ᯓ★

𝓗aechan ᯓ★

˚୨୧˚⊹♡⊹Zero x reader ⊹♡⊹˚୨୧˚

Title: Shadows of Night

Chapter One: The Crimson Rose

---

The moon hung high over Cross Academy, casting a cold, silvery glow over the silent grounds. For most Day Class students, the night meant sleep and peace—but for her, it was the beginning of duty, mystery, and danger.

As a member of the Disciplinary Committee, patrolling alongside Zero Kiryu meant enforcing the fragile balance between the human Day Class and the enigmatic, dangerous Night Class vampires. Despite the familiar routine, tonight’s patrol was anything but ordinary.

The memory of the crimson rose left outside her dorm room lingered. Its petals had been soaked in vivid red, accompanied by a chilling message scrawled on a slip of paper: “You belong to the night.”

She hadn’t yet told Zero. His temper was as sharp as his aim, and mentioning mysterious notes and roses left by unseen admirers wasn’t likely to go over well.

---

“Eyes forward,” Zero snapped, breaking through her thoughts. His silver gaze swept the path ahead, his hand never far from the gun at his hip. “Stay alert. The Night Class isn’t playing games.”

“I know that,” she shot back, annoyed by his perpetual grimness.

Silence stretched between them as they moved toward the Moon Dormitory, where the Night Class waited in orderly silence. At their center stood Kaname Kuran, elegant and commanding as ever. His crimson gaze locked onto hers, unreadable yet heavy with meaning.

Her breath hitched, but she refused to look away. Beside her, Zero tensed visibly, fingers twitching near the grip of his gun.

“Kuran,” Zero greeted coldly. “Move along.”

Kaname’s smile was faint but laced with amusement. “Always so protective, Kiryu. You should relax—trust that she can handle herself.”

Zero bristled, stepping forward. “Stay out of her business.”

Kaname ignored him, his attention still fixed on her. “Be careful tonight,” he warned, voice low and smooth. “Not everything in the dark is as it seems.”

Her pulse quickened, the rose’s message flashing in her mind. Yet she forced her voice steady. “We can handle it, Kaname.”

His gaze lingered a moment longer before he signaled the Night Class students to proceed into the building.

---

The patrol concluded without incident, but tension hung heavy as she returned to her dorm. The rose lay untouched on her desk, its vivid petals stark against the pale wood. The folded note lay beneath it, silent yet imposing.

A sharp knock at the door interrupted her thoughts.

She opened it to find Zero, his expression dark and unreadable as he stepped inside without waiting for an invitation.

“We need to talk,” he said flatly.

Her brow furrowed. “About Kaname again?”

His lips pressed into a thin line. “Not just him. You—”

His words cut off abruptly when his gaze landed on the desk. His eyes narrowed dangerously as he stalked toward it, picking up the rose and note. “What the hell is this?”

Her heart skipped a beat. “It’s nothing—just a prank or something.”

Zero’s grip tightened on the rose, his knuckles white. “This isn’t just a prank. Who gave it to you?” His voice was low but furious. “Was it Kaname?”

“I don’t know!” she snapped. “I found it outside my door.”

His eyes blazed. “You should’ve told me about this.”

“Why? So you could overreact like this?”

Zero’s jaw clenched. “This isn’t a game. Whoever left this note is trying to get inside your head—and I won’t let that happen.”

She crossed her arms, frustration mounting. “I can handle myself, Zero.”

“Can you?” he shot back, stepping closer. “Because from where I’m standing, you’re caught in something dangerous, and you don’t even realize it.”

Their breaths mingled in the charged air, but the intensity in Zero’s gaze never wavered. “I won’t let anyone hurt you,” he vowed softly, his voice filled with raw determination.

But even as he spoke of protection, her thoughts strayed to Kaname’s warning—and the unsettling promise hidden within the rose’s message.

The green hills on Alpine Meadows (2)

pairing : chris x reader

warnings : use of ‘y/n’ , swearing , might be a little confusing , not the best descriptions , pet name (‘pretty’) , not proofread.

