#winter setting

“Don’t even think about it,” he growled, his voice low, rumbling like distant thunder, carrying an edge that hinted at danger.

You flinched at the intensity of his tone, but words eluded you, trapped in the coil of apprehension tightening in your chest. Your breath formed small clouds in the frigid air as you stood hesitant at the lake's edge, the icy wind biting at your cheeks. Suddenly, Katsuki's hand found yours, enveloping it in his warm palm, a striking contrast to the bitter cold surrounding you. His grip was firm, possessive, unyielding, as if he feared that the moment he let go, you might bolt, disappearing into the snow-drenched landscape.

“Let’s go,” he commanded, and without waiting for a reply, he began dragging you onto the ice.

You stumbled, the soles of your shoes skidding across the slick surface, struggling to find your footing. But Katsuki didn't relent; if anything, he tightened his hold on you, his determination seeming to bind you to him as he forced you to keep pace.

“Can’t even stay on your feet,” he sneered, amusement dancing in his eyes, though the undertone of his words bore a darker edge that made your heart race. “Good thing you’ve got me to keep you steady.”

As the two of you ventured deeper onto the lake, the world around you fell eerily silent, the snow absorbing all sounds, leaving only the rhythmic cadence of your labored breathing in its wake. Katsuki suddenly stopped, pulling you close until your faces were mere inches apart, the warmth of his breath mingling with the cold air between you.

“You’re mine,” he said, his voice dropping to just above a whisper, but the weight of his words hit you like a thunderclap, resonating deeper than any shout could convey. “Don’t forget that, no matter how cold it gets out here. No one else gets to hold you. No one else gets to keep you warm.”

Kakavasha's eyes caught the light as he looked at you, his gaze unusually intense. He didn’t hide behind his characteristic charm or casual smile; instead, he looked at you with a rare vulnerability, something he had always kept hidden. He took a breath, hesitating, as if he were searching for the right words.

"I... I’ve been wanting to tell you something for a while," he began, his voice quieter than usual, softened by an emotion you hadn’t seen in him before. "It feels like it’s been there forever, growing with every year we spent together, every moment we shared." He looked down, almost as if embarrassed, then met your gaze again, his expression more serious than you’d ever seen it.

"When we were kids, I didn’t quite understand it, but I felt something. This feeling—this... connection. And over time, it only got stronger. I tried to ignore it, push it down, telling myself it was just because you were my best friend, but..." He took a step closer, his hand reaching for yours, his fingers warm despite the chill in the air.

"I don’t want to keep it hidden anymore. I don’t want to pretend it’s something it isn’t." He paused, his voice a soft whisper as he continued. "I’m in love with you. I have been for as long as I can remember."

The words hung between you, delicate and vulnerable, yet filled with an undeniable weight. He looked at you, his eyes searching yours for any hint of how you might feel. In that moment, the world seemed to stop, leaving just the two of you standing in the quiet snowfall.

A smile crept onto your face, small but genuine. The feelings you had kept hidden all this time, the little moments of longing and unspoken thoughts, all seemed to align, leading to this one perfect moment. You took a step closer, closing the distance between you, and gently squeezed his hand, answering him without words.

Kakavasha’s face softened as he understood, a rare and genuine smile breaking through. Together, under the softly falling snow, you stood with him, feeling the warmth of his hand in yours, sharing a silent promise of all that was yet to come.

Which was particularly why she’d insisted on everyone staying inside that day, much to her twins’ absolute and utter dismay.

“It’s getting pretty late,” Tenten murmured, brows furrowed, and bit down on her bottom lip. Her eyes flicked up to the clock once again, almost instinctively, and she was again met with the fact that Neji was supposed to be here hours ago.

Despite the world being fairly peaceful, the Fourth Great War having ended five years ago (along with the whole ‘let’s blow up the moon!’ thing from three years ago), shinobi were still needed, and especially capable Jōnin like Hyūga Neji. This time, he was tasked to lead a team of two Chūnin on a mission in the Land of Silence. She didn’t know anything past that, though— he wasn’t allowed to share any specifics with her, but she imagined she had a basic idea of the objectives.

