#tw.kidnapping

You weren’t supposed to be near the cliffs. The locals had told stories, murmured warnings of tides that dragged unsuspecting feet into the undertow. But you were eight, and warnings slid off your ears like water. You’d chased a crab across slick rocks, nearly slipping once—okay, twice—before rounding a jagged stone formation and stopping short.

A glint of silver caught your eye. At first, you thought it was trash—a bit of foil or an abandoned soda can. Then it moved. Just slightly. Enough to catch the sun and reflect a brilliance so blinding it made your eyes water. You stepped closer, heart thudding, and gasped.

He was tangled in a net.

You didn’t know what he was—some strange fish, perhaps? But then he turned his face to you, and your world cracked open.

He had eyes like the sea after a storm—grey, but not dull. There was depth there. Sorrow. His skin, though damp and streaked with grit, shimmered faintly under the sun. Hair, long and tangled with bits of kelp and shell, framed a face that was almost too lovely for this world. And below the waist…

A tail. Silver-scaled, powerful, twitching weakly with every shallow breath he took.

You froze.

He didn’t speak. He just stared. His lips slightly parted. You noticed the way he held himself, cautious and ready to defend. His hand—webbed and claw-tipped—twitched when you shifted your weight.

“I won’t hurt you,” you said, holding out your hands to show you had nothing. No rocks. No spear. Just your palms, scraped and pink from climbing.

He blinked slowly, suspicious still.

“Are you stuck?” you asked.

No reply. But he didn’t back away when you stepped closer. You knelt beside him, the scent of salt and something sharper—like rotting seaweed baking in the sun—invading your nose. It made your stomach twist. But you pushed it aside and began working at the net.

The knots were tight. You pulled and untangled, ignoring the barnacles slicing your fingertips. Time passed, but neither of you spoke. It wasn’t silence. The waves talked, the seagulls screamed above, and your own breath came hard with effort. Still, it felt sacred—like speaking would shatter something delicate between you.

Eventually, the net slackened.

He let out a sharp sound—surprise? Relief?—and pushed himself forward, dragging the last threads free with a flick of his tail. Then, to your astonishment, he touched your arm. A light brush of damp fingers on your skin. He didn’t say thank you. He didn’t need to. The look in his eyes—raw and electric—said everything.

And then, he was gone. A splash, a spray of saltwater, and silver glimmering beneath the waves.

You never told anyone.

You convinced yourself it was a dream, a fantasy born from too much sun. But you visited that rock again. And again. Just in case.

Years passed. You grew up. He did not fade.

• • — ✦ — • •

Beneath the waves, he remembered everything.

Zeiryn had been young when you saved him, and even then, his mind was unlike the others. While his kin drowned sailors and split hulls for fun, Zeiryn watched the world above with a secret hunger. He had never known mercy—not until you. He thought you were an illusion at first. A sun-struck phantom, kindness shaped like a child.

But you were real. You touched him without fear. You saved him.

And he had never forgotten.

Seasons passed above and below. He grew stronger, his voice deeper, the gift of his lineage blooming in his throat. His tail thickened with muscle, the silver of his scales deepening to something more molten, almost iridescent. His hair, once wild and matted, was now woven with the treasures of the deep—rings of coral, braids of pearl, beads carved from whalebone. He was no longer a drifting child of the tide. He was a leader now.

Yet every dusk, he swam to the same stretch of shore, peering through kelp and coral, waiting for the only face that had ever haunted him.

And then—finally—he saw you.

You stood there, older, but still you. Your eyes held the same wonder, the same distant sadness. He watched from the rocks, heart hammering, the sea rising with every thrum of anticipation. You were holding a bottle. The scent reached him even through the water. Alcohol. Sour and sharp.

You stumbled closer to the edge, barefoot like before. He didn’t understand your tears at first. But when they hit the water, he tasted them.

Bitterness.

He had never tasted sorrow before.

He moved without thinking, cutting through the water with a predator’s grace. When you stepped into the sea—lost, maybe hoping it would take you—he was already there. His arms wrapped around you just before your knees buckled. He caught you. Held you. And for the first time in years, he felt whole again.

He turned to the shore. His eyes, once filled with awe, hardened. There were people there. A town. A world that had allowed you to suffer.

He would never forgive it.

The water closed over your head.

And he took you home.

• • — ✦ — • •

The cold hits you first. It pierces your skin like needles, forcing your eyes open.

Then the pressure—thick and heavy—presses against your chest. You try to gasp and choke instead. The world is liquid. Blurry shapes. Movement. Panic claws through you. You thrash—

Then you notice the shimmer.

Your legs—no. Not legs.

You scream, but no sound comes out. Just bubbles.

The tail is yours. You move, and it moves with you—powerful, golden, alien.

Your lungs don’t ache. You aren’t drowning.

You’re breathing. Underwater.

A presence approaches. You backpedal—awkward, instinctual.

Then he’s there.

The siren.

Older. Towering. Regal in a way that defies language. His eyes widen as you meet his gaze. He reaches for you like a lover, a prayer on his lips without sound.

You float, stunned, your heart racing in your chest.

