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Winx by Tasia 

the demon brothers when MC’s last words are outta pocket hcs

a/n: my first post on here yay! :D i hope y’all enjoy, i was talking to @anotakugardener and @bsdparadise about this and well these were born LMAO

characters: lucifer, mammon, leviathan, satan, asmodeus, beezlebub, belphegor

genre: angst, crack

warnings: death, seggsual jokes😏, mc bein a true chad, they could be possibly ooc

there was an attack. an unpredictable one, where mc had been cornered on an unsuspecting street. a demon— a hungry and vicious one at that— had taken one look at them and lunged at them. the demon left gashes and teeth marks all over their body, but bolted before they could finish the job; the ominous footsteps approaching the scene had scared them into not finishing their meal.

MC is left bleeding out, laying on the cool cobblestone within the alleyway. one cough spews blood into the air, causing MC to slightly choke on the crimson liquid pooling in the back of their throat. their hearing fades in and out, as does their vision; the sight of the dark sky has frayed edges like a burnt photograph.

so this is it, they think to themselves.

muffled screams, the sound as if their head was underwater. the voice is one they recognize, a voice they’ve grown fond of.

he rushes over, dropping to his knees next to them. he had a feeling something would happen, but not even his gut instincts could prepare him for such a sight.

lucifer

- lucifer tries to keep calm, panic never helped a dying man. but there’s so much blood, is there a way to save them right now? his mind was racing a mile a minute, questions whirring past without answers.

- “lucifer,” MC coughs, blood dribbling from their lips, “there’s something i must tell you.”

- lucifer is quick to try and silence them,“MC you shouldn’t be wasting your breath-“

- “no, listen to me,” MC strains weakly, “lucifer i…i know you don’t wash your ass in the shower.”

- he’s taken aback by their comment. he almost doesn’t know what to say, they’re dying and now they’re talking about him washing his-

- “wha-“ he tries to speak, but they cut him off.

- “w-wash your ass, gross musty demon boy…”

- their pulse can no longer be found. and neither can lucifer’s dignity.

- when lucifer returns to the house of lamentation in a gloom and breaks the news to his brothers, all of them are devasted; completely broken.

- “lucifer, d-did they have any last words?” satan asks, trying to keep his voice steady.

- lucifer’s face darkens as he lowers his head, a red tint across his cheeks. he doesn’t dare answer.

- “lucifer? tell me what they said.” satan urges.

- “….”

- satan is beginning to lose his patience, gritting his teeth, “what did they say?!”

- there is no way lucifer can actually tell them, but he knows they won’t stop asking until he reveals the truth. he’s conflicted.

- meanwhile, MC watches from beyond stifling a laugh. will lucifer ever be able to pass on their last message? they may have to spend eternity watching to see.

mammon

**i sent this one to @obeythebutler already but i wanna use it again because i can’t stop laughing at it**

- his human? that's his human? bleeding out in the alleyway? it doesn't feel real, this can't be real.

- words are flying out of his mouth faster than he can comprehend them. chants of their name, pleas for them to stay alive, stutters of disbelief. he wonders if he'd be able to get them human medical services in time, there's no way he's letting them die here! they're not dying on his watch.

-mammon's state of denial as he cradles their head in his lap almost causes him to miss their quiet voice. he gasps, straining to hold back his sob as he looks down at them.

- "mammon...i have something to say, before i-"

- "no MC don't talk! you'll choke-- oh god, it's so big! h-how-"

- MC cuts his ramblings short by calling his name. he instantly stops, his lip quivering and tears running down his cheeks. they cough, splatters of blood landing on their chin. and then, they smile.

- "that's what she said."

- the color fades from their eyes. the smile slowly falls, the muscles in their body in full relaxation. they're gone.

- mammon can feel a laugh bubbling in his esophagus, but what comes out is a mix of a sob and chuckle. they're dead, but even when dying they were funny. how unfortunate.