────୨ৎ────

I don't bother to see who was sat near me, I just look at where the yellow tinted screen with greasy fingerprint marks on it said I was sat, which was next to Christopher on the third row, two desks from the right side of the class, and try to find where the desk was in the classroom.

I eventually find where it was, and coyly walk over to it, inspecting the mustard yellow coloured workbooks placed in front of the seats, one with 'Chris' labelled on it in scruffy writing, one blank. I gently pull the chair with the blank book in front of it back and sit down whilst I place my bag on the floor with a soft 'thud' noise as my pencil case and equipment softly drops onto the floor. I open the zip of my bag and pull my light, plain, sage green coloured pencil case out of my bag and bring it to my lap, scrambling through it to find a plain black biro pen. Placing the pencil case down once I'd gotten the pen I wanted, I instantly started writing down the title on the work book in front of me once I'd opened it, leaving the front cover blank without realising.

────୨ৎ────

Not long after I'd set to work, the popular group of students came striding in confidently, lead by the boys, I’m the girls clinging behind like desperate, attention seeking koalas. With an unbearable amount of high pitched, over-the-top, tacky and fake giggles and squeals emerging from the girls mouths who were tagging behind Christopher, obsessively craving his attention as if they were going to die unless they got some form of attention from him. Chris, being the same smug, insufferable, cocky, arrogant and confident popular frat boy as all the other boys in his group of friends, obviously only the pompous and irritating boys, indulged in the girls' crave for his pointless attention, grinning proudly as the girls followed behind him. The around average height girls with varieties of hair colours, mostly deep brunette or honey blonde coloured, quickly scurried to their seats, biting their nails whilst squealing and giggling pathetically at their brief and slightly flirty interaction with Chris, as they heard Mr. Watson raise his deep, croaky old man's voice when the girls and Chris ignored his previous comments telling them to sit down. "Sit down! Now." Mr. Watson demanded repeatedly in a stern tone, an irritated and wound up frown displayed on his face, highlighting the wrinkles in his forehead as he furrowed his brows. He pursed his pink tinted lips tightly together, frustrated with the lack of care the students had as he watched the girls care more about talking than getting work done.

────୨ৎ────

My focus snaps off Mr. Watson as I hear an aggressive thud against the floor, causing the ground to vibrate. My gaze turns to the loud noise, and I realise it was Chris putting his bag down. What could be in his bag to make it so heavy? Geez.

My focus lingers on his bag for a second, as if there was something majestic about his simple but heavy bag, before realising he was looking at me. I divert my gaze up to his eyes, and meet his confused but curious gaze. I realise he was probably wondering why I was staring at his bag for so long. Great. That was embarrassing. I don't even know myself why I was staring for so long.

────୨ৎ────

I quickly look back at the teacher, who was now ranting angrily on about how 'important it is to be on time to lesson', and how 'it's extremely rude and disrespectful' to waste his time. After his dreadfully deafening lecture which caused all the students to groan the minute he started speaking, knowing what he was about to rant on about, he announced to the whole class that he would be walking around the class and monitoring everyone even closer than usual today, making sure everyone was doing all the work. I quickly finish writing everything in the board that we were instructed to write down, worried about getting in trouble on my first day and making a bad impression on the teacher.

────୨ৎ────

I overhear a couple people talking together, passing notes or happily feeling confident enough to talk out loud to each other, before they were told off by Mr. Watson. "Excuse me! I'm speaking!" He scolds everyone, snapping his head viscously in Chris' direction, meeting him with a firm scowl to show his feeling toward Chris' 'disrespectful behaviour'. "Sorry, sir." Chris shrugs, stifling a laugh by covering his mouth with his hand.

────୨ৎ────

Not long after Mr. Watson turns around to continue explaining what was on the board, the boys begin to speak to each other again. This time, with Chris sat next to me, I overhear their conversation, unable to hear what sir was saying over their talking. "Yeah, this seating plan's shit. I've got to sit next to 'her." One of the boys murmured glumly, shifting his shoulder to direct Chris' eyes to the girl sat next to him. It was the girl I was sat next to during form time. She seemed really sweet and kind, making me instantly feel sorry for her, knowing she could hear the boys talking about her.

