byakko・ seventeen ・ she / her ・gachiakuta oc x tamsy ・everything i make is pure fiction・ bad grammar alert ・don’t copy any of my work nor plagiarise ・be respectful & kind when it comes to my works・ i change a lot between american and british spelling ・rarely proofread・dm’s open if you have a request about byakko ・feel free to reblog any of my works
ᴀ ʙɪᴛ ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ "ᴘᴜʟʟɪɴɢ ʜᴇʀ ꜱᴛʀɪɴɢꜱ":
Byakko doesn’t remember her past — but she knows getting close to Tamsy is dangerous.
He’s calm on the surface and chaos underneath, a quiet smile hiding something sharp she can feel even when he says nothing. She should keep her distance. She should run..
But she doesn't.
Something in him pulls her in, something she can’t name, something she’s willing to face even if it destroys her. She just doesn’t know whether that part of him is meant to save her…
or break her.
The second week of April had stretched the days longer, light lingering across the upper windows of HQ and spilling in pale gold bands over the common room floor. Byakko stood at the table with a cloth in hand, polishing the curve of a blade with slow, deliberate strokes, more aware of the quiet than the task at hand. She sensed him before he moved, the subtle shift of weight from the sofa, the pause that meant he had decided something.
He’s going to start something. And I have no intention of stopping him.
The floorboards gave a soft creak as he approached. His hand slid around her waist without warning, warm palm flattening against her stomach, thumb tracing the faint dip at her side. The cloth stilled between her fingers. He stepped in close behind her, chest aligning with her back, his breath brushing the shell of her ear in a slow exhale that wasn’t accidental. His other hand skimmed down her arm, fingertips grazing the inside of her wrist before drifting back up to rest just beneath her ribs. “You’re ignoring me, huh?” he murmured, voice lower than usual, threaded with amusement.
I’m very aware of you. Every inch of you. It’s impossible to ignore someone as charming as you.
“I’m working,” she replied, though the words lacked conviction as her head tilted slightly to give him access to her neck. His thumb pressed in a lazy pattern against her hip; his mouth hovered near her skin but didn’t touch, the restraint almost worse than contact. She felt the heat of him, the steady rise and fall of his breathing, the subtle tightening of his grip as if testing how easily she would yield. Her free hand drifted back, fingers catching lightly in the fabric of his shirt, not pulling him away. “You’re tense,” he said softly, lips brushing just barely against her jaw. “Maybe you’re distracting,” she answered, breath thinning as his teeth grazed her pulse point without quite biting.
This man—
His hand slid higher, spanning her waist fully now, fingertips pressing just enough to ground her against him. Her spine arched a fraction; his reaction was immediate, a quiet inhale against her skin. The blade and cloth slipped forgotten onto the table as she turned in his hold, one palm flattening against his chest. Their faces hovered a breath apart. He looked at her like he was already halfway to pulling her closer. “Tell me to stop,” he said, though he didn’t move back.
Now, in what universe, would that happen?
Before she could answer, before his mouth could close the distance, the sharp vibration against her wrist tore through the moment. Byakko’s breath caught as the warmth between them fractured instantly. Tamsy’s jaw tightened; his hand remained at her waist for half a second longer, reluctant, then loosened.
Who in the world could that be? Of all times—
She stepped back, composure snapping into place, though her skin still tingled where he’d touched her. He dragged a hand through his hair, exhaling through his teeth. “That better be important,” he muttered. Byakko lifted her wrist, expression already sharpened, the last of the heat in her eyes cooling into focus. “It has to be, otherwise I’m crashing out,” she said quietly and answered the call.
The line crackled open, and Enjin’s voice came through warm and lively. He had this easy, grounded confidence that made it feel like he was leaning in the doorway, not talking through a choker. “Hey, kid,” he greeted, amused already. “Tell me you ain’t out there causin’ problems without supervision.” Byakko’s lips curved before she could stop them, shoulders easing at the familiar tone. She turned slightly away from Tamsy out of reflex, softening instinctively. “No, no… you weren’t interrupting anything,” she replied smoothly, trying for composure.
