Title: Breathe

Word Count: 1,o2o

Rating: K+

POV: 3st Person - Jun

A/N: I don't have these in any particular order or connection and I pretty much had this starting out as a Julia story... don't ask me how it morphed into this. Weird x)

P.S I'm working on chapter 13 of 'Made of Scars'... I'm having a hard time finding a beginning for it. Once I've uploaded that chapter, I'll be looking into 'His Little Kitsune' and 'Dasvidania'. Sorry I haven't updated them in so long. I haven't been able to concentrate on anything but my classes for my job, at the moment... it sucks. Anyway, please enjoy and review!

Against a hazy horizon of bruised purple, she sits, her hands wrapped around her knees. She nibbles on her lower lip, chewing the tender flesh until it's numb. The grass of the little knoll is abnormally soft against her skin and the burning sun is a glowing ball of orange seated on the black treetops. She tilts her head back, trying to find comfort in the cool breeze.

He'll be here soon. Her stomach lurches at that thought, excited and sickened. How could she have ever found him so alluring? What about him sent her heart into a frenzy, as if it were some tiny caged canary struggling to get free? She stretched out her legs and smoothed the wrinkles from her dress, her bangs tickling her petite nose as she did so.

He embodies the word 'evil', yet why does she sense something else. He smells like a killer, a murderer. Depravity had radiated from his skin as she'd sat in the shadows and watched him train, taking detailed note of the way his muscles rippled beneath his skin.

She shakes her head, ashamed of the desire growing in her. It gnaws at her, taunting her. Can she even escape him? No. She ducks her head… defeated. All the things she's ever stood for- can she throw them all away just for this odd attraction? Yes. Her breath hitches in her throat. Where is this connection coming from? Why him? Why now?

The leaves rustle above her head, the sweet melody of a spring night. She shivers, contemplating over the things to come. Tonight will change everything. She knows this. Her hands tremble and she grinds her nails into the dirt. There will be no going back.

Could she handle that?

Yes? No?

Her fingers knot nervously in her ebony tresses and she swallows slowly, carefully. The lump in her throat doesn't subside. A coldness sets in her flesh, though the dusk is quite warm, and the flowers at her side shy away. She can already feel him at her back. He's taking his time, making her as uncomfortable as possible. She sighs. It's shaky and it comes out in a gust of hot, moist air.

His hunger invades her senses and she can feel him lapping up her light like some nameless leech, yet she does not move… does not run. He's behind her, now, only a few feet away. Her skin tingles and she shuts her eyes. The shame is close to unbearable. Her hands wring the material of her dress and she stands, sluggish and fearful. Can she meet his eyes? Can she even turn to him? He's waiting. She bites down on her lip harder, suppressing a cry of pain.

He knew she'd be here. He knew also that she'd wait for him.

A gentle wind coils her hair in a unique and fascinating dance around her head and she digs the tip of her sandal into the earth. His lips are breaking into a grin. She can feel it like a forceful hand pressing into her back. Inhaling unsteadily, she ducks her head and turns... gradually.

His shiny black shoes hold all her attention and she concentrates on them alone. She couldn't look up, not now. The embarrassment washes over her in a disgusting wave, drowning her. His staring eyes are like magnets, tugging at her own, coaxing them to rise and meet him. She swallows again; the lump still hasn't gone.

His touch jolts her and she realizes that he's eliminated the space between them. Thick and bitter musk, sweet cinnamon, and sweat tease her nostrils. She inhales deeply, savoring his aroma. A throaty chuckle escapes his lips and she looks up from the hand that has curled its fingers around her wrist. His teeth gleam in the last rays of dying light, a predator's sneer. She shudders.

The sky is now darkened so much so that the obscure trees of the horizon blur and smudge against it in a lethal flurry of blotches and lines. They match the midnight tone of his hair, the fathomless black of his eyes. She releases her lower lip from between her teeth and he gazes at it, fixated. Her blood has flushed it a beautiful and lively crimson. Before she can avert her eyes he grasps her chin, his hold strangely mild. The rough calluses on his fingertips brush her jaw line and she closes her eyes, breathing as calmly as she could muster.

He tugs her forward… and she follows willingly.

Eyes are lurking in the shadows. She can feel them. They watch her walking with this cruel soul and they hate her for it. She tries to steady her heart. Tonight will change everything… and she can't go back. Tears gather behind her closed lids and she snuggles into his welcoming embrace. His polluted hand caresses her shoulder, attempting to contaminate it, yet she did not feel the grit… the filth. It fell off her skin, harmless.

Something in him called to her. She presses her nose into the base of his neck, breathing him in. She could feel his heartbeat… racing.

The grotesque mansion, his home—prison—leered at her as she opened her eyes. This place frightens her, though she would not turn back. It seemed so aloof… so cruel and detached… much like him. She senses his eyes on her again. They are so heavy, now. They pierce into her like a slow needle, rupturing her very soul, and she leans closer to his face, longing for those twisting lips.

Tonight, she would not leave his home... his prison...

Tonight, she would share in his confinement.