────୨ৎ────

"Wait, Chris, who're you sat next to?" The boy asks, intrigued and looking over at me. I keep my gaze straight, looking forward at the board, nervous and worried they would say something bad about me, even though they didn't even know me.

────୨ৎ────

"D'know. The new one, can't remember her name. She's quiet." He mutters back, glancing over at me with a blank expression, scanning over my facial features as I try to focus on the work.

────୨ৎ────

Out of the corner of my eye, I see him murmur something to his friend, before leaning back in his seat and turning to face me. "Hey, you, 's your name?" He bops his head up, waiting expectantly for my response with an emotionless expression on his weirdly attractive face. I turn to look at him. "Y/n." I reply coyly in a quiet voice. "Mm. 'Kay." He muttered, turning back to face his friend, who was almost the opposite of him.

────୨ৎ────

The only thing that made them similar, was their attitude. The other boy was blond with hazel eyes and pale pink lips with a little, dried out, red cut on the left side of his bottom lip, indicating he tended to chew on and bite his bottom lip.

Chris huffed and rolled his eyes slightly, almost seeming irritated by my unenthusiastic response to his question, clearly expecting more of a reaction from a girl. Especially one who had 'the honour' of spoken to by Chris.

────୨ৎ────

Chris and his equally smug friend continued blabbering on to each other carelessly, clearly not interested at all in this boring. I don't even blame them, this lesson was dull and repetitive. At least in my old school the teachers didn't repeat the same load of rubbish they'd already said about a thousand times, each time getting more and more boring.

────୨ৎ────

As the lesson went on, the boys began to become more disruptive. They were talking and laughing as if they weren't in class, most had moved seats, including Chris who had shuffled his dark grey plastic chair to the desk next to ours, and a couple boys had even been recklessly throwing carefully folded paper aeroplanes around the class.

────୨ৎ────

At this point, Mr. Watson had given up with trying to prevent the class' ridiculous antics from continuing. He stared furiously at everyone who was disrupting the class, pursing his small lips and furrowing his bushy, dark brown eyebrows.

────୨ৎ────

Just as Mr. Watson was about to attempt settling the class down again, I feel a light prick to the side of my head. I whip my head around to see what hit my head. I notice a folded piece of paper now resting on the floor.

Of course.

A paper aeroplane.

"Sorry," Chris chuckles lightly, trying to hide a devious smirk. I scoff quietly and lead over, reaching my soft arm down to pick up the poxy paper aeroplane. I pick it up swiftly and crush the paper in my hands, loud crinkling noises emerging from the paper until it forms a slightly misshapen ball. Without thinking, I throw it back at Chris, it landing in his lap.

God, why did I do that?

That was so fucking stupid.

I'm new, and I had the guts to do that shit?

Am I high or something.

────୨ৎ────

Chris snaps his head up, his brown locks flopping down onto his face. He doesn't say anything, just rolls his eyes, picking the crinkled piece of paper up and throwing aggressively down onto the ground.

────୨ৎ────

˙⋆✮At the end of the day, I begin walking home. ✮⋆˙

────୨ৎ────

I speedily turn around a corner, desperate to get home. I inhale the smell of the moist, cool fresh breeze, before I soon feel a strong, muscular, warm arm get slung over my shoulder, using it to gently pull me closer to the owner of the arm's warm, inviting body. "So, what's up with chucking paper at me, pretty?" He says teasingly in a slightly deep voice. I look up at the person, and see Chris looking down at me with a grin. "Shut up. You threw it at me first!" I respond argumentatively, returning the same teasing grin.

────୨ৎ────

I guess there was one really good thing about moving here. To beautiful Alpine Meadows. I got to see my precious boyfriend without having to drive hours to see him.

I’ve been thinking, the only person I loved is the man who pretends we never met. Sometimes, when I’m at school, I try to find his bright sneakers in the middle of the crowd. I try to look at him, I try to see if he is looking at someone, even though I want him to look at me. I changed myself because of this guy — I changed my hair, my body, my clothes, my mind, my feelings, my personality… all because I wanted to impress him. And I was successful. But every single time he came back, I did something to screw up again. Not with this intention, but I did. I was just trying to make sure he wouldn’t run away again. But he always runs away. I should have known it before I let him do anything to me.