"You're awake! Welcome home!" he says—somehow, impossibly, the words sliding into your mind like a current. His voice doesn’t echo in your ears. It resonates in your bones. Inside you.

Your lips tremble. “What... what did you do to me?”

He cocks his head, almost confused by the question. “I saved you.”

You glance around. Coral walls. Bioluminescent plants. Faint shadows darting beyond what your eyes can track.

“I didn’t ask to be saved.”

His face falters, just briefly. But then the soft smile returns. “You did, once. When I was dying. You touched me. You gave me your warmth. Your kindness.” He swims closer. “You were the only one who ever did.”

“That was years ago.” You try to back away, but your body is sluggish in this new form. “I was a kid.”

“You remembered me.” His voice is gentle now, like a lullaby. “You returned.”

You shake your head, panicked. “No. I—I was just walking. I didn’t know—”

His hand reaches forward, cupping your cheek. His touch is warm now. Familiar. Like seawater kissed by the sun. “You were hurting. They made you cry. But you don’t have to cry anymore.”

“I want to go back,” you whisper.

“There’s nothing there for you.”

He’s not angry. Not yet. Just... patient. Like he’s waiting for you to understand something you’ve missed.

“You belong here,” he murmurs. “With me.”

You remember the way he looked at you back then—curious and soft. But this is different. There’s devotion in his eyes. A fire born not of gentle affection, but of obsession that has steeped too long.

“You changed me,” you say, voice shaking. You look down at the tail. “How?”

“There’s a pearl,” he says, pointing to your side. You notice now—embedded near your hip is a small, glowing orb, barely visible beneath your skin.

“I couldn’t risk losing you again.”

You turn, frantic now. “No, no, this isn’t right. I can’t—this isn’t real.”

“You are real.” His voice is sharper now. “I dreamed of you so long I thought you were only in my mind. But you’re here. Flesh and spirit. And you’ll never have to suffer again.”

You shake your head. “I’m not your wife.”

Silence.

Then he leans close, his breath warm against your ear even underwater.

“Yet.”

• • — ✦ — • •

Back on the surface, a woman named Marina squints at the shore where she last saw you. She’s a local—grew up with the sea in her lungs and warnings stitched into her grandmother’s lullabies. When she saw you walk into the ocean, something in her gut twisted. She waited hours. You didn’t return.

Now, she’s standing with a fisherman and an old priest, their gazes following the waterline.

“No body,” the man mutters. “Currents here don’t drag far. Should’ve washed up if she drowned.”

“She didn’t drown,” Marina says softly. “She was taken.”

The priest mutters something in an old tongue. The fisherman scoffs.

“By what? Sea spirits? Merfolk?”

“No.” Marina’s eyes don’t leave the water. “A siren.”

“Those don’t exist.”

“They do,” she says. “And if it’s the one I think… she won’t come back.”

And deep beneath the waves, Zeiryn brushes a strand of hair from your face as you lie curled in coral-silk bedding. You’ve cried yourself into a stupor. But your skin is warmer now. The transformation is complete. Soon, you’ll forget what it was like to walk. To speak above the waves. To live without him.

He hums you a song—a melody he’s written over the years, just for you. It wraps around your heart like a net.

You stir in your sleep.

He smiles.

Tomorrow, you’ll love him back.

You have to.

After all… you’re home.

TBC.

noirscript © 2025

He had tried to be patient.

To understand you.

It felt like a whim when he had first took you home, well his home.

Chaining you up so you couldn't escape, only having you in one room with a bed and a few nailed down furniture knowing you'd try to attack him. But he knew better than to give up so easily, he had made everything to accordance; his pent house was mostly in a wooded area, a whole forest technically and a big walled fence he knew you wouldn't be able to climb.

Simply it was out of the kindness of his heart, you could still move around the house with the chain on your leg making sure you could only explore the bottom floor, though you rarely got out of your room for anything even when he wanted you at the dinner table.

"the food isnt poisoned y'know, you should really eat." Coaxing you to at least try to eat something, he had placed the tray of food on the desk as you could only scream at him. "Stop acting so normal you freak! You just kidnapped me all because I'm sick of you!"

Well you weren't wrong.

It was just too bad that he couldn't really seem to care about it. "I'll leave you be so you could calm down, you better eat something. I don't want to force you too."

The crying and screaming stopped at week 2, he made sure you were fed even if you didn't want to eat. Same scheduled meals and the monotony of it, you still tensed when you heard him walking by or whenever eating in the same table. It was fine, the beginning of something great he had planned for the two of you.

The first attempt; your escape you had tried to break the chain using itself to break itself yet it was too thick, you. Thought you could escape that you thought you had it planned out yet all of it was a failure that chipped your spirit, cutting your ankle wasn't an option when here wasn't anything to cut it with. The kitchen up where you two were was purely decorative with the fridge not even having food or shelves inside that you could use to harm him or yourself, the pent house was like a labyrinth made especially for you, windows that wouldn't break when you threw chairs or the polished tiles that acted like a mirror when you tried to hide from him.