Tenten knew he could take care of himself and of those with him, she trusted him implicitly, honestly, but whenever he was late coming home from missions, she still couldn’t help but worry.

What if he was hurt? What if his subordinates were hurt? What if they encountered—

“Mamaaaaaaa,” a sulky voice came from behind her, little feet padding on the kitchen floor and cutting her train of dreary thoughts short. She could practically hear the pout that was surely on her two year old daughter’s lips. “When’s Papa coming home?”

Ah, yes. And then there was this little munchkin. Tenten had accidentally fallen pregnant with twins, a boy and a girl, two years ago, around this time. Thankfully, it was a fairly easy pregnancy.

Too easy, in fact, to the point where they didn’t find out until around seven months in. By chance, at that. Was quite the way to celebrate Neji’s twenty-first, that one.

(And then it was even more surprising when they went for their first checkup and found out they were having, not one, but two children. But that’s a story for another day.)

The brown-haired woman sighed, picking her adorably sleepy—though Hibari was vehemently insistent on denying this—daughter up. “Soon, baby.” She planted a kiss on Hibari’s cheek and fixed her sweater, absently wondering if she should turn the heat up a little more. “Are you cold?”

Hibari shook her head, tiredly nuzzling into Tenten’s neck. “Can we play in the snow, at least?” Unlike her twin brother, Hibari was very vocal. Sakura told her that they were both incredibly advanced for their age, speech-wise, but Hibari was a lot more outgoing than Hao, and therefore a lot more chatty.

If there was someone who did not let her terrible grammar and weird conjugational habits (like exclusively using the word ‘talk’ in the past tense, no matter what) stop her from speaking her mind, it was Hyūga Hibari.

“It’s too cold right now,” Tenten responded, repeating that same explanation for what seemed like the millionth time that night. And then, in a playfully chiding tone, she said, “And it’s too late now, anyway. It’s way past your bedtime.”

Hao was already asleep on the couch, wrapped up in Tenten’s knit throw blanket, having gotten too tired to stay up waiting for his dad. It was a valiant effort, and Tenten didn’t blame him— it was just past midnight by now, and she frankly wished Hibari would just let herself sleep, too. And, well, he was also two years old.

“You sure you’re not sleepy?”

“Yeah.”

“Sure?” Tenten walked back to the living room and folded herself on the couch next to Hao’s sleeping form. Hibari nodded again and nuzzled into her mom’s chest.

A tell-tale sign that she was about to surrender to sleep.

Smiling, Tenten reached over to grab the second throw blanket they had draped over the couch, and adjusted it over the two of them

“Wanna watch a movie?” she asked, voice quiet so as not to wake up Hao. Tenten’s master plan was to put on a Christmas movie, have Hibari utterly entranced and engaged for, like, thirty minutes, before she would inevitably fall asleep. Worked every time.

When Hibari replied in the affirmative and Tenten put the movie on, she was finally free to fret over her husband once more. 

And so they sat there; all three of them on the couch next to each other, Tenten and her two chunky two year olds, bundled up in cosy Christmas pyjamas and warm knit blankets. It was a sweet sight.

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

When Neji quietly unlocked the front door of his house and walked in, absolutely and utterly exhausted from that week-long mission abroad, he was surprised to see that warm, yellow light coming from the living room.

Hm. It was probably one of two things: either Tenten was still awake, probably reading or watching a movie (she did that sometimes after the kids went to bed, taking advantage of any alone time she could get), or Tenten was reading or watching a movie, and ended up falling asleep on the couch. Also a likely possibility, and usually an inevitable consequence of the former.

