Tara

But the way you're acting now—seems more concerning.

“Yeah,” is all he warrants as an answer. Though, he was curious as to yours as he begs the same question, “What about me?”

A smile graces your face then—there’s a comfort to it, a mild and affectionate one, unexaggerated, honest, as you smoothly swing your leg over his lap.

A look like that has no place on your face, especially when regarding him, and yet he finds himself hoping for more. He lays his book aside as you lean forward and doesn't stop you when you cup his face in both your palms.

“As far as I'm concerned, you’re not just the prettiest boy in the world—you're the only boy in the world.” You say it with a kiss, lips just as soft as the words leaving them. It shocks him, though he accepts and gives it back.

You close your eyes, laying your chest against his—he keeps his open to look at you. Observing and assessing.

You’ve truly become a whole other person altogether. A far cry from the tough hero you once were—the one who’d beat him within an inch of his life and leave him to choke on the blood.

“Will you stay with me today?” you ask against his lips—playing with his hair, looping the curly tresses around your fingers.

There’s a neediness to your voice, a certain desperation, a sadness—something lonely and something that reminds him all too much of himself. He feels both a strong urge to reject and soothe it all at the same time.

“No, I gotta go,” he says despite it. He had business.

You hide your face in his neck and continue with your tracing, now on the scrapes striping his throat where he’s raked his nails time and time again. “When will you come back?” Your tone comes out even sweeter, only a murmur mushed against his skin.

It nearly makes his heart twist. “It’s better I don’t answer that.”

It’s funny. Though the thought had struck him, he didn’t gauge any ill intentions. You could be asking, acting, plotting some escape based on the hours of his absence—yet somehow, with the way you nuzzle into him like that, as though you’re pouring your all-too-candid grief into him, he can't sense any other ulterior motive.

“Last time you left at this hour, you came back all beaten and bruised,” you mutter, now with a hint of bitterness—as if you’re cursing whoever hurt him under your breath.

It’s ironic. He sneers lazily, almost fondly, at the old memory. “You’re the one who used to beat and bruise me, remember?”

He’s truly curious if you do. Or if something’s spirited your past life away and left you like this—no longer an aspiring young hero, but something whose only value is warming his bed at night.

You arise, an appalled look of affront upon your face.

“No, that can’t be right,” you very nearly cry, as if the very thought was killing you. “I would never hurt you—I love you too much.”

Apparently, you don’t remember who you were at all.

“Love me?” he all but croaks. It’s a laughable prospect, and yet he doesn’t even smile. There’s something awful in his gut that prevents him. “Don't be stupid. You can't love me.”

Your face doesn’t drop its grimace, only further tears with forlorn outrage. “Of course, I love you!" you insist. "You’re my whole reason for living...”

You look so despaired—wrecked from his dismissal. The tears well quickly then slip down your face just as fast—and yet it isn’t the same crying as you used to. This time, it’s quiet—in wait or in dread as you beg the question, 

“Don't you love me?”

It’s an unexpected one, and it quickly proves to be an existential one—even more so than your unnerving confession. Despite not wanting to, it leaves him to dig through the muck in his head he’d long ignored, down in the dark where he’d tried burying the truth he'd felt oncoming. He'd wanted to deny it, reject it, amend it, simply because it confused him too much to acknowledge—complicated things—changed things he didn’t want or need changing.

He wonders if it’s somehow proof of fate—even though he despises such a concept. That, no matter how much you practice free will, no matter how many knots you make upon the red string, the world will pull and straighten it out, and you’re left to realize you’d brought it all on yourself.

First, he took your quirk, then he took your body—your mind shortly followed—and now it seems he’s managed to take your heart, too. 

There’s nothing left of you that isn’t his. 

There was a time he’d frolic at the thought of having reduced you to such a pathetic ghost in a shell—back then, he’d do anything to destroy you—he’d surely shatter you into a million little scattered pieces if presented with the chance, make sure you were broken for good. 

But that was the old him. Or rather, that was his dream for the old you—the hero he loathed down to his rotten core.

But the pretty misty-eyed thing looking down at him now, aching for his answer, wasn’t that person anymore.

And the truth is, the person you are now scares him more than that hero ever did. 

You were… well, you were the person who warms his bed at night, the person who traces his scars and plays with his hair—the person who wraps themselves around him and keeps him from falling apart when he stumbles through the door into the tiny little room he keeps you a prisoner in. You're his.

This time, his heart does twist. He’s never before spoken the words that dance on his tongue, or if he has, they’ve been long forgotten and come out as dust balls as he affirms them now, 

“Yes. I love you.”

There’s a flash of hope in your eyes, though it just as quickly diminishes—as if you don’t believe him.

Your lip warbles as you confirm it, “No, you don’t.”

More tears run silently down the tracks on your cheeks, gathering at the tip of your chin before dripping upon his chest—each one like a gunshot through something hollow.

“If you did, you wouldn’t go. You wouldn’t leave me here in this room, all alone.” Your nails curl into your palms where they rest atop him. You bow your head as though you can’t bear to look at him, as if it hurts. The next words come out beneath your breath, “How am I supposed to compete with the whole world?”

You’re making him feel like dying. The continuous twists of his heart feel as if you’re about to tear it right out of his chest.

He sits up and lifts your face. It’s strange, even with his two-finger gloves on. He doesn’t think he’s ever held you like this. Though, suppose it’s been a night of many firsts already. And here comes another,

“As far as I’m concerned, you are my world.”

There you are, the one thing he doesn’t wish to destroy.

Your sore eyes become round, then swell with different tears. There’s a hitch in your breath as you sigh through a shuddering sob, throwing your arms around his neck and clinging to him tightly—your body jostling while you rub your wet face into his neck, holding him close for comfort as if you're scared to ever let go.

He returns the gesture, though somewhat hesitantly, wrapping his arms around you and laying his head to rest against your shoulder.

And then, as he holds you—for the first time ever, fear of actually losing the fight ahead strikes him.

He hadn’t much cared about the outcome before. Either he’d destroy or be destroyed.

This wasn’t as simple. As said earlier, this complicated things.

But then again, it was even more of a reason to go.

“But I still have to leave.” 

You part from him—the betrayal in your tone demanding his justification, “Why?”

Suppose, in some ways, this actually made things simpler—as that was a question he had no problem answering.

“‘Cause there are monsters outside…” He rests his forehead upon yours, gazing back into those terribly glassy eyes looking back at him as he speaks to you about your dear old colleagues. “Monsters who want nothing but to take you away from me.”

If only they could see you now, they’d know… you no longer want to leave him.

“So I have to go out there and make sure they have no chance,” he explains, almost like a vow, “You’re mine, and I’ll destroy anyone who says otherwise to keep you that way.”

The way your eyes melt makes him feel all fuzzy. It’s a special type of glee, a victory before the battle even begins—to see you root for him—so deep in love with him that you’ve forgotten you’re celebrating the onset of death to all of your former friends.

They probably wouldn’t be able to take you away from him even if they somehow managed to invade this very room. You’d sooner die than betray him.

And that makes him feel all the more ready for the war ahead.

“So kiss me good luck, and I’ll come right back to you soon.”

They once said that patience was the noblest of virtues in a wife — in a queen, in a princess. But patience had begun to bleed from your lips like a broken vow. You missed him... missed him with such cruel, relentless force that no prayer could soothe it. However many times your gaze returned to the doors, they never once opened to grant you the miracle of his return. Not even God, to whom you had entrusted so many fervent supplications, saw fit to show you mercy.

You looked upon yourself in the mirror, and the reflection that met you was that of an endless waiting, bowed and wearied beneath the flickering glow of a sun that burned uncertainly at your side. And within that reflection, your eyes were drawn to the gift: a box of dark wood, its surface adorned with fine silver filigree.

A faint smile, a flicker of sweetness, curled upon your lips. You extended your hand and turned again and again the small handle that jutted from the coffer’s side.

You knew exactly what you were doing. You knew that each turn was an incantation — a spell to summon his presence, to tear time asunder and let you feel him once more.

Whenever you long for me, make certain I can hear it. Those had been his words, a promise both literal and profound, bound to a gift meant to calm your worries whenever your souls were wrenched apart.

As you lifted the lid, the melody spilled into the chamber like an enchanted river. It was a sound so pure, so achingly beautiful, that it seemed it might breach the cold stone walls, glide through the frozen panes, and soar beyond the icy wind that curled about the black castle at dawn.

And then — cradled in the spellbound hush — you heard it: the whisper of doors opening. You did not turn your face; there was no need. Your body knew before your eyes. Your soul had been waiting.

