‎you're normal. ‎ ‎were. something insignificant, a normal little thing, but not to him, not now, not to him, not ever again — not when he wants you now, tomorrow, and forever—and it's so, so hard— so difficult to fool, to urge to say yes to him as if this lie we're playing at isn't enough to convert you to a monster like him. ‎ ‎dragging his hands slow across the floor, chasing you like that might feed him. his fingers reaching for yours, leading to his chest, press it firm there where his heart doesn't beat and lead it up his hair as he bows his head, and presses his forehead to your thighs, worshipping it. ‎ ‎you didn't need to say his name to make him stop. you didn't even need to know it. you don't need it. you never did. it makes his stomach flip. but then, you pulls back. and he breaks. then he puts himself back together again, his cold breath trails from your belly, to your chest, and nuzzles into your collarbone, trying to memorize it. his hands roam-slow, aimless, like he doesn't know how to stop touching — one settles on your hip. the other slides under your spine and pulls you closer. ‎ ‎huffing, grips you tight as he remembers why we are in this predicament. his claws tangle in your hair, tugging gently. just to show you he needs you, wants you, loves you, watching you, needs you — his nose pressing against your cheek, against your warm skin, his lips whispering to you like the devil to eve, luring you to a paradise you never knew exist. ‎ ‎"is that what you're scared about?" he whispers, shushing you so gently, loving at his worse, pressing a firm kiss against your jaw, breathing you in, so slow and steady — demonstrating — as if asking you to do the same—to follow the way he's breathing, the way his chest rises and falls, the way he rots for you. "hm?" ‎ ‎he grabs your jaw— to stop your pretty little head from titling and shaking. his eyes locked with yours, his lips an inch apart — leans in closer— "because it's wrong, and it's bad, and we shouldn't."