With a small, amused huff, Neji took off his cloak and hung it up by the door, and stepped over the threshold. “I’m home,” he said lowly, if only out of habit rather than out of a real need to alert his wife. As expected, no response came. He made his way to the living room, where a large, prettily-decorated Christmas tree sat in the corner, dimly illuminating the room along with the fairy lights Tenten had strung around. The only other source of light was the television, which was playing one of Tenten and Hibari’s favourite holiday movies (Hao found it a little too scary), The Nightmare Before Christmas. The volume was very low, though, and the credits had started playing at some point before he walked in.

And again, as expected, Tenten was asleep on the couch.

Her long, brown hair was unbound, falling in waves over the back of the couch, and her lips were slightly parted, making way for quiet huffs of air. What surprised him upon walking closer, though, was the toddler laying on her chest, and the other one asleep next to her thigh. All in matching red and white pyjamas, by the way.

He sighed, exasperated but without any real annoyance. He should’ve known they’d wait up for him. Or, well, try to wait up for him.

It was touching.

One of Tenten’s hands was automatically patting Hibari’s back, as if by muscle memory—which meant she mustn’t have fallen asleep that long ago—while the other was holding the remote. Silently and with the easy grace of a seasoned shinobi, he grabbed the remote control from her lax grip (which, okay, wasn’t difficult whatsoever), and turned the television off, before walking to the corner of the room and turning both the decorative tree lights and the string lights off. He was starving and in desperate need of a relaxing bath, but he would carry all three of them to bed before making something to eat. They’d gone through the trouble of trying to stay up and welcome him home, but the mission had unexpectedly dragged on, and with the snowstorm outside, it had all delayed their travel plans. So the least he could do for them was to tuck them in.

“Neji?”

He turned around at the whispered proclamation of his name.

“I’m home,” he said simply, smiling tiredly at his wife. She blinked rapidly, as if trying to dispel the sleepiness, and gently set Hibari down. “I’ll come to you,” he said hurriedly, noticing how tired she was and not wanting her to get up. It was fine that she’d woken up, he supposed—he could still carry her to bed regardless. At the last second, he decided to keep the fairy lights that were strung behind the television on. Despite his words, Tenten still got up and quickly made her way to him, meeting him halfway.

“Welcome home,” she murmured into his chest once she was close enough, having all but thrown herself at him. Her hands grabbed onto the back of his shirt, as if of their own accord. She exhaled, “I missed you.” Immediately, a pair of strong arms wrapped around her, and he basically crushed her to him.

“I’ve missed you more than you can imagine, my love,” Neji breathed tiredly, inhaling her sweet smell, and both of them were content to stay in that embrace for a long moment. She could feel the tension leave his body—the way his toned muscles relaxed under her touch and his shoulders drooped. And Tenten honestly would’ve been content to stay like that for the rest of the night, practicality be damned, but much to her dismay, Neji’s arms loosened around her. She pouted at the loss of contact, and made a sound that was much more fit for her daughter to make than it was for a twenty-three year old woman. He rolled his eyes, amused, and planted a kiss on the top of her head. “I’m sorry. I probably smell. I’ll hug you all you want after I shower; I promise.”

Tenten braced her hands against his chest and stood on her tippy-toes, promptly kissing his scruffy cheek. “You really don’t,” she said honestly. “Smell, I mean.” And it was true—even after a week-long mission with no access to his nice soaps and fancy shower products, Neji still smelled nice. Because everything else wasn’t enough, he just had to add ‘always smells good’ to his résumé, apparently. With a yawn, she said, “I’ll go put the kids in their beds and then I’ll heat up your food while you shower and change into something comfortable.”

He covered her hands with his, rubbing gentle circles across her knuckles. “You don’t have to do that,” he argued softly. “You can just go to sleep, darling. Really, I can do the rest.”

She hummed. “I know I don’t,” she yawned again, “but I want to.” She had already turned around and started gently extricating the blanket out of Hao’s grip, and the look she gave him over her shoulder dared him to argue, and while the refutation was at the tip of his tongue, he let it die.

“Thank you,” he murmured, wrapping his arms around her from behind. He spoke so sincerely, brushing her ear with his lips, “You’re incredible.”

