need you. Despite what my parents say, I manage fine on my own. Keep your distance.”

The green eyed man watches you walk off, forcing himself to begin following at a reasonable pace. His eyes train on the back of you as you trek ahead, and he finds himself lost in his thoughts, formulating his opinion of you.

You do not take to him easily over the course of your adjustment to each other, and neither does he. You find his presence to be a burden as he trails after you everywhere you go, far more invasive and persistent than your knights have ever been. He becomes your second shadow, and while you are accustomed to having been followed around all your life, Toji’s approach is impossible to ignore. 

Even from ten feet away, you feel him there, watching, and it drives you mad. 

He’s light on his feet, for if it weren’t for his obvious mass trekking in your footsteps, at times you would have forgotten that he was even nearby. How someone as big as him could travel so quietly, you did not understand.

And worse than his hovering is how foreign he still is to you. You know absolutely nothing about him, and your parents, who you find to be useless in their aging stupors these days, will not bother to tell you anything about where he is from. It isn’t the fact that he frightens you, per say, despite the rather frightening energy that he emits. You notice the way people stare as he follows your path, how they internally conjure their own ideas about who this ominous figure is and what he is doing in a place so very clearly unfit for his type, but you are not scared. You believe him to be a nuisance more than anything, and if he is there to protect you, you feel you have nothing to necessarily worry about in regard to your own safety. 

In fact, you feel unfathomably secure, though irritated more often than not.

What you seek from Toji are answers. He abruptly appears out of nowhere under the vow that he will be stuck to you like paste to parchment for the rest of your life, and you are expected not to question his arrival? To question his place of origin? To question what he has done to secure a place as the Princess’ bodyguard with no experience in this field? To question what he has done to be trusted by royalty with your life?

It doesn’t make any sense to you, and you feel that it is unfair to be kept in the dark as the future queen in place of your parents. And every time you try to go to him about it, he either ignores you or gives you that cunning smile, scar stretching and lips spreading.

Toji himself is itching to get out of here the second he’s nestled in. He despises the atmosphere, the sneering looks, the air of shrewdness that envelopes him everywhere he turns. You’re an ungrateful thing, and that only makes his job all the more aggravating. You don’t know how good you have it, and yet you look at him like he’s doing more harm to your life than good when he is literally ensuring that you are out of danger’s path.

He studies you from his position ten feet away, watching how you take on tasks and prepare for the day of your coronation, communicating with villagers surrounding the palace walls with a generous grin and a glowing energy about your presence, and how you patiently sit with your parents at breakfast, lunch, and dinner each day as they practically wither away in their seats. You are always so poised and polite in the presence of other people, authoritative and strong, yet when he is alone with you, you’re wallowing in displeasure, throwing him heated glances and clenching your jaw tightly. You find it hard to behave elegantly in his company, and that fact alone gives him some hint of satisfaction. 

But what Toji truly can’t stand above all the waiting that he has to do on you with no sign of action are the meetings you have with princes from far away, seeking to take your hand as their bride and fulfill the role as king. Toji’s found himself biting his tongue more times than he can count when he’s standing with his back pressed to the wall in one of your many tea rooms, the umpteenth shiny haired, pearly teethed virgin bowing his head before you and pompously chanting about all the wonderful things he would bring to your life if you were to allow him to wed you. Toji finds the whole thing ridiculous, for obviously you don’t want to share your crown with another man, especially not a husband, but the unspoken law of your reign requires that you must find someone to stand by your side. And of course after that is done, Toji is still expected to follow you around day in and day out.

And for what? What purpose does this bring him aside from money? He hasn’t even been given his first stipend a month into this little endeavor, and he’s beginning to think that the whole ordeal is a scam, that he had been tricked into a false agreement. He should have known when the guard outright refused to pay him up front beforehand due to their lack of trust in his goals, which in truth was fair, because the Fushiguro would have run for the hills the second he got his hands on those riches. Nevertheless, he’s growing tired of the repetitive tiredness of his routine. He was promised a chance to at least defend your honor by fighting, but despite the King and Queen’s concerns, he has not seen a single threat to your life yet. 

At night, a weight drags down on his chest as he stares up at the ceiling in a daze. He doesn’t know what he’s doing here, how he even came across such a thing. Back home, if the townfolk were to hear about where he had run off to, they’d all laugh. Toji Fushiguro, the man hungry for blood now at the will of the government that destroyed his childhood, his life. What a fucking joke. 

And you’re so perfect, it destroys him. To be serving such a deplorable image of sovereignty, to see your angelic face decorated in breathtaking clothes and to follow you around like a damn puppy with nothing to show for it. In your company, he is reminded of his place, of how much higher you are than he is. Though Toji is a man who has never cared what the higher class thought of him, in your wake, he feels helpless. He wants to say that he is holding out for a better future, that he is doing this for himself, but it doesn’t feel that way. He knows it’s not for him anymore, but for you, and what could you possibly bring him other than crisis after crisis, heart clench after heart clench, and more bubbling, searing aggravation over his place in society?

You are terribly beautiful, and Toji is not. He sees that the more he’s at your side, taking in the way everyone looks at you in comparison to how everyone looks at him. These palace walls are stuffy. They suffocate him, turn him against himself and almost make him forget who he is, and he can not stand it. 

He is convinced he needs to leave in the dead of night, to flee away without a trace left behind, off to a new world with no money and no plan. He believes that it would be a better fate than being stuck here… that is, until he is finally paid.

A monthly salary of a thousand gold and silver pennies combined. He is handed the sack of funds while he is off duty, hours after you have gone to sleep as though the exchange is illegal, and in the privacy of his cabin, his eyes glimmer with the reflection of the money in his grasp. His brow twitches, eyes still and jaw tightening.

He hadn’t believed it to be real before he got his hands on it.

He stares into the bag, into the past years he has spent on his knees crawling for barely even a scrap of this, into the future of tranquility where he can turn to rest without having to bloody his hands for the right to buy a sandwich, into everything he has ever done amounted into far less than one bag of this payment. He’s stupefied with disbelief, with greed, and hurries to escape that very night.

Toji is stripping himself of the bullshit pajamas the guard has sent for him to wear, tucking away the bullshit uniform he’s been snug in for weeks, and stuffing his pay into his beaten bag that he had tossed under his barracks. He changes back into his old clothes, the black shirt that hugs him comfortably and the sweats that pool over his calves, and he sneaks to the door when he pauses.

A glass window breaks just above him, and he whips his head up above. It’s coming from where your room is.

The dark haired man hangs his head low, conflicted. He could go, abandon you and pretend that none of this ever happened. He could go back on his promise to the kingdom, sentence himself to death by hand of royalty if he were to ever be discovered in his new home. He could flee from you, risking the chance of you dying under his protection and run off to live the life he has always dreamed of living, far from home, swimming in gold and silver.

Or he could stay. He could conquer whatever imposing danger he has detected within a half of a millisecond, his senses failing to fool him yet, and save your life. He could keep his promise to this awful society. His promise to you, and remain stuck forever.

Toji is inching out of the door, still pondering, leaning toward the latter hesitantly when a muffled scream rips from the open space of your window that has just been broken in. Your scream.

The dark haired man doesn’t know what takes over him as he drops his bag to the ground and rockets himself through his own window, foot first, to shatter the glass. His hands grip the rim as he flips himself over to face the exterior brick, digging his chipped fingernails into the crevices of the old stone to scale the side of the building that led to your room with swift agility. He claws his fingers into the ledge of your window past the grapple of a rope that was likely used to break in in the first place. A jagged edge of glass cuts his skin, but he hardly feels it due to the roughness of his callouses. 

Toji kicks his feet up and piles himself into your room, rolling onto the floor within a matter of at least five seconds. He rises slowly, chest rippling into his tight shirt as he visually locates what harm is befalling you.

You’re on your bed, kicking out against the cloaked figure hovering over you with a dirtied hand pressing over your mouth, his knees kicking open your thighs and another hand holding a dagger to your throat. A bruise circles the eye of the intruder just above the cloth worn over his mouth, likely a result of your fist to his face.

When you look up and find Toji, your panicked eyes widen in relief, your brows pressed together desperately as you screech out against the attacker’s palm. Your hair, normally so meticulously pinned is sprawled messily over your silk sheets, your satin nightgown threatening to ride up your thighs, ripped at the hims, and sweat pools over your chest as it glistens in the moonlight with each heavy, anguished breath you take. 

Toji’s eyes go dull, his face blank with something horrifying, yet familiar to him. You tremble, whimpering unintelligible sounds as the intruder turns to face Toji with foolish anger. “Get back!” he shouts through his mask. “Get back or I'll kill her!”

The knife’s tip presses further into your chin and you inhale sharply, squeezing your eyes tight and mustering up whatever strength you have left to turn and push away. 

Toji says nothing, staring emptily into your attacker’s eyes.

Toji finds that there is a certain coolness that takes over his body and mind mere moments before he goes in for a kill. He isn’t sure if it's a form of tranquility, or perhaps his fellowship with the act having done so many times over. His eyes gloss ever, and every muscle in his body smoothes out into a relaxed state. He is motionless, still as a sculpture, but his eyes are hungry with rage, flecks of red bleeding into the garden of his IRISES, honing in on his target before he pounces.

You don’t even see Toji move before your attacker is ripped off of you and you can finally breathe, scrambling to press your back to your headboard and stare ahead in horror. You swear you had only blinked, but by the time your teary vision refocuses, Toji is drenched up to his forearm in blood, a curved blade which seemed to manifest out of thin air clutched in his hand. His arm is curved over his mouth, reaching back over his alternate shoulder as though he had just made a slicing motion. His breathing is slow, smooth, and a headless body collapses onto your floor.

Wide eyes of fear-stricken (e/c) stare at the mangled corpse leaking out onto your expensive carpet, and you don’t even notice the splatter of blood that has reached your cheek from Toji’s nimble action. You’re hyperventilating, attempting to gather yourself after having been stolen from your sleep and held at knifepoint, and now suddenly your attacker is dead on the ground. It had all happened so fast. Your head is spinning, and you’re shaking terribly. You can’t even see straight. 

With a heavy exhale, Toji lowers his twitching bicep to his side, tossing his weapon off in the corner with a resounding clang! He rolls his head on his neck, stretching it from side to side and cracking it softly, before opening his eyes to find you. 

You stare at each other in heavy silence, you in grateful, terrified disbelief, and him with the knowledge of how you will react to his violence. He has seen it before. The screeches that follow, the running that ensues.

He waits for it, but… it doesn’t come.

Instead, you just stare at him like a deer in headlights.

He moves to ask if you are alright, to do something to break the air, when your door bursts open after hefty pounds at your door. Your parents and a few guards, who Toji now sees are quite useless, stand in the doorway, wide-eyed. 

Your parents move to comfort you and envelop you in their arms while the guards run to the scene in shock, mulling over the body that lay before Toji. He gets an earful, angry reprimanding about having done such a horrible act right before your eyes, and Toji looks over at you, finding that your eyes are already in him.

You try to speak up and say that he had no other choice, to actually defend Toji in your shaken state, but the authorities around you hear none of it and usher to whisk you away while Toji and a few knights are left to take care of his mess. You look over your shoulder, gluing your gaze to him as you are pulled carefully away. 

By the time Toji is finished, cleaned, and has been lectured by the guard, he finds himself rather exhausted, but all he can think about is whether you’re alright or not. He is told that he can find you in the library on the west wing. He ventures out and reaches the space, finding you seated in a lavish sofa before your fireplace with the room guarded by your father and mother who whisper urgently with more knights. When they look up and see Toji, however, they fall silent and immediately part to let him in. 

He quietly approaches, shutting the door softly behind him. He doesn’t make a sound, but you turn upon sensing him in the room. You’re cuddled into a warm blank that is wrapped over your shoulders, eyes heavy and tears damp. You sit in a sullen state, a still mess.

Toji rounds the sofa to stand far on your left side, body half concealed by the shadows of the unlit side of the library. The fire kindles gently over your face and in your eyes as you stare. Toji thinks that you almost look like a child this way, so vulnerable and disheartened. 

He’s seen things like this happen to women every day at home, only he didn’t always make it to help in time. For the first time since knowing you, he sees the same trauma in your eyes, the glimmer of innocence dimming ever so slightly. 

The dark haired man is not good with emotions, and he knows for damn sure that he will not know how to approach your own. He isn’t even meant to be speaking with you, but something deep in his bones is compelling him to you after witnessing you in such a horrible state. 

It’s his job after all. 

“You hurt?”

The question is gruff, blunt, and you look at him but not with an expectation for more. You sit with your knees to your chest as well, a position he has failed to ever see the Princess herself in. 

Eventually, you shake your head and look back to the fire crackling before you. “No.”

He hums, darting his eyes over you quickly. He sees a thin line of blood on your chin where the blade had been pointed into your skin. “You lyin’?”

You glance at him tiredly. “I am not injured,” you say again.

“Alright. You’re not injured.”

You look down, picking at your blanket as you chew on the inside of your lip. “…Toji.”

“Yeah?”

“Are you an assassin?”

The question catches Toji off guard, almost making him laugh. “That’s a little personal, doll.”

“I believe I deserve to ask right now. Forget the rules, the guards were not there. You were.”

He relaxes. You’ve got a point. “No. I ain’t an assassin. At least not every day.”

“But you have… done that before…”

“How else do you think I got the job?”

“Right,” you mutter as if reprimanding yourself for asking something so obvious. “You’re rather fast.”

He’s unsure where this stream of questions are coming from. You are still mellow, speaking below a whisper, but your eyes are in a different space away from what is before you. 

“Fast’s an understatement,” he mumbles and you give a nod, at least agreeing. “But yeah. I’m fast. Among other things.”

“And how long have you been…?”

“Killing?” Toji concludes the sentiment for you. You clamp your lips, retreating into yourself. “You can say it. It’s not gonna hurt ya.”

“Well, how long?”

Toji shrugs. “A while now I guess. I’m not a killer, but I do what I need to do when I have to.”

You nod, unable to find a verbal response to his words. Your lips purse forward and your eyes still beam into the fireplace in a daze.

Toji crosses his arms. “You scared of me yet?”

You exhale, corners of your lips tugging to the side. “You saved my life,” you say. “I am not scared of someone who has been hired to protect me.”

“That wasn’t really a pretty sight for a princess to see, though,” Toji attempts to reason.

“Yet you were not the man with the knife to my throat, were you?”

Toji falters. Once more, you’re right, but he’s a bit confused. He would have expected you to turn away from him, to reject his violent nature after seeing what he could do. But here you are, complacent with his abilities. Is it because of the shock?

He looks at you closer, but does not see any lingering signs of unawareness, or any stupor that freezes your mind and body. While you still look like you are slightly in a trance, you appear to simply be contemplating instead of suffering from shock. 

How are you so chill about all of this?

“I heard you’ve been attacked before,” Toji says rather bluntly. This makes you peek up, locking your eyes with his steely ones from afar. 

An exhale shakes your body. “So?”

“So?” he echoes with a scoff. “That’s not a big deal to you?”

“I told you before that I did not need you,” you say somewhat gently. “What you have seen tonight has happened more than you think, and will continue to happen in the future.”

“I hate to break it to ya, doll, but it didn’t look like ya didn’t need me. You didn’t really have much of a choice but to let me help you.”

“I have gotten out of those situations before. I could have gotten out of this one.”

Toji looks at you oddly. “Not from where I was standin’, you couldn’t.”

“I’m not weak,” you frown.

“I didn’t say you were. Hell, I saw the black eye you landed on the bastard before I snuffed his ass out,” Toji grumbles. “But you’re the Princess. Fightin’ isn’t your thing, it’s mine.”

“Do not attempt to fool me into thinking you wish to fight on my behalf,” you look him in the eye as you speak. “After all, you believe me to be inexperienced, don’t you? Sheltered. Naive.”

A moment of silence passes as Toji stares at you intensely, face cold. “Yeah. I do,” he admits. “If you’ve seen enough shit I’ve seen, you’d get why.”

Your eyes dance over his face with a pensive expression of patience. Your brows are slightly angled, denting the spaces between them, yet you breathe so deeply that it almost fools Toji into believing you are at peace.

“When I was six years old,” you start abruptly. “A tutor of mine tossed a candle to my head because I could not complete my times tables correctly. The wax and flame burned my shoulder badly when I tried to dodge. I have worn long sleeve gowns since,” you confess.

The dark haired man frowns, befuddled while you proceed.

“My grandmother, who had been heavily involved in my bringing when I was a child, was obsessed with cleanliness. Every night before I went to bed, she would inspect my room to ensure that it was tidy. If a single spec of dust was found on my floor, she would raise the back of her hand and smack me clear across the face. ‘You are a princess,’ she would say. ‘Princesses do not behave like slobs.’ Then she’d make me clean the room all over again. If it was still not to her liking, she would continue to hit me, and so on. I had welts on my body for years. I would try to ask my parents to tell her to stop, but they ranked her authority over my own every time. They believed her to be teaching me discipline. Now I do not sleep at night without inspecting every inch of my room for anything that is out of place.”

Toji’s face smooths slowly into something unreadable as he listens to you.

“When I was seventeen, I learned that men sought to ruin me. Diplomats and countrymen would visit with the same look in their eye when they saw me as I grew, seeking to force their hand to mine. One of them was banished after having been caught throwing himself onto me when I was alone. He left bruises on my arm from gripping me too hard when I tried to run away.”

Toji falters completely now, internally guffawed by your revelations.

“Over the years, I have been beaten, assaulted, and almost killed by those close to me, by those envious of me, and by those who want but can not have me. And now, with the influx of assassination attempts, I can do nothing but what I have been doing all my life; stand strong and kick.”

Your eyes swirl with honesty and grief as they lock with Toji’s pools of torment. “I may not know who you are, nor do I know where you came from or what you have been through, but do not assume that because we do not share the same origins that I am a stranger to the world’s cruelty. The kingdom tricks you into believing that we are a perfect society, when in reality, we are tainted by dark secrets swept under the rug and generational traumas. I have seen enough of reality within these palace walls surrounded by people I am meant to trust, only I do not trust any of them but myself. 

“I can see it in your eyes that you are broken too. You carry yourself in such a way, but do not allow that to blind you from any hardships I have experienced in my life. We are not the same, but I know inhumanity very well.”

Toji, rendered speechless for the first time in a very long time, watches as you lean over and reach to the other side of the sofa for something on the floor. You gradually reveal his satchel, the one he had dropped to rush to save you, and sit it on the cushion beside you. Toji’s eyes widen slightly when the contents of his bag clink together like wind chimes brushing each other in the wind.

“One of the royal guard found this in the hall,” you say calmly, lowering your hand back under your blanket. “I told him to let me hold onto it. That you must have misplaced it. Were you planning to leave tonight?”

Toji exhales, threading his fingers through his hair and glancing over the floor. Still moved by what you had told him about your upbringing, the man finds himself caught off guard once more by your confrontation. You’re smart, he has to hand it to you. Much smarter than he had previously given you credit for.

“Let’s face it,” Toji sighs. “You and I both know I don’t belong here. The whole kingdom knows. This place isn’t where I’m s’posed to be.”

“And still you took the job anyway,” you challenge. “This was your scheme all along? To take off with the first bit of money you acquire from watching over me?”

“Do you expect anythin’ more?”

“I expected you to be wiser,” you admit. 

“I am bein’ wise.”

“By fleeing from the only life of luxury that you have ever known?”

“I don’t live in luxury here, doll. I’m your bodyguard.”

“Even so, your bag is full of enough money to buy yourself a home, and that is only the first monthly payment. That isn't a luxury to you?”

“Luxury, to me, is doin’ what I want when I want it without havin’ to worry about anything else ever again.”

“Then where are you supposed to be?”

“Far from here.”

“You did sign a contract, you know. The guard and my parents would not take well to your abrupt absence. You would be treasoned.”

“Which is why I’d be long gone before they could find me.”

You sigh, turning away. Toji monitors you for a sign of disappointment, of anger, of desperation, but instead you remain indifferent. “I will not stop you if you choose to go,” you say.

Toji cocks a brow, lowering his arms to his sides. “You won’t?”

“You are your own man with your own ability to make decisions. I do not fault you for wishing to leave. I do not know you well enough to do so.”

Toji eyes you harshly, stepping closer and breaking the barrier of a ten foot distance. He approaches the other side of the sofa, peering down at you heavily as if to piece you apart. “You’re just gonna let me go,” he tests. “The hell do you gain from that?”

“Must it be about what I gain?” you ask. 

“I’m just a little shocked you’re not more pissed about this.”

“Toji, I was the Princess before you came and I will continue to be the Princess after you leave. I am not angry about what life you choose to live if it is separated from mine. I do not know what is best for you. That’s for you to decide.”

“And what about your guard?”

“They will be fine.”

“What about you?”

You soften. “I will be fine too.”

His mouth twitches. “I ain’t convinced.”

“Do you wish to leave or not?” you question. “You can not worry for my sake and desire to run away at the same time.”

“I ain’t-“ he stops himself, shaking his head and pressing his hands into the armrest. He wants to deny caring about what will happen to you, but his current hesitation over leaving proves otherwise. “You coulda died.”

“I could have died many times,” you counter. “I always manage.”

“And if one day, you don’t?”

“That will not happen.”

“Yeah, only if I’m there.”

You raise your brows and Toji catches himself, clenching and unclenching his jaw. He glances at his bag and reminds himself of his future, of his plans, of his life, and then he looks back at you, swarming in your wool blanket with such lovely eyes. Free of your jewelry, your crown, and your extravagant gowns and makeup, you look more human. You look softer, and Toji battles a newfound internal conflict - his growing desire to stay. 

Slowly, a soft smile rises to your lips that does not reach your eyes. Your soft skin, aglow by the flames before you, illuminates the warmth of your expression. “Do not tell me you are beginning to feel a duty toward me?”

“Duty ain’t in my vocabulary,” Toji defends, looking away. 

“Then why are you still here?”

He catches the testing look on your face and exhales in weary amusement. “Don’t get smart with me now, Princess. You won’t win that battle.”

“Just make up your mind, Toji,” you tilt your head and toss him a knowing look. 

You carefully shift and maneuver your body around so that you are laying your head on the cushion with your legs curled up to you, Toji’s bag still sitting on your left. The said man’s eyes follow the motion. “What’re you doin?” he asks.

“I’m going to try to get some rest,” you murmur, though you do not close your eyes. You stare ahead in exhaustion, but no urge to sleep comes over you. “You may do as you please. If you are not here in the morning and your bag is gone, I will assume that you have left.”

Toji looks back at his bag, torn. He’s itching to grab it, to swipe it up in his grasp and make a break for it, but there you are. The Princess, soon to be Queen of everything Toji has ever resented, and suddenly he feels a human connection to you. The things you told him, the steadiness of your voice as you spoke, the maturity in your eyes, the hidden, harbored scars, the arrogant will you carry to proceed into this life alone despite your susceptibility to harm… it got to him. 