You can call me dumb, or whatever you want to call me; I know it seems silly. But that’s the whole point. I don’t know anyone who loved someone with this intensity. And my friends who did don’t know what it’s like to lose that person. And I feel guilty about it. I try to keep myself busy to avoid thinking about the things that I’ve done for him. Because maybe, if I just had a normal love, I wouldn’t have done the crazy stuff that I’ve done. Maybe, if I hadn’t sent him that message, or maybe if I had just said “no” when he proposed that we could be just friends with benefits… maybe he would have been interested enough to pay more attention to me. Maybe he would have had some pity.

He knew I was in love. Actually, he knows I’m still in love with him. And I know he likes it. He likes to play games with my head, he likes to approach my friends just when I’m talking only with them. But essentially, he likes to see my heart broken. He likes to see me cry over him. He loves to know that I’m there for him forever. He knows I’m not going to leave, because he knows that I’m stuck with him for the rest of my life.

I hate him. I hate when he pretends that nothing has ever happened between us. I hate to watch when he’s talking with that girl. I hate to see him with someone who is not me. But God, how I love it when I catch him looking at me at a party. I love when he smiles with that little smirk that makes me feel unreal. I love when I’m talking to someone and he’s close, watching me laugh. I love when he seems uncomfortable when I ignore him trying to get my attention.

Sometimes, I try to just hate him. I try to see all the shit he did. But I can’t forget all the good things that happened before everything went wrong. I remember the way he treated me, the way he touched my hand, the way he smiled at me, how he talked to me… I remember all our conversations. Literally all of them. I remember when he asked me what my dream declaration of love was. I remember when he told me I could count on him.

He was the first guy who showed me how I wanted to be loved. He gave me all I wanted. But when I showed him how much I was in love, he started to show exactly how I didn’t want to be treated. And, after that, everything went downhill.

But here I am, writing some stupid shit about a random guy I met when I was twelve, who has been my torture since 2023.

Love is overrated. Everyone thinks that love is a beautiful feeling, something that can make someone change for the better. But actually, it’s a sentence of death. When you catch yourself smiling like a child when you think about them, you know that you are fucked up. And the only thing I can promise you is: you won’t forget this person. Never. You can fall in love with others, but you will never be able to forget your first love. The love that broke your soul into a million pieces of sadness, loneliness, and despair.

It’s like a hole, a big hole filled with tears that I’ve been keeping hidden from the world. No one should ever feel this way. It feels like grief. It’s sad, it’s complicated, it makes you feel not enough… Do you know that feeling when you wake up after a good night with your friends, but no one is home anymore? It brings back that pain of emptiness. The pain of being afraid to lose moments.

Sometimes, this pain makes you feel stronger. Sometimes it serves to remind you that you already suffered the worst pain. You survived the worst days, you will survive everything else. But this pain is even worse than physical pain. I’m not even joking.

But now, I’m so tired of this hurt. I can’t handle it anymore. I’ve been trying for a long time. Some people say that I’m going to forget about him, they’re so sure of it; I would like to be that sure about it too. But every time I see him playing basketball, the only thing I can be sure is: I will never stop loving him.

I can’t help myself from watching his games. Actually, I want to see him playing because I know he likes it, he likes a big crowd cheering for him. He doesn’t even have to say it, I can see it. He loves to be cheered, to be complimented.

And he knows I like that too. But he never complimented me. It’s just like he’s so proud of himself that he doesn’t have any space left to be proud of others. It’s unbelievable! It makes me feel so bad about myself, but especially about him! He can’t see the good side of people, and if he sees it, he doesn’t speak about it; he keeps it to himself.

I don’t know what’s worse: being in love or hating someone. The thing is, I feel both ways about him. So, I’m literally living in my own particular hell. Even though we don’t talk anymore, I still feel butterflies when he’s around, or when he comes close to my friends to talk to them about some shit that’s usually about girls. Sometimes I think he does it on purpose. Because there’s no way that every time I’m around, he’s talking about girls. I can’t think of any other reason why he does that.