The second attempt; was trying persuade him that you truly lost your spirit, making him unlock the chain in your ankle . You forgot how you did it but you tried to strangle him with the chain, yet the difference of strength you had lost you had tried to run at the door knowing that there wasn't a lock there yet the moment your hands touched the doorknob you were electrocuted.

It was painful, it made you wince with your hand feeling numb and weak when it stopped. It jolted in your body so sudden that you didn't notice valarr behind you until you felt his hand fisting your hair dragging you back to the bedroom. "Stop fighting me, you know it hurts me more than you."

He said it like you hadn't just attempted to strangled him and run away, yet he knew there was more time to thoroughly bread you. He is a patient man but it wasn't without consequence's, there was only so much he could do and you were still trying to fight him whilst he had dragged you by the hair. "So much spirit, that's what I admire about you." Was the thing you heard until he knocked you out swiftly, a undescribable expression on his face as he finally was able to carry you without trying to rip his face off. Carrying you bridal style, laying you on the sofa with the chain back on your ankle as he went to get something from his study.

Waking up, suddenly feeling stiff and the throbbing of your temple made it hard to think— he was sitting there with your head on his lap reading a book whilst you laid on your back. Trying to get off being realizing that you were bound, not only bound but in a damn straitjacket yet with only the top part. "Ahh, your awake finally. I made some tea for the headache your having as of now." His hand petting your head as you jolt up yet the sudden quickness made your head hurt even more, grabbing your waist with your hands bound by thick fabric straps. "Don't move so much you'll get hurt, now drink the tea-"

"fuck your tea-" cutting him off harshly, trying to let yourself free from these bindings yet it was fruitless. "I thought we were making progress, you don't have a choice to leave." He said it as if it was the most normal thing ever, he was never this weird in the beginning or even anywhere near your relationship and so this whole 180 was so weird. Having you sat on his lap whilst pressing a warm cup of tea to your lips, it smelled of herbs and ginger fragrant and sweet— just how you liked them. "Drink, you had been passed out all day."

You had moved your head to push his hand away roughly, making the teacup he held crash onto the floor with a high and crisp crackle of porcelain crashing onto the tile floor. He didn't look pleased, his already on the edge after a bad day of work and now your being a little brat. "Such a fucking brat, I have been nothing but patient with you yet your being so ungrateful." He snapped, since you were already on his lap with your arms bound he had manhandled you roughly, splaying you on his lap with flailing legs and curses coming out of your lips.

Pulling down your shorts giving a hard harsh slap across your ass cheek, "I'm tired of you being so disobedient."

-THWACK-

Another slap that made you choke out a sob, with clenched legs under his other knee as he grabbed your hair to make you let out a gasp.

Each loud clap of the meat of your ass and his calloused hands connecting like the most humiliating thing, you were helpless and tired with tears streaming on your face. "Fifteen, unless you want to keep this up." Staring at your face with no trace of sympathy, THWACK, a loud slap to the other cheek seeing your other ass bloom a supple red on your skin. "Count them." He demanded before letting your hair go and lowering your head, not wanting him to see your red snotty face when crying. "-one.." a broken little noise but he didn't hesitate to smack you again. "Two-!" Another slap much humiliating the other as you gasped.

THWACK, "ng- three." Thwack, "four.." thwack— "five."

The continuing slaps that you had to restart when you forgot the number you were in had those legs trembling, the heat in-between your legs unwanted and a painful pulsing arousal with your leaking cunt as you sobbed on the cushion of the couch. "I'm doing this for you own good y'know that?"

His slaps finally stopped instead rubbing soothing circles on the area as you could only sniffle and hiccup, his hands roaming proud of how he made you into this crying mess. Fingertips toying with the hem of your panties before pulling them down, "so wet, can't touch yourself when your in a straitjacket, can you?" He couldn't help tease watching your ruined panties with much pride, index and ring finger toying between slick folds. "I never knew you could get this wet." After collecting much between his fingers he took it to his mouth, a groan of sick gratification rumbling in his throat. Deep and rough, the rumbling that shot a heat through your stomach before plunging those fingers now slick with his spit. Biting your lip, it felt so good having the sudden stretch with those long fingers. "Don't you dare quite yourself down, unless you want a belt to your ass instead?" That made you wince as you turned your head, yet all sides your eye was still on whilst his fingers worked.

Slick tight walls engulfed his fingers, he watched in awe seeing your walls suckle his fingers with there pulsating engorged walls. "So tight n' wet for me," he let out a long breath, his slacks feeling tight with his cock straining on your stomach whilst wriggling and flinching. Squelching noises loud, soft quiet gasps and whimpers trying to act all meek as he stretched and scissored you open when your walls felt like a vice. "Don't fight it, your pussy is cryin' for my cock inside. but your not ready yet."

His fingers curling deliciously so deep where you couldn't reach, a broken moan letting out when he kept pressing that specific area in that agonizing pace smooth and rhythmic. "Your gonna cum for me my dear?" He could feel the way your walls clench at his words, it sounded scandalous coming from his mouth- no one would have believed you when he said that, of course no one did. "M'so close val-" so deliciously broken it makes his cock throb harder almost painfully, he didn't quicken his pace yet nestled his fingers deeper inside rubbing your clit in a torturously slow motion making you let out a string of whines and mewls going over the edge with that same pace, creaming around those fingers with hard nubs and trembling legs.