- mammon goes back to the house of lamentation that night, absolutely heartbroken. the moment keeps replaying in his mind, and the more he remembers it, the harder he cries. but a wobbly smile somehow always makes it's way onto his face at the killer delivery.

- he explains to his brothers what happened, violent sobs racking his body. the brothers are speechless, each of them processing the news in different ways. lucifer, as much as he wants to scold mammon and hang him by his feet, he simply asks if they had any last words.

- "t-they said...that's what she said!" mammon wails.

- belphie, who was trying to muffle his cries, instantly starts snickering. goddamnit, MC, he thinks.

- they watch from beyond, laughing at belphie's conflicted state. at least they left them with a lasting memory of how goated they are.

levi

- the rare time levi leaves his room, just to have his vision filled with the sight of MC's bloody body. no amount of video games could prepare him for this.

- he's almost scared to touch them, like contact from him would make it worse. the tears fall from his eyes before he can attempt to stop them. he's frozen. what is he supposed to do? they're dying!

- his eyes spot the giant gash on their stomach, causing the color to drain from his already pale face. this is a lot more than what ruri-chan bandaids can fix.

- "levi..." they cough, springing levi from his thoughts.

- "y-yes MC! i'm right here, i-it's gonna be okay!"

"levi...find candice." they weakly say.

- "c-candice? who's candice?" he asks with a watery voice.

- levi doesn't leave his room hOW IS HE SUPPOSED TO KNOW WHO CANDICE IS??

- "f-find...candice." they repeat with a cough.

- "w-who's candice?!" he asks again, a bit frantic.

- "candice...weiner fit in your mouth." MC smiles, a chuckle taking up their last breath.

- levi sits there speechless, from both disbelief and disgust. he can't believe such a lame joke could be their last words, but at the same time he's ashamed he fell for it.

- his tears fall onto their cold skin like a light rain shower and his cheeks burn. how is he supposed to explain this to his brothers? it's both devastating and embarrassing!

- MC watches from beyond, a slight smirk sitting on their lips. they beat him at his own meme game. a victorious day indeed.

satan

- he's gonna rip them to shreds. whoever did this is not living to see another day. they did this to them...

- satan's wrath was boiling, rising to the surface. he holds MC in his arms, their cold body only making his heat to intense temperatures. he almost doesn't know what to say. there's nothing he could say to make this any better.

- he wracks his brain for any spells he remembers that can rapidly heal someone, but he struggles to remember the ingredients and incantations in his panicked state.

- "satan...it's okay." MC smiles weakly.

- "no! no, MC, this isn't okay at all!" he exclaims.

- he grits his teeth, trying to maintain his composure in front of them. his anger won't help right now, he knows this.

- "i'm gonna die. it's okay, satan."

- "how can you say that?" he practically whispers, a lump building in his throat.

- "listen please. i...need to say something." MC pleads with a cough.

- "stop...talking. please." satan screws his eyes shut, his cries being ignored.

- “i love you, satan. you...and you’re tiny peepee”

- his eyes fly open. they said what?

- they stop moving, their breath no longer able to be felt. satan feels so conflicted; on the one hand he feels completely devastated. on the other, he feels anger towards the demon who did this to them. and on the other other hand he feels offended that they called his dick small.

- the tears continue streaming down his face as he deadpans. that's not what you said last night, he thinks. he quickly shakes his head, no they just died! but my dick isn't small! goddamn you, MC.

- MC watches from beyond cackling. they can only imagine the thoughts going through satan's mind, they can practically hear them all.

asmo

- asmo has never run so fast. he was instantly by their side, shaky hands careful when touching them. his new nail polish color was eerily similar to the color of their blood.

- asmo had found himself rendered speechless around them a couple times, but none of those memories could compare to this one. he always said red was their color, but now he couldn't stand the sight of it.

- "oh MC! oh my god, what happened? w-what do i do?!" asmo's questions were rapid firing, before quickly coming to a halt.

- MC's quiet, straining voice reaches his ears, "a-asmo, unlock my D.D.D."