She grinned at him, and with an adorable little wink, teased, “I know.”

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

Once she heard the water shut off, Tenten started heating up Neji’s share of their dinner that night—homemade herring soba. This would’ve been so much better fresh, she thought, a touch sadly. She’d gone through the trouble of making everything from scratch (save for the smoked fish, of course), and she would’ve loved if he had gotten to taste it right after it was done. Oh, well. It wasn’t like she regretted putting in the effort regardless— she didn’t have much to do today anyway.

Soon enough, Neji walked out of their room in a matching pyjama set in his size and a towel around his neck. Once his eyes found her and then fell on the bowl of noodles in front of her, it was like his whole body softened. His gaze softened, and his shoulders dropped. 

This girl, he thought, was sure to be the death of him.

“C’mere,”

She obliged, pushing herself off the table with a small smile. The moment she was close enough, he pulled her into a rough hug, lifting her off the ground. Over the past few years, Neji had, not unlike some of their other friends, grown considerably in height. When they were teenagers, he’d had some two inches over her, but now, at the age of twenty-three, that difference had increased to what must’ve been something like nine, if she had to guess. His body had filled out considerably, too. (The wonders of testosterone, am I right?) After the War and his fatal injury, he had had to spend upwards of a year recovering and recuperating, and then he had to spend the next year regaining his strength and training, little by little, but he managed. It was a miracle he’d survived in the first place, though.

The curse mark had disappeared, removing any doubts that he could’ve been alive, but somehow, medics found a very weak pulse, which was enough for them to work with. It was so on brand for him, though—denying the odds so intensely. 

Tenten squeaked gleefully, the noise dissolving into giggles when he pressed his lips to hers. “You,” he was saying between bruising kisses, “are not real.” She looped her arms around his neck and wrapped her legs around his middle, giggling into the kiss but unable to come up with a witty comeback of any kind. “God,” he groaned, “I love you so much.” 

Ah, there it was.

She grinned against his lips, and mustering up her most annoying, smart-alecky voice, she interjected, “Um, the name is Tenten, actually, but thanks—”

Neji rolled his pretty eyes spectacularly, without any real annoyance (when had he gotten so mushy?), and he scoffed a laugh. Of course she’d say that. “Oh, shut up.” 

When she giggled again and nuzzled her face into that spot in his neck, he allowed himself to fully enjoy this moment, letting go of that knee-jerk guilt he felt whenever he got something good, for once.

And when, after a moment or two, she murmured a very quiet, “I love you, too, Neji. I’m glad you’re home,” into his skin, he let himself think he deserved it.

--

But as you pushed yourself up from the tangled bedsheets, your fingertips grazed your neck, and a jolt of unease, cold and unfamiliar, shot through you. There was a strange sensation there, not quite pain, but a persistent, foreign pressure—an unfamiliar warmth that radiated from a specific point. It was subtle, at first, easily dismissed. But then your fingers explored, tracing the contours of your skin, and you realized: there was something there. Something raised, with a jagged, almost deliberate edge, chillingly unmistakable. A bite. The skin around it was angry red, inflamed and tender to the touch. The two puncture marks, small and sharp, seemed almost... intentional. Placed. Something cold and predatory, like the fangs of a wolf, had touched you.

Your breath hitched in your throat, the blood draining from your face as a whirlwind of panicked thoughts took hold. You were certain there was no bite from the previous night - no feral alley cat, no drunken stumble into a rosebush. You had left the club with your friends, the walk home a blur of shared jokes and tipsy laughter - none of them had noticed anything amiss. A quick memory check: no strange encounters, no unexpected contact. Nothing - but this. You stumbled to the bathroom, peering into the mirror, a growing sense of dread coiling in your stomach. The mark was small, concealed just beneath your hairline, at the nape of your neck. It looked… almost like a brand, a warning etched into your flesh. A possessive claim.