His steps echoed on the stone like the shadow of a memory, slow, almost tortured. And yet, each one brought you closer to the end of your suffering.

When his hands — those hands the world had been taught to fear, hands forged in iron and cruelty — found your neck, you discovered in them not a single trace of violence. They settled there as though they had always belonged, as though they had waited for nothing but this moment to claim their rightful place.

The brush of his breath slid down your skin, and then his lips followed — claiming it with a yearning so devout it belied the passionate strength trembling within his fingers. Your flesh burned, as if fire had leapt into your veins.

Your hands reached for his, lifting with a tremor not born of fear, but of something older, a recognition written deep within your bones. Your fingers wove between his, wordless and pleading. Don’t stop, they said.

Soft sighs escaped your lips, each answered by the slow, smouldering rhythm of his breath upon you.

You sought his mouth with the urgency of one gasping for air, but found only the fleeting brush of his lips. So faint, it felt like denial. Like insult. You drew back just slightly, enough to find yourself caught in the storm of his gaze. A flame burned there, and on the curve of his mouth, a half-smile, cruel and tender in equal measure.

"You have made me wait, my love..." you whispered, the tremor in your voice betraying a longing edged with reproach.

He inclined his head, and his voice, grave and low, fell upon you like velvet thunder.

"The gravest of offences," he replied, before closing the distance with the inevitable certainty of one who seeks no permission.

He released your throat to cradle your face, his thumb stroking your cheek with something almost reverent.

You parted your lips for him alone. The kiss was a conflagration — a fierce, consuming fire that drew your breath into his. Your arms, obedient to longing, encircled his neck, holding him to you as though the very thought of losing him might shatter you.

He responded with equal hunger, his hands grasping your waist with fervour until you were wholly claimed. In his touch there was power and gentleness, dominance and surrender — as though in your form he had found both his damnation and his salvation.

His lips still burned against yours when, with ease, he lifted you into his arms. The motion was effortless, as though your body had been fashioned to rest there since the beginning of time.

He held you close to his chest, and you felt the reverberation of his strength course through your body like a living thunder. There was no fragility in his embrace — you were his, wholly his, and in that certainty there was only a delicious vertigo that made you cling all the more tightly.

He carried you with unwavering steps through the golden-lit chamber, and when the heavy canopy rose before you both, it felt as though a sanctuary awaited. The grand bed, cloaked in pale drapery, lay before you like an altar, ready to seal this eternal moment.

With reverent care, he laid you upon the sheets, and the canopy curtains fell around you both like a silken veil, enclosing you in a world that had no others.

"Will you stay with me tonight?" you whispered, your palm gliding slowly over his chest — as though touch were the only way to assure yourself he was real.

He lowered his face towards yours, solemn and burning, as though such devotion had always been his right.

"I shall stay until you try to tear me from your side," he replied in that low voice, the certainty of it brushing your lips like a vow.

A trembling smile escaped you, carried upon a breathless sigh.

"Then that must mean, by morning, you’ll be gone once more..."

His eyes — aglow with fire and tenderness — held yours, unmoving, as though in that gaze he meant to brand your soul into his for all eternity.

"No matter where I am, my princess… I am always with you."

His words slid into your heart like molten flame, flowing through your veins, igniting every hidden corner of you. It was not merely love. It was faith. A devotion so profound, it reminded you that there remained something to hold on to, even when the world sought to prise it from your grasp.

You hated the war. Hated those who would dare tear him from your side, to wrench your heart from its only refuge. But in the depths of you, you knew — he was brave. He was strong. And God, in His infinite wisdom, must surely understand that your love was the most faithful and valiant subject of all. That his life was not only vital to you — but to all who relied upon his strength and his will to endure.

"I know," you murmured at last, and in that moment, confession became promise.

He surged forward, cupping your face in both hands as he pressed his lips to yours once more. You melted against him, drawing him to you, even as he whispered how he was always thinking of you.

You laughed softly against his mouth, clinging to him. And you wondered how you had ever lived your life before him — how you could have borne it had he not chosen you. What would have become of your fate, had it not led you here — to this moment, to him?

The spell was broken by a low, muted knock against the heavy wooden door. A sound that was both apology and intrusion. You tensed — just slightly — a sigh of frustration caught against Vlad’s lips, which parted from yours with slow, reluctant ire.

"It seems our feast calls for us," he murmured, his voice a low thunder rippling through you.

You knew he expected to dine with you at every nightfall—and tonight would be no exception.

The door opened without his leave, for the servants who entered, silent as shadows, knew well their duty and bore no need for words.

From your throne of linens and powerful arms, you observed as they transformed the chamber. A low table of dark oak was placed upon a thick carpet. Then came the delicacies: golden loaves still steaming, fruits bursting with juice like pagan offerings, pale and gleaming cheeses, and an entire lamb, its crisped skin glowing under the candlelight that now bathed the room in warm flicker. The air thickened with the perfume of spices and dark wine—a feast worthy of a Voivode and his princess.

Vlad, with a feline elegance that belied his fearsome renown, slid from the bed and extended his hand to you.

He placed a velvet cushion beside the table and guided you to settle upon it with the grace of a maiden in an ancient mosaic. He reclined beside you, propped upon one elbow, his formidable frame curled toward you in an attitude of devoted attentiveness.

With his own hands, he plucked a cluster of black grapes, dark as the wine that filled your silver goblets.

“Open your mouth,” he commanded, though the words brushed you like velvet.

And you obeyed. You closed your eyes, parted your lips. You felt the cool smoothness of the fruit, then the rough caress of his fingers upon your skin. The flavour burst upon your tongue—sweet and sharp. It was a delicacy, yes—but the true feast was the way he watched you, as though the act of nourishing you was the most sacred rite he had ever known.

“To give you my strength,” he murmured, and when you bit into the flesh, the scarlet juice painted your lips the hue of passion and sacrifice.

A soft, playful laugh bubbled from your throat.

“And if I become drunk on your strength, my lord?” you teased. “What then shall you do with a wife so powerful?”

A dangerous, charming smile touched his lips. His eyes, twin wells of fire and midnight, glinted with pure amusement.

“Then, my love, I shall be forced to grow stronger still, that I might deserve you. It will be a battle I long to lose, day after day.”

The laughter stilled upon your lips, and a shadow—light as a bat’s wing against the moon—dimmed your gaze for a fleeting moment. The wine, the warmth, the joy of the moment made you vulnerable, and the word you feared most escaped as an unbidden whisper.

“And this battle… the true one…” you murmured, toying absentmindedly with the edge of his tunic. “When will it end? At times, fear bites at me. I feel the chill of the enemy even here, in the heart of our home.”

He straightened slowly. The mirth vanished from his eyes, replaced by a resolve as grave as steel. He took your chin gently, guiding you to meet the unbreakable flame within him.

“Listen to me,” he said—not a whisper, but a vow carved in stone. “God, in His design, forged this strength in me. He granted me these hands not only to build, but to lay waste. He blessed me with this thirst that I might stand as the wall between the Empire and you. For every one who dares defile this land, a hundred shall fall. I would die a thousand deaths before permitting a single enemy footstep to stain the threshold of your garden.”

A chill of dread ran through your soul—not from the Ottomans, but from the terrible possibility his words evoked.

“No!” the word burst from your lips, half a cry, half a desperate plea. “Do not speak of death. Do not tempt that fate. Without you, my life would be no life at all—only endless waiting in darkness, an eternal winter. Promise me… promise me you won’t.”

“You are right. Even the thought was a cruelty,” he admitted, brushing your cheek with his thumb. “I would not dare. I would not dare condemn you to such solitude. It is a promise.”

To banish the shadow that had fallen between you, his hand drifted to your hair, his fingers weaving through your curls with infinite devotion. He bent low, burying his face in the curve of your neck, inhaling deeply like a parched man discovering a hidden spring.

Held within the circle of his arms, with the warmth of the fire on one side and the heat of his body on the other, the world seemed to shrink to that perfect microcosm of peace. Your free hand reached toward the flames, letting the golden light dance over your fingers, while the other, entangled in the darkness of his hair, traced slow, hypnotic circles at the base of his neck, upon skin that smelled of storm and sanctuary.

And then, without thought, your lips gave birth to a soft melody. It was the tune of the music box—the very one that had spilled its enchantment to summon him. You hummed it gently, as though sharing a secret with the crackling hearth.