- asmo's eyes widen, his hands quickly reaching for their D.D.D, "oh yes! let's call lucifer, he can get human medical service-"

- when asmo unlocks the device, his frantic speech is cut off by the loud techno of a song. he freezes. what's going on? why is this song playing? and why can't he turn it off? THERE'S AN EMERGENCY WHAT'S GOING ON-

- "MC i-i can't turn off the-"

- "we're no strangers to loooove, you know the rules, and so do iii~" two voices sing from a small distance behind asmo.

- asmo's head darts to the opening of the alleyway expecting to see the owners of the voices. they sounded oddly familiar. he watches the shadows grow on the cobblestone, but before he can see anyone appear, he feels a weak hand on his cheek.

- he turns back to MC, the tears in his eyes making it very hard to see them. their voice fills his ears, but he doesn't really know how to feel about it.

- "never gonna give you up, never gonna let you down, n-never gonna run around and...desert you..." they sing, their eyes slowly closing.

- their hand drops from his face, the cold feeling of their skin leaving his cheek. he sobs; he can't believe they're gone. in utter disbelief and immense grief, he hears the two voices from earlier grow closer. he turns his head towards them and his eyes widen at who it is.

- "never gonna make you cry, never gonna say goodbye, never gonna-- woah woah asmo what happened?" solomon asks, looking down at MC.

- "they're dead! and this stupid song hasn't stopped playing!" asmo wails, gesturing to the discarded D.D.D

- "oh my goodness, stay here asmo! we'll grab human medical services!" simeon exclaims before he and solomon run out of the alleyway.

- the song finally stops playing for some reason, leaving asmo to grieve in silence. his sobs fill the air as he pulls MC's lifeless body closer. he can't believe they're gone...at least the song stopped, though

- or so he thought. another song plays instead, the techno once again filling the air.

- "i just died in your arms tonight~"

- asmo starts wailing even louder

- meanwhile, from beyond MC struggles to hold in their laughter. they didn't necessarily mean for that song to play, but the irony was too rich.

beel

- no. no, not again. oh god, not again!

- those are the only thoughts running through beel's head when he finds them. his vision narrows and all he can see is MC and the blood pooling around them. please, not them! not another, he thinks.

- his hands immediately start applying pressure to the biggest gash on their body as he frantically asks them what happened. a conflict in his mind of wanting to hear their voice, but not wanting them to speak and instead save their breath. the questioned slipped out his mouth before he could finish processing it.

- "i-it was ligma, beel." they reply weakly.

- ligma? were they a new student at R.A.D? he's surely never heard of them. beel shakes his head, those thoughts don't matter right now.

- "d-don't speak anymore! save your breath MC!" beel frantically exclaims, seeing the blood continuing to spill through the cracks in his fingers.

- "it was ligma." they repeat, coughing up blood.

- "ligma?" he asks, assuming the name is important.

- "yeah, l-ligma...ligma balls." MC practically whispers, their last breath stolen with the wind.

- "MC? MC! no, please no!" beel cries.

- their last words struggle to process in his brain. ligma balls...whoever they are, they won't go unpunished.

- for the first time that beel can recall, he's not hungry; not in the slightest. the grief swimming in his stomach has consumed every square inch. ligma balls, you won't get away with this.

- from beyond, MC watches with a smile of amusement. they know beel would be a bit too dense for the joke, so they look forward to seeing what events will take place due to the mysterious ligma balls

belphie

- he must be dreaming. yes, that must be it. another nightmare, but this time about MC and not lilith. yes, it's all a nightmare.

- but if it's a nightmare, how come he can clearly feel the silkiness of their hair, and the blood coating his hands when he tries applying pressure to the large gash on their chest. no nightmare could feel this real, out of every one he's ever had, it's never been so surreal.

- the disbelief makes his mind spiral, blaming himself again for yet another death. if he would've went with them tonight then he could've protected them, and he wouldn't have to sit here with this annoying lump in his throat.

- only one thought in his mind remains a constant; vengeance.

- "w-who did this to you?" he asks shakily.