Not stopping until he had thoroughly overstimulated you, making you lay limply and so plaintly on his lap. His cock throbbing yet he didn't satisfy himself yet, it was only the tip of the things he was going to do with you and this was just setting you straight. "Now will you listen to me?" Gently patting your head, wiping the sweat off your forehead and laying your head on a pillow instead of his lap since he might lose it when you'd nuzzle your head on his hardened cock. "Sleep now, I'll be making dinner."

His words soft and assuring, his thumb gently rubbing on your hand whilst holding you. Those same eyes that were so warm, the opposite from that cold and calculating man that trapped you here. He left you alone letting you fall asleep with a stinging ass and a satisfied cunt, you didn't know to be mad or to be fine with this current predicament you were in especially when he was so strict about it.

But he loves you.

And that's the only thing keeping you alive.

The escape was futile, attacking him would've ended terribly considering your on a metal leash. The constant coldness on your ankle a reminder of the predicament you were fruitlessly waiting to end, and now the fabric holding you tightly like a softer version of a metal chain that he was glad to buy since it worked so well.

But there was no end to this.

Because by the end it was only him waiting for you.

He had you by his very finger tips, afraid of his punishments and wanting his soft assurance that kept you from fully losing all hope.

The penthouse was cold with the faint smell of cedar wood and amber, floor to ceiling windows looking out of the dense forest outside. It was nearing winter with how the leaves had browned and fell one by one, when you finally woke up the smell of roasted stake marinated in something Herby and dewy with a side of greens and hash browns accompanied by a tall glass of mango juice. Your vision travelled to the food onto him sitting cross legged on the arm chair, Still being restrained yet he sat on a arm chair facing the couch whilst he read a cook book, when he looked up he looked rather pleased. "Finally your awake, I was getting worried the food might have gotten cold."

His voice smooth and assuring like he hadn't been the one to erase your very existence in the first place, that knowing smile like he had planned this from the beginning until now.

But this was now your life.

Anyways part two ongoing(idk what to do with the part three yet tho so wish me luck 🫪)

Your whimpers are drowned by the cloth stuffed on your mouth, the material so deeply shoved into your mouth that it was suffocating you.

“Such a delicate skin, indeed. How smooth.”

Ramsay purrs, eyes glinting with malicious intent as he drags the knife across your skin, the sharp edge pressed just hard enough to make you panic.

The strap of your gown easily falls, cut by the blade. The dress falls down a bit, dangerously exposing the curves of your left breast.

“Aren’t you a beauty? No wonder everyone gets so smitten by you.” his fingers trace down the skin and you squirm against the ropes as he cups your tit, giving it a hard squeeze.

He smiles, looking at you.

“You’ll make a beautiful wife, I can feel it.” your eyes widen with shock, making his grin wider.

“Ah yes, didn’t I inform you about the wedding? How sloppy of my part, I apologize.” the corner of his lips twitches and he inches closer, until his tongue meets your cheek.

He licks a long stride of your skin, humming with delight as you wince, disgust filling you upon his actions.

“Sadly, your family won’t be present at the ceremony, I’m afraid. Not after their pathetic attempt of marrying you off to some pigheaded lord.” he says, a hint of anger behind his jovial tone.

His hand clamps around the knife and you halt your breathing, fearing that for a moment he would drive the blade inside you.

For your relief, after a tense moment he walks away from you, throwing the knife to the floor with a loud smash.The amusement vanishes from his face, replaced with blazing fury that twists his features into an ugly scowl.

“No, your father won’t even live to see you marry, I’ll personally make sure of that.” he spits, “He was a foolish man for thinking he could save you from me.

"No one can. You’re mine. The only way you can get away from me is over my dead body.”

Ramsay gives you a disturbing smile, one that freezes your heart.

“And yours.”

Your ears perk up when they make something out over the static. Maybe not exactly a familiar voice, but a voice, ever so faintly sounds from the ceiling above you. Where you know Kenma does his work. Where you know he misses you from up there. You only saw it once before you were led down here, the big room with bright, open windows, much unlike how you know Kenma to be now. He’s guarded and protective and keeps his feelings close. You can’t imagine Kenma to long for freedom like you do…

But still, you want to believe it.

Instead he’s here with you, cherishing you, staying with you. Feeding and caring for you when he has the time. You shouldn’t think back to those windows, with the easy latch and flowy curtains. That’s what tempted you to fight and escape a few times, even when you only ended up worse. You weren’t chained to the wall until you ran. Weren’t tied up until you tried to slice his face open with the shard of the mirror you kicked, and now you don’t even really remember what you look like.

Kenma does, and he seems to like what he sees. When he’s rubbing his thumb along your brows and down the bridge of your nose - it matters a little less that you don’t know. When he helps you untangle your hair, or lets you into the bath. You weren’t even stripped of your clothes until you tried to strangle yourself with your shirt after struggling to adapt for weeks. Oh, it must’ve been at least two months then.