Vlad stilled. His lips, which had been trailing slow fire down your neck, grew motionless. He listened. Each note seemed to weave tighter about him, a web of beauty and sorrow from which he made no effort to flee. He inhaled, as though he might drink the melody with your essence, embedding it within himself so you would remain alive in him—even before memory had a reason to cling.

Sensing his stillness, the hush of his breath, the reverence in his silence, a deep, tranquil smile curved your lips. You closed your eyes, surrendering to the ecstasy of being his entire world in that single moment.

Slowly, you turned your head. Your fingers slipped from his neck and rose to cradle his chin, guiding him with delicate certainty until his eyes—those twin abysses of starlit night—met yours.

“Why can we not remain like this forever?” you whispered, your voice fragile as glass. “Just the two of us. No wars to fight. No battles to win. No shadow of loneliness. Only you and I, and the world forgotten beneath our feet.”

He looked at you with a tenderness that could have melted the Carpathian glaciers. His hand caressed your cheek.

“Because, my love,” he said softly, “the day would come when you’d tire of this old wolf and his darkness. You would grow to despise me.”

Your denial was immediate, absolute.

“Not even the vilest of sins could make me despise you. Nor grow weary of you. You are the beat of my heart, Vlad. One does not tire of breathing.”

A spark of amusement lit his sombre gaze.

“Is that so?” he murmured, his voice a playful hush. “Then tell me—what would you do with so much time alone with me?”

A mischievous smile, bright with mirth and mischief, bloomed upon your lips. You leaned close, letting your breath tease his ear.

“I would show you,” you murmured—and before he could respond, your fingers slipped teasingly along his neck, and you slid from his lap with nimble grace.

You rose, your skirt swirling around your legs, and met his gaze from a safe distance, the fire framing your silhouette.

“I would teach you all the secrets of this chamber,” you said, and plucked a feathered pillow from the great bed. “Starting with this.”

With a crystalline laugh—a spell in itself—you hurled the pillow at him.

Vlad dodged it with a slow, dangerous smile, like a predator indulging the game of its prey. He rose with that same feline elegance that stole your breath.

“So this is how you wish to play, Princess?”

You dove for the bed, seizing another pillow as a shield, laughter spilling from your lips as you retreated.

“It is all a cruel king like you deserves!”

He moved forward—not with the ferocity of a warrior, but with the playful determination of a man utterly bewitched.

The chase was brief, a whirlwind of laughter and sighs among the draperies. At last, his arms caught you, wrapping around your waist and drawing you back to the softness of the bed, where you both sank into a sea of feathers and velvet, your laughter mingling in the air—a sound as miraculous and precious as the melody that had begun it all.

Your laughter faded into breathless gasps, dissolving into a whisper of air that mixed with the crackling of the fire. Above him, your hair formed a golden curtain that shut out the world and let in only the flickering light of the flames. You remained there, gazing into each other’s eyes. The amusement in his gaze shifted into something deeper, darker, more ravenous. The air thickened, heavy with a desire so tangible it seemed to have weight.

“And what else would you do, my temptation?” he asked, his voice a gravelly purr that slid over your skin like a caress. “In that eternity you dream of... how would you fill our hours?”

A slow smile, laden with promise, curled your lips. You leaned in, your mouth brushing his ear, your breath warm and damp against his skin.

“I would kiss you,” you whispered. And to seal the promise, your lips touched the strong line of his jaw in a slow, deliberate caress of fire that made him shiver.

You pulled back just a breath’s distance, the proximity still unbroken.

“Again and again...” you added, this time brushing the corner of his lips with a fleeting touch—an exquisite torment that left him craving more.

Finally, your eyes met his, burning with the intensity of a forge.

“I would kiss you so much... that you’d be the one to tire of me.”

And then you closed the final breath of space between you, your lips meeting his in a kiss that was no longer play, but declaration.

That was when he responded. His hand shot up like lightning, tangling in your hair at the nape of your neck—not with roughness, but with absolute, possessive need. He held you there, against his mouth, as though afraid you might vanish.

The kiss was no gentle brush—it was conquest. A communion of devouring and surrender. The sound of lips moving in unison, of stolen, uneven breaths, became the only symphony in existence. Nothing else remained. Only taste. Only heat. Only the urgent pull of hands and the melting of souls.

When he pulled away, it was just enough to let you breathe, your lips still brushing, sharing the same desperate air.

“Foolish heart,” he murmured, his voice a silken growl that penetrated your very bones. “All that would do is make me love you more. Until the end of time. Until my name is dust and only yours remains.”

Before you could reply, he moved. In a single, fluid motion, he flipped you beneath him, the world tilting until you lay against the velvet, with the deliberate weight of his body above yours.

His elbows braced beside your head, supporting him, but his hands... his hands wasted no time.

Both rose to frame your face, holding you as if you were the most sacred relic, while his mouth descended onto yours with a devotion edged in desperation.

This kiss was different—deeper, more urgent, an attempt to drink in your soul. His fingers slid from your face to your neck, feeling the wild heartbeat that thundered beneath your skin, claiming it as his own.

Then, his palm moved over your chest, feeling the heart that galloped only for him, before descending to your waist, pulling you tighter, erasing every last space between you.

“You are my sweetest ruin,” he breathed against your skin, his voice an echo of a thousand battles lost to the discovery of you. “Every sigh of yours is a glorious defeat to my vow of strength.”

One of his hands, that which had rested upon your waist, began a slow and agonising ascent. His palm, vast and mapped by the scars of infinite strength, came to rest upon your thigh. Its touch was a paradox: the hand that had reaped a thousand lives now caressed you with a devotion that bordered upon the divine.

"All of you is a perfection designed for my perdition," he whispered, whilst his fingers traced circles of fire upon your inner skin, ascending, ever ascending. "The curve of your hip... the sound that escapes your lips when I touch you… the tremor of your lashes against your cheek…"

His gaze lifted to meet yours.

"Tell me it is mine," he entreated, and in his deep voice there was no command, but a supplication, the very deepest of his weaknesses. "All of it. This heaven, this hell... tell me it is for me alone."

"Yours," you gasped, arching into the hand that now pulsed against your very core, feeling yourself unmoored. "Only yours, My love. Always."

Your surrender was the key that unleashed both the demon and the devotee at once. A low growl, half agony, half ecstasy, was torn from the depths of his chest. His mouth captured yours in a kiss that was no longer of possession, but of consumption. It was as if he sought to drink your very soul, to savour every corner of your being, to memorise the taste of your breath like the last thirsty man in a desert.

You tore at him, or near enough, rending any barrier of cloth between his body and yours.

With a fluid and powerful motion that stole a gasp of surprise from you, his arm slid beneath your back. He lifted you with a startling ease, as if your weight were thistledown, and settled your head upon the nest of pillows with a tenderness that stood in brutal contrast to the ferocity in his eyes. You were laid bare, arched towards him, your hair fanned like a golden halo upon the darkness of the fabrics.

His mouth, which had savoured your lips with devotion, began its descent. It was a pilgrimage of fire. His lips sealed upon the pulsing line of your throat. Each kiss was a sip of your essence, each lick a memorisation of your taste. He descended into the valley between your breasts, and one hand freed itself to mould the curve of one, appreciating its weight, its softness, before his mouth captured the peak with a devotion that made you cry out.

The sound was muffled by the bed-curtains, but he heard it. He absorbed it. He savoured it. His eyes, dark and burning, lifted to meet yours whilst his lips and tongue worked in a hypnotic rhythm, sending waves of pure pleasure that made you writhe. His fingers, meanwhile, did not cease their play upon your thighs. They caressed the inner skin, so sensitive, so soft, tracing slow and deliberate circles that drew near, again and again, only to retreat at the final instant, rendering your body an instrument of exquisite tension.

"Vlad... please..." you pleaded, and your voice was no longer a sigh, but a fracture, a broken prayer.

He emitted a low sound of triumph and unleashed lust. It was the music he longed to hear. Your desperation was his most treasured victory.

With a slowness that verged on cruelty, he began to descend further. His mouth left a trail of wet fire down your abdomen, kissing every inch of skin as if discovering a new sacred territory. His hands held your hips, anchoring you, preventing any escape from the delicious torment of his advance. His lips kissed the curve of your belly, the soft skin of your thighs, nibbled gently at the tender flesh of their inner reaches, provoking violent shudders that racked your entire frame.

And then, finally, you felt the warmth of his tongue flattening against your aching core.

