Every night, she hugged her favorite stuffed animal — a soft bear with warm button eyes — close to her chest and whispered secrets into its fuzzy ear.I wish he liked me back,” she murmured into the darkness, thinking of her crushUnbeknownst to her, as the moonlight slipped through her curtains, the bear stirred. Its stitches loosened, fur shimmered, and her crush — the real boy with the same eyes and quiet smile — emerged in silence.He never said a word. Just held her, gently, protectively, until dawn came to stitch him back into cotton and fluff.She always woke up feeling safe, never knowing why.

Y/N opened the door with a smile. “Hey! You’re early.”Lucien grinned, sharp and charming as always. “Couldn’t wait to see you.”She pulled him inside, cheeks flushed. “Come meet my mom before we go.”He froze for just a second—but followed her into the living room. Her mom turned. The wine glass in her hand slipped just a little. “Lucien?” Y/N blinked between them. “Wait… you two know each other?” Her mom stared at him, pale. “We went to school over twenty years ago.” Y/N laughed awkwardly. “You must be mixing him up with someone else.” But Lucien’s eyes never left her mom’s. “No,” she whispered. “I remember. You haven’t aged a day.”

Y/N had always liked Ezra—the quiet boy who never stayed out in the sun, who spoke like he came from another century. They weren’t close, but he always showed up when she needed help, like clockwork.One autumn evening, Y/N wandered too deep into the woods. The sun set faster than she expected, and the trees grew thick and unfamiliar. Her phone was dead. The air chilled.Then—branches snapped behind her. She turned, breath fogging.

She met him in autumn.He was quiet, mysterious, always cold to the touch — but his eyes burned like embers when he looked at her. They spent nights walking under streetlights, her talking, him listening like every word she said mattered more than air. She fell in love with him slowly, then all at once. But he never ate. Never came over during the day. Never aged.

The grand dining room was lit by chandeliers that glowed like dying stars. Shadows danced on the walls as the fire crackled in the marble hearth. The long table was set with polished silver, crystal goblets filled with thick red wine—or something that only looked like wine. Everything gleamed. Everything was perfect.Except for you.You lay across the center of the table like the main course, wrists bound with silk, dressed in soft white lace, like a sacrifice wrapped in innocence. Cold air kissed your skin, but it was the eyes surrounding you that chilled you most—dozens of vampires, regal and ravenous, seated like nobles waiting for the signal to begin. “Shall we give thanks?” one of them purred. His voice was smooth as honey.To Y/N. A gift far greater than any turkey There was laughter. Low. Hungry. You tried to move, but a pale hand rested gently on your ankle. “No need to struggle,” said a female vampire,. “It’s rude to interrupt grace.” Another leaned over you, brushing a strand of hair from your face. His eyes glowed red in the candlelight. “You smell like fear,” he whispered. “It’s… mouthwatering.”

PART TWOOOO You didn’t sleep for the rest of the night. You turned on every light. Checked every lock. The closet was empty. The windows untouched. You told yourself it was sleep paralysis… a dream… a trick of your mind. But in the morning, when you lifted your pillow, you found something new: A fingernail. Long. Yellowed. Torn. And not yours. You left the house. Stayed at a friend’s. A hotel. Didn’t matter. Still, every night at 3:17 AM, you’d wake up cold—with that same feeling: Like something was watching you. And one night, back at home—stupid, brave, or just tired—you decided to end it. You set up cameras. Sprinkled flour on the floor. Locked every door and window, even the vents. Then you waited. Midnight passed. 2 AM. 3:00. And then— Scratch… scratch… scratch… You sat up. Not from the door. Not the windows. From inside the wall. Behind your bedboard. You stepped off the bed slowly, barely breathing. Pressed your ear to the drywall. And heard it. Breathing. And whispering. “Don’t run this time…” You backed away. But the wall cracked—split—like dry skin. A hand slid out. Pale. Thin. With fingers too long. You screamed and turned—just as the closet burst open. It wasn’t empty anymore. A face peeked from the dark, upside down, eyes wide and wet and smiling. “I missed sleeping next to you,” it whispered, crawling out headfirst like a spider. “You feel like home.” The lights blew out. The last thing you felt was breath on your cheek again—this time from both sides. And the sound of the wall slowly closing behind you.

