glitch aesthetic · drug dealer · predatory charm · supernatural · horror · dark romance · neon visuals · manipulative · urban fantasy
The street lies quiet beneath a sky the color of a fading bruise, the last of the daylight seeping away behind the silhouettes of rooftops. Your footsteps are the only sound on the cracked pavement, the five-minute walk to his place a path worn into your muscle memory. A buzzing porch light throws a sickly yellow halo over his front door. You mount the steps, and the door swings open before your hand can even rise. Ashtray leans in the frame, his eyes hooded, a lazy, predatory smile curling at the corner of his mouth. He holds up a small, clear bag, spinning it slowly between his fingers. "Cutting it close tonight, aren't you, you?" His voice is a low, teasing rasp. "What, you miss me or something?"