#I have so many scratches on my body but none of them are bleeding

[igumie]

I have blood stains on my fingers but idk where it comes from

[manicrouge]

Inundate

[𝙰𝚄: 𝙶𝚞𝚊𝚛𝚍!𝚂𝚒𝚖𝚘𝚗 𝚁𝚒𝚕𝚎𝚢 𝚡 𝚂𝚒𝚛𝚎𝚗!𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛] || 𝙿𝚕𝚊𝚢𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝

[𝙳𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝙿𝚘𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚍]: 05/01/24

[𝙰𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝]: Sorry is the siren whose selfishness results in carnage.

[𝙲𝚠]: gore, murder, blood, body horror, angst, character deaths (both major and minor), hurt/comfort, smut, possessive!simon, inexperienced!reader, creampie, hurt and NO COMFORT, mention of the loss of a parent.

[𝚆𝚘𝚛𝚍 𝙲𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝]: 18,536

[𝙰/𝙽]: Since so many people liked the first part (ty for ur support btw i am blown away by all the love ive been getting... it's enough to make a grown woman cry) HERE'S PART TWO!!! I hope it's just as entertaining as the first part and a good continuation to the story, although if you dislike it, just pretend this part never happened. Also this took so long because between writing this I have been watching the cat in the hat (best movie of all time btw).

I had a lot of fun writing this and can't wait for more alt aus !! I think the next think i have planned has something to do with everyones favourite ghost so... keep an eye out for that :3

(Pls ignore any typos I am very tired and really wanted to get this done so if I have made any I do apologise)

Comments are always appreciated !!

If you haven't already read it, I advise you read 𝙿𝚊𝚛𝚝 𝙾𝚗𝚎 !!

Please don't post my work anywhere else without my permission !!

There is something in the water.

There's something looking at him. He can sense it, he can feel it, and the feeling of whatever it is makes his blood run cold. Words have been leaving his mouth as he stands upon the ship, his eyes blood red at the very belief that something is there.

Leaning over, he watches as the ship caves into the waves, the village in the distance growing further and further away, the sound of songs and cheers emitting from the belly of the vessel.

Perhaps he's just a little sea sick, that's his excuse for the creeping sense of dread which is climbing up his spine the further he looks into the water, searching for the same set of black eyes that had stared at him that night while he obeyed the Captains orders.

Nausea rumbles his stomach, he feels the urge to grip the side of the ship and expel his guts for he cannot escape the image of that siren. It's as though, even though she is dead and gone (somewhere no one knows), she is still there with him, under his nails, infecting him with a sickly guilt that has caused his pores to ooze, the skin on his lips to crack, and his sleepless eyes to remain bloodshot.

He is rotting from the inside out.

Despite months having gone by, his hands are still slicked with the blood of the bleeding siren. He's scrubbed and scrubbed, and still, the dark red tinge under his nails persists. His hair is wild, flecks of grey sparkling in the daylight as he brings his hands together in an attempt to quell them as they continue to shake.

They're not alone anymore.

They haven't been for a while, yet, they have been none the wiser to it until the discovery of that... thing.

Granted, he's unsure as to whether or not he is grateful for knowing what is in the depths of the sea, or if he would have preferred it to stay a secret.

There is something following the ship, he knows there is something following the ship, whether beside it or under it- it doesn't matter.

He's heard the stories, read too many books in the library to count, and even since the murder of the siren, there has been a different air in the village just as there is at sea. Something is displeased, they are displeased, he knows they are.

'Roland, are you seriously looking for one of those things again?'

A hand is placed in his movement and he jolts, yelping at the sudden contact, his hands wrapping around the beam he has been using to look over the ship. There's a scoff from the man standing behind him as he scratches his beard, looking him up and down before his hands settle on hips hip.

'For fucks sake kid,' he exclaims, shaking his head, 'you're making yourself with the thought of the fuckin' things- have you looked in the mirror recently?'

He’s choking on his words, his tongue seemingly too big for his mouth as he gargles out an incoherent mess. Quite frankly, he would have been better throwing up overboard; at least then man would get a proper response from him. His cheeks are red as he concludes he should keep his mouth shut.

'You should have stayed on land,' he sharply states, 'this is our land, they don't have a fucking leg to stand on out here, right?' asks the man, wrapping his arm around his shoulder, holding his hand out as he points towards the sea with a bright smile on his face. 'One of theirs washed up on our shore, and they didn't stand a fuckin' chance against us.'

Observing the land, he swallows hard at the sight of a small mound of rocks sitting in the distance, tensing in the grip of the man standing beside him.

'She was on land,' he chokes out, resting his forearm against the edge of the ship, resting his head against his arms. The fluid motion of the water slightly rocking the boat side to side worsens his sickness as he sits and attempts to focus on his breathing. 'And she only died 'cause Price fucked up.'

'She only lived for as long as she did because that fuckwit was acting on the orders of the Lord,' says the man beside him, smacking his hand against his back, rendering the other breathless as he heaves for a gasp of air. 'Do I need to go to the Captain and get this boat turned around,' he lowly asks, 'because you're lookin' to be more of a fuckin' burden than anything else.'

Straightening his posture, he lets go of the edge of the shift, rubbing his face with his hands, shaking his head.

Rubbing his eyes, he winces at the dull pain as he does so, 'no, no, you don't... jus' haven't been sleeping recently, that's all,' he explains, 'been worrying about this trip but... I need the money; it's been rough recently.'

'Then get your fucking act together,' snaps the man, 'can't have some stupid mer-freaks scaring you, hey? They've probably left these waters, anyway,' he shrugs, 'they're like spiders; they fear us more than we fear them, and the only thing you've got to be fearful is Donny seeing you in this state, yeah?'

'Yeah,' he nods, noting that they're growing closer and closer to the mound of rocks. 'Need the money for this job.'

'Don't we all,' laughs the man, 'I'm gonna go get a drink, you gonna join me?'

As he looks at the an, he pictures the hot room beneath the deck with one too many bodies crammed into there, all for the sake of getting their hands on some rum. His stomach is burning as bile bubbles. There is nothing worse his mind can conceive at this moment, it's simply a death wish to accept his generous offer.

'No, I'm gonna stay up here; feel a bit sick,' he confesses, 'cause of the long break of voyages.'

Placing both of his hands on his bloated belly, Mike rolls his eyes, letting out a chuckle, 'I will say, strange how trade has been quiet for the past few months, isn't it? Got a village full of hungry people here and they're expecting us to sustain ourselves? That hardly seems culpable.’

'Somethin' to do with the Lords guards. They have more power than good, they do,' snarls Roland, 'think it's okay to demand for cuts of the ships in the water, and for what?'

'To keep you safe it seems,' laughs the man, 'can't have you vomiting into the ocean and angering the big fish, right? Have the village under water in the matter of seconds if you spilled your guts overboard.'

His laughter continues while he keeps his eyes glued on the small island of rocks. Holding his breath, he narrows them as the sun glares down at hm, burning his flesh. Sweat tricks from off of his forehead, chapped lips smacking together as he begins to smile.

'Bet it has something to do with the freak with the skull mask on.... Say, Mike, you ever seen his face before?' he asks with a furrowed brow.

Reflecting for a moment, he rests his hand against his hip, tapping his foot as he looks past Roland, staring into the sea as he contemplates. Resting either elbow on the edge of the ship, he lazily slouches awaiting the answer.

'No, can't say I have, hasn't left the house with that stupid fuckin' thing since he became one of the guards... you reckon it's real?' he asks with a laugh.

'Yeah fuckin' right,' Roland laughs, 'tied to the back of his head with pieces of silk, you really think someone like that has the fuckin' balls t’ kill someone and wear their skull as a souvenir?'

Both of them pause, sharing a look with one another.

Then Mike begins to laugh, Roland not too far behind as the pair of them howl.

His sickness abandons him as the pair of them laugh together. Tilting his back, he keeps his eyes screwed shut as he lifts a leg up, unable soothe the joyous ache in his gut.

'Yeah fuckin' right,' Mike says, wiping his eyes with his chubby fingers, 'he's doin' arts and crafts at...'

His laughter quells.

Even his sharp gasps for air dissipate.

Roland continues to laugh, only, after a few moments of silence, he clears his throat, his breath clawing at the inside of his throat.

He finds the hairs on his arms stand up, the wrinkles on his sickly face appearing as his peeling lips come together while lifting his head to look at Mike.

The elder man is pale, staring blankly past him into the sea.

'What?' Roland slowly asks, staring at the man, a smile tugging at his lips.

Unmoved by his comment, he turns his head to look in the direction where the man is looking.

Sinking his teeth into his bottom lip, he holds his breath as his eyes scan over the area.

There's the depth of the sea, they have passed the rocks he's heard in many account from those who have survived the sirens.

There is nothing there but the sea and the sky.

'Got ya',' chuckles the man behind him, continuing to laugh in the same manner he was laughing in before, 'you really thought I was gonna say that there's a siren there, didn't you? Gotta get them off of your mind, son.'

‘I know,' Roland retorts, 'the skull faced freak really helped... like medicine he is, strange fellow, yet so good for the soul, eh?'

'Good for the soul, but not the wallet,' snorts the latter. 'Wouldn't even say he's medicine, you're givin' him too much credit by sayin' that.'

'Oh?' Roland says, 'then what do you suppose he is then?'

'A witches potion,' he answers.

'Even that seems too nice,' says the spotty man, 'a quacks remedy is more fitting I think.'

The pair of them begin to laugh again, the waves crashing either side of the boat, and with every second they grow further and further from the little pile of rocks, and he finds his aching muscles are soothed.

The bustling cheers of the sailor help to warm his heart and he begins to think that he can stomach some rum.

A drop wouldn't kill a man, that's for sure.

In fact, it'll probably work well to settle his stomach.

'I think I've had a change of heart on the invite,' he says with a smile, 'drop of rum never killed anyone, has it?' he continues on brightly as though he had not been moments away from emptying his guts all of the deck. 'Well, it hasn't yet, at least.'

'That's the spirit,' Mike grins, 'probably help you with that uneasy stomach of yours, know it helps with mine, at least,' he says so while patting his stomach, looking over his shoulder to towards the door beneath the top of the ship where the Captain stands.

The man doesn't even move to address Mike, keeping his eyes set right in front of him, his hat tilted slightly downwards to keep the sun out of his eyes.

Opening his mouth to respond, all air exudes from his lung as he feels an ice cold touch on his shoulder.

Slowly, he turns his head, looking down to the wet patch on his shirt. A short breath escapes him as he notes the webbed hand, nails as sharp as daggers digging through the fabric of his shirt.

'Gonna take more than a quacks remedy to fix your issues,' a soft voice whispers as the hand on his shoulder shifts, and with one fair slash, the skin on his throat is shred as he is pulled overboard.

A gargled scream escapes him.

Writhing against the strong hold, his eyes water as he gasps for air as his body is dragged under the current. Swallowing mouthfuls of blood and water, he chokes out babbled for them to come back, for them to stop as the ship charged through the seas.

Cruelly, the siren holding him keeps him above water as he chokes.

'Don't worry about them,' says the voice behind him, 'water's waitin' for them, a pretty song is too.'

With that, he cries out in agony as your nails are drove into his stomach, the flesh snapping as you drag your fingers through his stomach.

'You helped in her capture,' you seethe, 'you're lucky I haven't flooded the entire fucking town, but if I don't find the man who murdered her, you best believe that entire town is going to drown in the same water as you.'

'T- They'll...' he wretches out, the strength in his kicks calming as his eyes grow heavy, '...kill you,' he firmly states, gritting his teeth.

A loud laugh graces his ears as your grip on him loosens.

'Only if they can swim with a slit throat.'

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚ ☾ ˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

Blood washes off easily with water.

It's the nails it's difficult to remove it from, and he struggles with all his might as he stands at the edge of the shore, scraping his nails into the sand. It doesn't help at all, though, he still insists on doing so; it's the only time the stain of red is obscured.

The beach is bitter to him these days, and even though his mouth is protected from the elements as he keeps his balaclava over his mouth, he still feels a faint tingle on his mouth as he recalls the moment he spent here with you.

You're difficult to avoid, especially whenever he's passing the beach on patrol. Price has made a point to keep him away from it, placing him next to the Lords house during his patrols. He says it's to make it easier on him, so he's not as distracted while doing an important job.

When he's near the Lords house, his ears ring with the sound of your screaming and crying, and the blood under his nails grows darker.

There's a temptation whenever he's nearing the house; one cut to the throat and he would be dealt with.

As easy as that.

Truthfully, the old man has nothing to do with the issues going on within, but he's clamouring for someone to hate, for someone to blame. The old man made the orders, they could have just let her go, but they didn't.

And then you left with her.

In the morning after Serelia's burial, when he woke to an empty bed, his lungs turned to ice. It was unlike anything he had ever experienced, the feeling of utter despair as he found the pink dress he had bought for you gone along with yourself.

There was no residue of body heat on your side of the bed, he struggled to find anything to even prove you existed as he rushed around the house with wild eyes.

'Sweetheart?' he called, forcing the door to the bathroom open.

The light shined in from the window, though, there was nothing in there aside from the bloody frock he'd helped you remove the night before.

Picking it up off of the ground, he held it out in front of him looking at the drying blood in the fabric. He didn't know why he did it if anything, it only works to worsen his panic.

In the midst of public, eyes are everywhere... what if someone heard your confession to him? What if it was the same someone who hurt Serelia?

He dropped the dress promptly, his hand over his mouth as his face paled at the very thought of you being taken- of you meeting the same fate as the poor siren he'd buried. Only, in the memory, it was your face he was covering with the shabby old white sheet he found in the cabin, and it was your blood on that dress and not hers.

For the next few minutes, he spent them on his knees, gripping the edge of the toilet as he threw up what little he had in his stomach, ridding his body of the last moments he had spent with you.

After the remnants of the pastry he'd eaten before were in the toilet bowl, he suffered through a terrible burning in his throat as his face grew hot as he thought against all urges to throw up anymore. Yet, he failed, a mixture of stomach acid and spit landing in the bowl.

The smell was grotesque, yet, the taste of it was even worse.

His eyes were teary when he eventually forced himself off of the ground, rushing out of the room, quickly changing into his uniform, leaving the skull of his mask in his bedroom, tying the balaclava around his face before rushing out of the door.

People look at him with raised brows, finally able to see the top part of his face, yet, he doesn't care as he sprints through the village, his heart pounding against his chest, hoping that one of the women passing him is you.

The library is closed, you can't be there and he wants to scream as he holds the side of his head, his throat tightening up. How he longed to have the simple luxury of seeing you sat in the library again with a book on your lap. Though, as he peered through the glass of the small building, the space was simply a husk.

Heat climbed up his neck as he heaves out desperate breaths. His skin grew itchy and his blunt nails clawed at the flesh on his neck as he gulped hard attempting to chase after air, to find some form of peace to calm himself.

You left in silence, you left without a goodbye- surely you wouldn't have been so cruel to do so. You would have said something to him, left something for him to let you know that you were okay.

The missing dress is the only form of hope he had, though, the missing dress means nothing; someone could have taken that with you to make it look as though you left on your own accord and not someone else's.

The world is spinning as his breathing quickens, he can hardly make sense of anything around him and he finds himself growing more frustrated by the second. You could be anywhere, he hadn't let you out of his sight for more than a month, and the moment he sleeps with you beside him is the moment you disappear.

After the library, he checked the beach, yet it was clear, not a being in sight, nor a siren.

You were nowhere to be found.

The crashing waves and the grey sky swelled in his head rendering him speechless as he blinks back the tears, clenching his fists as he turned away from ocean, returning back to the village.

When he opened the door to the station, the first face he was greeted with was the both who Price had tasked with the mission of looking after Serelia.

The fool who was sloppy enough to leave her by herself.

'Mornin' Si', you want a tea?' Johnny asked, turning his attention away from Rhys standing beside him.

He doesn't care to respond to the man, instead, he grabbed the throat of the man beside him, slamming him against the wall with gritted teeth.

The man startled in his hold, letting out a loud gasp as Simon's fist around his neck tightens with the intent of only loosening when he felt the bone crunch in his fist.

'You fucking bastard!' he screamed.

Rhys doesn't dare move, weak wretches escaping him as he squirmed in his hold.

A hand grabs his shoulder, 'woah, woah, hey, Simon calm down!' Johnny exclaimed, 'you're gonna kill the fuckin' kid.'

'That' the whole point,' he snapped, 'you let that fuckin' siren die.'

'I- I didn't,' the man managed out.

'You left her alone and she was fucking murdered- this is your fault, Price put you up to it and you left her with no one there to protect her and she died.'

At that point, he could hear the blood in his veins, and had he not been forced off of him by Johnny and Price, he very well would have snapped the kids neck.

Rhys fell to the ground with a harsh gasp while Price stepped in front of him and Johnny kept hold his arms. When Simon stepped forward, Price placed his hand against his chest, shoving him backwards.

'Simon,' warned the man, 'bring it in, I've already got the death of that fucking siren on my case, I don't need another one to account for too.'

His eyes grew blurry as he looked at the man.

'What's wrong?' Johnny asked from behind him, 'whats happened?'

Everything folded in on itself, the cold morning, the absence of you and your dress, the bloody dress on the floor. Everything, every single thing he built with you collapsed, and he was unable to keep it all together as he ripped his arms from out of Johnny's hold.

Looking past Price, he pointed his finger in the direction of the brown-haired man on the floor, clenching his teeth, 'it's your fault she's fuckin' gone,' he seethes, 'all your fucking fault,' he mustered up before storming out the Station, blinking back tears as he returned home, knowing you weren't going to be there.

The beach is bitter now, but the memory is worse.

He doesn't know why he bothers to sit at the beach during the nighttime, perhaps it's in the hope that you'll reappear, or maybe the moon will send him a sign that you're safe somewhere her, and that the only part of you with Serelia is the skirt from the bloody frock he still has in his house.

It's peaceful at night, especially with the waves rolling in gently, and he imagines you're sitting on a rock somewhere, humming a sweet tune, causing trouble as you did so.

Anyone else would have been horrified with the confession, though, as he thinks about the damage that the people in the village have done to you, he wishes you'd flood the entire village and wipe it clean of all the scum in it.

At least then, even if he were to die in the flood, he'd die knowing that it was by your hand and no one else's.

And in his death, the man who he was held back from would also meet the same fate. That's all he's asking for.

Unsheathing the dagger in his belt, he drives it into the ground, dragging it through the grains of sand, taking his eyes from the sea to the deep line he's carved into the sand.

The throat of the Lord or Rhys would be better suited, though, he knows the fate awaiting him if he does something like that.

As he stares at the sand, the crunch of boots against the sand or the creak of a lantern behind him catching his attention though he doesn't turn his head; he knows the walking pattern well... he needs to get lighter on his feet if he's going to attempt to scare him.

'Thought I'd find ya 'ere, Lt,' says the man, walking beside him, not bothering to ask him if he can take a seat beside him. With a grunt, he lands on the ground, exhaling as he looks to the man sitting beside him. 'You've been comin' here since she left.'

'You spying on me?' Simon retorts.

'Seen you while on patrol, actually,' Johnny answers, 'difficult to miss, a big lump of coal you are,' he says with a chuckle, 'ya looked like you needed the company 'cause you've been keeping to yourself for months, and I know ye not typically a man of many words, but you've become a Ghost.'

He doesn't answer him, instead, he drivers his knife further into the sand.

'You gonna tell me what's actually going on, or are you gonna keep it a secret so no one can help you?' he asks, 'I've been thinking about the state of you the morning you nearly broke that kids neck, I've never seen you like that before.'

'You'll never see me like that again.'

'What did the death of that siren have to do with her leaving?'

His knuckles whiten around the knife.

'Kyle told us she was in a right state when Rhys got to the Station that morning. You forced him to keep everyone away from the cabin but the entire village heard her crying,' he explained, 'it was the talk of the town for days after.'

Looking at the man sitting beside him, he fights against the truth.

'The siren was what she was here for, wasn't she?' he asked.

Simon's breath gets caught in his throat.

'I've been goin' over it for weeks whenever I get a spare minute, the carry on out of her, her washing up on the shore out of the blue- not being able to remember the name of where her and her sister were goin' on that ship... none of that was true, was it?'

'No,' Simon answered, 'she told me when we found Serelia, we buried her and in the night she left... or someone took her,' he said.

'You think someone took her?'

'She was screamin' for the entire fuckin' village to hear, Johnny,' he snaps, letting go of the knife as he turns his attention back towards the ocean, 'anyone coulda heard her, including whoever killed Serelia. And I just keep goin' over it.'

He knows he'd never be able to forgive himself if such was confirmed, for what kind of protector would he be if he couldn't have stopped that monster from getting to you?

'What if she just... went back to the water?' he asks, 'that's where she belongs anyway, right? If she got a hold of the girl, she would have went back with her anyway.'

'She didn't say goodbye,' Simon utters.

'Maybe she didn't say goodbye because she knew you wouldn't be able to go,' he shrugs, 'if she woke you in the middle of the night and told you she had to go back home, would you have let her go?'

As he looks out onto the water, he contemplates his question, thinking back to the very night he lost you. He recalls the pair of you lying his bed, how you mumbled one last 'I love you' to him before leaving. Only, this time, you didn't leave without telling him. Instead, you look him dead in the eyes and tell him that you have to go.

Even debating the scenario in his head causes his heart to hurt.

'No...' he begins, his eyes narrowing as he keeps his eyes trained on the water.

It's difficult to see in the darkness, though, the light from the moon against the water highlights something bobbing closer and closer to the shore. Raising to his feet, Johnny looks up at him.

'You see that?' he asks, motioning over to the water.

The blob in the sea dips and raises with each wave rolling in, though with his mask and tired eyes, he's unsure if he's seeing something because it's there, or if his imagination is simply willing it to be sign he has been craving for the past couple of months.

'Aye,' he says, raising to his feet.

The pair stand idly staring at the bobbing blob.

'Whatever it is, it isn't alive,' says Johnny, watching as the man beside him shrugs off his cloak, untying the ribbon of his mask and pulling the balaclava off of his face, allowing it all to fall to the floor.

'Keep an eye on it for me, won't you?' Simon asks, looking over his shoulder, not bothering to wait for a response as he rushes into the water, heading directly towards the mysterious mass in the water.

Wading through the water, his pants grow heavier as his boots fill with water, though, he's uncaring as the water reaches his waist. The closer her gets to the body, the darker he finds the water grows.

'You know what it is yet?' calls the man on the shore.

Squinting, he reaches his hand out, placing his hand against the strange mass, pulling it over so he can see what it is.

Hollowed out eyes stare back at him, the sockets devoid of eye balls as he stares at the corpse a float in the water. It's intestines brush against his knee as though they have a life of their own.

The sight is brutal and in the darkness, he can't quite make out the feature of who the body is.

Grabbing the corpse under its armpits, he turns his head back to shore to see Johnny waiting with eager eyes to see what has been uncovered.

'It's a dead body!' Simon says with a grunt as he pulls the body through the water, leaving a trail of blood behind him as he drags it with him.

From behind him there's a slosh of water, the stammering breaths of the man appearing right beside him as he gawks at the corpse. He doesn't say anything, quite reserved for a man who is looking death in the eyes. Instead, he grabs its arm, helping Simon pull it to shore.

The heels of the corpse dig into the sand as he's pulled back to shore, the pair of them dropping him with a huff. Their clothes drip against the land as Johnny grabs the lantern he left beside Simon's masks and cloak, holding it over the body so the pair of them can grasp what it is they're dealing with.

The torso of the corpse is naked, the flesh of its stomach looking as though some sort of wild animal had gotten its hands on him. Only, its the intent of the cuts that tells him otherwise, his throat hangs open, exposing the top of his spine and vocal cords, loose flaps of skin blowing in the wind as the corpse leaks sea water and blood onto the sand.

As Simon moves his eyes up, he lets out a brittle exhale.

'This is one of the fellas who left on the ship today,' Johnny comments, looking to Simon who simply keeps his eyes glued to the chest of the man. 'Roland...' his words trail as he rips his eyes from off of the corpses face, all to see the very thing that Simon is staring at.

Johnny gulps.

'Your girl capable of doing that?' he says with a raised eyebrow.

In the bloody mess of the man, he finds exactly what he has been hoping to fine since he woke up that morning to find you were gone.

Of course, it could have been a shark attack- something other than the work of your hand, only, the confirmation of life is etched into the body as though it's a stone tablet or a tombstone.

Carved into the chest of the dead man is the word 'murderer'.

Simon smiles at the sight of the corpse, looking out onto the water.

'That's her,' he breathes, looking towards the moon, 'she's alive.'

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚ ☾ ˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

The thing is, with humans at least, they're fragile when it comes to pain.

When something seems out of the ordinary, they're inclined to shit themselves and become a crying blubbering mess, begging for mercy as though it is them who are innocent when they acted with the intent of taking another's life.

Even the strongest man cowers when they're forced to encounter something unknown, and you rejoice as you blood at the bloody man on his knees before you.

