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shokocide · 1 month ago

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HEART OF THE OCEAN - GOJO SATORU

summary. Gojo Satoru was never meant to survive your song. You were never meant to fall for a human. But the ocean has never followed the rules.

word count. 17.2k (nnyeah)

content. mdni fem!siren!reader, pirate!gojo, slowburn, mutual pining, forbidden love, reader lowkey has daddy issues, fluff, pet names, making out, really inaccurate transformations from siren to human, smut, fingering, p in v, feral gojo, slight dacryphilia, pearl necklaces, aftercare, ANGST, violence, gore and blood, major character death (not too graphic tho), rebirth

author's note. idk y'all i just wanted to write some angst

The ship rocked gently beneath a sky smeared with pink clouds and salt-kissed breeze. The sails are full, the air warm, the crew loud as ever. Shoko tosses a flask to Geto across the deck, slouching against the railing with her usual lazy grin. Nanami mutters to himself over the ration count, already annoyed and it wasn’t even noon. Yuuji and Nobara are bickering again, locked in a heated knot-tying competition that neither of them are winning.

Gojo stood at the helm, one hand on the wheel, the other dragging along the edge of a map he’d practically memorized. His fingers paused over a spot he’d circled days ago, the charcoal mark smudged from how often he’d touched it.

"Been staring at that for hours, Satoru," Geto called out, an amused lilt in his voice. "You sure you’re not in love with that map?"

Gojo didn’t glance up. "If it leads to what I think it does, I just might propose."

"Treasure, treasure, treasure," Nobara groaned. She climbs up onto a barrel, arms crossed. "You know there’s more to life than gold, right?"

"I respectfully disagree," Nanami mumbles.

"I just hope we don’t run into any sirens," Yuuji says, tossing a pebble into the sea, watching it plop uselessly into the waves.

That earned a collective scoff.

"Oh, not this again," Nobara rolled her eyes.

"I’m serious!" Yuuji turned around, pointing his finger like he was telling a ghost story. "They sing to you and boom—you're overboard. You don’t even realize your legs stopped working ‘til you're halfway down."

"Those are just stories," Nobara snaps. "Tales to keep dumb kids from getting too close to the water."

"But what if they’re real?" Yuuji presses. "Like, really real. What if one of us hears singing and just jumps in without meaning to—"

"I vote Megumi," Nobara cut in, grinning.

Megumi didn’t even look up from the net he was mending. "You’d drown before I would."

Shoko snorted. "That tracks."

Their laughter rolled like thunder, loud and light. But Gojo’s gaze slid back to the horizon, narrowing just slightly. The water was still. Too still. Then, a ripple. Subtle, but there.

He blinked. A shimmer caught his eye—just beneath the sunlit surface. Iridescent. Brief. Gone.

His fingers flex around the wheel. There it was again. That strange pull. A drumbeat deep in his chest. Familiar and foreign, like a memory from a dream he couldn’t place.

He exhales. Must’ve been the fish.

"Alright," he says, snapping the map shut with one hand. "We drop anchor near that island before sundown. We’ll stay the night."

"Think the treasure’s buried there?" Geto asks, already reaching for the spyglass.

"No," Gojo replies, voice as easy as ever. "But I’ve got a good feeling."

He doesn’t say more. Doesn’t mention the ripple, or the flash of light beneath the water. Doesn’t mention the song he swore he hears every now and then, just barely, rising from the sea.

The ship had long since gone quiet. Lanterns dimmed, voices hushed, footsteps replaced with the rhythmic creak of wood and the hush of waves licking the hull. The moon hung low, fat and silver, scattering a path of light across the water.

Gojo lay stretched across a barrel of rope, arms folded behind his head, eyes half-lidded but nowhere near sleep. The wind was calm. Almost too calm. He should’ve been tired—hell, he was tired—but something kept tugging at him from inside his chest. That same pull again. A gnawing curiosity. A whisper. And then he heard it—voice. Not loud. Not calling. Just… singing.

Soft. Sweet. Smooth like honey and salt. The kind of sound that shouldn't exist out here. Not this far from civilization. Not on an unmarked island in the middle of nowhere.

He sat up slowly, blinking. The song wove through the air, light as seafoam, curling around him like mist. It didn’t sound human. It sounded too perfect for that. But it didn’t sound inhuman, either. It sounded like longing. What the hell?

He stood, quiet, careful not to wake the others. No one stirred—not even Geto, who usually slept with one eye open. Gojo climbed down the side of the ship, boots hitting sand with a soft thud. The island was still. The trees whispered, but there was no wind.

The voice carried again. Closer now. Just beyond the curve of the beach. He walked toward it, heart thumping hard. His mouth felt dry.

And then—he saw you.

You were seated on a wide rock near the shallows, bathed in moonlight. The surf curled gently around your feet. You glowed, in a way no human could—skin kissed with shimmer, hair catching the light like strands of pearl. And you were singing. Not to the sky, not to the sea. To him.

Gojo froze. You looked up, still singing. His throat went dry. He blinked once. Twice. No way.

He pinched his own arm, hard. Ow.

Still there. Still singing.

His heart was thundering now. Not in fear—he didn’t know what this was. Enchantment? A dream? A warning? He couldn’t tear his eyes away. He’d seen beauty. But this—this was something else. Something ethereal. Something that didn’t belong in a world full of men with swords and ships and thievery.

You smiled, just barely. And kept singing. To him.

You don’t stop singing. If anything, your voice softens, curling like silk around his ribs as he takes a slow step forward. Then another. The moonlight halos around you and the wet sheen of your skin shimmers. Your fingers trail along the stone you’re perched on, just barely touching the water, like you're inviting him in without a single word.

He’s never seen eyes like yours. Deep and endless, like the ocean. And they’re looking right at him. He swallows hard.

“...What are you?” he whispers. It’s not fear in his voice. It’s awe.

You tilt your head. Your song slows, just a little. A single note hangs in the air, trembling like a secret.

His boots crunch the sand as he nears the edge of the water, close enough to see the shimmer of your scales beneath the surface. He doesn’t stop walking. He should. But gods, he doesn’t want to.

You lift your hand then—slow, graceful, beckoning. He’s close enough now to see the curve of your mouth, the glint of something glowing faintly at your throat. An amulet. Round. Ancient. The glow pulsing softly like a heartbeat.

You hum one final note, low and intimate, and it lingers in the air like perfume. Your voice disappears into the sound of the sea.

Gojo takes another step, so close now the tide laps at his ankles. His mouth parts like he’s going to say something again, ask what this is, who you are, why it feels like the ocean is calling his name through your lips. But all that comes out is “You’re real.” And gods help him, he wants you to be.

The silence that follows is deafening. The sea seems to still around you. Even the breeze hesitates. He stands there, thigh-deep in the water now, eyes fixed on you like a man utterly enthralled. He doesn’t blink. Doesn’t breathe. You watch him with a soft smile curling your lips—dangerously pretty, devastatingly calm.

Then, finally, you speak.

“Well,” you murmur, voice dipped in honey and seafoam. “Took you long enough.” It’s like breaking a spell—and casting another one right after.

His breath hitches. That teasing lilt in your voice? It sparks something wild in his chest. His fingers twitch at his sides.

“Was beginning to think you’d never come closer,” you purr, tilting your head, letting your hair fall over one shoulder. It bares your chest completely—not that you were hiding it.