The sound of Kenma talking is so muffled that it’s hard to imagine he’s talking to anyone in the room. Maybe a phone call? After a while, you start getting restless. Start rocking the bed until it bangs against the wall twice and the door to the stairs trembles. Then you try to turn onto your side to get a little comfortable, arms still tied to the bed. Still numb.

Until you hear the familiar sound of soft feet walking down, and the key clicks against the metal of the lock. Kenma thought you important enough to hang up. You can’t help but feel warm at that thought, but you try not to focus on that. You shouldn’t be jealous when he’s trying his best. That’s what he says, and when you don’t hear anyone’s voice except for his for long enough, your internal monologue starts to sound like him too. “You’re being noisy again…” he sighs as he opens the door, hair pulled back from his face into a messy bun. “What’s wrong?”

Your entire body seems to perk up at the sound. He drags himself closer, and sits down on the edge of the bed just out of reach. A slight breeze goes along your bare thighs and bare tits and makes you shiver, and Kenma’s long fingers reach out to brush circles at your ankle. “What? You just lonely?”

“M-missed you,” your voice rasps, painful and tight. “Just wanna see you.” You sound like you haven’t had a drink all day, and after racking your mind, that’s probably true. It aches to swallow; almost as much as the dryness in the air. Instead of shying away from his touch, you lean into it as much as possible, and let him run his fingers up your shin to your thigh.

An almost imperceptible smile comes onto his lips, before he scoots closer and makes you bounce with the movement, starting to grin. “You’re much more lovey dovey nowadays.” His cat-like eyes focus on your face then, as he seems to gather what you’re thinking just from the furrow in your brow. “It’s not a bad thing… I think it’s cute. I didn’t like it when I had to constantly chase you around or fight you.”

His long fingers cup your cheek with a binding intensity, as he just seems to indulge in the sight of you. Splayed, submissive beneath him. You know him well enough now to say it’s how he likes you best. You like it too when you don’t have to fight. “‘M cold,” you sigh then, watching as Kenma’s eyes start glittering with a special kind of joy. One reserved for only you. You used to find it frightening, when you first got here.

“You’re always cold, huh?” The hand slides down your neck, brushing along your collarbones to make you shiver. “Want me to warm you up?” Without hesitating, he slips his hands under your dull, crinkled shirt and traces it up your ribs to your tits. The touch is enough to have you tremble into his hands, enjoying the interaction maybe too much. You’re mewling like it’s your job, and his name is the only thing on your lips. It took a while to feel okay about letting him slip his hands down to pull off the boxers, his— your panties got taken the first day you got here.

Kenma had been overeager, curious - he’d scared you. Now you just get scared when you wake up and Kenma isn’t in the house. Your body curls into the searching touches of his skillful fingers when they brush over the beginning wetness of your lips, and push a knuckle to grind against your clit. “When I first found you, I didn’t know you’d be so difficult, y’know,” he sighs into your mouth before kissing you, “you’re lucky you’re so cute. Make me wanna put up with you.” His fingers turn to rub you open, and your legs spread for him too eager.

“Kenma, pl-please, more.”

Whining. Pleading. You’ve become something you no longer recognize— Kenma takes the loneliness away for a few hours. He chuckles as you clamp your legs around his hand like you’re scared he’ll pull away, and your chest desperately moves up and down. “Hmh,” he smiles, “does that feel good? What a pretty, little pet, whining for me to fill her up.”

It makes the slight grin on his pretty mouth grow, until he is brushing your cheek with a distant look. His tongue brushes past his lips to taste you on him, before dipping closer to you and grinding his hand deeper into your clenching pussy. “What do you think about a trip to Brazil?”

Dracula never thought he’d find love again, much less a third time. After all the tragedy and heartbreak he’s been forced to face, and to go through, he found a place with you.

Just another human.

But your kindness, your compassion made him fall all over again.

How you saw him, a mere stranger who looked troubled, and offered him company.

Your presence was warm, with a smile that outshined the morning sun. How you gazed at him like he was worth more than gold, how you attentively listened to everything he had to say.

Especially so late at night.

Dracula hung onto your every word, taking in everything you had to say to him. Every word you spoke, every question you asked him, had him enthralled with you.

He knew then he had to protect you, to keep you safe from the world.

To protect you from the same fate as those before. He can’t lose you too.

Even after meeting with you, and taking small walks around your little town every night, he can’t bring himself to leave back to his castle.

Not without you in tow, he needed to have you, to protect you, to hold you.

You remain unaware of the second shadow you have, but you do feel eyes on you almost every night. But you happily close your door, not seeing the nearly nine foot tall shadow behind you, with dim glowing red eyes staring at you as he trails silently after you.

Following you around your home.

Mutely cooing at your decor, already making a mental listen of anything that looks important to take with him. Oh! Maybe he will give you your own personal room next to his, just for all your things.

The vampire quietly purrs, watching you get snuggled into bed. You’re too precious, he can’t wait to finally have you in his arms, safe and showered in his love.

You’re oblivious to the man carefully picking up your sleeping form.

You awake with a yawn and a stretch, having felt like you got the best sleep in the world. You rub the sleep from your eyes, yawning once more before looking around, before sitting up, adrenaline rushing through your veins.