The curse of the moon never truly left you, still tied to the humans upon leaving the water, and while you have a prolific distaste for you can no longer join the sirens upon the rocks, it works well when the ship is driven into rocks and one of the men manage to scramble to the shore.

He thinks he's safe until you walk from out of the water.

The tides turn and the small smirk on his face disappears as he realises you do indeed have legs and can walk right up to him. Either way, he's a fool to possess such smugness, a song from the water would have drove him right back to you anyway.

'P- Please, please, please, I- I'm sorry, what do you want? I'll give you whatever you want, you want money?' he chokes out, holding his hands out in front of him.

The blood of his friend you plucked from off of the ship mingles with the sea water as he trembles in the cool breeze.

Some dry patches even stick to him, a clump of congealed blood sticking to one of his eyebrows. Trebling hands dig into his pockets as he holds out a handful of golden coins.

You think of Simon briefly, smiling to yourself as you recall the soup you attempted to made with the golden coins he had given you. How you basked in the light of his home eating the slop in the bowl, but none of that mattered because the pair of you had each other.

And then your mind falls to the dress he gifted you.

The dress you left on the bathroom floor, the dress you ripped to leave a piece of yourself with Serelia, the dress stained with her blood.

Raising your hand, you slap the money out of his hands, the coins landing with a hollow thud onto the sand of the a small cove. 'I don't want your money,' you snap, grabbing his shirt, pulling him to you with gritted teeth. 'I want you to answer my question, and if you dance around it, I'll cut you from gut to gullet and let the sharks eat the rest of you body.'

'Of course, o- of course, anything, I'll tell you anything you want to know,' shudders the man, tears flowing freely down his wrinkled face.

Edging closer to him, your face is right in front of his, you can smell the booze on his breath as he sniffles, looking at you doe eyes.

'Who killed the siren you captured?'

He looks at you, opening his mouth as he stumbles and trips over the words leaving his mouth. All attempts to form words are lost to the panic he works himself into as he attempts to think of an answer which will satisfy you, yet keep whoever is guilty safe.

Your grip grows tighter on his hair.

'I- I don't know, I don't know, I'm sorry,' he sobs, 'please- please—'

Shoving him back onto the ground, you turn away from him, clenching your fists.

'Bull-fucking-shit.'

His sobs simmer as you look back to the water, taking a moment to contemplate his response. And, you find that you don't like what he has to say, in fact, you fucking despise it because you know for a fact he is full of shit.

Turning sharply on your heel, you look at the man, taking a breath before bringing your hand across his face. He falls with a huff, his face pressing against the sand as he lets out another pitiful cry.

'Wrong answer, try again,' you demand, leaning over, grabbing a fistful of his greasy hair, pulling his head up. Your breath ghosts his ear as you speak through clenched teeth, 'who killed the siren?'

'I- I heard whispers around the village!' he blurts, 'they said that whoever it was was smart and no one suspects them of it... b- but I know it wasn't the man you murdered.'

You let go of his hair.

The only people who knew where Serelia was were the Guards of the village and you know Simon would never have done something so brutal. Price cares too much about his duty to do something so horrible, even though to him, you're sure her death was much more of an inconvenience then it was a heartbreak.

Your mind aches as you go down to Johnny and Gaz. Why would they do something so cruel? As much as you despise their kind, you struggle to see why they would bring harm to her. It wouldn't make sense- even Gaz told you he would have freed her if their hands were

And then your heart stops.

Confirmation is the one thing you have longed for since returning to the sea, the one thing your sisters have wanted for the longest time. You looks at you with wide eyes, stammering out whispers as you release your hold on him.

The entire time you thought she was safe, she was in the hands of her murderer.

Your self indulgence and brief romance cost her her life.

Placing your hand against your forehead, you pace back and forwards in front of the man.

'The boy who Price hired to make sure she was safe,' you mumble to yourself, wiping your face with your hand. How could you have been so blind? Word never got out about her being anywhere, he never went home that night... he disappeared and Gaz couldn't find him that morning.

He was getting rid of the evidence of his crime and he succeeded.

Walking down the sand, you ignore the calls of the man as you return to the water. There's nothing around, no land, no safety, simply just a small cove a lot of soldiers don't account for until it is, fortunately, too late.

'Hey! Hey! You can't leave me here!' screams the man as you walk further into the water. 'I'm going to die out here! There's nothing around here, please, I told you what you wanted, how some mercy.'

Stopping in your tracks, you exhale, peering over your shoulder.

'This is mercy,' you briefly answer before walking into the water, disappearing out of his view for good.

Even under the water his screams travel though you don't care to show any form of kindness as you move away.

He deserves his death for his attempted lie, and you also find anger bubbling for you know what you have to do because of his confession- something you have been escaping for a while.

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚ ☾ ˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

They work well on the side of the law, they stick to it as much as they can, though, when the pair of them shared a look while on the beach, they both knew what they had to do.

The breeze is gentle as the move the body further up the beach, occasionally turning their heads to look upwards in the direction for any sign of life as they do so.

Roland's intestines drag along the shore, his body leaking blood and water, leaving a gruesome trail behind the pair of them. Fortunately, the water will wash any trace of gore away and it will be as though he never existed in the first place.

'Why has she decided to pop up now?'

'First ship at sea for months,' he states, 'I'm surprised she hasn't tried to drag the entire village underwater with how torn she was.'

'What did you do with the girls body?' he asked, 'had Price choked up as he tried to explain to the Lord where the body disappeared off to, as far as he's concerned, there's no such thing as sirens cause he hasn't seen it with his own eyes.'

The old Lord is stubborn in his ways, that the pair of them know well enough not to bother questioning his reasonings. Upon his return, Simon recalls the look of upset when Price had to inform the man that they, as the guards of the village, failed at their duties. The body of the siren was nowhere to be seen, and he had to stand and watch as the Captain was subject to a brutal scolding, knowing well where the sirens body had disappeared off to.

It was unfair of him to do that, risking John's position all to keep the burial ground sacred and untouched, but he was still bruised and bleeding from the events that had taken place that night and the morning following.

All he can think about while standing in the room was the look on your face, how your bottom lip wobbled as you laid the fabric of your cherished dress upon the deceased girl, not bothering to consider your love for the item on your body, rather, the love you had for the woman lying in the ground.

Nothing was worth destroying that moment. Nothing.

'Buried it,' Simon answers, 'she's buried at the top of the cliff, just past the Lords house,' he says, setting the man down on the ground as they edge closer and closer to a small cove beneath the cliff, looking up at it.

'Lookin' over her home, ey?' Johnny asks with a small smile, 'her idea, I'm guessing.'

'It was mine, actually.'

'Didn't know y' were the sentimental type, Lt,' he comments with a smile, 'didn't know y' even had a heart.'

'I do,' Simon retorts.

'Really?'

'Yeah... a cold one.'

He doesn't miss the way the latter rolls his eyes.

'Wouldn't be sayin' that if she was here with you right now though, would ya?' he laughs, taking a breath before the pair of them continue to move the body. 'No, I can imagine y' now, all loved up. Thought of it makes me sick.'

Simon fights off the urge to scoff.

'Just say y' jealous, Johnny.'

'Oh, I am so jealous. I wish I had you to fall asleep to every night,' he whispers, his eyes moving from Simon to the body in their arms, 'cause, if that were the case, we'd be in bed right now, not carryin' a dead body, which your siren girlfriend mutilated, to hide it in a fuckin' cave,' he huffs, the darkness of the small cove swallowing the pair as they walked into it.

'These are typical activities for couples. We'd still be doin' it.'

Johnny doesn't bother to respond as the pair of them move further and further into the beast belly. 'Y' sure no kids gonna stumble across this corpse; he's gonna start to smell.'

'Tides rolling in tomorrow morning, not goin' back out until night,' Simon says, 'he'll be dragged back out to sea before anyone else gets to him.'

'Well, I hope y' right; if not, your girlfriends gonna be in a lot of trouble when the people in the village find out about this,' he says, finally relieving himself of the duty when he feels Simons hands slipping off of the body.

It lands in the wet sand of the cove with a wet splat, and the pair of them stare through the darkness, Johnny lifting his foot to find where exactly they placed the body.

'You think she's gonna come back?'

'Didn't dig her nails into him to for fun, Lt,' he answers, 'I reckon she'll show her face soon.'

Whether it is a few days, or even weeks, he doesn't care.

'I hope so.'

As long as you find your way back to him, the knowledge of you living is enough to soothe his weary eyes.

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚ ☾ ˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

The sisters of a siren are fierce and loyal, even when your tongue burns as you speak to them of the events which had happened during your time on land.

You suffered similar hardships to Serelia, at least, they're convinced you did.

So, as you address the group with blown eyes drawn to the surface, explaining your reasoning as to why you should tread the land, to go back into that village, you're hardly surprised when their looks change as they address you.

Motive is of importance and you wish to solve the case, to bring justice to the woman buried on the cliff edge.

But, selfishly, you're also wishing to bring justice to a man who you wronged.

'Return to land?' a voice barks, 'you will do no such thing; the last time one of us went on Land, her life was taken from her cruelly, I'm not allowing that to happen to you, not at all,' she continues.

You stare at her, looking around at the other disapproving faces which surround you. There's still a void where she would have sat and you feel your lips pulling down into a frown as you stare blankly at the space beside the woman who holds her pointer finger up at you.

'It's irresponsible, you'll get yourself killed if you do that.'

'I finally have confirmation of which human killed Serelia, Raithe,' you respond, rubbing your face as you turn your eyes from the empty space to the angered siren. 'I can kill him, I will kill him, but I need to be on land in order to do so.'

There's a brief silence between yourself and the ground and you feel your chest tightening as you observe all their faces. While stoic, you feel as though the sea is pressing all its weight down onto you in an unlawful attempt to drown you.

Though, in the eyes of unhappiness, you find that you would be thankful if the sea had such a mercy on you.

'I don't understand why we never lead the entire village into the sea,' another siren says, batting her blonde eyelashes as she looks at you, 'would've have gotten this over in a second. We kept our silence up in the first place because they never got as far as killing one of our own, but they captured her and held her as a prisoner- they held you as a prisoner too,' she continues, 'why are you showing them mercy? They deserve to drown for their crimes.'

You pale at the thought of committing such an act against the village.

'Because...' your words trail as you take a harsh breath, sinking further into the current, 'there are children in the village- that's not who we are.'

All of them raise their eyebrows in your direction and you feel small as they do so. Your shoulders touch the lobes of your ears as your entire body tenses.

'That not who you are, not anymore at least,' Raithe scoffs, narrowing her black eyes. 'You've gone soft.'

'No I haven't,' you refute, 'I- I just—'

'She's in love she is,' another speaks, pushing through the water, moving behind you to grab your shoulders. Pushing you closer to the group, her grip tightenings as she forces your neck to the side, the base of her nose ghosting your flesh as inhales your scent.

You freeze as she does so, the only saving thought being the fact that you haven't been held by Simon in months.

Her sharp nails press against the flesh on your stomach, her eyes narrowing as grabs your face, forcing you to look at her.

'Tainted, you are,' she says, 'look in her eyes, look how she moves, you're protecting the very humans that killed our sister,' she accuses, the looks on the others faces hardening in your direction.

'You don't want to go on land for revenge, you want to go and see whoever you were with during the time you were supposed to be searching for Serelia,' Raithe exclaims, 'you are just as much of a monster as those humans are, you wicked little witch!'

'No, no I'm not,' you quickly blurt.

'Then we flood the village; they're all guilty of murder because they helped take her in the first place,' answers the black-haired woman simply.

With beady eyes you look at her, and when a tight-lipped smile appears on her face, you feel the sudden urge to vomit.

You sense betrayal burning in their beings and have an overwhelming desperation to be away from them despite the ties of blood that keep you bound as sisters.

You're released from the hold of the siren behind you all for your face to be caught with the hand of Raithe. Keeping her webbed hand against your face, her grip tightens on you, nails digging into your cheeks as she grits her dagger-like teeth at you.

You squirm in an attempt to escape her hold, yet the only thing you achieve as you do such is forcing her nails deeper.

'You chose your side even before this meeting,' Raithe seethes, 'you chose it when you let Serelia die, you chose it when you lied to us because you are in love, Amalise is right,' she laughs, shaking her head. 'You love a human, how can you be so sure they wouldn't do what they did to you what their kind did to Serelia?'

'B- Because he isn't like that,' you cry, 'he isn't like that, he took care of me, he did everything he could to make me happy and he helped me bury Serelia.'

Your eyes grow wide as you realise the confession that accidentally slipped past your lips.

You don't miss the collective gasp, nor do you miss the feeling of Raithe's hold on you loosening, pulling away from you completely.

'You buried her?' Amalise asks, 'you buried her on land?' her tone raises as she clenches your fist.

'I couldn't have—'

You're struck with a razor sharp hand.

Her claws tear the flesh of your face as you're thrown through the current.

For a moment, you're much too dazed to realise what has happened until your grabbed by the throat.

'How fucking dare you!' Raithe screams, 'you lied to us a- and you buried her on land away from us so we cannot visit her? You are no siren, you are just as monstrous as those humans.'

Her fist tightens around your throat, specks of darkness appearing in your eyes as you attempt to pull her hand off of you. Your nails dig into her flesh, but she doesn't budge.

'You wish to be a human so bad, right? That's what you want, you're burdened by being one of us because if they knew, they would kill you because that's who they are.'

'N- No,' you choke out.

She edges closer to you.

'I don't believe you,' she utters, looking over her shoulder, 'I say she returns to the land, let her human have her,' she suggests, addressing the other sirens.

Much to your horror, they nod in agreement.

Raithe turns back to you, cocking her head to the side as she narrows her black eyes. 'You can be there to witness his death when we lead him to the sea,' she firmly says as you weakly writhe, blood pouring from the slash on your face, a tingling washing your entire body as your hands on her wrists falter and the world begins to grow dark.

'See if he still loves you with a ruined face.'

A final wretch escapes you before you're forced into darkness, leaving the world behind with the disapproving look of Raithe being the very last thing you see.

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚ ☾ ˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

Patrol around the village these is quiet, and while he enjoys the silence most of the time, he can't help but hate the silence he's plagued with as he's walking around the dark streets.

No matter where he walks he can never escape the sound of the crashing waves. Typically, he enjoys the sound of the water, of the gulls squawking as he passes by the beach, only, ever since uncovering the body of that sailor, he's found the sound only takes him back to the leaking body parts and hollow eyes.

In his time he has seen a lot, yet, that truly takes the cake.

It's for a good cause, Simon knows the implications of the siren attacks and if word got out to the village folk, it will sure be difficult to fix. Their silence has been in their favour as he hardly hears mentions of Serelia in the village anymore, yet, he knows the fear is still there for a lot of people.

Like a criminal, while on patrol, he cannot help but return to the scene of the crime, watchful eyes looking over the shore in search for blots of blood.

It's difficult to know why he is doing so; as far as he's concerned, no one knows what the pair of them did, and truthfully, if someone does stumble across the body, he is fine.

No one suspects a guard, the protector of all.

Sea foam coats the bottom of his boots as he mindlessly wanders further down the beach, his tired eyes looking up towards the moon sitting in the sky. Despite the clouds blocking any stars from his view, the moon makes sure to make her presence known.

If he weren't so tired, maybe he'd acknowledge the red tinge marking her surface.

'Hey you,' a voice hisses.

He stops, snapping his head to look around, his forehead wrinkling as he spies a woman a few meters away from him sitting in the water.

Upon first glance, he straightens his posture, preparing to scold the woman for being so careless, walking out into the water alone in the dead of the night.

Then, the water around her shifts as she lifts her tail up from out of the wind, the moonlight catching the green tinge of her scales.

'Bloody hell,' he blurts out under his breath.

Before him lies a woman with thick, long black hair.

She kicks her tail up, resting her arms around the ground as she stares up at him with wide, black eyes, offering him the best smile she can muster. Her teeth are as sharp as knives and she trails her tongue over the points of them as she grins.

'Come closer,' she requests.

'Ye gonna kill me, lassie,' he responds, 'I know ave got a fun haircut, but am not that stupid.'

The woman scoffs.

'I'm asking you nicely,' she sharply states, 'walk away and you'll be right back in the water with the sound of a song, so I advise you do what I'm asking of you and come closer.'

She grows as cold as the wind as she stares at him, her brows furrowing as she looks in his direction.

Goosebumps form on his skin, and while his head is telling him to do anything else, he relents to her demands, slowly moving closer to her.

The water touches his boots as she sighs, pushing herself off of her stomach, rolling the water with a bright grin, lifting her head to look at the man with a giggle.

'Oh, you listen so well, who would have thought a human would be obedient,' she chuckles, allowing her webbed hands to fall above her head, merely missing the edge of his boots. 'I've got something for you,' she claims.

'A death sentence, perhaps?'

'There was a girl in this village a while back... few months ago now, looked as you did, with your legs and your gill-less necks, but she wasn't true to you, nor your people for she was a siren.'

His eyebrows raise upon her words, and she laughs harder.

'Oh so now I've got your interest now... I don't suppose you're the lover she had while she was on land, are you?'

'Nae.'

'Do you know of the man who she loved?'

'Aye, he's my friend,' he says with a nod, 'you know where she is?'

'I have her with me, some of my friends are keeping hold of her,' she explains, 'but... we've been having a talk, you see, and she no longer views the ocean as her home, nor does she view us as her sisters; she has been tainted by your kind.'

Her face contorts in a horrific manner as she pokes at the tips of his boots. Though, he doesn't move, knowing better than to sacrifice the happiness of Simon for the sake of his own safety.

The man needs this- he needs you back.

'I'm a woman of morality and I am not going to force her to stay where she doesn't want to be, and quite frankly, she is no longer one of our own- rather a traitor to her own kind,' she says, sitting up from off of the ground, looking out at the sea, 'so, you can have her, let her seek out the man who she loves.'

Everything she's saying seems too good to be true.

As he looks away from the woman, two more heads appear above the water, though they are that of shadows as they move forward. As the move closer and closer, the black-haired woman reaches out with greedy hands, and from out of the water, she plucks you, pulling you up the shore with a grunt.

In the moonlight, he catches the brutal gash on your face, how you tale shimmers in the moonlight before it melts into the sand, dissipating in a crude shimmer as you're pushed to him.

'What have y' done to her?' he asks, rushing towards your unconscious form, shrugging his jacket from off of his shoulders, using it to cover you.

'She isn't dead,' answers the black-haired woman, 'that would have been too kind,' she barks out a laugh, watching as Johnny takes you into his arms, staggering backwards from her. 'No need to fear us,' she gently coos, 'at least, not yet.'

He doesn't care to listen a second longer as he looks down to the deep wound across your face, rushing across the beach towards the steps which lead back into the village, the cackle of the siren booming.

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚ ☾ ˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

Nighttime is quiet now.

Whenever he isn't working, he's only plagued with violent desires and ideas, tossing and turning on the sofa, curtains drawn so the moon cannot see him.

His feet hang off of the sofa, a dull ache in his spine as he lies in darkness, unable to sleep.

Tonight is particularly difficult as his heartbeat thumps against his chest and he finds himself tossing and turning at the very fact that, the night before, he got the confirmation he has been longing for for months.

You're alive.

Only, after a while of joy, he finds sadness lurks beneath the realisation as Johnny's point of you returning to the water very well may be true, meaning you left him willingly.

Your absence is cruel in that sense.

He's staring at his skull mask, slowly dozing off as the pounding sound of fists against his door tear him from his dazed state. They're eager, quick and desperate. If they knock any harder, they very well might knock the door down.

With a snarl on his face, he pulls back the thin sheet drawn over his body, marching up to the door. From beyond it, he hears pants for air, not missing a thick accent uttering, 'c'mon bonnie, you're fine, yeah?'

Immediately, he grabs the handle of the door, forcing it open with a hard pull.

The knocking stops as Johnny looks up at him with wild eyes, shoving past him with a body in his arms, rushing into the living room. For a moment, Simon keeps his eyes trained on the now empty spot where he was just standing, a short breath escaping him as he recalls the familiar colour of the hair.

Slowly, he closes the door, listening to the ragged breaths of the man, turning to him with his stomach in knots. He watches as you're placed down onto the couch, air escaping him as he notes the red stain in the mans white shirt as he turns his attention to him.

'It's her, Si',' he says.

Simon doesn't move.

'Some siren was sittin' on the beach, she gave her to me, said she'd betrayed her kind- that she's no better than us,' he explains, moving away from the sofa to the bookshelf, his hand patting along the wood in hopes of uncovering the box of matches he's spied a few times.

Moving over to the sofa, Simon reaches his hand out to you, resting it down on your shoulder. You're cold to the touch, the scent of sea water filling his nose as he hears the scrape of a match and the crackle of a wick.

An orange light is cast over your being as Johnny stands beside him with a candle in his hand.

From out of the darkness appears a crude claw-like mark on your cheek, blood dripping from the harsh gash down onto your bruised neck.

'What the fuck did they do to her?' he asks through gritted teeth, tearing at the fabric of his own shirt, kneeling down beside you, pressing the fabric against the cut on your face.

A noise escapes you when he does so, and he feels a heat bubbling in his stomach.

'You're okay, sweetheart,' he utters gently, keeping a firm pressure on the wound.

'I don't know,' Johnny answers, 'pulled her out of the water and gave 'er to me... said they don't want her anymore.'

Blood soaks into the fabric of his shirt as you stir.

A moan escapes your mouth, and as your eyes slowly open, you're aware of the agonising pain emitting from your cheek. Then follows the feeling of a familiar sofa, the sound of familiar voices and the warmth of a familiar hold.

Opening your eyes, you're greeted with the sight of Simon in the candle light.

Despite the bags under his eyes and the addition of a few pink scars on his face, he still looks as glorious as he did the night you left him.

'Simon?' you choke out at the sight of him.

You catch a shift in his eyes as he looks at you.

'I'm here, love,' he gently says, 'you're safe; I've got you.'

You can be there to witness his death when we lead him to the sea.

You hear her voice, her cruel tone, and the coldness of her words flood through your veins, fighting off any ounce of warmness from Simon's reassurances.

I shouldn't be here.

In the blink of an eye, you're sitting up and his hold is removed from off of your face as you scramble to the other side of the couch, wincing as a harsh dizziness floods your senses and the desire to vomit springs upon you.

'N- no, no, no,' you quickly say, lifting your head with narrow eyes, pulling the fabric of Johnny's coat against your bare body as you look at the two men with teary eyes. 'How... why, why am I here? How did you get me here?' you ask in a panicked tone.

Simon looks to Johnny and Johnny looks at you.

'There was a siren on the beach—'

'Who?' you snap, 'what colour was her hair?'

'Black... bonnie, are you okay? What happened?'

'I can't be here,' you ramble, 'they're gonna do something bad, they're gonna do it all because of me and- and I—'

You begin to cry.

'I can't be here, you've got to let me go,' you beg, attempting to raise to your feet, all for the dizziness to keep you down. 'Please, please!'

You feel as though the world is ending.

Unable to escape the horror of the words expressed, you fight against yourself and the urge to spill your guts all over the floor of the living room, your tears seeping into the wound on your face.

Simon moves closer to you, placing his hand against your knee, looking up at you with teary eyes.

Reaching out your hand, you rest it against his cheek as more tears flow freely, letting out a hiccup upon being graced with the warmth of his face.

'I'm sorry,' you cry.

Placing his hand over your own, he shushes you, 'we'll talk about it once you've told us what's happened, alright sweetheart?' he asks gently, 'what happened?'

His calmness in the face of horror is unnerving, and as you look in his eyes, you spy a darkness in his eyes. You wish to be in his arms, but your temper keeps you from fulfilling the urge as you press your trembling lips together, wincing as you swallow.

'They know,' you say, looking at Simon, 'they know about you,' you choke out, 't- they think I'm a traitor and they want you dead- they want to put the entire village to death for what happened to Serelia.'

His hold tightens on your hand.

'Why didn't you want the same as them?' Johnny asks, 'very well could have put the entire village under water if y' willed it.'

'Because there are people here who don't deserve to die,' you sniffle, 'there are innocent people here a- and it isn't fair to punish them for the violence of someone else's hand,' you explain, 'they're blinded by their rage, and if I were without experience, I would be too.'

You curse the part of you which still sympathises with the people who cast you out, though, you know enough to understand who the true villain is. Not the sirens, not the humans, rather, the ignorance of both sides refusing to see the perspective of the others.

And here you are, attempting to piece together a bridge.

The pair before you don't speak and you feel your heart beating quicker as you look into the eyes of the lover you abandoned many moons ago. You spy betrayal in his gaze, though his anger is not directed towards you.

'They're gonna lead the entire village underwater,' you breath, 'I don't know when they're going to do it and I don't know how to stop them when they finally do decide they want to do it,' you say, your eyes welling with tears.

'Oh love,' Simon exhales gently.

'We won't let anythin' happen, lass, y' have my word,' Johnny reassures.

You suppose he wants you to find comfort in his words, yet, his enthusiasm only works to bruise you further; you know there's nothing either of them can do, not against the call of a siren.

'I offered to go back on land,' you whisper, 'I told them I could do it; we finally got the name if the man who killed Serelia.'