The mark itself was small, almost easily hidden under your hair, but it radiated a strange power, a claim, like something had carved itself beneath the skin, changing you in a way you couldn't understand. It felt alien, unnatural. You shook your head, trying to dispel the creeping unease, the primal fear blooming in your chest. You went through the motions of starting the day, a shower, coffee, but the normal routines felt… off. The air seemed to thicken around you, a suffocating blanket of awareness, and a prickling sensation of being watched from every corner. The usual city sounds, the distant rumble of trucks, the chatter of pedestrians, seemed to amplify, echoing much louder in your ears. The weight of the world felt heavier, pressing down on you from all sides, and the sense of being hunted grew with every passing moment. Every now and then, you’d catch a flicker in your peripheral vision – a shadow that darted too quickly, a figure obscured by the crowd, too illusive to pin down. Just a hint of darkness, a vague unease settling in with every glance.

The day passed in a state of anxious paralysis, a constant battle against the mounting feeling of wrongness. That night, after another restless day of unease, your phone buzzed. A message. Plain and to the point: “We need to talk.” The name at the top sent a jolt of cold dread through you: Sofia Falcone. Just the name alone felt like a weight on your chest. A wave of sickening unease washed over you, the dots of fear connecting. You tried to push back the feeling that this all must be a mistake, overthinking, a bad dream, but the fear, the bite, felt solid and real. You knew Sofia, or at least, you thought you did. She was an enigmatic woman, a captivating presence with long dark hair cascading down her shoulders, piercing grey eyes that always seemed to see through you, and an undeniably dangerous air that shimmered beneath the surface of her composed exterior. But this? This was something else, something you couldn't fathom, something terrifying in its unknown nature.

You tried to rationalize, to find a logical explanation, to convince yourself it was all a misunderstanding, but deep down you knew this feeling wasn't something that could be explained by rational thought. There was no escaping it, you were caught in this web. You had been marked, and the familiar world that surrounded you was about to shift into something completely alien.

When you arrived at her penthouse, the door opened before you even had the chance to knock, as if she had been expecting you. The cool, calculating gaze of Sofia Falcone met yours immediately, sending a shiver crawling up your spine. She was standing in the dimly lit entryway, the soft glow of candlelight casting long, unsettling shadows around her. Her eyes, sharp and assessing, lingered on your face, her expression unreadable.

“Come in,” she said, her voice smooth and inviting, but laced with an edge of something predatory that sent an icy chill down your bones. “We need to have a conversation.” The words were polite, almost casual, but there was a definitive authority in their tone, an unspoken command that brooked no refusal.

As you stepped inside, your heart hammered against your ribs, each beat a frantic drum against the silence. You tried to ignore the subtle burning sensation at the back of your neck, the insistent throb that was a constant reminder of what had happened. The atmosphere inside the penthouse was thick, a heady mix of expensive perfume, polished leather, and a faint, lingering smell of something old, almost like cigar smoke, a ghost of a previous life and history clinging to the air.

Sofia closed the door behind you with a soft, deliberate click, each movement graceful and controlled, like a panther stalking its prey. You felt small and vulnerable, insignificant in her presence, like you were in the presence of something far older and more powerful than yourself, something that could devour you whole without a moment's hesitation.

You swallowed hard, your throat dry with fear. “What’s happening to me?” Your voice was barely a whisper, the fear bubbling uncontrollably to the surface.

Sofia tilted her head slightly, her eyes scrutinizing you. Her gaze flickered to the bite mark on your neck, a spark of something knowing, something almost triumphant, flashing behind her eyes. “You’ve noticed it, then,” she said, her voice dangerously calm, like the stillness before a storm. “Good. I was starting to wonder if you’d be too oblivious to understand what happened.” Her words were a subtle taunt, a challenge to the fear that was clearly visible in your eyes.

You took a step back, shaking your head, trying desperately to piece together the words, the situation, but it was all blurring together into an incomprehensible nightmare. "What do you mean? What is this bite? Why is it—why is it hurting?" You ran a hand across your neck, the tenderness of the skin a sharp reminder of the violation.