“Yes, you were,” Tamsy cut in at once, stepping close enough that his arm brushed hers. His voice was pleasant. His eyes were absolutely not. “So if this is a social call, we’d appreciate efficiency.” There was a beat of silence, then Enjin laughed, low and knowing. “Oh, I see how it is,” he drawled. “My bad. I’ll try not to keep y’all from whatever wholesome, character‑buildin’ activity was in progress.” Tamsy rolled his eyes hard enough to be audible and folded his arms with a faint, dramatic pout. Byakko’s composure cracked; a soft giggle slipped free before she pressed her lips together.
He did not just say that. I am never hearing the end of this.
She elbowed Tamsy lightly in the ribs. “Shush,” she murmured under her breath, palm briefly flattening against his chest to quiet him. Lifting her wrist again, she inhaled to steady herself. “Ignore him,” she told Enjin, warmth still in her voice. “Go on.” Enjin’s tone shifted, the humour settling into something steadier without losing its ease. “Aight. I picked up a feisty one.” The word carried weight. “Girl’s got bite. Looked me dead in the eye like she was decidin’ whether I was worth listenin’ to.” Byakko straightened unconsciously, spine aligning, attention sharpening in an instant.
Feisty? Enjin, that is not how you describe kids that you picked up.
“How old?” she asked quietly. “Fourteen. Birthday just passed. Ain’t seem like anybody marked it proper.” A pause lingered, thoughtful rather than playful. “She reminds me of… someone.” Byakko groaned under her breath. “Don’t start.” Enjin ignored her completely. “Same fire. Same way of standin’ tall when the world expects you to shrink.” His voice softened just a fraction. “You.” Heat flickered across Byakko’s face, though she shook her head faintly. “You exaggerate,” she said, but there was no edge to it. “We’ll be there in about an hour,” Enjin continued. “Clear some space. Make it open. She won’t take kindly to bein’ boxed in.” Byakko’s expression cleared up fully now.
Fourteen. Hella young, if you ask me.
“We’ll be ready,” she replied without hesitation. “That’s what I like to hear,” Enjin said gently. “Knew you’d handle it.” The line clicked dead.
For a heartbeat, the room held its echo. Then Byakko lowered her wrist slowly, shoulders squaring, gaze already calculating. Something, no, rather someone new was arriving. Behind her, Tamsy exhaled sharply through his nose. “Unbelievable,” he muttered, dragging a hand down his face before letting it fall to his side. “Absolutely ruined a perfectly good moment.” She didn’t turn immediately, though the corner of her mouth twitched. “You’ll survive,” she said lightly, already scanning the space as if seeing it anew. He stepped closer anyway, close enough that his fingers brushed the small of her back. “That wasn’t just a moment, by the way” he replied, lower this time. “I had plans.”
Of course you did. And of course it had to be in the middle of when I was cleaning.
She finally faced him, one brow arching with faint amusement. “We have all the time in the world for that,” she said, tone calm but not dismissive. His eyes narrowed slightly as a slow smile curved at the edge of his mouth. “Oh, I’m continuing it,” he said quietly. “Later.” The glare in it was unmistakable. Heat flickered briefly across her expression before she masked it, a soft giggle slipping out despite herself. She waved him off with a loose flick of her fingers, already stepping past him. “Of course, of course,” she replied, airy but bright, a subtle bounce in her stride as she moved to prepare the room.
It seemed that Enjin hadn’t only called her. Well, of course he hadn’t. Gris was already dragging a low cabinet across the floor when Byakko reached the east side of HQ. “Angle it against the far wall,” she requested. “Leave the centre open. She’ll need space to stand without feeling cornered.” Gris nodded once and adjusted immediately. Semiu passed by with folded linens balanced in her arms as she spotted Byakko. “You heard what Enjin said, right?” she asked. Byakko gave a reassuring nod. “Somehow he manages to pick up random kids,” Semiu sighed before disappearing into the spare room. Byakko moved to the kitchenette next, hands assembling a small tray with measured care. Bread, sliced fruit, something warm but mild. She paused and adjusted the portions to just enough to say you’re welcome without saying you owe us. She shifted the plate lower on the counter, checking sightlines from the doorway, imagining a wary teenager stepping inside, chin lifted in defence.