Gojo’s breath catches. His hands—previously relaxed at his sides—suddenly twitch like he doesn’t know what to do with them. His gaze darts away, toward the horizon, the water, anywhere but you. And yet—he keeps sneaking glances. Quick. Desperate. Guilty.

You watch his throat work around a swallow. He shifts his weight. Drags a hand down his face. Tries very hard to look like he’s not flustered out of his goddamn mind.

He fails spectacularly.

You don’t move. You don’t need to. Just sit there, naked under the moonlight, letting him unravel quietly in front of you.

The silence stretches.

His mouth opens. Closes. For once, Gojo Satoru is speechless.

“You—” he tries.

You blink slowly. Innocently. “Me?” The word rolls off your tongue like silk.

He swallows hard. “You’re not afraid I’ll—”

“What?” You laugh, soft and rich. “Try to capture me? Drag me aboard your little ship and chain me like some prize?”

His eyes narrow, but there's a flicker of a grin tugging at his lips.

You lean forward, elbows resting on your tail, eyes gleaming. “Tell me, sailor,” you whisper. “What would you even do with a creature like me?”

He’s standing there like a man caught between heaven and hell. Every instinct in him is screaming this is a bad idea. But gods above, he wants to find out.

You watch him take another step. The water reaches his hips now, the fabric of his coat floating around him in soft ripples. He’s soaked, hair damp, moonlight catching on the white strands like frost. But he doesn’t seem to care. You don’t move. You don’t need to. He’s the one crossing the sea for you.

“Still think you’re dreaming?” you ask, voice low, velvet-smooth. You rest your chin in your hand, gaze locked to his. There's a dangerous sort of curiosity behind those sea-deep eyes—like you’re not just waiting for him, but testing him.

He lets out a breathless laugh, half-shaky. “Wouldn’t be the strangest dream I’ve had.”

Gojo’s throat bobs as he swallows. His hand lifts slowly, as if moving through water thick with molasses, hesitation and desire tangling in every breath he takes. You watch him with a smile, calm and inviting.

His fingers are just inches from your skin now. The curve of your jaw. The shimmer of your collarbone. One final confirmation that you’re real.

He pauses. “You won’t disappear, will you?” he whispers.

“I could,” you say. “But I won’t.”

He reaches. Slowly. And when the tips of his fingers brush your skin—just barely—you don’t flinch. You don’t pull away. You lean in. A little. Just enough. Enough to make him ache.

Suddenly it isn’t just his hand. It’s his whole body straining forward, the pull of something ancient and dangerous and inevitable. You smell like salt and stormwinds, something sacred and wild, and when your skin meets his, warm and cool at once—

He exhales like he’s been holding his breath for centuries.

You smile. “Not a dream,” you murmur. “Sorry, sailor.”

You feel it. The shift in the air, the quiet tremor in the waves. Your amulet pulses once, faintly, like it senses what’s supposed to happen next. The ritual. The ending.

But you ignore it.

Because he’s still looking at you, cerulean eyes boring into yours like he’s never seen anything more divine.

For just a little longer, you want to be worshipped.

Your fingers move before you even think. Lightly, you drag one hand along his collar—soft, teasing, feather-light. His breath stutters. You smile, letting your nails trail just barely down the line of his chest. He leans in without realizing it, gaze half-lidded, pupils blown wide.

“What’s the matter, sailor?” you whisper, voice melting like warm tidewater. “You look like you’ve forgotten how to breathe.”

His hands twitch at his sides. “Kinda hard to remember… when you keep doing that.”

You laugh—quiet, delighted. He doesn’t even know what that is. The way your voice coils around his ribs, your touch singing along his skin. He doesn’t know that every second he stays in your presence, he’s sinking.

Not just into the sea. But into you.

Your palm finds the side of his neck, thumb brushing just under his jaw. His heart races. You can feel it. It makes something hungry stir in your chest—but beneath that hunger is something else. Something like want.

You lean in until your lips are just a breath from his ear. “It’s time, you know,” you murmur, voice so low it’s almost a song again. “I’m supposed to take you now.”

He doesn’t pull away. He shivers.

“…Take me where?”

You smile, lips ghosting over his jaw. “To the depths. The dark. Where all your kind eventually go when they trespass too far.”

Silence stretches, heavy, water-thick. He finally meets your gaze again. “Then why haven’t you?”

Your smile fades. Not completely—but the edges tremble. Just slightly.

You trace the line of his collarbone, softer now. “Because I don’t want to. Not yet.”

And it’s true. You should have dragged him under the moment he stepped into the tide. But you can’t bring yourself to. Not with him. Not when you still want to hear the way he laughs. Still want to feel the heat of his skin beneath your hands. Still want to be wanted.

So instead, you look at him like he’s something sacred. Like he’s the one you’d worship.

And softly, you say: “Stay with me a little longer, sailor. Just a little while.”

Because even if the sea eventually takes him, you want him to be yours first.

He doesn’t know who moves first—him or you. All he knows is that your face is suddenly closer. The moonlight curves along your cheekbone, your lashes, the tip of your nose. And then, your lips brush his. Featherlight. Barely there. But it undoes him.

He inhales sharply, like you’ve stolen something from his chest. Like a breath, or maybe a part of his soul. It wasn’t a real kiss—not really—but gods, it might as well have been. Because everything inside him lurches forward. He needs more. Needs to feel your warmth pressed to him, to find out what it’s like to drown in you.

But before he can pull you closer—before his hands can cup your face and drag you into the kind of kiss that ends men—you’re already gone.

A teasing smile dances on your lips as you drift back, slow and languid, water curling around your waist.

“Goodnight, sailor,” you murmur and then you dip beneath the waves.

The moonlight ripples where you vanish, and for a moment, he sees it—just the faintest shimmer of your tail, iridescent, unreal, slipping deeper and deeper into the dark.

He stays in the shallows, breath shallow, chest heaving. The sea laps at his thighs like it’s trying to tug him in after you. He doesn’t even realize his hand is still outstretched, reaching for something that’s already gone.

But now he’ll search every shore, scan every ripple, chase every whisper of song.

Just for a glimpse of you.

Just for another chance.

The waters are quiet.

You sit curled within the shell of your chamber, arms wrapped around your tail, staring out the arched opening where light from the surface used to filter in. Now there’s only dark. The soft glow of the seabed pulses around you—blue, green, violet. It reflects off the polished coral walls, dances across your skin like gentle ghosts. But you barely notice it.

Because all you can think about is him.

The sailor with sapphire eyes and a grin like sunlight. The one who didn’t flinch when you touched him. The one whose heart beat so loud, you could still hear it ringing in your ears even now.

“Stupid,” you mutter under your breath, sinking your chin to where your tail bends. “Stupid, stupid—”

“You’re not stupid,” comes a voice, soft and familiar.

You glance up to see your sister floating just outside the chamber, arms crossed, watching you with an arched brow.

You blink. “Were you listening?”

“I didn’t need to. Your amulet’s been glowing for the past half hour like you swallowed a lanternfish. What’s going on?”

You try to play it off. “Nothing. Just tired.”

She swims closer, unimpressed. “Liar. You only get like this when something really bad happens. Or really good.”

You sigh, letting yourself drift down a little, hair fanning around you like seaweed. “I… I met someone.”

That gets her attention.

“Oh?” Her tone sharpens, cautious. “Down by the shore?”

You nod. “He was on a ship. Docked just off the cove. I heard his voice before I saw him.”

“Did you sing?”

“Of course I did.”

“And?”

“I was supposed to take him under.”