Sofia moved closer, each step slow and deliberate, narrowing the distance between you. Her presence was suffocating, like a thick fog that robbed you of air. Before you could protest, she was close enough to touch, her fingers brushing against the sensitive skin around the mark, her touch light, almost affectionate, but there was a chilling coldness in her eyes, the calm gaze of a hunter who has cornered its prey.

“I’ve marked you,” she said softly, her voice a hypnotic whisper, a silken thread that bound you to her word. “And it’s more than just a bite. It’s a symbol. You’re mine now.”

The words hit you like a physical blow, a wave of cold shock that paralyzed your body. You couldn't move, couldn't pull away from her gaze, the weight of her words sinking into your very core. The heat of the bite on your skin began to intensify, spreading across your neck and chest, filling you with a strange and unfamiliar warmth, but it wasn't the comforting warmth of a fire. It was a consuming heat, like you were being devoured from the inside out. Your heart pounded in your chest, hammering out a frantic rhythm against the silence.

“I’m… yours?” you managed, the words foreign and forced in your throat, tasting like ash. You couldn’t believe what she was saying, what was happening, yet the truth of it rang loud and undeniable.

She smiled, but it wasn't a kind smile. It was full of something dark, something predatory, a flicker of malice that made the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. A wolf showing its teeth before the kill.

“You’re more than you think. More than you were. You’ll understand in time,” she murmured, her hand lifting and stroking your cheek, her touch a strange mix of fondness and malice. “This bite isn’t just a mark. It’s a bond, a promise that we’re connected now.” Her voice was soothing, but the undertone was unsettling, like the murmur of a predator lulling its prey into a false sense of security.

“No one else can take you from me now,” she continued, her eyes locking onto yours with a possessive intensity. “No one. The bite means you belong to me—body, soul, and every last breath you take. You are mine.” Each word was a claim, a chain forged in the depths of darkness, binding you to her.

A shudder ran through your body at her chilling declaration, your heart racing in panicked flight, trying to escape the truth that she was weaving before you. You opened your mouth to protest, to deny, but no words came out, your voice caught in the web of her carefully wrought words. The heat, the overwhelming sensation of being bound to her, of being claimed, choked you. You had to close your eyes, unable to meet her gaze any longer, the horror of what she was saying washing over you like a tidal wave.

“I never wanted to hurt you,” Sofia said softly, her fingers trailing down your cheek as if offering a twisted comfort, the light touch almost a brand. “But you’re mine now. And this… this is your new reality.”

You stood now, the rain plastering your clothes to your skin, before her—Sofia Falcone. The very name sent a shiver tracing down your spine. She was the daughter of Carmine "The Roman" Falcone, the kingpin whose name echoed through the city's underbelly. More significantly, she was the woman who had woven herself into the very fabric of your being. It wasn't merely physical attraction, the magnetic pull of her dark, striking beauty. Nor was it just the intoxicating allure of power that clung to her like a second skin. It was something far deeper, a mirror reflecting the fractures in your own soul. You saw the same raw, aching vulnerability that hid beneath her carefully constructed mask. It was the broken pieces of her that called to the broken pieces of yourself, a silent, desperate plea echoing across the chasm between you.

"You shouldn’t be here," Sofia's voice cut through the storm's roar, each word sharp and cold as a shard of ice. It was a voice that could command armies and shatter hearts with equal ease. The cadence suggested a weary resignation, as if she'd spoken these words a thousand times before. "You know what this means, don’t you?" The question hung in the air, thick with unspoken threats and a bone-deep understanding of what was at stake.

Your breath hitched in your throat, the cold rain suddenly feeling like a physical weight. Her words pressed against your chest, each syllable a vise tightening around your heart. But the danger lurking in her tone, the palpable tension that crackled between you, wasn't the only thing that resonated. It was the rawness, the flicker of vulnerability that shone, however briefly, behind her calculated façade. It was that vulnerability that had always drawn you in, an irresistible siren’s song.