It was the kiss of a thirsting man at the final oasis. A slow, deep, devout kiss. His tongue was not an invader, but an explorer charting every fold, every source of pleasure, with absolute dedication. He savoured every moan he wrung from you, every contraction of your muscles beneath his anchoring hands. He consumed you with the patience of a dying man drinking his last drop of water, with the devotion of a repentant sinner finding grace. Every lick, every suck, every intimate caress was a hymn to your perfection, a confession that his greatest strength, his immense power, surrendered at the altar of your pleasure. And you, lost in the storm of sensation, could only cling to his hair, offering your body and soul to the mouth that worshipped you as its one and most precious weakness.

His fingers, which had until then traced circles of blissful agony, stilled. His thumb, a master of torment and delicacy, came to rest upon your very centre with an exact, irrevocable pressure.

And it was enough.

A ragged moan, half plea, half ecstasy, was torn from the deepest part of your being. Your body arched like a bow drawn by a divine hand, and then it shattered. Waves of a devastating climax coursed through you, convulsive, undeniable, causing your thighs to clamp around his head in an involuntary spasm, trapping him in the storm of your pleasure.

He growled against you, a sound of animal approval and pure sated voracity. He did not withdraw. He held fast to your hips and drank of you, licking, savouring every drop of your essence with the devotion of a man who has found the fountain of life itself. His tongue was an instrument of relentless worship, prolonging the ecstasy to the very brink of pain, until your pushes against his head grew weak, your cries becoming sensitive, pleading sobs.

Reluctantly, with the slowness of one departing a heavenly banquet, he drew away.

His chest, broad and powerful, rose and fell with ragged breaths. His lips, glistening and wet with your essence, bore an expression of absolute intoxication, of a wild and poignant beauty. He dragged the back of his hand across his mouth, cleansing himself with a gesture that was at once possessive and reverent, his dark, burning eyes never leaving you.

He slid then over your body, settling himself between your trembling thighs. His weight, familiar and comforting, settled upon you, and he lowered himself until his forehead rested against yours.

"You have been so good for me, my love, my princess, my queen," his words were a hoarse whisper, a rain of praises against your swollen lips. "So, so perfect for me." He captured your hand and kissed each knuckle with a tenderness that rent your soul.

A stifled moan, more a sigh than a laugh, escaped your lips when his devotion carried you to the edge of ecstasy and beyond. Your body arched, not in an attempt to escape, but in total offering, and your arms, weak and trembling, entwined about his neck with the desperate strength of one clinging to the only rock in a stormy sea.

When the tide of pleasure began to recede, leaving you gasping and vulnerable upon the pillows, it was his turn. Your hands, still tremulous, began their own journey of exploration and adoration. With flat palms and sensitive fingertips, you traversed the familiar geography of his body. You began at the base of his throat, feeling the powerful, accelerated pulse that matched your own. You descended across the plain of his chest, over the map of scars that were medals of his battles and to you were simply parts of him, following the trail of dark hair that narrowed into a seductive line.

Your fingers traced every defined muscle of his abdomen, each contraction beneath your touch, each ragged breath your caress stole from him. Finally, they came to rest upon his hips, anchoring you to him, feeling the brute, contained strength that resided there. You wished to memorise every contour, every edge, every inch of heat and skin. You wished for this night, every sensation, to be etched upon your fingertips forever.

He allowed your pillaging, watching you with a gaze so intense it could have melted iron.

His eyes—black, bottomless—never strayed from your face. He was utterly immersed in you. In the sound of your breathing, which slowly began to steady. In the echo of your smothered, satisfied laughter, still lingering in the charged air. In the whisper of his name on your swollen lips.

He followed you through the rest of the night.

Every movement you made, every sigh, every flicker of shadow that danced along the curve of your smile—he memorized it all.

His world, once vast and full of darkness, had shrunk to the borders of that bed, to the silhouette of your body bathed in firelight.

He watched you sleep. He watched you dream.

Drinking in the serenity of your features with the hunger of the damned.

Unaware—in the ecstasy of that moment—that he was branding every detail into memory with fire.

Unaware that fate, cruel and unyielding, had already begun weaving the threads that would pull him from your side.

Unaware that this night—this night of endless passion and absolute worship—would be the last time he would have you like this: naked, trusting, wholly his, for a span of time that would stretch into what felt like eternity.

This would be the final night of true completeness,

before the winter of war came to claim him—

and drowned him in a darkness where his only solace would be the memory of your laughter

The large sets of double doors at the back of the room screeched and groaned at infuriating intervals as students trickled into the echoing lecture hall. The seats creaked in an equally shrill manner as each of those students inevitably found a seat in the room. Though the people themselves were mostly silent, a few quiet conversations peaked out here and there and only further grated on Toby's ears.

"Fuckin' stupid..." He muttered under his breath.

This wasn't even supposed to be his assignment. Hoodie was usually the one who headed missions that went into the city like this given he had a little bit more charisma than any of the other proxies. But, apparently even that wouldn't be enough for him to pass under the radar as a generic college student. Inexplicably, in his opinion, that managed to fall on Toby. Adorned in a university branded pullover and a generic disposable mask, he found himself seated in the middle rows of some 100-person lecture.

Seated in the row before him was the target. Having gone on an adventure to the woods just a handful of miles away, you had managed to snag a photo of Slender. It wasn't the most damning evidence of the creature Toby had ever seen; its featureless white face peeking out between the branches of some background foliage, only a keen observer would be able to notice the dark shape that resembled the rest of its body. Nevertheless, you had stupidly chosen to hand the photo off to be published in some sort of school magazine. The article seemed to be hardly noteworthy beyond the handful of conspiracy theorists who managed to get their hands on it, but Slender was a creature of principle. It needed the original photo in order to properly wipe it from existence, so that was Toby's goal-- acquire that photo by any means.

Toby despised missions like these. The lack of clear parameters set his thoughts ablaze, and he was even worse at remaining below the radar. He could already feel the judgmental glares of the people beginning to crowd the room as his body jerked against his will. Tapping his nail against the desk space in front of him, his eyes wandered to those prying eyes. Heads turning to acknowledge the freak in the room, he swore he saw two girls begin to laugh about him from the front row. God, why couldn't he just gouge out their eyes-

"Alright folks, looks like it's 12 o'clock, so I'll go ahead and get started." A man spoke from the front of the room.

His voice abruptly cut through all the chatter and silenced it almost instantly. Given that the man was standing confidently at the front of the room, Toby could only guess that this was the teacher. He hardly cared to listen to what the man was droning on about as he clicked through the slides of some sort of introductory presentation. Casting his focus downwards, Toby took note of you once more. He could only see the back of your head from the seat he had chosen, but he had already studied your appearance carefully beforehand. You looked like what Toby imagined a college student would-- not to mention, you were undeniably attractive.

Toby's first task was to find a way into your apartment where the photo (likely) was hiding. Living in some sort of high-rise, he couldn't simply break in through the window. Your building also appeared to have slightly more security than average: cameras, alarm systems, and even actual security personnel at night. Without the usual means of easy escape, he would need to execute a break-in relatively undetected. Hoodie suggested he simply try to steal your keys and slip into your apartment while you're still away at class. It was certainly the easiest way, but Toby hated that he was even considering following the other man's suggestion.

"Why don't you all turn to someone around you and introduce yourself. Name, major, why you're taking this class, all the usual stuff," The teacher's voice surfaced once more, "Try to talk to someone you don't know, preferably."

With the instructions cutting through Toby’s pensive thoughts, he finally managed to look around the space he was occupying. No one had sat near him, though he wasn’t surprised. The closest student was about three seats away and already had their attention turned towards the person next to them. He scoffed, the situation reminding him too much of high school. Shifting towards you, he wondered who had managed to catch your interest, maybe even curious about gaining some additional information on you. Instead, your features were pointed at him, a gentle smile falling over your face as you said your name.

"My major is journalism, and I guess I'm really only taking this class for the university requirement." You went through the introduction pointers the teacher had given, "What about you?"

Toby's eyes widened as you kept speaking. Your gaze was soft and laced with curiosity, and you were talking to him. Unsure if the moment was even real, Toby had to blink a few times before he finally produced a response.

"I'm T-Toby-- shit!" Of course, reality came crashing back to him as his fist unwillingly pounded against his chest and an equally involuntary swear followed after.

The chatter around the two of you seemed to quiet at that. Soon enough, the hush conversation returned like a swarm. The words weren't clear, but Toby knew they must be talking about him. It was just like when he was a kid. People constantly laughed and pointed at him like they were subtle, but they weren't-- not in the slightest. Catching the sideways glance of someone else in the room, Toby had to clench his fists tight to stop himself from rushing over and punching that stupid look of superiority off their face.