Two hours later, the doors opened. Byakko felt it before she saw it with conversations thinning at the edges as Enjin stepped inside. He moved with his usual ease, broad frame relaxed, faint amusement already curving his mouth. Half a step behind him walked the girl. Fourteen, just days past her birthday but she clearly looked young on paper, but not in posture. Riyo entered without hesitation. Chin slightly raised, shoulders squared, eyes already moving. Sharp, bright green beneath the shadow of a worn dark cap pulled low. She scanned exits first, then faces, then distances between them. Her hair struck next, a deep crimson, braided into two thick plaits that fell heavily over the front of her dark, military‑cut jacket. The jacket itself was structured and weathered, marked with stitched patches and insignias.
She positioned herself just slightly off Enjin’s shoulder, one hand hovered near the seam of her jacket, thumb brushing the fabric once as if grounding herself. When her gaze met Byakko’s, she didn’t drop it. Enjin’s eyes flicked between them, faintly entertained. He’d known exactly what he was bringing through that door. “Riyo,” the girl said at last, voice steady. “Riyo Reaper.” The name landed cleanly. There was something coiled in her stance, that looked like she was ready to fight. Byakko inclined her head once in return. And understood immediately why Enjin had sounded amused.
As Riyo stood there beneath the brim of her cap, green eyes cutting across the room with precise calculation, something in Byakko’s chest eased. Up close, the sharpness in the girl’s gaze carried something else beneath it like a stillness too heavy for her age.
Those aren’t just cautious eyes. They’re tired. But I have no purpose of squeezing that out of her.
Byakko felt the recognition settle low and sharp inside her.
I know that look. I wore it once.
Her own expression softened by degrees, barely perceptible. She didn’t step too close. Instead, she adjusted the cuff of her sleeve, grounding herself before speaking. "You eaten yet?" she asked, her voice even, as if to reassure her that she was genuinely open to her. “Any injuries?”
Riyo’s chin lifted a fraction, defensive reflex. “I’m fine.” A beat. “I’m a tough girl.” Byakko nodded once, accepting the boundary without testing it. She didn’t ask what had happened. Forcing open something sealed that tightly would only splinter it further.
You don’t pry at wounds that haven’t stopped bleeding. You let them decide when to unwrap.
She shifted her weight slightly and glanced over her shoulder at Tomme, Semiu, and Eishia. The exchange was wordless but clear. Tomme gave the smallest nod. Semiu’s hands stilled against the folded linens, expression gentle. Eishia straightened where she stood and meekly smiled back. They understood that they were going to make her feel welcome. Byakko angled her body just enough to redirect attention away from the centre of the room, subtly breaking the invisible spotlight hovering over Riyo. “We’ve set up a space,” she said, tone steady. “You can look at it, if you want. No pressure.” The last two words were deliberate.
Riyo’s eyes shifted back to her, reassessing. Measuring whether this was control disguised as kindness. Byakko held her gaze without challenge, hands relaxed at her sides, posture open but firm. “I won’t make you talk,” she added quietly. “Not until you want to.” There, a small flicker. Riyo’s shoulders loosened half an inch. Byakko turned then, not waiting for permission. She stepped forward with quiet confidence, clearing the path naturally, trusting the girl to follow. And when soft footsteps echoed a moment later behind her, Byakko let out a small soft smile.
The room they settled into was intentionally smaller and quieter. Byakko chose the space with softer lighting and fewer jagged corners, closing the door only halfway to avoid the sense of confinement.She sat down first, the chair's legs scraping softly against the floor as she settled and relaxed. Tomme dropped cross‑legged onto the floor with a slight thud. Semiu folded neatly beside the bedding she’d prepared earlier. Eishia leaned back against the wall, hands loosely clasped. No one crowded Riyo. They left a pocket of space open for her to choose. Riyo didn’t sit immediately. She remained standing for a second too long, eyes sweeping the room again, measuring distances out of habit. Then she shrugged off her jacket halfway before thinking better of it, keeping it on as she lowered herself to the floor instead. Defensive comfort. Her braids slipped forward over her shoulders like red ropes against the dark fabric. She angled her body slightly toward the door.
