Diabolik-lovers

His voice was silk drawn over a blade. Laito. He slid into the chair beside her, close enough that the cold of his body bled through her sleeve. His hair, the color of a dying sunset, fell across one eye. The other, a verdant, mocking green, pinned her in place.

He didn’t bite. Not yet. That was the worst part. He liked the waiting. The trembling. The way her breath hitched as he lowered his lips to her ear.

Because he was here.

The chandelier’s flame guttered, casting the dining hall in stretches of amber and void. Rain lashed against the stained glass, each drop a tiny, frantic fist. Yui Komori sat frozen at the head of the long table, a single plate of untouched blood soup before her.

A single tear slipped down Yui’s cheek. It landed on the table with a sound softer than the rain. diabolik-lovers

“You’re not eating.” He leaned in, his breath a ghost against her throat. “How rude. Mother made that just for you.”

The Throne of Thorns

She tried to stand, but his hand clamped onto her wrist. Not painfully. Worse. Possessively.