"I don’t care what it means," you said, the words trembling slightly, despite your desperate attempts at control. You had rehearsed this scenario countless times, imagined the words you would speak to her. Yet, faced with her icy gaze, your carefully planned bravado evaporated, revealing the stark truth beneath. "I can’t walk away from you, Sofia. I never could." The confession was raw, stripped bare of pretense - a testament to the deep hold she had on you.

She looked at you, her eyes the color of storm clouds, and you saw a kaleidoscope of emotions swirling beneath the surface. Confusion, pain, the deep, ingrained fear of allowing anyone to truly see her. You saw the wall she’d so diligently built, the carefully constructed barrier designed to keep everyone, especially you, at arm’s length. "You don’t understand," she said, her voice softer now, more fragile than you’d ever heard it. It was a whisper that bordered on a plea, a desperate attempt to convince herself as much as you. "You think you can fix me? You think you can save me from this life? It’s too late for me." Her tone carried a heavy weight of self-condemnation, a resigned acceptance of her own fate.

Instinctively, you reached out, your fingers brushing against the curve of her cheek. The contact sent a jolt through your system, an electric current that felt like both a lifeline and a death sentence. It was a burn so hot, so raw, that you had to pull back your hand, as if the intense heat would consume you entirely if you lingered. The physical sensation mirrored the burning conflict within both of you.

She looked at you, her gaze unflinching, as if she had anticipated the pain, the way your touch had managed to wound you both with its simple intimacy. It was a shared hurt, a silent testament to the impossibility of your connection.

“I never wanted this for you,” she whispered, the carefully constructed walls she had erected between you finally crumbling. The confession was a crack in her armor, revealing the woman beneath the hardened exterior. "I never wanted you to be a part of my world, because this world will ruin you." Her voice was laced with a raw vulnerability that tore at the very core of your being. It was an admission that brought with it a terrifying truth – her love for you was a burden, a curse she wished to spare you.

But you were already ruined, in ways you couldn't quite articulate. It had happened the moment you met her, the moment her darkness had entwined itself with your own. And even now, standing before the woman you loved, knowing that your very presence could be your mutual undoing, you were still unable to walk away. You were caught in her web, hopelessly, irrevocably.

“I’m already in your world, Sofia,” you said, your voice low and unwavering, your eyes locked on hers. It was a declaration, a promise you made not to her, but to yourself. “And no matter what happens, I’m not leaving.” The conviction in your voice was absolute, a defiant stand against a force that threatened to crush you both.

She closed her eyes, as if the sheer weight of your words were too much to bear. She was trying to shut you out, attempting to escape the undeniable pull of a love she knew was her own undoing. But even with her eyes tightly closed, a single tear escaped, tracing a glistening path down her cheek. It was that single tear that spoke volumes, a testament to the depth of the emotion buried beneath the surface, the feelings she had tried so desperately to suppress.

"You have no idea what you’re saying," she whispered, her voice a raw mixture of anguish and self-loathing. The pain in her voice was palpable, a confirmation of the darkness that plagued her. "I’ll destroy you, and I’ll destroy myself. It’s only a matter of time." Her words were a chilling prophecy, a stark warning of the future that awaited both of you. She had accepted her fate, resigned to a life where love was only a prelude to destruction.

And that was the truth, wasn’t it? You both knew it, deep within your bones. Your love was a doomed romance, a moth drawn to a flame, destined to be burned. No matter how much you tried to cling to it, no matter how bravely you fought for it, there would never be a happy ending for you. Your love story was a tragedy pre-written, a symphony of heartbreak playing out beneath the unforgiving gaze of Gotham’s neon lights.

The days that followed were nothing more than a blur of pain. Each moment spent with Sofia was like walking through fire. She kept her distance, kept her walls up, but the cracks were there—small, barely noticeable—but they were enough. Enough for you to see how deeply she was hurting. How much she was trying to push you away, yet how much she needed you.