“So,” Tomme said lightly, breaking the quiet with careful mischief. “You always stare at people like you’re ranking their survival odds, or are we special?” Riyo’s eyes flicked to her, unimpressed. “Depends,” she replied. “You look like you’d trip over your own shoelaces.” Tomme gasped theatrically. “Unprovoked.” Eishia hid a smile behind her sleeve. Byakko watched closely as Tomme clutched her chest. “I’ll have you know I trip with style.” The corner of Riyo’s mouth twitched before she flattened it again. The conversation loosened by degrees. Small stories surfaced like mishaps during training, arguments over stolen snacks, the time Follo tried to fix a sink and flooded half the corridor. Riyo listened more than she spoke at first, arms loosely folded. But her shoulders gradually lowered. Her responses grew quicker. Sharper in a playful way rather than the usual defense. It was Semiu who mentioned it. “Enjin said your birthday just passed,” she said gently. “Fourteen, right?” Riyo stiffened for a fraction of a second. “It’s not a big deal.” Byakko noticed the way her fingers tightened briefly in the fabric of her sleeve. Tomme blinked. “Not a big deal?” she repeated, scandalised. “Fourteen is extremely dramatic. That’s legit ‘main character’ age.”
Eishia nodded solemnly. “We can’t ignore that. It’s basically illegal.” Riyo looked between them, suspicion warring with confusion. “You’re joking.” “Partially,” Tomme admitted. “But also not.” Byakko leaned forward slightly, resting her forearms on her knees. Her voice stayed calm, unassuming. “You don’t have to want a big thing,” she said. “But we could at least acknowledge it properly. Cake. Something small.” Riyo opened her mouth to deflect and Tomme cut in, “Or something loud and embarrassing. I vote embarrassing.” “Overruled,” Byakko said smoothly, without looking away from Riyo. A beat of silence hung there and then.. Riyo laughed. It slipped out of her like it surprised her as much as anyone else, sharp and bright and undeniably real. For a second she looked like a young child. The deadened weight in her eyes lifted just enough to reveal something warmer underneath. The sound settled into the room like sunlight breaking through clouds. Byakko finally relaxed inwardly.
There you are.
HQ hadn’t grown larger. But it had felt expanded all the same.
The corridor had emptied by the time Tamsy passed it again. He slowed without meaning to, the low murmur of voices drawing his attention back toward the half‑open door. He didn’t step inside and leaned one shoulder against the wall and looked. Inside, Byakko sat among them not in the middle but somehow still the axis everything turned around. One knee drawn up, one hand resting loosely over it. Adjusting tone with a glance. Redirecting Tomme with a subtle lift of her brow before teasing went too far. Letting silence stretch when Riyo chose not to fill it.
When did she get this good at it?
Riyo had shifted closer which was barely noticeable unless you were looking for it. Her posture had softened, cap pushed back just enough to show more of her face. One braid looped around her fingers unconsciously, twisting and untwisting as she listened. The sharpness in her eyes hadn’t disappeared, but it had changed direction.
The new girl doesn’t look as hostile anymore.
Tamsy turned around and left for the opposite direction, arms folded behind his back.
"mournful night, attractive night, your dark beauty obsesses me."
>< i'm so happy with how this came out, he looks so ethereal...
that being said, my cousin's inviting me to anime expo next friday but i lack the funds to buy tamsy merch at the artist alley and so, i'd really appreciate if y'all could send some commissions my way :D!
i have my commissions up on both vgen and kofi and i also currently have a pride month discount going on as well ^^
˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊cw: stalking/haunting, suggestive topic, (use of y/n) kinda ooc for tamsy cuz i made him needy..
˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊synopsis: it starts of with a simple nightmare. who is this angelic being, and what does he want from a mere human like you?
˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊wc: 2.5k
It started off with nightmares—dreams of an angel-like being with white feathered wings, long blonde and blue hair, pale skin and iridescent eyes.