She’s quiet for a moment. “But you didn’t.”

“No.”

A long pause. Then: “Why?”

You shake your head, frustrated. “I don’t know. I should’ve. It would’ve been easy. He was right there. I touched him. He was already falling.” Your voice trails off. The memory of his warmth haunts your fingertips. “But I didn’t want to. I just… wanted to keep him for a little longer. Just—just talk. Just see him.”

Your sister tilts her head. “You’re not supposed to see them. You’re supposed to lure them, enchant them, end them. That’s what we do.”

“I know.”

“Then why are you still thinking about him?”

You don’t answer. Because you don’t have one. All you know is that his laugh is stuck in your head. His breathless voice. The stunned way he looked at you when you kissed him—if you could even call it a kiss.

You press your hand to your chest, just above where your amulet hums. And softly, almost too quiet for even the sea to hear: “I don’t think I want to forget him.”

Your sister doesn’t speak for a long time. She just floats there, expression unreadable, eyes dark with something older than you can name. Then she drifts closer, gently reaches out to tuck a lock of hair behind your ear.

“We wouldn’t know this. We weren’t born yet,” she says softly, “but it wasn’t always like this. The reefs used to glow. The caverns used to sing with color. Our kind would dance with dolphins, weave pearls through our hair, and the waters would hum beneath us—alive.”

You look up at her, startled by the sadness in her voice.

“It was beautiful,” she says, almost to herself. “Before they came.”

You know who she means. The humans. Greedy fingers always reaching for more.

“They took everything. Our shells, our corals, our sacred stones. Even the bones of our dead. Called them artifacts. Called them treasure.” Her voice hardens. “They don’t see us. Only what we can give them. And they always want more.”

You want to argue, say he’s not like that, but the words tangle in your throat. She sees it. “You think he’s different.” A statement, not a question.

“I don’t know,” you whisper. “Maybe.”

“You hope he is.” She shakes her head. “But hope doesn’t stop a ship’s hull from crushing the sea floor. Doesn’t stop the spears. The nets. The hands that rip and take and never give back.” She floats away from you then, back toward the chamber’s edge.

“You don’t know what it means to lose your first home,” she says quietly. “To watch the sea dim, to see your mother weep because the place she was born in no longer sings. You don’t remember the day we buried our queen and humans tore open her grave two tides later.”

Your chest aches.

“They don’t love us. Not really. They love the idea of us. They love the lure. And they’ll take everything you are if you let them.” She turns back once, eyes sharp, but not unkind.

“So whatever you think you feel—kill it. Before it kills you first.” Then she’s gone.

And you’re left alone in the dim quiet of your chamber, the weight of her words settling like silt in your bones. But still, you think of him.

What if he is different?

The surface is calm tonight. Moonlight drapes across it like silk, soft and glowing.

You hover just beneath, eyes fixed on the ship above. On him.

He’s standing there again. Alone, hands on the railing, silver hair catching the wind like sea foam. He doesn’t know it—but he calls to you. Every night. Not with his voice, no. But with something else.

A longing. A question. A pull in your chest you hate and crave at once.

You shouldn’t have come back. You told yourself that night was a mistake. That you'd been foolish to linger. To touch him.

But here you are. Again.

The current shifts. You swim a little closer. Close enough to see the frustration in his face. The tension in his jaw. He’s been looking for you. You know it.

Your fingers curl at your sides.

One more song and he’ll follow. That’s how it works. You know the rules. Lure them. Seduce them. Pull them down. Return the treasures they stole with their lives.

But he didn’t take anything. He only looked at you like you were the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. And damn it all if that isn’t the worst kind of theft.

You drift to the surface. Just your eyes above water now. Watching. Waiting.

He sighs, and his hand lifts—briefly—toward the sea. Like he knows. Like he feels you here.

He doesn’t call out. Not this time. He just walks to the same stretch of shore, boots sinking into the sand, cloak fluttering behind him. The moon is brighter tonight. Or maybe he just wants it to be.

He stares out at the water. “I know you’re there,” he says quietly.

Silence.

Then a ripple. A shimmer. And then you. Rising from the waves with water trailing down your arms like glass. Your hair clings to your skin, your eyes reflect the moonlight, and your expression? Playful. Curious. Maybe even… fond.

He steps forward. Doesn’t dare blink.

“Did you miss me, sailor?” you ask.

His lips twitch. “Starting to think I dreamt you up.”

You tilt your head. “Would that be so bad?”

He’s close now. Close enough to see the droplets on your lashes, the delicate gleam of scales at your shoulders, the curve of your smile. “I don’t dream like this,” he murmurs.

You glide a little closer, arms resting on the rock, the moonlight catching on your skin and droplets of water that haven’t quite dried. The sea rocks beneath you gently.

Gojo’s doing his best. Really.

But his eyes keep flicking downward and snapping back up—like he's fighting a war with his own damn brain. He clears his throat, face a little pink. Then pinker.

Then finally: “Uh… don’t mermaids usually wear… like… shells? On their, y’know. Their… uh.” He gestures vaguely in your direction, eyes avoiding your chest like it’s going to smite him.

You blink at him. Then smile. Not cruel. Not teasing. Just… amused. “Shells?”

He shrugs helplessly, ears going red now. “Yeah. You know. Like in the drawings? I thought it was a mermaid thing.”

You laugh—quiet and genuinely delighted. You’ve never seen a human blush like this. Pink all across his cheeks, nose, even the tips of his ears.

You tilt your head. “You think I’d strap bits of broken clam to my chest for modesty?”

He makes a sound that might be a choke or a laugh. You’re not sure.

You let your gaze drift up and down his face, watching how he refuses to meet your eyes for too long. It’s charming, really—how flustered he gets when you do absolutely nothing but exist.

“I never understood why humans found breasts so enticing,” you murmur, thoughtful now. “They’re just for feeding the younglings. We never bother covering them.”

Gojo covers his face with one hand.

You smile wider. “And yet you’re looking at me like I’ve committed a crime.”

“I’m not!” His voice jumps. “I’m not looking—I mean—I’m trying not to.”

You hum, resting your chin on your arms. “You’re adorable when you’re embarrassed.” You tilt your head at him, gaze soft, voice feather-light.

“If it’s troubling you so much,” you say, letting your fingers lazily swirl the water, “I suppose I can do something about it.” You smile, watching his composure slip through his fingers like sand.

“What would you prefer, sailor? Shells? Seaweed?” You lean forward just slightly. “Or should I just stay like this and let you keep pretending not to look?”

Gojo’s mouth opens, but nothing comes out. He’s blinking fast, flaming in the face now. “I—uh—whatever—” he swallows hard, waves a hand uselessly between you and the horizon. “Whatever you’re—uh—comfortable with.”

You laugh—a soft, melodic thing that makes his chest ache.

He looks like he wants the sea to swallow him whole. His ears have gone from pink to red, and he’s clearly regretting everything that brought him to this moment.

You hum, lounging back a little. “You really are sweet.”

He scrubs a hand through his hair, still pink to the tips of his ears, but now there’s a lopsided grin tugging at his mouth. He reaches out again. Slower this time. Testing the moment. His fingers brush your cheek. Trail down your neck. Neither of you move.

“You’re real.”

A ghost of a smile tugs at your lips. “You say that like you still don’t believe it.”

“Maybe I’m afraid if I do, you’ll vanish.”

You wade in closer, just enough that the sea brushes his boots, and he doesn’t move back. “You came back,” you murmur.