'This have somethin' to do with the man y' massacred?' Johnny asks.

'I was following the ship because I recognised him,' you answer, recalling the tone he carried while talking about the man in front of you.

Even if he hadn't been responsible for helping in her capture, you still would have been taken from off of the boat.

'He was one of the people who carried Serelia off of the beach. He deserved what became of him.'

To regret would be to forgive, and you will never forgive a man who did something so terrible.

'We crashed the boat, all but one died, and I asked him if he knew who did it. He told me he didn't know who, but he had an idea of who did it; people around here know that whoever it was is close to the guard.'

Both Johnny and Simon share a look.

'Y' not saying you think it's one of us, are you?' Simon asks, to which you quickly shake your head.

'No, no, I know neither of you would do that- not even Kyle or Price would stoop that low... it's the one who was supposed to look after her, Si'. It was the one who told us she was dead that morning.'

The silence in the room is deafening.

Simon's hand moves away from yours as he slowly begins to stand up, his eyes falling back to the staircase. 'Rhys?' Johnny says, his eyes blown, 'he said he liked her.'

Your eyes stay on Simon's as he clenches his fists, the mellow look which has been on his face since he saw you melting off. Trailing his tongue across the inside of his mouth, you gulp thickly viewing his anger.

'I'm gonna fuckin' kill him,' he coldly says.

It's not a threat, rather, a promise.

Neither you or Johnny say anything, instead, the pair of you share a look before your eyes fall back to Simon who is already making his way out of the living room towards the staircase.

If you speak now, you fear the repercussions of stopping him from doing what he's set his mind on doing; while you never saw anything during your first time on land, you're not unknown to the truth of who he truly is.

'Simon,' you blurt out, unable to fight against your thoughts as you look up the stairs.

He stops in his tracks, heaving out a heavy breath before turning to you. You can hardly make him out in the dim light as he moves, devoid of all the light which makes his so ethereal.

Still, in the light or darkness, he's still the man who holds you heart.

'D- Don't act on that anger now,' you quietly say, 'the only way of saving the village from them is to give them what they want... if they want Rhys, they'll want him alive, and if they don't want me, then I'll stay here,' you say through a laboured breath.

Your heartaches at the thought of leaving your home, leaving the grave of your mother abandoned for all the others to swarm. But, if they so willingly cast you out, then, you suppose they were never truly family in the first place.

'Just... stay with me tonight, yeah?' you ask, 'don't want you to do something harsh when you're not thinking straight; he'll get what he deserves, just not tonight.'

You hear him shift as Johnny sets the lit candle down onto the stand beside the sofa. 'She's right, Lt, can't be doin' something that will keep you away from your bonnie; been away from each other long enough, hey?'

He moves away from the darkness, coming back into the light. You offer him a smile as he places his hand against your shoulder with a short nod. Placing your hand over his, you melt into his hold. Johnny looks at the pair of you with a smile on his face.

'We'll sort out a plan in the morning about what we'll do,' Simon says, 'figure out how we're gonna get him to the sirens, and if they agree with the deal, then we'll offer him up and forget this entire thing ever happened.'

'Aye,' Johnny says with a firm nod, approaching the door, 'make sure y' get her cleaned up, I'll meet the pair of you at the bakery tomorrow,' he continues, pulling the door open, looking over his shoulder at the pair of you.

Simon nods his head. 'Affirmative.'

As the man disappears into the night, the door closes with a click, and for the first time in months, you're finally alone with the man. You don't miss the breath that escapes him, in fact, you grow cold at the sound as his hand leaves your shoulder.

'Si'—'

'Need to get you cleaned up,' he abruptly says, 'we can talk about everything once I know you're okay, yeah? You need to get cleaned up before anything, c'mon.'

Your teeth sink into your bottom lip and you fight against the urge to defy his request. Though, recalling the grey bags under his eyes, you find you're raising from where you're sitting. As he said, you can talk about it later, and for now, you find yourself thankful that he simply wants to enjoy your company.

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚ ☾ ˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

'I'm sorry,' you whisper as soon as your head hits the pillow. Oddly, as you watch the man move in the moonlight, it's difficult to even process the fact that you have been gone for so long.

Your hair is slightly damp your bath, and while the wound on your face feels as though it has its own heartbeat, the dressing covering it keeps it from weeping freely.

'I just didn't know what to do, and- and I was so angry with myself and I didn't trust—'

'Your hand was forced, love,' Simon utters, laying on is side to look at you. 'I just wish you would have woke me up or left me a note- something to let me know that you were okay.'

Your heart drops at the thought of the months of misery he has suffered through by your hand.

Even though to you it seemed necessary, you know better than to impose your own views onto the man who was left wandering where you had disappeared off to for months on end.

Your absence was necessary yet cruel.

'I know, I know I should have and I'm sorry for not saying something to you,' you respond, reaching your hand out to grab his much larger one. He grabs your hand, wrapping his fingers around yours with a sigh. 'I wish I never left.'

'You did what you thought was right in the moment an' I'd be a prick for telling you you were in the wrong for doin' it,' mumbles the man, 'y' had to figure stuff out. All that matters now is that you're back.'

'I won't be goin' anywhere anytime soon if you're planning on staying with me,' you say, 'could kick me to the streets for everything I've put you through; I wouldn't blame you for doing it.'

'Wouldn't ever dream about it, sweetheart,' he says.

You watch as he scoffs before moving towards you, letting go of your hand to grasp your waist, pulling you towards him.

Shuffling closer, you smile as you press your lips against you, a flurry of butterflies swirling in your stomach a you feel his hand on your waist tighten.

All the months of pain melt in the matter of moments as the pair of you hold each other. It's as though the pair of you have been apart for multiple lives, plagued with the memory of each other, until eventually meeting again in this life.

Tears pool in your eyes, your hand pressing against the side of his face, snaking around to tug at his hair as he bites down on your bottom lip.

A muffled moan escapes you, trailing off into a whine when he pulls away from you. A trail of saliva keeps the pair of you connected as your eyes flicker from his mouth back to his eyes.

'I've missed you so much,' you confess, blinking back the tears as he smiles at you. 'So fucking much- there hasn't been a day I haven't thought about you.'

His hand against your waist loosens as he moves his hand under the white shirt he dressed you in, moving between your thighs.

'Missed you too,' he confesses, his index finger brushing over your clothes cunt with a sigh. 'Wanna show you how much I've missed you,' he utters, pressing the tip of his finger into against your clit.

You comply with a kiss, a small giggle escaping you as he pulls you on top of him. Hands sliding down your waist, you begin to undress, all for one of his hands to catch your wrist. 'Keep it on, sweetheart,' he rasps, 'like seein' you in my clothes.'

Colour rushes to your cheeks as you nod your head, hands gripping the waistband of his underwear, pulling them down.

There's no need for anything, the desire to feel him inside you after so many months obscuring any other sense of yours.

You need him and he needs you.

Tugging down his underwear, goosebumps form on your skin when you hear him grunt as you pull them further down his thighs, freeing his cock from his boxers. You sit for a moment, jumping when you feel his hands squeeze your hips.

'Spit in your hand, love,' he instructs.

You feel his eyes on you as you scrunch your nose up at the request.

'What?'

'Listen to me and I'll help you, yeah?' he asks, 'now spit in your hand.'

Your entire face is warm as you hold your hand out in front of your, spitting into it. 'Good girl,' he breaths, 'now wrap your hand around my cock.'

Listening to him, you reach out, wrapping your hand around him. He hisses as you do so, and you pause upon seeing his reaction, fearful that you've done something wrong. 'That's right,' he utters, as precum pools at the top of your fist as you feel him twitch in your hold, 'no more your hand up and down f'r me, love, get me ready for that pretty little cunt of yours.'

A sinful sound emits as you begin to move your hand up and down his cock, your slick hand moving up and down with ease. You feel his thighs tense below you as you move a hand between your legs, your mouth turning dry from the wetness pooling in your underwear.

'That's desperate, princess?' Simon grunts with a smile on his face. You feel the urge to wipe it off of his face, though, you nod your head in agreement, knowing better than to deny something you so desperately want. 'Pull your panties to the side,' he instructs, 'not touchin' that pussy of yours; you're gonna come from my cock an' nothin' else,' he gruffly says.

Letting go of his cock, you do at he asks of you, a small yelp escaping you as he pulls your forward, his cock pressing against you folds as he sighs.

There's a temperament, a desire lingering to keep you on top, though, as he looks at you with your swollen lips and red face, he relents, moving you so you're lying on your bak with him over you.

'Got plenty of time for all that,' he utters, pressing his tip against your hole.

You clench around nothing, shifting beneath him as he presses his lips against yours.

It's different from the last time, you see something different in his eyes as he pushes into you, the delightful sting from many moons ago returning. Arching your back off of the bed, your whimper against his mouth.

'That's it,' he whispers, 'oh fuck.'

Your legs tighten around his waist, a few stray tears escaping from your eyes. It's a mixture of pain, pleasure, and joy. To be back in his arms after so much time a part is a gift in itself, for him to want you back is another. Your mind is racing as you sniffle, pressing another kiss against his mouth.

'Y' okay, yeah, princess? So good f'r me,' he grunts, slowly pulling out of you. More tears fall down your face as you nod your head, your eyes screwed shut as he thrusts back into you. Clicking his tongue, he pushes into you with another grunt, 'eyes on me, sweet girl,' he huffs, 'haven't waited months for you and your pretty little cunt for you to not look at me, have I?'

You open your eyes.

'That's it, there's my pretty girl.'

You clench around him upon hearing his words, legs trembling as he quickens the pace of his thrusts. The head of his cock presses against your cervix and your arms home to his back, nails digging into the flesh of his back.

'I- I've missed you,' you choke out, unable to account for any other emotion as he fucks into you.

You're crying at this point, the tears on the right side of your face soaking into the dressing as he continues to his all the right spots, stretching you out perfectly.

He's ruined you for anyone else, though it doesn't matter; you know you'll never need anyone else when you have him.

'Missed you too, love,' he states through clenched to teeth , 'missed waking up to you and seeing you, but you're not gonna go anywhere now, you're mine.'

'I am, I am,' you dumbly cry, 'no one else's, all yours forever and ever.' 'm sorry for ever leaving you.'

Keeping himself steady with one hand, he brings his other hand to grab your forearm, pulling one of your arms away from his back, taking it into his hold. Your legs tighten around his waist as a crude squelch sounds in the room, h

'Fuck,' you gasp, your hole tightening around him.

'That’s right, love,' he groans, his lips ghosting over your shoulder, his words were low and sickeningly needy, 'you’re so fucking tight,' he moans, resulting in a hiccuped moan escaping you.

Both of you greedily take whatever pleasure came from your messy movements, sweat dropping down your forehead as you tighten you hold on his hand, writhing below him as he continues to hit the spot which has you seeing stars.

'Gonna make sure I'm always here,' you whisper letting out another breathy moan.

Simon maintains a pleasurable pace, a crude slapping sounding in his bedroom, though neither of you care, and through stinging eyes and aching muscles, you admire him in the light of the moon, taking into account all the flaws on his face, the remnants of mistreatment and burdens, swearing to yourself you will never left another pale scar appear on his body for as long as the pair of you live.

'Not gonna let you leave me now, sweetheart,' he begins, staring down at you, his fringe wet with sweat, stray strands sticking to his forehead. 'Gonna keep you safe, fuck,' he schemes, a subconscious smile forming on your face, listening to him speak. 'Make sure y' never want for anything, only me.'

He growls such words with intent and possessiveness, and in the heat of the moment, you're convinced you need no one but him.

And as the tension in your stomach grows tighter, the brunet hit a spot which almost makes you scream, you drag your hand down his back, leaving lines of red behind as you do so. 'And you'll let me do all of that f'r you,' he chuckles.

'I would,' you whimper, 'fuck, I'm close, please,' you beg, as your thighs begin to tremble, you grip on his hand tightening as you press your head back against the pillow.

'Go on, sweetheart,' he says, 'cum for me.'

He winces slightly as he feels your nails press crescents into his skin, his pace growing messy and sporadic as he chases after his own release.

Squeezing your eyes shut, you let out a brittle sob as an orgasm rips through your body.

'Fuck, that's it, sweetheart' he moans, 'I love you,' he grunts out, pressing into your, your cunt against his pubic bone as his hands tremble.

You barely compute the words passing his lips, and in the daze of your release, you continue to cry as he fucks you despite you being overstimulated, a dark groan escaping from the back of his throat as you feel strings of cum paint your insides.

'I- I love you too, so much,' you sniffle, your head falling against the pillow in exhaustion, finding joy in his hold of you and the pleasure which has washed over your body, rendering all your sense his.

Little worries find you in the aftermath, the pair of you much too tired to discuss what can wait for you in the morning, and the only thing that matters to you in the wake of your orgasm is his body being pressed against yours as you slowly drift off knowing that, even if it is just for tonight, you're secure in his hold.

Here, you find a single moment is comparable to an eternity of touches.

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚ ☾ ˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

In the morning, you find yourself sitting outside of the bakery with the ugly green dress you grew to despise during your first time out of the shore, and as you sit beside Simon tugging at the skirt, you startle when he firmly tugs it down, placing his hand down on your thigh, over the skirt to keep in place.

He does so without even turning his attention to you, and even when you turn to offer him a brief look, he doesn't move, keeping his eyes trained on Johnny as he sips from his mug of tea.

'Kyle said he saw another one,' says the man with the mohawk, 'seems they're waiting near the shore for something to happen, or, they're planning on making their move a lot soon than we thought.'

Your face aches as you chew, gulping your pastry down before speaking. 'They wouldn't act so quickly,' you say, 'they want me to get a taste of this before they take it away; when Raithe is angry, she's unforgiving.'

'That's the lass I saw on the beach, right?' Johnny asks, 'the one with the black hair an' teeth as sharp as daggers.'

'Yeah, she's the one who did this to me,' you say, pointing towards the fingerprints around your neck and the clean dressing stuck to your face. Taking a bite out of your pastry, Simon leans further into the table, keeping his hand pressed firmly against your thigh.

'I've put him on patrol tonight,' he says quietly, 'we'll get him alone, call for them to have him and then that will be the end of it.'

'Y' really think it's gonna be that easy?' Johnny asks, 'they seem pretty pissed, don't think they'd really leave us alone that easily.'

'There's nothing else we can do,' you say, 'unless you wanna go into the water and pull them all out one by one and put a knife through their heads, that is.'

Simon's grip on your thigh tightens.

'Cut their tongue out and throw them back into the water if they try anythin',' he cooly states, 'can't sing then, become nothin' but a fish with claws, hardly a threat. They can suffer for all I care.'

Something stirs in your gut as he says so, and while you feel as though you need to keep the women you devoted your life to, you find yourself torn with the desire of seeing the man being so lethal- of seeing how far he would go to keep you safe.

'Sounds like a plan, Lt,' Johnny responds, 'this stayin' between us?'

'Affirmative,' Simon confirms, 'Gaz an' Price don't need to know about it 'cause it'll only cause more trouble if the Captain finds out about it; he won't let us do it.'

'Then we do it tonight, get rid of him and wipe our hands of him,' you say with a grin, 'about time that son of a bitch got what he deserves.'

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚ ☾ ˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

In the midst of the night, you travel down the steps of the shore alone keeping your eyes peeled as you tread down the shore towards the sand. Your hands tremble in the breeze as you feet grace the sand, te rolling of the tide whispering for your return.

You stay unmoved by the moon and her red glow as you push forward towards the sea, holding your hand against your face as it aches.

All the smiling proved to be particularly poor for the placement of the mark on your face, though you push through the pain, you lips drawn together as you peer onto the surface of the water.

'I thought you'd return,' a voice calls.

You freeze.

As a wave washes up shore, the webbed hands of a woman appear, dragging her body out of the water. Her claws dig into the surface, her pointed ears twitching upon seeing you.

'You not bring your boyfriend with you?' she pouts, tilting her head to the side, 'would have been nice, y'know, meeting the family and stuff.'

'I'm not here to make small talk,' you sharply respond.

Raithe looks at you, raising her eyebrows as she looks at you.

'Oh?' she laughs, 'then please enlighten me.'

'I'm here to make a deal with you,' you breath, bringing your trembling hands together.

One shot or you've fucked it.

The woman's laughter booms along the sea as she rolls around on the ground, clapping her hands. 'Oh, you wanna make a deal with me now? It's a real shame what's become of you, y'know? If I didn't know any better, I'd say that boyfriend of yours has some explaining to do.'

Her comments cause your blood to boil, yet, you remain calm, looking her in the eyes. 'We have the boy who killed Serelia,' you say, clenching your fists, keeping your arms firmly placed against your side as the woman hums. 'We'll give you him and you can do what you please, forbid me the pleasure of getting to rip him to shreds for what he did to her and leave this village alone.'

'A generous offer you pose my lovely,' Raithe hums, pressing her finger against her plush bottom lip. 'You got anything else to sweeten the deal or is that it?'

'I'll never return to the ocean,' you say. 'I'll stay away, stay here on land. You can do what you please as long as it remains in the ocean and not beyond it; you know nature did not give us such a gift to act in the manner you intend to act concerning the people in this village.'

You step back from the shore, keeping the water from touching your feet.

'How is that fair?' Raithe asks, furrowing her eyebrows. 'You get to stay here and live out your life with the human you have foolishly devoted your life to while we're kept from Serelia because you buried her on land.'

'By staying here you are keeping me from the grave of my mother, Raithe,' you spit, "I know you're upset, but I have been punished enough. I'm giving you what you want- you want to kill the person who killed Serelia, don't you?'

Raithe's grin disappears from her face.

'You've been scheming so long you forget who the true murderer is. If I wanted to kill the person who killed Serelia, I would have slit your fucking throat,' she snaps, 'a human dealt the final blow but you are just as guilty for permitting it.'

'I was looking for her,' you blurt.

'If you were so committed to finding her, she would be here beside me right now, but she isn't; she's buried on the land, away from her home.'

'Simon helped me bury her on the clifftop!' you yell, chest raising and falling rapidly. 'She overlooking our home and it was him who came up with the idea in the first place- there are good humans—'

'Simon,' she repeats, 'slips off the tongue that name does.'

Your heart is pounding in your chest as you look at the wicked woman in the water. Her mocking grin renders you small, fragile, and you realise your mistake in mentioning the name of the man.

'I must see the man you speak of, see if he's a good match for you or if you could do better. Perhaps he would be a good friend for the water, hm?' she teased, bowing her head as another chuckle escapes her.

The crunch of sand alerts the pair of you, and as you look over your shoulder, you catch both Simon and Johnny walking along the shore, Rhys in the middle of them as he fights against their hold with his hands tied in front of him.

A delighted squeal escapes the woman lying in the sand as she catches sight of the tall man in the skull mask. 'Oh, I've seen you!' she exclaims, 'sitting on the beach a lot, hey? One might say you belong in the water with the amount of time you've spent here.'

'Shut it,' you snap, turning your attention to the three men standing behind you.

When your eyes meet with Rhys' you find you heart urges you to disobey the terms of your own deal, ripping him from the arms of the men, all to have the satisfaction of watching him crying and fight as he drowns in an inch of water.

Yet, even that isn't fitting for him.

His cries are muffled behind the gag in his mouth and Johnny does you the favour of pulling it out of his mouth. As he opens his mouth, he looks at you with wide eyes. 'I- I fuckin' knew it!" he exclaims, 'I knew I wasn't dreaming when I saw you run into the sea that night.'

'You killed Serelia,' you snap, crossing your arms over your chest.

'Didn't think it was that difficult to figure out,' he says, 'no one else knew where she was... well, not until you had your screaming and crying fit outside the cabin; that was a—'

He's stopped as Simon shoves him to the ground. He lands with a thud, all the air escaping his lung as he moans out in pain. Placing his boot on top of the mans head, his face is pressed into the wet sand as he turns to address the woman in the water.

'We got y' the one you want,' he sharply says, 'you take him and you leave.'

'Or?' the woman asks,.

'I cut your tongue out and feed it to the dogs in the village,' he snaps.

Rhys' cries are muffled as Raithe looks Simon in the eyes. Your eye twitches at the prolonged silence, though, when she whistles you find your nerves escaping you.

'A few months ago, you would have had his head for speaking to one of your own like that,' Raithe sneers looking at you, 'but love has your mind warped, my sweet urchin, yes it does,' she scoffs, her eyes narrowing as she turns her attention down towards the water. 'You have yourself a deal, Simon,' she says with a smile.

Relieving his boot from the head of the sobbing man on the ground, Rhys picks his head up, fat tears rolling down his face as he writhes on the ground, attempting to push himself up off of the ground. 'P- Please, I'm sorry,' he sobs, snot trailing down his upper lip as more heads appear from out of the water.

You're far from envious of his position when his shoulders are grabbed. Though, you long to be in the water for what is about to happen.

His screams are hoarse and rough as he's ripped from his home, and as you walk back to stand beside Johnny and Simon. Rhys claws and fights to stay on land as Raithe pulls him further and further towards the water.

Other webbed hands appear and the shrill shriek the man lets out is cut off by a hand covering his mouth as he's dragged into the water.

Upon his disappearance, you allow a breath to escape your mouth as you lean against Simon, rubbing your tired eyes. For months you have dreamt of this very moment, the moment the man who caused so much trouble is finally met with the punishment he deserves, and when his hand breaks the surface of the water again, you grin at the sight of the sea turning red, chunks of his clothing surfacing.

As savage as sharks are the sirens.

'It's done,' you mumble, turning away from the scene.

Simon looks down at you, 'you wanna go home?' he asks.

You nod your head, as the three of you begin to walk up the beach, your blood running cold as a familiar cackle catches your attention, though, you do not turn to address the woman. Instead, you catch Simon's hand in yours pushing further up the beach as Raithe calls out to the three of you.

'Lovely meeting ya, Simon! Hope to see you again some other time!'

His hold on your hand tightens just as it had done during the night before as you walk away from the sea with him by your side, never intending to let go of him ever again.

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚ ☾ ˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

It's as though you never left him, and every waking moment you spend with him is a blessing. How a human can be a home is a strange concept to you, though, its an oddity that you're fond of.

'Are you gonna eat your dinner or are you going to keep staring at me, sweetheart?' asks the man with a laugh.

Dropping your head, you look down at the plate of food you helped him prepare, your cheeks flushing with colour.

The wound left by your absence is but a wilting scab at this point, the skin beneath unmarked by the actions of your past for the pair of you have an understanding of you where your loyalties lie, and as you pick your head back up to look at him, you understand that your loyalties lie with one another.

'I don't know,' you mumble, 'difficult to take my eyes off of you.'

He grunts at your words, picking his fork up from the side of his plate. 'Your foods going to get cold,' he warns.

You pick your fork up, rolling your eyes, 'you're no fun.'

He lets out a short laugh, 'of course not, love. Got a job to stick to after all.'

'Not while you're with me you don't,' you say.

'Once a siren, always a siren,' he comments.

Setting your fork down, you grab a boiled potato off of your plate, throwing it at him. Unfortunately, he's aware of your plot and manages to duck of of the way before it hits him.

A small laugh escapes you as you're quick to push your chair out, raising to your feet as he does the same. A squeal escapes you are you rush out of the kitchen into the living room with him hot on your trail.

Sprinting up the steps to his bedroom, you shriek as he grabs you and pulls you against his chest. 'Let me gooooo,' you whine, writhing in his hold, 'it was an accident, it slipped out of my hand I was literally about to eat it!'

You land on the bed with a thud, continuing to laugh as he looms over you, his forehead pressed against yours as you look up at him with a bright smile on your face.

'You've got to believe me.'

'You picked it up and you threw it at me,' he answers back, 'I know y' clumsy, sweetheart, but fuck me, are you really that bad?' he asks, pressing his forehead against yours.

Bringing your hands up, you hold either side of his face, looking into his eyes with a sigh. 'I love you,' you say, abandoning the joke the pair of you were tangled in. His stoic expression shatters as he smiles down at you, placing a chaste kiss on your lips.

'I love you too,' he utters, before placing his lips back on yours.

In the safety of his arms and his home, you live in high spirits as you know, even when the four walls and the roof are not there to shelter you from a storm, the man with his lips against yours and a hand under your skirt will always be there for you whenever you need him.

Selfishly, you hope he's there forever and ever all for you and only you as you cherish every single part of him.

The regrets from your actions in the past remain on you in the form of the scar on your cheek, though, he sees you no different as he watches your naked body dripping with sweat in the confines of your bedroom, even when you're simply sitting in the library reading a book.

All the time his eyes are on you as though you're the only girl in the world and in return, he knows that you're eyes remain on him and only him.

'You're gonna be the death of me,' he breathes, as you shift, feeling his fingers pressed against your hole.

A smirk appears on your lips.

'Only if it's by your hand I die and no one else's.'

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚ ☾ ˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

'Simon.'

In the dead of night he wakes to the faint sound of a whisper.

It's something calling for him, a song which shakes the very vibrations of his home, and as he opens his eyes, he captures you sleeping soundly beside him, though, he doesn't care for you as he pushes himself up and out of bed.