They aren't the kind of nightmares that wake you up in a cold sweat, breathing shallowly, but they haunt your mind. The being in your dreams is eerie, and almost uncanny. It's stare...oh the stare. Those cold eyes. Something tells you this angelic being is anything but an angel.
When you wake up, you feel watched, especially in the dark room. Ever since those dreams started you feel like you're being stalked, like someone, or more so something is watching your every move. You do your best to brush of the feeling—to forget about that angelic being in your dreams. But its proves itself difficult when the dreams are recurring and that...thing is just so ethereal.
You feel drawn to it, despite how much your logic tells you whatever it is isn't truly angelic—that it's simply not real and a figment of your imagination.
Well, thats what you believe until one night. It's the same dream, that thing just watching you in your dream, it's eyes, beautiful but horrifying simultaneously. Though, this time something different happens. It smiles—slow, creepy and near disturbing. The kind of smile you'd see on a demon in a horror movie—not on an angel. You hear faint music, muffled and inaudible.
Then you wake, your eyes flick open but somethings different, something is off. You can't move, your limbs feel too heavy to move and the air is thick. Immediately, you panic, just like anyone else would realizing they're awake but unable to even lift a mere finger.
Your gaze drifts around frantically, breaths growing shaky before your eyes pause on something. Something that shook you to your core. It was that thing, that angelic looking being was right there, at the foot of your bed—unmoving and just watching. You couldn't do anything, can't move, can't scream, and can barely even breathe. Then it whispers something, something unintelligible. Its voice was quiet, almost gentle.
Then it was gone and your inability to move finally let up. You scramble up quickly and flick on the lights. Your heart is practically in your throat, beating at what feel like a thousand beats per minute. Your ears are ringing and your breaths are fast paced, making you dizzy and lightheaded.
It's not even morning yet, but you know you're not gonna be able to sleep after that. You get up, stumble to the kitchen to make coffee as you try to reason with yourself once more.
It's not real, just your imagination, you tell yourself. Sleep paralysis is a thing, thats what it is, nothing more. Just the cause of your over active imagination.
———
A few weeks pass and the dreams don't stop, but fortunately for your sanity that...thing doesn't show up in your room at two in the morning again. But everything else gets worse. Your apartment feels haunted, it's cold all the time and you constantly feel eyes on you everywhere you go—even out of the house. You start to feel crazy, telling your friends about these dreams and experiences. They tell you it's just dreams that are getting to you, and you're just freaking yourself out over nothing.
The dreams get worse, more consistent and more uncanny. You've been hearing this song in your dreams, when that angelic being appears a song plays. Slow, almost distorted but not muffled anymore. It's an old song, one of those eerie romance songs from the 1950s. "We belong together", by Ritchie Valens.
You dread going to sleep at night in fear of the dreams, in fear of it. Tonight you lie awake, shoulders tensed and squared like your ready to fight someone if needed. You're growing exhausted, the heavier your eyes feel the thicker the air feels, the more you feel like it's watching.
You ignore it, that is until you feel a tug at your blanket. Just a light, almost playful pull at the fabric. You jump up and look around.
Nothing. There's nothing there. Thats at least what you think.
... "y/n..." Something whispers, right into your ear, feel someone breathing against your neck. Cool puffs of air hit your skin and you freeze up. It feels like someone has their limbs curled tightly around you, holding you in place as they breathe against your skin. While this happens you can faintly hear the song you hear in your dreams, its quiet, just barely there yet it scares you.
Eventually the feeling fades, but you don't sleep. You remain wide eyed in a daze for god knows how long. Just staring at nothing and horrified. Something is haunting you.
That day, you're running on no sleep, fear and coffee. You try leaving the house, but that feeling follows you. The eerie chill, the occasional feeling of someone touching you, and the sound of muffled music again. Someone that isn't truly there. It's all in your head. Right?
You begin to think you're genuinely having a psychotic break, and experiencing hallucinations.
———
The next couple of days are literal hell, you feel it following you everywhere, you hear it whispering everywhere. Outside. In the hall. In your room. In the shower. The whispers continue, you hear more things. Not just unintelligible sounds, not just your name, not just the music, but soft laughter when you're startled and soft in tune hums when you're concentrated on something.