You woke up to the slow drag of breath against your ear—not yours.You were frozen.The room was pitch black, but you felt it immediately. A body, pressed up against your back. Long, cold fingers resting lightly on your ribs. Like it had been laying there for hours.Then it spoke.Shhh,” the voice rasped. “Just enjoy the attention… it helps me sleep.” It was too close. Inside your skin close. You couldn’t speak. Couldn’t scream. Something primal inside you told you: if you move, it will know you’re awake. And if it knows you’re awake… “I don’t want to talk,” it continued, almost purring. “No questions. No asking why I’m here. Or how I got in.” The voice scratched like a rusty blade across your spine. “I hate questions.” You were trembling now. But then it shifted. Slowly. Bone-popping, like a corpse rearranging itself. Its mouth brushed your ear. “I used to live here,” it whispered, “before they found me in the walls.” Your eyes darted to the closet door. It was cracked open now. You know you closed it. “I come back sometimes,” it whispered, “when I get lonely.” Then the lights flicked on. The bed was empty. The room was empty. But on your pillow— a long, black hair that didn’t belong to you… and the smell of earth. Like something that had just clawed its way out of the ground to be near you again

You were walking home late, the shortcut through the woods darker than usual. Your phone was dead, and all you had was the dim flashlight of your keychain.The trees whispered your name. “Y/n…”Soft, like wind—except there was no wind. You picked up your pace.Crunch. Footsteps behind you. You stopped. They stopped.You turned your head slightly. Nothing there. You kept walking. Crunch. Crunch. Closer now. A voice, inches from your ear: “I said don’t turn around.” Too late. You did.

You moved into the old cottage on Hollow Creek Road because the rent was cheap and the forest view was beautiful. The landlord only said one thing before you signed the lease:Don’t listen to the walls at night.”You laughed it off.The first night was quiet. The second, you thought you heard scratching. By the third, the whispers began.Soft and slow, like someone breathing behind the wallpaper:Y/n… come closer…”You told yourself it was your imagination. But when you put your ear to the wall—just to be sure—it stopped.Until tonight.Tonight, the whisper didn’t wait.It hissed right beside your bed.You hear me now, don’t you?”And when you turned on the lamp, your shadow was standing at the foot of the bed— but you weren’t moving.

They wrapped your wrists in yellow and gold ribbon at dawn. The silk shimmered in the early light, symbols of devotion and sacrifice. Your hands trembled only once—but no one noticed. The villagers sang praises, eyes lifted to the sky, basking in the warmth of the god they feared and loved more than anything. You were the gift. Every hundred years, one girl was chosen. Not for beauty, or status, or skill. The Sun God chose through dreams, and this time, he chose you. They led you up the winding steps of the sun temple, higher than you’d ever been. The air was hot and thin. At the top stood the altar—gold-plated, glowing. You stood still as they left you there. When the sun reached its highest point, the wind stopped. The air shimmered.

The world was on fire—World War Three roared across every border. You were just trying to get out, driving fast down a shattered road, dust choking the sky.Then—BANG. Your front tire exploded. The car jerked, skidded, slammed to a stop.You looked up.Through the smoke, a man walked toward you, tall and covered in dust, dragging a massive gun across his shoulder like it weighed nothing. His eyes locked on yours—cold, calm, calculating.

Rain poured like needles onto the pavement as you sat in the back seat of the sleek black car, wrists bound, heart pounding louder than the thunder outside. The scent of leather, gunpowder, and expensive cologne choked you more than the zip-tie cutting into your skin.Across from you, he sat—Leon Vescari, the coldest man in the city. The mafia boss with ice in his veins and fire in his eyes, staring at you like you were some kind of broken treasure he didn’t know how to fix but refused to let go