"Hey, you're all good, take your time if you need to." Your words cut through his spiraling senses almost instantly.

Looking down at you, Toby expected to see the look of disgusted judgement or pity he always received. Instead, you looked just as you had before. Smile reaching your eyes, you seemed so understanding, so welcoming. He barely noticed the way his fists grew slack until he was speaking again.

"I um... don't h-have a major," He tried to echo the response you had given him, keeping details vague as he was taught to, "and I'm he-here for the same-- fuck-- same reason."

You nodded along to his words, "Is this your first year here or are you still just trying to figure all the major stuff out?"

"Uh... first year." He answered with uncertainty.

"Oh nice! I've been here for a few years now, so I'm almost at the end of my degree. I just have to get these annoying gen requirements out of the way," You replied, "Believe me, don't do what I did. Just get all of these your way your first few years."

Nodding as you gave your piece of advice, Toby's focus strayed to your lips as you spoke. Watching the way they moved as you spoke, you seemed very knowledgeable. Admittedly, he knew next to nothing about college and would never need to, but the way you talked to him and gave him advice regardless. Why wasn't everyone just like you?

To his disappointment, your attention was quickly drawn back to the professor as he called the class together once more. He wasn't all too happy that his only sight of you was the back of your head, but the quieting chatter around him finally let the thoughts flow through his brain evenly. Maybe it wouldn't hurt to linger around a bit longer.

The days Toby got to see you next were too few and far between. Only three days a week for 90 minutes, that was hardly enough time to spend with you. Especially as the teacher droned on and on at the front of the room, Toby could only wait anxiously in the seat behind you for the next time you would turn to him-- the room fading around you two fading into obscurity.

He was never the most punctual when he was last in a school setting: frequently showing up late or outright skipping classes he didn't want to be in. But here, he was always the first through those creaky double doors. Waiting anxiously, he could feel his heart pound against his chest as each new person entered the room. Some nights, Toby could hardly sleep with the way the anticipation killed him.

"How did you do on the quiz?" Your voice swelled melodically to his ears.

"Quiz..." Toby echoed.

He vaguely remembered the professor mentioning something about an online quiz. It had practically gone in one ear and out the other since he wasn't actually a student.

"Not g-great." He muttered, almost sadly.

A sympathetic look crossed your features at that response, "Aw, I'm sorry. It was definitely a bit of a rougher one."

Toby knew those words were just a lie to make him feel better about his supposed failure. You seemed to pay steadfast attention to the content of the class. He would watch as you took delicate notes on each concept-- keeping up with the teacher's fast talking pace far better than he could. You probably aced the test without a second thought about it.

"Do you have any good study strategies or anything like that?" You asked next.

Toby shrugged, "Just... not g-good at i-it."

You sighed once more, a look of pity crossing your features. Toby would have despised it from anyone else, but he almost felt a swell of pride seeing you direct such a feeling at him.

"It took me a while to get into some good study habits too," You added, "Hey, why don't we study together for the next quiz?"

The man perked up at the offer. Were you offering to spend time with him? You watched him expectantly, waiting for an answer to your question. He couldn't possibly say no.

"Ye- shit! Yeah, th-that'd be great." He hated the way he struggled out the response, but it hardly mattered when you appeared so unbothered by it.

You beamed at him, "Great! Here, let's exchange numbers so we can plan it when it gets closer."

Without another word, you turned around to grab your phone. Your thumbs moving swiftly across the pop-up keyboard, Toby had half a mind to remember that he didn't even know his own phone number.

"Can y-you just-- fuck-- write it?" Toby asked.

Your motions halted quickly at the request, "Oh yeah, sure."

Turning around once more, he had to lean forward slightly to watch as your pencil scrawled across the paper in the form of your phone number. Tearing off the small scrap, you swiveled back around and held it out towards Toby. He was almost nervous to reach out for it, hand jittery as he slowly extended it from his body. Trying to reign in his nerves, he did his best to repress any of the bubbling sensations of a tic looking to seize his arm. Finally grasping the small slip of paper, he simply couldn't stop himself from letting his fingers graze against your own slightly just to see what it was like.

"Just let me know it's you whenever you text." You chuckled.

"Yeah..." He trailed off, attention turned entirely to the tiny piece of paper.

Thumbs smoothing out the curling corners, Toby's eyes followed the soft trail your pencil had left, swooping and curling around each number. You had written down your name as well. He wanted to run his fingers over the graphite, as though he could feel your touch through it, but he knew the sweat beading at his hands would smear your perfect writing. Turning his gaze back to you, his words caught in his throat as he noticed your attention had turned back to the front of the room. The teacher had been talking for who knows how long now, completely stealing your attention.

The words of the man at the front of room had become a dull droning to his ears quickly. He could barely sit still as he waited for the teacher to finally shut up. Eyes darting between you, your number on the paper, and the clock, his leg bounced almost furiously as the seconds ticked closer and closer to the usual end time. It took far too long before the shuffling of backpacks hit his ears, other students beginning to stand and exit the room just as hastily as he would have if it weren't for you.

Standing abruptly, Toby took the opportunity to talk to you, "D-do you study a.. a lot?"

It took you a moment to turn to him as you gathered your things, "Oh um... I guess. Maybe not as much as I should."

"It pro-probably does-- doesn't matter for you-- shit! Anyways," He muttered, picking at his fingers absentmindedly, "You're real- really smart."

A smile spread over your face at the compliment, "You're sweet, Toby. Thank you."

Heat rushed to his ears like a wildfire, heart hammering against the inside of his chest once more. God, he could hear you say his name like a mantra, over and over and over...

"You should give yourself more credit, though," You continued speaking, "You're smart as well."

Toby's eyes widened as he quickly shook his head, "N-no-- fuck! I'm not... really."

"You are!" You insisted, "Doing good or bad on a test in just one subject-- hell, even several-- hardly says anything about what you actually know."

The words didn't particularly ring too important to Toby, his brain still lingering on the way you called him smart. If you said it to him, it must be true. It conjured memories of the things his fellow proxies would call him. How Hoodie spoke to him like he was an idiotic child, or the way Masky outright called him a dumbass. Everything he had called Toby over the years, he wondered what the other man would think if he heard the way you talked about him. He wished he could take you with him, present you to that bastard himself and show him how wrong he is.

"Tha-anks." Toby muttered bashfully.

"Of course." You smiled at him once more, the look sending shocks straight to his heart.

Toby hadn't even realized the two of you had left the classroom, too enraptured by your words. As a sudden cool air seeped through the fabric of his sweater, he took note that he was outside now. He normally didn't feel much about such changes in temperature, but the breeze felt pleasantly cool against his skin. That usually meant he was overheating without having noticed it. A bit of panic edged its way into his consciousness, he hoped you hadn't noticed.

"It's getting so cold out lately." You stuffed your hands into your pockets.

"Yeah, i-it's..." The words fizzled out in his throat as his eyes fell on a familiar figure.

Tan jacket and a coil of smoke, why was he here? He rarely ever saw Tim without a mask, but this was most obviously a situation that called for it. Eyes raising from the ground, they met Toby's. Tossing the cigarette on the pavement, he stubbed it out under his work boot and shoved his hands into his pockets. The gesture was clear, he wanted to talk.

"Everything alright?" Your voice piped up.

"I'm fine." He answered sharply.

"Ok..." You trailed off, "I'll see you next class."

Casting him an almost pitiful look, you walked away. Toby's gut twisted unpleasantly as he recognized that look. You were better than that. You didn't think of him like that, not until Masky showed up, at least. He just had to ruin everything for Toby, didn't he? Moving briskly towards the older man, his hands clenched into tight fists at his sides.

"What do yo-you want." Toby practically growled the words

"You're taking your time." Tim matched the other man's tone.

"It's not my j-j... job, I can take however-- shit-- long I'd like." Toby countered

"No, you can't," His words were stern, the no-nonsense tone that Toby hated, "You have your own assignments you need to take care of."

"Maybe you sh-- shouldn't have handed this... shit off to-- fuck! Me," He hissed, "Start d-doing your own sh... shit for once."

"I didn't ask for your opinion." Masky's face twisted in contempt.

He didn't give Toby a chance to reply before continuing, "Get your mind out of your dick and finish the job. I'm not gonna fuckin ask again."

"Is that all you ca-came to do?" Toby spat, "Bi-bitch about the job you-- fuck! couldn't fig-figu... figure out for yourself?"

"Shut the hell up," Tim muttered with barely concealed rage, "I'll kill that bitch myself if you don't get to it."