- "belphie it was-" they pause, coughing up blood, "it was joe."

- a name. belphie can feel his hands shaking, but he can't tell if it's from his anger or his panic.

- "WHO'S JOE? I'LL KILL THEM-" belphie grits his teeth, but they cut him off.

- "joe mama..." MC says, breathless.

- the rise and fall of their chest stops, water droplets mixing with the blood splattered on their face.

- belphie's shoulders shake, his sobs mixing with a silent laugh. what kind of person makes a joe mama joke while they're dying? MC, apparently. he can't tell if he's more impressed that they pulled off the joke or pissed that he fell for it.

- damn MC, what a chad. you'll be dearly missed.

- they watch from beyond with a smirk, they finally fuckin got him. if the circumstances were different, MC would be rubbing it in his face.

Toei should stop making precure maskura covers(body pillow covers)

Do you know what Toei is doing now?

Toei laid our warrior precure on the floor for adult men and put they in a passive position.

It's been happening since 2015.

Now, in Twitter, there are hashtag campaign and doing signature-collecting campaign to against it.

It is not right to express a character for girls in a sexual way.

Please read the documents below and participate in the signature-collecting campaign.

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1o5YDN7jHeVFBBMASl8VmzzhoAqWNBXvQF3VrgNEqLnQ/edit?usp=drivesdk

https://twitter.com/PrecureDensetsu?s=09

Attempted a Delicious Party 💖 Precure poster with my corn, apple and rice cure!

What a poem

Minty… your dark romances are everything. 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺 If I may, can I ask for a King of Vampires Dick Grayson dark romance? And can it be a soulmate AU? Like, everybody eventually has the name of their soulmate etched into their skin at some point in their life (humans and vampires), and human reader finds out that hers is the King of the Vampires. Everyone isolates from her, and she tries to hide away while Dick looks for her.

WRITTEN WITH BLOOD | vampire! dick grayson x reader

DC MASTERLIST | WARNINGS: manipulation

You thought it was just a myth.

A cautionary tale told around dying campfires and passed in whispers between generations. A story for children and foolish romantics—about the Vampire King who once ruled in silence, hidden beneath moonlight and shadow. Beautiful. Cruel. Eternal.

They called him Richard Grayson. The man with eyes like dusk and a smile sharp enough to cut your heart out. A ghost story.

So when his name appeared over your ribs—etched in dark crimson, as if written in dried blood—you laughed. Panicked. Scrubbed at it until your skin went raw.

Because that couldn’t be real. Soulmate marks were real—everyone had one eventually, human or not—but this? This had to be a mistake. Still, the name pulsed like it knew you. And the people around you noticed.

They stopped speaking to you. Avoided your touch. You overheard them muttering about the omen—about him. You heard someone say you were tainted, that your bond would bring death to the village.

You were scared. So you left.

You make it to Gotham by nightfall, half-frozen and heartsick, praying to any god left that Zatanna is home.

She’s the only one who might know what this is. Who might fix it.

She takes one look at your ribs when you pull your shirt aside and goes deathly still. Her breath hitches. Her gloved hand trembles when it hovers above your skin.

“This isn’t a trick,” she says softly. “This is real.”

“No, it can’t be,” you whisper. “He’s not—he’s not even real. He’s just some fairy tale—”

Zatanna’s eyes, full of old magic, meet yours. “He’s real. Or… he was. Long ago. A vampire king who disappeared centuries back. I thought he was just a story too—but this…” She gestures to the name. “This mark is a soulbound seal. You don’t get these unless the bond is true.”

You collapse onto the couch, dizzy. “What do I do? Can I reject it? Can I break it?”

She hesitates. “Zee,” you beg. “Please.”

Her voice drops. “The bond was written in blood and power. It predates language. You can’t undo it. If he still exists, he’ll be looking for you.” You feel like the air is being crushed out of your lungs. “I never asked for this.”

Zatanna kneels beside you and takes your hand. “I know. But you’re his soulmate now, whether you want to be or not.” Then, after a long pause: “You need to hide.”