Everything in the room was black, red, and gold, looking like you went back in time.

The bed was massive, and incredibly comfortable. The room is dark, with the only source of light coming from a lit set of candles, dimly glowing.

Your breathing picks up, as your eyes dart around trying to find a clear way out.

This wasn’t your room, nor your home.

You needed to get back, and fast, before whoever took you came back. Though your arms are shaking, you slowly move closer to the edge of the bed, only to pause, feeling like you’re being watched.

You can feel your hair standing on end.

Yet, you feel almost….safe? You can’t explain it, you feel as though whatever or whoever is watching you, won’t hurt you.

But although you feel welcomed here, it feels hostile.

You slide off the bed as quietly as you could. Trembling as the coldness of the room washes over you, you are still only dressed in your sleep shirt and shorts, so you aren’t sure if that’s a good sign or not.

You slowly walk towards the door, pausing when the floor creaks under you. You wait to see if anyone comes, yet nothing happens. You let out a mute sigh before continuing, internally cheering once you reached the grand door.

You take a deep breath as you grasp the gold handle, placing your other hand where the door and door frame meet to soften the sounds of it opening. Peeking through the decent gap, you nearly choke.

Before you stand two inhumanly tall knights in gold armor, both their heads looking towards you, causing the bright blue feathering on their helms to move.

Your eyes keep darting between the two, and their monstrous swords. The moment one moved, you jumped back and slammed the door shut.

Your heart is pounding, and your skin becomes tacky with sweat.

Well, there goes sneaking out that way, it could never be easy. They two guards never enter the room, so you suppose it’s safe in here for now. Walking back, you try the windows, seeing if you could open those.

You push, you pull, you push, but the windows never budge, it’s like some invisible force is keeping them shut.

You huff, realizing you’re truly trapped here.

With those knights of whatever they are staying outside your door, you will have to wait until they leave. But you doubt they will ever move.

You jump back, head whipping around towards the door at the sound of three knocks. Your heart drops, only to be left more confused and nervous.

You’re shocked to see the man you’ve been talking to late at night, but a part of you feels like you should’ve seen it coming.

Dracula chuckles at your shocked face.

“I didn’t mean to frighten you, my love.”

You realize he’s holding a bed tray, one that’s filled with food and a nice cold drink for you.

“I apologize if the food isn’t perfect, it’s been centuries since I last cooked anything.”

Your brain is slowly clicking things into place.

Why else would he be nearly nine feet tall, if he wasn’t something supernatural. Your heart stops, now realizing escape would be impossible, unless you had help from another inhuman creature.

You try to think, and fast. It would be best to just play along, until he gives you an opening. You hesitantly sit down on the bed, allowing him to place the tray over your lap.

The food looks amazing, and like he took every precaution while making it just right for you. The bed dips under his weight as he sits next to you, looking at you expectingly.

You stare at the food before you, your adrenaline still going, making you not feel hungry at all.

“Is it not what you’d like?”

You jolt, looking up at him as you have so many times before, yet this time feels different.

“It looks good! Just a little nervous, I guess.”

You try to laugh your nerves away, but the way he’s looking at you only makes it worse. Your laughter gets caught in your throat, watching him drop to the floor, moving to his knees in front of you

Even still, he’s only now at eye level with you.

“Would you prefer me to feed you instead?”

He takes the fork, stabbing some of the food and holding it to your lips. You look between him and the fork before opening your mouth, as you aren’t sure if you should be afraid to disobey.

You hum as your chew the food.

“Wow, that's actually really good.”

Dracula purrs at your priase, as he happily keeps feeding you, taking breaks in between to hold a glass of water to you, helping your drink from it. He seems so happy just to pamper you, you aren’t sure what his intent is, but after all this time you feel like it’s not anything malicious.

He coos at you, joy clear on his face seeing that you’ve cleaned your plate. You watch him pick up the bed tray and make his way to the door.

Maybe, if you can ask him you can get a better lay out of this home of his.

“W-wait!”

He pauses instantly, like you have a hold on him. He turns back to you, black hair swaying with his sharp movements.

“Yes, Dear?”

You feel your words stuck in your throat. Swallowing thickly you finally ask.

“Can…can I go with you? I don’t want to be alone.”

You voice barely a whisper, but he hears you loud and clear.

“Of course you can, but please, stay close.”

The large vampire nearly melts when you get behind him, and hold onto him by his cloak. He knew he made the right choice, you’re perfect for him! By the second he can feel his love deepening.

You truly are too precious.

So trusting.

So bashful.

He finds you so endearing.

The guards you saw earlier, watch you both leave the room, but stay in their places. You take notes as you two walk.

You try to memorize the hallway as best you can.

Until you realize just how long this one hallway is, and how many stairs there are, just how big is this place!?

“This is quite the home you have, how do you not get lost?”

Dracula’s laugh echoes throughout the wide area.

“I’ve lived here for centuries, my sweet. Soon you will learn the layout as well.”

He is sure of it, once you get comfortable he will make you immortal like him, so you can never leave him, and if you are to die, he could revive you easily. Dracula lets out a soft sigh, dreaming of the day you call him your husband, and living a sweet, domestic life with him.