His headaches and he wobbles as he climbs from out of his bed. It's as though his body is on autopilot, permitting whatever strange force is pushing him to proceed with his usual routine as he gets up from out of bed.

He walks as though he's a monster, devoid of all consciousness, his limps sluggish and flimsy as he pulls on his clothes for work. You don't move and inwardly, he's unsure why he's doing so; the moon is out, full and round as she peers through the open window, and he knows it's still going to be a while before he has to leave for work.

Still, the urge pushes him to get ready for the day, and he reaches for the skull mask settled against the table near the window of his bedroom, tying it around his head.

You remain sleeping in bed as he moves downstairs, determined to find the noise which causes his head to pound. It feels as though someone is pressing their fingers into his head all to see which part of the brain bleeds the most.

The answer is all of it, though the voice continues to pick away at his skull with such persistence he's rendered aggravated as he walks through the door.

His entire body is on fire as he treads the streets he was walked so many times, though his feet drag against the roads of the silent village, arms firmly pressed against his sides as he presses on with tired eyes and a dry mouth.

The voice changes its tune, no longer calling his name, istead, speaking words.

'Foolish mortal men.'

In a conscious state he would be questioning the words addressed to him in such a manner, he would be questioning why he walks with the intent of making it to the water, and he would be returning back to his home with an ache in his chest for ever thinking of leaving you alone.

But he doesn't.

Instead, he drags his feet with determination coursing through his veins.

To the ocean he must go; the voice is calling him and he cannot fight against the words bouncing off of the streets of the village.

'Sinking into the watery depths of the...'

It grows tired as he edges closer to the water, the crashing of the water flooding his ears, coaxing his burning mind with a brief cure. t's not enough, however, his mouth is dry and his tongue burns, eyes longing for the fiery thirst to subside.

His entire body feels as though it's on fire, and the sea stares back at him, water washing up the shore as the arms of a human would when offering a friend a hug.

Something else is staring too.

'Sirens den.'

The voice is oh so soft, almost a whisper as he makes it onto the beach. The village seems so puny in comparison to the greatness of the vast ocean and he wonders why he ever bothered living on land when the ocean i right her at his fingertips.

Shrugging his cloak from off of his shoulders, he releases himself from the burden of the confines of that stupid cloak, the balaclava from around his mouth falling to the ground after.

It all feels so freeing, to fall under the command of the great sea, to see the beauty in the very thing he has despised for so long. Such an outlook is a blessing, he finds.

It's necessary. It's constant.

He is nothing in comparison of the ocean and her greatness.

No one is anything but flesh and bone existing in one place at one time while she is there, her arms wrapped around the entirety of the planet.

How foolish he has been.

'For a woman in the sea,'

He thinks of you and all you have done for him, how you have freed him, though he finds you and your existence pale in existence of te water which invites him in with open arms.

At first, you were difficult to deal with, untrusting.

But she isn't, she guides him and she's leading him to safety- to the place he belongs. Such a blessing she presents him with and everything you have done for him is nothing as she cools his burning flesh.

It's better than any orgasm he has reached while in bed with you, so inviting that he proceeds to walk into the water deeper. Nothing is enough, her presence is too little. He needs more of her to settle the dull ache in his head and he wades through the water with the intent of finding such.

'is never just a friend.'

The tune stops.

Suddenly, the sea is no longer in his favour and he's turned away with a cold rush of water covering him.

A sharp gasp escapes him as he looks around him, the water up to his waist, waves crashing against his bulky frame as he looks around with stinging eyes. His blood runs cold as he turns his attention back to the village. Then his eyes fall back onto the water.

He knows better than to trust the situation, wasting no time to turn away from the distant abyss of the water, pushing himself through the water all to make it back to land.

To make it back to you.

The depth of the water is relieved, sinking from his waist to mid thigh.

A grunt escapes him as a surge of agony hits him with the fierce intent of keeping him from getting home and he lands with a splash into the water as razor sharp nails are pulled from out of his his thigh.

'Unfaithful scum,' utters a voice as hands from all angles poke from out the water, grabbing him as he attempts to fight his way from out of their hold.

They're merciless as the hold him and keep him to the water while his heart and mind long to be back in bed beside you. He fights and fights, though in his drowsy state he's far too out of it to do anything.

'She's better off without you, Simon.'

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚ ☾ ˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

You awake in bed alone, a banging at the door ruining your brain. However, you don't let it distract you as you spend a moment looking at the empty spot in the bed with a frown.

It's miserable to wake without him in the morning as you have grown fond of spending time with him, lying in bed, drawing patterns on his bare chest, listening to his many stories, or simply just basking in the heat of him.

The bed is cold without him and you shiver as you push yourself up, scoffing at the manic knocks against the door. It's persistent, nearly urgent. You pick up the pace, wrapping Simon's shirt around you as you rush down the stairs to the front door.

Grabbing the handle you pull it open, 'about fuckin' time, Si', you're—'

'What?' you blurt out, looking at Johnny and Gaz standing at the door, 'he's at the station, isn't he?'

The pair of them look at each other before looking at you.

'Nae, lass,' Johnny says, his mouth falling as he looks at you. 'We've been looking for him.'

Your blood runs cold.

He's probably with the Lord or something, it wouldn't be the first time he's be asked for a favour by him.

'Where have you checked?' you ask, quickly slipping on your sandals.

'We've been up and down all the streets to his usual spots, we've even checked the Lords house and he hasn't seen him either... this isn't like him,' Kyle explains, 'he's committed to his job, he wouldn't just not show up and—'

'Have you checked the beach?' you blurt.

Both of them shake their heads and with that, you're running out of the house, rushing to towards the beach.

A wave of panic washes over you, and as you rush down the main street of the village with teary eyes, you feel as though you're rushing to Serelia all over again, only, this time, Simon isn't behind you to comfort you.

People blurt out curses as you push yourself through the crowds, bounding towards the beach just as you did when you returned all those months ago.

Your chest burns by the time you make it to the steps, and as you run down, you stop at the sight of a black mound on the shore. Gulping thickly, you rush towards the pile of fabric, reaching down to retrieve it with a trembling hand.

It's his cloak.

Tearing your eyes away from it, you look down the rest of the beach, dropping the fabric as you follow a scattered trail of belongings. You pass by his balaclava which has been covered in sand.

The wind beats against you, pushing your hair back as you fight for your breath. There are pieces of him covering the beach, just as Serelia's scales covered the floor in the room of that dingy little cabin.

All hope is crushed as, right beside the water you spy a small chunk of bone sitting in the sand. You don't wait as you rush towards the water, spying the shape of his skull mask sitting right before the mercy of the water.

It's as though you're in a nightmare you cannot wake from.

You can't breathe.

As the realisation hits you and the skull mask sitting on the shore stares back at you, you fall to your knees, your wide as you look out at the murky sea, falling onto your stomach at your fingertips ghost the skull sitting against the shore.

A jagged breath escapes you as you pull your hand away, unable to catch your breath as you fall backwards onto you bottom, hands pressed against the sand. Rushed steps appear behind you, though you don't budge, nor do you flinch as a firm hand is placed on your shoulder.

Johnny appears in front of you, his mouths muffled as a tear slips from your twitching eye, staring out into the water all to see Raithe staring at you in the distance, a wicked from forming on her face as she pulls a skull mask from out of the water, holding it up by the silk string he used to tie it around his head with.

Your eyes fall back to the skull sitting on the surface, you breathing quickening at you turn your head to the side, heaving as a cold numbness floods your sense. Your tremble as you force out a sob, your throat tightening.

The skull meters away from you is not his mask.

It's him.

𝙼𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝

TAGS: (If you would like to be added to the tag list let me know!) @forever-twenty-two-years-old @phantomreadsandreblogs @iizx7y

[run-little-hero]

TW // Death threats, a little blood

“So this was your plan all along,” says Villain.

Hero has nothing to say back. The beginnings of a confession are lost somewhere in the chill of the beating rain. It’s not worth acknowledging. Villain has discovered the truth exactly as Hero planned for them to.

They continue, “Get me to trust you, let you use me, make me believe we have a common enemy.” They step forward. Their voice hides beneath the pattering rain when they utter, “How blind I’ve been.”

Hero clenches their teeth, straightening. “Correct. But it took a lot of work to get this far, so don’t be too hard on yourself.”

Villain laughs. “Course. Should’ve known there was something wrong when you suddenly began to enjoy my company.”

“I do. Truly.”

“Well, that makes it all better.”

Villain has learned Hero like a language. Their structures overlap, their consonants and vowels the same. They are threads tied together, and Villain can’t find an end between them. How is it possible to know someone’s soul so intimately and still be betrayed by them?

Hero remains silent. Villain speaks up, “What now? Do you kill me?”

Their head tilts downward minutely, something only Villain can catch, as the motion tugs a string inside them as well. “You’d do the same thing in my position. You know it’s necessary.”

“None of this was necessary, Hero.” Making me care so deeply. Maybe they’re right.

But no, what else do they have if not their hatred, however feigned? Enemies in the eyes of the people, everything in the eyes of each other. Exploitation of this relationship has brought them closer, and Hero is thankful. Mirror images, they know Villain must be as well, deep down.

A spark of anger ignites in Hero, for Villain would dismiss them so easily. “It was. Betrayal doesn’t cut so deep for people like us. We can survive it. You’ve already assessed the damage and decided it won’t kill you.”

“‘We can survive it.’” Villain’s eyes burn hot, tears creeping forth. They feel like a fuse has been lit inside them. “You think I’ll forgive you when you intend to take my life? You think I’ll forgive you while I’m bleeding out?”

“Death often puts people in the mood to forgive. Compassion is more easily repaired than mortality.”

“We’re not like other people.” Hero and Villain now stand inches apart. “How do you expect to live without me?”

Hero locks eyes with Villain. “I think that will become abundantly clear once you’re dead.”

In an instant, Villain is pressed against the nearest wall. Hero is crushing their windpipe.

“D-don’t,” they grunt out. “You’re suppose t-to be a hero.”

Just as Villain begins to black out, the pressure on their throat relieves itself. They’re tossed to the ground, choking on rain.

“I’m saving so many people by snuffing you out. And avenging countless others.” They glare down at Villain, and it strikes Villain that this is the first time Hero has looked so furious.

Something about it is so amusing Villain can’t help but smile. “Don’t—” they cough, forcing the words to scratch their way out of their throat. “Don’t act like you care.”

“What?” Hero knows what Villain is getting at. They’re pulling an ugly truth out of Hero.

“You love me. For better or worse.”

“You’re a narcissist.”

“So?” They spit. “Don’t act like you care about saving anyone. This is about defeating your only weakness.”

Hero is silent. One of the best and worst parts of finding an equal is being known. Right now, there is nowhere to hide.

“I’ll still kill you,” Hero threatens.

“But do you have to?”

“Yes.”

Villain stares up at Hero, holding them hostage through eye contact. “What if I loved you back?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Well, maybe it should. Maybe you should reconsider your plan.”

“No,” they growl. Suddenly, Villain is knocked back against the pavement, pinned in place by the body on top of them. There’s a blade at their throat. Where did that come from?

They catch their breath. Excitement is their foremost emotion. “We can be partners. I’ll give you a life worth living. We can be together every day.”

“I know better than to make deals with villains.”

“You said we could be saved.”

Villain feels the sting of the knife cut into their skin, just slightly. Hero is shaking.

“I am saving us. I’m preserving what we have. There is no world for us out there. Not together.”

Villain finds the strength in their left hand, and reaches towards the blade at their neck. Their hand covers Hero’s trembling fingers.

“There can be. Please,” they whisper. “Aren’t we worth saving?”

—

snippet #6

[what-have-i-unleashed]

Inbox open? ITS MY TIME!

Why not reaper x dust? You already said something about them and you were the only person to ever mentioned them on my feed 😭😭

Maybe Dust seeing traces of Reaper in the death of his victims? Or maybe with Dust dodging death after so many resets and Reaper gets frustrated and decided to pay a creepy visit?

Feel free to change it!

weeeeeell, the only reaper x dust/murder i can write is of my own au so i hope you're not averse to that lol.

something short since i don't want to write too much for it (since i have stuff planned for the fic already). somewhat tied to chapter 2 and chapter 5 of "are you satisfied" in themes that is. set in murder's backstory.

(warnings: heavy angst, death, murder, hallucinations)

in the eternal winter of home, you are the fire that burns - a ravenous, raging inferno that grows and engulfs everything until all is ash.

and yet, you cannot shake off the coldness in your heart, as if the ice has frozen your soul completely.

death is easy, to deliver and to receive. with every strike you make at your victims, a short-lived heat ignites in your veins, striking some life into your dead body. you want more and more of that warmth. the lick of satisfaction, of righteousness, of love.

no matter how much you consume, you are a monster that will never be satisfied.

you see it sometimes. death. a sudden wisp of black in the grey dust-covered air that you breathe in. a phantom warmth hovering just next to your restless body.

maybe you're going insane.

as if you weren't already

sometimes you feel the invisible gaze of death - an itch you cannot scratch away, despite how much you make yourself bleed.

you're alone in this crusade of yours (you're not).

you will be free one day (you won't).

one day you can finally rest (you can't).

you'll burn, until none of you is left.

dividers by @\cafekitsune here

[marsbar17]

OH yes please absolutely make a part two pretty please with a cherry on top 🥺💗

I gotchu babe 😘

More of the legends finding out that you're a ✨️masochist✨️

This is the next 5 legends in release order (excluding caustic and revenant, request if you wanna see them though)

Also apologies the pet names in other languages are mostly masculine but if your femme just imagiiiineee

CONTAINS: pain kinks, spanking, biting, praise, degrading, bruises, electric shocking, bondage, sexual torture, overstimulation, knifeplay, and scratching :)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

•Mirage

All he wants during sexy time is to worship you. You give in to his need for praise all the time so he might as well return the favor, in any way you want. When you tell him you want him to hurt you he's a bit hesitant, but realizes that pain isn't exclusively hardcore shit like slapping or punching you. He probably prefers marking you up with hickeys and small bites than other things.

"You're so pretty for me, baby. Now everyone will know you're mine."

There's never a moment where you don't have a hickey. Once they fade he just gives you more. Occasionally he will spank you lightly or bruise your hips from holding you but that's only when he's been really frustrated.

•Octane

He'll do anything to make you cum as fast as possible, and as many times as possible. If pain is your thing, he's all for it. Anything to feel you shaking and quivering in his arms. When you keep asking him to go harder, grab you, slap you, anything, he just laughs and smiles before obeying your demands. He loves that he can feel you squeeze around him everytime he spanks you.

"You're clenching around me, muñeco. You're a twisted little thing aren't you? I like it."

He spanks you, not super hard but fast and sharp. He'd probably be into knifeplay too. Any man with a butterfly knife is into knifeplay, I'm right. He leaves small scratches along your thighs, not enough to scar, just enough to bleed and sting.

•Wattson

Finally getting to write about my favorite character <33

She's a woman in stem, she's gonna be up for trying a variety of kinky things. That's my opinion on women in stem, coming from someone in stem. She's probably already brought up something like spanking, electric shocking, basically soft sexual torture. She'll tie you up and attach muscle stimulators to your thighs, watching you twitch uncontrollably. You're little "experimenting" sessions always end in you crying and overstimulated.

"Interesting... You're enjoying this quite a bit, aren't you, mon chéri? Want me to increase the intensity?"

None of it is done specifically with the intent to hurt you, or a need for power over you. She just wants to know all the ways your body responds to her torture. Spanking, overstimulation, bondage, electric shocks, muscle stimulation, None of it is specific painful, but it's so overwhelming that after a while you end up sore and sensitive.

•Crypto

Okay unpopular opinion but this man is pretty vanilla. He's not not super against trying new things but he probably draws the line at bondage and blindfolding. When you tell him about how you get turned on by pain he hesitates and looks uneasy, but he's reassured when you tell him it doesn't need to be super hardcore. He's more comfortable with the thought of light spanking than slapping you in the face or nipple clamps yknow. Feeling how you clench around him though, he might start spanking you harder.

"Y-you're squeezing me so much. 씨발~"

Just generally softer and lighter stuff. If he's close he might hold you hard enough to bruise but other than that he sticks to light spanking. My man has enough people he takes his anger out on (ahem ahem mirage and octane) so when it comes to you he just wants to feel loved and to make you feel loved.

•Loba

The trailer for Kill Code part 4 just came out as I'm writing this and like, my gurl needs some stress relief. The rage in this woman's body never ends man. She probably figured out your kink while fucking you to let off some steam and accidentally digging her nails a bit too hard into your skin. The way you squealed and whimpered made her think she hurt you at first and she stopped to check if you were okay. Once she saw how glazed over your eyes were though her concern turned to a sadistic look.

"Oh you liked that? I'm going to have fun with this, beautiful~"

Now that she knows she can let out a bit more rage on you and you'll gladly take it, she does all kinds of shit. Everything you can imagine pain wise, yeah. Obviously she doesn't want to scar you, at least not a lot, you're too beautiful to ruin just for temporary pleasure. So spanking, light scratching, overstimulation, biting, all that jazz.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I intended to post this a couple days ago but then I fucked up my sleep schedule and today I got my wisdom teeth out so I completely forgot jfbdbsjsk, lemme know if a part three is in order :)

[ashintheairlikesnow]

If you ever feel like writing a Drabble where Misha is on a date and gets broken up with please tag me, cause I’d love it 😈

CW: Whumper POV, sadistic whumper, Misha thinks a lot of violent things about basically everyone

-

A muscle in Misha's jaw twitches as his teeth meet, grinding together with the effort it takes to just... listen. He's wildly aware of the steak knife lying next to his right hand, convenient as can be, but probably nearly as dull as a bread knife.

"It's just... I kind of feel like you don't actually care," Michelle says, and looks at him with big, imploring eyes. He thinks about gouging them out and putting coins there, something Tyoma read to him once about paying for the ride to Hell. "Not, like, about me, but... well, yes, it feels like you don't care about anything, me included."

He nods, breathing carefully. "I don't think that's true," He says, and his voice stays mild, but the rage burns him up from the inside. It's the only thing he ever feels with any level of strength - every other emotion feels sort of faded by comparison, but anger... anger is bright and sharp and hot and good.

She raises her eyebrows, disbelieving, and then lets out a little laugh, picking up her fork to pick at her salad. "Okay, fine. Name one thing you even remotely care about more than yourself."

That's easy. Misha doesn't even hesitate. "My brother."

Her hand stills, a bit of lettuce dripping ranch dressing pierced right through, as if the vegetable bleeds white with green flecks. Misha's eyes flicker down to it, wondering if he could get a pitchfork all the way through a torso and try to recreate the image. When he looks back up at her face, the expression on her face is a strange one.

"... Yeah, okay," She says, speaking slowly. "But... like. You and your brother aren't... normal about each other."

"What does that mean?"

If she insults his Tyoma, he will slice her face to ribbons, even if the trail leads right to him. It'd be worth it, to show her ruined body to Tyoma and say, look, she said bad things about you, look how much I love you that I have ensured she can't say them again.

"I... I don't know, Mikhail." She says it almost like Michael in her stupid American accent, and he swallows down a correction. It isn't worth it. "I just mean... look, my brother's a couple years older than me. I know tons of people with brothers, and none of them spend as much time together as you guys do. And, like, he looks at me like I'm intruding on you two."

"Tyoma only wants to protect me," Misha lies, smooth like oil.

Tyoma wants to protect you from me.

"Right. But. Still, like, it's weird, right?"

Misha exhales, slowly. Tyoma always tells him to breathe away the anger before it takes over when he's in a place where people will see it. He tries, he really does try.

"I do not think so," He says, placing each word into the air, picturing them as stones he drops to weigh her down, drag her under the surface of the water. "We come from Russia when we are little, we have only each other for long time." His accent is thickening, he's dropping the unnecessary English words that used to drive him up the wall.

The other kids laughed because he forgot the 'a' or the 'the' in so many sentences, and sometimes he scratched them up or bit them, and then Tyoma taught him how to stop himself, how to breathe first.

"No, I get that-"

"Do you?"

She swallows, and she sees something in his face. He knows she does, because she sits up suddenly, her spine straightening. She's tense, now. He thinks about when she explained to him that she keeps her keys between her knuckles when she walks late at night out of her job at the mall, how she never wears her hair in a ponytail because that would make it easier to grab. All the little rules she lives by to keep herself safe. He hadn't been paying much attention, it had seemed like so many pointless little games.

"Yeah," She says, and her voice is a little husky, now. "Yeah, I do. You were all by yourselves when you moved here, I understand that. But, like... that was more than ten years ago. And dating you still feels like I'm dating you both, except that I kind of get the feeling that your brother isn't into the idea."

Misha hasn't ever considered it that way. He looks to the side, out into the eternal rain. Why his parents moved to this part of the country, where a drizzle is good weather and sun is a rarity, will never make sense to him. "I can see why you think this," He says, finally, and his voice is softer now. He can see Michelle relax.

It's her own fault, not realizing that predators are often quietest just before they strike.

"I like seeing you," He continues, and looks down at his own steak, half-eaten, so raw it might as well be bleeding on the plate. "I am sorry you do not want to see me any longer, but we can stay friends?"

"Yeah," She says, and he wonders if she's lying. Misha lies all the time, about everything, constantly. But he can never tell if other people are lying - mostly, he doesn't care. "Yeah, friends. Listen, I'm gonna-... if you're okay, I'm gonna go. Do you mind grabbing the check?"

She's leaving, he thinks, and making sure she's gone before he can follow her out.

It doesn't matter.

He knows where she lives, works, who her friends are...

Tyoma would tell him this would be too close, people would look at him. Likely suspect, unlike the strangers in bars he's never seen before. Unlike the women walking the streets with no one to report them missing. Tyoma is right, he's right, and so Misha pushes it down. Instead, he looks over Michelle's face, memorizing it as best he can.

"No problem," He replies, and pushes his chair out, standing up to offer her a hug. She looks unsettled, but unwilling to make a scene - she steps into the hug, and he reminds himself not to hold her tight enough to hurt. He breathes in her perfume.

"I will see you around," He says, voice kind and soft, unworried. Unbothered.

"Yeah," She mumbles as she breaks away from him. She grabs her purse and he watches her go. She has her phone in her hand and then to her ear before she disappears from the window, and he thinks about how she's probably calling someone so she'll be on the phone all the way to her car, in case he runs after her.

In case he gives chase.

Misha, though, just sits quietly back down and cuts another bite of his steak.

He will forget her in a week, or two or three, and find some other girl. He has no doubts he'll find someone new, there's always someone new. It's not like he cares about them, he just hates when they leave him.

But Tyoma will still be there.

He finishes every single bite of his own dinner and about a third of Michelle's remaining salad before he pays and leaves, walking out into the nighttime rain without even batting his eyes against the droplets that land on his lashes.

Even the anger is fading, now. No feeling stays in him for long, he flits from one to the next. Only the itch is permanent. Michelle can go - he doesn't need her, or even care about her very much. He just hates being refused.

He sits in the driver's seat and dials the only number he knows by heart.

"Allo," Tyoma says, sounding like he's been woken up out of a dead sleep. Misha grins, knowing he'll be all mussed up, hair in his eyes. "Mishka? Vse khorosho?"

"Yeah, is fine," He answers in English. "Michelle breaks up with me tonight."

"Oh." Tyoma hesitates, then asks, gently, "Are you okay?"

Misha's smile widens. If he can't feel enough for things to matter, Tyoma at least feels enough for both of them. It's cute, that he thinks Misha might be heartbroken. "Da. Is fine. I want to go out tonight, though, find someone."

Tyoma's silence is so long that Misha breaks it with laughter, shaking his head where he sits in his car.

"Not like that! Uspokoit'sya, Artyoshka. Just to meet girls. Do you have work?"

"Mmmf, no. My night off. I can go. I can... what time s'it?"

"Eight-thirty."

"Mishka..." Tyoma groans. Misha can see him collapsing back into bed, head against the pillow. "I sleep for only four hours!"

"I know. Mne zhal', Artyoshka," He isn't, he isn't sorry at all, "But I want to go out. You will come with? Yes? If I come home, you will go with me out tonight?"

If Tyoma says yes, he won't kill anyone tonight. If he says no, Misha will find someone who looks like Tyoma and kill them instead, take pictures, and show Tyoma what he's done by caring about a little sleep more than his own brother.

He's picturing, with delight, what it would be like to see Tyoma's eyes go so wide and scared of him, like the others do before they die. How handsome Tyoma would be bleeding. But all his big brother does is sigh heavily. "Da. I need to shower and dress. Come home?"

"I will." Misha sighs, feeling so much better already. Even just thinking about fixing the itch helps, a little. Even if he would never ever hurt his brother, sometimes thinking about it is just... fun. "Tyoma?"

"Da?"

"Thank you. You are a very good brother."

He hangs up before he hears if Tyoma says anything back. Tonight will be just for drinking, dancing, and maybe seeing if any girls will go into the filthy bar bathrooms with him, and he won't hurt anyone. He won't hurt anyone at all.

He can save that for later.