But he is already awake.

Stirred from centuries of slumber the moment his name seared itself into your skin. The bond rattled through his bones like lightning—dragging his consciousness out of the dark crypt he called home.

Richard Grayson rises.

The first thing he tastes is your fear. The panic in your blood. The sorrow in your heartbeat. He smiles. You’re alive. You’re his. And you’re running from him. He can feel it. The bond pulling tight. Like a leash made of stars.

He stretches his wings beneath the moonlight and opens his eyes, glowing with cold desire. “Found you.”

They came at dusk. Not with fire, but with fear.

A group of locals who’d once waved at you in the market—now armed with holy symbols and harsh voices. They shouted that you were cursed. That the name on your skin would damn the city.

You tried to reason. To plead. But the moment one of them reached for you—

He appeared.

A blur of motion and cold air, sharp and silent as the night. Before you could scream, the man who grabbed you was on the ground—pale and breathless, eyes wide in terror as he scrambled away.

The others backed off instantly.

They didn’t know who he was. But something in him—something unnatural—made them run.

And then he turned to you.

He looked… human.

Tall, handsome, with blue eyes and black hair curled slightly at his temples. Dressed in dark clothes that didn’t quite fit this century. He moved with precision, like someone who didn’t waste a single breath. Not a fang or claw in sight.

“…You alright?” he asked, voice low and smooth.

You nodded, throat dry. “I think so.”

“They were going to hurt you.” Your gaze dropped. You hated how your lip trembled. “They think I’m marked.”

He blinked slowly. “Are you?” You hesitated. “Does it matter?”

“…Not to me.”

You looked up sharply. He said it so simply. So honestly. As if he knew the weight you carried and chose to lift it anyway. “I’m Dick,” he offered. “Just passing through.”

Your ribs twitched. The bond burned, but—no. No, the name was Richard. Not Dick. You didn’t even make the connection. You were too shaken, too grateful, too exhausted.

“…Thank you, Dick,” you said softly. “I don’t know what would’ve happened if you hadn’t stepped in.”

He shrugged, but didn’t move. “I can stay nearby. Just in case they come back.” You hesitated. Looked toward your apartment door. Then, with a quiet breath— “…Or you could come in.”

He followed you inside. Didn’t even blink when the protective wards flickered over the doorway. He didn’t force his way in. He waited until you gave permission. And the moment he crossed the threshold—something in the bond snapped taut, like a tether between your hearts had been yanked. But you didn’t know. You thought you’d invited a stranger.

He stood by the window, hands behind his back, letting the dim golden light of your kitchen spill across his features. You noticed the rings on his fingers. The way his voice lingered long after he spoke.

“Strange name,” you mused quietly from the couch. “Dick.” He smiled, head tilted. “It’s a nickname. Old family name.”

“Oh. I thought my soulmate’s name was Richard.” You gave a sad laugh. “But that’s just a myth, right?”

His smile didn’t falter. “Right.”

The tension in the air lingered long after the mob fled.

You sat curled up on the couch, knees tucked against your chest, fingers trembling as you held the steaming mug of tea. Across from you, he sat comfortably in the chair by the window, back straight, hands resting on his thighs, not quite relaxed but not tense either. He watched the rain trickle down the glass in silence, as if he had all the time in the world.

You weren’t sure what to make of him.

He was polite. Strangely kind. And terrifying in a way that didn’t come from what he did—but from what he didn’t do. The kind of quiet restraint that made you wonder how much power sat coiled beneath the surface.

You sipped your tea carefully, trying not to stare too long at the man who’d saved you. “…They’re not coming back, are they?”

His eyes shifted to you. Blue—almost violet in the low light. “No,” he said simply. “Not while I’m here.”

You nodded slowly, grateful, unsettled. “They think I’m dangerous. Or cursed.”

“They’re afraid,” he said. “Fear makes people cruel.”

“You don’t seem afraid.”

“I’m not.”