And when he saw your face as you lay trapped under your intruder, how your body writhed with the involuntary will to fight despite your disadvantage, Toji was taken completely by an urge, a responsibility to protect you. To look after you. To kill for you. 

Therefore, neither of you say a word when Toji moves to pick up his bag and toss it onto the floor. In its place, he sits at your feet and tosses his arms over the back of the headrest, legs sprawled out before him as he watches the fire beside you. 

He stays there until the sunrise, and solidifies his fate.

After that night, Toji feels himself changing. Time goes by and you only grow stronger, approaching your coronation swiftly and taking on the role of Queen with regal pride. Toji finds himself staring at you when he’s by your side, which you have appointed him to after having a tense conversation with the royal guard, resulting in him no longer having to linger ten feet away at all times. He stands rather closely now when it is appropriate to do so, glaring ahead menacingly as he towers over your frame while you conduct meetings or speak with foreign princes and diplomats, who Toji keeps a sharp eye on with the knowledge of what you shared with him about your past interactions. 

He thinks of the pressure that weighs over you, and studies how you harbor so along with your traumas with so much poise. You don’t allow the things you have gone through to weigh you down, to deter your path, and he grows impressed with the strength of your mind. Without such, you likely would not be where you are today. 

Toji becomes one of the very few people you entrust your life with, if not the only person you fully trust to take your life into his hands. Despite his initial plans to leave you, he proves himself loyal to you, standing guard outside your room every night instead of retreating to his chambers and preventing disasters before they even happen. With his keen senses and hawk-like gaze, he catches suspicious figures in crowds, which he can recognize easily due to his upbringing as well. He used to be one of those lurking shadows, stalking packed spaces to find a target, only he was always too swift to be caught. 

Toji now takes to disposing of the people who mean you harm in private, away from your vision. While you are well aware of his capabilities, Toji has a tendency to become borderline sadistic when killing for you. Inspired now by his respect for you and your budding relationship, the honesty in your eyes and the sanctity of your life in his hands, he is more ruthless than he ever has been before in private, and he does not want you burdened by the vision. The guard does not question him, taking to caring for your parents and watching the palace walls while Toji handles the direct threats unto you. No one in the palace questions him any longer, for you have grown close to him and he to you, and the proof of him risking himself time and time again for the sake of you forces all heads away and onto the next thing. 

During the day, he is still and mute, a brick wall of eerie, bulky freight, but at night when you are alone, he’s making you laugh, sharing stories with you about gruesome bar fights he has been involved in and past jobs that have given him a run for his money. You always listen with curiosity, eyes bright with intrigue as a long forgotten book lay in your lap as you watch him, absorbing tellings of a world far from your reach. He does his best to leave out gory details, like the things that tend to keep him up at night, the things he is ashamed of having lived, but you always understand. You can always see more of him than he lets on in his gaze, how he stands and tenses, how he looks away after having held your gaze for too long. 

The dark haired man finds that he has never felt such security that you bring him, that while he keeps you safe, he feels safe in your defense, in your presence, in your path. You ease his mind somehow with your gentle grace and your unearthly beauty, with your loud cackles that he draws from you after dinner when he walks you to your room, a far cry from the contained chuckles you allow to slip when cozying up to someone for diplomatic and political purposes. 

You ease his mind with your warm grins, your soft hands that brush his arm when you get his attention, with the sweet breath that tickles his ear when you lean up to cup your hand over your mouth and whisper something to him. He always has to lean down for you as you reach up on your tiptoes, informing him of a task he must carry out in secret when all he can think about is the shiver that racks his spine when your coo of a whisper flutters directly into his ear. 

Toji does not want to admit that you make him feel strange when he starts to notice the way his chest tightens as you brush past, the air of your perfume lingering in his nose. He does not want to admit that this foreign warmth he now feels takes over his entire being, melting his hardened soul after he believed it to be beyond repair. He does not want to admit that he recognizes this feeling as love solely because he has never felt it before, never experienced the visceral pump of his blood into his heart or the honeyed comfort that slips into his understanding of lust. He does not want to admit that you attract him as more than someone he wishes to ravish, but as someone he has come to cherish deeply. 

He does not think it affects his job, for he has been at your side for nearly a year when you are finally appointed Queen and he still performs incredibly well. He stands at the upper corner of the grand hall, diamond chandelier twinkling brilliantly above your head in your wake as you inch your way down the aisle and up the purple velveted carpet. The kingdom watches you in awe, your gold encrusted gown dragging delicately over the floor, manicured hands clasped before you as you approach with your chin high and your chest puffed. You are a vision of artistry, of indescribable, unfathomable beauty, and Toji knows he loves you when he catches himself smiling gently as he watches you graze the room like fresh dew beaming on a crisp, sunlit morning. 

There is no sign of an attack when your new crown is placed upon your head, thanks to Toji and the word of his talents spreading like wildfire across villages, lands, and kingdoms alike. The entire world by now must know of the Queen’s bodyguard, who sticks to her side like glue and wipes out anything that even thinks of creeping into her path. His reputation proceeds him once more, yet now, he is proud of who he has become. He is proud, now, that he is killing for the good that is you, a woman deserving of every goodness that comes to her in this world, instead of for his own survival.

You do not marry. You refuse once you gain the power to deny the visiting of any more suitors, much to Toji’s relief. He had never been a fan of watching men kiss your feet, take your pretty hand in theirs and look you in the eye with a bent knee. He would have killed them all if you had not frowned upon so, for he did not believe anyone to be as deserving of a woman working to rebuild the economy for the sake of Toji’s village and all those who suffered along with him with such compassion and selflessness, not even him - as much as he cared for you.

Somehow, Toji’s duty to you triumphs over his desire for you. While he struggles, he respects you more than he has respected any human being in his life. His job is to make sure that you live, and that you do so peacefully and happily. You have transformed him into a noble man, and how you did so, he barely knows. What he does know, however, is that he loves you as much as he honors you. You are his Queen, he is your bodyguard - your right hand. He would never interfere with the boundaries set between the two of you, with the responsibility he has to you. 

Consequently, he stubbornly pushes away the telling looks that you share with him, your eagerness to jest, to press your touch to him and feel you near him, to remind yourself that he is still there. 

He knows. He sees it in your eyes, the unspoken yearning, the reason why you do not wish to marry anyone else, and you know that he knows, but he says nothing. He breaks his gaze away, he guides you back with a gentle hand to your waist and upper arm, and he leaves you every night, redrawing the line, keeping you at such a close distance. 

It’s been two years. The two of you now know one another better than you’ve known anyone, and Toji has been with you through thick and thin, through the death of you parents, the conflict with the council over the uncertainty regarding a future heir, your silent fatigue that only shows itself at the end of the day when no one else is looking and it is only you and him as he bids you good night. He’s seen it all, and you have seen him just as clearly. 

Tonight is no different as you enter your room sluggishly, sinking into the edge of your bed as you gaze ahead, an emptiness in your eyes. Toji stands at your door, examining you sternly. You look beat, aged by the years and the burden of ruling. The veil of composure lifts from you, and you slump, gown crowding over the floor and your aching feet, which dangle over the bed. 

Wordlessly, the dark haired man sighs and closes the door behind him. Within a second, he is kneeling before you, calloused hands grazing over the many layers of your gown to delicately cup your ankle. His touch pulls you back to reality and you look down, brows curling ever so subtly.

Toji cradles the back of your ankle and grips the stem of your glass heel. He slowly glides the cramping footwear from your foot, setting it to the side once it is free from its confinements. You watch him with ardor swelling in your gaze, his hands so rough when handling others, smoothing over your skin as though you are fragile.

He moves to your other shoe and glances up when he catches you staring in that way that makes his heart ache. “What is it, doll?” he murmurs, the nickname he bestowed upon you once condescendingly having stuck in a sweeter, more genuine manner. 

You don’t answer. You only gaze gratefully, tiredly, while Toji sets your other shoe to the side. He stays down on his knee, looking up at you. 

“You alright?” he asks and you sigh deeply. 

“You are the only person in this world I feel I can be myself with,” you eventually say earnestly, gently. Toji blinks, shifting slightly and nodding slowly.

“Back at ya,” is all he can manage to say under your loving stare. He almost feels suffocated by the way your eyes swallow him whole. “I get what you mean.”

“Everyone is just so-” you lift your hands in an attempt to physically depict what you want to say, but the words fail you and your arms stall in the air. “So-”

“Shitty?” Toji fills in with his own words for it, and you smile with a light giggle.

“Yes,” you drop your hands to your lap. “Shitty.”

Toji chuckles, the sound of you cursing still so funny to him. “Don’t I know it,” he agrees. He looks over your gown before back into your eyes, preparing to stand. “I’ll go call for the maids so they can’t get you outta this thing. You need to sleep.”

“Don’t,” you shake your head the second he moves to get up. He stops, sinking back down. “Not right now. I don’t want to see anyone else but you.”

Toji clenches his jaw, your words so sweet it kills him. “Don’t you wanna change? You get cranky in this thing after dark,” he jokes. 

“I know,” you say. Something flickers in your eyes as you look over his figure, a hint of desire swirling into weariness. “You do it.”

Toji furrows his brows. “What?”

“I want you to help me out of my dress instead,” you whisper. The green eyed man thinks he must have heard you incorrectly, his eyes going wide as he registers your request. “There’s nightgowns in that dresser over there. Bring one to me.”

“(Y/n),” he warns, heart fluttering and skin flushing over his chest. “I’m not gonna do that. It’s not right.”

“Why not?” you press. “As your Queen, I am giving you a task.”

“Yeah, but-” he scoffs, shaking his head. “I’m not gonna strip ya. That ain’t… I won’t do that.”

“Toji,” you lean forward, lids heavy over your eyes. You call his name sternly, yet still so quietly, and he can not help but bide by your will each time his name slips from your tongue in such a way when you need him. “I am asking you to help me. It is not wrong if it is what I want.”

“It’s wrong ‘cause I’m your bodyguard, not your-”

His words die in his throat before he can finish his sentence. “Not my what?” you mumble.

He gets lost in your gaze, in your scent, and he is struggling to find the words. His face is tense, brows knitted and lips curled, his scar creasing along with them. “I’m not in any place to do this stuff. You know that.”

“You are because I say that you are.”

“Anyone ever tell ya you can be a little cocky?” he smirks lightly to sway the mood. 

“Yes,” you roll your eyes. “You have.”

“Oh, that’s right,” he snickers. “Well, you are.”

“Stop trying to change the subject. Help me out of this dress.”

“Doll-”

“Now.”

Toji exhales, for he finds that he has no other choice once you have made up your mind about something. He pushes himself to his feet and stands over you, holding his hand out to you. “C’mon,” he mutters.

You slip your dainty handy into his palm and allow him to pull you up gently to your feet. Your face meets his chest, his height never failing to shock you up close, and when you look up he’s already peering down at you with heavy eyes. 

“Show me how to undo this thing,” he says impatiently under his breath, and you can tell by his hastiness that his nerves are jumping.

“I will, but you need to take your time. It’s fragile,” you whisper and he nods slowly.

“Alright.”

“Can you remove my jewelry?”

He inhales sharply. “Alright,” he says again.

You turn slowly, moving your hair out of the way to expose your neck to him. He grits his teeth, seeking some sort of self control as his fingers move to unclasp your many chains of expensive necklaces. His knuckles brush your skin, and he watches as bumps ghost over your neck after he has touched it. 

Your scent invades him as his hands lower over your shoulders to bring your necklaces down from your chest. His chest bumps against your back accidentally, brushing over your shoulders, and you both twitch at the contact. God, he feels like a teenage boy, losing himself over breathing you in. 

You tell him to go place the necklaces on their stand on your armoire, then to find a nightgown for you to wear. Toji feels weak, rifling through your clothes as though it is a sin to even be seeing them. Your silk fabrics smooth over his fingers before he pinches one into his hand and brings it to lay out on your bed. 

“Now, see the string tying my corset in the back?” you ask over your shoulder, Toji humming distractedly when he locates it and stands behind you again. “Unravel it.”

As though entranced by your demand, he does, despite every voice in his heading screaming in protest. He should not be with you like this, the Queen, so privately in your room lit daily by the kiss of candlelight and swarmed by the scent of patchouli incense and your damned perfume. Toji’s head feels hazy, thick digits tugging at your string and drawing it out slowly, watching as the ribbon unfolds and drapes down your train.

“Now what?” he murmurs.

“Loosen it so I can take it off.”

“Heh?” he scrunches his brows, looking over the weaving of the lace between your corset. 

“Just peel either side of the corset back,” you clarify. “Now that it’s untied, it will come apart.”

He obliges with uncertainty, cautiously tugging back either side of the thick fabric, the lace stretching and pooling over your back. “Okay, I’m going to raise my arms so you can pull it over my head.”

“Jesus, this thing is so damn extra.”

“Be quiet and just do it.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

You lift your arms into the air and Toji catches the way your curves peak out. His eye twitches as he pulls the corset over your head, off your arms, and from your body. A second corset, thinner and more form fitting, graces your waist and exposes your bare back to him, as well as the healed burn on your right shoulder that you told him about so long ago.

He clears his throat, setting the outer corset onto the bed with his fingers stilling on your hip. “What now?” he asks.

“Do the same with the rest. This one’s connected to the bottom part.”

“...What about your… uh…”

“There’s another layer under it, don’t worry,” you assure him. “Why? Is my fierce and scary bodyguard nervous?”

“Don’t even,” he grumbles and your shoulders shake with a silent laugh.

The ruffle of your clothing fills the air as Toji works his fingers through the second set of lace, loosening it and pulling it from your body. You slide your arms from the thin straps of this layer and allow Toji to drag the fabric down. His eyes train on the way it smooths over your frame, a nude colored set revealing as he pulls, pulls, pulls until the fabric is pooling around your ankles.

All that you are covered in now is a hoop cage over your hips and sleeveless underwear the same shade as your skin tone that holds you sinfully tight. Toji’s heart is in his ears and the blood in his body is surging out everywhere, including toward his crotch. He’s biting down on his teeth so hard as he holds your arm and helps you step out of the net like framing for your gown, breaths labored.

Your dazzling (e/c) hues catch his as his hand lingers on your waist and your arm, his figure now before you again. He keeps a tough facial expression, but his eyes yet again give him away as he coolly takes in your body, the way your cleavage pools out of your garments and your skin milks into a breathtaking glow. 

You feel his thumb swipe over the curve of your back, experimentally caressing the space as his other hand slides up your arm and over your shoulder. His thumb touches your chin, reels back hesitantly, then touches again, sliding delicately over your cheek. You welcome the contact, your hands raising to press against his lower abdomen as he lingers over you, so closely, so intimately. You can feel his abdominals, rigid and tense, contract beneath your palms though they are barely touching him, and you look down at how small your fingers look pressing into the wall of his stomach. 

“Doll,” he murmurs, voice gravelly and husky as it breathes out. You hum, lashes fluttering when his hand slides to hold the entire side of your face. He melts before you, your beauty so striking that it almost scares him, and nothing has ever scared Toji Fushiguro before. “You need to get to bed.”

“In a bit,” you mutter, gaze wandering over his lips and back up to his eyes. You sink into him, inching closer until he’s surrounding you, swarming you. “Stand with me like this longer.”

“I can’t stay here much longer. You know that.”

“What I say goes. I say you can.”

“(Y/n).”

“No,” you breathe, shaking your head as he looks over your features softly. “I do not care.”

“Well, I do,” he says, brushing a piece of hair gently from your forehead. You lean into his palm, a soft pout on your lips. “I’ve got one job, and that’s to keep you safe, y’understand?”

“And that is all this is?” you murmur, eyes darting over him. “That is the only reason you protect me? Because it is your job?”

He tilts his head slightly, smoothing his hand up and down your spine as you push yourself closer to him. Against his better judgment, against his instincts, he allows you. Even if just for a moment. Even if he never gets to feel you this way again, so plush against him, yearning and wistful.

“You know that ain’t true,” he tells you.

You bring your hands up, smoothing them up to his chest and you coo. “So stay,” you beg. “Please.”

“You’re killin’ me, y’know that?” he exhales, his nose brushing against yours as you close in on him, just centimeters away from his lips. 

He holds you, shares the same breath as you, and in this moment he forgets about the barrier between you. He forgets where he came from, he forgets what your role in this world is, he forgets his duty to you and how complicated it is that it has now molded into some emotional connection. He forgets that you will need to marry one day to continue your legacy, that he himself is not a King nor a man of royalty, that he was born of hate and abandonment while you were born to be something. He forgets, as your warmth consumes him and the taste of you is so close he can smell it, that he could never take your relationship beyond what it already is. That he is not, and never has been, a man made for love yet somehow you have fooled him into believing that he is made for loving you.

“Why are you fighting me,” your eyes close, fingers inching over his shoulders and arms wrapping around his neck.

“‘Cause I can’t let myself do this to ya,” he grumbles.

“Why?”

“Stop asking me questions.”

“Do you love me?” 

The question is a heated gasp against his mouth, and Toji, no longer harboring the willpower to push away from you, can only respond honestly.

“Y’know I do.”

Your fingers tangle into his silky black hair and his hand brings your faces together. “Then stay.”

“Okay.”

Your lips feel like a fluff of cloud melting into his, the rich, sugary taste of your mouth clashing into his own. You’re soft against his hard body as you crush into him, swooning and sinking as though you no longer have the strength to stand and he is catching you, bringing you to him as though it is the last time he will ever touch you in such a way, the last time he will ever have the privilege of tasting your sacred mouth.

Toji is a rough man, but he handles you gingerly, gradually as he savors you for everything his life has ever been worth. You overstimulate him with your mind numbing squeezes and the gentle sounds of satisfaction that slip from your throat into his. Toji thinks he can die blissfully happy as he encircles you, ravaging your lips with hard brows and a fuzzy mind. He crowds over you, so tall and big that you have no choice but to succumb to all of him in his embrace. He overpowers you, and you adore it, ruffling messily through his locks as his hands wander your hips generously, appreciatively, lovingly. 

He guides you back, leaning over with his hand firm to your back to ease you onto your bed, lips still locked. His body is thinking for itself as his lips swarm you, tongue gliding into yours and searching every space of your cavern. You arch into him needily, sensually, and Toji pushes further though remaining mindful not to hurt you. He wouldn’t dare. 

Your thighs lift to crowd his torso as he curves down into you, hovering over your gorgeous body. His lips crash into your cheek, over your jaw and down your neck, sliding his tongue hungrily over your skin with heady groans. Your lips part and your head tosses back onto your sheets, hushed gasps and contented sighs spilling from you, and even the noises you make are as angelic as you are. 

His large hand cradles your head as he ducks down to care for your chest, hot lips sucking over your skin like he is enjoying a meal. Your hands tighten in his hair, his mouth easing you into astounding pleasure before his lips are back on yours, more desperate, more lustful. 

“Toj…” you moan and he grunts into you, arms caging you beneath him and lower half pressing into your own. Your blurry eyes peer past strands of his hair as he consumes you, kisses you, worships you. 

“Yeah, darlin,” he exhales into your mouth as your bodies writhe against the barrier of clothing. “Talk t’me. What is it, my girl?”

“Do not… mmm, don’t leave me. Not tonight,” you plead in between weighted kisses.

Toji pulls back to look you in the eyes, hands exploring all over you. “Nothin’ could take me from you now, doll,” he swears, pupils enlarged and shrinking the green expanse of his eyes. “I’ll take good care of ya, promise. I swear on m’life. I got you, baby, I got ya.”

You whimper and his lips find yours again, kissing into you his promise of devotion.

Toji swaddles you with love for hours on end, into the early morning, molding marks of his loyalty over your stomach and down your legs, kissing over your scars, and pulling release after release from your core. He’s tender, firm but soft as he makes love to you and molds the shape of him into your essence. Imprints of your fingernails into his skin and your teeth marks into his shoulder encourage him to drag every moan, every ounce of fluid from your body. And god, you feel better than Toji could have ever envisioned. You’ve ruined him with your passion, with your pretty entranced gazes and your loving kisses, your insatiable need for him to give you more and for yourself to give him more. You’re sweet. So sweet, and Toji loves you more than himself, therefore he promises to give you what you want tonight and to return to his responsibility tomorrow.

It is his duty to you after all, to protect you, to love you from afar.

[ghstyles]

For Worse or For Worse

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. WC: 4.7k .

. Masterlist .

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Harry's living room looked like it had been hit by a controlled explosion. Half-empty mugs of tea on every surface, notebooks with torn-out pages scattered across the floor, guitar picks in places guitar picks had no business being. He hadn't let the cleaning service in for weeks, preferring the solitude of his mess to the judgment of strangers.

When the doorbell rang, he ignored it, continuing to pluck absently at his guitar. The doorbell rang again, more insistently this time, followed by the unmistakable sound of a key turning in the lock.

Harry sighed. Only four three people had keys to their his house

Y/N, Jeff, his security head...and his mother.

"Harry Edward Styles!" Anne's sharp voice cut through the stillness, followed by the click of her heels on the marble entryway. "What on earth—"

She stopped short as she entered the living room, taking in the chaos and her son's disheveled appearance with equal measures of shock and dismay.

"Good God," she muttered, picking her way through the debris toward him. "It smells like a pub in here. When was the last time you showered?"

Harry didn't look up from his guitar. "Nice to see you too, Mother."

Anne wrinkled her nose, moving a pile of clothes from an armchair before perching on its edge, as if afraid to fully commit to sitting in the squalor.

"This has gone on quite long enough," she declared. "Jeff says you're refusing to approve the divorce announcement. The longer you wait, the more speculation builds. People are already commenting on how you haven't been seen together in weeks."

Harry's fingers stilled on the strings. "I'm not discussing this."

"You're acting like a child," Anne snapped. "This is exactly what we wanted, what you wanted. The girl is gone, the contract fulfilled early, and the money well spent considering how much good press you got out of playing house."

Harry's jaw tightened, his knuckles whitening around the neck of his guitar. "Don't."

"Don't what? Don't remind you that this was a business arrangement from the start? Don't point out that you're moping around like a lovesick teenager over a marriage that was never real? You're being ridiculous, Harry. This was never meant to be permanent. It was a business arrangement, nothing more. A transaction that has served its purpose."

Harry's jaw clenched as he set the guitar aside with deliberate care, as if afraid he might otherwise throw it.

"Is that all relationships are to you? Transactions?"

"Don't be dramatic," Anne scoffed. "You knew exactly what this marriage was from the beginning. We discussed it at length."

Harry finally looked up, his eyes hard and cold. "You don't know what you're talking about."