He shrugs one shoulder, eyes not leaving yours. “Couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

You laugh softly. “A sailor with a soft heart. That’s new.”

“You’re the one who sang to me.”

“I sing to many.”

He narrows his eyes. “Did you kiss them too?”

That catches you off guard—but you recover quick, smile sharpening. “Would it matter if I did?”

He doesn’t answer right away. But there’s something darker flickering in his gaze now. Possessive. Curious. “…No,” he lies.

You swim forward, water lapping at your waist. “You don’t even know my name.”

“I don’t need it.”

“And what if I pull you under?” you ask, voice like silk and storm.

He smirks. “Then I’ll die with a smile.”

You blink. For a moment, you’re not sure if he’s joking. But he is. Mostly.

Still—his words land heavy. Make your throat tighten. “Humans don’t speak like that,” you say.

“I’m not most humans.”

Silence stretches again. His eyes roam over you. Not in lust—not yet—but in reverence. Like he’s trying to understand what you are. Why he isn’t scared. Why he feels like he’s been waiting for you.

You reach for him then—not to kiss. Just to touch. A gentle drag of your fingertips across his wrist. He doesn’t flinch. He leans in.

“Why are you here?” you ask, softly.

He looks at you like the answer should be obvious. “I think,” he says, “I was meant to find you.”

Your heart skips. The ocean pulls at your waist. It’s almost time. But you stay a little longer. “You should be careful, sailor,” you whisper. “Saying things like that. You’ll make me believe you.”

He watches you like he already does.

You don’t notice the ripple. Not the soft shift in the waves behind you, not the gleam of eyes just beneath the surface. You’re too caught up in him.

You tease him, you laugh. You reach out again, a touch light as foam across his skin. And this time, he leans into it.

You don’t pull him under. Not yet.

You want more of this. The way he speaks. The way he looks at you. The way he doesn’t flinch from you like the others do. You want to keep this, even if just a little longer.

But you’re not alone.

Far behind you, beneath a curtain of kelp and shadow, a shape floats. Still. Silent. Watching.

Your sister’s eyes glint through the dark, catching every flicker of movement between you and the sailor.

She doesn’t speak. She doesn’t need to. She sees enough.

And when she finally sinks back into the depths, the water grows colder in her wake.

The moonlight hasn’t even faded from the surface when you slip back beneath the waves.

Your pulse is still racing. Your cheeks are still warm. His voice still rings in your ears—teasing, amused, wanting. And stars, if he had leaned in just a little more, you might’ve let him kiss you.

You should feel shame. But all you feel is light.

Until the sea goes cold.

There’s a shift in the current—sudden and sharp—and when you whirl around, she’s there. Floating in the dark like a phantom. Your sister.

Her expression is unreadable, lips pressed into a thin line, dark hair fanning out around her shoulders like a halo of judgment. “Sister,” she says, voice low and echoing. “Do you think we wouldn’t notice?”

You open your mouth—but nothing comes out.

She swims closer. “The sailor,” she hisses. “You’ve met him more than once now. I saw you. I saw everything.” Her words slice into you like a harpoon.

“I wasn’t going to—”

“You weren’t going to what?” she snaps. “Pull him under? Take what belongs to our people? Do your duty?”

You flinch. “He’s not like the others—”

Her laugh is sharp, bitter. “They never are. Until they are.” She grabs your wrist, not harshly—but firmly. “You’re forgetting why we sing. Why our mother gave us this gift. We are not meant to love them. We are meant to protect what’s left.”

You look away. But she’s not done.

“You think he’s blind? He knows what you are. Your tail, your voice, all of it.”

Your jaw tightens. “And yet he’s still here.”

She blinks. You keep going, voice sharp. “He’s not afraid. He doesn’t flinch. He treats me like I’m more than just a creature in the water. Can you say the same about anyone else?”

Her eyes flash. “That’s not the point—”

“No, you’re missing the point,” you snap. “I’m not dragging him under. I’m not stealing from him. I’m not using him. I’m just… being with him.” Your voice drops to a whisper. “And maybe I want to be more than what we’ve been taught to be. Maybe I want something for me.”

The silence that follows is heavy, the water still between you. But you don’t regret saying it. Not this time.

Your sister says nothing for a long moment. The anger in her eyes dims, simmering into something quieter, wearier.

Finally, she sighs. “You always were the stubborn one.”

You don’t speak. You’re still braced for more venom, more warnings. But instead, she moves closer, brushing her fingers against yours beneath the water. A small, wordless gesture of truce.

“I still don’t trust him,” she murmurs. “But I trust you. And if this is something real… I won’t stop you.”

Your chest tightens.

Then she adds, low and urgent, “But we can’t let Father know. You know what he’d do. To him, all humans are thieves.”

You nod, slowly. “I know.”

She meets your eyes, serious now. “Then be careful, sister. Whatever this is… keep it hidden. For both your sakes.”

And just like that, the warmth of her hand fades as she turns, slipping back into the dark sea, leaving you alone again—with your heart, your secret, and the ache of wanting something that feels more dangerous than ever.

The tide laps gently at the shore, but you hear none of it. All you hear is his breath.

He’s there again. Leaning against a crooked, barnacle-bitten post, sleeves rolled to his elbows, moonlight caught in the silver strands of his hair. He doesn’t speak when you emerge. He just watches, as if he’s afraid too much sound might send you fleeing back into the sea.

Your arms fold loosely across your chest, and you regard him with cool eyes. “You’re persistent.”

A smirk tugs at his lips. “Only when I think it’s worth it.”

That stupid charm at your chest pulses again. You hate it. Almost.

You rise from the water just a little, arms shifting subtly—and for the first time, he notices something different.

Draped lazily across your chest: a strand of seaweed, delicate and half-hearted, barely clinging to its job. Twined between it—two pearlescent shells, awkwardly fastened like a joke.

His gaze catches. Lingers. His brows lift in disbelief.

You blink at him, expression unreadable. Then slowly—so slowly—you smile. “Better?”

He lets out a disbelieving laugh, dragging a hand down his face. “You did not—”

“I thought it might make you more comfortable,” you say, perfectly composed. “Isn’t this how your kind prefers mermaids?”

“You’re mocking me.”

You tilt your head. “Am I?”

Silence stretches between you, filled only by the sound of waves kissing the sand. He doesn’t reach for you. Doesn’t even step forward. But you can feel his eyes—soft and searching, like he’s trying to read the parts of you you’re too afraid to say aloud.

Your gaze flicks toward the water. “This is a bad idea.”

“I know.”

Your brows knit. “Then why are you here?”

He pauses, then slowly reaches into his coat. “To give you this.”

He steps forward—not too close—and opens his palm.

A pendant. Sea glass, pale and smoothed by time, looped into a simple twine necklace. It glows faintly blue beneath the moonlight.

“I don’t know if it’s good enough,” he says, voice low, “but I thought… maybe you’d like something that wasn’t stolen.”

Your heart jerks. You stare at it. Then at him. And for a moment, you can’t breathe.

This—this isn’t what humans do. They come to take. Always. Treasures, songs, magic, you. But this one came to give. Something small. Something quiet. But his.

You take it with trembling fingers, brushing his palm as you do. Your voice is soft. “Thank you.”

His smile is gentle. “Didn’t know if you’d show.”

“I shouldn’t have,” you murmur.

“But you did.”

You pull back before it aches more. Let the waves touch your skin again.

“Don’t follow me,” you say—not unkindly, a soft warning.