That answer should’ve scared you. But instead, it made something in your chest loosen. You sighed and looked down into your cup. “I didn’t ask for any of this. I didn’t ask for a name I didn’t know carved into me forever.”

He hummed, just a quiet sound of acknowledgement. Then, after a pause: “Do you know anything about him?”

“…My soulmate?”

He nodded.

You gave a bitter laugh. “Just that his name is Richard. That he’s supposed to be some—some king or monster or ancient vampire who vanished centuries ago.” You glanced up at him, wry. “You’d think someone would’ve gotten rid of that fairy tale by now.”

“I’ve heard that story,” he said softly.

“Yeah?”

He nodded. “They say he was powerful. A leader. That he disappeared after losing something important. A war. Or a love. Depends on who you ask.”

You scoffed. “Soulmate bonds are supposed to bring people together, not ruin them.”

“What if it wasn’t the bond that ruined him?” he asked, voice quiet. “What if it was the world that couldn’t accept it?”

You blinked. That struck deeper than you expected. “…I don’t know. Maybe. Doesn’t matter. He’s not real.”

“No?”

“If he was, he would’ve shown up by now. Or… I don’t know. The bond would’ve done something. But it just hurts. Like a reminder that I’m alone.”

His jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. “You’re not alone now.”

You looked at him. Really looked.

He had the kind of beauty that didn’t seem to belong to this era. Sharp cheekbones, shadowed eyes, a mouth that held secrets. His coat hung off him like it belonged to a prince. A fallen angel. Something old.

“…What do you think of him?” he asked suddenly.

You blinked again. “Who?”

“Your soulmate.”

You stared into your tea. “I think… I hate him. A little. Not because he exists. But because he’s real enough to ruin my life without being real enough to love me back.”

Something in his expression cracked—just for a second. A flicker of emotion too deep to name. He looked away again, back out the window, and when he spoke, it was almost to himself.

“He’d be a fool not to love you.”

You didn’t know what to say to that.

So you sat in silence, sipping your tea, the sound of rain filling the quiet between you.

Neither of you said it—but something passed between you. Heavy. Inevitable.

He would stay. To protect you. The town would leave you alone, if only because they were more afraid of him.

And you—despite yourself—would let him.

Because “Dick” didn’t feel like a monster. He felt like a shadow you could lean against. Like safety wearing the face of a stranger. You didn’t realize how your ribs burned beneath your shirt every time he looked at you. Or how the name marked on your skin had started to glow.

You didn’t sleep that night.

Not really.

You curled up on the couch beneath a blanket, pretending the steady beat of rain against the window was enough to lull you into rest, but your mind wouldn’t stop spinning. Every time you closed your eyes, you saw the townsfolk’s faces twisted in fear. And behind them—him. The man now seated on the floor by your door, one knee raised, one hand resting lazily over it like a sentinel carved from dusk.

He didn’t need to sleep. That much was obvious.

Instead, he watched. Not in a way that made you uncomfortable, but in a way that felt… grounding. Present. Like no matter what storm knocked at your door, he’d be there to hold it shut with one hand and never break a sweat.

You shifted under the blanket and murmured, “…You don’t have to stay right there all night.”

“I know.”

“But you’re going to anyway.”

He didn’t respond. Just a small, knowing quirk of his lips.

You studied his profile in the dark. “You really believe in soulmates?”

He was quiet for a moment, then nodded once. “Yes.”

That surprised you. “Even after everything?”

“Especially after everything.”

You frowned. “You talk like you’ve… lost someone.”

“I did.”

You hesitated, chest tightening. “Was it your soulmate?”

He didn’t answer.

You almost didn’t expect him to. Maybe that was too much. Too personal.

But just when you were about to apologize, he said, quietly, “I spent years looking for her. Even before I knew her name. Even before the bond. I think… part of me always knew I was missing someone.”

You sat up a little. The fire in your living room crackled low, casting long shadows. “…And when you find her?”

He finally looked at you then. Really looked.

“I won’t let her be afraid. Not of me. Not of the bond. Not of what it means.”