"I know exactly what I'm talking about," Anne countered, her voice rising. "I've watched you throw away a month of your life over a gold-digging nobody who couldn't wait to sign divorce papers and cash her check!"

Something in Harry snapped at the dismissive way his mother spoke about Y/N, as if she were nothing more than a gold-digger who'd played her part and exited stage left.

"You don't know her," he said, voice rising. "You've never bothered to know her. She's not who you think she is."

"And you're not thinking clearly," Anne countered, her own voice hardening. "This... infatuation has clouded your judgment. She was never going to fit into your life, Harry. Into our world. It's time to face reality and move forward."

"Our world?" Harry laughed bitterly. "You mean your world, Mother. The one where everything and everyone has a price tag and a purpose. Where relationships are just another form of currency to be traded."

Anne's face flushed with anger.

"I have only ever wanted what's best for you—"

"No," Harry interrupted, stepping closer. "You've wanted what you think is best for me. What fits your vision of who I should be. But that's not who I am anymore."

"This is absurd," Anne declared, gathering her purse and preparing to leave. "I'll tell Jeff to proceed with the announcement. You'll thank me later when this embarrassing episode is behind you and you can find someone more... suitable."

Harry moved to block her path, his expression thunderous.

"You will do no such thing."

"Harry—"

"I'm not announcing the divorce because I don't want a divorce!" he shouted, the words echoing in the silent house. "I want my wife back!"

Anne looked genuinely shocked, her composure cracking for perhaps the first time in Harry's memory.

"Your wife? Harry, she was never really—"

"She is my wife," he insisted, his voice breaking slightly. “why didn't she call? Why didn't she tell me herself?" Harry paced the room, energy suddenly coursing through him after weeks of lethargy. "Why go through lawyers when she could have just picked up a phone?"

"Why are you being so stubborn about this?" Anne demanded, genuine confusion mingling with her frustration. "There are dozens of women who would be thrilled to—"

"Because I love her!" The words erupted from Harry with such force that Anne physically stepped back, her eyes widening. "I love her, Mother. Not the arrangement, not the convenience. Her. Y/N. The woman you've spent years trying to push out of my life."

A heavy silence fell between them, Harry's declaration hanging in the air like a physical presence. Anne stared at her son as if seeing him for the first time, or perhaps seeing something in him she'd been deliberately ignoring.

"My, my. You really did fall for her, didn't you? How disappointing."

The cold disdain in his mother's voice sent a chill through Harry. He'd heard that tone before, whenever anyone failed to meet Anne's exacting standards, whenever someone showed weakness or vulnerability.

"Get out," he said quietly.

Anne blinked, surprised. "Excuse me?"

"I said get out," Harry repeated, his voice firmer now. "I'm not discussing this with you anymore."

Anne stood, smoothing her impeccable suit with practiced dignity. "You're being ridiculous. I came here to help you—"

"Help me?" Harry laughed, a harsh, bitter sound. "When have you ever helped me with anything that didn't serve your own interests?"

Color rose in Anne's cheeks. "That's unfair and ungrateful. Everything I've ever done has been for your benefit."

"No," Harry shook his head. "Everything you've ever done has been to control me. To shape me into your idea of what I should be."

"And look where it got you!" Anne gestured around the luxurious house. "Fame, fortune, success. All because I pushed you to be better than you thought you could be."

"At what cost?" Harry asked softly. "I've spent my entire life trying to meet your impossible standards. Nothing I do is ever enough."

Anne's expression hardened. "Clearly not, if you're throwing it all away over some girl."

"She's not 'some girl'!" Harry's voice rose again. "She's my wife!"

"Ex-wife," Anne corrected coldly. "And thank God for that. Honestly, Harry. What is the matter with you? If I had known this would happen, I wouldn't have sent the bloody lawyer in the first place."

The words hung in the air between them, the silence that followed almost deafening.

Harry went completely still, his eyes locked on his mother's face. "What did you just say?"

Anne's expression flickered, a momentary crack in her perfect composure as she realized her mistake.

"I—I meant that I wouldn't have let the lawyers proceed so quickly," she backtracked, but the damage was done.

Harry took a step toward her, his voice dangerously quiet. "You sent the lawyer? To Y/N? While she was visiting her mother?"

Anne lifted her chin defiantly. "You should be thanking me. I expedited things, saved you both from dragging it out unnecessarily."

"You told me she contacted our lawyers," Harry said slowly, the pieces falling into place with sickening clarity. "You said she initiated the divorce."

"She signed the papers, didn't she?" Anne replied defensively. "She took the money. The end result is the same."

Harry's hands curled into fists at his sides, his entire body vibrating with a rage so pure it was almost blinding.

"What exactly did you tell her?" he demanded, his voice barely above a whisper.

Anne waved a dismissive hand. "It doesn't matter—"

"WHAT DID YOU TELL HER?" Harry roared, making his mother flinch.

After a moment of tense silence, Anne straightened her shoulders. "The truth. That you had signed the papers months ago. That you were ready to end the charade."

Harry stared at her in disbelief, the full horror of what she'd done washing over him in waves. "You lied. To her. To me."

"I protected you," Anne insisted. "That girl was changing you, making you soft, vulnerable. I've worked too hard to let you throw everything away over someone so...beneath you."

Harry laughed, a hollow, broken sound. "Beneath me? She's worth ten of you."

Anne's eyes widened at the insult. "How dare you speak to me that way. After everything I've done for you—"

"Get out," Harry cut her off, his voice trembling with the effort of controlling his rage. "Get out of my house right now, or I swear to God, Mother, I will say things that can never be taken back."

For a moment, it seemed Anne might argue, might try to justify her actions further. But something in Harry's expression, the cold fury, the absolute betrayal, made her reconsider.

"You'll thank me someday," she said stiffly, gathering her purse. "When you've come to your senses."

Harry didn't respond, didn't move, didn't even breathe until he heard the front door close behind her. Then, like a puppet whose strings had been cut, he collapsed onto the couch, the reality of his mother's deception crushing down on him.

Y/N hadn't initiated the divorce. She hadn't contacted their lawyers. She hadn't chosen to end things without a word.

His mother had orchestrated the entire thing, playing them both like pawns in her twisted game. 

She set in motion the destruction of the one real thing in his carefully constructed life.

Which meant...everything Y/N must think of him now. That he'd sent a lawyer while she was away. That he'd had divorce papers ready for months. That their last night together had been nothing but a lie.

"Fuck," he whispered, burying his face in his hands. "FUCK!"

Grumps, intruiged by the outburst, came padding in from the kitchen, whining softly as he sensed Harry’s distress.

Harry looked up, a new determination replacing the hollow despair of the past month. He needed to fix this, needed to find Y/N, explain what had happened, beg her forgiveness if necessary.

He grabbed his phone, dialing Jeff's number with shaking fingers.

"Harry? About that statement—"

" I need a private jet. Now!" Harry interrupted, already moving toward the bedroom to pack a bag.

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The small coastal town hadn't changed much since Harry's childhood summers—the same weathered storefronts, the same salt-tinged air, the same quality of light that somehow made everything look like an old photograph. What he hadn't expected was how vividly the memories would return: chasing Y/N down the beach, stealing apples from old man Miller's orchard, hiding from their respective families to spend just a few more minutes together.

He'd forgotten so much of it, buried it beneath years of his mother's conditioning, beneath the carefully constructed persona he presented to the world. But driving through these streets, it all came flooding back with painful clarity.

Harry parked his rental car a block away from the address he surprisingly still had memorized by heart. His hands were sweaty on the steering wheel, his heart hammering against his ribs.

Grumps yowled from his carrier in the passenger seat, clearly unhappy about being confined after the long flight.

"I know, mate," Harry murmured, reaching over to scratch the cat’s head through the carrier door. "We'll be out of here soon. One way or another."

Taking a deep breath, Harry stepped out of the car, retrieved Grumps' carrier, and walked the short distance to a modest one-story house with peeling blue paint and a surprisingly well-tended garden. The kind of place that wasn't much to look at but radiated a certain warmth nonetheless.

He hesitated at the front gate, suddenly unsure. What if she refused to see him? What if she didn't believe him? What if his mother's manipulation had damaged things beyond repair?

Grumps let out an impatient mrrow, his tail flicking against the carrier walls, making the decision for him.

Harry walked up the short path to the front door, set down the carrier, and before he could lose his nerve, knocked firmly.

Footsteps approached from inside, and then the door swung open.

Y/N stood there, wearing faded jeans and an oversized sweater, her hair pulled back in a messy ponytail. She looked tired, thinner than he remembered, with shadows under her eyes that matched his own. 

She was still the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

For a moment, they just stared at each other, the air between them charged with a month's worth of hurt and confusion and longing.

Harry cleared his throat. "Y/N, I—"

The door slammed in his face with such force that he actually took a step back, blinking in shock.

"I don't want to fucking see you," came her voice from the other side, tight with anger. "Go away!"

Harry pressed his palm against the door, leaning closer. "Y/N, please. Just give me five minutes. I need to explain—"

"Explain what?" she shouted back. "How you had divorce papers ready for months? How you couldn't even face me yourself, so you sent a lawyer while I was helping my sick mother? How everything you said was a lie?"

Her voice cracked on the last word, and the sound pierced Harry's heart like a physical pain.

"That's exactly what I need to explain," he said urgently. "None of that was me. I didn't know about any of it. My mother—"

The door flew open again, Y/N's eyes blazing with fury. "Oh, don't you DARE blame this on your mother. Take some fucking responsibility for once in your privileged life, Harry Styles!"

Harry raised his hands placatingly. "I'm not trying to—look, can I please just come in? Five minutes, and if you still want me to leave after that, I will. I swear."

Y/N crossed her arms over her chest, her jaw set stubbornly. "Say whatever you need to say right here."

Harry glanced around uncomfortably. A neighbor across the street was watching with undisguised interest, and Grumps had started whining again in his carrier, his displeasure loud and clear.

"Fine," he conceded, running a hand through his hair. "I didn't send those divorce papers. I didn't even know they existed until a month ago when my mother called to tell me you'd signed them."

Y/N's eyes narrowed. "What?"

"My mother told me that you'd contacted our lawyers, that you'd asked for the divorce papers, that you'd taken the money and didn't want anything more to do with me," Harry explained, the words tumbling out in his desperation to make her understand. "I've been going out of my mind for a month thinking you'd just...walked away without a word."

A flicker of uncertainty crossed Y/N's face, but she quickly masked it with renewed anger. "That's convenient. Blame everything on your mother."

"I'm not making this up," Harry insisted, his own frustration rising. "She admitted it herself.. Slipped up and said she sent the lawyer. She lied to both of us, Y/N. She manipulated this whole situation."

Y/N's posture remained defensive, but doubt was creeping into her expression. "Even if that were true, which I'm not saying it is, those papers still had your signature on them. You signed them."

Harry ran a hand over his face, momentarily at a loss. "I sign a lot of papers, Y/N. Jeff brings me stacks of documents, contracts, releases, God knows what else. I must have signed them without realizing what they were."

Y/N let out a bitter laugh. "You expect me to believe you signed divorce papers by accident?"

"I don't know!" Harry threw up his hands in exasperation. "Maybe they were buried in something else, maybe they were mislabeled, maybe my mother forged my signature, I wouldn't put it past her at this point. All I know is I did not knowingly sign papers to divorce you, and I sure as hell didn't send a lawyer to ambush you while you were away."

A tense silence fell between them. Y/N studied his face, searching for deception, while Harry held his breath, silently pleading with her to believe him.

Finally, she spoke, her voice quieter but no less hard. "Why should I believe anything you say? Our entire relationship started with a lie."

The words stung, but Harry couldn't deny their truth. "You're right. It did. But somewhere along the way, it stopped being a lie for me. I think it stopped for you too."

Y/N's eyes glistened with unshed tears. "It doesn't matter what I felt. You made it very clear from the beginning that this was temporary. That I was temporary."

"I was wrong," Harry said simply. "I was so bloody wrong, Y/N. About you, about us, about everything." He took a step closer, encouraged when she didn't back away. "The night before you left, what we shared. That was real. You know it was."

A tear slipped down Y/N's cheek, which she angrily wiped away. "Your lawyer showed up with papers that said otherwise. Do you have any idea how that felt? To be sitting with my sick mother one minute, and the next to be handed divorce papers with your signature already on them? To be told that you'd prepared them months ago, just waiting for the right moment?"

Harry felt sick imagining the scene. "I'm so sorry. If I'd known—"

"But you didn't know," Y/N cut him off. "Because you weren't paying attention. Because I wasn't important enough for you to notice divorce papers with my name on them!"

Her voice had risen again, drawing the attention of another neighbor who was retrieving mail from a nearby mailbox.

Grumps chose that moment to let out a loud, offended yowl, clearly distressed by the raised voices.

Y/N glanced down at the carrier, her expression softening slightly at the sight of the one eyed cat she missed dearly. "You brought Grumps?"

Harry nodded, seizing the opportunity. "He's been miserable without you. We both have."

She hesitated for a long moment, then stepped back from the doorway with a resigned sigh. "Fine. Come in before you cause more of a scene. But this changes nothing."

Relief washed over Harry as he picked up the carrier and followed Y/N into the small, cozy living room. Family photos lined the walls, and well-worn furniture suggested comfort rather than style. It was nothing like his sleek, modern mansion, but it felt more like a home than any place he'd lived in years.

He set Grumps’ carrier down and opened the door. The cat slinked out cautiously, tail flicking as he surveyed the room before finally sauntering over to Y/N. After a moment’s consideration, he rubbed against her legs, purring loudly.

Despite herself, Y/N crouched down to pet him, a small smile playing at her lips as Grumps butted his head against her hand in approval 

"At least someone is genuinely happy to see me," she murmured.

Harry watched them, his heart aching with longing. "He's not the only one."

Y/N straightened, her expression hardening again as she faced him. "Say what you came to say, Harry. Five minutes, remember?"

Harry took a deep breath. This was it. His one chance to make things right.

"I love you," he said simply.

Y/N blinked, clearly not expecting those words. "What?"

"I love you," Harry repeated, more firmly this time. "I'm in love with you, Y/N. Probably have been since that night you called me out on my bullshit at the charity gala. Maybe even years ago on that log. But definitely since Christmas. I was just too stubborn and scared to admit it to myself."

Y/N shook her head, taking a step back. "Don't. Don't say things you don't mean just to—"

"I mean it," Harry interrupted, closing the distance between them. "I've spent the last month in hell thinking you'd left me. Ask Jeff, ask anyone. I've been a complete wreck. I couldn't write, couldn't sleep, couldn't do anything but think about you and wonder where it all went wrong."

Y/N's lower lip trembled, but she held her ground. "Your mother—"

"Is no longer a part of my life," Harry finished for her. "Not after what she did. I told her to get out of my house yesterday, and I meant it. I'm done letting her control me, done living by her twisted values."

Something shifted in Y/N's eyes, a spark of hope quickly suppressed. "You cut off your mother? I don't believe you."

"Believe it," Harry said firmly. "She crossed a line she can never uncross. She hurt you, hurt us, and I will never forgive her for that."

Y/N wrapped her arms around herself, as if physically holding herself together. "Even if everything you're saying is true, even if this was all some elaborate manipulation by your mother, it doesn't change the fact that our marriage was built on a lie. A business arrangement, remember?"

"Then let's start over," Harry suggested, desperation edging into his voice. "Let's tear up those divorce papers and build something real this time. No contracts, no arrangements, no pretending. Just you and me, figuring it out together."

Y/N let out a shaky breath, the conflict clear on her face. "It's not that simple, Harry. You hurt me. Whether you meant to or not, whether your mother orchestrated it or not, I was hurt. I still am."

"I know," he said softly. "And I'll spend every day making it up to you, if you'll let me. Just...don't give up on us. Not yet. Not without giving us a real chance."

He reached for her hand tentatively. After a moment's hesitation, she allowed the contact, though her fingers remained stiff in his.

"I don't know if I can trust you again," she admitted, her voice small.

"Then let me earn your trust back," Harry pleaded. "Day by day, for as long as it takes."

Y/N looked up at him, searching his face for any sign of deception. "And what happens when you get bored of playing house with the small-town nobody? When your mother's voice starts creeping back into your head?"

The question was like a knife to his heart, all the more painful because he understood why she'd ask it.

"First of all," he said firmly, "you have never been, and will never be, a 'nobody.' You're the strongest, most compassionate, most genuine person I've ever known. And secondly..." He took a breath, considering his next words carefully. "I can't promise I'll never make mistakes, or that my life won't complicate things, or that it will always be easy."

He squeezed her hand gently. "But I can promise that I will choose you. Every day, in every way that matters, I will choose you over anyone and anything else. Because I love you, Y/N. Not the idea of you, not what you represent, but you. Stubborn, challenging, beautiful you."

Tears filled Y/N's eyes, but she didn't pull her hand away. "I want to believe you," she whispered.

"Then believe me," Harry urged, bringing her hand to his lips and placing a gentle kiss on her knuckles. "Or if you can't believe me yet, at least give me the chance to prove it to you."

A tense silence stretched between them, broken only by the soft sound of Grumps sniffing curiously around the unfamiliar room, his tail flicking with wary interest.

Finally, Y/N spoke, her voice thick with emotion. "I'm still angry."

Harry nodded, hope flaring in his chest. "You have every right to be."

"And hurt."

"I know."

"And I'm not just going to fall back into your arms like nothing happened."

Harry's lips quirked in a small, sad smile. "I wouldn't expect you to."

Y/N took a deep, shuddering breath. "But I do...I do love you too. God help me."

The admission, quiet and reluctant as it was, sent a wave of pure joy through Harry. It took everything in him not to pull her into his arms right then and there.

Instead, he asked softly, "So where do we go from here?"

Y/N looked around the small living room, her expression thoughtful. "My mother's physical therapy is almost finished. She's doing much better now."

Harry nodded, not quite seeing the connection. "That's good."

"I was thinking of going back to school," Y/N continued. "Maybe finish my degree."

Harry felt his heart sink. Was this her way of saying goodbye gently? "That sounds like a great plan," he managed.

Y/N met his eyes directly. "There are good universities in London."

It took a moment for her meaning to sink in. When it did, Harry couldn't help the smile that spread across his face. "The best," he agreed.

Y/N's expression remained serious, though a hint of softness had crept in. "If, and this is a big if, I were to come back with you, we'd need to take things slow. Rebuild. No more lies, no more secrets, no more letting other people dictate our relationship."

Harry nodded eagerly. "Absolutely. Whatever you need."

"And I'd want my own space," she added. "Maybe the guest house on your property, so I'd be close but still independent."

Harry would have agreed to anything at this point. "Done. I'll have it redecorated however you want."

A small smile finally tugged at the corner of Y/N's mouth. "And you'd have to actually court me properly this time. Dates. Flowers. The whole thing."

Harry's heart soared at the sight of that smile, small as it was. "I'll court you so thoroughly you'll get sick of it," he promised.

Y/N rolled her eyes, but the smile grew slightly. "I'm serious, Harry. This isn't going to be easy. We have a lot to work through."

"I know," he said, sobering. "But nothing worth having ever is, right?"

Y/N considered him for a long moment, then slowly, tentatively, stepped forward and rested her forehead against his chest. Harry held perfectly still, hardly daring to breathe as she stood there, not quite embracing him but not pushing him away either.

"I'm still mad at you," she murmured against his shirt.

Harry cautiously brought his hands up to rest lightly on her shoulders. "I know."

"And I haven't forgiven you yet."

"I know that too."

She looked up at him, her eyes still guarded but with a gleam of something that looked dangerously like hope. "But I'm willing to try. To see if we can build something real this time."

Harry felt like his heart might burst. He wanted nothing more than to kiss her, to hold her properly, to show her exactly how much her words meant to him. But he knew it wasn't time for that yet. They had a long road ahead, and pushing too hard, too fast would only damage the fragile trust they were beginning to rebuild.

Instead, he simply smiled, a real smile, one that reached his eyes for the first time in a month, and said softly, "That's all I'm asking for. A chance."

Grumps chose that moment to return to them, sitting at their feet and looking up expectantly, as if to say, "Well? Have you two finally sorted yourselves out yet?"

Y/N laughed, a small, watery sound, but genuine, and the tension in the room eased slightly.

"I think someone approves of our plan," Harry observed, glancing down at the cat.

Y/N nodded, taking a small step back from Harry but not completely away. "He always was the smartest one in this relationship."

Harry grinned, relief and hope and love all mingling together in a heady cocktail of emotion. "Can't argue with that."

Outside, the sun was setting over the small coastal town, painting the sky in shades of pink and gold. Inside, two people who had been brought together by a lie were taking their first tentative steps toward a truth neither of them had expected to find: that sometimes, the heart knows what it wants long before the head is willing to admit it.

· · ─────────── ·𖥸· ────────── · ·

A/N: As an apology i decided to post this right away. Epilogue :)?

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[fvsm4x]

𝐦𝐚𝐲𝐛𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞 - 𝟓

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠. ex! gojo s. x fem. reader

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭. Your boyfriend, who you loved more than anything, who was your will to live, broke up with you.

𝐜𝐰. angst / happy ending for reader but not gojo / wc. 4.1k / last chapter / kinda rushed

part 1 / part 2 / part 3 / part 4 / part 5

But it wouldn‘t hurt to give him a second chance, right.?

But as much as you wanted to believe that a second chance could heal the wounds between you, doubt gnawed at the edges of your resolve. The pain he had caused was not something easily forgotten, and the memories of the betrayal still stung like fresh wounds. You had to consider what giving him another chance would mean—not just for your relationship with him, but for your own self-worth, your own sense of dignity.

"Gojo," you began, your voice steady despite the turmoil inside, "you say you want another chance, but can you honestly tell me why? Is it because you've realized what you lost, or because you're afraid of being alone now that she's gone?"

His eyes widened, as if the question had struck a chord deep within him. He struggled to find the right words, his expression a mix of desperation and confusion. "I... I just know that I don't want to lose you. I made a mistake, I see that now. I was stupid, selfish, but I swear, I’ve changed."

"You’ve changed?" you echoed, the skepticism clear in your tone. "How can I trust that? Last time, you promised me the world, only to break me apart when it suited you. How do I know this time won’t be the same?"

Gojo remained silent for a moment, the weight of your words sinking in. You could see the conflict in his eyes, the struggle between his desire to make things right and the reality of the pain he had caused.

"I don’t know how to prove it to you," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "But I want to try. I want to be the person you deserve, the one who won’t hurt you again."

You let out a soft sigh, the tension in your chest making it hard to breathe. His sincerity tugged at your heart, but the scars he had left made it difficult to simply accept his words at face value. You had to think about what was best for you, not just what he wanted.