"Fuck you!" Toby's raised tone caught the gaze of some passing students.

He shot a glare of his own at the few eyes that accidentally met his. He had no patience for their judgmental stares, not when Masky grated on his nerves so much. Much to his further irritation, the older man simply shook his head at the threat, leaving after wordlessly having deemed the conversation complete. It took all of Toby's restraint to not follow after him, even if it would have been so easy to just cave his skull in from the back. He could do it with his own fists if he really wanted to. Eventually, he found himself calming down. Releasing the pressure from his hands, he had left crescent indents in his palms, but it wasn't like he could feel the sting of them anyways.

He would show Tim. You would show Tim.

Toby's eyes lingered over the text bubble on the screen, "Hey, this is Toby." The greeting was simplistic, but, after mulling over it for about 10 minutes, he finally gathered the courage to let his thumb fall onto the send button. He was almost getting impatient staring at the cracked screen, tapping it periodically so it wouldn't go dark. As expected, though, you pulled through-- those three dots popping up from the other side of the screen.

"Hey, Toby," Your text read, "How was your day?"

His heart fluttered at the question, "good," he resisted the urge to type that he missed you, "how was yours?"

"Not too bad, I wish all my classes were as easy as the one we have." You answered.

Toby read over the message a few times, lingering on one word repeatedly: we. He wished everything of yours could be shared. Too busy thinking, he must have taken long enough that you decided to send another text.

"Were you still interested in studying together?" The message asked.

"Yes." He wasted no time in typing and sending the response.

"I was looking at the next quiz and it's coming up way sooner than I thought," It took a moment for you to type the sentence, "I'm free after 10 next Thursday if that works?"

"I am." Toby remained just as eager.

"Ok great! Would the library work for you?" You asked

Toby's thumbs had readied another frantic response of approval, wishing nothing more than to just get to see you already, but they soon stopped short of the screen. He was willing to meet you anywhere for anything, but should he? Masky's words echoed in his head and sent another course of pure anger through his veins. The tree across from him had still yet to recover, wood spent and splintered from the way he had slammed his hatchet into it so viciously. As much as he hated it, the man didn't make his threats meaningless. He would intervene if Toby took too long, and the thought of Masky's disgusting hands on you made his own skin crawl.

"Not the library," He answered instead, "Too many people."

He worried his bottom lip as you took longer to respond than previous, but your message eventually appeared, "That's all good. How about we meet at my apartment instead."

"That's perfect." Toby hardly thought it through before sending the agreement.

You had to have known exactly what he wanted, giving him an answer so perfect like that. Not only would he get to spend time with you, (alone, at that) but he could also acquire that damn photo that brought him here in the first place.

"Ok great! How about we meet at 11, I'll send you the address when it gets closer." Your final text read.

He poured over your texts repeatedly, your address becoming a fixture in his memory once you sent it to him. Toby hardly noticed the way the time passed until he was there, sitting in the lobby space of your apartment building. Not really checking the time before he arrived here, he was undoubtedly early. People passed in and out quite frequently, entering through the door, exiting through the elevators, some checking their mailbox, others wandering to areas out of Toby's sight. It seemed like a nice place, probably expensive, but you had probably worked hard to acquire it.

Scrolling through your texts once more, Toby's eyes flitted upwards as he noticed someone new approach the exterior door. Pushing into the building's glass door, he immediately recognized you. Seeming focused on heading towards the elevators, Toby shot up out of his seat before you could miss him.

"Oh, Toby," You greeted, a bit of surprise in your voice, "You're early."

"Yeah..." He trailed off, sensing you didn't seem quite as thrilled to see him as he was you, "I ca-can wait if you-- shit! Need."

"No, no, it's fine, no point in going all the way up just to come back down, right?" You shook your head.

Continuing your previous path, you led Toby with you this time, "Here, I live on the 4th floor, so we'll take one of the elevators up."

"I-it's really nice," Toby commented, "The building."

"Compared to some of the other places around here, yeah," You nodded in agreement, "It's not cheap at all, though, but it's a lot better than the university apartments. What about you? Are you living in the dorms right now or somewhere else?"

"Somewhere e-else." He kept his reply short, hoping you would keep talking.

"Nice, like with your parents or are you renting around here?" You pressed.

Toby shifted uncomfortably at the mention of parents, your questions getting on his nerves a little more than he would like, "Just somewhere else."

"Oh ok," You trailed off, "Sorry for prying."

Just as the words of apology left your lips, the bell of the arriving elevator cut through the tense atmosphere. Doors sliding open, you stepped in wordlessly, pressed the button marked for floor 4, and settled into a spot in the small space. With no one else entering, Toby was left with you as the door slid shut. He felt unsettled for a moment in the small, enclosed space, but it quickly faded as his spiraling mind took note of you. Has he ever been able to linger this close to you before? The air felt warmed from your breaths, the pleasant smell of your clothes intermixing as he shifted closer to you. You looked too dejected standing there silently, watching the numbers count up on the screen above the door.

"It's f-fine," Toby responded to your earlier apology, "How l-l... long have you lived he-here?"

"This is only my 2nd year here, but I'll probably move out once I graduate." You answered, perking up once more.

"Where are you moving?" He asked quickly.

"We're still planning it a bit. I'm hoping to get into this internship program my mentor works with, so it would be a bit far from here and in a way bigger city." You continued to ramble on about the internship opportunity until the elevator reached your floor.

Doors sliding open, Toby was greeted by a long, carpeted hallways. Various doors staggered across each side with unit numbers fixated around the upper middle. He wasn't too focused on it all, following after you as he let his thoughts linger on your words. This town was already pretty far out of his usual scope, but it wasn't impossible to reach if he really wanted to see you again. If you left, though, he certainly wouldn't be able to locate you there. Especially with Masky's micromanaging, he would hardly make it to finding your new address before the other man stopped him.

"Toby?" His name on your lips catching his interest once more.

"Y-yeah?" He looked at you expectantly.

"I just asked if you brought anything to study with. You didn't leave anything in the lobby, right?" You asked.

"I didn't..." He trailed off, realizing his mistake, "I do bet- better without them."

"Ok, that's fine! We can just use my textbook and stuff," You nodded, "Anyways, welcome in! Sorry for the mess, I was hoping to clean a little bit beforehand, but it's alright."

A variety of decorations and other personal effects were strewn about the place in what seemed to be an intentional manner. It looked lived in, much cozier than anywhere Toby stayed. Only retiring to his allotted cabin in the woods to crash for a few hours, he never really thought of making it look nice. Toby wondered how you might decorate his cabin, where you would put your things. What would you do with the few items he did have? He felt a rise of anticipation thinking about your possessions intermixed.

"Why don't you just wait on the couch while I get a few things, ok?" You offered, tossing your bag onto the aforementioned couch.

"Can I see?" He asked.

"Like the rest of the apartment?" He nodded in confirmation, "Um... yeah, it's a bit messy as well, but as long as you don't mind."

"It's a lot-- shit! Cleaner than my pl-lace." Toby attempted to ease your apprehension.

You chuckled, "Yeah, well... we try our best."

Walking expertly through the apartment, you headed down a short hallway-- ending up in what looked to be an office space. As expected, it wasn't as messy as you claimed it to be. Decorations seemed to be in designated places with important work in the others. The last time Toby had any type of desk must have been in his childhood. Even though much time had passed, he hardly knew what the desk looked like then, using its surface as a glorified junk drawer. Looking over the items you chose to place in the space, he took note of a few photos. There were some with you as the focus, but they were mostly a mix of people that Toby didn't recognize-- those must be your friends. He wasn't surprised to see you had several. Trailing up further, he saw it: a digital camera.

"Do you t-take photos?" He snatched the device off the desk to observe it.

"Oh... Yeah, I do. Just um... be careful with that." You approached him as he powered it on.

Seeing the logo flash on the screen, it didn't take long for the screen to turn from a dark void to a recognizable interface. He managed to pick up on it quickly, despite the many years it had been since he so much as glanced at a modern digital camera. The photos weren't anything too interesting, none of them were of you. Depicting mostly the school buildings or the city outside it, he flicked through them quickly until he hit the important ones. Changing starkly from the prior pictures of outdoor art pieces, Toby recognized the trees instantly. He practically grew up in those woods you had merely visited for a few chance photos, yet you managed to capture it perfectly.

"Wh-what were-- fuck! These for?" Toby looked at you briefly.

"It's just some nature shots of the woods a few miles North," You answered, hovering close to him, "for a journalistic photography class. Why don't we head back to the living room now?"