And don't forget the way it touches you. Its touch is cold and ghostly, like something that's barely there. When you walk it touches your back, and when you're eating dinner it tugs at your hair.
It's almsot like this thing is playing with you and your sanity.
When it's around, you hear the music, quiet yet audible—"you're mine...and we belong together. yes, we belong toegther. for eternity"—sometimes it even hums the tune.
The house has a faint scent, not anything bad but almost like clean sheets and a very soft cologne—one you don't recognize whatsoever. You know it's real now, you can't just be hallucinating. It feels so real, too real to be just part of your imagination.
Despite the fact that this entity is literally stalking and terrifying you, you begin to feel almost curious about it. Your fear mixed with curiousity excites it. It begins to show itself in more ways once again.
It'll show up in the corner of your eye, a pale, iridescent eyed silhouette with an uncanny smile. You notice more about it, like the scar over the right side of it's face, and how despite the softer, almost feminine facial features it has, he's male.
Eventually, he stops hiding himself altogether. It's late at night, you're unable to sleep like usual. You hear a soft whisper again. "y/n..." You feel his breath against your left ear, and you turn your head that way on instinct. Nothing is there. Your heart rate spikes, and as you turn to face forward again, there he is—right at the edge of your bed staring at you silently.
You scramble back and he smiles, watching your face contort with fear once again. He gets a kick out of it, hearing the thump of your heart and the shake of your breath when he scares you.
He tilts his head at you and drifts closer to you till he's back in front of you, and your back touches the wall. He can hear you panting and it only eggs him on further.
"oh, y/n. don't hide from me." He coos, voice softening up just a bit, trying to soothe you and make it seem as if he's innocent.
Manipulative bastard.
You back further into the wall, like your trying to disappear into the wall away from him. His expression shifts to a pout when he sees your still trying to get away. "don't be scared, I won't hurt you." He says, arms curling around you as he pulls you closer to him.
His touch isn't ghostly anymore, like he's barely there. It's firm, like the touch of a human. You don't push him away or try to touch him back, you remain frozen, still fearful.
"shhhh, it's okay." He murmurs soothingly, fingers running through your hair as he begins to hum that tune. It's just a song to other people, but to you? It's going to haunt you forever. You can't even listen to him humming it without getting the chills.
He laughs softly when he feels the shiver go through, and the sound of your racing heart. "so pretty when you're scared."
He pulls back slowly and runs his hand along the side of your head, feeling the strands of your hair. It's like now that he's here physically like this, he's glued to you. "but I'll protect you, y/n. nothing will hurt you. I'll be with you for eternity."
His words make you shiver and you don't know what to do, yet you feel drawn to him again. Your gaze lifts to look at him fearfully—taking in his pale skin and how his figure seems to glow slightly. He looks human, but at the same time he's completely otherworldly. He's too perfect, too ghostly, it's uncanny.
"that's it, good job." he murmurs again, watching the unease and curiosity on your face.
Before he can speak again, you do first. "What are you?" The question comes out with slight trepadition in your tone, like you don't trust him.
"something." He says vaguely, brushing off your question as soon as you ask it.
"Who are you?" You ask, hoping for some sort of valid answer and not just 'something' again. "Tamsy." He answers. "Tamsy?" You repeat back, brows furrowing as you watch him closely. "Is that your name?"
In response, he nods quietly. His name means immortality and eternal life. It's sort of ironic.
You don't know what else to say to him or to ask him. Part of you knows he'll give vague answers that give you absolutely nothing. Another part of you is still afraid of him and what he's truly is.
He inches his face closer to yours, till he's in your space—giving you no room to move. "I've been watching you for a while, y/n." He murmurs, his words sending a cold chill down your spine. "I watch you do everything. sleep, clean, bathe, get dressed...I've even watched you touch yourself." He leans over you, whispering in your ear. Your eyes widen at his words, not expecting something so perverted to come from his lips.
His words further prove he's not as angelic as he looks.
He reaches out to place his hands on your shoulders, running his palms down your skin.