"Gojo," you said slowly, choosing your words carefully, "I need to understand something. What would be different this time? How do you expect me to believe that you're not just saying these things because you're hurt and vulnerable right now? That you won't just fall back into old habits the moment things get tough?"

He looked down, his hands trembling slightly as they gripped yours tighter. "I’ve learned from my mistakes," he said, his voice laced with determination. "I know I hurt you, and I regret it more than anything. I took you for granted, and I was wrong. I can’t take back what I did, but I want to show you that I can be better—that I can love you the way you deserve to be loved."

The sincerity in his voice was almost enough to break down your defenses. Almost. But the reality of the situation loomed large in your mind. You had been here before, heard these promises before, only to be left shattered in the end.

"Do you really understand what you're asking of me?" you asked, your voice soft but firm. "You're asking me to put my heart on the line again, to risk everything for the chance that you might actually change this time. But what if you don't? What if I let you back in, only to find myself back in this same place a few months from now?"

Gojo's expression faltered, the weight of your words sinking in. He knew you were right—he was asking for a lot, maybe too much. But still, he refused to give up.

"I can't promise that everything will be perfect," he said, his voice raw with emotion. "But I can promise that I’ll fight for us, that I won’t make the same mistakes again. I’ll prove to you that I’m serious this time. Just... please, give me a chance to show you."

Your heart ached at the sight of him, so vulnerable and desperate for your forgiveness. You wanted to believe him, to believe that he could change, that he could become the man you needed him to be. But the fear of getting hurt again was a powerful force, one that you couldn't simply ignore.

"I don't know if I can do this, Gojo," you said, your voice trembling with the weight of the decision before you. "I don't know if I can put myself through this again, not after everything that's happened."

He looked at you with a mix of hope and despair, as if he knew he was teetering on the edge of losing you forever. "Please," he whispered, his voice breaking. "Just one more chance. Let me show you that I can be better."

You closed your eyes, the tears finally spilling over as the emotions you had been holding back crashed over you like a tidal wave. The love you had for him was still there, buried beneath the pain and betrayal, but it was overshadowed by the fear of being hurt again.

Finally, you opened your eyes and met his gaze, your heart heavy with the weight of your decision. "Gojo, I need time," you said, your voice barely above a whisper. "I can't just jump back into this like nothing happened. I need time to think, to figure out what's best for me."

His face fell, but he nodded, understanding that this was as much as you could give him right now. "I’ll wait," he said, his voice filled with a mix of sadness and determination. "I’ll wait as long as it takes."

With that, you slowly pulled your hand away from his, the warmth of his touch lingering even as you stepped back. The distance between you felt like a chasm, one that might never be bridged again. But for now, it was what you needed—to find your own path, to heal in your own time.

As you turned to walk away, leaving him kneeling there in the cold, you couldn’t help but wonder if you had made the right choice. The future was uncertain, the path ahead filled with doubts and unanswered questions. But one thing was clear: you had to choose yourself this time, even if it meant walking away from the man you once loved.

As you walked away, the echoes of your footsteps reverberating through the quiet night, the weight of your decision settled heavily on your shoulders. Each step felt like an eternity, as if the very air around you was thick with the tension of what had just transpired. The distance between you and Gojo grew, but the connection, the history, and the unresolved emotions hung in the air, clinging to you like a shadow.

You couldn’t help but replay his words over and over in your mind. The desperation in his voice, the sincerity in his eyes—were they enough? Could a person truly change, or was it just wishful thinking? The memories of your time together flooded your mind, both the good and the bad, each moment tinged with the bittersweetness of what once was and what might never be again.

But as you walked further, a different voice began to whisper in the back of your mind, a voice that questioned your own choices, your own feelings. You had been hurt, yes, but was there a part of you that still longed for the love you once shared? Was there still a flicker of hope that things could be different this time, that the man you had loved was still in there, waiting to be rediscovered?

You stopped walking, standing there in the dim light of the streetlamp, your breath visible in the cold night air. The silence was deafening, your thoughts swirling like a storm inside your head. You had asked for time, but the truth was, you didn’t know how much time you would need. The wound was still fresh, the trust still shattered, and yet, beneath all that pain, there was a part of you that wanted to believe in second chances.

What if you were being too harsh? What if, in pushing him away, you were closing the door on something that could be beautiful again? The questions gnawed at you, each one more persistent than the last. Could you really walk away from him, from everything you had built together, without giving him the chance to prove himself? Was it fair to judge him solely on his past mistakes, without considering the possibility that he had learned from them?

As you stood there, lost in thought, the memories of the love you once shared began to resurface. The way he used to look at you, the way his laughter would fill the room, the warmth of his embrace on a cold night—it all felt so distant now, yet so painfully close. You remembered the moments of joy, the times when it felt like nothing in the world could come between you. Those memories were precious, and they weren’t so easily erased by the pain he had caused.

But then, there were the darker memories, the ones that cut deep into your soul. The lies, the betrayal, the feeling of being second best—those wounds were still raw, still bleeding, and the thought of reopening them was terrifying. You had worked so hard to rebuild yourself, to find strength in your own company, to remember who you were without him. Letting him back in meant risking all of that, risking everything you had fought so hard to regain.

A small voice inside you, however, urged you to reconsider. People could change, couldn’t they? Life wasn’t black and white, and relationships were messy, complicated. What if Gojo truly had realized the error of his ways? What if he was genuinely remorseful, ready to make amends and to be the partner you needed him to be?

You shook your head, trying to clear the confusion. You had to be sure, had to know that whatever decision you made, it was the right one for you. Turning around, you saw Gojo still kneeling where you had left him, his form barely visible in the distance. He hadn’t moved, hadn’t given up, even though you had walked away.

Was it really fair to expect him to change? Could you risk your heart again on the mere possibility that things might be different this time?

The truth was, you weren’t ready to forgive him. Not yet, and maybe not ever. The wounds were still too fresh, the scars too deep. Giving him another chance felt like inviting more pain into your life, a pain you weren’t sure you could endure again.

You took a deep breath and forced your feet to move, each step taking you further away from the man you once loved. The night was silent, the only sound was the soft crunch of gravel under your shoes as you walked down the empty street. The distance between you and Gojo grew, but so did the clarity in your mind. You deserved more than empty promises and second chances. You deserved someone who wouldn’t make you question your worth, someone who wouldn’t break your heart over and over again.

.

Gojo remained on his knees long after you had walked away, the chill of the night air seeping into his bones. He stared at the spot where you had stood just moments ago, as if by sheer force of will he could bring you back. But the empty space before him was a harsh reminder that you were gone, that he had lost you once again.

A dull ache settled in his chest, spreading through his entire body as he tried to process what had just happened. He had begged, pleaded, laid his heart bare before you, and yet it hadn’t been enough. You had looked at him with such pain in your eyes, a pain he knew he had caused, and that knowledge cut deeper than any rejection.

He slowly rose to his feet, his legs unsteady beneath him as he tried to regain his composure. The night felt colder now, the darkness more oppressive as he realized how truly alone he was. He had gambled everything on the hope that you might still care, that you might still see the man he was trying to become, but the truth was undeniable—you were done with him. And maybe you were right to be.

As he started walking, his mind replayed every word you had said, every look you had given him. Your voice, so full of hurt and doubt, echoed in his ears, a constant reminder of the mistakes he had made. He had taken you for granted, convinced himself that you would always be there, waiting for him to get his act together. But now, standing in the aftermath of his own selfishness, he realized just how badly he had miscalculated.

Gojo’s footsteps were heavy as he walked back to his own place, the streets eerily quiet. For the first time, he felt the full weight of his actions, the depth of the hurt he had caused not only to you but to himself. He had ruined something beautiful, something that might never be repaired, and the regret was almost too much to bear.

He reached his apartment and fumbled with his keys, his hands shaking slightly as he unlocked the door. The silence inside was deafening, the emptiness of the space mirroring the emptiness he felt within. He collapsed onto the couch, burying his face in his hands as the reality of the situation washed over him.

He had wanted so desperately to make things right, to prove to you that he had changed, but deep down, he knew it wasn’t that simple. Change wasn’t just about saying the right words or making promises—it was about action, about becoming a better person, and that was something he hadn’t truly grasped until now. He had hurt you, deeply, and no amount of pleading could erase that.

The truth settled heavily on his shoulders: he had lost you, maybe for good this time. And the worst part was, he had no one to blame but himself. He had played with your heart, made you question your worth, and now he was paying the price. The realization that he might never have another chance with you, that you might move on and find someone who would treat you the way you deserved, was almost too painful to bear.

But as he sat there in the darkness, Gojo knew that this was his moment of reckoning. He could no longer hide from the consequences of his actions. If he truly wanted to change, it had to start now—with or without you. He had to learn to be a better person, not just for you, but for himself. And if that meant letting you go, if that meant accepting that you might never forgive him, then so be it.

.

Weeks had passed since that night, but for Gojo, it felt like a lifetime. The days blurred together, a monotonous cycle of work, training, and sleepless nights. He threw himself into his duties, trying to drown out the memories of you, but nothing seemed to work. Every quiet moment was filled with thoughts of you—your laughter, your smile, the way your eyes had softened when you looked at him, before everything had fallen apart.

He hadn’t tried to contact you since that night. He knew better than to push, to force himself back into your life when you had made it clear that you needed space. Instead, he focused on himself, trying to understand where he had gone wrong, trying to become the man he had promised he would be. But no matter how much he tried to move forward, the emptiness where you used to be haunted him.

One chilly afternoon, Gojo found himself wandering aimlessly through the city streets, his hands shoved deep into his pockets as he watched the world go by. It was one of those rare days when he had no obligations, no missions or responsibilities to distract him from his thoughts. The city was bustling with life, people rushing past him with purpose, but he felt disconnected from it all, as if he were watching from a distance.

As he walked, he turned a corner and stopped in his tracks. There you were, just a few steps ahead, standing at the entrance of a cozy little café. For a moment, his heart leapt at the sight of you, his mind racing with the possibility of speaking to you, of seeing how you were doing after all this time. But before he could take a step, he noticed that you weren’t alone.

Standing beside you was a man—tall, with dark hair and a warm smile that reached his eyes. He was holding your hand, his thumb gently brushing over your knuckles as you both laughed at something he had said. The sound of your laughter, so light and carefree, pierced through Gojo’s chest like a dagger. It was the same laugh he had fallen in love with, the one he had thought he might never hear again.

Gojo’s breath caught in his throat as he watched the two of you. There was an ease between you and the man, a comfort that spoke of familiarity, of something more than just a passing connection. The man leaned in closer, and you responded with a soft smile, one that Gojo knew all too well. It was the kind of smile that came from genuine happiness, from feeling safe and cherished.

He felt his heart constrict, a mix of emotions swirling inside him—regret, jealousy, sadness. But most of all, there was a deep, aching sense of loss. He had known this day might come, that you would eventually move on and find someone who could give you the love and security you deserved. But knowing it and seeing it were two different things, and the reality of it hit him harder than he had expected.

Gojo stood there, rooted to the spot, unable to tear his eyes away from you. He knew he should leave, walk away before you noticed him, but something kept him there, some part of him that needed to see this, to accept that you were no longer his.

As you and the man turned to enter the café, Gojo’s eyes met yours for the briefest of moments. Time seemed to freeze as recognition flickered in your gaze. There was a flash of surprise, quickly followed by something else—something softer, perhaps understanding or even sympathy. But you didn’t stop, didn’t call out to him. You simply gave him a small, polite nod before turning away,

As the door of the café closed behind you, Gojo hesitated for a moment, debating whether to follow you inside. He knew he should just walk away, let you enjoy your time with the man who clearly made you happy. But something stronger than reason pushed him forward. The unresolved tension between you gnawed at him, a silent torment that demanded closure.

With a deep breath, Gojo pushed open the door to the café, the small bell above it chiming softly as he stepped inside. The warm scent of coffee and baked goods filled the air, and the soft hum of conversation surrounded him. He quickly scanned the room, spotting you at a table near the window, the man still by your side.

You noticed him immediately, your eyes widening slightly in surprise as he approached. The man beside you looked up, clearly sensing the change in your demeanor, but remained silent, his expression polite but questioning.

Gojo stopped a few feet from your table, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides as he struggled to find the right words. He felt the weight of the moment pressing down on him, the significance of what he was about to say looming large in his mind.

"Can we talk for a minute?" he asked, his voice low and tentative, trying not to intrude too much on your moment with the other man.

You hesitated, glancing at the man beside you. He gave you a small, understanding nod, standing up to give you space. "I'll be right over there," he said softly, before stepping away to another part of the café.

Once he was out of earshot, you turned your attention back to Gojo, your expression guarded but not unkind. "Gojo, what do you want?" you asked quietly, your tone not accusatory but rather cautious, as if you were bracing yourself for whatever he might say.

He took a deep breath, struggling to meet your eyes. "I just... I just wanted to say I'm sorry. For everything. For the way I treated you, for the way I made you feel. I know I can’t undo the past, but I need you to know that I regret it all, deeply."

You looked at him, your expression softening slightly at his words, but there was still a distance in your gaze, a wall that hadn’t been there before. "Gojo," you began, your voice gentle but firm, "I appreciate you saying that. I really do. But what’s done is done. We can’t go back and change what happened. We both know that."

He nodded, swallowing hard against the lump forming in his throat. "I know," he said, his voice cracking slightly. "I just… I wish things could have been different. That I could’ve been better for you."

A small, sad smile tugged at the corners of your lips. "Maybe in another life," you said softly, your words like a bittersweet melody that hung in the air between you. "Maybe in another life, we were meant to be. But in this one…"

You trailed off, your eyes shimmering with unshed tears. The unspoken truth between you was palpable—no matter how much either of you wished it could be different, the damage had been done. The love you once shared was irreparably broken, and no amount of apologies could fix it.

Gojo felt a sharp pain in his chest, the finality of your words cutting through him like a blade. He had known, deep down, that this was how it would end, but hearing it from you made it all the more real.

"I understand," he murmured, his voice barely audible as he looked down at the floor. "I just… I hope you find the happiness you deserve."

You reached out then, gently touching his arm, the gesture both comforting and heartbreaking. "I hope you do too, Gojo," you whispered, your voice filled with a kind of tenderness that he hadn’t heard from you in a long time. "Take care of yourself."

He looked up at you, his eyes filled with a mixture of sorrow and acceptance. He knew this was goodbye—not just for now, but for the life you might have had together. It was the kind of parting that left an indelible mark on his soul, a reminder of what could have been.

With a heavy heart, Gojo nodded, turning to leave the café. As he walked away, he didn’t look back, knowing that doing so would only make it harder to let go. The door closed behind him, the cool air outside hitting him like a wake-up call. He stood there for a moment, trying to steady his breathing, trying to process the finality of what had just happened.

Inside, you watched him leave, your heart heavy but resolute. There was a part of you that would always care for Gojo, that would always wonder what might have been. But you knew, deep down, that you had made the right choice. Sometimes, love wasn’t enough to bridge the gap that had grown between two people. Sometimes, the kindest thing you could do was let go.

As you turned back to your table, the man who had been with you returned, concern etched on his face. He didn’t ask what had happened—he didn’t need to. He simply took your hand in his, offering silent support as you both sat down together.

Gojo walked down the street, the sun beginning to set, casting long shadows on the pavement. The ache in his chest was still there, but so was a strange sense of peace. You had found your path, and now, he had to find his own. And maybe, just maybe, in another life, things would have been different. But in this one, it was time to move on.

End

© fvsm4x 2023/4 : do not translate, plagiarise or steal my work.

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THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR STICKING WITH THIS STORY\(^ヮ^)/ new gojo series soon<33

[perlelune]

Dollhouse | Rafe Cameron | i.

The moment your mother marries Ward Cameron should have been the moment your life changes for the better. A fresh start out of the Cut for the both of you. And for the first seven years of living with the Camerons, everything truly is perfect.

Warnings: DUB-CON, NON-CON, Pogue!Reader, Stepcest, Secret Relationship, Manipulation, Jealousy, Drugs, Drinking

This is a dark story. Heed warnings before reading under the cut.

𝖘𝖊𝖗𝖎𝖊𝖘 𝖒𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙

You peek from your hiding spot, beneath the lavishly decorated long table. Mom looks pretty. She’s wearing a fancy white dress that likely costs ten times the rent you used to pay. Perhaps more. The diamond earrings she dons, a wedding gift from your new dad, (Your new dad, your mind still cannot grapple with that reality-altering piece of information. You have a dad now, a stepfather), glimmer as they catch the glow of the fairy lights overhead. 

She’s laughing. So loudly you can see all her teeth and her eyes are crinkly. You don’t think you’ve ever seen Mom laugh like that. No. You have never seen Mom laugh like that. Not ever. In the eleven years she’s raised you on her own. There have been sad times. Very sad times. Happy times too. 

Still, she’s never looked as happy as she does today. 

Like she’s on Cloud Ten. Not on Cloud Nine. Cloud Ten. Because there has to be a level above that fully captures how overjoyed Mom looks right now.

All because of this man. Your gaze swings to him. He’s wearing a suit, a white wedding suit, because Mom insisted they match and she always despised - despised not hated - bland wedding tuxedos. Bland anything really. So she picked his suit herself. Just like she did everything for the wedding. Her dream wedding. Something she’s constantly reminded you for the past month. 

That this is her moment. Her big moment. One you shouldn’t ruin. 

Which is why you’re hiding here. You can’t ruin anything from underneath a table. A silent observer. Quiet as a mouse. 

That way Mom can have her moment while you bask in the shock that she’s a Cameron now. And so are you. 

“Hey. Why are you hiding at your own mom’s wedding?”

You gasp, startled by the voice beside you. Your head turns. A blond-haired boy is crouched next to you, his neck crooked from having to fit his tall frame in the small space. His blue eyes are wide and curious as they rest on you.

“I-I’m not hiding,” you stammer, shocked that someone found your secret spot. Everyone’s focus is glued to the new Mr. And Mrs. Cameron. Even your new stepsisters are cheering from the circle around them. Sarah’s the loudest. Her thunderous clap and megawatt smile is a cheering squad all on its own. 

This is their day.

So you figured your existence must have been forgotten by now. You tossed flower petals across the aisle, just like Mom asked. You smiled for the family pictures. You hugged him, that man, your new dad.

You awkwardly greeted your new siblings. Well, mostly waved from a safe distance.

You assumed your disappearance would go unnoticed amidst the bubble of joy keeping everyone trapped in its spell. But someone slipped away from it for a little while, it seems, broke the spell. Long enough to notice your absence. 

He nods and says, “Really? Come out then, since you’re not hiding.” When you dig your pink ballet flats into the grassy dirt, refusing to move, the teenager chuckles.

He plops onto the floor. 

“Or we can stay here.”

Your brows knit. We. It sounds strange. Alien to your ears. It’s always been you and Mom. The two of you against the world, jumping over every hurdle life stuck in your path together. There’s just so many kids now. And based on Mom’s recent announcement…there’ll be another one soon. The final knot binding your two families.

Thinking about it makes your mind spin. Overnight you went from being an only child to having three siblings. Well, four in some months. 

Saying your world has been turned upside down is an understatement. Everything that used to be up is now down. And the house! Tannyhill is nothing like the tiny apartment you and Mom used to share. The one where the lights used to go out sometimes. It has all these big rooms. A gigantic yard. A pool. 

JJ even made fun of you at school because he said you’re a Kook now. 

A Kook. You wanted to punch him…and you did.

You will never be a Kook. It doesn’t matter if Mom makes you change schools, forcing you to attend the one on Figure 8, if she buys you new clothes, moves you to a new house.

You’ll always be a Pogue. A fact the kids at your new school make sure you never forget. 

You tuck your knees against your chest.

“You don’t have to.”

“I do what I want,” he replies with a shrug.

He brings out a piece of cake from behind him. 

“Do you want some?”

You make a face. 

“Not hungry.”

He laughs and takes a spoonful of the three layered chocolate cake himself. 

“What kind of kid refuses cake?” 

“Why are you here?” you retaliate, growing more annoyed. 

“Because you’re my new sister,” he states with a shrug. Your eyes round. “That’s what my dad says anyways.” He sighs. “Gotta look out for you and all that.”

“I don’t need it.”

“Well, little sisters are a pain in the ass. Didn’t ask for another one.” His brows furrow. “Didn’t ask for a new stepmom either but…here we are, princess.”

“Princess?”

“It’s what you look like, with your pink ribbons and all the bows,” he says, waving his hand in front of you. 

You open your mouth then close it. Mom did go overboard with the pink and the bows. But she wanted you to look cute in the photos. She wanted all the girls to look cute. Adorable, as she said. So you and your stepsisters ended up with those big, embarrassing, fluffy pink dresses. 

“Anyways. I’m your brother now. Deal with it, okay?” He scratches the back of his neck, placing the cake on the ground. “Pretty sure if I let anything bad happen to you my dad will kill me.”

You look ahead. Mom’s dancing with the girls now. She pauses momentarily, glancing around, but quickly returns to the dance. She, Wheezie and Sarah bounce in a circle, giggling as they tap their feet to the music. 

Your eyes swell with tears. 

This is how long it took Mom to replace you. A few seconds.

Rafe’s voice laces with irritation. 

“Are you crying?” His harsh tone only drags more sobs out of you. You grip the hem of your fluffy dress to wipe the snot pouring from your nose. 

The boy rolls his eyes. 

“Girls are so annoying, always crying for no reason.” He plucks a tissue from the back pocket of his dress pants and dabs it against your eyes. He does it rather aggressively which startles you out of your meltdown. “Here, stop.” You blink at him. “I’m sorry, okay?” His blue eyes soften. “I promise, we’re not so bad.” He scrunches his nose. “Well, except for Sarah who’s a spoiled brat…but you get used to it too.”

You sniffle and duck your head. Almost as if reading your mind, he assures softly, “Your mom will always be your mom, so stop crying, okay?”

You raise your head, gaping at him. 

“T-Thank you, Rafe,” you mumble between your abating sobs.

He shrugs. “Whatever.”

As he continues wiping your face, your tears slowly drying, you start pondering. Perhaps having a big brother won’t be so bad.

Cheers and applause explode around you as you blow the last of the sparkler candles. It took several tries before all the flames flickered out, plunging the room in total blackness. Your sisters giggle beside you and a contagious smile creeps onto your lips.

“Make a wish, make a wish!” your family chants around you.

You shush everyone which draws more laughs, especially from Mom and Dad. “Guys, quiet. I need to focus.”

You suck in a deep breath. 

You close your eyes and make a silent wish. Your smile broadens. It’s easy. You wish for everyday moving forward to be as perfect as this one, as wonderful. A happiness untouched and crystallized like a butterfly in amber. Its paper-thin, delicate wings never shriveling. Its vibrant colors never dimming. Its beauty never waning, never yielding to the fickle whims of time. Every year onwards, you wish to be surrounded by the same love and support you’ve gotten to experience for the last eighteen years. 