Toby disregarded your words, briefly scanning photo after photo until he found the one. He didn't look at the target photo all too much when Hoodie had shown him initially. Looking at it from your view, he noted the way the light shone through the dew-covered leaves so beautifully that even he almost missed the stark white face of his boss peaking through them. Toby really had to wonder why he presented himself to you. No obsessions with the morbid aspects of life, you seemed a bit more normal than even the tamest individuals who received the privilege of spotting Slender. Not to mention, you hadn't even cemented yourself as worrisome enough to be deemed a target. As far as Toby was concerned, Slenderman didn't make mistakes. He didn't just let some random human snag a picture for the hell of it. Your ability to capture this photo alone was proof enough that you were special in some way, even Slender had to agree.

"Wh-what's this?" He asked, placing a finger on the screen just underneath Slender's face.

"Oh, it was probably a weird camera glitch or something. This thing is getting old." Slipping your hand around Toby's, he let you take the camera out of his hands.

Turning it off, you placed it back where he had found it, "Come on, let's try to get some studying done."

He didn't like your dismissal of his question, eager to pry you on it further. What if you did know about Slender's existence? If you were just a normal person, he wouldn't want you to get wrapped in the cruelty of his fellow proxies or the less restrained violence of the other members. But, you clearly knew something was going on. Were you trying to shield Toby from it? Did you care for him? With those thoughts swirling around his mind, he followed you silently to the living room.

Once he could focus on actually studying, it turned out to be a bit more satisfying than Toby last remembered it. It was frustrating at first as you asked question after question that he didn't know the answer to. He didn't actually care to listen to the professor, as you called the man at the front of the room. However, it was made up for by the way you gently explained each topic, the words sticking in his mind better than they ever had before. An almost euphoric joy would fill him every time you smiled at his correct answers and explanations-- no matter how much he stuttered through them.

"I think we've covered a lot today, right?" You asked.

Toby nodded eagerly, "Is there any...more?"

"Well, we've gone over pretty much all the content now for the upcoming quiz and the last one too," You answered, "I'm not sure there's anything else to work on."

"Can we g-go over it-- shit-- one more time?" Toby asked.

"You're doing pretty good, Toby. I think you'll do well on the quiz based on what we've done so far." You replied.

Toby felt a bit disappointed by your rejection, but he wasn't going to let it sour him too much, "Just a lit-- little bit more?"

Your lips pursed together as you thought over the request for a moment, but you eventually gave a desirable response, "Ok, we'll just go over the newest things a bit more. That sound good?'

"Yes," He answered, "That's perfect."

"Just a heads up, my--" You began to speak, but your words lost Toby's attention as he heard a sound from the front door behind him.

Shooting up from his seat, he stared at the barrier as a muffled clicking sound reverberated through it. Someone was unlocking the door, but who? Was it Masky? Toby's gut twisted at the thought. It had been about a week since he last saw the man. More importantly, since he had threatened to kill you. The time difference was a bit longer than the punctual bastard would usually like, but it wasn't like he had nothing to show for it. Was he here to follow through on that threat? Could the asshole really not handle someone liking-- no, loving-- Toby for once? As the door opened, he waited with bated breath for that black and white mask and the shimmer of a handgun.

However, none of that happened.

"Oh, hey there. You must be Toby, right?" The person greeted him.

"Sorry Toby, I didn't think we would still be working this late, but I was just about to let you know," You spoke up after them, "This is my partner..."

Toby didn't listen to the rest of the introduction, the words "partner" ringing through his head like a bout of tinnitus. The stranger standing before him was your partner. He couldn't help but critique them from just their stance alone. You hadn't even mentioned a partner before now, and you and Toby were close too. Did you not actually care about this person? Surely, if you did, you would be jumping to talk about them.

"Yeah... I'm just going to get out of your guys' way. It's nice to meet you, Toby." Your partner nodded at him before heading off.

"I'm just going to go plug my phone in real quick, so just wait here for a moment." You followed suit, leaving him alone in the living room.

He didn't like how quickly you had left him. You were fine sitting mere feet away from him just minutes ago. Now, you were practically running to keep your distance. Something had to be wrong. Still stunned, it took him a minute before he finally decided to creep down the hallway. The sound of hushed voices was clear, despite the clear attempts to keep the conversations hidden behind a closed door. Creeping closer, Toby managed to find a position where he could best make out the words.

"I can tell him to leave if you want." Your partner's words were first.

"No, you don't have to. I'm just worried about coming off as mean." Your response followed.

"Well you two were supposed to be done like hours ago. It's not unreasonable to kick this creep out of your own home." Those words caused a prickle of anger to hit Toby.

He had no doubt this supposed partner of yours was referring to himself. It was far from the first time he had been called a creep; he hardly flinched at the "insult" anymore. But to think you felt the same? He waited almost anxiously for your response.

"Don't call him that. He's just... a bit awkward" You sighed, "Look, it's partially my fault for not setting a clear time we needed to be done."

Of course, you wouldn't believe such things about him. You were perfect, a saint even, he doubted you even thought of him so negatively until this stranger suggested it.

"I can handle it myself, ok? You don't need to worry about it." You added after a moment.

"I trust you," They replied "but if you need my help, I'll be right here."

Silence fell over the room for a few moments. He listened closely, hoping to gather something-- the shuffle of clothes, the press of lips-- but he was hopeless to discern anything. With the way his blood was practically pounding in his ears, he couldn't even think. You liked him, didn't you? You didn't want to kick him out, right? It must have been your partner who convinced you that it was the right decision. The thought of that stranger being so close to you right now, touching you, grated his nerves further. You deserved better than that. You deserved him.

"Oh Toby! Is everything alright?" Your voice appeared much louder than before.

In fact, you were standing right in front of him. Eyes wide, you looked shocked-- maybe even scared to be looking at him. Realizing he was a bit too close to justify a casual run in, he thought quick on his feet.

"The bathroom," He answered, "Couldn't fi-find it."

"I'm sorry, I meant to show you earlier. It's just that room, right there." You pointed in it's direction.

"Thanks." He muttered.

Shuffling past you, he let his shoulder brush against your own. Would you like his touch more than that awful partner of yours? He might not be as warm or soft. His tics got in the way sometimes, but you clearly didn't mind. Entering the bathroom, he shut and locked the door behind him. Toby considered snooping around the room for a moment but quickly discovered it lacked any of the personal flair the other rooms did. This must be a guest bathroom of sorts, disappointingly.

Turning on the faucet to believably pass the time, he couldn't help but think of the look you had given him just moments ago. You were scared. He usually enjoyed that expression when it was directed at him, but he didn't like it on you. It wasn't possible you were scared of him. Toby was hardly covered in any of the intimidating accessories he normally wore to elicit such a response-- not even a speck of blood. Could you be scared of your partner? That had to be it. You were a strong and smart person as far as Toby had gathered, so they must have hit you somewhere weak to agree to drive him away. You wouldn't need to worry for long, Toby thought, he would save you.

Deciding he had spent enough time here, he shut the faucet off. Returning to the living room, he found you sitting almost rigidly on the couch. Your partner was nowhere to be seen, probably a norm for you. Looking towards him sharply, you gave him a false smile-- the joy not quite reaching your eyes like he normally preferred.

"Hey Toby, I'm so sorry, I completely forgot my partner and I have dinner reservations not too long from now," You said, "Is it alright if we call it today? I can totally study with you some other time if you need."

He knew it was a lie, but Toby wouldn't fault you for that. He knew it wasn't your decision.

"Yeah it's--fuck! Fine." He nodded, "I'll s-see you."

You stood from the couch, a real smile lighting up your features this time, "Yeah, let me know how the test goes for you to! Do you need me to walk you out or do you remember the way back?"

"I got it." Toby replied plainly, fists curling in his pockets.

Temperature didn't usually mean much to Toby, but the almost cold chill he felt when greeted with the exterior hallway was the closest he had come to it. Stepping out the door-- no-- Leaving you felt uninviting, like he would be entering a world he had never navigated before. As much as it pained him, he would have to wait to see you again. Letting his hand fall from his pocket, his fingers tips brushed against the back of your hand as he passed by the door. He relished in smoothness against his rough fingertips, the warmth of your hands. Toby would have you soon. He knew it.

"Goodbye." He spoke as he stepped out.

"Bye." The door was shut quick after your short response, leaving him alone.

Turning in the direction you two had come from not so long ago, Toby's hand returned to his pocket. Curling comfortably once more, he felt the cool, jagged metal press into the palm of his hand. He's sure you'd hardly notice the absence of your house keys.