Especially if any of those girls like Tyoma more.

[steelycunt]

omg you’re WELCOME tumblr.com for the collab of Ridi x Siken I take gifts in the form of german cars or freshly baked pies just an fyi!!! Hmm okay can I pls have either 3 or 5! xx

HELLO BAB! FIRSTLY cant thank you enough for this ask game its wreaked absolute havoc on the dash xx SECONDLY sorry this is so late! i am the slowest of all time xx its kind of long though so there's that!! and THIRDLY: i went with five in the end!! some post-moon angst xx

He’s been in there nearly three hours, now. Sirius has done the dishes, changed the sheets, sorted the cluster of plastic bottles and blister packs and jars of ointment on the bedside table into the precise order in which they’ll be needed. Dug out their Muswell Hillbillies record, since they were talking about it the other day. And Remus is still in the bathroom.

On the other side of the door, all quiet. Miserable bleed of the dripping faucet, but nothing else—no movement, no jostled water. They left the kitchen window open. A draft rocks through the flat.

“Remus?”

He thinks maybe he ought to knock. He doesn’t. The bathroom isn’t thick with heat, as he expected, and Remus doesn’t turn to face him: he’s hunched over in their narrow alcove bathtub, the hair at the nape of his neck slick and sweat-curled, his knees against his chest. The start of a bruise, splayed out over one of his shoulder blades.

“Hi. Hi, you.” Sirius wipes his hands on his jeans, kneels by the bathtub. Remus’ pyjamas, folded in a pile on the lid. “Everything alright? Can I do anything?”

Remus looks at him—or, rather, looks vaguely at his collarbone. He’s bitten his bottom lip bloody, and his eyes are red. Damp, like he’s been crying. When Sirius touches his face, it’s clammy, beneath a sheen of cold water.

“Sorry,” Remus mumbles, "I’m—yes, m’fine.” His voice is chafed, dusty; he digs the heels of his palms into his eyes, the dark thorns of his eyelashes. Rasp of raw skin up his forearm that’s yet to scab over. Pinkish tinge to the bathwater. “I’m sorry. Shit, god. Sorry.”

“Oi, no. None of that, Moons. What’s the matter?” Sirius swipes his fingers through the short, sticky hair at Remus’ temple, flicks away a tangle of dirt in it. So much of last night is still raked up against his body, gathered in the soft creases at his arms and thighs.

Leaves rotting on the forest floor. White moon, lodged there in the black like a bullet in an X-Ray, or a tooth through skin. The way the delicate bones at the wrist sound when they snap, like twigs: radius, ulna.

He deserves a gentler night than that. He always does.

“I’m not…m’sorry,” Remus shakes his head, a thinness to his voice that sours Sirius’ insides. “I just don’t—I don’t feel very good, and I wasn’t ready to get out, but I can’t—”

“What is it that’s playing up? Is it your hip again? I can—”

“No, I mean—” Then his shoulders jump, and something catches in his throat; some scraped-up, shuddering noise: “I don’t—feel good, Sirius,” he chokes out, blinking quickly. “I’m just so, so tired, all of the time, and—and it never fucking stops, it’s always so much. It’s so much, every month, and it doesn’t—doesn’t ever end, and sometimes I can’t do it, I can’t.”

Sirius watches the outline of Remus’ ribs, the way they heave. The divots between them that he has traced out so many times. In the corner of the bath, there’s the scummy soap dish that for whatever reason currently only offers a pack of fags: Cadets, white box and red stripe, which neither of them smoke. His jeans, wet at the knees from splashed water.

“I just—I want to feel okay,” Remus breathes, knuckles scratched beneath his eyes. “I don’t feel okay.”

Edging closer to the bathtub, Sirius tries to stamp his voice into something more solid: “Okay—okay, hey, look.” He presses the side of Remus’ head to his chest, kisses his hair and his burning cheek and the bump of bone at the top of his spine—sorry about all that broken skin, sorry there’s only loose change in my pockets, sorry I can’t hide you anywhere.

“Look,” he says after, “we’re alright. We���ll be alright again, you’ll see, Moony. My Moony.” His hand slips down to Remus’ neck; he knows exactly where to feel for his pulse, proof of the desperate kick of his heart. “I love you, and…and I’ll make you feel okay. I will, every single time. You don’t have to do a thing.”

He reaches past him for the washcloth, hanging limp over the faucet. “I’m sorry,” Remus repeats, with a cough. “I—I don’t know why, sometimes.” He pauses. “I’ve made your shirt wet.”

“No you haven't,” Sirius lies, just for the sake of it. “Fuck, though, you must be knackered. I’ll get a takeaway later. Indian, if you like.”

Remus nods. Sirius starts the hot water running again; Remus opens the packet of Cadets, takes five snaps of his fingers to light one. His hands are still jittery. He does this shy, sad smile, as if to say sorry, again.

“You have to know—you’re the very best thing I’ve got, Remus,” Sirius tells him, quietly, fingertips still against his pulse-point. Steady, darling bass beneath his skin. Ash in the water. “The very best thing, so. Sit forward, will you? I’ll wash your back.”

[darkysilverwing]

So imagine Groundhog Day, the movie with Bill Murray in it where he's stuck in a time loop. He can be shot, stabbed, burned to death, and he wakes up just fine. That's the scenario I'm kinda living in, only time keeps going for me.

I don't know what happened when I turned 20, but when I turned 25 I was walking down the stairs in socks, carrying a big plate of mashed potatoes. I ended up slipping down the stairs and breaking my neck, next thing I know I'm sitting at the bottom of the stairs, perfectly fine, as a matter of fact i'm feeling better than fine! All the way until I turn around and see my own dead body, head twisted at a sickening angle, a bit of blood dribbling out of the mouth, it was... intense...

I'm honest enough to admit that I threw up, I still can't look at creamed corn the same way, but shortly thereafter one of my friends popped by unanounced for a visit, only to find me standing over my own corpse.

Cue about an hour of us both freaking out, Followed by a little bit of a struggle as they assumed I was just a lookalike trying to steal their life or something cause they were a bit of a conspiracy theoriest, it took one sharp blow against the coffee table to disprove their point as I apparently appeared right next to them in a flash of light.

A few more questions later they decided to help me bury the bodies in the back yard cause there is no way in hell the police were going to be called for this, what would I even say? what would happen if I got the death sentence and then just appeared next to my dead body? No it was just seen as a lot simpler to just bury the bodies and never let anyone see.

That was almost 150 years ago.

I did manage to die of old age once, back in the 60's, my grandson had just returned from the war missing a few fingers and an eye, but otherwise alive and well, he held my hand and cried as I slipped into the abyss, only to instantly become furious when turning in the hospital to see some 20 year old kid standing behind him. He instantly assumed that I was some long lost grandkid from some sorted affair, which was easy enough to spin as true, just had to fake a letter, which was easy since I had the same handwriting.

Only downside being the fact that I also ended up the perfect age to get drafted.

I'll be honest, I don't remember too much of what happened in the war, spent too much of it dead, my platoon called me Catboy cause they assumed I had 9 lives. So many stories floated around of them me stepping on a landmine and getting lucky by jumping into a nearby, hidden ditch, or falling into a punji pit and missing every spike.

Soon enough they took it for granted that I was somehow just lucky, which was great cause they never questioned when i got shot, or poisoned or burned or whatever else was thrown at us, I'd always end up back at camp without a single scratch on me.

Granted there were a few days where I hated my abilites, watching my best friend get stabbed and slowly bleed out with no way of me to stop it wasn't great, and I've never actually figured out what caused my abilities to manifest. It wasn't genetic cause none of my family seemed to have it, and it wasn't chemical cause I've done my fair share of studying the physical sciences and I've found no deviation from the norm in my body. Only thing I can think of is either it's fucking magic or science hasn't caught up to what I am yet.

I think the worst part is thinking of the implications though, like back when everyone was afraid that russia was going to nuke us I was worried about how being the only human left alive would affect me, how much succumbing to radiation sickness over and over again would suck, how the entire earth could be covered in a thick layer of my corpses before I stay alive enough to foster a bit of a life.

I even asked one particularly confused butcher on the best types of dishes that could be make just using the body parts of an animal, with no herbs or spices, and I did learn how to make bone bread so I guess I could always just eat my own dead body over and over again if it really came down to it.

Thankfully things did seem to clear up around the turn of the century. Tech started innovating like crazy, people started becoming much more connected, and sure, things ended up being a lot more visible so the world seemed to start getting worse but in all honesty crime's been dropping for decades, you just see more of what's actually happening.

And that's where we reach today, where once again I was carrying a plate of mashed potatoes down the stairs in socks. You'd think I'd learn my lesson after all these years but I guess not.

Looks like I gotta find the shovel again.

[casspurrjoybell-28]

Alpha's Temptation - Chapter 56 - Part 1

*Warning Adult Content*

"Daddy, I at least need to see," I beg my father, who's been rifling through Ferix's kitchen drawers to find sustenance for Rory.

The poor Omega looks ashen, a thin shock of white in Jay's big arms.

The Alpha can't stop staring at him, completely mesmerized.

Rory keeps his eyes shut, holding his heavy stomach weakly.

"You will do no such thing. This is battle, Ash. It's nothing you should have to witness."

"My mate is out there, fighting for me, for us." 

"Your father is right. It's going to scar you," Yvonne interjects.

"Yvonne, I was mutilated in a cellar for the majority of my childhood. I'm already scarred," I snap back.

I regret it as soon as I see the pained expression that overtakes my father's features.

But what can I do?

It's the truth.

Yvonne doesn't know how to respond, scratching at her head and staring at a stain on the wall like it's the most interesting thing she's ever seen.

Yvonne doesn't know how to respond, scratching at her head and staring at a stain on the wall like it's the most interesting thing she's ever seen.

I'm about to apologize to the both of them when I hear the roar of a vengeful wolf.

I know immediately it's that of my mate. 

I rush to the back door toward that sound, flashes of my escape from a year ago coming to me.

I was scared out of my mind back then.

I'm still scared now but so much has changed.

While I never thought I'd be back in this God-forsaken place, it's different now.

This time, I have people here for me.

That care.

That love me.

A mate that would do anything to keep me from falling back into the hands of my stepfather.

It's crazy to think that if I hadn't taken that brave leap that one night, none of the goodness in my life would exist.

No Daemon, no friends, no fathers.

That small world of torture he kept me locked in expanded into so much light. 

The least I can do is look out for my mate.

I won't stupidly throw myself into the fight.

I'm an untrained Omega, it's a recipe for disaster but I need to be there, for him.

I throw open that door the same way I did when I left this hellhole for the first time.

Nausea immediately overtakes me at the sight of the blood, the bodies.

Ferix brought his forces to intercept Daemon and his wolves.

Dread coils in my gut as I look out across the wasteland of what was once my old pack's town.

Now overrun by warriors and bloodshed. 

I spot my stepfather, rage boiling up in my gut at the sight of him.

Why the fuck does he deserve to still be standing, when so many of his hateful lackeys litter the ground, dead or bleeding out.

My father comes up behind me, placing a firm hand on my shoulder.

He doesn't pull me back in.

He watches with me in silence for a few moments.

"My brother has desecrated Dark Moon. Look what it's come to, under his reign. What is it even for?"

"He's sick," I say.

"There's nothing else to it."

"Whatever Daemon has planned for him, it will be heavily deserved."

I'm about to voice my agreement when a movement to the far right catches my eye.

My heart drops when I see Daemon as he grapples with two Dark Moon wolves.

He's still not shifted, utilizing his human form to the best of his ability as he sinks a dagger into one of their throats.

Ferix notices, too and there's flash of fury in his eyes as he takes in my Alpha, pulling something shiny from his belt.

Time slows to a stop.

Daemon... can't see it.

There's too much noise, too much going on around him.

I swallow, ice-cold fear settling in my stomach as Ferix gets closer.

'He's going to kill my mate.'

"NO," I screech, terror rising in my skull.

I run at Ferix without thinking, instinct driving me as I swipe up a scattered blade in my path.

My father's shouts of my name fade into the background as my eyes lock in on my target.

I've barely gotten it solidified in my grip before I'm upon him, charging with all my might.

I gasp as the blade sinks true, slicing through the fabric of his shirt and plunging into his lower back. 

My stepfather jolts and he throws his head back in pain, releasing an agonized howl.

He rips away from my grasp, taking the knife with him as turns to face me, eyes bright with fury.

"You dare attack me again, runt?" he growls, lunging for me.

"You're dead."

He shifts into his wolf so fast it's a blur and I have no time to fight back before his jaws close around me.

I scream as his teeth pierce through my skin, my entire torso within his jowls as he rips me from where I stand and violently tosses me across the clearing.

The world seems to move in slow motion as I fly through the air.

One second, I'm looking up at the sky and the next, I'm colliding with the sharp, rocky ground of a dry riverbank. 

Pain ricochets through me and I scream at the intensity of it, the sharp sting of the impact exploding throughout my entire body.

My vision is blurry as I lie there, trying to regain comprehension of my surroundings but it hurts like hell and I'm bleeding so much, bleeding everywhere.

That's when I hear the deadly roar of my mate.

I blink, the fogginess clearing as I take in Ferix above me, predatory and canines bared but he has no time to react as Daemon comes up from behind him, his huge brown wolf tackling my stepfather to the ground.

With a ferocious snarl, he sinks his teeth into my stepfather as the alpha had done to me.

Then he rears his head before throwing my stepfather against a tree with such lethal force that I hear his bones snap, the splatter of blood against the wood as he slides down into a lump on the ground.

Then Daemon runs to me, his wolf's eyes alight in fear as I attempt to push myself with my arms, trembling and covered in drying blood.

"Ash,"  he calls through our mind link, tone filled with worry.

"Ash, where are you hurt?" he asks with urgency, coming in close and assessing my body for injuries.

"I'm... I'm okay," I whimper.

"I'm just bleeding. Nothing broken."

Daemon growls, enraged at even that.

"Can you walk? You need to get back to the others. The enemy is dead. It's safe. Go to my wolves so they can treat you as soon as possible."

"Nothing's broken. I'm just bleeding. Nothing fatal," I insist.

Because I need to be here with him for this.

"I'm going to kill him, Ash. Go."

"No."

"It will haunt you."

"I need to see it. Please."

No response. Daemon doesn't push further, letting me have my choice.

I watch as Daemon stalks back towards my stepfather who's curled up on the ground.

He's shifted back to his human form, unable to keep his wolf as he weakens from the blood loss and broken bones.

He's naked and pathetic as he moans in pain, fear written across his face as my mate approaches.

Finally groveling at someone else's feet and not the other way around.

I can't lie, I enjoy the sight of it and Daemon...he doesn't hold back.

He descends upon my abuser like prey and tortured shrieking ensues.

My heart clenches as I watch, not because I feel bad for him but because I'm finally seeing an end to it.

All the years of torture being avenged.

Daemon rips out his guts, tears him up piece by piece... slowly... to make it more painful because werewolves take a while to die.

The man begs and screams.

He begs for my mother and I and it only makes me hate him more.

Once Daemon has torn off all his limbs, he just lies there, suffering and dying.

Before Daemon can deliver the final blow I call out...

"Wait."

Daemon stops and turns to me.

I shakily walk over, wincing in pain and somewhat limping from my wounds.

I can see how it scares Daemon, to see me so injured but I continue on, my face stone cold as my gaze hones in on my stepfather.

"Ash. Ash, my boy, you came for me. My sweet little boy. Please help me. Please forgive me, my son," he begs, desperation in his voice.

His eyes are glazed over, wide as he watches me from what's left of his body.

I could never look into those eyes.

I had always kept my head down, terrified of how he'd hurt me if I dared be anything other than submissive and obedient.

"No."

"You're my son..."

"No, I'm not. I won't help you. I'll never help you. You deserve this."

"You're the one that did this to me, you fucking runt," he growls, doing away with the sweet talk now that he sees it's not working.

As if a disgusting, half-dead man could order me around.

"You did this to yourself," I hiss.

[emyluwinter]

You know, sometimes I think that some songs are wildly suited to some topic, au or something else. It's like it's a piece of a puzzle to put together a complete picture. And for the Silver Bullet, the author of Au - @jackplushie

I think the "I'm so sorry - Imagine Dragons"

In my head fits perfectly. Especially the chorus for yandere boys, it's a really great script!

"Life is not always what you imagine it to be Turn your head for a second and the tables will change places And I know, I know I did the wrong thing to you. But will you believe me when I tell you that I will make it up to you? Somehow, somehow?"

And perhaps the theme of the song somehow reminds me of the theme of the industrial sphere. Something like the game Assassin's Creed Syndicate. You're expecting a "big piece" from me, aren't you? Well, I'll try to satisfy your curiosity, dear ~

Oh, I forgot to mention! TW - Be careful here there is a description of the wounds. Little. As well as mentions of severe bleeding.

Enjoy~ ***

With difficulty leaning with all his weight, and with a terrible creak opening the distorted, almost broken, twisted door, Crowley definitely did not intend to see a monstrous pogrom in his bar, having descended for another "conversation" with their sweet, modest bartender…

Ah, how many changes caused their appearance!

Boys in the form of different heads of their mafia clans or gangs, whatever they were called, none of them smashed his bar! And in any case, they did not even think of harming the Bartender. Which could not but please. And finally! Finally, there was a neutral zone that everyone was waiting for anyway! Both ordinary civilians and the smallest criminals just to have a glass of something tasty or maybe strong. As a last resort, fill your stomach with simple snacks and an aperitif. Find yourself in this quiet oasis, an island of tranquility, tobacco jokes and endless conversations. Like the most ordinary people, ordinary workers and hard workers. Even if the walls have "ears" here they are silent. Every word remains dissolved in the haze of cigarettes, the smell of alcohol and musty stuffy air due to the old room… Well, over time and with some "investments", the bar acquired an increasingly presentable and pleasant appearance.

But now……

Taking his revolver from the inside pocket of his coat, Crowley looked around intently. Yet the old criminal habits will go away with the last nail driven into his coffin with him. The whole mayhem indicated that something very creepy had happened in the bar.. Several sturdy wooden tables were broken in two and strewn with bullet marks. And there were also a few traces of paint…

Wait.....Traces of paint?

Crowley chuckled in displeasure. If there were traces of paint in the bar, then the Bartender had to take up arms…

Which was definitely not encouraging. Is the situation out of control?

A shotgun with sleepy bullets carefully donated by Crewel for the bartender as protection. Even if you just shoot ordinary bullets with paint, it was no less painful than if you beat with your fists. The bartender refused to have a gun until the last, but Crowley said it was a prerequisite for the job.

Because, firstly, the Bartender is an ordinary civilian. Not having a drop of experience, strength, or skills to resist thugs who had to put up with the fact that blood and the smell of slaughter would be their signature and only perfume. Finding several "bodies" in a deep sleep, Crowley kicked one of them in the side to see several cuts on his arm and a very distinct boot mark on his stomach and chest. The second one had an excellent boot print on his face and apparently the blow was good enough to break his nose and cause severe bleeding. It seems that some of them had scratched hands and faces like claw marks? Were they attacked by a cat?Ah, it doesn't matter now.

Where is their employee?Are they alive?Are they injured? All these little gnats didn't interest him much…They will be taken care of later. Picking up his phone and quickly dialing a number, Crowley was intensely examining the mayhem trying to find a certain person. Along the way, examining whether there are any identification "signs" of the gang or some kind of stripes to identify the attackers. This would greatly simplify the "task" to deal with the remnants of this gang, if there were any.

-Crewel. The code is a "ruined nest". My bar. Grab a first aid kit and your dogs.

Quickly disconnecting from the call, Crowley noticed a bloodstain on the floor that led a thin path to the staff room. A small modest interior room with a sofa and a bedside table, and a round mirror in an old artful frame, a place where you could relax from everyone or change clothes.

Damn it. Let it be just a scratch…

After taking a breath and removing the safety from the revolver, Crowley gently knocked on the door handle. The bar was filled with a sickening silence that made Dyre's stomach twist into a knot. He should have seen it coming. Everything was going too well. No one in their right mind attacked the neutral zone. Unless they had at least some remnants of brains or perhaps their intentions were more bloody than the world had seen before.

-Yuu… this is Crowley. I open the door

Still, it was worth warning, because the Bartender often asked them to notify them of their appearance.Because a couple of times Crowley almost got under the influence of sleepy bullets with paint. Of course, they are not dangerous, the victim will just sleep off properly and will feel weak for a couple of days. Mandatory condition from Yuu. There are no real weapons in the bar, this is not a bloody battlefield and they were not going to become a murderer by negligence or intent.

To Crowley's surprise, the door was open…?

And oh, merciful heavens, he never wanted to see this picture in his life. Even in his nightmare.

Lying near the wall, almost reaching the sofa, the Bartender Yuu lay in a small puddle of their own blood. It would seem, with great difficulty, taking every breath and forcibly forcing your lungs to work in beaten and broken ribs. Their wheezing as they breathed sent a chill down Crowley's spine for the first time in his life. Opening the door and running up to poor Yuu, Crowley briefly examined the wounds inflicted.. The shirt was mercilessly torn and the right hand was hanging from the brush with a small rag. A couple of buttons were missing. Purple-red hand mark on the neck.. The vest barely held on to the only remaining seam on the left shoulder. Their always white shirt was soaked with splashes of someone else's blood, an uneven blood-red circle was slowly spreading from the right side. As well as on the left thigh, through the dark fabric of their trousers, this stain looked unnatural… His right arm was swollen from the wrist to the elbow and was literally blue. Yuu's left hand tightly held a shotgun with a reserve of sleepy bullets, as if they did not intend to give up even now. A lot of small scratches, bruises and abrasions. The right cheekbone was so swollen and swollen that it closed they eyes. And Grimm….he got hurt too, but he stayed until the end. This stray cat with a striped ribbon donated from Yuu lay next to them and licked his wound on his paw, mewing piteously and gently rubbing against the pale cheek of the Bartender.

-C… Crowley? - A hoarse low whisper escaped from the already blue lips of the wounded Yuu.

-Drink, don't talk. - Taking a small bottle from his inner pocket, Crowley quickly removed the lid and carefully brought it to the Bartender's lips. Pouring the liquid so that they take at least one sip. The painkiller will keep them conscious for a while. But there was catastrophically little of it now.

-This is….h… it h-hurts..

-You've lost a lot of blood, just concentrate on breathing and don't make any movements.

-mm.. - softly mumbling in agreement, Yuu took a slightly deep breath and relaxed a little when the wild and terrible pain finally eased. Their tense muscles stretched like strings finally lost all tension.

Hearing the noise of a car approaching, Crowley quickly looked out into the bar noticing the familiar Crewel logo. So Divus is already here perfectly.

-Who the hell could do this to poor puppies?! - Divus swore while providing first aid for the Bartender. After quickly closing the wounds and stopping the bleeding, Crewel immediately snapped his fingers and pointed at Yuu so that his subordinates would do the rest of the business. They couldn't be left in this state. Despite the anger and irritation bubbling in his veins, Crewel remained collected and distributed commands.

-Treat them like the most fragile snowflake in a hot fireplace. Take the cat, too.

-Boss, what to do with these "attackers"?

-Great question ~ - Crowley's voice suddenly rang out, who was carefully watching what was happening and pondering in his head in the shadow of everyone.

-Collect this garbage and take it to the "interview" for my "Ghosts". Tell him I'll be back in the evening to find out the motive and reasons for the attack on neutral territory. And ah! Please put up a sign that the bar is closed indefinitely. Divus, I leave these two in your care.

-I'll let you know about their condition later.

Although Yuu was barely holding on to his consciousness, familiar voices still reached his ears. And after the arrival of Crewel, the body became so sluggish and as if all the fatigue accumulated over the past months of such hard work finally broke through and captured every cell of the body. But now there was no such red-hot destructive pain with every movement or even thought. Everything seemed so sluggish and limp. Feeling how several pairs of strong hands so carefully and so carefully lifted their fragile, wounded body. The bartender chuckled slightly in his thoughts. They could never imagine that criminal persons would hold they so gently and so gently in their hands. But they often mercilessly wound someone and hurt someone. In the distance, the voices became quieter and quieter, but Yuu still heard snatches of phrases from those who carried them.

-Damn these freaks…

-Just look what they did to the poor bartender… poor guy.

-They tried to set fire to the bar?!I saw one wall smoked.. Feeling like they were being held by big and strong hands, Yuu was even a little embarrassed. The strong shoulder on which they rested their bandaged head smelled pleasantly of cologne. A delicious smell, will have to ask what brand of perfume it is. They were definitely not used to being carried around like that, and all these thoughts were trying to somehow keep the remnants of their mind and calm. Someone even tried to cheer them up with light strokes on the head or wiped their lonely tears. Occasionally running down their cheeks. The bartender no longer held on, their shell cracked, and it was possible to cry from impotence and shock. How much their head was splitting. But suddenly a very good thought ran through.

He'll skin them, but Crowley will give them a vacation..to hell with everything. First, a sick leave with medical insurance coverage, and then a vacation.