Sometimes I feel that wave—a hot, dark wave that goes through my chest every single time he gets close to me. It’s so uncontrollably intense that it makes me gasp and breathe even harder. He takes my breath away. I don’t show it; actually, I pretend I’m interested in something else, looking at the place as if I were contemplating the white, random walls. Just like a fool. The fool that I am.

I used to like it when he got naughty and boldly said those things I still think about when I’m alone at night. Things like, “Did you get excited?” or “This… that I’ve done… you like that?” When he said those things to me, I remember feeling that wave. Sometimes I just can’t believe that he did all that but never kissed me on the lips.

I know I shouldn’t have been so permissive with him, but I couldn’t help but let him do whatever he wanted with me. I thought about pushing his hands away, but I never did. I just couldn’t do anything. I was too in love with him to see that all that shit would haunt me for life. But still, I don’t regret anything. I would still let him do whatever he wants.

This is my curse—this blind and uncontrollable love for a man who doesn’t give a fuck about me, or my feelings, or anything that comes with me. It’s just like we’re strangers to each other. We pretend the other doesn’t exist. When he’s close, I look the other way and pretend he’s not there. It’s childish behavior, from both of us. But I know we’ll never stop coming back into each other’s lives. It’s an invisible string that keeps connecting us—a string we can’t break.

Leon Kennedy x Fem!Reader

You're a high school student. You're doing great, the teachers love you and speak well of you. But you also like to have fun at a club or in the company of friends. You were very confident and proud. It was easy for you to get along with people. But there is one humble guy who caught your attention. Your friends were shocked when you told them who he was. Leon Kennedy!? This quiet and sweet guy is a grade younger than you. No, he wasn't a mumbler. He was just more introverted than you are an extrovert.

There was a disco at school, which soon turned into a party at someone's house. Leon was there too..

You've made your way through a crowd of people and now you're standing in front of Leon, smiling slyly at him. "Can we go outside?" you ask, and someone doesn't hit you hard on the shoulder. Leon was going to answer you, but the guy behind you interrupted him. "Fuck, look, no one gives our y/n, and she decided to pick up a nerd!". But the guy immediately gets punched in the nose. You didn't even have time to react, as Leon had already managed to hit the bully and threaten him. He puts his arm around your shoulders and takes you outside. You were completely shocked, but you liked the fact that baby Leon is not such a baby. "I didn't know you could fight, baby." You touched his bicep through the sleeve of his jacket. Leon was slightly embarrassed by the nickname. "Just working out at the gym." He answered briefly and clearly. You spent the rest of the evening in Leon's company, and he even lent you his hoodie because you were wearing only a top and skirt that barely covered your ass. Leon walked you home, and finally you gave him a quick kiss on the cheek and ran home, leaving baby Leon in shock.

He's officially "baby Leon" now, and his hoodie will never come back to him. She's yours now.

Do you even like this? I hope you enjoyed it❤️

"I wanna taste her lips

Yeah, 'cause they taste like you

I wanna drown myself

In a bottle of her perfume

I want her long blonde hair

I want her magic touch

Yeah, 'cause maybe then

You'd want me just as much"

"Ready." He hummed.

Leaning forward onto his his hands again, Louis' nose found itself against the other side of Harry's neck. He seemed to concentrate on this smell more.

"You smell good." He teased, rubbing his nose up and down Harry's neck. It tickled a little.

Louis grabbed Harry's shoulder to steady himself as the younger boy chewed the inside of his mouth, "Anything?" He wondered.

It took a moment before Louis answered.

"As incredible as that smells also- which it does- that's not it." He shared.

ོ༘₊⁺☀︎₊⁺⋆.˚

When Louis states that he's found the scent of his soulmate, Harry helps his best friend figure out the said scent, and who the person wearing it is. He however is completely unaware that maybe "Louis' soulmate" is closer than he thinks, and might even be himself.

Or

Where Harry wears the Watermelon Sugar perfume and that's all it took for Louis to realize his feelings for the younger one. It takes Harry a bit longer however.