It must have been a loud sound you weren't used to, despite your usually noisy neighbors. But, with your brain too wrapped in sleep, you could hardly remember what it was that had woken you up now. Rolling over, you were greeted with the freezing hug of the sheets your body heat hadn't touched in hours. Checking the clock, it was 3AM to your dismay. Far too early to be up, you wondered if you would even be able to go back to sleep before your classes tomorrow or if you would just toss and turn restlessly. Turning to see if your partner had been startled by the noise as well, you found the bedside to be empty-- sheets thrown back.

Your eyes begged to pull shut once more, but you resisted the urge in favor of locating your partner. Sitting up revealed that the bathroom connected to your shared bedroom was dark, they weren't in there. Turning to the bedroom door instead, you found it left slightly ajar. That must have been the way they went.

Waiting for a few moments, you failed to hear any of the usual sounds of the building: the shuffling of steps in your apartment, creaking of your upstairs neighbors, or especially loud traffic from the road. It was almost eerily quiet. Unsettled enough, you decided to investigate for yourself. Embracing the cold air, you tossed your blankets off of your form. Shifting to stand, it took you a moment longer than usual to adjust to the sensation of the floor under the soles of your feet. Nevertheless, you moved forward, gently pushing the door open to reveal your hallway.

It was dark, but never too dark as the city lights shined through the exterior windows in your living room. Following the path they illuminated, you headed towards your kitchen-- hoping to find your partner there. With a cursory glance of the open-concept space, they were nowhere to be found. Maybe they had chosen to go to your shared office for some reason? While the thought popped into your mind, you weren't quite done in the kitchen.

Stepping a bit further in, you noticed an out of place dark mark on the counter. Leaning close to it, you tried to discern the weird mess of thick lines that had befallen the granite's edge. It was too dark for you to properly tell the color, but you guessed it was just a small spot you had missed when cleaning up after dinner. Maybe your partner had accidentally left it when getting a midnight snack, or they were intending to return to clean it. Not too worried by it, you straightened up and readied to head to the office.

That was when you saw it.

Not just a mark of color, but a puddle of it like vomit on the sidewalk. It splattered on the fridge, some specks peaking onto the wall from behind the center island. In between it all sat a severed forearm, your partner's darkened and sticky hair splayed out not far behind it. The rest of their body was hidden from you, and the gore you could see was hardly something your brain could comprehend. You had seen human innards in biology and anatomy diagrams, not tangibly in front of you on your kitchen floor. Your blood ran cold, a sweat breaking out across your skin, and a guttural scream bubbled in your diaphragm. Before it could be released, something cupped your mouth harshly, pulling your body back into another clothed being.

"I'm s-sorry," The pressure of their hold tightened as they stuttered, "I di-didn't want... you to see that."

Your scream fell into a strangled sort of sound at the appearance of an unknown assailant. Hands darting up to fight the force restraining you, you wanted to scream louder and thrash like there was no tomorrow. You could feel your heart beating out of your chest as reality finally presented itself to you. You were going to die.

"Sh- sh... shut up!" They hissed.

The words cut through your thoughts like a hot knife. Despite your intuition, you managed to keep quiet with the exception of your muffled, gasping breaths. Seeming satisfied with that, the assailant easily turned your body so that you were no longer facing the bloody kitchen scene.

"I di-did what you-- fuck! Wanted." They spoke once more.

Even through the fog of disassociation, you didn't miss the striking details of the currently faceless murderer behind you. The swearing, the twitches, the tone of voice, it all pointed to one person.

"Toby..." The name on your mouth was muffled under his hold, but he recognized it regardless.

"Yes!" He exclaimed, "You kn-knew I was coming f-- fuck! For you, didn't you? That I was go-going to save you?"

The moment of clarity was quickly lost as he continued to speak. He must be delusional. His words certainly suggested as much, but it was something beyond that. Your partner was dead in the kitchen. No one with any standard mental illness would just do that. This was something beyond a socially awkward freshman taking a strange interest in you. The realization of it all crashing down upon you brought attention to the tears beginning to fall down your face.

"No, no, no, no, don't cr-cry." He cooed, his other hand coming up to sloppily wipe at your cheek.

"I kn-know you're-- shit! Happy, but w-we still got to get... get out of here." Toby continued, "Y-you'll be e-even happier where... where we're going."

Maybe you wouldn't die. But, you could only sob harder at what you were presented with instead.

“You keep doing that on purpose, don’t you?” “Doing what?” Isaac pulled you into his lap roughly, parting your thighs across his lap, holding you up against his chest with his powers alone. “It seems to me that you have forgotten your place, hm?” The hand on your thigh squeezed roughly, his clipped nails digging into your skin as you shook your head fervently,  “N-no! I haven’t.”  He tutted, once again striking the meat of your thigh when your legs closed instinctually around his hand, desperate for him to touch you properly. “Really?” his voice purred in your ear, low and husky. “Distracting me? Taunting me? Have you forgotten who you are dealing with?”

* he is a messy eater - he does it for his own pleasure as much as yours - completely burrying his head between your thighs.

* he needs to see you fall apart, and he’s so annoyingly good at it.

“Say you’re mine,” he whispered against your flesh, right before he dragged his tongue slowly up your thigh, savouring the salt of your sweat, it caring that the slick that now coated his cheeks smeared across your skin. "I-I'm yours, Isaac. F-fuck—" “Say it again.” "All y-yours—"

* he loves to take his time. tongue dragging, teasing, like he’s savoring every reaction. He’s methodical. but when you’re close? he's ruthless. tongue and fingers in sync, an invisible force pressing against your throat just enough to make your head fuzzy. practically growling into you as he slowly loses his mind.

* he hates to be rushed. he takes his time like he’s savoring a work of art.

“I-I’m gonna, fuck– please, Isaac.”  He tutted as his fingers stilled, resting heavy against your fluttering walls as his lips rolled from your clit with a pop. You could have screamed, the water building on your lower lashes finally falling as you sobbed, making a futile attempt to buck your hips and rut against his palm. “Tell me when it fades,” he ordered, leaving his fingers deadly still as he cupped your sex, gripping you but refusing to move a muscle. “Remember, I know when you lie.”  Pulling in a shuddering breath you tried your best to calm yourself, sniffling a little and closing your eyes as you tried to bring yourself back from the edge, willing your cunt to stop squeezing around his digits.  “Okay,” you huffed quietly, pulling your lips back between your teeth again. “Good girl.” He brought his lips to your thigh again, pressing fleeting kisses to your skin as a small reward.

* there’s a small notebook hidden under his mattress filled with dark thoughts, drawings of you in various stages of undress, and very detailed descriptions of the things he’s done to you… and the things he still wants to do.

* if he could, he’d keep you hidden away just for him. the idea of someone else seeing you come undone makes him sick with rage.

* he gets off on the idea that he’s ruined you for anyone else. that no one will ever be able to satisfy you like he can.

* he marks you up on purpose – thighs, hips, throat – anywhere only he can. If you complain, he gets this calm but chilling look.

Isaac's mouth was hot against your throat, all lips and teeth and drool, nipping and sucking at the skin desperately as his fingers burried themselves in your cunt. The sound was obscene. Your slick was practically dripping down onto the desk below you, positively squelching as he rutted his curled fingers up against your front wall, the pressure growing so quickly that you thought you might pass out.  "Isaac, stop–" you tugged at the hair at the nape of his neck weakly, only for an invisble hand to tug it away, pinning it to the desk beside you, "–I can't cover those up." He tutted as his fingers stilled, resting heavy against your fluttering walls. “If they know you’re mine, they’ll leave you alone.”

* he’ll do it even when you say no. not in a forceful way, but in a “you’re tired” or “not in the mood” kind of way. he knows your body better than you, or so he believes. He insists he can make you feel good, and he always proves it.

* post coming back to life, he only gets worse. he craves it on a carnal level. everything about it is heightened, the taste of you so much more intense that it becomes like a drug, giving him as much life as the brains did.

His fingers dug into your cheeks roughly, forcing your eyes to meet his. His tongue flicked over his lip quickly, relishing the way you practically trembled under his touch. “Now, now, dove. Don’t you want me to get stronger? Hmm?” You have your best attempt at a nod in his grasp, the pads of his fingers digging into your cheekbone. The grin that tugged at his lips was sickly sweet as he held you firmly in place, breath fanning your cheek as he leaned in, blackened tongue dragging up your cheek slowly before his voice dropped to a register only you could hear. “Atta girl, so good for me, even now…”