He nods. Doesn’t stop you. Just watches you go, watches the silver glint of the ocean close around you. Watches the glimmer of sea glass now hanging around your neck.

There’s a puddle of rum soaking into his map. Gojo doesn’t notice.

Not when he’s got his chin in his hand, elbow propped up on the wooden table, and a downright dreamy expression on his face. His eyes are unfocused. His mouth is curved in a faraway smile. And he hasn’t blinked in… a while.

“Okay, what is wrong with you?” Nobara’s voice cuts through the cabin like a blade.

He doesn’t react.

Yuji leans over the table and waves a hand in front of his captain’s face. “Hellooo? Earth to Gojo?”

Still nothing.

Shoko groans and sips lazily from her flask. “He’s doing that thing again.”

“What thing?” Megumi deadpans, though he already knows.

“That thing where he zones out and grins like he’s in love.” Nanami’s tone is dry as the open sea.

“Because he is,” Geto mutters, arms crossed.

That gets Gojo’s attention—he blinks rapidly and jerks upright like he’s been caught with a dagger behind his back. “What? No. I’m not—what do you mean in love? I’m not in love. You’re in love. Shut up.”

“You literally didn’t hear a single word of our battle plan,” Geto says.

“There was a plan?” Gojo blinks again. “Oh… crap.”

Nobara slaps the table. “See?! He’s bewitched.”

“Bewitched,” Shoko echoes with a snort. “You’ve been reading Yuji’s ghost stories again, haven’t you?”

Yuji raises his hands defensively. “They’re good stories!”

Gojo stands, brushing imaginary dust from his coat. “Listen, listen. I’m fine. Perfectly composed. Mentally sound. Fully focused.”

Megumi gives him a look. “You just tried to drink ink thinking it was rum.”

Gojo looks at the bottle of ink in his hand—the one he's brought dangerously close to his mouth. “Not my fault the bottle looks the same.”

“You’re seeing someone,” Nobara accuses.

Gojo doesn’t even deny it this time. He just hums under his breath, dreamy-eyed as he watches the waves lap against the hull.

Shoko raises an eyebrow. “And who exactly is this mystery woman?”

“Oh, you wouldn’t believe me even if I told you,” he says, ever the smug bastard, but there's a wistful edge in his voice. Like he’s holding on to something delicate.

Yuji leans in. “Is she pretty?”

“She’s… beyond.” Gojo exhales, like saying even that aloud is sacred. “She makes the sea itself look dull.”

“Ugh,” Nobara groans. “You are so whipped. You don’t even know her last name.”

“Or her name,” Megumi mutters.

Gojo only smiles. Because he doesn’t know. Not really. You never gave it. Never offered. Only left behind shimmer and salt and the echo of your laugh in the breeze.

The sea is quiet tonight. Not still, but calm—the kind of hush that makes it feel like the world’s listening in.

You float easily beside the ship, water lapping gently against the hull. The sea glass he gave you hangs around your neck, cool and smooth, right beneath your amulet and shifting with every little ripple. You still don’t understand why he gave it to you. Maybe he doesn’t either.

Gojo leans against the railing above, chin resting on his forearms. He’s not smiling, but he looks… content. Like just being here is enough for him.

"You never told me your name," he says.

His voice is quieter at night. Less show, more real. He’s asked before, but not like this. Not like it actually matters.

You trail your fingers along the wood of the hull.

"Names carry weight," you murmur. "Especially mine."

He hums, like he gets it. "Then I’ll carry it carefully."

It’s not a line. Just something simple and steady, like most things about him that surprise you.

You glance up at him. Moonlight catches in his white hair, makes him look more ghost than man. And still—he waits. Patient, like the sea.

You hesitate. You’ve kept it to yourself for so long it almost feels like giving it away would be losing something. But he gave first. Not a demand. Not a trick. A gift.

"Would you even use it?" you ask.

"Only when it matters," he says.

That earns the smallest flicker of a smile from you. Not that he sees it.

So you say it. Soft. Almost like you’re not sure you meant to. But he hears it.

He says it back—quiet, careful. Like he doesn’t want to chip it, like it’s something that can bruise if he’s not gentle.

He doesn’t look at you when he says it, but it sticks. Settles into the space between you like it belongs there.

"Can I come down?"

His voice drifts lazily over the railing, casual like he's asking to sit beside you—not throw himself into the ocean.

You glance up at him, raising a brow. "What, you planning to jump?"

There's a flicker in his eye. Something boyish and stupid and far too Satoru.

Something in your gut tightens. “Don’t.”

But his smile tips, sharp and boyish. “Too late.”

Before you can make sense of it—before you can even move—he cannonballs.

You barely have time to curse before instinct takes over. You dart backward, tail slicing through the water as you throw yourself out of the drop zone. The splash hits like a small explosion—loud and ridiculous and completely him. Salt sprays across your face, cool and stinging, and you blink rapidly, water rushing past your ears.

He breaks the surface a moment later, coughing, laughing, looking wildly pleased with himself.

"You're insane," you sputter, treading a safe distance away. "You almost landed on me."

He slicks his hair back with both hands, grin still wide. “I knew you’d move.”

“You hoped I’d move.”

“Same thing,” he says easily, floating on his back now, arms stretched wide like he belongs here. Like the ocean’s always been waiting for him.

You stare at him. You should be mad. You should be furious—he scared the breath out of you, risked everything on a whim, shattered the calm of the night like it meant nothing.

But all that comes out is a laugh.

A real one. Unfiltered. It bubbles up from your chest before you can stop it—light, surprised, almost giddy. You cover your mouth too late, shoulders shaking.

Gojo blinks. Then stares.

And slowly, that ridiculous grin fades—not fully, but enough for something softer to settle in its place. Something honest.

“That,” he says, voice quieter now, “is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard.”

You don’t respond. You can’t.

Because he says it like he means it. Like your laugh just rewired something in him. Like that sound—the one you didn’t even mean to give—touched a part of him no one else ever has.

You duck under the surface for a moment, just long enough to cool the flush spreading across your skin. When you rise again, he’s still watching you. Not smug. Not proud.

Just there. Floating in your world. Not asking for anything. Not running.

“I thought humans were supposed to take,” you say quietly, your voice barely above the lapping waves. “Steal. Want. Use.”

His brows lift just slightly, water beading on his lashes. “Maybe I’m just bad at it.”

You shake your head. “No. You’re just… different.”

You don’t know why you say it. But it’s true. You’ve known it for a while now.

He’s not perfect. He’s a little reckless, probably too brave for his own good, but he gives. Things that matter. His attention. His time. The necklace still hanging at your throat. Your laugh.

He blinks salt from his eyes, and when he speaks, it’s soft. “So are you.”

You look at him for a long time, silence pulling between you like a tide.

You were supposed to drag him under. That was the plan. Lure, tempt, drown. Like you’ve done before. Like you were made to do.

But now… all you want is to float beside him, just like this. For a little longer. Maybe forever.

Gojo floats a little closer. He’s still grinning, but it’s softer now. Less playful, more… thoughtful. The kind of look he only gets when he forgets to be loud. When the walls slip and all that’s left is the man underneath—tired, curious, dangerous, and kind.

His voice breaks the hush, low and deliberate. “Can I ask you something?”

You nod.

“Why haven’t you pulled me under yet?”

The question sinks like stone.

You don’t answer at first. Not with words. Just look at him—really look—and see all the reasons you haven’t. The way he watches you like you’re not a threat but a wonder. The way he gives without expecting. The way his voice softens around your name like it’s something sacred.