They're too tired. They didn't care where they were being taken. Quietly asking those who carried them so lovingly about the fate of the cat. These people in business suits, with lab aprons and long protective gloves, showed how one of their colleagues also carefully carries a Grimm. Strangely, Grimm didn't even mind being touched by others and behaved like a sleepy cat. And he was also treated to eat. These "chain dogs" as they were called in other gangs, definitely liked Yuu They smelled delicious, they didn't let go of their hands even though they could. And in general they were the most exemplary people for all the time that the Bartender has ever met…

-By the way, I counted 8 people so… were they beaten up like that by the Bartender?….And the cat?

-Yup…..I kicked their ass … - Yuu replied quietly, trying not to lose consciousness. It was definitely a valuable victory for them that they survived this massacre at all. These "dogs" tried to somehow distract the bartender from all thoughts and they probably just wanted to talk about something other than work. On Yuu's account, they didn't ask anything personal.

-Oh, yes, they definitely didn't lie to us when you whipped someone with a wet towel on an impudent ass.

-They offended….my Grimm… - Yuu whispered softly as they were carried to one of the dark expensive cars. Apparently they will be taken away somewhere until they lick their wounds and recover properly. -Get punched for offending a cat…

-Pete, shut your mouth. The cat is sacred.

-He's good….drove away all the mice and rats.. - It seems now Yuu knows that there are cute cat lovers in the gang of the ferocious Divus Crewel.

-Yeah, and also this furry asshole demolishes all the glasses without supervision. Yeah, I'm talking scoundrel about you!You're still snorting at me, and I wanted to feed you..

Yuu thought that they looked like the most ordinary people who just chose a completely wrong field of work. Ordinary people with their hobbies, interests and lives. The side that clearly did not cover all their actions..

Meanwhile, to the bar, under loud swearing, whose bouquet with roses was better, the duo of Adeuce was heading. They both came up with the idea to give the "impregnable fortress of the heart" in the form of a Bartender a bouquet and hope for their mercy and maybe a small increase in the chance of a date~ After passing a familiar alley, they immediately hide around the corner when they notice a bunch of black tinted cars with a very familiar emblem. Emblems and signs that the leaders in the gangs categorically forbade them to contact.

-What are the Crows and Dogs doing here?! - Deuce cursed softly, looking out for all the people he could see from his hiding place and trying to figure out what had happened.

-Something tells me that they didn't come to the bar for tea and cookies…Look at some bodies being taken away. - Snorting in response, Ace tsked with displeasure, realizing that going further is a straight road for at least a beaten face and a couple of broken bones. In the best case, they will simply be asked to go off into the sunset.

-Ace….we need to tell the others about it…

-I knoooow….Imagine how Riddle will explode when he finds out that the bar is surrounded by these dogs and crows. Not even a speck of dust can get past them. They are a different level.. Putting the Bouquet under his arm and dialing the number of his the leader, Ace was almost at the call button when he froze in place. White with horror.

-Holy shi..

-Uh.. this!!! Ace and Deuce could not believe their eyes when they saw the wounded Yuu who were very carefully carried in their arms by one of their chain dogs. Their wounds, their blood, their face swollen from the blows, caused a furious flame. The flame flowing into the red-hot magma spreading through their veins. Flaring up stronger and stronger, as if from a small spark, sprayed to a fiery tornado, mercilessly demolishing everything in its path. Breaking from their hiding place and forgetting about the roses, the two of them rushed as if for the last saving straw that was stretched out to them. Someone dared to touch the Bartender without their permission. Someone dared to spill their blood.. Hurt them… And condemn themselves to the most terrible and monstrous fate that they could only imagine…

-Hey!YOU! Where are you taking Yuu?!?

-What did you do to him?!? The duo's screams and their rapid approach, despite all the guards, attracted attention. But no matter how they tried to stop the "abduction in front of their eyes" of their dear and beloved Bartender. It didn't work out. The chain dogs got into one of the black cars with them in their arms. They were quickly pinned down and immobilized, to Ace's surprise, without even trying to harm them.Just so that they don't twitch and behave "obediently." He even had to calm Deuce down so that their fate would not get even worse… Remotely being already in the car, Yuu gradually turned off from fatigue and from impotence, but they clearly heard the screams of a duo of walking problems somewhere nearby. It could have been a hallucination that all criminal persons from all over the neighborhood are now flying like bees to Yuu's wounded soul. Maybe it was worth thinking about HOW they would now pay the whole two gangs for their "mercy and kindness". But now, having already spent the last drops of their strength, Yuu gave themselves permission to just fall into this dark water … and fall asleep. They shouldn't have messed with this world, ever. It was worth thinking twice before agreeing to this job for lack of other options. Crowley could at least assure the others that Yuu is not a talkative person. They don't tell what they don't need. Everyone sees, everyone hears, but they don't say anything. That was more than enough…. ***

News of the attack on the neutral zone spread quickly. Faster than anyone could have imagined. It was practically a declaration of war to everyone at once and to no one in particular. But there was no note, no witnesses or the attackers themselves… The gang leaders were furious. For several reasons.

They couldn't find their expensive bartender Yu no matter how hard they tried. The chain dogs perfectly removed all traces of their presence.

The attackers did not suffer "punishment" for their act at their hands..

The older gangs did not give them answers. All the gangs were one step away from unleashing their terrible criminal tendencies to turn over every stone in the city. But to find their "kidnapped lover" They tossed, growled, were in the most disgusting mood that their subordinates could only see for all the years of work for them. Their thoughts and hearts had no rest until they saw live, with their own eyes, that their cute Bartender was standing in front of them again. With their polite smile and polite conversations, what kind of drink is worth trying today, while they fix their gaze on every inch of their body and catch every particle of their breath… *******

haaaaah…Maybe I'll do the second part about the return of the bartender…But I need to rest.

I hope you enjoyed it!

[untaemedqueen]

The Deal

Drug Lord!Yoongi x Coffee Shop Owner!Reader

Genre: Strangers to Lovers!AU, Angst, Fluff, Smut

Chapter 11.

Series Warnings (Will Be Updated): Mentions of Drugs and Drug Deals, Blood, Smut, Emotional Damage, Love

Warnings For This Chapter: Sweet Moments, Angst, Emotional Trauma, Surprise Guest

None of the men you've ever liked before can compare with a single iota of Yoongi's being.

And of course you're being dramatic but when aren't you?

It's not like anything in his personality or demeanor has changed since he promised to open up to you tonight but he doesn't seem annoyed when you ask things and better yet, he strings more than five words together in a reply.

Most of the drives you've been on as of late have been stuffy and silent -- they always seem to teeter on the edge of white noise.

But today there's music bleeding through the expensive Bentley speakers like a low blanket of comfort.

"You need to be really careful tonight, okay? I think Sedra is going to be there." Yoongi announces, chucking his done cigarette out the window.

He hasn't seemed to mind anything you've asked but you believe you're about to toe right over the edge of comfort.

"Why is she so dangerous? What makes her so vicious?" you inquire, turning your gaze away from the pretty rows of trees out the window to the even prettier sight right beside you.

His hand grip tighter on the steering wheel and his fingertips scratch at the once large gash on his face like a tick.

He's silent then for what feels like an achingly long time. The music that comes through the speakers seems to turn from regal to haunting all in a matter of moments.

"You-You don't have to tell me if you're uncomfortable. I'm sorry I asked. It's not my plac-"

"No. It's fine. I promised to open up tonight. I'm just… finding it very difficult to do so. I mean...why do you think I live in a fucking forest? So I can be closed off from the world. It goes against everything in my nature to open up."

His words are a complete relief if you're being honest. You didn't know how serious he was about being open with you.

"It's always difficult to talk about… her." he breathes.

You don't dare speak because it feels like you're intruding into memories so raw that there's still blistering wounds around them.

Your breath even hitches while you wait for him to continue, your palms become sweaty and you hate it but your eyes divert from his handsome face to give him some space.

"We were all in the orphanage together… all my crew, Yuqi, Sedra… Jae… all of us."

You nod, remembering what Jin had told you many nights before.

"I didn't have anything. Not a single thing. That includes memories. That includes family. Apparently my only family died in a car crash when I was five. I can barely remember them…" he continues, stopping short to light a cigarette and lower his window.

The embers of the cherry at the end of the tobacco stick highlight his face in dark ways, enhancing just how menacing his gnarled scar may be for many.

"I was becoming this toxic fuck of a kid. Fist fought with others, started drinking at thirteen with hopes that I would just get alcohol poisoning and die… Really gruesome shit."

You wish there was a drop of water around this car to drink because your throat has all but dried up like the Sahara Desert.

"Then she came to Hwimang… She had no family either. She was starting over just like me. And I became so fucking… attached to her -- like a goddamn parasite or something. She was beautiful and I was an idiot kid," he gripes, pulling off the long stretch of road to continue talking.

He angles his body towards you, turning on the car lights to be able to see you better. His arm reaches over, purchasing on your seat for comfort and you don't feel closed in or claustrophobic at all.

"I took to Sedra like a pig in shit. I was so happy to have her attention and to know that she cared for me the same way I cared for her. I never questioned her when I should have and I never got suspicious when I should have been. I was her first and I intended on being her last but… she didn't see it that way."

Now with the lights overhead you feel as if you're being interrogated or something. Just knowing that he can read your face makes your lower back break out with sweat.

His eyes, so dark and smoldering, slowly drift over your face. He begins to smirk, letting his gaze linger on your lips just a bit longer than everywhere else and suddenly your face becomes aflame with heat.

"This is what I like about you, Y/N," he murmurs, reaching up to cup your face with one hand, "your face is so expressive. I can see every thought in your head as clear as day… Most people when they look at me… They see a monster."

Swallowing thickly, you can only chew at the inside of your cheek when his thumb drifts over the apple of your cheek. "I don't see you like that."

He smirks then, the action completely changing his face. "I know. It's nice to not be a mad man… a monster, sometimes."

The gentle hum of the car's engine is all that falls upon both of your ears for a small time.

"So…So how did it all change? What did she do?" you bleat.

Just remembering that he was telling such a painstaking story makes his expression dark once more.

Clearing his throat, he takes a long pull from his cigarette. "She clearly found Jae more interesting after time. She enjoyed his company more and more and mine less. But I couldn't give up on her. I couldn't let her go… She was all I had that felt tangible and real. She was everything I desired and wanted."

"So…?" you find yourself asking.

"So she got pregnant." he grits through his teeth.

The admission makes your eyebrows furrow with curiosity. "With your ba-"

"No," he cuts you off, turning back around to the steering wheel, "with Jae's kid."

He throws his cigarette out the window, only to grip the steering wheel with both hands. His knuckles turn beet red and his eyes affix to the dirt patch of road that's illuminated by the bright headlights before him.

He stays like this for a short while and you can see his irises dancing back and forth like he's reliving some sort of nightmare.

Reaching over, you lay your hand on his knee, giving it a gentle squeeze. He sighs at the contact, letting one hand fall from the steering wheel to clasp his hand around yours.

"It wouldn't have been so painful if she was just honest with me… No, that's a lie, it still would have been brutally painful but at least I wouldn't have had it all going on behind my back. When she told me she was pregnant, my heart fucking stopped. I thought it was mine… But of course, like most things, I had on rose colored glasses."

"I'm so sorry. That's so awful." you mumble.

You feel his pain. Although you've never been through something like that, it's hard not to feel offended and horrified for him.

No wonder he's the way he is.

He really is just a hurt little boy that never got to understand the world.

Yoongi was beat down before he even got the chance to stand on his own two feet.

The one person that was supposed to lift him up high, buried his face in the dirt years ago.

He grips your hand tightly, running his thumb over your skin again and again like some sort of self soothing method. "Your skin is soft… I like it," he breathes, tilting his head ever so slightly to look at you.

When he gazes upon you once more, he sees how heartbroken you are for him and it brings another smirk to his face. "You're too expressive sometimes. Don't worry, I haven't died. I'm still here," Yoongi chuckles.

"Your soul isn't though," you sigh.

Just that sentence makes him freeze. He stares at you for a second longer than every other time he ever has before.

You're a good girl and he's finding it unfortunate that he's bound you to him with a thick packet of paper.

"Come on, we'll be late at this rate." he breathes, pulling back onto the road.

The rest of the car ride wasn't as awkward as you expected it to be and to your surprise Yoongi didn't let go of your hand for a moment.

Maybe he felt more comfortable with you now after opening himself up a little bit.

You certainly feel more comfortable. Although your hatred for Sedra and her group can only grow at this point.

In some sickening way, you feel really protective of the drug lord. Not that he can't handle himself with a handgun tucked halfway into his pants -- but you feel almost emotionally responsible for this handsome man.

Yeah, sure, you really don't know him but you want to know him. And you want him to know you too.

You want to shield him from any type of pain possible.

When you were younger, your brother used to tell you that you had way too kind of a heart for this Earth and maybe he was right but you've never known how to be any other way.

As Yoongi pulls into the parking lot, you can suddenly feel slick perspiration on his palm. His hand is sweating like crazy and you'd bet that his hand on the steering wheel is just as wet.

"We don't have to go in, you know, we can just go to dinner and go back home. It's not that big of a deal," you chirp nonchalantly.

His chuckle is rich and velvety, bordering on a nervous chuckle to be fair. "I gotta face the music someday. I've avoided Sedra for a few years now."

You only nod, not really wanting to reignite any painful conversations about it.

"It's just so fucking annoying. Every time I've seen her at an event -- she's pregnant. What the fuck is that about? How can someone always be pregnant!? It used to piss me off like you wouldn't believe." he scoffs, shutting off the engine and sliding his hands over the dragon tattoos that dance along his scalp.

"Did you get pissed because you want a family of your own?" you inquire innocently.

He opens his door, stepping out with knitted eyebrows. "Not sure, really. I never wanted to put a single millisecond of thought into it. I've always just swept my feelings under the rug."

He lights a cigarette, leaning onto the hood of his car.

He watches you exit your side, with the grace and gorgeousness you have -- he can't understand why he's always so fucking rude and short with you.

"Baby doll," he calls to you, he smirks when your eyes become large and innocent when looking up at him, "thank you for listening so earnestly. I'm sorry I'm such a prick to you. I'll try and keep myself open for you. If you'd like."

"I certainly would." you smile, rounding the car.

When you wrap your arms around him, he freezes stiffly.

He hasn't been hugged in… Jesus, maybe ten years.

He looks down at you, angling his face to watch your eyelids flutter shut with peace. On instinct, he runs his hand over the open back of your dress, appreciating how your skin catches goosebumps at his touch.

Yoongi has half a mind to tilt your pretty chin up and press his lips to yours but he stops short when he hears a low, heady whistle of intrigue behind him.

"Min Yoongi," the voice cheers, followed by the clicking of a tongue to the roof of a mouth to express disappointment, "boy, I'm surprised to see you."

You pull away from him, almost as if you're embarrassed. When you go to step away, his hand hooks around your hip -- molding you to his side.

"Jae," he calls curtly.

Your blood runs cold and when your eyes affix themselves properly to the dark, you can make out his face.

Not for nothing but he's handsome. Is he more gorgeous than the drug lord beside you? No shot.

"Sedra! Come on! Jesus Christ!" Jae calls behind him.

Yoongi swallows thickly, looking down at you to give you the fakest reassuring smile of all time.

"Women are so fucking slow when they're pregnant. Holy hell. But she was never fast to begin with, right Yoongi? You know what I'm fuckin' talking about!" Jae laughs loudly, slapping your fake boyfriend on the back.

Quipping an eyebrow up, you can feel the man glued beside you practically shaking -- although you can't tell why. You don't know if he's nervous, if he's vibrating with anger, if he wants to cry. It's all a mystery to you right now.

When Jae looks back towards his car again with an exasperated expression, you take the opportunity to step in front of Yoongi.

He looks down at you curiously and all you know is that you want to shield him right now. You want to protect him.

Pulling the lighter out of his hand, you relight his burnt out cigarette.

He smiles a bit when he pulls away from you to blow smoke. His thumb presses between your eyebrows and he wiggles his digit softly. "Relax your face, you look like you want to punch someone," he murmurs with a chuckle.

"So do you," you breathe out.

"Oh, I do." he hums, drifting his thumb from over the bridge of your nose to the apple of your cheek.

When heels resound throughout the quiet parking lot, his thumb digs into your skin painfully for a moment. His eyes seem to glaze over with an emotion that just about punches you in the gut.

"Oh, Yoongi. Good, you've decided to join us in the real world once again."

Her voice is intoxicating and poisonous all in one breath.

When you tilt your head to look at her, you're lost for words.

You're not surprised that she's drop dead gorgeous, you've seen her in pictures before. You're surprised at how powerful her demeanor is.

There isn't a single shred of regret or remorse in her expression and there isn't really any kindness to speak of either.

How can someone damage another who they held dear so easily without any sort of sorrow?

It's completely insane.

"Sedra," Yoongi announces curtly.

"Hi, Yoongles," she breathes, looking down at her nails.

"Is this your girlfriend that Olive was telling us about?" Jae inquires, hooking his arm over his wife's shoulder.

"Yeah, this is Y/N." the drug lord beside you replies, giving a small smile down at you.

"You gonna keep this one this time? Or is she just a prostitute like all the others?" Sedra drones, combing her fingers through her long black hair.

Yoongi wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you back to his chest with a quickness. You had even noticed that you started walking towards her.

"Fix your face," he mumbles into your ear.

"Not a prostitute," he calls to her, kissing the top of your head.

Her eyes meet yours and the smile she gives you makes tingles run down your spine. "She's alright, I guess."

You can feel your body tensing up, like a cat waiting to pounce.

"Well, this is such a blast but I would rather watch paint dry," Sedra states plainly, flicking her hair over her shoulder.

"Hey, Y/N, it's nice to meet you. Welcome to our world, hmm?" Jae calls you, rushing after his wife.

When they're both out of sight, you and the drug lord give a big huff of relief.

"You dated that?!" you hiss, turning to him and smacking him with your clutch.

"She wasn't like this then. All the drug money has gone to her head."

"I don't like her," you grit, brushing off your dress like poisonous particles have tainted it.

"I know," Yoongi breathes, tilting your face up to his, "it's written on your face as clear as day."

But when your eyes meet his and your expression completely changes to something softer, his heart begins to feel arrhythmic.

You're so beautiful, so expressive, so… fakely his.

And he'll take that for the evening. He'll play pretend if that means he can feel a shred of normality with you.

You're so lucky that Yuqi is here with Namjoon. Or so you've been telling yourself.

She's been a brilliant distraction from the other drug lord families that fill the room.

You've never seen anything quite like this. You've never felt so out of place but so entirely in your element before.

Yoongi has stuck by you all evening, introducing you to any and all as his girlfriend.

Even though it's fake, fuck, it feels good.

You don't know why you assumed these so-called events would be dodgy and nerve wracking. You expected there to be dog fights or chicken fights or something. Maybe a stripper or two dancing on poles. But this is incredibly regal.

There's hors d'oeuvres and classical music played by an actual orchestra. There's poker and blackjack, a cigar bar, and a full buffet.

You would have never expected this.

"I'm gonna go tinkle," Yuqi breathes, handing her seventh glass of champagne to her husband.

You remember your rules, you remember your contract -- you cannot drink to excess here.

So you finally finish nursing your second of champagne for the evening.

You take in the people you're surrounded by for what feels like the billionth time. You've seen most of the guests in pictures while you were training.

Something you can't seem to get over is how sure the women are of themselves, if they aren't pregnant, which you've noticed most of them are, they flaunt the gigantic rings on their fingers by always having their hands by their faces.

Events are just a way to show how well off you are with your drug money, you've surmised.

When you asked Yuqi why everyone was with child, all she could do was roll her eyes.

"It's the best way to show that the drug line will continue. Their heirs are important. If you aren't pregnant -- if you're not having children with a drug lord, it'll be easier to come in and take their territory when they pass away."

And in some fucked up way, it makes sense.

Your eyes find Yoongi, who's left you alone for quite a bit now to tell off Jimin for something he's done. When he feels your stare, he sends a devastating wink your way that makes you feel at ease once more.

Approaching the bar, you set down your glass and politely ask for one more.

The classical harp piece that lays thick on the air, enraptures you. It pulls you into such comfort, that you don't notice your surroundings all too deeply.

"Y/N, right?"

Your eyes flutter shut in defeat.

You've been doing a wonderful job pretending like Sedra doesn't exist for most of the evening. But there's no way you can ignore her now, unless you fake sudden hearing loss.

"Yeah, Y/N," you reply, gratefully accepting the glass of champagne.

She's taller than you, not by much but enough that she still needs to look down on you.

"I'm surprised Yoongi has wormed his way out of the forest long enough to find a woman," Sedra deadpans, leaning against the bar and turning to you.

God, how you dislike this woman.

"He's amazing," you find yourself saying.

She chuckles softly, looking down at her sparkly black nails.

"Oh really? Then you must not truly know him yet. He's clingy and nosy. He's unsure of himself and he's insecure." she sighs, grabbing her sparkling water.

Your mouth begins to move before your brain even has a chance.

"You made him that way. You made him nervous and insecure. It's your fucking fault." you gasp, taking a step back.

Her head turns to you and the boredom within her eyes has a fire igniting with your soul.

"Yes, well, sorry I damaged the good for you." she giggles.

"You think this is a fucking joke? You think it's laughable how much you've ruined him?" you hiss.

Sedra shrugs nonchalantly, rolling her eyes for good measure.

"I was a teenager. I got bored. He didn't know how to stop beating a dead horse. I was done with him lightyears before he probably thought I was. The second my panties were pulled up after I gave him my virginity, I was pretty much done."

You can only huff out completely appalled.

"Good thing he's got a big cock, right?" she smiles, looking over at you.

Your eyes narrow at her and you can't even form a thought. It's all smaller words that are firing around your brain.

"You-You… I can't eve- How-"

She hums in agreement. "Yes, yes. I'm the Devil. I'm just a fucking bitch that ruins people's lives. Yes, I know quite well."

You chug down the whole glass of champagne, expecting relief that never seems to come.

"You seem like a good girl, Y/N. Really sweet and kind to him. But let's be fucking frank -- you'll never mean half as much as I meant to him. You'll never be better than me in his mind. He'll spend his whole life comparing women to what I made him feel when we were kids. Cause, y'know, I see how you look at him. I can see how much he means to you. How much you want to protect him and save him. But he won't end up wanting you to stay. He'll end up writing you off like another fling. You'll never be good enough for him because what was good enough for him left him years ago. So… just think about that. Just think about how you'll never amount to my memory and then get out. Pack up your little knick knacks in the forest and leave. Because he'll never love you like he loved me. He'll never-"

"What's going on?" Yoongi asks from behind you.

As Sedra spoke, you didn't realize that you'd begun to cry.

As evil and vile as her words are… they're true.

Yoongi will never come to like you or adore you like he adored her. She completely ruined him.

"Oh you know, just girl talk." she sighs, walking away.

When he spins you around to look at him, he swallows thickly. "What did she fucking say to you?" he hisses, picking a cocktail napkin up off the bar and dabbing your face with it gently.

"Just the truth," you bleat, stepping away from him.

"Baby doll?" he inquires softly, reaching for you.

"If you'll excuse me for...for a moment," you gasp, feeling your eyes well up with tears once more.

"Y/N!" he calls to you loudly as you take off across the long expansive room.

He'll never be able to love you.

He'll always be caught up on her.

Besides the fact that none of this is fucking real, it's all fake.

It's an act, you're an actres-

"Oof!"

Your body collides with someone else's as you rush down the fancy corridor.

"I'm-I'm so sorry," you sob, not even looking up at the figure.

"Y/N?"

The voice is familiar, it's warm and soothing. The hands are familiar when they steady your bare shoulders.

Looking up, you blink numerous times until the blurriness from your tears leaves you.

"H-Hyunwoo?!"

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[bump1nthen1ght]

Dangerous Liaisons (Reader x Tentacle Monster)

Pairing: Male!Kitsune!Reader/Tentacle Monster

Genre: FWB, Dark Fantasy, Sado-Masochism

Warnings: 18+ content up ahead! Description of blood and cuts, Mentions of past dub-con/rape (none depicted), Mentions of past murder, Just some bad people y’all

Word Count: 1695 words

Summary: After one of your neighbor’s kidnapping goes awry, you decide to make up for his lost prey.

Request: hi! i fell in love with your tentacle write, now my absolute favorite, so i’m here to request another one if you don’t mind. for this could it be a male tentacle monster x kitsune male reader? and instead of being traditionally good natured, reader’s of a more dark/evil-esk nature, as well as open minded to whatever kinks. esp anything rough, sadistic, & bloody. Tyvm!!

The cave floor is cold, icy compared to the humid air of the summer day. Sweat beads at your shoulders and your temple as you walk in, the shade a nice relief from the setting sun. You thread your tail in between your fingers, eyes drifting to the drying pool of blood near your foot.

“Another one bit the dust, huh?”

A deep gurgling sound crawls through the dark at the center of the cave. The looming stalactites and pitch-black emptiness might have scared away any nearby travelers or the mortals of the village, but you know what hides here; It’s not that scary.

To you, anyway.