Your breath hitched. You opened your mouth to speak—ask something, maybe thank him—but your chest burned.

It was sudden. Hot. Like a sun flaring beneath your ribs. You gasped and gripped your side instinctively, fingers curling over the brand of your soulmate’s name—Richard—as it flared to life under your skin.

The pain wasn’t unbearable. But it was undeniable.

You choked on a breath. “What the—?”

He was beside you in an instant, crouched at your side before you even heard him move. “Let me see it.”

You pulled back without meaning to. “What’s happening—?”

“It’s the bond,” he said softly. “It’s responding.”

Your heart slammed against your ribs. “That’s not possible. I haven’t met him—”

“Yes, you have.”

The words stopped you cold.

You stared at him. Really stared. And it was like your vision shifted. The angles of his face sharpened. The centuries in his eyes peeled back. Not just handsome. Not just strange.

Ancient.

“…What?”

His hand hovered near your wrist, not touching, waiting.

“My name,” he said, almost a whisper, “is Richard.”

You froze.

“I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to frighten you,” he said. “You’ve been through enough. I thought… if I stayed close, if I helped, maybe you’d feel the bond before the world told you what I was.”

You stared at him, heart pounding.

“No,” you whispered. “You can’t be—”

“Your ribs say otherwise.”

You gripped your chest, heart threatening to tear itself apart. “You’re the King. The one they say vanished—”

“I never vanished. I just… waited.” His voice cracked faintly. “I waited until I could feel you. Until I could find you. And now I have.”

Your hands trembled.

Part of you wanted to run. Part of you wanted to scream.

But deeper than that—beneath all the noise and fear—was the quiet, aching pull that had followed you your entire life. That same pull you’d felt the moment you let him inside.

“…You lied to me.”

“I protected you from the truth,” he said gently. “I would have told you. But I needed you to see me first. Not the stories. Not the fear. Just me.”

You swallowed hard, emotions crashing over you in waves. “…And what happens now?”

He held your gaze, soft but unyielding.

“Now I stay. Unless you ask me to leave.” You looked down at your ribs.

The name pulsed softly beneath your skin—like a heartbeat. Your heartbeat. You should have told him to go. Should have thrown him out. Should have feared him. But instead, you sat there, breathing in sync with his silence. And whispered: “…Stay.”

“So… what do we do now?” you asked, your voice small against the hum of the fire and the soft rain beyond the windows.

His eyes didn’t leave you, steady as ever. Watching. Waiting.

You hesitated, glancing at him—really looking at him. At the man who sat on your floor with such impossible patience, as though eternity itself could wait for your permission.

“And… this—” you gestured toward him, the coat, the softened lines of his face, the warmth in his eyes, “is this what you really look like?”

He was quiet for a breath. Then he shook his head.

“When I was human—yes. But now… no.”

You swallowed.

Part of you wasn’t sure why your heart beat faster. Fear? Curiosity? Or that pull—strange and ancient—that seemed to live in your veins now, whispering you were made for this.

“…Can you show me?” you asked.

He blinked.

“I mean…” You shifted in your seat, gripping your mug with both hands. “We’re soulmates, right? I should… see the real you. If we’re going to do this.”

The silence stretched long between you. Not cold—just heavy. Weighty with the kind of decision that couldn’t be taken back.

He watched you. Read your expression. Then gave a faint nod.

“All right.”

You held your breath.

And then—he began to change.

It wasn’t violent. It wasn’t monstrous. It was fluid—like shadows melting off his skin, like centuries unfurling from his bones. His coat whispered against itself as his shoulders straightened, stretched, his presence swelling to fill the room like a storm rolling in. His nails lengthened into sleek, obsidian points. His irises deepened into a luminous, predatory red, glowing softly beneath the dim firelight. The gentle lines of his face sharpened, high cheekbones cutting like marble, fangs glinting faintly beneath his parting lips.

He was beautiful. Inhuman. Ageless.

The embodiment of every myth whispered behind closed doors at midnight. Even in this form, they were still him.