You wish to always be with family. 

When your eyes open, you beam brightly. The fact that familiar faces stare back at you fills you with warmth and comfort. Sarah, your sister, offered to throw the flashiest, biggest party of the year for your birthday. She even made a vision board for it. It was quite impressive actually. She planned on making sure her little sister celebrated eighteen years on this earth with a bang. But you staunchly refused. Not only did you hope to avoid more organizing drama between Sarah and Kie, you wanted something discreet and casual this year. You had no desire to be surrounded by vague acquaintances from the Island Club or the snobbish classmates who only stopped calling you names once they realized Mom was more than Dad’s mid-life crisis. 

Despite the twenty-year age gap between them, you’ve never witnessed two people more in sync than your mom and dad. You know every woman on that side of the island has wished for their marriage to fail. You wouldn’t flinch if you learnt there was a voodoo doll of your mom in one of those women’s closets. People figured they wouldn’t last. After all, they are so different. Mom used to be a cocktail waitress at the country club Dad is still a faithful member of to this day. His wife Rose had recently died and they bonded over fishing and sports. In many Kooks’ eyes, Mom will always be beneath them. You can see it in their eyes. Their pinched smiles. Their forced pleasantries. A veil of unbelonging will always cling to you and your mother. Deep down, despite living in this big beautiful house for seven years, you’ll always be Pogues. Not that you’ll ever tell Mom. She lives in a pink-colored bubble of her own making. One you wouldn’t dare pop lest she land in a cold puddle of harsh reality.

Still, you’re happy for your parents. 

Even after all these years, they love each other deeply. They still find ways to surprise each other, to make the other feel special.

Alice and Ward Cameron are what true love looks like in your eyes. What it should look like. Unless you have what your parents have one day, you don’t see yourself tying the knot with anyone. Your dad set that standard by being the best man you’ve ever met. 

Willa bounces in front of you, displaying her gummy grin. She recently turned seven and her front teeth have yet to come out. It never stops her from smiling all day however. 

“What did you wish for?” 

You don a cryptic expression.

“It’s a secret.”

Willa pouts, folding her arms dejectedly. Dad chuckles and picks her up. He rubs her back to comfort her, explaining, “She can’t tell you her wish, sweetheart. Otherwise it won’t come true.”

Your little sister gives a reluctant nod. Willa abhors the word ‘no’. Setting limits for her is a problem as she’s so accustomed to Dad surrendering to her every whim. Ward Cameron is what some would call a ‘girl dad’ through and through. It never takes much effort from you and your sisters to convince him and whoever would dare hurt any of you should probably count their days…as your dad would likely have already picked a date and funeral plot for them.

The time for the gifts comes. You sit in a chair at the head of the dinner table as everyone gathers around you to give you their gift. 

Sarah got you a coupon for a tattoo. While Dad is livid, she winks at you. The two of you mentioned getting matching tattoos before you leave for college. You’re glad to learn that she hasn’t forgotten.

Wheezie hands you a Sephora gift card. She’s very solemn, adjusting her glasses while giving it to you, which tears a chuckle from you.

“You just always say you don’t want anything, then everyone gets you a super cool gift,” she laments. Mom squeezes her shoulder. 

“It’s an amazing gift. I love it, Wheezie.”

Her face lights up at your response.

Willa’s gift draws the biggest smile from you. It’s a handcrafted wooden box covered in seashells, glitter and sand. It has a silver lock with a little key. It’s just so cute and you already picture yourself placing it above your bed or somewhere on your desk in your college dorm. It’ll be a much-welcome reminder of home. 

Mom and Dad’s combined gift sits in a square velvet jewelry box. The breath hovers in your lungs, your fingers shaking with anticipation as you open the box.

Your jaw drops.

A gold necklace with a single diamond charm shaped like a teardrop lies on beige satin. 

Your hand flies to your mouth. This must have cost a pretty penny.

“I don’t know what to say,” you whisper.

“Do you like it, sweetheart?” Dad asks.

“I love it.”

A bright grin unfurls on his face at your swift response. He moves forward, collecting the necklace from the box. 

“Can I…”

“Of course,” you reply, shoving your hair aside so he can place the necklace on you. 

When he’s done, he takes a moment to look at you, his hands clasping your shoulders. “It suits you. Your mom and I picked it out…” His voice falters, unspilled tears filling his blue eyes. 

You wrap your arms around him. He hugs you tightly. 

“Dad, it’s okay,” you say.

He unleashes a watery laugh. “It’s just…you girls are growing up so fast.” He steps back and hastily wipes the tears in his eyes. Dad loathes crying in front of you. Well, showing any sort of emotion really. You don’t remember seeing him shed a tear since the day you called him ‘dad’. It just slipped out of your mouth one time. It just felt natural after a while. 

Ward is the only father you’ve ever known, your mother having divorced your biological father when you were just a few months old. You’ve never met this man, though you’ve heard he has another family on the mainland. You can’t deny you’ve been curious about him at times. But your mother’s lips are sealed when it comes to that man. She rarely talks about that time but you always gathered that his absence in your lives is somewhat of a blessing.

You hug Dad again.

“It’s okay. I promise to visit a lot. For every holiday. And you guys can come see me too.” You try to lighten the mood as you note the sour faces. “It’ll just be four years. Then I can come home and work on getting my real estate license while working with Dad at Cameron development.”

“That’s my girl. Eyes on the prize,” he praises. 

“Always.”

He sweeps an icy glance over Rafe.

“If only a certain someone followed your example.”

Your brother flinches. He’s been a bit more withdrawn than everyone else during the party. Besides singing ‘Happy Birthday’, he hasn’t said a word to you. You surmise he’s not too eager to see you leave either. Out of all your siblings, you are the closest to Rafe. 

While he was standoffish when you first met, he’s warmed up to you considerably over the years. He’s not just your brother. He’s also your confidant. You can count on one hand the things you don’t share with Rafe.

“Come on, dad. That’s not fair,” you say, trying your best to dissipate the tension in the air. “He’s just on his own path.” 

Rafe bolts from his seat, stomping out of the room and heading to the balcony. 

Your shoulders slump.

“Not everyone has to go to college to succeed. You know that. And so does Mom.”

“You’re right.” He heaves out a weary breath. “But I’m not mad that your brother dropped out of college. I’m mad he doesn’t care about anything he can’t shove up his nose or get high with.”

Concern scrunches your mother’s features. 

“Honey,” she says.

“Alice, he’s twenty-two years old. It’s time for him to grow up.”

Bereft of arguments to defend Rafe, and with your dad being stubborn as ever, you elect to join him on the balcony. The cool night breeze seeps through your clothes. Goosebumps break out on your skin as you shiver by Rafe’s side. 

You decide to crack his shell with a lighthearted joke. 

“So I don’t get a gift from my big brother this year?”

A smile breaks out on Rafe’s face. He turns to you.

“But you always say you don’t want anything because you already have everything.”

You give him a harmless punch in the rib. He pretends to be deeply hurt by it and bursts out in laughter.

“I’m kidding,” he admits. “I'll give it to you later this week. It’s something you’ve wanted for a long time, promise. There was just a…temporary shortage.”

You acquiesce. You let a comfortable silence hang between you and him for a while before speaking again.

You take a deep breath. 

“I’m sorry about Mom and Dad,” you blurt out.

Shrugging, he scoffs, “It’s fine. It’s not like Dad will stop riding my ass all the time. At least Alice doesn’t have her foot on my neck 24/7.”

You grip his arm.

“They’re just worried about you. About your future.” Rafe’s jaw clenches, his blue eyes set forward. “You know Dad loves you. He’s just not very good at showing it.” Hope laces your tone. “Maybe try to stop by the office more? I’m sure he’ll appreciate you showing interest in the family business.” You shift closer to him, whispering. “Even Sarah can’t be bothered, just so you know.” This makes his hard gaze fall on you. Talking about Sarah never fails to make Rafe’s blood pressure rise. Even after all that time, the two of them can’t seem to get along. “You’re always talking about being proactive and all that. Then be proactive, Rafe.”

He studies you for a while before a slow smirk unfans on his lips. 

“You know…that is actually not a bad idea, princess.”

“Of course it’s a great idea. I had it,” you jest, drawing a hearty chuckle from him.

The buzzing of your phone shatters the moment. You startle. You hastily grab it from the pocket of your cardigan. 

“Just give me a minute,” you utter apologetically. You step away for a bit. Rafe’s eyes on you are sharp as you check your phone. The message you receive has you fighting a smile. You feel giddy that he remembered your birthday. You don’t even remember telling him it was today. Suppressing the goofy grin threatening to take over the bottom of your face, you return to your spot next to Rafe. 

“Who was that?” he asks.

You lie with ease. While you love Rafe, he can be so overprotective. To a suffocating degree at times. No guy will approach you because the mere knowledge that Rafe Cameron is your brother and will surely dole out a severe beating if any guy so much as stares at his sister too long makes most of them steer clear. Some of your suitors have tried, the brave, reckless ones, but Rafe would scare each of them away. 

There’s been a boy lately. One who eluded your brother’s relentless scrutiny. Familiar, but also kind of new. Rafe would blow a fuse if he knew who it was. He can’t find out. Not yet anyways. 

You slap on a mask of nonchalance. 

“No one.”

He gives a nod, licking his lips. He seems to mull over something before narrowing his eyes in suspicion. 

“Are you hiding something?”

Your stomach knots. You try to keep an even, casual tone. You fail. 

“I-I’m not. Why would you say that, Rafe?”

“I don’t know. You were acting shifty just then.”

“I’m allowed to have some privacy, Rafe. I’m not a kid anymore.”

His jaw ticks. He takes a small step back, as if your words hit him square in the face. 

“But we never had any secrets for each other, haven’t we?”

“Yeah.”

His blue eyes trap yours. 

“So who was it, princess?”

You shudder. Keeping things from him is near impossible. He knows you like a book he’s read every single page from. Again and again. 

This is how you know your subterfuge can't be a complete success. Still, you stick to your story.

“Like I said, Rafe. No one,” you maintain.

He bends over you, seizing your hand and tucking it against his chest. Your heart skips a beat. 

“You know I’m just trying to protect my little sister, right? That’s all I’ve ever tried to do, protect you.”

“I know,” you say, a small smile tugging your lips. 

He rubs his thumb across your palm, squeezing your fingers more tightly than before. You wince at the pressure. It’s on the thin edge of pain.

“So…you’d tell me if there was anything new in your life, anyone?”

Your pulse quickens. The lie aches as it rises from your throat this time. Needles of deceit. You aren’t used to lying to your brother. 

“Of course, Rafe. You’d be the first to know,” you chime, forcing a false, wobbly smile on your face.

He stares at you for so long that it grows unnerving. After an eternity, his grip on your hand slackens. You rub your pulsing fingers, a frown wrinkling your brow. 

He crosses his arms over the railing, eyes fixated on the night as he mumbles under his breath, “Good.”

You don’t know how to answer that, a wave of unease, cooler than the night chill, passing through you somehow. 

[evanpetersmybf]

All he asked for was you

Tate Langdon x female!reader

Summary: Tate loves you too much. He would do anything for you, to keep you by his side, to make you love him forever. He would cross any line to make you his, it doesn't matter how evil it is... But was it really worth it?

Genre: ANGST!! and some smut

Word count: 5,104

Warnings: Obsessive, stalkish and violent behavior, implicit toxic relationship; mentions of weapons, murder, mental health issues, family issues, school shooting; use of Y/N, swearing, cunnilingus, fingering, unprotected p in v. (i hope i'm not missing any...) NOT PROOFREAD !!

A/N: English isn't my first language!! Sorry if I have some mistakes and if Tate's a bit ooc (i tried to keep him in character as much as i could). I wasn't sure (and still not) if this is good but I spent days writing it, so I had to post it.

A small playlist with songs that inspired me for this: monster by meg and dia, pacify her by melanie martinez, all i want is you by rebzyyx, skyfall by adele, psycho by doko, paparazzi by lady gaga, dark red by steve lacy.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ཐི ♡ ཋྀ

Tate never believed in love, nor was he a romantic one. 

In fact, he despised it. How could he even believe in that feeling when he never felt loved by his own mother? At least that’s what he pretended.

The blond always had the facade of a tough guy, although he couldn’t fool anyone. Constance knew well he was a sensitive boy. Probably the most crybaby ever to exist… And the most unstable one.

Now he was here. His chest going up and down, breathing shallow and fast. His eyes were darting around the room, looking for something or perhaps someone. Some silly tears were rolling down his cheeks while he anxiously fidgeted with a ring on his finger. The clock on the wall continued its tick-tack. The time kept running. His heart kept beating. It was getting late.

He refused to look at the wooden floor. He didn’t want to accept reality. If Tate did that, he would feel like the biggest monster on Earth.

Nevertheless, he couldn’t stay like this.

He had to do something real fast.

Today, 18:40

You were supposed to arrive at 19:00.

But he remained there, next to the corpse of his rival. A bloody ax beside the dead man’s bleeding head.

Whom he thought was his worst enemy, was someone really dear to you.

Well, Tate fervently believed this was something justified. He couldn’t stand that fucking asshole anymore! That scumbag needed to be put back in his place. And Tate only did that. Furthermore, he actually helped him. He took him away from this shitty world. It was a favor.

He had already killed his mother’s boyfriend, so why was he feeling guilty?

Maybe because his victim was special to you. Because his death would hurt you. And Langdon swore to God he would never let anybody or anything hurt you, including himself.

He loved you.

He wanted to be the one to hold your hand forever.

Tate snapped back to the present and frowned. He picked up the weapon, putting it in his backpack. He didn’t even mind cleaning it. Then, he proceeded to knelt right next to the lifeless dude and cleaned the blood surrounding his body; afterwards, he dragged him to the basement and…

19:00

A knock on the door.

You arrived.

“DAMN IT!” 

He left his dead foe lying limp on the cold basement ground and quickly ran upstairs, straight to his room. He also left the backpack there.

Tate spent the last twenty minutes cleaning the mess he made in the living room after he atrociously smashed your friend’s head, forgetting that had poor time to get ready. 

He desperately looked for clean clothes, scrambling the entire closet in search of fresh garments while he cussed at himself, at his mother, at that freaking boy, at the entire world but you.

Finally he found some jeans and a striped shirt. He looked at himself in the mirror after changing and cleaned the tiny drops of blood that stayed on his face and hands. He never realized he left the bloody clothing on the bed.

Another knock.

19:07

Tate opened the door, immediately throwing himself at you and giving you one of the warmest hugs. His demeanor with you was completely different; you were the only creature capable of changing his fucked up mind into something more beautiful, more peaceful. The issue was that it only happened when he was with you, otherwise he would be aggressive and rude as usual.

You got the best of him. 

“Missed you so fuckin’ much, babe…” Voice muffled since his face was buried in the crook of your neck. Tate always did the same thing; clinging onto you like a small koala would.

“Heh, me too, hun!” You spoke with the same soothing voice he adored. Tate giggled and placed a tender kiss on your jawline, then another, and another, and another.

Soon enough, he was peppering kisses all over your neck, making you moan softly. Oh those sounds. He could hear you melting under his touch, his embrace, for the rest of eternity.

He loved making you squirm, making you laugh, making you feel loved.

He was way too sweet.

Only if you knew.

Four weeks before today…

Tate has always had the bad habit of stalking you. Yeah… He wasn’t proud of it. But can you blame him? He’s constantly afraid of you leaving him. He wanted to make sure you never did so… Otherwise he would die. Literally.

Don’t ask how he would die. You already know the answer.

You two were supposed to have a date, albeit you had to cancel your meeting.

And that, of course, made him overthink. It didn’t matter how many times you told him you were going to study; he felt betrayed, as if you were rejecting him. And Tate hated and feared rejection to the bone.

“Pretty please? Please, Y/N! I don’t wanna go home early, mom’s gonna be there and-and–”

“Tate, I can’t skip this. I have like, a test every day next week and I must study. I don’t wanna fail. Please, sweetie. I promise I’ll make it up to ya’, mhm?” 

He rolled his eyes and whined, almost throwing a tantrum. He didn’t try to manipulate you on purpose. It came out naturally. “But I need you, Y/N! Why do you always do the same, huh? Am I not that important? Don’t you love me any longer?”

His childish crying continued for a couple of minutes, until it stopped and the blond agreed a deal with you.

You thought he was calm now, but no. How naive.

You went to the library to study as you said… Without noticing he followed you.

Quietly, he got into that maze of books after you and hid behind some shelves.

Tate noticed you sat on an empty table. Thank God. Oh?

Who. Is. He.

A man Tate didn’t know sat next to you. Really close. Too close for Tate’s liking. He tried to think he was a stranger, that he wasn’t going to talk to you… He was wrong.

He clenched his hands into a ball when he saw that idiot talking to you, and the worst part was that you followed suit. It seemed you two were friends or something.

How DARE YOU talk to another man? No, how dare you talk to another HUMAN BEING!?

Tate was insecure 24/7.

If you weren’t there, Tate was falling apart. It was simple.

No Y/N, no happy Tate. Was it too hard to understand?

Three weeks before today…

It was Friday. Tate was impatiently waiting for you outside the campus, hanging a small bouquet of flowers he picked up.

Once he spotted you coming out from the building, he waved his hand and embraced you tightly once you were in front of him. He gave you the adorable present.

“Tate!”

“How did you do? Did you pass your tests? Don’t tell me, I’m sure you did.” Said, grinning from ear to ear. He was away from you for an entire week. How did he survive? He didn’t know, but he was glad to have you with him again. “Tell me about your life in the last days, baby. Please? I feel like I haven’t seen you in years!”

There he was, the one and only drama queen Tate Langdon.

You talked about the tests, about how the teachers were being a pain in the ass (which clearly triggered in him the intense desire of hurting them because they stressed you), and… About a guy. The same guy from the library, with whom you spent the entire last week studying. He couldn’t stand it. He saw him as a threat to your relationship, especially since he was an old friend that you met many years ago. 

As the days went by, you gave him more reasons to hate that jerk. Why? Well of course because you spent hours at the library doing homework or studying with him. Or even hanging out with him and other people.

In reality, you went out with him to a museum just once, and then skating with other colleagues. Nothing compared to the time you spent with Tate; in a week, you would hang out with him almost daily, and if you were way too busy, he would go to your place and spend the night there. He was so attached to you to the point he had to see you at least once a day. And that’s why he was so jealous of your friend. Tate couldn’t stand the idea of you sharing your life with someone else who wasn’t him or your family… And he also got jealous of them, but he was handling it.

Two weeks before today.

After Tate’s pleas, you decided to introduce your friend to him.

Probably a big mistake.

The date was really awkward; your friend tried being nice, and Tate acted surprisingly kind. Of course it was odd; usually, he despised all of your friends and treated them badly, yet this time was different. You were stunned, however, you tried to ignore it and instead got happy as he finally accepted a random person as your buddy. 

Still and all, he hated that moron. It didn’t matter how much he tried liking your pal, he was jealous of him. He was getting on his nerves. He denied the fact that you had more love for other people that wasn’t him. Tate desired being your only one. Your number one. Your entire world. Because that’s what you were for him. And he was willing to do whatever to keep you with him.

Tate exchanged numbers with him and meticulously plotted a plan to ascertain he would never talk to you ever again. At first, it came out as a simple “I’m gonna scare the shit outta him”, nonetheless, it turned into a darker idea, very likely involving physical violence.

One week before today…

The last few days, Tate won Peter’s trust. Ah yes. That’s your friend's name. You were glad that he finally opened his warm heart and began to meet more people besides you.

You thought he needed a friend, an empathetic person who could support the blond when you weren’t available, that way he would feel less lonely and depressed.

They went to the cinema, to the arcade, even to a music store. Everything was going according to what he planned.

Eventually, he invited Peter to his place to play chess and other board games on a Sunday afternoon, before you arrived and had a date with Tate due to your anniversary. 

Today, 16:00

Peter and Tate were eating pizza and having a great noon, talking about their lives and random stuff, like school and music. They both enjoyed Nirvana, and since Peter played the guitar, he agreed on teaching your boy how to.

If it weren’t for Tate’s twisted mind, they would’ve been best friends.

The guitarist wasn’t a bad guy. He was a great buddy that really appreciated you and the crybaby, but Langdon had something else in mind.

18:00

The men watched a movie. Tate didn’t even know its name; in fact, he didn’t even pay attention to it. Instead, he was focused on his next actions, plotting them carefully.

“Crap, mom’s gonna arrive soon…” Tate mumbled with annoyance, biting his nails and tapping his foot on the floor. He was lying. You were going to arrive, not Constance.

“Damn, bro. Well, I don’t have a problem. I wanna meet her.”

“Huh? No no no, you shouldn’t. That bitch is crazy.”

Peter scoffed, disagreeing with Tate’s rude manner to call his own momma.

“Hey, you shouldn’t talk like that. I bet she loves you!”

That pissed him off. “You don’t know anything, Peter. Your family is different. Your life’s different. You won’t understand!” He yelled, standing up from the couch and now pacing around the room, trying to keep it calm.

“Dude, calm down!

“NO! I fucking won’t!”

The screaming continued for a while. Tate revealed his unstable and crystal self. Even something so insignificant could drive him to the edge, like what happened today. That definitely surprised the other one, who used to think that Tate was a sweet boy. “I dunno why Y/N is dating you.”

“What did you say?” Tate abruptly stopped pacing.

“Y/N. Y/N doesn’t deserve you.”

“WHY WOULD YOU EVEN SAY THAT!?” He pounced on Peter, gripping his neck with one rough hand, applying enough pressure on the sides to stop the blood circulation in his carotids and make him lose consciousness.

Before passing out, Peter, getting pale, managed to croak out: “Because she deserves better…”

Soon enough, he fainted, giving Tate minutes to think about what else to do. 

Your boyfriend wasn’t planning on murdering Peter today. No, he didn’t have time. He also was supposed to meet you.. But this was the perfect excuse! And not only that; he indirectly admitted he was in love with you! Or that’s what Tate interpreted with his delusional point of view.

Peter didn’t feel anything romantic for you, he was just worried Tate might be too unhinged to be your partner.

Thus, he went to his room and grabbed his backpack. Then, went to the garden shed and picked up the ax that belonged to his father, and a bottle of lye.

He had to get the job done quickly, nevertheless, he lost track of time.

18:30

Tate came back to the living room, just to notice that Peter wasn’t there anymore.

“FUCK IT!” Langdon got nervous. What if he escaped? What if he told you that Tate was crazy? He couldn’t allow this, not at all.

Thankfully, or maybe not, Tate found Peter crawling towards the front door, the poor dude still feeling dizzy after being choked.