“I was supposed to,” you admit. “The first time I saw you. You were an easy mark.”

He lets out a low breath, water curling around his fingers. “But?”

You shake your head. “You smiled at me. Like I was real. Like I wasn’t just something to catch.”

His eyes flicker. Something shifts behind them—something too big to name.

You don’t notice how close he’s gotten until your hands brush beneath the surface. Neither of you moves away.

You feel the pull of it now, subtle and steady. Not magic. Just you, drawn toward him like the tide.

“Are you gonna kiss me?” you ask, the words barely audible.

Gojo tilts his head. “I want to,” he says.

You blink. The breath in your lungs feels heavy, thick with the weight of everything this isn’t supposed to be. You shouldn’t let this happen. You shouldn’t. But you nod.

And then he waits.

He waits while the space between you shrinks, while the water ripples with tension. He waits with his gaze fixed on you, patient, like this is the first thing he’s ever wanted badly enough not to rush.

You lean in—barely. Enough to close half the distance.

He mirrors you.

It’s slow. So slow. One inch, then another. Close enough now that your noses almost brush. Close enough to feel his breath against your lips, warm despite the chill of the ocean.

Your eyes flick to his. There’s no trick there. No hunger. Just want.

And when you close the gap, it’s not a crash. It’s a pull.

The kiss is gentle, almost shy. Like you’re both afraid to break it. Like neither of you expected this to feel like something holy.

And then—something cracks.

Maybe it’s the way you tilt your head just slightly, or the way his fingers lift from the water and find your jaw like it’s instinct. But the moment shifts, deepens.

He kisses you again, firmer this time.

His hand comes up to cradle your cheek, thumb skimming along your skin, warm and reverent. Your body leans into his before you can think to stop it, the sea curling around you both like it’s trying to pull you closer.

He exhales against your mouth—half a sigh, half a groan—like he’s been holding this in for far too long.

And then he kisses you properly.

Deep. Slow. Like he’s learning you one breath at a time.

You feel his other hand slide along your side beneath the surface, barely touching, not pushing—just there, steady, grounding. Your fingers curl around his wrist. Not to stop him. Just to feel him there.

You move closer to him, body pressed flush against him. The heat comes quiet, curling up your spine, pooling low. Not wild, not frantic—just consuming.

He pulls back just slightly, just to breathe—but his forehead rests against yours, and his mouth still ghosts over yours like he’s not ready to let go.

Neither are you.

“Wow,” he murmurs, voice hoarse. “That was…”

“I know,” you whisper.

His thumb traces your cheek again, slower now. You’re both breathing hard, but it’s not tension anymore—it’s something else. Something softer.

He laughs, just a puff of breath against your mouth.

And then he leans in again—not a kiss, not quite. Just his nose brushing yours. His forehead still pressed to yours. Like he can’t bear to be further away than this.

No more talking. Just warmth. His hands on you. Yours on him. Water cradling you both.

Like the sea finally made space for two.

The waters of your chamber are still. For once.

No humming currents. No idle song. Just the soft flicker of bioluminescent light playing across the curved walls of coral and stone. You hover near the ceiling, resting against a smooth shelf of shell, the sea-cushioned silence wrapping around you like a second skin.

The charm at your chest glows faintly. Steady. Unyielding.

It hasn't dimmed since your last meeting with him.

You close your fingers over it—try to will it still.

A shadow passes the outer threshold. Then a ripple, soft and polite, before a familiar voice filters in: “Forgive me, my lady. Your father has asked for you.”

You don’t move right away. Just tilt your head slightly, slow and deliberate.

“Did he say what for?”

The palace stirs as you pass through.

You swim down the coral corridor with practiced grace, head held high, ignoring the way the other courtiers glance your way—curious, cautious, always whispering behind their hands.

The throne room opens like a cavern—high and echoing, walls pulsing with soft light from the sponges embedded in the stone. The court has gathered, a loose semicircle of officials and guards trailing the edges of the chamber.

And there he sits. Your father. Tall and silver-scaled, eyes like polished obsidian. He watches as you approach.

You stop a few lengths from the throne, posture poised.

“You summoned me,” you say.

A pause. The room is quiet.

Then, his voice: “I did.”

He shifts on the throne, steepling his long fingers, scarred from past wars.

“There’s been talk,” he says slowly, “of a ship lingering far too close to our waters.”

Your chest tightens.

He meets your eyes.

“And I’ve heard whispers,” he continues, voice sharper now, “that its captain has not drowned.”

Your spine stays straight, but you feel the flicker of heat pulse at your chest. Not from fear. From that cursed charm. Still glowing. Still betraying you.

You school your features. “Plenty of ships pass through our waters. If they’ve not drowned, perhaps they’ve not been foolish.”

Your father’s gaze sharpens. “Or perhaps they’ve been warned.”

The air—no, the water—tightens. Just slightly.

You don’t flinch. “I wouldn’t waste my song on men who pose no threat.”

A silence blooms after that. Heavy. Testing.

Then he leans forward, voice dropping low. “There are rumors, child. A human—a pirate—who’s seen you more than once. Who still lives.”

You say nothing.

His eyes narrow. “If a human captain resists a siren’s call, it invites suspicion. If a siren chooses not to call—”

He doesn’t finish. He doesn’t need to.

“I have not failed my duty,” you say, calm, cool, perfectly composed.

“But you haven’t fulfilled it, either,” he counters. “Not yet.”

Your jaw tightens. A flicker of motion at your side—a ripple of your tail.

Your father leans back again, like he’s weighing something.

Then “You have until the next moonrise. Handle it.”

He doesn’t say what “it” means. He doesn’t have to.

He’s already there when you emerge.

He’s sprawled out on the sand like he’s got nowhere else to be—hands behind his head, boots kicked off, one knee bent lazily as he stares up at the sky. The sea breeze stirs his white hair, moonlight catching in the strands like glass.

When he hears the water shift, he turns his head and grins.

“Took you long enough,” he calls. “Was starting to think you’d moved on to prettier sailors.”

You roll your eyes, swimming closer. “You’d be the last to believe someone prettier than you exists.”

His grin widens. “True. But flattery from a sea goddess? I’ll take it.”

You laugh. Light. Smooth. Just like always.

You even smile up at him, that soft little tilt he’s grown too fond of. It feels easy—almost too easy—to slip back into it.

He starts walking. Slow, unhurried, straight into the sea.

The waves rush over his ankles, then knees, soaking his rolled-up trousers until the fabric clings to him. But he doesn’t stop. Doesn’t hesitate.

“Most men run from the sea,” you murmur, brow lifting.

He grins. “Most men don’t get invited back.”

You let him come closer.

The water laps at his hips now, warm and slow between you. He stops just short of where you hover—still half-submerged, hair trailing like silk beneath the surface.

“So,” he says lightly, “do I pass the test?”

You hum. “That depends.”

“On?”

You tilt your head. “Whether you plan on drowning.”

He huffs a laugh, eyes flicking over your face, then down to your fingers curled lightly against the water’s surface. The charm at your chest pulses faintly, soft as a heartbeat.

“I think,” he says, voice gentler now, “if I were going to drown… I’d want it to be like this.”

And for a moment—just one—you forget what you are. What he is.

You forget the crown in your blood, your father’s cold warning, the weight of your song.

There’s only him. Standing in the sea like he belongs there. Looking at you like you do.

You don’t move.

Neither does he.