Still Dick. You didn’t move. Didn’t scream. You only looked up at him, heart hammering, and whispered, “Oh.”

He stood still, watching you closely, not advancing. Not even breathing. “Does it frighten you?” he asked softly.

You looked into those gleaming eyes, into the eternity they held. “…A little,” you admitted, truth catching in your throat. “But not enough to make me look away.”

He closed his eyes—just for a second—and when he opened them again, the tension in his shoulders had loosened. Something in him broke. Quietly. Softly. Like a chain slipping loose.

You reached out—slow, deliberate—and brushed your fingers against his hand.

It was cold. But the moment your skin touched his, that heat in your chest bloomed again, golden and soft, warming your insides like sunlight through glass.

You looked up at him. And for the first time, he looked unsure. “I didn’t think…” he murmured, almost to himself. “That you’d ask to see me. Like this.”

“I didn’t think I’d want to,” you said quietly. He glanced down at your hands. “But here you are,” you added. His hand turned, slow and deliberate, until his fingers curled around yours. He bent slightly, bringing your knuckles to his lips—but he didn’t kiss them. He breathed you in.

And whispered, like a vow etched in stone: “Here I’ll stay.”

Your heart was a mess of thunder and soft ache, pounding so loud in your chest you were sure he could hear it—feel it—through the bond tethered between you. His breath still lingered on your skin, cool and reverent, like he was afraid that touching you too hard would break whatever fragile, impossible thing had taken root between you.

You looked at him. At all of him.

The glow of his eyes, the edges of him sharp with shadow, inhuman and terrifying—and still, somehow, heartbreakingly familiar. Still him. Still the man who’d stood at your door and asked for tea. Who stayed when the world didn’t. Who hadn’t let you fall.

Your hand shook slightly as you lifted it, fingers brushing up the side of his jaw. His head tilted ever so slightly into the touch, the gesture so gentle it made your chest ache.

“I don’t know what this means yet,” you whispered.

His lips parted, something uncertain flashing in his expression.

“But I know I feel it. The bond. The… pull.” You swallowed. “I’ve never felt anything like it. And I don’t think I’ll ever feel anything like it again.”

He didn’t speak. Didn’t dare move. Just watched you with that centuries-old gaze—guarded, glowing, still.

“I’m scared,” you admitted. “But I think I’d regret it more if I didn’t.”

And then—before you could talk yourself out of it—you leaned in.

Your lips brushed his, tentative and trembling, nothing like a fairytale and everything like a beginning. For a second, he didn’t move. But then his hands rose to your waist, not pulling, not claiming—holding. Anchoring. As if you might vanish like smoke if he wasn’t careful.

He kissed you back.

It was soft at first. Reverent. Then deeper, fuller—like something unspoken was finally being answered. His fangs grazed your lip, but never bit. His cold breath shuddered against your skin as though even he couldn’t believe this was real.

You pulled back just an inch, breathless, eyes fluttering open.

He looked stunned.

Like centuries of waiting had just come to an end in the smallest, softest moment.

“…You kissed me,” he said, as if he hadn’t meant for the words to slip out.

You flushed. “Yeah. I—I did.”

He exhaled something that might’ve been a laugh, something that might’ve been the echo of relief. His hands remained on your waist, unsure whether to hold tighter or let go.

“I thought I’d have to wait a thousand years more before you’d want that.”

You smiled faintly, nervous but warm. “Well. I guess you got lucky.”

“No.” He leaned in again, his forehead resting gently against yours. “I think I finally found the one thing in this world worth being patient for.”

gotta love fake subs

Hi I know this isn’t what I usually post but man, I’m so heated rn. If you didn’t know, wayv took to expose their sasaeng (stalker fan) recently who was trying to take pictures of the boys going to the bathroom. She’s been stalking mark since he was 16 before he even debuted and you can read the tweets I found (creds to op on Twitter). I’m sharing to bring more awareness to the issue and to ask y’all to please email and tweet sm to protect our boys. It’s time to put this b!tch a$$ clown in jail