You two fall into silence, from him daydreaming, and you watching all the creatures you two pass. Fear grips your heart at the plethora of other worldly monsters you see, from walking skeletons, to axe wielding knights, to zombies and anything in between or more.

You’ve never seen anything like them, and all of them watch you, or not even bother you.

It’s like you walking with Vlad protected you.

You move closer, pressing yourself against his back, hoping to put as much distance between you and the other monsters.

Dracula snaps from his thoughts, glancing down at you and taking in your visibly uncomfortable expression, how you look as scared of the things around you.

While he knows with time you’ll grow use to them, now is not then, and you need safety and comfort above all else. You don’t see the harsh look he gives the mindless zombie, who’s wandering too close.

Dracula shifts the bed tray to one hand, as to free up the one closest to you, and within an instant the creature flies, slamming to the wall and becoming nothing but a messy pile stuck to it.

You gasp, jumping at the sight, and watching Dracula shake his hand a bit, as if to get off the decomposing skin off his hand.

“There, that’s taken care of. I can assure you I will make sure nothing happens to you.”

You believe him, but that’s what you dread.

By the time you two reach the extravagant kitchen, your adrenaline has disappeared, leaving you tired and exhausted.

So much so, you don’t fight back when he picks you up, jusg simply laying your head against his chest.

You hear no heartbeat, and his skin is cool to the touch, leaving you less than settled. With a flash of light, and what felt like the world spinning, you ended up in a completely different room.

Sluggishly, you lift your head, taking in the sight of such a lavish throne room, and a very large chair, covered in gold detailing, with deep red cushions.

He sits down, keeping you in his lap and to his chest, as if you’d disappear. He kisses the top of your head, cooing at how tired you are.

He looks at you, taking in your much smaller form, and how perfectly you rest against him, like puzzle pieces fitting together.

He would wipe out his entire undead army for you, if they scared you so much.

“I love you, darling.”

His ears twitch, picking up the sound of your heartbeat speeding up.

“I would do anything for you, to protect you. You are mine to hold, mine to love. I will keep you from harms way.”

You lazily blink, feeling his grip getting tighter as he takes deep inhales of your scent.

“Your presence and warmth alone are more addicting than the finest ambrosia. I want you to myself.”

“Vlad?”

You fight back a flinch when he growls low and deeply, you can feel it in your chest.

“Say it, say you’re mine, please.”

You can feel yourself sweating, unsure how to answer him.

Do you want to escape and go home?

Or do you want to stay here, with the lord of the night as your beloved?

You weigh the pros and cons of everything.

Finally, you look into those deep crimson eyes.

“I’m yours.”

He smiles, fangs poking from his lips before he pulls you into a breathtaking kiss. His arms around you, hugging you to his chest, keeping you in place.

His lips firmly on yours, only pulling away so you could breathe.

As you pant, he can’t help but think about when he finally turns you into a vampire like him, you won’t need air, and can kiss him for as long as possible.

You’ll be tied to him forever, stuck with him.

He trembles at the thought.

Every second of every day, of every year; Dazai had felt like he was losing his mind. He was losing his sanity every waking moment. His thread of hope, of life, was wearing thin. He was ready to quit, ready to end it. 

He wishes he could say that it ended two years ago when he started seeing you. But that would be a lie, because it didn’t. The pain continued. The nightmares continued. 

However, as time went on with you, it made the world just a little more bearable. You never judged him or felt like being with him was a burden. You accepted his flaws, as he accepted yours. Life isn’t easy, but it was easier with you.

When things felt too hard, and he felt he was holding you back. He broke things off. He felt it was better for you, you can grow without him holding you back. When he saw you less and less, he realized it felt harder to breathe. He broke down at your front door, you accepted him with open arms.

He loved you, and that scared him. Bad things happen to the people he realized he loved; and he loved you. He wanted to be with you, every second of his life. He’s a sinner and you were his redemption. 

When he told you of his past, you accepted him immediately. Bringing him into your embrace. You understood him better than anyone. You knew he was a monster; his life was monstrous. Yet, you stayed. 

Dazai doesn’t know if you love broken things, because no one else has loved him as you had. 

No one.

He never wanted to lose you.

One day he found himself with you atop the Detective Agency. Lay side-by-side, watching the stars. 

“Sweetheart, I’m so tired. I’m falling apart. It doesn’t make sense to me, I really don’t know why you lay next to me, wherever I go.”

His breath hitched at your response.

“Is it hard to believe that I see you and I wish to love you, like no one has before?”

“You’re making me crazy; you know that I’m a madman?”

His heart is pounding.

“That’s alright with me, as long as you’re with me. Just the two of us.”

That day forward he watched your every move. He was afraid that harm may come your way. One day he convinced you to come over and gave you  a little drug, nothing harmful. It was just to help you sleep. 

Once you fell asleep on his couch, he couldn’t help but admire how pretty you were. He took a few pictures before he carried you into your new shared bedroom. 

He knew how feisty you could be sometimes, so he handcuffed you to the bed. Once he can trust you to behave, then you can have access to the rest of his apartment. However, you would never have access to the outside world, unless you were with him. It was safer that way.