The water is still between you—warm and golden in the fading light. His eyes hold yours like they’re tethered, soft at the edges, full of something that makes your chest ache.

Then—

He flicks water at you.

You blink, stunned.

A single splash, right to your cheek.

Gojo grins. “You were looking too serious.”

You sputter, flicking water right back—quick and sharp, right between his eyes.

He laughs. Loud, real, head tipping back as droplets catch on his lashes. “Oh, is that how it is?”

You duck half-under the surface, sending a wave his way with a flick of your tail. He gasps, mock-betrayed, and retaliates with both hands—splashes big enough to soak your hair again. The charm at your chest pulses with warmth, steady now, matching the laughter bubbling out of you.

You’re not thinking of your father.

Not of the sea. Not even of what this could cost.

Just this—this moment.

Him. You. The light in his eyes. And the sound of your laughter rising above the waves.

The waves settle.

Laughter fades into the hush of the sea, and slowly, the two of you drift back toward the shore—water clinging to you like a second skin.

You lie on your back just where the sand meets the tide, the cool grains molding to your elbows. Gojo flops down beside you, chest rising and falling as he catches his breath, hair sticking out in damp tufts.

For a while, neither of you speak.

Just the sound of waves. Wind. The far-off cry of a gull.

Above, the sky stretches wide and black, scattered with stars.

And yet you can’t enjoy it. Not fully. Not with your heart tight in your chest.

He turns his head lazily toward you, voice soft. “You're quiet.”

You swallow. “I’m thinking.”

He hums, teasing lightly. “Should I be worried?”

But you don’t laugh. You don't even smile.

And that’s when he sits up a little, his brows drawing together as he watches you more closely.

“What’s wrong?”

You don’t want to ruin this moment. You really don’t. But the words come anyway, soft and shaking at the edges.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

The look on his face flickers—surprise first, then something more unreadable. “You’re serious.”

You nod slowly, arms curled around your tail. “You don’t understand what you’re stepping into. What I am. What this is.”

He doesn’t interrupt. Just listens, quiet and still.

You keep your eyes down, watching your fingers press into the wet sand.

“I was supposed to lure you in,” you admit, barely above a whisper. “Draw you under. That’s what we do.”

Your voice trembles, and for the first time in a long time, you feel something unfamiliar tighten in your chest.

“But then you gave me that necklace,” you continue. “And you didn’t take anything in return. You just… smiled at me like I was someone.”

A shaky breath escapes you.

“And now I don’t know how to stop this.”

Gojo’s face softens—but he doesn’t rush in. Doesn’t try to fix it. Just lets you speak.

“I don’t want you to get hurt,” you whisper, finally looking at him. “But I think—”

You stop. Bite your lip.

“I think I’m falling. For you,” you finish, so quietly you’re not sure he even hears it. “And I don’t know what that means for either of us.”

He doesn’t speak right away.

Just watches you.

Then, with that same gentle steadiness, he shifts closer, brushing the wet hair from your face with fingers that tremble just slightly.

“Let me stay. Just for now,” he says quietly. “Just… don’t push me away.”

You blink, breath catching. You hesitate.

And then, slowly, you lean into him. Just enough that your shoulder brushes his. Just enough that you feel his warmth.

The tide laps gently at your fins. Above, the stars keep watching.

And below them, you let yourself fall—just a little more.

You don’t realize how close he’s gotten until the distance between you feels like nothing. Just breath and warmth.

Your fingers twitch where they rest in the sand—close enough to his that the edges brush.

He doesn’t move. So you do.

Slowly, you turn your hand, the tips of your fingers grazing the back of his. And when he still doesn’t flinch, you let them slide higher, curling gently around his wrist.

You reach up with your other hand, brush his hair back from his face, and your fingers linger—just a moment longer than they should.

He exhales, slow. Careful. Like he's scared one wrong move will send you swimming off into the dark.

But you're not running. Not this time.

His hand lifts to your cheek—hesitating, then settling like it’s the most natural thing in the world. His thumb strokes the curve of your jaw, and you tilt into it, letting your eyes flutter shut.

Then his lips are on yours.

Not greedy. Not rushed. Just soft.

Like he wants to memorize the shape of you this way. The taste of salt on your lips. The quiet catch in your breath.

Your amulet pulses low and warm against your collarbone, steady as your heartbeat.

When the kiss deepens, it’s unspoken permission. His hand tangles in your hair, your fingers sliding up his chest, feeling the damp fabric clinging to skin.

It shouldn’t happen.

But it is.

And gods—neither of you wants it to stop.

The kiss deepens—soft to slow, slow to aching. Every brush of his mouth against yours says please don’t send me away yet.

Your fingers trace the line of his jaw, then slide down his throat, feeling the heat under his skin. He exhales shakily when your hand flattens against his chest, just over his racing heart.

His own hands hesitate at first, like he’s not sure he’s allowed to want this much. But when you don’t stop him—when you lean into his touch like it’s the only thing anchoring you—he gives in.

One hand cradles your face, the other drifts down, tracing the edge of your ribs where skin meets the soft iridescence of your scales.

He pulls back just enough to whisper against your lips.

"If I’m leaving, at least let me have this."

You open your eyes. He’s looking at you like he already knows how this ends—and wants this moment anyway.

Your charm pulses once—bright and warm between you.

You nod, barely.

And that’s all he needs.

His hands grow bolder. Slower. Reverent. Like he wants to map every inch of you to memory. His lips trail down your neck, lingering at the curve of your shoulder, your collarbone. Your fingers thread into his damp hair, tugging just slightly, urging him closer.

He groans low against your skin. “Tell me if you want me to stop.”

You shake your head, breathless. “Don’t.”

The moonlight catches the water still clinging to your skin, to his. Everything feels soft. Dreamlike.

Your bodies press together—heat against heat, breath catching, mouths seeking. It’s not rushed. It’s intentional.

And when his hand grazes the edge of your hip—where scales shimmer under his palm—and you shift closer with a soft gasp, he kisses you like it’s the last time he’ll ever get to.

Because maybe it is.

Your back arches under him, breath trembling. His mouth finds the center of your throat and lingers there, reverent, like he can feel your pulse answering his own.

Then—

“Wait,” you whisper.

His head lifts instantly. He’s off of you in a heartbeat, but still so close, lips parted, breath warm against your cheek. Hands hovering, eyes searching yours.

He doesn’t ask why. He just waits. Because that’s the kind of man he is.

You sit up slowly, water slipping off your skin, your tail coiled beneath you. You reach out, cup his face gently in both palms and then cover his eyes with one.

He stiffens, just for a second. But he trusts you.

Your amulet glows.

It begins soft—just a pulse, like a heartbeat. Then brighter. Warmer. It blooms across your collarbone, pulsing with something deeper than magic.

When you remove your hand from his eyes, they open slowly, blinking against the moonlight, the shimmer still lingering in the air.

And what he sees leaves him speechless.

Your tail is gone. And in its place there’s a pair of legs.

Smooth and bare.

Skin kissed with salt and moonlight, knees curled delicately beneath you. You’re still you, but softer. Closer. Changed.

For him.

His mouth parts slightly. Not in lust. In awe.

“Gods,” he breathes.

You smile, just barely. “Better?”

He swallows hard. “You didn’t have to.”

“I wanted to,” you say, quiet. “I want you.”

And that’s it. That’s all he can take.

He’s on you again—but slower now. Like he’s been handed something fragile. His hands slide up your thighs, careful, reverent, like he can’t believe you’re real. His mouth meets yours with heat, with hunger—but still gentle. Still asking.

