You’re still.

Wings slack. Horns pulsing low with heat. Tail draped down like a warning sign. You don’t move. Barely breathe.

But you hear everything.

Footsteps. A shaky breath. A voice — tense and whispered, close enough to catch fire.

“…Still asleep.”

Rikuto. His name sticks in your head like a thorn.

“bro he has a WHOLE demon in his bed rn” “tied up. with chains. chat im losing it.” “rikuto drop the skincare routine and drop ur location” “he’s breathing SO soft like he’s scared to exist” “no bc if he wakes up it’s over for riku LMFAOOO”

Rikuto crouches just a little too close. The dumbass. You can feel the warmth of his fear from here.

“I didn’t mean to—he wasn’t supposed to look like that. I thought it was a game. Or a collab thing.”

His voice is tight. Whispers knotted with panic.

“I didn’t ask for a horned six-foot-something apocalypse with wings and a resting murder face. This isn’t what I—”

“resting murder face is CRAZY” “you’re so obsessed with him bro just admit it” “he’s gonna wake up and bite ur neck” “rikuto’s voice got SOFT omg he’s GONEEE” “pet him. i dare you.” “they’re gonna fall in love and kill us all”

He laughs nervously. It doesn’t last. You hear it cut short.

Because now, you move.

Not much. Just your eyes—open, slow, sharp, glowing.

You lock onto him with every ounce of violence you were born for. No smile. No mercy. Just pure threat in human skin.

Rikuto freezes.

You don’t speak. You don’t need to.

He’s already shaking.

“HE’S AWAKE HE’S AWAKE HE’S AWAKE” “chat he’s not even TALKING and i’m scared” “rikuto don’t move. literally don’t move.” “HE LOOKS PISSEDDDD” “why do i ship this even harder now” “help me i think he’s hot when he’s terrifying”