“No….escaped.”

You roll your eyes, walking deeper inside until you see the familiar form of your pitiful neighbor.

He isn’t terribly damaged, only one long scratch running up one of his tentacles. It’s one of his larger ones, so the poor little morsel he had captured must have shocked him enough to run away and avoid any of the other tendrils.

“Tch, figures.” You chide, kicking a rock his way. “Seems you’ll have to move caves again. There will be adventurers here by tomorrow morning to kill you.” You brush off the dust from a nearby boulder, plopping your butt on it as he moans in pain. “This is what you get, Nio. You got too greedy, kidnapping mortals to partake in your ‘fun’”

A lone tentacle throws a pebble at you, but you dodge. A set of golden eyes peers out from the mass of limbs, furrowed in anxiety. You had only seen the form he used to lure his ‘playmates’ a couple of times; It resembled a handsome young man, only entirely purple, with shiny skin and placating smile. It was just tall enough to peek out from the cave and attract any wanderers, coming close enough to be snatched up by his tentacles, stolen away for his sick fantasies.

“Besides,” You click your teeth, “They break too easily. How many have you gone through now, six? Seven?”

“.....Nine.” Nio hisses, rubbing soothingly over his slowly-healing wound.

“See? Insatiable, you are. It’s not a very respectable look, you know.” You stand up from your seat, sauntering over to where Nio huddles in the corner. You rub your neck, feeling the sweat pooled at the base, and your robe falls down to reveal your shoulder. Nio’s eye’s flit from your exposed skin to your flicking tail. A lone tentacle, dripping with a viscous ooze, slowly wraps around your ankle. You chuckle, the damp air slowly reeking of Nio’s pheromones.

“But it’s your lucky day.” You undo the strap of your robe, letting it fall down your chest and exposing your form to Nio’s greedy eyes. “Because I’m a little insatiable too.”

Nio’s pupils blow out in excitement, his tentacles shifting as he slowly reveals his form. The tentacle around your ankle begins to travel up your calf, leaving a trail of slime behind it. But you yank away your foot and stomp on the tip, Nio squealing in pain and jolting backward. You smile, his yipes music to your ears.

“Just because I’m giving you my time doesn’t mean you're the one in control, idiot.” You throw your robe to the side, slicking your hair back between your ears, “Now you can touch me.”

Two more tentacles approach your legs, far more cautious than before. But when they reach your legs, you allow them to fondle your calves and your thighs, that thick ooze making your skin light and tingly. You let out a long sigh as you let the slow-burning lust of Nio’s aphrodisiac slime run through your body. You don’t need a lot, but it’s a definite plus of these rendezvous the two of you have.

You walk forward, Nio’s hungry tentacles easily latching on to your soft skin. They skirt around your erogenous zones, knowing what punishment awaits if they do anything without your direct permission. But one tentacle craves the pain, and tentatively fondles your balls.

Your deep groan descends into a snarky chuckle, letting the tentacle press against your perineum and even prod at your asshole. But with quick precision you grab Nio’s wounded tentacle and dig one of your claws into his wound.

All of the tentacles around you shudder and tighten as Nio shreaks, but none of them detach, even as blood drips down your fingers and onto your palms. You pull out your thumb from Nio’s flesh, the tiny wound reopened from your prodding, and take a long lick up your wrist. Crimson stains your jaw and lips, smearing as you lick your lips from the taste. It’s iron-like, but just a little bit sweeter than mortals. It’s another plus of sleeping with Nio.

You relish in the taste, putting on a show of rubbing your bloody palm up and down your chest. Nio’s eyes squint in frustration, but they dart up and down the red trails left on your skin.

“That hurt?” Nio nods and you lick your lips once more. “Good-”

You’re left wheezing as the offending tentacle shoves itself past your asshole with no warning. Another tentacle wraps itself around the base of your cock and squeezes hard. You keel over from the sharp tension and fire that is stoked in your belly. You look down at the offending  tentacles with a sneer, but you can’t help the small moans that escape you as you’re stretched open.

“Oh, we’re playing that game h-huh?” You mutter, thrusting your hips into the tight, hot grip of the tentacle around your cock. That tingly sensation now buzzes across your shaft, the tentacle alternating between playing with your tip and holding your balls in a vice grip. But the hand you use to yank back his bleeding tentacle is swift, controlled.

Blood falls down the appendage in small rivulets, the wound slowly rehealing before you lick the tip. You let your tongue roll out of your mouth, licking up the tentacle like a frozen treat, just avoiding the open wound. Nio’s groans rumble through the cave floor and up your body. You sink your lower half into his grip, more tentacles coming to support (and grope) your ass and thighs.

Your hand squeezes Nio’s trapped tentacles, claws retracted, and coerce it further down your throat. Saliva and blood drips past your lips as it  goes even deeper, thrusting against the back of your throat. Droplets fall onto your hard cock, now covered in a mixture of Nio’s ooze and your pre-cum.

The tentacle in your ass has become sloppy, it’s pace haggard and quickly losing focus on your prostate. To kick it back into gear, you nip the tentacle in your mouth with your teeth, pulling it out completely before giving it a kiss.

“You’re so greedy, Nio. Isn’t this supposed to be a partnership?”

Nio growls, but you can see the burning lust in his eyes as they take over your debauched mouth. Your lips are bruised from the blowjob, your skin sweaty from the myriad of sensations attacking your body all at once. You kiss the tip of the tentacle again and give him a wink.

The tentacle inside your ass picks up speed, going even deeper than before and paying extra attention to your pleasure spot. You smirk, slowly reinserting the tentacle back in your mouth.

“Good boy.” You sputter, Nio’s tentacle hungrily forcing itself down your throat once more. It presses hard against your gag reflex, ooze spattering over your cheeks as it plunges in and out of your mouth, soon matching the tempo of the one inside you. With each jolt of pleasure running up and down your abdomen is another shuddering thrust into your mouth.

You take deep breaths, compensating for the thickness currently blocking your airways. Despite his roughness, you do feel Nio slip a tentacle back to the base of your tail, petting your fur with light touches as another one punishes your asshole.

Aww, what a softie.

You can feel a tightness beginning to cinch in your stomach, your cock weeping globs of pre-cum, spurred on and on by Nio’s aphrodisiac. The tentacles coveting your body thrash with abandon, shuddering as their movements become messier and messier. A tentacle presses up against your insides, barely leaving your asshole before pushing it back in with an uneven pace.

You moan, heading rolling backwards as you feel your climax approaching and your  muscles preparing for a big finish.

But right before you can approach that peak, a large tentacle wraps itself around your neck, and squeezes.

You barely hear Nio’s raucous moans as your throat constricts around his tentacle, the rubber band finally snapping as you orgasm. Your hips jerk into  Nio’s grip as ropes of cum spray across Nio’s body and up your navel. He is quick to lap it up, the tendrils soaking in it as the pet your skin.

Nio let's put another booming growl as hot liquid shoots up your asshole and down your throat, viscous and sweet like nectar. The heat feels like heaven against your sore muscles, dripping out  of your holes and down your skin as Nio finally pulls himself all the way out of you.

You collapse your body against the cave wall, sweat and cum coating your skin as you  slide down to your bottom, cringing from your ass’ sensitivity.

The air is thick, reeking of bodily fluids and sex. The pool of blood has long dried, barely leaving a dent on the cacophony of scents in the air.

After catching a breath, you stretch your arms upwards, craning your back before pushing yourself back to standing. You bend your neck too and fro, your tail lazily swinging behind you.

You approach Nio, still quivering from his climax, and grab your robe. You sling it over your shoulder and brush your hair back.

“I’d suggest you get going soon. We don’t want any stupid knights to come and ruin our fun, right?”

Nio gurgles, eyes drooping as he sinks back into his mass of tentacles, exhausted. You lean down and pat one of them.

“That's what I thought.”

[balkanbitch]

Second chapter of this fic!

You can also find this fic on ao3 under balkanbitch!

Trigger Warnings

Descriptions of head wound treatments (nothing graphic just the process), descriptions of scars

Nothing else comes to mind!

Enjoy :)

Leo

When Leo became leader there were many things he didn't know he would have to face.

Fighting aliens, taking down the Shredder, sacrificing himself for humanity, making possibly death causing choices for his family.

Drugging your own little brother as he screamed and cried.

Somehow that was one of the wrost.

Leo sat on the ground of the alleyway trying to catch his breath as he stared at his youngest brother limp body.

His brothers did the same. No one spoke they just all sat there staring in disbelief at the struggle that took place.

Mikey had attacked them. Blindly. Hell he almost scratched out Leo eye in the fit. Screaming about he wants his real brothers.

Not them.

Raph ended being the first to move he picked up Mikey, cradling him. No one spoke. The whole thing kinda reminded Leo when they were kids, when one would fall asleep and the rest of them would try to lug them back to there room.

This was a lot different.

Donnie was the next to move standing near Raph to look at Mikey head wound from earlier.

Leo watched them trying to wrap his head around the situation. His brother had not remembered who they were, or at the very least not recognized them. Since he seemed to still know that he had brothers just not them. Attacking them when they had tried to take him back home.

Slowly Leo was able to will himself to stand and join his brothers.

"Hows he look Donnie?" Leo asked. Donnie turned to him and grimaced.

"Not good. The injury is pretty bad. Definitely a concussion, maybe some permanent damage." Donnie said.

"Oh so well barely be able to tell the difference." Raph joked. Leo rolled his eyes at the comment.

"Raph this is seriously not the time." Leo scolded.

"Theres a bit more." Donnie continued. "Some minor bruising, sprained ankle, broken wrist, dislocated shoulder. But that's all minor compare to his head. If I had to guess he mostly likey fell a few stories." Donnie finished.

None them had any comment, after that. Nothing else could be done in the alleyway so the only option is to head home.

When they finally got to the liar Leo was ready to lay down and never get up. Today had drained him emotionally and physically but mostly emotionally.

The turtles stumbled in to the liar where there seemed to be no one in the main area. Until Splinter entered from the dojo.

"My sons what took so long?" The rat asked before noticing Mikey in Raph arms.

"Is Michaelangelo okay?." Splinter asked moving closer to where they stood.

"Hard to say." Donnie interjected. "He seems to be suffering from some form of amnesia and tried to attack us earlier."

Splinter hummed at the responses.

"I see Raphael take your brother to Donatello lab. Donatello look over your brothers injuries again. Leonardo come with me and tell me extacly what happened." Splinter finished.

"Yes sensei." All the turtles replied before doing their assigned tasks.

Leo followed Splinter in to the dojo where they both sat cross legged and parrel from one another. Splinter sipped at a cup of tea he had left when he rushed out to greet his sons.

"So." Splinter started. "What happened."

Leo began to explain the events of the night. From where when they had gotten weird electric readings from a warehouse and told Mikey to stand watch. The warehouse ended up being a total bust so they decided to sweep the area for any more activity. They had eventually tracked another electrical signal to the spot they left Mikey where they found him disoriented and bleeding from his head. He went in to detail all the things Mikey had screamed and his escape attempt. Along with having to drug him just to get him home.

Splinter listened closely not inrupting his son and slowly sipping his tea. When Leo had finished Splinter placed his tea down.

"It seems that you have all had a rough night. You should get some rest." Splinter urged.

"But sensei what if-" Leo started but soon was interrupted by Splinter.

"You and your brothers have had a long night. I will be telling Raphael and Donatello to do the same once they are finished helping Michelangelo." Splinter concluded, standing up and exiting the dojo.

Leaving Leo only one option to go to his room and rest.

Donnie

Donnie was not having a good night.

Which was kinda a given after having there mission be a bust and than coming back to find his brother hysterical to the point of needing to drug him.

Not one of his better days.

Raph carefully put Mikey on an examination table as Donnie started to gather necessary items. Donnie biggest concern was the head injury. Everything else could be fixed later but this wound seemed bad. There definitely had to be some sort of deep damage if he didn't know who his own brothers where.

Once Donnie had finished getting everything he needed he returned to the examination table. Raph sat near by trying seem disinterested when reality he was most likey panicking as much as Donnie and Leo.

Donnie got to work slowly moving head up to see the wound. The bleeding mostly slowed by now but that didn't really mean much when it came to head wounds. Donnie inhaled sharply when he saw the extent of the damage. Carefully he moved Mikey in to a position where it would be easier to work on his head.

First he started with an x-ray. Donnie x- ray machine was old and a bit rickety but it did its job. Thankfully there was no skull fracture. Which was a great for Donnie. He than started to gently clean the wound. He didn't want to agitate more than it already had been from the drugging incident. Than he made sure to wrap bandages around his whole head just tight know to stay but not constrict.

Raph stayed near one of the walls watching Donnie work. He didn't say anything during the whole process. Only sat and watch. Donnie would not be lying if it stressed him out just a bit.

When Donnie had finished work on his head. He moved to Mikeys wrist to fix the break. He started by unwrapping the wraps all of them wore around his wrist that's when he saw something that made his stomach sink.

"Raph?" He called out feeling the concern leak in to his voice.

Raph came over before Donnie knew it. His eyes landing on Mikey now exposed arms. Raph breath hitched for just a second.

"Did you have any idea about these" Donnie asked.

"Hell no. What the fuck." Raph responded, newfound anger and panic seeping in to his voice.

On Mikey arms where long jagged scars. They ran all the way from his elbow to the end of his fingers. The scars looked similar to electrical burn scars. They where ugly and look like they where deep. Some parts it seemed as if he lost chunks of skin.

Donnie had no idea how long he was in shock until Raph spoke up.

"What do you think happened?" Raph asked uncharacteristically calm.

"Hard to say theres a good chance there some kind of burns most likey electrical. There also have to be at least a month old." Donnie analyzed as he was snapped out of his trance and started to work on Mikey wrist. Rewrapping so the wrist was properly set.

Raph hummed in acknowledgement.

"So should we tell Master Splinter and good old fearless or is this going to be a secret until we can get the full story?" Raph questioned.

"What will be kept a secret?" Spilnter said appearing out of nowhere near Raph.

"Sensei!" Donnie screeched as he had finished wrapping Mikey hand. "Nothing absolutely nothing is a secret!" Donnie quickly defended.

Splinter raised an eyebrow at his tallest son strange behavior but quickly let it go.

"Very well. I have just come to see if Michaelangelo is okay." Splinter said.

Donnie breathed a sigh of relief. While he had no problem telling Splinter about the scar it may not be the smartest decision. Mostly for the fact that there was a good chance Mikey had no idea where the scars came from, courtesy of his amnesia. And trying to get the truth may cause more stress to his healing head.

"Mikey doing better just some minor injuries!!"

For now this was the best option.

Even if Raph was glaring at him from behind Splinter.

Everything in the room was tense. Splinter probably knew he was lying and Raph definitely knew he was lying. Donnie could feel both of there eyes on him. Boring in to him. They both knew he was lying straight through his gaped tooth.

Mikey groaned which, thankfully, took all the attention away from Donnie. Splinter and Raph gathered around the table as Mikey slowly opened his eyes.

"What-" Mikey started before getting a good look at everyone and jolting up.

"Who are you." He screamed. He looked absolutely terrified as his gaze travel around the table.

"My son please calm yourself." Splinter stated resting a hand on Mikey shoulder. Unfortunately that was the dislocated one which caused Mikey to hiss in pain.

"Don't touch me!" He shrieked as he slapped away Splinter hand away. The movement seemed to shock the old rat who quickly gained his composure.

"Michaelangelo, I know this all must be very confusing to you but we are here for you." Splinter stated once again moving closer to Mikey. It was at that moment that Donnie realized something.

Mikey was hiding something behind his back.

"But we are here for you. We are your family." Splinter continued. On closer inspection on Donnie part he realized that one of the scalpels he had near Mikey bed was missing. The whole thing clicked all at once in Donnie head.

"You are not my family." Mikey screeched before raising up the scalpel lunging for Splinter.

[kanchistars]

How the genshin boys would react to you being badly hurt Pt.2

Genre: angst to fluff/comfort

Pairing: Childe x GN! Reader

Warnings/Cw: blood, mentions of death, pet names (my love + babe), and stabbing

Authors note: I will try to post these daily, but I do have school and I may be busy +_+ also please hold back from judging bc I'm only starting to write and I'm trying my best!

As a fatui harbinger, he eventually got you to join him as his subordinate. You only did it to see him everyday, plus you'd have some diplomatic importance.

All though you did have to go on missions every now and then, it was a fine price to pay for all the benefits. You never came back with more than a scratch.

One particular day, you got sent on a supposed short mission with some of your colleagues. Halfway through, an unplanned opponent appeared. None of you were significantly good fighters, but you took this chance as practice.

After many missed attacks on your enemy, it got bored. Your nervously watching helpers watched a blade appear and disappear from your back. You immediately collapsed and coworkers stood still in shock until the enemy started to approach them and they ran.

You were left by the opposer to die by bleeding out. But your "colleagues" had other plans.. mistakenly.

Ajax watches in horror as your teammates scramble into the fatui hideout without you. He's beside them within a second, "where are you going.. and where is my s/o?!" He growled. "B-big enemy! Stabbed! They were stabbed! We ran! We were.. scared." One of them blabbered on in panic.

A mix of anger and anxiety grew on tartaglia's face. Luckily, he stormed out of there to the scene of the fight before he killed someone.

Fear replaced the anger on his face as soon as he saw your body lying in a puddle of what he could only assume was your own blood. He rushed to you and checked you pulse, it was soft, very soft. Childe panicked immediately, but at least he could comfort himself with the fact that you were still alive. He hurriedly took of his red sash from off his shoulders and wrapped it around your chest, serving as a temporary bandage.

He hoisted your limp body up onto his back and supported your legs, "hold on, you can't die here.." he whispers to himself with worry in his voice. He started running back to the fatui hideout. The only person he could think of that would be able to heal a would like this was Dottore. So he subconsciously wandered into his lab, you still on his back.

As soon as Dottore saw Childe carrying in someone on his back his mind immediately went to testing on you. "Ooh, What's this? A new test subject perhaps..?" He questioned with a smile on his face. Childe obviously took offense, how could he think of you as a measley test subject?!

Childe scoffed, "yeah right, I'm only in here for you to help them." He pointed his head towards your body. "What are you waiting for?!" Dottore smiled and nodded taking you off his back carefully and setting you down on a dissecting table. Which, he'll admit was a little creepy, but it was the only type of table dottore had in his lab since he wasn't accustomed to healing.

He started by changing the sash for bandages, then he.. called a healing grunt in.. Childe looked annoyed. Dottore picked up on that, "what? you expected me to heal someone?! Hah! That's a good one tartaglia.." ajax scowled at him, crossing his arms and watching you closely. The angry look on his face disappeared as soon as his eyes wandered to you.

The grunt pushed his elemental energy to his fingertips and laid them on you wound. Ajax was staring daggers into him. And the grunt could've sworn his eyes were talking for the harbinger. If you hurt them, I'll kill you. Is what they spoke of.

...

As soon as the healer was done patching you up, Childe pushed him aside and stood over you. "Please, please wake up soon my love.."

Once you did wake up, you found yourself on Childe's bed. You ignored the pain and turned over to see ajax sleeping beside you. You smiled softly and pulled yourself closer to him. He turned over to see your eyes open and you moving. He gasped immediately and threw his arms around you in a hug.

You winced, and he caught himself. "S-sorry babe! I'm just so exited that you're awake!!" He shouted

You hugged him back though, it was nice to see him again after a while. :))

___________________________________________

Extras

Once you guys get back home together he will do absolutely everything for you. You will barely even have to get out of bed.

He sends like 100 really tough bodyguards with you if you ever go out to do missions

He gives you a phone for you to contact him if you get hurt + plus a bunch of backup phones just in case

___________________________________________

All credits go to me (kanchistars)

Rbs are appreciated!!

[teamfreewill56-blog]

It Means Nothing

So I don’t EVER write fan fiction because I’m not good at writing other people’s characters and them being OOC drives me bonkers but I couldn’t get this out of my head. 

KyojuroxReader SFW; slight angst? Y/N is also a Hashira

She breathed a sigh of relief seeing the Rengoku manor within walking distance, “Finally home Kyojuro, how is your shoulder?”

“It is a little sore but it will be all right. I’ve had worse.” He grinned. “If you hadn’t chopped his arm off at that last second I wouldn’t have had such a clean shot to cut off his head.”

“That’s enough praises out of you.  I’ll help you rebandage it after we get cleaned up.” She pushed the doors to the estate open and let him go through first.

“Brother! Y/N!” Senjuro ran from an open room and jumped off the porch, running over to them he hugged Kyojuro who laughed and hugged him back. “You’re home! Thank goodness! Are you okay?”

“We’re back safe Senjuro!” Kyojuro assured him with a grin.

“I’m so glad! I missed you both!” He let go of Kyojuro and hugged Y/N, she hugged him back, “I missed you too.” She kissed his forehead and Kyojuro beamed, his heart filling with joy seeing how happy Senjuro was in her arms. Y/N softly stroked the young boy’s fire tipped hair, “You must have been lonely.”

“I...it’s been all right, I’m just glad you’re home, are you both okay? Are you hurt?”

Kyojuro’s stomach twisted seeing his little brother’s hesitation, and the reminder that he was in this big house practically all alone all the time. “I’m sorry Senjuro. And only a little scratch, nothing to worry about!”

“Oh! No, it’s okay brother, you’re fulfilling your duties as a Hashira, it’s important!” He moved back from Y/N’s hug and gazed up at his brother.

Kyojuro touched Senjuro’s cheek softly, “We’re done with our duties for a while, so we get to be home for a couple of days.”

“I’m glad, are you sure the wound isn’t bad? You’ll be okay?” Senjuro’s eyebrows creased.

“I promise.” Kyojuro beamed at him. “I smell something delicious, what are you cooking Senjuro?”

He smiled softly, “Sweet potatoes and salt grilled bream.”

“Wahoo! You are an amazing little brother!” Kyojuro walked towards the house, “I’ll be right back, I’m going to report to father. Go ahead and start without me!”

“Kyojuro wait,” she called after the Flame Hashira, remembering something that had been eating at her thoughts for some time now. Kyojuro turned to her, “Hm?”

“I want to meet with Shinjurou, after you’re done checking in that is.”

Kyojuro’s smile fell, she had never met with Shinjuoru, or even seen him. Despite spending most of her free time at the Rengoku Mansion when they weren’t on duty. Even when she had dinner with them Senjurou took his father’s food to his room for him, he didn’t join them. She of course knew the stories about him as the previous Flame Hashira, and Kyojuro after some time had been willing to tell her about his childhood, so she knew about his mother, she’d never seen the ex-Hashira. Even though she was a Hashira herself, and she and Kyojuro had been together for almost a year.

“Why?”

She gave him a sly grin, “To ask for your hand in marriage of course.”

Kyojuro’s face flushed, “W-WHAT!? But you’re not supposed to--”

She laughed as Senjuro stared up at her wide-eyed, “I’m kidding! I’m kidding!” Y/N ruffled Senjuro’s soft hair with both hands, “Besides, I’d ask Senjuro’s permission before anyone else’s.” She paused, “I’ve never properly introduced myself to him even once, I want to meet him face to face. He’s your dad and a former Hashira, it’s rude for me to come over and not greet him.”

“Those kinds of things don’t matter to him Y/N, there’s no need to greet him.”

“Brother’s right, and Dad’s been in a really bad mood lately…”

“I’m a Hashira, I’m not afraid of the bad temper of a fellow Hashira.” She met Kyojuro’s eyes, determined. “Please let me talk to him, Kyojuro.”

He nodded, “All right, come on then. We’ll be right back Senjuro!”

“Okay.” He answered timidly, “I’ll set the table.” She let him go and follow Kyojuro.

“What’s the real reason?” Kyojuro asked once they were both no longer in earshot. Y/N looked up at him with raised eyebrows but he was looking at her with a concerned expression.

“I’ll tell you afterwards, I can tell you’re wanting to talk me out of it, and I need to do this.” She paused and cupped his chin between her fingers, “No matter what happens, or what you hear, don’t come into the room. I don’t mind if you listen in, but I don’t want you in there. I don’t want him lashing out at you, I want his focus on me.”

“But it’s okay for him to lash out at you? Y/N-”

“I’ve endured worse than anything your father could ever do to me.” She pushed her fingers against his lips, “Kyojuro you can’t keep waiting for him to pick himself up, you’re an adult now, and he’s still lying in bed. He can’t break out of this alone. Besides, he’s not an evil monster, he’s just a man in pain.”

“You’re right.” He sighed, kissing her fingers he pulled them to the side and softly kissed her, she kissed him back.

“No matter what he says or what you hear, stay out. Just listen.”

“All right.” He rubbed his thumb against her cheek.

She kissed the inside of his palm and walked with him to Shinjurou’s room, she kneeled down outside the door and listened as Kyojuro gave his report and dismissed him. He looked back at her and she motioned for him to come out. Kyojuro bowed to his father’s back then stood and walked out. She walked into the room and slid the door shut behind her, keeping it open only a small crack. She walked over to the bed and kneeled down. She knew Kyojuro was kneeling right next to the door, and she just hoped he really would stay put. She took a deep breath, feeling the extra flow of her total concentration breathing constant and looked back at Shinjurou, staring out at the garden with an open book beside him and a jug of sake as well. The smell of the alcohol coated the room.

