☆. warnings — 1.8k. fem!reader, dry humping, stalking {barely}, taming, chubby reader, biting, blood, sneaking in, black coded. minors aren't welcomed! comments are appreciated! <3 ☆. mocha's note: ep 8 of devils line still replays in my mind. this man makes me feral.
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anzai sits limply on the roof of your house, staring into your bedroom window to see you dressing in a comfy two piece short set while humming softly to the music lowly playing in your steamy bathroom. he doesn't want to disturb you when you look so peaceful like this. applying products to your face along with other moisturizers. tying your locs up into a bonnet before leveling your head down in the sink to brush your teeth for the night. he knows you had class today, also did a few hours at the salon before coming home. it's close to eight, midnight out and he's trying his hardest to ignore this ache below his belt, fangs protruding from his mouth like a demon. eyes red, and the claws in his nail beds growing sinisterly longer.
you were the first person he could think of when the sun set. fighting the urge to hurt a human being. but being here was worse in a way. the last thing he wanted to do was hurt his girlfriend. even if you've told him multiple times that he could take what he needed from you, an ounce a blood . . whatever he desired to keep him sane. he hates when you're like that sometimes. so careless for your life all because of the love you have for him. you're willing to take risks if it means he can stay in your life. you need each other, crave one another. it's hard to live life without the others warmth. his face is pale as he heaves in his seat, hunching over to catch his breath, dark hair shielding most of his face.
a knock on your window makes him jump, hastily darting his eyes into your room to see your eyes targeting his. dammit. he clicks his teeth, shamefully turning his face away when he noticed the concern in yours.
"anzai," there it is, that softness of your tone, the warmth like a fuzzy blanket being thrown around his shoulders as if he's a small child who's having a nightmare. it feels like one. every. damn. day.
"i shouldn't have come, i apologize."
"you're always welcome here," you pull your window open wider. "come inside, please? it's chilly."
"i can't. i need to go—"
your hand grabs his wrist as soon as he begins to stand, ready to leap off the roof. the black long sleeve on his skin is thin, and you worry for his body temperature. visually, it looks like he's cold as ice, but on the inside, he's burning up.
"where's your mask?"
"i dropped it when i ran away from this woman. she was running at the park and fell . . scraped her knee pretty bad. the smell . . i was going to kill her. but something pulled me back. i ran and that's when i lead myself here."
"how many times do i have to tell you that you're not a monster?" anzai freezes, swallowing from the stringent pitch in your voice.