Tate didn’t have any mercy.

“Where do you think you’re going, lil’ piece of shit!?”

18:38

Tate finally did it. He brutally murdered Peter, smashing his head several times with the ax.

He got rid of that little issue. He took him to somewhere clean.

Once he assured the other man wasn’t breathing, he dropped the weapon on the floor, making a loud metallic thud.

19:10

Tate was pinning you down on the couch, the same couch where your dead friend was sitting just an hour ago.

His hands were traveling all along your body, tracing sweet patterns on your skin.

Eventually, his fingers were clumsily pulling down your panties, not minding to take off your skirt. “Did you bring this for easy access, baby?” Tate chuckled and buried his face between your legs, holding your thighs in place; his lips plastered messy kisses over the warm flesh, biting it and leaving tiny marks after sucking.

Your reaction was alluring to him; he enjoyed listening to your pleas, to your whimpers. If it was for him, he would spend the entire day making you cum over and over again.

He finally got rid of your underwear, tossing it aside. Without further ado, the boy spread your folds with his large digits, and continued to lick your throbbing wet cunt.

“So fucking pretty… So wet for me, huh?”

His tongue lapped your small clit two or three times, then, traced a zigzag and circles on the sensitive nub. While he devoured you, he inserted his middle and ring finger, pumping them in and out of your cute hole, curling them and hitting the right spot to make you feel butterflies.

Tate could feel his arousal growing; his erection being restrained by the tight fabric of his jeans. He was desperate, yeah. But he always put you in the first place, and that included pleasuring you before him.

After a while, he replaced his fingers with his tongue, fucking your pussy with the agile muscle and now rubbing your clit with his thumb, applying pressure that sent electric waves through your body. He stopped using his tongue on you and instead looked at that stunning face of yours. He was delighted with your flushed cheeks, with every single gesture you did, with the way your eyes rolled to the back of your head. He wanted to take a picture of you to remember this moment forever.

His thumb increased the pace, while his free hand lifted up your blouse and tried to undo your bra. He couldn’t. You giggled when he groaned in frustration; he was too horny to think straight and that’s why you helped him to take off the garment.

Tate sighed and after that awkward and funny moment, he kept rubbing your bud, using your own juices and his saliva as a lubricant, intensifying the sensation. His left pinched and pulled your nipple, making you gasp and twitch beneath him, whilst his mouth abused your other one, greedily sucking on it.

“Tate, ‘m gonna cum! I-”

Tate cut you off by kissing you harshly; his tongue invading your warm mouth, exploring it and then nibbling your bottom lip until it bleeded. He licked the tiny drops of blood, savoring the metallic taste of it.

Unable to hold on any longer, you reached your orgasm, coming undone while Tate kept caressing your pussy, decreasing the velocity while you finally calmed down.

He left you panting; your heart beating so fast just like his.

You tried to sit up on the couch, breathing deep for more air, but the blond prevented you from going away.

“Where do you think you’re doing? We’re not done yet, you’re gonna cum again!”

Tate carried you bridal style and went upstairs straight to his bedroom. He threw you on the bed.

Without stopping looking at you, he unbuckled his belt and pulled down his jeans along the boxers; his dick already erect and throbbing, the veins thick and the tip leaking precum.

Using the clear liquid as lube, he stroked his shaft for a while, jerking off to the sight of you. He groaned and whimpered, closing his eyes as his hand pumped himself.

One of your hands went to your breasts, massaging them softly as your right went down between your legs, slowly teasing your womanhood and coating your index finger with your arousal, using it to rub your aching bundle of nerves.

Tate’s dark room was now filled with both of your moans; Tate calling your name several times and you begging him to fuck you.

He couldn’t stand this anymore. He NEEDED to be inside you, to feel your warmth enveloping him. “On all fours. Now.” You immediately obeyed, feeling as eager as him.

“Look at me, mhm?” He positioned behind you and rubbed the tip against your wet folds, teasing you for a bit. Afterwards, he slowly entered his cock inside your slit, moving it slowly at first. His thumb went to your clitoris, toying with it just like minutes before. He picked up the pace and fucked you fast and hard; his cockhead brushing your cervix. Grabbing a fistful of your hair, Tate pulled your head towards him, still with the deep thrusting.  “Fuck, Y/N! You’re so pretty… So fucking precious, so fucking mine!” Moaned against your ear, voice raspy and agitated.

Panting, you stopped looking at him and instead looked to the bed. Why? Who knows, but you did it. And you saw Tate’s dirty clothes. Dirty with blood. A lot of blood.

You froze. Maybe it was red paint? 

“U-uh, Tate?” You muttered, feeling already bewildered by the sight. You tried not to jump into conclusions, although you knew Tate and he has always been… Secretive.. And aggressive, of course. 

After your boyfriend heard your shaky whisper, he stopped moving, even if he wanted to keep going. “Hm?”

“What’s this?” Tate sighed and pulled out from you, not understanding what you meant. 

“What’s what?”

Without saying anything else to him, you grabbed the shirt and touched the weird stain. It was still fresh. You took your fingers to your mouth to taste it; and the metallic tang was too obvious. “Tate, what the fuck is this!?”

You threw it at him. Freaked out, you stood up and picked up your clothes, putting them on again, all meanwhile Tate connected the dots and realized he was probably going to get caught.

“Wait, Y/N! It’s not what it looks like, I swear, damn it!” He yelled and grabbed your arm, not wanting you to leave like this. He had to save his reputation, he couldn’t let you think bad of him even if you had all the right. Because, why the fuck the fabric was soaked in blood?

“Then what is it, Tate? WHY DOES IT HAVE SO MUCH BLOOD!?”

“CALM DOWN, PLEASE!” 

You attempted to get away from his grip, struggling with him until, somehow, you managed to do so. However, you tripped with his dirty shoes and fell, realizing they were also stained with the red liquid. “Tate, what…? Why? What is this?”

“Nothing, I swear!” He didn’t have any excuses. Saying it was paint would’ve been lame. You were too smart and he knew lying wasn’t a good choice.

Feeling overwhelmed with the matter, you went downstairs, walking as fast as you could. Passing through the living room, a very familiar bag caught your eye. It was definitely Peter’s. You decided to grab it and realized it had his phone inside. Something was off.

Tate was standing behind you; fists clenched and heart beating like crazy. He tried to approach you, still thinking about what to do or what to say. 

“Tate… What is this doing here? Peter’s here?” 

“Huh? Yeah… He— He came earlier and had to go soon, he left this accidentally, yup…” You could see him fidgeting with that ring on his finger, again. 

“Bullshit!”

Tate scowled and grabbed your chin, making you look at his dark orbs. “Tell me, Y/N, do you trust me or not, huh? Look me in the eyes and say you don’t!”

The struggle continued for what seemed eternity. You trying to run away from the house and he trying to make you stay. “Please, Y/N, just listen to me!”

“You did something to him, right? I know him, Tate! He would NEVER leave his phone like this! Is this a joke?”

“Why do you care so much about that asshole!? What has he done for you!? Tell me!”

“Oh my, you’re jealous! I knew it! All that crap about being his friend was a lie, right? Tate, you’re being delusional! I can have friends, I can hang out with whoever I want, whether you like it or not!” 

Tate pressed your cheeks between his thumb and the rest of his fingers, squeezing the flesh with his veiny, big hand, pressing it tightly enough to leave the mark of his long digits on it.

“You can’t! You’re mine. Only mine. Since the day you were born you were meant to be mine. Not his, not anybody, just me.”

“Tate… We should end this…” You thought this was the best for both. Being in a relationship with him was draining; always being careful to not hurt him, make him jealous or mad. He was such a sensitive boy that always took everything too personally. He felt everything a little too much.

Since the beginning you knew he was unstable and that he had many issues, but you tried to see beyond his sick mind, you tried to understand him despite being so different.

Tate felt so safe with you. You were the only person who understood him, or at least made attempts to. 

He felt rejected by the entire society, even by his own mother, until he met you and he had a minimum spark of hope that the world didn’t suck that much.

That’s why he clung to you. That’s why you were his everything. He would lose his mind if you leave him.

He felt like dying when he heard you wanted to finish the relationship.

He couldn’t breathe. 

Some tears were now falling to the floor, his eyes puffy and an ugly frown on his face. His mouth twisted as he sobbed loudly, tugging the hem of your shirt while he begged you to stay. He was crying like a newborn, like a baby who had to be apart from his mother for a second.

“No no no no, you can’t do this to me!” He whimpered, his speech cracking as he tried to hold you close whilst you were stepping back. You were slipping through his fingers, you were leaving him.

“Tate, if something happened to Peter, I will never forgive you! Can’t you see you’re hurting me?”

Tate swore he would never hurt you, nor let anyone. But here he was, finally snapping out of it and seeing the cruel truth. 

“You’ve been hurting me the whole time, Tate! I tried to understand you, I really did, I tried to help you, to save you from yourself! But it’s impossible. I’m losing myself here with you, I don’t even know who I am anymore! You don’t want help, do you? ‘Cause it doesn’t matter what I do, you’re never satisfied! You suffocate me!”

All those words were like daggers penetrating his skin, touching his nerves and making him die of pain. You were tearing him apart, just the way he was destroying you.

He finally let go of you, feeling a tornado of emotions. Tate felt depressed, mad, resentful, like he was going crazy. Though, he knew he had to leave if that’s what you wanted. He couldn’t bring himself to break another promise.

Thereby, he confessed his crimes to you. He explained he killed his mom’s partner a few days ago, and that now he had killed your friend. Why? He was jealous, he was scared you’d left him. You did it before you discovered the cruel reality, anyways. That’s why he told you. Because he couldn’t lose anything else.

The situation was utterly disgusting. Tate was sick. He murdered an innocent man and then proceeded to fuck you, as it was the maximum test of love, as if his life meant nothing.

You knew he wasn’t what people often considered “normal”. But this was definitely more than just being a “weirdo”. Tate needed psychiatric help… And being arrested, of course.

“You make me wanna puke, Tate! You’re the evil!”

Without hesitating, you left Tate behind, running as fast as you could from that living hell.

You just wanted to cry, curl up into a ball and wake up from this nightmare. You wished it was merely a bad dream.

Tomorrow morning, you’d go to the police, but for now you needed to sleep.

Monday morning, 11:05

You couldn’t sleep all night. You spent hours thinking about everything, about how this looked like a cruel joke to you. Eventually, you fell asleep at 4AM, and didn’t wake up at what seemed almost midday. 

An intense sound of police sirens woke you from your slumber. Startled by the loud noise, you rubbed your eyes and went to the window, trying to get a glimpse of what was happening outside.

Police cars and SWAT vans were going in a specific direction… Towards Tate’s street. It couldn’t be, right?

Did his mother find the corpse? Or perhaps something else?

You looked at the clock, realizing it was late and you had to go to class. 

08:00

After the most painful night of his life, Tate decided today everything would be over.

He had to cleanse the world… To take people to somewhere else, to some place full of peace away from the piss and the vomit that runs down the streets.

He was doing this not only because of your breakup, but also because of many other reasons. Your split up was the straw that broke the camel and drove him to the edge.

10:40

 After shooting the school, Tate left the place, looking unfazed about what he just did. He was unhinged. 

He peacefully got into his place, went to his room and stayed there for some minutes. 

The blond sat on the edge of the bed, leaving the gun right next to him and stared at nothing. His gaze was empty, but also there were some tears threatening to spill.

His mind was a whirlwind. Some part of him was satisfied, but the other was confused, wondering what was he thinking, what had he done?

What would you think of him now? Were you even there? Did he kill you too and he didn’t even notice?

In the end, he recognized he indeed was the evil you said. Damn it. You were right, again, as ever.

Tate wanted to hear your voice, to comfort him, to hear you saying everything was okay. That he’d be okay. He desired to hear “I love you” from you once more.

11:15

You went downstairs to find your family apparently mourning you.

They thought you were at school when the shooting happened. They believed you were gone, but here you were. 

Eventually, they explained to you what happened.

The first thing that popped into your mind was Tate’s wellbeing, still unaware that he was the culprit. You were afraid something terrible could’ve happened to him, you were regretting your last words to him, but you also had to get him prisoner.

Your heart dropped when they explained to you he was the shooter.

No, it couldn’t be possible. 

It was possible. After all, he had already killed two men.

Even if you despise what he did, some part of you still longed for him, still was in love with his once kind heart.

A terrifying feeling of dread filled your body, making you feel numb, as if none of this was real… 

11:25

After running to Tate’s house and seeing it surrounded by the cops and the SWAT team, everything stopped. Constance’s distressed cries and pleas were heard from outside, followed suit by the sound of bullets. It was over now.

Tate was certainly a troubled individual who dedicated his entire life to searching for something, to feel something, to feel loved.

All he asked for was love, to be loved, to love. All he wanted was you.

But at the same time, your love led him to an never-ending obsession that ultimately broke both of you.

He became your biggest regret.

All he feared, all his nightmares came true. Everything he was so afraid of was him and only himself. 

[yanyandam]

WEIGHTLESS- SANO Shinichiro x fem!Reader

Maybe being stuck in an elevator isn't so bad, - Shin falling in love at first sight

Shinichiro was in a terrible hurry today. His heart pounded as he strode through the streets, his breath forming faint wisps in the still-cool morning air. The night before, while returning late from the garage, he had caught some kids vandalizing the storefront of S°S MOTORS. Seriously… Those little bastards had been pelting the glass with rocks.

A stroke of luck, though. He had recognized one of them, a local troublemaker. He even knew which building the kid lived in, a worn-down apartment complex covered in faded concert posters and graffiti.

The soles of his sneakers scraped against the asphalt as he reached the entrance. A sigh escaped him. The place reeked of humidity and stale tobacco, the lingering scent of stairwells long neglected. Near the glass door, an old woman was feeding a stray cat. Shinichiro approached her with a forced smile and asked which floor the boy lived on. The old woman slowly lifted her head, squinting through thick glasses, and replied in a raspy voice that the boy lived on the seventh floor, all the way up.

Muttering his thanks, Shinichiro rushed inside the building. Another stroke of luck: there was an elevator. He slipped in just before the doors slid shut. Only once inside did he realize he wasn’t alone. His gaze flicked forward, but he kept to himself, his mind preoccupied. The elevator groaned as it started moving, and he wondered if this metal box could still be trusted.

The moment the elevator doors closed, a voice cut through the stale air, a woman’s voice, carrying the kind of effortless elegance that lingers like the final note of a song. “Which floor?” she asked.

Shinichiro felt his stomach lurch, as if gravity itself had shifted beneath him. His throat went dry, his thoughts scrambled like a faulty engine refusing to start. He had expected silence, maybe an awkward shuffle of feet, not… this. Not a voice that carried a weight he wasn’t prepared for.

“Uh—uh, s-seventh,” he stammered, mentally kicking himself. He was awful at this. Absolutely terrible. He tried to look anywhere but at her, as if avoiding her gaze could erase his own awkwardness. The button panel suddenly became the most fascinating thing in the world. His fingers twitched, hesitating before he realized she was waiting for him to press it himself. Damn it. He reached out clumsily, jabbing the button with more force than necessary. The small illuminated number glowed back at him in silent mockery. “Thanks,” he mumbled, barely above a whisper.

For a fleeting moment, Shinichiro was certain he saw the numbers on the panel dance, shifting places in a surreal, dizzying blur. His vision wavered, his balance teetering as if the entire elevator had lost its grip on reality. The air felt heavier, thick with something unnameable, an atmosphere charged, pressing against his skin like static before a storm. He blinked rapidly, trying to steady himself, to anchor his mind back to the simple logic of numbered buttons and ascending floors. But the sensation lingered, twisting in his chest, in his throat. Maybe it was the claustrophobic hum of the elevator, or the lingering echo of that voice, still threading through his thoughts like a melody he couldn’t quite place.

It was just nerves. Just exhaustion. Just a momentary lapse in his already scrambled composure…

The elevator lurched to an abrupt stop, the sudden jolt knocking Shinichiro slightly off balance. A dim flicker ran through the overhead light before settling into an uneasy glow. A metallic creak echoed from above, followed by the scratchy distortion of a speaker crackling to life.

“Looks like we’ve run into a bit of a technical issue,” a voice announced, slightly muffled. “Seems like this elevator’s gonna be stuck for a while. We’re estimating about… thirty minutes. Hang tight.” A soft click, then static. Then nothing.

Shinichiro barely heard the rest of it. His brain had latched onto one singular fact: He was stuck. In a confined space. For half an hour. With her. He swallowed, palms suddenly clammy. His mind, ever the eloquent narrator of his own suffering, whispered: I’m trapped with a literal angel.

His heartbeat picked up, knocking against his ribs like a desperate escape attempt. He took a slow breath, trying to will himself into composure. Thirty minutes. He could survive that. Probably.

She exhaled, an amused lilt in her voice as she broke the silence. “Well… guess we’re stuck together.”

Shinichiro scrambled for a response, something smooth, something cool, but all that came out was a strangled, “Y-yeah.”

A small pause. Then, lightly, “You okay?”

He nodded way too fast. “Yeah! Totally. Fine. Super fine.” God. Kill me now.

The elevator remained steeped in thick silence, broken only by the faint hum of the machinery and the occasional creak of metal settling into stillness. Shinichiro stood frozen, hands stuffed deep into his pockets, as if grounding himself could stop the absurd pounding in his chest.

She shifted slightly beside him, lifting a hand to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, and in that instant, Shinichiro felt as if his heart was about to burst straight out of his eyes. Heat crawled up his neck, and he yanked his gaze away so fast he might’ve given himself whiplash.

It was embarrassing. Excruciating. And yet, for some inexplicable reason, he wanted this moment to stretch on forever. If time could slow down, if seconds could turn into hours, he wouldn’t have minded one bit.

She exhaled softly, then, with an easy sort of confidence that only made his awkwardness worse, she turned slightly toward him.

“So…” her voice, smooth yet teasing, cut through the air between them. “Are we just going to spend the next thirty minutes standing here in complete silence?”

Shinichiro’s brain, ever unreliable in moments like this, scrambled for a response. “Uh… I mean… I don’t mind silence?”

Her lips curved into a small smile, and he nearly keeled over. “Fair enough,” she mused. “But since we’re stuck here, might as well introduce ourselves, right?” She tilted her head slightly, expectant. Shinichiro, very aware that there was no escape, cleared his throat. “Uh… I’m Shinichiro, Sano Shinichiro.”

“Shinichiro,” she echoed, as if testing the name. “Nice to meet you, Shinichiro. I’m…” She gave her name, but he barely processed it over the ringing in his ears. He nodded stiffly, gripping the edge of his jacket as if it might save him. There was a pause before she spoke again, this time with a softer tone. “So… do you have any siblings?”

That caught him off guard. “Uh, yeah. I have a little brother.”

Her eyes brightened with interest. “Really? Me too.”

Shinichiro blinked. “You do?”

She nodded. “Mhm. And let me guess, you have to deal with all the ‘big sibling’ responsibilities, right?” A small, breathy laugh escaped her. “Being the eldest is tough. You’re supposed to be responsible, be the ‘example,’ but all it really means is covering for them when they get into trouble, right?”

Shinichiro chuckled nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah. Something like that.”

“I swear, younger siblings have no idea how much we do for them.” She sighed dramatically, shaking her head. “But I guess that’s the job.”

Shinichiro nodded, unsure how to contribute without sounding like a complete idiot. “Uh… yeah. Definitely.”

She laughed again, and it wasn’t mocking: it was warm, lighthearted, like she found his awkwardness amusing rather than off-putting. That somehow made it even worse. The conversation meandered, moving from siblings to school, to work, to whatever small thing came to mind. Shinichiro remained hopelessly awkward, tripping over words, stammering, nodding too much. But she never seemed bothered by it. If anything, she kept leading the conversation, making it easy to follow, like she was pulling him into a current he didn’t mind getting swept away by.

Somewhere along the way, the tension in his shoulders eased just a little. He was still a mess, but at least he was a mess who was talking.

Ahh…A single laugh. That was all it took.

Light and effortless, her laughter rose in the confined space, weaving itself into the very air he breathed. It wasn’t loud or exaggerated, but something about it carried warmth. A sound that sent a heat from another language rising in his body, spreading slow and steady, like the glow of city lights flickering to life at dusk. Shinichiro swallowed hard, gripping the inside of his jacket as if that could ground him. But it was useless. He was already floating, already untethered. It was ridiculous, really, how a voice, a moment, could turn an ordinary elevator ride into something else entirely.

Please, let us be the only ones here forever.

The thought whispered through his mind before he could stop it. His gaze fixed on the flickering numbers above the doors, tracking the steady ascent, yet a part of him wished for the floors to stretch into infinity. For the world outside to pause. For the clockwork precision of time to falter, just this once. He wanted to stay here. 

Suspended between where he had been and where he was going. Between the faint hum of machinery and the rhythmic cadence of her breath beside him. Between the overwhelming awkwardness tightening his throat and the quiet, terrifying realization that he didn’t mind this. That, somehow, he didn’t want to be anywhere else. In this fleeting moment, he existed nowhere but here. Not in the past, not in the future. Just here.

In weightlessness.

A sudden jolt snapped Shinichiro out of his trance, the elevator humming back to life beneath his feet. The numbers above flickered, the mechanical whir of gears filling the space that, just moments ago, had felt frozen in time. And just like that, the spell was broken. He barely had time to process the disappointment settling in his chest before the doors slid open with a smooth chime, revealing the dimly lit hallway of the seventh floor. Reality rushed back in, sharp and unrelenting, reminding him exactly why he was here in the first place. The brat.

His mood soured instantly as his gaze locked onto the familiar figure standing just outside an apartment door, hands shoved deep into his pockets like he hadn’t just been out causing trouble the night before. Shinichiro inhaled sharply, already running through the words he’d planned: firm, scolding, maybe even a little threatening. But just as he was about to step forward, a movement beside him caught his attention.

She walked past him, her steps unhurried, casual, like she belonged here. His confusion deepened when the boy looked up, and instead of shrinking back like a guilty kid caught in the act, his face lit up.

“Took you long enough, sis!” The boy’s whine was unmistakable.

Wait.

Shinichiro’s brain stalled.

Wait. Wait. WAIT.

Sis? The woman? Her? She was his older sister? Shinichiro’s carefully crafted speech disintegrated on the spot. Whatever righteous anger he’d been about to unleash evaporated into nothing, replaced by a single, horrifying realization.

He couldn’t make a scene. Not in front of her. Oh, he was so screwed.

Still standing just outside the elevator, Shinichiro willed himself to move, to say something but instead, his feet stayed planted as his thoughts ran in frantic circles. The kid, oblivious to his internal crisis, grumbled something about how long she took and how he was starving. She reached out, ruffling his hair with practiced ease before turning back toward the elevator. Shinichiro swore his soul left his body when she met his gaze again, smiling lightly. “Guess this is your stop too, huh?”