But you couldn’t leave. You couldn’t.

Even when her father’s enemies circled closer. Even when the danger threatened to pull you both under.

One night, you found yourself in the back office of one of her father’s businesses. The air was thick with smoke, the tension palpable. Sofia stood at the desk, her fingers drumming nervously against the wood.

"You should leave," she said, without looking at you. Her voice was quiet, but the edge was unmistakable. "It’s not safe here."

“I’m not going anywhere, Sofia,” you said, your voice firm, but there was a tremor beneath it, betraying your own fear. "You can’t push me away."

Her eyes flicked to yours, dark and unreadable. "You don’t understand," she repeated, her voice barely above a whisper. "You never will. You’re not a part of this life. You don’t belong here."

"I don’t belong anywhere without you," you said, your heart pounding as you took a step forward. "I’m not leaving you. I will never leave you."

Sofia’s breath hitched, and for a moment, you thought she might let her guard down. She might actually let you in. But then she did what she always did. She recoiled, pushing you away before you could get too close.

"You think this is love?" she asked bitterly, her words laced with scorn. "You think this is love when all I do is hurt everyone I touch? When all I do is destroy? How long do you think it’ll take before I destroy you too?"

You reached for her, but she flinched back, her face contorting with a mix of pain and rage. "You’re the one who’ll end up destroyed," she spat, her voice shaking with the weight of what she knew was coming. "This—this can’t end any other way."

You gritted your teeth, your chest tight with emotion. "I don’t care. I would rather be destroyed by you than live without you."

The silence between you two was suffocating, both of you caught in the tangled mess of love and hatred, of the past and the future that would never come. She was right—you were both doomed. But that didn’t change the fact that you would fight for her until there was nothing left.

The final time you saw Sofia, it was on a rain-soaked night much like the first. The world outside felt like it was crashing down around you, but even so, you walked toward her with that same defiance in your heart. You had never given up on her, even when you knew, deep down, that it was a lost cause.

She was standing by the window, staring out at the city. The same city that had both broken and shaped her into the woman she was. The same city that would swallow her whole, just like it would swallow you if you allowed it.

"Sofia," you whispered, your voice barely audible in the dim light. "I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life. I love you. I will always love you."

She didn’t turn around, but her body trembled. "Don’t," she said softly, her voice breaking. "Don’t say that. Don’t make this harder than it already is."

Your heart ached as you walked closer to her, placing a hand on her shoulder. "I can’t walk away from you, Sofia. I’ve tried. But I can’t. I won’t."

She turned around then, her eyes filled with unshed tears, her face a mask of regret. "You don’t understand," she repeated, the desperation clear in her voice. "I will ruin you. I’ll drag you down into this hell I’ve made for myself. You’ll never be the same after this."

"I don’t care," you said, your voice hoarse with emotion. "I don’t care if it destroys me. I just want you to know that I will always be here. No matter what."

Sofia’s lip quivered as she took a step back. "I can’t love you like this," she said, her voice shaking. "I can’t drag you through this darkness with me."

"You’re not dragging me," you whispered, your hand reaching for hers. "I’m walking into it with you. Because I choose you."

For a moment, you thought she might actually break. That maybe, just maybe, she would give in. That the years of isolation, the years of suffering she had endured, would finally break, and she would let you love her.

But then the walls slammed down, harder than ever before.

She pulled her hand away, stepping back. "You don’t get it," Sofia whispered, her voice trembling with the weight of a thousand unsaid things. "I will destroy everything we have. I will destroy you."

And that was it. The moment when you knew that no matter how hard you fought, no matter how deeply you loved her, it was never going to be enough.

Her love—if it could even be called that—was as broken as she was. It was too late to fix either of you.

And you realized, with a shattering certainty, that you were both always doomed. Doomed to never be enough for each other. Doomed to suffer.

And so, as she walked away from you, you felt it.

The end.

The final loss.

And all you could do was stand there, shattered, broken, waiting for the emptiness to consume you whole.