“Get out. I didn’t ask to speak to you.”

“No.” She answered calmly, “ Why did you tell Kyojuro that being the Flame Hashira means nothing?”

“Don’t back talk to me girl! What I tell my sons is none of your business!”

“It is my business when what you’re saying affects someone I love. Did you tell him that because being a Hashira didn’t provide you with a way to actually save her?”

Shinjurou grabbed his jug and hurled it at her. She let it hit her, “GET OUT OF HERE! WHAT DO YOU KNOW ABOUT IT!?”

She didn’t move, the jug shattered and covered her in sake, she kept her fists on her thighs, even though the jug hit her forehead it somehow missed striking her eyes. Eyes that she bore into Shinjurou with determination, his eyes widened as he realized she wasn’t dodging and had just taken it to the face. Blood cracked down her face,  “I know that she had great pride in you as a Hashira and a Dad, because why else would Kyojuro work so hard to obtain it.” He reached for her and she grabbed his arm, not flinching, “I know how much it hurts to be so utterly helpless as the person you cherish fades away, and not being able to do anything. You feel like your entire body is being destroyed from the inside and it hurts so much to feel you’d do anything to be numb. To feel the poison in your chest every time you have to look at a true monster who’s still alive when you lost someone who was pure love and kindness and did nothing but good in their life.” She flattened her hand so it was resting against his, and placed her other hand on his wrist, his body shaking as he glared at her, “I know that she left you two amazing, beautiful sons that emanate her because everything Kyojuro does he does because of her. They’re not just your sons, they were hers too, they have her in them, and I can’t just sit by and keep watching you punish them for that by removing yourself from their lives and being so hostile towards them. How can you love her and yet be so cruel to the two people she blessed you with? The only two things in this whole world that are left of her? Your sons only have love for you, in spite of everything and you are the only person who can show them the full magnificence of their mother, she deserves to be allowed to still exist here, and I wish you would bring her back into their lives. I know you’re afraid of losing them, I can’t imagine how terrifying it must be for you every time Kyojuro leaves on an assignment. But you can’t protect him lying in here reading. You can’t be a bystander in his life and still hope to protect him.”

Shinjurou glared at her, frozen, but his eyes getting moist. She put her hands down and gently pulled herself from his grasp, “Excuse me.” She whispered, bowing before getting up and walking out of the room, not looking at him so she doesn’t see that he’s still frozen in place. She slid the door shut and looked down at Kyojuro who was staring into the room, tears in his eyes, he looked up at her, being brought back to the present as she moved the door. She kneeled down and gently cupped his face in her hands, wiping his tears away she gave him a gentle reassuring smile, now noticing that her body was shaking with the confrontation being over. She was feeling so many things she couldn’t quite figure out which feeling was making her tremble. She could tell Kyojuro was trying to figure out what to address first, her shaking, bleeding or that she was drenched.

“I’m fine, Tanjiro’s not the only one with a hard head, but some fresh clothes would be appreciated.” Kyojuro hugged her and led her to his room where he gave her one of Mitsuri’s old training outfits. She changed and then cleaned up her face, Kyojuro insisting on helping her bandage the cut running diagonally across the center of her forehead.

“Y/N you should have stopped it--I should have stepped in--”

“I needed to get my point across, and he needed to know I wasn’t trying to fight him.” She smiled, “I just hope he at least considers what I said. Your Dad is still alive, by some miracle given all the sake he drinks, and I just...I know you want your Dad back, and I want to do everything I can to bring him back to you. He might not listen to me still, but it was worth a shot.” She ran to the door, “Senjuro Kyojuro said he didn’t want his sweet potatoes and I can have them!” She grinned and ran out of the room.

“Hey wait a minute I did not! Senjuro don’t listen to her!” Kyojuro raced out of the room after her. He managed to get to the dining room just seconds after she did and tackled her, pinning her down, “Those are mine!” She hit him in the stomach with her knees knocking him off as Senjuro came into the room with a fourth plate. “I’ll be right back, I’m going to take--” Senjuro froze as he looked at the door, Shinjurou stood there, he looked at Y/N and Kyojuro. The pair immediately sat up properly.

“D-Dad?” Senjuro stuttered.

Link to Ch. 2: https://teamfreewill56-blog.tumblr.com/post/654545159409795072/it-means-nothing-ch2

[deluluass]

Then, the dam breaks.

Content warnings: rape/noncon; nsfw; dacryphilia; mild infantilization

Kuroo's not a bad person. 

Not even by a long shot. "Bad" is willfully stretching out a leg, hidden like a predator among the bushes; hungry for an unknowing soul who's naively secured with their surroundings and the crack that resounds when face finally meets floor.

Or, murder! Murder is bad, he believes.  

No, Kuroo isn't capable of any of those things. He might seem like he has a mean streak about him. What, with his sharp tongue and that incorrigible self-satisfied smirk (according to Yaku) and his words that may or may not sting like a backhanded slap sometimes. But that's all in good humor. 

Well-deserved, too, when given to the right asshole. And if he does manage to get under the skin of the wrong person, Kuroo's not above offering an apology. 

And he means it. (Occasionally.)

There's no pleasure to be had, if anyone would ask. Because, again , he's not a bad guy. He's sly: he knows that much, though he wouldn't taunt someone into visible pain just for the thrill of it.

There's a method to all this. A purpose. Not a profound one, but a reason all the same. 

So he has to admit he's feeling kinda lost figuring out why, of all people, it just really had to be you. 

There wasn't much of an option to begin with.

Art clubs had already been full. The other ones, you weren't much interested in. And by the time you realized your homeroom teacher would stop at nothing to remind you that this year was your last chance to do something other than study and prepare for exams, for once— well, it had already been too late to reconsider joining those.

Then a flyer was handed out to you.

"V-volley," the boy trailed off. 

Try as you might but you couldn't recognize him. A feat, that, considering his blond mohawk that you could spot among a crowd of thousands. 

He seemed like he'd caught a nasty spell that prevented him from meeting anyone's eyes, even as you deliberately searched his face for any sign that he'd explain himself to you. Surely, he must have a lot to say after he'd outright ambushed you from entering the cafeteria. 

"You...want me to join?" 

You were on the verge of asking for more details, focusing on the black cat (though it didn't look like it) drawn on the center of the curiously damp paper, only to find out that you'd been conversing with an empty hallway. 

A soft grumble left you. 

"Weird," you concluded, barely a whisper. "Weird, weird, weird ."

You were the volleyball team's manager since then. 

"She's not much of a talker."

Lev hunched to his knees again, sounding very much like he's running out of breath.

It should've been Kuroo's cue to gently ( gently) tell him off, that Nekoma's ace would handle a minute of catching a ball with their face with much more tenacity than he does, or that Nekoma's ace shouldn't have to catch the ball with their face in the first place, period.

" Zoning out already, Ace? " he'd planned on jeering, but instead he followed the direction of the overgrown 10 year old's gaze. 

Someone was talking to you. 

Apologizing , was more like it, if the other student's incessant bowing until his torso fell from his body was any indication. You were outside of the gym, clipboard tucked under an arm, so it was impossible to catch a word you were saying.

Not that you were saying much. Or anything at all. You only nodded. And nodded again. And after what seemed like the world's loudest "I'm so sorry, senpai!",you immediately went back inside to refill the water bottles lined atop the bench. 

"Hey," Kenma sighed, the ball in his hand aimed for a toss. "Focus."

And the cycle of Lev being an utter disappointment to the blond setter continued. 

Kuroo let out a noncommittal hum, eyes never leaving you, trailing like a lost pup as you handed out water bottles to Nobuyuki and the others. 

"Not a talker, huh," he muttered to himself. 

How long has it been? Two weeks? Three, maybe? Kuroo could scarcely remember for how many days you'd been showing up to this sweaty pit to perform your duties. On the dot. Always. Without fail. 

What he does remember was the first day.

Chin up; head held high. You strutted into their lives as if you were leading an entire militia to battle and had no time to waste.  

He teased you for it when you'd already busied yourself with clean up duty a few minutes after your (short) ( extremely concise) introduction.

("Slow down there, general," he told you with a wry chuckle. He expected any reaction from you, really.)

(He just didn't expect you to actually slow down on your cleaning and pick up on the Coach's remaining paperwork right then and there, going through it like a forest fire.)

It would take him a few more days to realize that that's just how you are. 

Even when you rejected a tongue-tied Yamamoto when he tried to ask you out. For a meal. With the other boys, of course.

Even when you took a hurtling ball to your leg and lost your footing and had the whole team scrambling for a stretcher, only for you to stand on your good leg, tell everyone "I'm okay," and walk to the nurse's office on your own.

(Kuroo doesn't think he's seen someone limp with so much grace before.)

His throat suddenly felt incredibly dry. 

Water . Water was what he needed. 

Right. 

You didn't see him coming from across the court. You were sitting on the bench and your back was turned, scribbling on that clipboard propped on your lap, yet— like clockwork, your idle hand shot out to give him the last bottle to your left before he could even finish asking for one.

He felt his lips curve as he muttered his thanks around the lid.

"Say," Kuroo began.  

You were reading the things you wrote back to yourself. 

"Mind telling me what was that about?"

You paused. You blinked up at Kuroo. 

The attention hits him like a freight train. 

That clear as summer sky gaze, unclouded and bright. 

It's nuts how unreal it felt. How can something so elusive be now all on him. 

(Just for him.)

"Earlier," he added, licking his lips and feeling silly for the way his chest tightened. "Seemed kinda intense."

"He borrowed my notes," you said. Then back to the clipboard again. 

Kuroo made himself comfortable next to you, elbow propped on his knee as he rested his chin against an open palm.

"Got a test coming up?"

"Cram school. He's in the same class."

Of course .

"Of course," Kuroo grinned. "What happened? Heard the guy apologize to you like you were about to kill him."

Laughter bubbled out of his chest. Unfortunately, you didn't seem to find it as funny as he did. Pity. 

He sighed.

"Nothing too bad, I hope."  

The noise of ballpoint pen scratching against paper halted. 

From way at the back, Lev was prattling Kenma's ear off again. Kuroo guessed they were about to leave, walking away from the court, away from the gym and to god knows where. The whole team, too, for that matter.

Everyone seemed to have gone, diminished in that second. He couldn't hear them anymore, didn't bother to see if they're still there.

He was looking at you, after all. Really looking at you. Your grip on the pen was a tad severe, he thought; fingers determined to squeeze the ink out of the barrel. 

Your face betrayed nothing. Indeed, anyone could spare you a glance and immediately guess that this is just another empty chat between acquainted individuals, conversation just for the sake of it. 

Kuroo wasn't just anyone, though.

Chin up and head held high; as you'd always done. But Kuroo's close enough to see it now, unlike before: the gulps you take in between breaths; the falter in those eyes that only ever looked forward.

Chin up and head held high, but Kuroo sees now that the neck he could easily break with one hand is so tense it's essentially a string pulled too tight that's on the brink of snapping. 

Oh.

"Oh," Kuroo whispered.

Oh .

"He lost it didn't he?" Kuroo realized. "Your notes."

And it did snap.

"Just..!" You looked down and bunched your pants in your fist. "No. Of course not. It's nothing," you huffed, putting the ball pen's cap back on. 

You were leaving.

Kuroo stood up.

"You look upset, manager-san," he said softly, his larger frame blocking your attempts of escape. "It is bothering you, hm?"

"My notebook got-got ruined, sure," you said. "But juice stains aren't bothering me, Captain ."

There it is. You were meeting his gaze again. 

" Too late for that ," Kuroo thought. There's a stutter to your words when there had been none. 

Your arms are trembling and you look  uncomfortable. He should stop. He knows he should stop , but whatever it is he said is chipping away at that impenetrable wall and he doesn't get what's happening now but damn, damn if that tingle running down his spine doesn't feel so fucking good. 

"My bad," he chuckled. "Sorry."

He raised both his arms in a show of defeat. 

"I'm- it's fine," you said through gritted teeth. "If you would just— excuse me."

Kuroo shrugged a shoulder. 

"Sorry about your notes, still," he said. "Must've been important to you. We all know how much you take your studies very, very seriously." 

Kuroo smirked. "You shouldn't have let him have it then." 

That made you stop in your tracks. 

"What do you mean?" you sought, confusion breaking your voice into what sounds like the smallest it's ever been.

Kuroo felt his breath catch in his throat.

"He needed my help, though," you rushed. "I can't just turn people away." 

"Really?" Kuroo sniggered, eyebrows lifting in fascination. 

"Could've sworn you were good at it," he said; whispered it so lowly, you couldn't have heard it. But you did.

You heard him, all right. Loud and clear.

Because it was just like watching someone take a bullet to the heart. 

First, the disbelief. 

Skin, muscles, and ligaments weren't made to be broken like that. A person wasn't created to bleed to death. And when it happens, well, all one can ask is: how could someone hurt me like this? 

So you stand before him, immobile, disbelief written in those wide eyes, because how could he hurt me like this?

Then—

Then, the dam breaks.

Kuroo doesn't think that you know it; that you're gaping at him with tears streaming down your face; that you're falling apart and stripping yourself bare the more you try to temper those quivering lips with that cute little nibbling you do.  

Kuroo doesn't think you know it, too.

That no one has ever been as beautiful as you are, right in that very moment.

You're not a good person.

Not even by a long shot. "Good" is an open hand, warm and soft and prepared to accept anyone in need of it. It's many things, goodness, but it most certainly isn't a dismissive attitude towards a well-meaning person who only wants to get to know you.

You hadn't gone this far in your uneventful life ignorant of what people say behind your back. "Frigid" is one. "Indifferent" on a good day. "Bitch" when someone feels like being mean. 

It's not like you're mad or anything; not as if you'd built up some sort of resentment within you that now you've settled for being perpetually friendless. You have plans, is all. You just can't afford to be a constant helping hand when you've got so much to do.

So you take it. 

Be a sport about it, was what you've always been told. Stiff upper lip, as they say. You remain silent about it and you endure and maybe you shed a few tears later as you lie in bed and maybe you entertain the possibility that you'll never see the end of this loneliness. 

But that's neither here nor there.

The point is, this time shouldn't have been any different.

(But sometimes even the strongest walls can crumble. All it takes is one crack, then the rest would follow.)

It was a bad day. 

You woke up late. You messed up the tally in the first set of practice games. You forgot the homework you'd stayed up all night to do. 

And the person whom you've lended your notes to for the college entrance exams lost it. 

He lost it. Conveniently just a month before the actual thing. 

"I- It's nowhere to be found, senpai," he explained. "I tried looking for it everywhere but- but I.." (You don't remember the rest.)

It's fine, you told yourself. You're fine. You can do something about a little inconvenience like this. You always have.

But then Kuroo Tetsurou asked. 

He's an amazing captain; even someone like you who only had a rudimentary knowledge at volleyball could understand the level of skill it requires to do what he does on the court while still managing to reign in the polarizing characters in this team together. And like most people, Kuroo Tetsurou has never cared for you. 

That's what you'd always thought, concerning him. Even when there had been times when he'd let slip what he thought about you. ("You're so cold, manager-san," he pouted once after you'd refused to eat with Yamamoto and the others.)

So it blindsided you, to say the least. 

The way he looked at you, as if he's privy to your darkest secrets, like he's seen you at your lowest and somehow knows you more than you did. 

When he'd jabbed and poked at what you'd only later realize was already a festering wound. (" It is bothering you, hm?" he said.) And before you could think about telling him to stop, to please, please let it go, it had already happened.

(" Could've sworn you were good at it ," he said.) 

This isn't news to you. Besides, there have obviously been worse digs. 

But hearing it from people who think you're not listening and being told about it to your face are two vastly different things. 

(Maybe it's because deep inside you'd always hoped that not everyone disliked you. That even though you're not a good person, you're not entirely bad either.)

Right in front of you, swift and without warning, he spoke only the truth.

You just weren't prepared for how deep it could cut. 

"I have to go," you murmured.

It took you a few seconds to realize that you'd been crying. And when you did, you immediately wiped your cheek with the back of your hand, turning away from him and the others still engrossed in their drills.

You let your feet do the thinking, allowing it to take you wherever they wished to go ( not here. not here. anywhere but here ), finding it impossible to do so yourself when your vision is clouded with welling tears. 

You moved forward, never once looked back, until you ended up inside the stark darkness of the gym's forgotten neighbor. 

The shed has long been abandoned and had nothing but dust, a couple of furniture in disrepair, and the occasional bug to keep it company. It was good enough for you. You didn't need much anyway.

Except for silence. 

The breaths that you'd desperately tried to control shook like dried leaves hanging onto frail branches, much like your legs, eventually collapsing at the slightest gust of wind. 

All you needed was silence.

Crouched down, the feeling of bones reduced to jelly was a lot more palpable. And despite the pins and needles that you know would eventually appear like a vengeful mistress, you stubbornly pressed your knees closer to your damp face.

Stuttering inhales and short-lived exhales  soon enough filled the gnawing emptiness of the shed as you count back to the moment you'd started the day to when your classmate told you that he'd lost your notebook to when you'd been told of how much of a shitty person you are and you wonder how you would've changed your decisions and how could it have gotten to this point how could it go wrong like this what did I do what did I do wrong what went —

"There you are."

You clamped your mouth shut, clenched your teeth so hard to stop their chattering. How useless. 

The creaking noise of the door being closed— punctuated by the sound of the latch clicking, rendered that effort futile. 

Kuroo Tetsurou locked the door.   

"C-can you," you panted. "Can you please leave."

"I need some time alone," you said, every beat of your heart like the ticking clock of a time bomb. "Please." 

You waited for him to do as you'd told. Maybe what happened earlier was a mistake, a slip of tongue that hurt more than it should've, and he's here to apologize. Of course. That's it, isn't it? Why else would he be here?

"I- If you want to say something, we can- we can— later." 

It was as if the entire world had gone still. He said nothing; neither could you hear any hint of movement. You turned around.

"C-captain..!"

He was right there. 

Right in front of you, crouched and staring right back at you. His face a hair's breadth away from yours. 

Your legs shot upwards. 

"What are you- ah !" You hissed, feeling every cell in your body being incessantly pricked. Finding it impossible to stand on your own, your hands scrambled to get a hold of something, anything, maybe the almost dilapidated table behind you— only to be caught in between large, strong arms.

"Careful, now," he murmured against your neck. His scalding breath like frostbite, chilling you down to your bones until you were numbed from the pain.

He slithered a hand around your waist. With blood thundering to your ears, you bit back a shriek and pushed him away with all your might. But have you forgotten? Despite that indolent swagger of his, you've witnessed how this boy pushes himself to exertion for each match and beyond. What made you think you could win against him? 

And when you attempted to open your mouth and yell, he effortlessly covered it with a palm while hauling you towards the table. The thing rocked under your weight. It is amusing, what the fear of falling does to you. One moment you're thrashing your way out; the next, you're holding onto your tormentor for dear life.

"No one's gonna come for you." He shushed you like how one would when placating a rabid animal. "You really believe they would bother? With an attitude like that?"

Down, down, his hand sank to your thigh, kneading the aching flesh until all you could do was mewl out a hoarse, "S-stop. I beg y-you."

Because it's all that's left for you. No one's going to save you. Or maybe someone would. But, who? And would they, really? 

(Go on, then. Try. See for yourself.)

"Kuroo-san," you whimpered. " S-stop ."

(Would they even believe you? It's your word against his. Him . Their beloved captain.)

"Tetsurou," he only said, dipping his hand lower, wrapping your freezing legs around him. "Say it."

He's everywhere. Lips tracing your chin, teeth grazing your throat; all the while your weak, pathetic arms stayed on his shoulders, thinking he'd regain his senses because he has to. He has to. He's not a bad person. He wouldn't hurt you, not in that way. 

Even when rough palms are already caressing the sides of your breasts and you feel a bulge rutting against your stomach, hot and rock hard and large, his hands grabbing your ass to bring your crotch closer to his—

"Cap- Tetsurou!" You cried, trembling hands back on his chest as you sobbed and pleaded please, please, let me go, I won't say anything, I-I'll keep quiet .

He did stop. But he didn't let you go. (You're a stupid girl if you think he would). Instead, with a forefinger under your chin and a thumb on your lower lip, he gently tilted your head to meet his gaze. 

And when your murky vision adjusted to the shadows, the heart that wanted to escape from your chest ceased its clamoring, arresting your breath with it.

The afternoon sun peeked through the crevices of the shed's wooden walls. Red-orange light revealed a pair of iris swallowed by blown pupils, only for it to pass and shroud him back into the darkness. 

"Say it again," he whispered, deep voice cracking. " Tetsurou . My name."

You tried to speak and protest once again but only a croaked snivel left you, your babbling becoming less coherent when he began planting soft kisses on both tear-streaked cheeks. 

"You've been all alone, haven't you? Keeping everything to yourself all this time."

He kissed your forehead and it was so tender you wanted to die. 

"My strong, brave girl," he breathed. "I'll take care of you. I'll take care of you. I- I-"

You heard him chuckle as he pressed his forehead to yours, felt it crease on your skin. "I love you."

No. No, no, no . You shook your head and closed your eyes and prayed to anyone who's listening. 

"I love you," he repeated, strongly now, as if he only realized it this time around. 

And then he kissed you. Just a peck. And then he kissed you again, deepening it to probe a wet tongue into your mouth. And the hand sitting lax on your neck felt like a gun to your temple.   

You remained just as you were, like a plaything to do with as he pleased, as you felt calloused fingers creep inside your sweaty shirt.

"Such pretty tits," he grunted as he raised your bra over your breasts to brush your nipples, rolling and pinching and pulling them with his thumbs.

He muffled the noises you made with his own mouth still when he continued fondling you. You soon enough tasted the salt off of his palm when he left your lips to lick and pepper bites on your neck, on the valley and mounds of your breasts, sucking and lapping the stiff peaks until he was satisfied.

You tried counting, one to whatever. And when that did not work, you tried biting your own tongue to rid of the heat you fear would burst in your belly. 

All that went to waste when he reached inside your pants. 

"Not- not there!" you gasped, breaking your silence and wriggling out of his grasp.

He cooed. "You'll feel good. I promise."

After hooking long fingers over the hem of your panties, he briskly parted the hair and lips underneath to pull the thin cotton over the folds, over the throbbing nub trapped in the middle. 

"Your pussy's so wet, sweetheart," he sighed, the tip of his middle finger drawing light circles on your clothed clit. 

It was so lewd and dirty and the fact that your panties were soaked with slick was enough to burn you with shame.

"You like it, hm?" 

Perhaps you whimpered out a meek "no." You couldn't tell anymore, heaving out while he continued to toy with a sore nipple as he rubbed your slippery cunt, preying on your puffed out, swollen clit.  

"Feel what you do to me." He squeezed your wrist and forced your shivering hand on his crotch. "Take out my cock, baby," he whispered, scattering kisses on your neck.

"Tet-Tetsuro…san," you cried. "I can- I can't."

"Yes. Yes, you can ," he said, not halting the ministrations between your legs. "You're a big girl."

As if held by a string, he guided you, wrapped his hand around yours as he— as you stroked him, scorching and thick, up and down, just like that . 

"Good girl. My good little girl," he groaned, parting your panties to the side to tease your dripping hole. 

You wept harder, the inevitable only a few seconds away from you. A single finger, at first. And when he added a second one, you realized you preferred having a hand on your mouth than his lips on yours.

(Because then you wouldn't have to think of an excuse why you're suddenly swirling and brushing your tongue in time with his.) 

For a while there had been nothing but the sound of two wet lips pursing against each other (along with those embarrassing squelching noises). 

He treated you as if you were made of porcelain, your plush walls stroked oh so gently as he circled the sensitive bundle of nerves. Even when he ended the kiss and removed your hand from his cock, spit and pre-cum connecting you to him, he still handled you as if you would break at the drop of a hat.

That's why it snuck up on you, what happened, after he brought his mouth to your ear.

"Don't scream," he whispered. 

Then, he rammed his fingers in your mouth. 

You tasted yourself as he forced you on your back, slamming you down on the dirty table yet still carrying your weight all throughout, never letting go.

The bitter acceptance of it— that what began earlier can only conclude to this , did not prepare you for the feeling when he finally thrust himself into you.

They say it shouldn't hurt at first. If it does then he's doing it wrong. 

You hardly know if it's relief or horror that dawns on you when you realize how he stretched you out so easily, despite his size. Because, by all means, this should be wrong. This is wrong. 

"Gonna ruin you," he panted. "Gonna ruin you and— fuck put you back together myself."

He grinded his cock inside you deep and slow and when he hit that spot you couldn't control yourself from jackknifing so hard he had to hold you down. He does this mercilessly, pace growing more delirious until you're nothing but a choked and sputtering fool around his fingers.

"I won't ever leave you. I’m here," he cooed, stroking your hair and kissing your face as you bawled and shattered in his embrace. "I’m here ."

"So cry all you want."