He nodded stiffly, stepping out onto the floor as if the ground might disappear beneath him. “Yeah… uh… I—” He cleared his throat, praying his voice wouldn’t betray him. “I was actually looking for… him.” He motioned vaguely toward the boy, who had already pulled out some video game, not even paying attention. She raised a curious brow. “Oh? You two know each other?”

Shinichiro hesitated. “Something like that.”

A pause. Then, before he could completely self-destruct, she laughed softly, tilting her head. “Well, guess that means we’ll be seeing each other again.”

His brain short-circuited. Somewhere in the distance, angels were probably singing.

He barely managed to respond, but she didn’t seem to mind. She turned back toward the apartment, knocking twice before glancing back over her shoulder one last time. “See you around, Shinichiro.”

And then she was gone, disappearing inside with the kid, leaving him standing there, heart hammering, mind racing. Well. At least now he had an excuse to see her again. And next time?Next time, he’d be ready.

Mfs will post Shin fanfics during KOKO'd birthday and call themselves FANS.

[voidcat]

assigned knight!mithrun x royalty gn!reader – hcs and blurbs

a/n: this was supposed to be just some hcs but ended up as a 2.7k beast... nsfw content by the last third/half so minors do not interact ! and to clarify mc is one of the youngest of their family but age wise they're close to mithrun.

renowed hero mithrun, one of the big talents who fought bravely during the war. mithrun who is left broken afterwards, losing all his purposes, all his senses, the deaths he witnessed, the news he received. at the frontlines, he receives news of his brother and his beloved marrying– no longer his beloved now, is she? he feels something inside him break but has to ignore it all away. he was never meant for the throne, not when his brother is in such a state, unable to wield a sword, when there is war raging at all sides, when people need to be led and to be supported at the frontlines.

mithrun who resembles an empty shell now, unsure how to carry on from then on, until one of the kings he fought side by side invites him among their ranks, their kin. "let us be your new home, and you can spend the rest of your days at ease, come now, honorary knight mithrun of house karansil, the leading hero, finishing slash of this war." no reason to refuse, he simply accepts, he agrees to becoming one of king's younger kids' assigned knight. maybe another task like this, this need to watch and protect will give him a sense of purpose, an excuse to keep on living.

and here enters you, the young royal, so oblivious, so unknowing to all those happening around you, not a single care and isolated from the world, you spend your days at the castle, strolling gardens, sketching and reading whenever you can, make a face at the slightest topic of future and marriages. aware of the unstoppable future that awaits you, the fate no royal can escape– save for those who are unelligable, those who fall ill and die or those like mithrun, no longer a part of their own kingdom. the young royal and their knight joint at the hip soon enough, days and weeks pass, years come by and you two never seperate.

loyal knight mithrun who always walks by your side, tailing behind like a shadow and the young royal, they still call you, that walks without a care in the world; who helps him to stop and smell the flowers again, talk over red poppies and shed tears together in seclusion, sneak desserts from the kitchens and taste the sun on berries while taking shelter in the shadow of great oaks, whom he chases after literally and figuratively– he agreed to become a knight, because by default they live by a single purpose, but mithrun notices himself finding his purpose again in the shape of your smile. how your chest moves up and down at night, how you tense and whisper to yourself when plagued by night horrors.

loyal knight mithrun always found next to you, holding your hand when you climb down the stairs, wrapping an arm around and pulling you closer to him when you cannot sleep at night. your breathing a lullaby to his ears, and you a source of comfort to him, as much as he is to you. as goal oriented as he is, and with the war dulling his senses and entire being, he was in a way, the perfect knight, just a man crafted of his duty and nothing else. And with abilities like his, he could come to your aid in no time, carve out the eyes that look at you the wrong way.

Yet as you nurse him back to reality, intentionally or not, he finds anxiety and guilt eating at him with each passing day. The same acts you once performed, he feels himself unable to respond with the same nonchalance now. When you bring another berry to his lips for him to eat, he does his best to take it from your hands without his lips making contact with your fingertips. He does his best to look away when you lick off the excess nectar dripping from the peach you’ve just eaten, even just standing outside your door grows harder and harder, his keen sense of smell betraying him and his body.

You should be guilty too, for not noticing how you’re tormenting him.

Preparing for bath, you take off your clothes, let your private garments drop to the floor like it’s nothing. Stepping into the bathtub, taking your sweet time as you do so, leaning your head backwards and letting out a content sigh— “Mithrun!” You call up to him in a sudden, eyes wide open, “can I ask you something?”

In fear of words betraying him, he settles for a nod. Making a gesture with your hand reachimg out, you signal for him to come closer. Hand diving into his hair like always, stroking his face, his cheeks and over his eyes, “when was the last time you have taken a bath?” You ask, giving him a curious gaze.

As he tries battling for an answer to give you, because if he knows you, he knows what will come after this and he is unsure his poor heart can survive it. “Ah, usually at night when you’re—“ “stop lying, I know you wait by my side every night too.” You cut him off.

Bringing a finger to your lips, you pretend to think. “Oh, I know! There is plenty of space here, why don’t you take a bath with me? Maintaining appearances is important, it keeps you refreshed and ready for everything, no?”

When you stare at him with big, begging eyes, words laced with concern adn worry, and all of it just for him, he finds himself unable to move, until he catches sight of you trying to take his armor off and drag him into the water with you.

There is plenty of space for more than one person, but you stand glued to his side, your warm body pressed up against his, fingers in his hair massaging his scalp, your fingertips tracing over his old scars. Mithrun finds himself vulnerable to your touch, soft and laced with love, colder than the water, sending electric down his spine every time.

Your father, the king, dotes on you and always brags about his trusted knight Mithrun at banquets. Raising a glass in honor of the man who saved his life and protects the life of one of his treasures— not knowing the same man is guilty of growing an attachment to the said treasure. every time the king or an elder praises him for not just past accomplishments but for his current post, he feels guilt beginning to bloom and grow– the knight supposedly in charge of you, protecting and shielding you from bad eyes strrugles to stand by your side at night.

should you really be wearing a nightgown see-through and light, he wants to ask, with just a little breeze you'd catch a cold in no time, he tries to rationalize his thoughts; trying to wipe off the images, how the moon shines down on you, how the thin material sticks to your skin, presenting you before him. he feels the guilt toward you most of all, after everything he has lived through he has gained a bit of instincts and senses and yet he is still the same despicable man of the past; how he repays your kindness, your love and care– why, he remembers it like yesterday when you stroke his cheek and prosthetic eye, placed a kiss there and looked at him like he is still whole. as his affection for you grows, he wishes more and more to return to just the end of the war, when he was still hollow and indifferent toward you.

Mithrun realizes in many ways he is your first witness. First to see you get stung by bees, at which you asked for him to kiss it better, usually the first to see you getting sick, immediately calling in a medic to prepare for you a brew; first to cuddle you to sleep at nights, your head buried into his chest and your legs wrapped around his; first to guide you, first to help you explore the castle grounds, the city, banquets to come and even your body, at your request.

right outside your bedchambers one night, mithrun muses whether should he make a quick trip to his chambers. with the change of weather his usual armor and undergarment feel too thick. before he can teleport himself, muffled sounds of someone reaches his ears– out of breath and erratic, coming from no other direction than your chambers, the voice belonging only to you. frozen in place, he teleports himself into your room without a thought and finds himself nailed to his spot. the sight of you under the pale moonlight, a hand between your tighs, eyes closed shut and your face an expression he can only describe as 'pleasure'. mithrun has no clue for how long he stands there, stuck, feet glued to the floor, until you turn your head toward the door, eyes finding his and before he can see how you'll react, he teleports himself out– for hours he feels his beating frantic, threatening to burst out of his chest.

for the following days, he tries putting a distance between the two of you, replying with few words at most, avoiding your gaze, your touch like the plague. he can stand his guard only so long until he gives in, defeated by the sadness that takes over you after his sudden change of behavior. as if reading his mind, you do anything but drop the matter, eventually what he walked into coming to the surface as well. battling on the fields is easier, he thinks, there is only instincts, sharp and calculated moves, kill or be killed, conquer before you can be defeated– such is not the case outside war, and certainly not by your side, you always find a way to make things twice as difficult for him somehow. the scent of your body still haunts his senses and you have the courage to ask him what was going on with your body exactly!

you complain about all those people you see on castle grounds, exchanging gazes, holding hands, in the narrow hallways or the gardens, stealing kisses and using terms of endearment when conversing. not jealousy but yearning is apparent in your voice and he notices that much. it is not easy spending your whole life confined to a castle– even harder when you are a long life species, the hidden hallways remain a mystery only so long, few decades in and they lose all interest. "i couldn't sleep" you pout, "i was just lying down, must've thought myself in those scenes i often witness, and my hands were wandering around." your voice begins to drop with each word, "it was just trailing my fingers around until it felt... funny, and... ah... some sort of wetness, or so to speak." you finish shyly, turning your head away.

at your confession mithrun doesn't know how to react. such topics aren't exactly welcomed to be discussed so openly among your kind. burrowing his brows, he decides to take a simpler approach, from general to specific. "you see... our bodies have certain reactions reserved for certain situations." he does his best not to stammer over his words, does his absolute hardest to not make contact with those big, bright eyes of yours. "when we enter puberty, certain systems of ours go through changes to accomodate for new things we might experience in the future." one thing you have said bothers him though. "that was one of them. take that sensation you have described for example. it occurs so the act itself might take place easier and without causing discomfort for both sides." you seem to find his explanation helpful, judging from the smile slowly forming on your face. he can see the gears turning in your head, he hopes you reserve those new questions for the books you read.

"your highness, may i ask you something?" he blurts out, now or never. his formal way of addressing seems to catch you by surprise, he continues when seeing you nod. "if i won't be crossing any lines..." "there is no such thing as tha–" you say almost instinctively. "you said you were thinking, who was it?" he asks bluntly. "I..." your mouth opens and closes, head turned to the side, you cast your eyes downwards; he can see a blush creeping up. his ears pick up on you mumbling a 'no one' but he knows you are just deflecting now. if you are uncomfortable, he won't pry further. seeing him walk, you qucikly rush to his side, taking the arm he has offered you. "come now, what was it you said you wanted to do today? the greenhou–"

"could you lend me a helping hand actually!" you claim loudly in a sudden, fists clenched in excitement. "you know i would never refuse you as long as logi–" "i mean it, literally." you cut him off, emphasising on the word, and take his hand in yours, moving it in the air while giving him a determined look. considering the topic of conversation the two of you just had and now that... it doesn't take him long to connect two and two together. "a- absolutely not! i-" you will be the death of him, that's for sure. coughing few times, he tries gathering himself and catching breath. "your highness, acts such as the one you accidentally tried, are private matters. done by one's self or with a special one. you cannot just ask anyone that."

you bring your face closer to his, "i am not asking anyone, mithrun" you speak word by word, "i am asking you." the pronoun rolls off your lips like honey, poisoned. "when i say 'special', i mean a significant other, your highness." he adds the title at the end, already sounding defeated. you know exactly what he meant, why must you make things so difficult for him? "or a spouse, in our cases." he adds on, his gaze cast down, "though i doubt the same still applies for me." his voice comes out in a whisper, the unevitable future of an awaiting marriage haunts you both, and he wonders were he to return home, would he regain his title, be elligable for your hand after all.

in the end, he gives up. knight mithrun finds himself more vulnerable than before. lying in your bed, your body pressed against his with the both of you awake. bringing his hand to his lips, he licks his fingers and trails down your chest, your abdomen, down to your groin. feeling every crook, inch and curve of you, fingers moving smooth and slow, he drinks in your expressions, how your lips slightly part, pleasure taking over your entire body, how you grow wetter with each touch, each movement. he has to bring his other hand to your mouth at one point, it wouldn't be wise to have passerbys hear the sounds you make for him now. how you begin to whimper under his hand, small moans soon saying his name like a plea, 'more, more, more' you begin to chant– a symphony to his hears, he watches how your body begins to spasm in pleasure as you reach your high, coming all over his hand, making a mess.

bringing his hand to his lips, he licks his fingers, savoring your taste. with hazy eyes, you barely catch sight of him, your hand trying to make way to him. Mithrun sees your exhausted attemps and brings his cheek to your palm, the all-too-familiar gesture you grace him with on a daily basis; though rather than stroking, you try to pull him towards yourself. "oh? curious as to how you taste?"

the question leaves his mouth without a second thought, though you don't seem to register his words, too focused on his lips. giving his hand another, long lick; mithrun leans into you and for the first time his lips meet yours– your saliva mixing with his, your soft lips eagerly biting into him with wanton need, how that hand tries desperately to pull him even closer, you taste just as sweet everywhere, his taste buds decide. his lips meet yours once and does not let go ever, even when the two of you gasp for breath, oxygen loses all its purpose and though the thought should horrify him, he realizes and accepts easily: mithrun meets his demise at the mercy of you, far exceeding the point of no return.

[headlinxr]

( 疼痛 ) CHXSE, N. NI-KI ، ꒱⸰ֺ ࣭•

𓏲 ┈─ ៵ i'll follow you every fucking day, just too see your face. ุ๋ ⸱ 𓄰

̼ ̼ ̼ ̼ ̼ 𓆸 TO THE OTHER SIDE ⸝⸝ Ni-Ki wants you to be his, but you already belong to someone else ˖ ៹

𓈒 𓄹 ⊹ , 夫妻 Ni-Ki x fem!reader × ִֶ

𓆤 ; 廣告 IN THE NIGHT, I SPILL THE LIGHT ຳ the reader is hee seung's partner, Ni-Ki can't stand seeing you with him, Ni-Ki deals with suicidal thoughts . 𓏲

٬ ៶ ૂ 通告 , This is a work of fiction. Unless otherwise indicated, all the names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents in this book are either the product of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. ༉‧₊˚

៹ 𓂃 HEADLINXR ִ ۫ ּ ֗ ִ 為了你，為了我 ؛ ៹

His room was dark, the light barely dared to enter. Ni-Ki felt trapped. The walls, like silent guardians, seemed to close in more and more, pressing on his chest with an unbearable weight. With each heartbeat, his heart resonated like a war drum, marking a battle rhythm that freed his inner self. He felt enveloped in a mantle of fresh mist, making each breath feel like a failed attempt to free himself from his invisible chains. In his mind, images of you danced like in a ballet, recalling everything about you, and the little he truly knew. With trembling hands, he searched for that object; a small leaf, cold and shiny, that promised him temporary relief. He stared at it, as if it were a mirror. When the steel touched his skin, it was as if the silence broke the mantle that covered him. The sensation was bittersweet, as if each cut were a grain of sand falling from an hourglass, marking the time slipping through his fingers.

Twilight finally seeped through the cracks in the room, tinting the atmosphere with a cold hue that accentuated the chill of the wooden wall against which he leaned. Without a shirt, his skin bristled at the touch of the rough surface, as if each splinter reminded him of the harshness of his life. With an impulsive gesture, he lifted his gaze, and what he found was a mosaic of memories clinging to the wood; thousands of photographs of you.

Each image was a glimpse of your essence: Captivating smiles, looks that bestowed joy, and moments frozen in time. But in each of those snapshots, there was an element that drove him crazy, a piercing reminder of his tireless devotion: Hee Seung. his heart contracted in an act of rebellion, as if a serpent coiled within him began to squeeze with ferocity. Rage erupted within him, igniting his mind with a torrent of distorted thoughts.

─Why... Him?─ He wondered, as his gaze lost itself in the abyss of jealousy that slowly devoured him. The obsession settled in his chest, a parasite that fed on his despair. Your image, an intruder in the world he imagined, became a ghost that haunted him, a constant echo reminding him of his own inability to be the center of his own universe.

The wall, now a canvas of his torments, seemed to mock him. Each photograph was a poisoned dart, a vivid representation of the happiness he longed for and yet slipped through his fingers like sand in an endless desert. The helplessness enveloped him like a dense fog, and his mind spun in circles, trapped in a labyrinth of dark thoughts.

With a deep sigh, a silent scream of frustration, he stepped away from the wall, leaving behind the gallery of broken dreams. He knew that his obsession was a mirage, a distorted reflection of a reality that refused to be his. However, the echo of his desire resonated within him, and although the coldness of the wood reminded him of his loneliness, the image of her continued to burn in his mind, inextinguishable and desperately beautiful. He set the blade aside, and with trembling but determined hands, he tore down one by one the photographs that adorned the walls, images that, at another time, evoked laughter and shared promises. Now, each portrait became a piercing reminder of what once was and what could never be. The fragments of paper fell to the ground like withered leaves, symbolizing the death of a love that had blossomed in the garden of his heart, only to wither before the cruel experience.

In his mind, a storm of emotions was unleashed, a whirlwind of anger and sadness that threatened to consume him completely. He wished, with an almost visceral intensity, to erase from the map of his existence those who had dared to stand between him and his deepest desire. Your life, a beacon that once illuminated his path, had now become a darkness that enveloped him, and in his mind, a revenge was brewing that seemed as seductive as it was lethal.

Remember that sunny day, and the air infused with the fresh scent of spring. Jake said you were his sister, an ethereal figure dancing between laughter and dreams, dazzling in your innocence. Your laughter was a melody that resonated in his chest, and every word you spoke became an enchanting whisper that hymned in his mind. So irrevocably patriotic that it would make the national anthem stutter.

He wanted to trust in the sudden emotion he felt every time he saw you, he would trust that you would place perfectly carved sea crusts in the palms of your hands after searching for them for hours. He felt like a child, his heart racing, but fate was capricious, and you chose the young and handsome boy, finding yourself trapped in those nets that had ensnared thousands of girls like you. That betrayal, subtle as poison, was the stigma that marked his soul.

As the photographs fell, the echo of your laughter transformed into a lament, a symphony of what could have been. The anger turned into a fire that consumed him, fueled by memories that could not be undone. You were more than just a simple girl; you were a symbol of everything he longed for and couldn't have. He longed to be the protagonist of a forbidden story with you, where he imagined touching your soft skin and feeling the heat of your body against his.

With each passing day, Ni-Ki wished to become bolder, trying to let desire guide him down paths he knew were dangerous. Each chance encounter turned into a game of tension-filled glances, where he allowed himself to dream of an accidental brush, a whisper in the ear that would never materialize. In his mind, the line between admiration and harassment blurred, and his obsession became a thousand-headed monster that devoured him from within. The routine had become a sacred ritual. With a fixed gaze, Ni-Ki ventured into the streets you usually roam. His heart beat at a frantic pace, pumping a cocktail of adrenaline and desire. The city transformed into a labyrinth of possibilities, a stage where destiny seemed to whisper his name in his ear.

Ni-Ki tried not to be discouraged; for him, the possession of your heart did not depend on reciprocity, but on the fervor of his devotion. In his mind, you were his, a star in his personal firmament, and even though there were others around you, your essence remained unchanging, destined to join his in some corner of the universe.

Each chance encounter, each smile he managed to catch, was a brick in the construction of his obsession. Ni-Ki became a master of the art of invisibility, a ghost slipping through the crowd, always at the right distance, always at the right moment. His life turned into a dance of shadows and lights, where his only purpose was to be a silent witness to the joy you radiate.

The chase, for him, was not a mere act of following; it was a form of veneration. The mere act of contemplating you, of absorbing your essence, filled him with an almost mystical ecstasy. In his mind, each day was a new chapter in an unfinished novel, a story where the protagonist pursues a love that, though distant, beats with intensity in his chest.

Who would you call if he took you? When your back is against the wall, who would you turn to? He wishes he were the first one you thought of. When you are running down the corridor, it will be him who cuts the path. You will hear the sirens, but they will never hear you.

You splash through the puddles on the road, he hates running in the rain. You turn around, and see that he's coming for you. There's no one there for you, so you mustn't fall. Because you are his to take. Only from him.

[euphoricfilter]

HIIII GIRLY. I saw your drabble game anddd how about

"How could we ever just be friends" + yoongi djskskjs

just friends:

pairing: yoongi x gn! reader

genre: fluff || mild hurt with a lot of comfort || non-idol au

summary: maybe you were never just friends

word count: 1.2k

tags/ warnings: feelings, fluff, the smallest hint of hurt, they’re actually just really in love and the m/c is slightly oblivious but yoon is a big old sweetheart

notes: OMG HEY!!!!! you didn’t ask for a specific au so i did indulge slightly and made it fluffy and soft, hope you like it :D

drabble masterlist || all my other works

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆.

There had always been something utterly unique about Yoongi’s existence in your eyes. He had been the first, and only person whose life had meant anything to you.

You’d spent most of your life aimlessly wandering, taking each day as it came and only hoped it would get better the more you trudged through. Fingers letting go of the ropes of friendships you’d made and lost—people you didn’t pay any mind to now that they weren’t in your life.

You didn’t miss them. Never thought of them unless they were right in front of you, if they never made themselves known.

But Yoongi had been different.

It didn’t take his physical presence for you to wonder how he was doing. He didn’t need to message first for you to ask how his day was. Dreams filled with another reality, what the two of you would be doing the next time you met, how sweet your name sounded from his lips. Or that sweet smile he would give you every time you stumbled over your words, too caught up in his eyes your brain malfunctions and you forget how to speak.

Thoughts consumed by him, feelings wrapping around the idea of his existence, soul dancing around his in this weird push and pull, not quite just friends but not really anything more.

Special, precious, perfect, Yoongi.

In all your years alive you’d never had a crush until that first moment you met. Never once thought of another human being in any other way that wasn’t platonic. It felt as though part of your world had started to crumble to moment, you’d acknowledged how you truly felt about him, stuck in this endless dilemma. Because who were you meant to tell him about your feelings when he was your closest friend? What if he asked who it was? He knew you rarely went out, and you sure as hell would have told him if you’d gone on any dates. So, you’d been stewing in your own feelings for as long as you can remember, too scared to utter a word about what was really happening between the two of you.

Because, sure his touches lingered, warm skin pressed against one another until the heat has travelled to your cheeks and you refuse to look at him, too scared he’d see how flustered you were. And sure there was the nicknames, though that was something he’d started early on, and you had doubts he fell in love just as quickly as you did.

Sometimes it felt like he only smiled at you, and yet you could only assume it was because you were his best friend, a safety net for him as much as he was one for you.

But not once had he made it obvious he liked you any more than a friend. A fact you’d slowly decided you could live with.

Just like yourself, it wasn’t very often Yoongi went on dates, you don’t think he’s been on one in the time you’d been friends. Which makes this whole dilemma slightly easier to swallow, because at this moment in time you were probably the most important person in his life.

You got to live out your secret little fantasy, and he got a low maintenance friendship. The perfect exchange.