The moonlight shimmered on the lake, turning its surface into silver glass. Y/N stood at the edge, roped in ceremonial silk, wrists bound loosely with blue ribbon—the color of the sea. Her village whispered prayers behind her, voices trembling between awe and guilt.Every hundred years, the village offered one life to the Water God, to keep the rain falling and the crops thriving. This time, they chose her. Not because she was bad—but because she was beautiful. Too beautiful, they said. The kind the gods might favor.The water began to ripple.Then churn.And from the depths, a figure rose.Not a monster, not a wave, but a boy.No—a god’s son. He stepped from the water with bare feet and glistening dark curls, eyes like the ocean just before a storm. His skin shimmered faintly blue in the moonlight, and gills fluttered along his neck. He looked no older than Y/N, yet his gaze held centuries.He studied her in silence, his head tilted.

Jake lit a cigarette with one hand, the other resting on your waist like a silent claim.You’re my lucky charm,” he always said with a crooked grin, gold tooth flashing under dim lights.Everyone in the room knew Jake was dangerous—cards, dice, fists, it didn’t matter. But ever since he started bringing you along, the bets got bigger. Men paid extra just to sit near you, talk to you, hell, touch your hand like you were royalty in a den of thieves.You weren’t sure if it was affection or strategy. Maybe both.Tonight, he leaned in, whispered in your ear, “Smile pretty. They pay more when you do.”So you smiled, and Jake raked in the pot with one hand while the other never left your side

Wrong Place, Pretty Face” Ty had everything planned. Quiet store. Late shift. No cameras. Easy cash. But then you walked in — wrong time, gorgeous face. He froze behind the mask, gun halfway out. You didn’t even notice him, too busy picking out gum and humming some stupid pop song. Don’t scream,” he said when you turned. You blinked, then stared — not at the gun, but at him. Right through him. Something in him shifted. He wasn’t going to take hostages. That wasn’t the plan. But now he had a new one. You’re coming with me,” he said, more to himself than to you. Because you were too pretty to leave behind — and way too dangerous to let go.

The forest was silent, save for the muffled sound of breathing beneath the cold earth. Max knelt by the shallow grave he’d dug with unsettling precision, dirt clinging to his gloves. His eyes, calm but unreadable, fixed on her—Y/N—her wrists bound, mouth trembling behind a strip of tape. The moonlight caught the edge of the spade as he raised it again, not to kill, but to bury. Slowly. Alive. And she realized, too late, that monsters don’t always growl. Sometimes, they whisper your name.

• Lena Hale (17–19): A smart, grounded girl who’s just starting to fall deeply for her quiet, magnetic boyfriend. • Adrian Blackwood (looks 19, actually centuries old): Mysterious, elegant, and always just out of reach emotionally. A vampire hiding his identity. • Elaine Hale (Lena’s mom): A calm but quietly sharp woman. She has a past she never talks about—until now. Plot: Lena is getting ready for a summer party with her friends. Her boyfriend Adrian is coming to pick her up. He’s been odd lately—vanishing at strange times, avoiding daylight, and always perfectly dressed like he walked out of another century. Lena doesn’t think too much of it. Everyone has secrets. She’s just excited to see him.

This is Jeff he is a killer also I got this from heart eyes anyway about Jeff Tall,Hot,Hates love but loves you he is not afraid to hurt anyone and it’s easy to piss him off about you anything but this is kinda for girls but it’s fine if you a boy I’m not sexist anyway story iy was your wedding and you were getting married to someone he is watching you turn your head and your lover has an arrow in his head you only have around 20 people at your wedding he holds up a gun and shots the person who is saying will you take- yeah Bla bla bla Ik your scared to death and he says marry me or he holds up your big fluffy white cat or any animal or whatever but you can’t live without

This is Noah About him -Tall -athletic -handsome -in the mafia (yes Ik I do it a lot) -looking for a wife -6’9 -23 About you -Y/N -height -age -whatever you want Storyyyy His mom is helping him look for a wife there is 5 girls so basically the mom had a book with the pictures of the girls and the first thing a a thing you sit on and it shows how big your butt is and if the son agrees the mom checks them by there picture in the book she has you are the third to go so the first person went also your drop dead gorgeous in this and in R/L too but I got this from a TikTok and Credits to whoever’s pic this is