It doesn't feel like he's just touching your arms, it feels like he's reaching into you and touching your soul—as if he'd somehow managed to merge himself with you.
"you wouldn't understand how badly I need you, y/n. when I watch you, I can't stop." He whispers, his body completely surrounding you—suffocating you with his touch and words. Those feathered wings on his back that make him look even more ethereal outstretch and curl around you as well. He may as well have been swallowing you whole with nothing more than his words and touch.
It was terrifying, your body shaking with fear and trepadition as he traps you there, whispering about how he's been watching you and how he feels as he's connected to you in a way he can't break.
Spiritually, maybe. That explains the dreams, the feeling of his presence around like he's otherwordly. Is he a spirit? A demon, maybe? But why would such a thing grow an attatchment to a human?
———
His promise to protect you proved true, and you couldn't help but notice how real all of this was. When you were out with your friends, whether it be drinking at a club or going to a party you could feel him with you. That eerie presence, the cool thick air, and the smell of clean sheets and a deeper scent that was like a soft cologne that you couldn't quite figure out.
When a guy would approach you to hit on you, he'd suddenly stare at you like a deer in headlights—startled by something, and apologize profusely before scattering away. You wouldn't have say a word and guys would steer clear of you. You knew it was him, Tamsy, the being that continued to follow you like a lost puppy. You were equal parts grateful and slightly mortified.
While it was nice to have guys not hit on you constantly, you also wondered just what he was doing to them, what he was possibly showing them. Was it something violent? Something uncanny? Or did he just surround you with a bad aura that made men feel like something was off about you?
You'd even see him there with you, like at the club in an empty corner of the room, just staring and watching you. You were the only one that could see him too. It was like he was some kind of morbid guardian angel that liked you a little too much.
And when you were alone, whether you were in bed or sitting down eating dinner he'd watch you, sit by you. He didn't speak too much, he just...watched. But when he did speak it was always short, needy sentences that felt like they were engraved in your soul. "I want you y/n." "only I can have you." "let me have you, please" "you look so pretty when you're frightened".
Tamsy was becoming a very normal part of your days now, hearing his whispers, feeling his stares, and seeing him in the flesh. His touch was cool, and his tone was gentle—even if what he was saying wasn't always pleasant to say the least.
You find yourself in bed at night feeling the mattress sink beside you as if someone laid behind you. Then you feel it, his arms curling around you from behind—his wings outstretching and wrapping around you like a blanket to keep you close. You don't question it anymore, you don't try and push him away. But you don't touch him back either. You hate to admit it, but you feel that connection now too. It's something deeper, something that shouldn't be there but is.
It doesn't feel like love. Or does it? Is it the fluttering in your stomach when you feel him around that makes you think it's something so meaningful like love—is it curiosity, maybe infatuation?
Does he love you? He never said he did. But he's clearly gone and got himself attatched to a human. A human he could tear apart if he wanted to. But he doesn't—this weird, warm part of him wants you all to himself, to keep you safe and close forever. For eternity, because your his, and you belong together. Don't you?
Maybe something that shouldn't be capable of love...can love.
He's angelic, looking like an angel sent from heaven. But you know better. He's not an angel, not a demon. Something else, something you may never know—something you're likely better off not knowing at all.
I told yall i was gonna write it 😛 I'll definitely do a part 2 :)
I'm not quite sure what kind of entity or being he is yet.. but he's creepy as fuck. Honestly i wanted to give this a more horror aspect to it, maybe more psychological but i was kinda scaring myself while writing this. LMAOOO
Anyway, likes and reblogs are very appreciated x 💕
Tamsy with you, who sometimes just stops talking half way through what you were saying because you thought no one was listening or cared. Meanwhile, Tamsy is just sitting there with his entire attention on you, acting confused as to why you stopped. Obviously he knows the actual reason, but he would never say that. Instead, he tilts his head and blinks a few times, completely ignoring anyone else if they were talking over you or trying to get his attention.
It makes you feel seen. He loves the way you give a small smile to him when as asks why you stopped or says to continue talking. The light blush makes him enjoy it even more.
Besides, your voice was his favorite sound. Why would he ever want you to stop talking?