And truly you believed it would be like this forever, until that little dream in the forefront of your mind was shattered by someone else coming into his life, and the two of you slowly drifting apart.

That was until tonight.

It wasn’t often you drank, never indulged in the fine whiskeys Yoongi would bring over to your place, stashed away in the cupboard when he wanted a little something before bed. However, Yoongi had come over with a cocktail making kit, saying he’d done some research because he knew how much you liked sweeter drinks.

And maybe you’d had a few too many, eagerly asking him to make you different drinks from the little book he had, excited as you watched him mix everything together. Utterly amazed by how good everything he made tasted.

You can’t remember what you’d said, words tumbling out your mouth quicker than you could swallow them back down. The small, sane part of your brain slowly catching up to what was happening as you watch Yoongi’s face morph into something slightly more surprised.

“How could we ever just be friends?” he shakes his head, scooting closer to you on the couch.

“Because you don’t like m—”

He holds a finger up to your lips, quick to silence you.

“Don’t finish that”

A frown tugs at the corners of your lips, “but Yoongi—”

He takes hold of your hands, thumb running over delicate skin as he looks at your face.

“No” he shakes his head, “listen to me for a moment, yeah?”

He’s calm, voice tender and smooth.

You nod.

“You’re not forcing me into anything” he starts, “I thought I was being too pushy with you”

You swallow.

“Huh?” your eyes widen slightly, “But I could have sworn you didn’t like me more than a best friend”

The low rumble of a laugh vibrates from his chest, “Best friends don’t look at each other the way I look at you. They don’t hold your hand on days out, or wish they could kiss you when you make that sweet little face when you first wake up in the morning”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” you murmur, “I really thought—”

“And why didn’t you tell me, hmm?” he smiles, “feelings are weird.”

You nod, outburst having helped you sober up slightly.

“What now?” your legs bounce a little, so far out of your comfort zone.

“Whatever you want” he reassures.

“I’m scared” it spills past your lips before you can think about it.

He tilts his head slightly in question, “About what? Commitment?”  

You shake your head, frantic “I just—I don’t know what to do I’ve never dated a person before”

He gives you a gentle smile, “Just be you. Just like you are now, that’s all I want”

“But what if I want a kiss?” you inch a little closer to him.

“Then I’ll give you a kiss”

“What if I wanted a kiss when we go out to dinner with your friends?”

He laughs, “Doesn’t matter when or where, I’ll always be willing to give you a kiss if that’s what you please”

You chew on your bottom lip.

“I’ve never actually kissed anyone before” you say, shoulders losing their tension, because now this felt normal. Like how it always was with Yoongi, where you didn’t need to have secrets or be scared about what he thought. Because for all the time you’d known him, he had always been by your side, and you hope it will stay like that for the rest of time.

“Then I’ll teach you” he hums, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear, “Try not to worry your pretty little head too much, I know what you’re like”

“But—” you worry.

“Nope” he laughs, “We’ll work through this together like we do everything else, I’m always here for you, you know that right?”

Your eyes flicker between his for a moment, words settling into your soul as you nod.

“And I’ll always be here for you too, just so you know” the corners of your lips curl up into a smile.

[yan-lorkai]

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ Day three: Ghost!Idia obsessed with his darling

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ A/n: Ghost Idia, my beloved 🥺💕. I've been meaning to explore the concept of a ghost yandere because it sounded fun tbh. Though there was so many ideas for this fic aaaa, in the end i liked it just like it ended.

You had always heard stories about the restless dead, about how they would return if they had unresolved matters but you never expected one to be so fixated on you - or, to be more clear, for your dead boyfriend to still seek you out. Idia Shroud wasn’t supposed to linger in this world, yet here he was, more present in death than he ever had been in life.

He hovered at the edges of your vision, his ghostly form a flickering shadow you could never quite escape.

And though you tried to convince yourself it was just your imagination, perhaps the grief, you couldn’t deny that familiar voice calling out to you, whispering words that chilled your blood and stirred something in your heart. He both comforted you and terrified, he wiped your tears and made you cry harder.

There was no in-between.

“You can’t run forever, beloved,” His voice echoed one evening as you sat alone in your dimly lit room, food cold and untouched as another set of tears fell from your eyes. “Tears don't suit you, a smile does. And you used to smile so prettily when I was alive. You remember?"

You froze, eyes darting around but there was no sign of him. Not physically, at least. The air grew colder, and you saw your breath cloud in front of you, you hugged yourself tighter. You felt fingers ghosting over your shoulder, and his voice came again, closer this time, dripping with an unsettling affection. “Why do you keep pretending? You’re meant to be with me.”

“I-I’m not supposed to be with you.” You stammered, trying to summon the courage to deny him. To give him peace, as he deserves. “You’re gone, Idia. You should rest.”

“I can’t rest when you’re still here,” He snapped, his voice taking on an edge of desperation, his fingers digging into your shoulders painfully as he blinked a million times. “You don’t get it, do you? You were my world, my reason to live... I can't rest without you, even in death. I can't move on, not yet..."

You tried to ignore him but he was always there, always watching, always doing something that scared you. Every mirror in your home fogged up when you tried to look yourself in it, words scrawled in the condensation: Come to me. You don't love anymore? Please please please please.

At night, you’d feel him brush your hair away from your face, his touch icy and tingling, leaving goosebumps in its wake, as he lied by your side, trying to cuddle you even if it was impossible now.

“You look so lonely,” He’d murmur, voice as soft as the wind outside, as you closed your eyes and pretended to sleep. "I hate seeing you like this... Come to me, my love. Let's be together again.”

A single tear fell from your eye as you slept, cold and shivering. Life wasn't fair. He was dead, yet he was here.

You could touch him, could see and hear him. Life was cruel.

Every day became harder. Your friends stopped calling. Your lights flickered constantly, leaving you in darkness more often than not. Doors would lock on their own and windows refused to open, trapping you in this reality where only he existed. And he was always there, waiting for you to finally break.

Waiting for you to cry and drink yourself to sleep. Sometimes, you'd just lie in bed and stare at the ceiling.

One night, you woke to find him sitting at the foot of your bed, his ghostly form more solid than ever before. His hair glowed faintly, illuminating the pale, almost ethereal skin of his face.

There was an intensity in his golden eyes, a longing that made your heart skip a beat. “I’ve waited long enough,” Idia mutters, voice trembling with emotion. “I can’t stand to watch you suffer in this world anymore.”

You tried to pull away, but his fingers wrapped around your wrist, and despite their icy chill, they felt real. Too real. “Idia… please…”

“I can make all the pain go away,” He whispered to you, his voice rising. “All you have to do is come with me. It’s not so bad, I promise.” He leaned closer, his breath cold against your skin, sending shivers down your spine. “We can be together forever. No one will ever hurt you again. I’ll make sure of it.”

You shook your head, tears welling up in your eyes. “But I’m still alive.”

He smiled, a sad, resigned smile that made your heart ache, there were tears in his own eyes as he stared at you. “Not for long, love.” He murmured.

“You belong with me. You always have.” He reached out, his touch more tangible than before, and you could feel your heart slowing, your breath hitching, as if he were draining the life from you with every second you spent in his presence.

“It’s okay,” Idia whispered, pressing his forehead to yours, his eyes searching yours with an almost frantic desperation. “It won’t hurt. I’ll be right here. I’ll always be here.”

“Idia, no—” you tried to pull away, but your body was growing heavy, and all you could see were those glowing eyes, all you could hear was his voice, begging you to stay, to give in, to let him take you away from this world that had always been so cruel.

“Please, Yuu-shi!” He breathed, tears streaming down his cheeks as he leaned in to press a kiss to your lips, the contact sending a shock through your system. “I love you. I need you. Come with me… please."

And as your vision blurred, as the warmth seeped from your body, you could feel him smile against your lips, feel his relief wash over you like a wave.

“That’s it,” He whispered, his voice fading as everything went dark. “We’ll be together now… Forever.”

[theadhddimsenion]

Something that helluva boss is incredibly brave in doing is refusing to bow down to any kind of black and white morality system.

First and foremost I should bring up is how some so called "critics" of this show have attempted to claim that vivi is an "elitist apologist" because striker is a villain and it doesn't make the simple "eat the rich" ideology the most moral one.

I know that especially in times like these that resentment and anger towards those who are behind the massive mess we find ourselves in is at an all time high and 99% of it is totally and completely justified but one thing we have to remember is that the moment we stop considering another group as some evil and/or lesser we cross a very dangerous line.

What many of these people fail to understand is that the fact of the matter is that not every one of the "bourgeois" is a single minded monster determined to ruin the lives of the common folk for their own amusement. For sure the elites of the world are often the cause of most of our problems but acting as if they are simply evil by nature of what class they were born into is bigotry plan and simple.

People have a problem with conflating revenge with justice. Some people will insist that villains like magnetio and kill monger where justified in their actions because they only wished to bring an end to systemic oppression but the reality is that the mere act of opposesing systemic abuse and oppression is not some grand moral statement that places one above all criticism it just means you have enough compassion and Decency to understand that building systems that force people into horrible and unfair places is wrong which shouldn't be treated as if it's some massive moral revaluation!!

Strikers character is all about this folly. He's supposed to be a deconstruction of the idea that all it takes to fix a society is to give it the right leader because sometimes the problems with system are just too deeply rooted and much like a rotten foundation of a house the whole thing has to knocked down to start from scratch. He also embodies the folly that simply removing the people that created and corrupt system will magically make the system go away.

In some ways it makes sense that people would think this way. Many times when a tyrant is exposed as fallible in any way even against something as unbickqoutus as death their cults of personality die with them. But other times their influence will never seem to die and their will always be stupid, ignorant and/or evil people who will continue to rally to their vile cause even after it's creators death.

The point I'm trying to make is that what some people don't seem to understand is that their is more to social justice than just yelling "eat the rich!" And "fuck the one percent!" You have to actually look a the real problems of society, their causes and how to fix them and not be naive enough to belive that killing rich people indiscriminately will cause the world's evils and oppressive systems to vanish into thin air.

I've said it before and I will say it again. Striker is nothing but a bag of hot air and if you couldn't figure that out even after he had his own song about his own "greatness" then I'm not sure I can help you. Striker represents a type of villain some people on the left side of the political spectrum Don't want to acknowledge (for fair reasons as this often used to deny any form of societal reform) a performative Activest and a fake revolutionary. He is a reminder that there is a right and a wrong way to go about toppling corrupt systems. Their is blitzs way of actually doing something that would help your fellow victims of the system and help them rise up and then their is strikers way of yelling "eat the rich" expecting people to bow down to your Riddick and respect you for the most basic of social commentary and doing anything and everything to hurt those above you regardless if they are actually responsible for the injustices of the system all while comprising your "ideals" in the support of your own personal need for power and revenge.

[skay-ali]

Devil

Since you could remember you considered yourself strange, something told you that you were different, although you could fit in and live your day to day, something was wrong with you, you saw the children being happy and ignorant, you should be the same, but for But when you tried, sadness invaded you and fear dominated you.

You didn't consider yourself special in the least, you matured quickly, you had your feet on the ground, no matter how much love your parents gave you, they made you recognize how the world worked, before living your fairy tale you had to be aware of your reality, Your parents allowed you, after all, you were their beloved daughter and their money allowed you, to follow your every whim.

You were able to forget your strange thoughts when you believed thanks to the love of your family, your life was hectic, you no longer thought so much that something was wrong with you.

Well that was... until that day.

Your loving parents died.

You killed them, even your older brother recognized it.

"It's your fault"

"you killed them" those words full of resentment.

They hurt... they felt like thorns pricking your entire body, reaching deep inside.

You just wanted your loving family to be happy and proud of you, you had a talent, singing had become a part of you ever since your mother took you to your first class, you wanted to show your family what made you happy.

You were selfish that night begging them and throwing a big tantrum for them to go, even though your father had an important job and your mother had to host one of her fundraising dances.

You were selfish and you killed them.

That night of your recital, Gotham and its horrible alleys, with the scum of people it possessed, criminals who take the happiness of innocent souls, took yours.

Then that feeling came back, the one that was hidden deep inside your heart.

The sadness.

The hate.

The lack of hope.

You were a stranger in your own life, the world even with your title and inheritance.

You were still a child and you were already condemned.

One knock after another was the sound that played like music in an abandoned alley.

The darkness filled the entire mysterious place, the curious eyes could only capture a fist, which was hitting a sack at high speed with great fury, no... it was more than one sack, more than 5 perhaps, they could catch gasps of pain ringing constantly, along with meows and pleas.

A smile was the only light that came out of that dark alley, a very big one with fangs, laughter of fun and ecstasy accompanied the entire terrifying scene.

The blood was splashed with each hit, it spread all over the walls and the floor, it even stuck to the aggressor's clothes like the victims.

Was it a lot of time or was it a little? HA when you have fun time flies.

“Trash,” you spat.

You still heard sounds of pain, ahh and you who thought they could endure it, after all they strutted in front of you like invincible..... they were nothing more than low level demons.

Your old self would have pitied them, poor innocent people, a few tears would have fallen from your eyes, a whole Mary Magdalene or a crying baby.

Well it was a long time ago, not now some time after you met him.

"How about I'm still their prey" you kicked one of the bodies on the floor hard, you saw how it writhed on the floor upon receiving the impact.

You looked at where you ended up, in a lonely alley, devoid of life, without color, no light that reflected humanity, that word had been lost a long time ago, both in this place and in yourself.

They were about 7 demons that you tried to trap under your control, but they refused, they considered you weak, a possible new toy of theirs to destroy, with their smiles of grandeur and egocentrism.

Annoying, very annoying, you considered yourself very patient in the 2 minutes you gave them, you soon went crazy to proceed to finish them off.

Have fun, it was the only good thing that came out of this failed recruitment.

You felt full of life with every blow you gave them, the pleas that came out of their mouths were music to your ears, the blood ohhh you loved feeling it covering your skin, it was indescribable, much more than wonderful.

Hearing sounds of patrols along with the instinct that a hero was approaching led you to move away.

Your heels clicked against the pavement, a slow walk, you were in no hurry, who would suspect a defenseless woman.

And so a great beauty emerges from the darkness, safe and sound, swaying her hips in time with her steps, every curve highlighted by her tight, expensive-looking clothes, silky hair that swayed with her walk, a sweet smile that enchanted to her viewers, one that ranged from innocence to mischief and flirtation.

For skilled eyes, seeing you was a warning, those that easily captured the evil that you emanated, in addition to the small drops of blood that stood out on your face, few captured the demon that you truly were, capable of carrying out many immoral and cruel activities, but almost no one ever saw beyond your charming appearance, the smiles you gave and your way of relating, their gazes were lost as soon as they caught your silhouette.

It was a shame how everyone fell, your claws caught them, you killed those necessary, your plans came first more than mercy and empathy, like chess pieces, you brought people into your games.

Nobody stopped you...

There was a time when you were nothing, just a zero to the left, along with the entire society, you were just a human...

Surrounded by loneliness, without hope, still trying to be an innocent being.

Those words in your memories of your beloved late mother who always told you to be good, patient and help others.

"What beautiful memories" when your innocence still existed.

But then you became a monster, who you were now.

The moment where your old self, tired of everything, ran away from home, the small act of rebellion towards a brother who ignored you, who carried a great resentment against you.

You ended up in a dark forest, full of desperation, desperately screaming for mercy, some strangers without any hint of empathy, stuck a dagger in your heart..

Lying on a floor full of drawings and symbols, you became what you were now.

"You're late," a deep voice filled the silent room.

A couple of characters surrounded a large table.

Everyone dressed elegantly, with extravagant touches.

The girl (according to her words, although she looked like an adult) who dressed as a Lolita, with her dresses full of layers, bows and glitter.

The succubus woman wore the most revealing but at the same time fashionable clothes, silk fabrics with synoptic colors and lace, she really knew how to make them fit.

A muscular man who cared little about things other than fights, but who was pressured to play his role in the best way, that included having a great appearance.

The weak-looking demon, a great scholar, always wore robes and capes, along with his round gold-plated glasses.

The great being with a goat's head, in a black suit.

Although some seemed more capable than others, they were all strong, you made sure of that when they joined together, demons with great potential to ally with.

“I had some earrings” you walked towards the large table.

"Hah seriously....you smell like weak demon blood" the muscular man mocked.

"Well I couldn't help it" you smiled "at least I didn't miss it" you scoffed "and the best wins, not everyone is capable of achieving it"

That brought a smile to some, remembering the moment a certain domain of fame of being the strongest warrior was defeated.

You headed towards the back, passing the chairs placed along the table, where everyone was sitting, not even the goat-headed demon could sit anywhere else.

You placed yourself in the only chair located at the head of the table, the place where you looked at all your partners or allies, where they waited for your orders, where you showed that you were the head of everyone, you were the tip of this great pyramid that they formed.

Even with one or two faces of annoyance from the previous ones, you sat down without problem in your chair, your throne.

"Well now you can continue Horns"

You put one of your feet on the chair, you rested your two hands on the table, you crossed your two hands between it and rested your head on top of them, you observed everyone present, some showed nerves and others maintained good composure.

You smiled so much that your fangs stuck out.

It was exciting to see people tremble.

"Brother.. please I..." a hand stopped you from continuing to speak.

"No ____, today I don't have time for your games" again he said your name instead of addressing you as his sister or one of the hundreds of nicknames you had.

He stopped calling you that since his parents' funeral.

And he left you aside, you were no longer part of his life, he was full of hatred for the criminal who killed his parents, he still faithfully believed that he would find the murderer and take revenge.

If it wasn't his training to become stronger, it was his new position as the leader of Wayne Industries.

Time passed slowly, you saw your brother less and less, he began to travel a lot, he never told you, no letter or a shitty conversation.

You stayed in the mansion alone, like all the antiques that were collecting dust.

You were useless, even when you wanted to help your brother, he rejected you.

You tried to take care of him when he was hurt or sick, but he always ordered you to go to your room and leave him alone.

"go away"

You tried to run the big family company, but you only earned more anger, your brother distrusted your intentions, accusing you of trying to sabotage him like the others, of putting him out of business like some adults on the board of directors.

"I don't bother you with what happened that day, or with being a nuisance, now you want to take my place"

"go find someone else to ruin their life"

His harsh words hurt more and more... Your brother still suffered for your parents and you couldn't help him, because he only saw you as the one who killed them.

His smiles disappeared, he was no longer the same child who caressed your head and patted you, he no longer played with you, nor secretly made fun of the extravagant dresses or suits of the rich at galas, he no longer ran away with you when they ran away. from their private language tutors and strange subjects that their parents imposed on them to nourish their child brains.

That little hiding place they built in the library was no longer the same, it was one devoid of joy and light.

Now that great shelter full of games and food was nothing more than a miserable hole where you lay down to cry until you fell asleep, where you remembered your beloved family.

The smell of happiness still lingered, but over time it faded.

You were alone, without your dear parents who were always supporting you and paying attention to you even if they were very busy.

You lost your brother who blamed you for everything.

School was no better, the children began to treat you with pity or ignored you, you were no longer a benefit to their family so why hang out with you.

The world was so big, full of people, but no matter how much you tried to get attention, to beg for someone to look at you, no one did, you were a ghost that no matter how much you screamed, you pulled desperately at someone's clothes, no one did. recognized.

It wasn't a surprise when your brother sent you to a girls' boarding school.

You accepted it, without any complaint, as you always did, not just because of a vague promise but rather because of that feeling that prevented you from breaking the rules.

Even with all that, you had to be good, a happy girl, see the positive side.

You promised your mother, even if it was a curse for you, you had to do it.

Be good to the people who hate you, help them, never get angry with someone but understand them, endure everything, wait for your brother who caused you a lot of pain.

Wait for him with open arms when he returns.

It's just that he never came back, and you stopped being you.

You stopped waiting.

[delusion-is-back]

supernatural but Sam and Dean find out there's a quite popular true crime podcast about their "crimes" all over the states, being referred to as the Demon Brothers — the irony is not lost of them — they are in the top most wanted criminals of America.

At first Dean is getting a kick out of it of course, he plays it in the radio of Baby while they're on the road to Sam's annoyance. He thinks it makes them sound badass being the criminals that have eluded police for so long, but he quickly sides with Sam that this podcast sucks ass when the girl narrating their lives —or at least, the public records available of them— starts to get it all wrong, accusing their father of somehow bring involved in the mysterious death of his wife, saying that the traumatic experience of losing their mother and being raised by an abusive alcoholic may have contributed to their depravity and devil worshiping, Dean refused to keep listening after that and just mumbled that it's a stupid podcast, Sam doesn't fight it on that.

You'd think that would be it right? Of course not, nothing is that easy for the Winchesters.

Some supernatural shenanigans make it so Sam and Dean are called over to a case in a nearby city, and oh how irony works that the girl being tormented by a vengeful ghost is none other than the author of their podcast.

They don't recognize her at first since she uses a fake name online, but she definitely recognized them when they came knocking at her down dresses as a repair man to check on a "gas leak" at her house, because had they listened a couple more episodes of the pod they may have heard were she went into detail about their MO of pretending to be government / city workers to get into the houses of their victims.

So she, understandably, freaks the fuck out.

She screams bloody murder and starts throwing things at them like her life depends on it — because it kinda does — until the commotion is so big the neighbors get involved and the brothers are forced to flee.

Now the brothers have to regroup and think of how they're going to solve this case when the authorities have already been informed that these extremely dangerous criminals are lurking around.

Dean feels tempted for a second to just leave and let her deal with this on her own, since she's made a living out of shit talking them online, painting them as these horrible sadistic murders when all they've done — all they've sacrificed — has been to protect the innocent. Sam and Dean always knew theirs was a thankless job but this time it was hitting closer to home than before.

In the end the brothers decide to do the right thing and find a way to help this girl whether she wants it or not, and it takes them sneaking into her house in the middle of the night, when they know the vengeful spirit of going to strike, and almost getting shot at by the girl —because america, she for a gun— and Sam being tossed around like a rag doll by said spirit before the girl starts to understand they're not what she needs to be worried about in this situation.

By the next day there's one vengeful spirit less to be worried about, another case solved, another live saved and maybe even a friend and ally.

The girl apologizes profusely once she understands the nature of their job and the reality of their actions, the brothers laugh about it a little, they can't blame her for being afraid, they know how it looks like from the outside, they only ask her to get her facts right before she starts misinforming the public about them in her podcast.

They know they can't change the way the world sees them and they're made peace with it, but it's still a nice surprise when a couple weeks later they can't find that true crime podcast of them online anymore, instead the girl starts a new series about supernatural beings and how to handle them. It's labeled as 'fantasy' as not to be taken too seriously but it seems to be an even bigger success than the true crime stories and it gets a laugh out of Sam, specially because this time she actually got her facts right.