His precious, his everything. He wouldn’t fail you like he failed them. 

After that your fate was sealed, and Risotto knew he had to have you. But he didn't want to outright kidnap you no. He wanted- no needed you to want him as well. The silver haired man made sure to follow your route when his schedule permitted. Find out what you liked, disliked. Small talk turned into texting, texting turned into phone calls, until phone calls turned into hanging out at one of his "hideout" apartments. (Which he specifically bought with you in mind, in one of the safest most quiet neighborhoods to keep you safe. <3)

Smoker is the type of man you only meet because his usual bar is directly next to your cheap little hotel - blue with smoke, wooden interior, two games of darts and the TV always tuned into some type of sports game and him sitting right by the barkeep, nipping at his beer for two whole hours. You only stumble in on your first night because you really, really want a beer after a long, exhausting day of traveling. And instead of paying for that overpriced crap they offer in the hotel lobby that you’d have to down all on your own in your hotel room, you’d rather spend an hour with total strangers who smoke one cigarette for every word they speak. It’s convenient, the neon sign hanging by the door tells you it’s cheap and not too packed - and that’s all you need right now. What you don’t expect is two meters of bulk and cigars waiting right by the bar, tacky Hawaiian shirt inappropriately open for the spring weather. He’s intimidating, blocking your path to a cheap stout - but you’re grown and in a strange city. You figure you’ll never see him again anyway, so you swallow that little tickle of nervousness and order a pint of whatever they have on tab. And, despite your flighty stomach, you stay right by the bar - booths are for multiple people, not for out-of-towners who can’t handle the places they wander into. It goes pretty well, all things considered. Aside from an initial greeting, he doesn’t even look your way, too busy grumbling into his own pint and watching whatever match is on up on the ancient screen. It’s bearable enough that you come back the next day - a long, surprisingly hot day of sightseeing and dragging your feet through pedestrian areas has you thirsty for another beer and you’re yet again too tired to wander any further than your hotel room. The comfort of being able to simply fall into your bed after getting a little bit of a buzz going trumps the pull of flashy bars and expensive cocktails. So you poke your head through the door of the dingy little pub again and, like he’s part of the inventory, two-cigars-hawaiian-shirt guy already sits pretty by the counter, in that very same spot as yesterday. You greet him with a little too much enthusiasm but get nothing more than a mumbled answer back. 

The next day, you feel strangely watched on your trek through the city. It’s pretty obvious that you’re a tourist (the puzzled looks to your maps app might be a dead giveaway), still, there are dozens, if not hundreds of you at any given little park or museum or statue. It’s not like the locals aren’t used to people traipsing through the city center looking at everything as if they’re seeing color for the first time, no, the city is on every damn ‘top 10 must see’ lists that have been plaguing the internet for decades - but you simply can’t shake it. No matter how long you spend pouring over paintings at a gallery, no matter how slowly you take your lunch in an eclectic little bakery, it never stops. You all but flee to that shabby little bar in the evening, looking to seek cover among the many eyes of strangers once again. A little buzz and handful of potential witnesses (should anything unsavory happen) sound safer than staring at the flimsy lock on your hotel room’s door until you collapse from exhaustion. Or maybe you just want to shake off that nasty feeling of being followed with one too many beers right now - you can’t really decide. That night, two-cigars-hawaiian-shirt guy doesn’t sit by the bar when you enter. He comes in, almost dawdling, half an hour after you. You’re already halfway through your first pint and have no intention of stopping at just one when he sits himself down with so much heft right beside you, it actually makes you sputter. It almost feels like your stool shakes when he plops down and orders his own drink, absentmindedly biting his cigars. It takes you just another pint to actually talk to him. And a third one to realize that he’s stupid hot. Sure, you registered his sheer size two nights ago already, but he’s actually ruggedly handsome: well-groomed and tastefully gray in a rough way that reminds you of some sort of 80s action movie character. He doesn’t talk much. It doesn’t bother you in your slightly inebriated state; every question is met with only a short, almost bitten out answer but it’s all made up by the way his voice seems to crawl right underneath your skin, deep and gruff but irresistible and somewhat smooth. You joke and laugh and sway around enough for the two of you, feeling weirdly safe with this total stranger. Smoker, that’s his nickname, and you think it’s oh-so-fitting and funny in your haze. He seems to have taken a liking to you, too - because even though he grumbles all the way through it, he even tolerates a game of darts that you spectacularly lose. It’s a wonderful evening, you think, and it’s nice to properly socialize after two days of looking at dusty museums and flashy sights, and even better today, after you’ve been uneasy every waking minute. You’re happy and drunk and even gutsy enough to feel up the abs of that handsome stranger who supports your shaky legs to guide you to the hotel room, trying to get the most out of this little chance meeting.

At least until you wake up in an unfamiliar place the next morning, the wonderful, airy feeling of a fun night out replaced by sheer and utter dread. You can barely register that your hands and feet are tied together, that it’s not the alcohol making you feel nauseous but rather the position you seem to have spent the last couple hours in- because just a second later, Smoker’s face is all you see.