If No One Else
- Reads 16,700
- Votes 224
- Parts 12
Ongoing2h 12m
Last published Sun, May 17, 2026
𝟏𝟖+|
I was said to be
𝐭𝐨𝐨 𝐝𝐚𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐝,
𝐭𝐨𝐨 𝐢𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞...
𝐭𝐨𝐨 𝐮𝐧𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞.
I had heard it so much in my life that it had manifested into a truth that remained rock solid in my brain. It consumed every surface of my body and mind like a deadly cancer
It had become a promise to myself. A reminder. A standard.
It was a rule applied to every person in my life, except him...
He was the same as I was; no matter how different our outside identities were. We were cut from the same cloth on the inside. There was no denying that he and I were both broken souls left in a broken world.
Both craving an eternal slumber before we met, but his darkness played so well with mine that suddenly it began feeling more like light, warmth, goodness... a happy ending.
"...𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗶𝗳 𝗻𝗼 𝗼𝗻𝗲 𝗲𝗹𝘀𝗲 𝗵𝗮𝘀 𝘀𝗮𝗶𝗱 𝗶𝘁 𝗯𝗲𝗳𝗼𝗿𝗲... 𝗜 𝗹𝗼𝘃𝗲 𝘆𝗼𝘂,"
---------------------------
Partying.
That was the one thing Chandler did best, and everyone in town knew that. But when one of her parties get out of hand and the cops are called, she's in for a rude awakening as she comes face to face with the new guy in town: Officer Herrera.
He's wasn't like the usual officers she dealt with, and she finds that out quite quickly as she gets dragged away to jail for the night.
They both wish to never see each other again, but there was something stronger than their dislike for each other keeping them together.
The stronger their dislike grows, the more attached they become, until the lines become so blurred that they can't tell the difference between hatred and love anymore.
They could say they hated each other, but if anything, a small part of them knew it would turn into love.
If that love would last once everything was revealed... It was only a matter of time before they found out.
----
All Rights Reserved
#2
damaged
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A scent. A scar. A slow-burning fucking romance dressed as nostalgia. It started with a fruit. Not love, not sex - a goddamn strawberry. The kind that looks like it's been kissed by every shade of red your childhood never had. He didn't share it. Didn't speak of it. Just tasted it once, and carried the ache ever since. Years later, she walked in - smelling exactly like that forgotten sweetness. Not perfume. Not fantasy. Just... truth. Sharp, quiet, terrifying truth. The kind that crawls under your skin and whispers remember me when you least want to. He lied to her face. About himself. About the million ways he'd already started unraveling. But she knew. Women like her always know. She stared at him like sin dressed in judgment - and touched his wrist like she already owned his pulse. And he? He was fucked. Because she wasn't just beautiful. She was red. That memory. That craving. And no matter how much he pretended to be in control - she was already in his bloodstream. This isn't a love story. It's a slow possession. By scent. By memory. By her. And it ends exactly how it starts - with him on his knees, and her smelling like fucking strawberries.
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