And this time, when you press your chest to his and pull him in with both hands, there’s nothing between you.

Only skin. Only breath. Only wanting.

The glow at your throat flares again—hotter now. Brighter.

It pulses against your chest, steady at first. Then quicker.

Gojo pulls back just enough to look down at it, breathless, the tips of his fingers still ghosting along your skin. The glow matches the rhythm of your breathing—no, your arousal.

He laughs under his breath, something low and amazed, eyes wide as he watches the way your amulet throbs brighter each time his palm smooths over your skin. “It responds to touch,” he murmurs, like he’s just discovered treasure. “To you.”

His hand moves, slow and steady—gliding up from your waist, fingers splaying across your ribs until they rest just beneath your breasts. His touch lingers.

And then, with a careful brush of his fingers, he nudges the coverings away. You shiver—not from cold, but from how he looks at you.

He doesn’t rush. Just grazes his palm over one breast, watching the charm flare in response. His thumb circles over your nipple gently, and your breath catches. Your eyes flutter half-shut, hips shifting just slightly toward him.

“Fascinating,” he murmurs.

You almost want to laugh—except he’s looking at you like he’s in awe, like you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, and it makes your pulse skip.

His hand drifts down, fingers mapping the line of your hip. Over your thigh. Skin to skin, gliding slow.

And then lower.

He watches you the whole time—eyes dark, steady, waiting for the moment your body reacts. His hand dips between your thighs, and the charm flares, sharp and brilliant and hot.

You gasp—eyes fluttering closed, hips tipping into his hand.

“Gods,” he breathes. “That’s incredible.”

His fingers tease, slow and deliberate, and you feel your thoughts unravel with every stroke. Every touch echoes in your core—and in the gem at your chest, glowing like a heartbeat, wild and bright.

“Is this…” he leans closer, lips brushing your jaw, “...what you want?”

You can barely speak—but you nod, eyes glazed, back arching toward him.

His fingers slip lower, parting you with reverence and care.

And there—there it is.

That first brush over your clit, light and exploratory, has your hips jerking and your lips parting in a soft gasp. The charm at your collar flares like it’s tethered to the aching beat between your legs—responding with each subtle throb, each flutter of sensation.

“Shit,” he whispers, mesmerized.

He strokes again, more deliberately now—just the pads of two fingers sliding through your slick, testing how wet you already are. The gem flashes again, and your head falls back with a breathless whimper. Your thighs twitch beneath his touch, eyes hazy as he watches you squirm. Then—gently, carefully—he sinks a single finger inside.

The charm flares so bright it casts shadows along the shore.

You’re impossibly warm around him—soft, tight, slick with want—and when he curls his finger just right, your body clenches, a pulse deep inside that matches the flickering of the charm exactly.

His breath catches. “You feel—fuck—you feel perfect.”

He moves slowly, drawing that finger out, then easing a second in with practiced patience. The stretch makes you moan, your hand flying to his arm like you need something to hold onto. He leans in, pressing a kiss to your temple.

“Breathe, angel. You’re doing so good.”

The glow brightens with every pump of his fingers, every soft squelch of wet heat. The deeper he strokes, the harder your body responds—hips rising into him, breath coming in short, desperate gasps.

And the amulet pulses in perfect rhythm with your cunt.

Throb. Glow. Throb. Glow. Throb.

“Can’t believe this thing’s showing me everything you’re feeling,” he murmurs, lips brushing your jaw, your cheek, the shell of your ear. “You like this? Like my fingers inside you?”

You nod frantically, unable to speak—your body already trembling, on the edge.

And he feels it.

The way your walls start to flutter, how the glow grows unstable—flickering wildly now, close to bursting.

“Let go for me,” he whispers, dragging his thumb up to circle your clit just once—soft and perfect.

And you do.

You fall apart with a cry, back arching, thighs shaking, body clenching around his fingers as the charm explodes in a radiant wave of golden light.

He watches it all—spellbound.

Then leans in to kiss you—slow and deep and full of heat that says we’re not done yet.

He watches your cunt flutter around nothing, charm still flickering weakly at your throat like it’s trying to recover from what just happened. You’re limp beneath him, chest rising and falling, skin shining with salt and moonlight.

“Didn’t know you could sound that sweet,” he breathes, dragging his fingers up your thigh, smearing your slick along your skin like he wants to mark you with it. “Might lose my mind if you do that again.”

You try to say something back—something sharp, something teasing—but all that comes out is a soft, shattered whimper.

He groans.

Low and ragged and wrecked.

His head drops for a second like he’s trying to collect himself—but you feel it. The tension in his body, the restraint snapping thin. He looks at you, eyes blown wide, lips parted.

And then—“Fuck this.”

He shifts back onto his knees, still between your thighs, eyes raking over your glowing body as he tugs at his soaked shirt. The fabric sticks to his skin, but he doesn’t care. Just wrestles it off and tosses it somewhere behind him, hair even messier now, chest rising fast.

You blink up at him—bare-chested now, sea-glossed skin kissed with salt and moonlight. He looks wild like this. Like he could devour you whole.

And still not have enough.

Then comes the belt—fingers fumbling, desperate. He mutters a curse, half-laughs through it, then undoes his pants, shoving them down with just as much frustration. You catch a glimpse of him, long and heavy and twitching with need.

He kicks the rest of it off and lowers himself over you again, your slick thighs pressing to his hips, the heat between you crackling.

And oh, the moan he lets out when your bare chest presses to his.

“That’s better,” he whispers, forehead against yours, hips rocking once more, cock sliding between your folds. “So much better.”

He looks down at the glow between your breasts, at the way your body responds to his bare skin like it’s craving it.

And he grins.

“Think your magic likes me.”

And then he’s back over you—fully bare, hot and heavy against your slick, glowing skin. “Gods,” he murmurs. “You’re unreal.”

You whine as he settles between your thighs, guiding himself to your entrance. His cock is thick, flushed, glistening with precum. The tip nudges at your folds—hot, insistent—and your breath catches in your throat.

“You can take it,” he murmurs, hand sliding up to cup your cheek. “Already so wet for me.”

He starts to push in. Slow. So slow you feel every inch. Every stretch. Your back arches and your mouth parts in a silent gasp. He groans low in his throat, dropping his head to your shoulder as he sinks deeper.

“Fuck, you’re tight,” he hisses.

You’re trembling beneath him—clutching at his arms, moaning helplessly as he bottoms out.

And once he’s fully inside, he stills. Not out of mercy. But reverence.

“Look at you,” he whispers, pulling back just enough to see your face, the glow between your breasts starting to flare again. “All stretched out just for me.”

He rocks into you once. Slow. Deep.

You mewl, legs instinctively trying to wrap around his waist—and the glow pulses brighter.

“Gods—let me see how much you want it, sweetheart.”

He sets a rhythm that’s deep and steady, hips rolling into yours with that perfect pressure that has you melting under him. One hand tangled in your hair, the other on your thigh, pushing it open further so he can fuck you deeper.

And he talks the whole time.

So sweet. So filthy.

“Taking me so good. So perfect inside.” “You were made for this, weren’t you? For me.” “Look at you. So needy, so pretty.”

You’re babbling now—half his name, half nonsense, your hands scrabbling at his back like you need to anchor yourself.

He watches the way your lips part, the way your lashes flutter.

You feel the stretch as he pushes in again—inch by inch, deliberate—like he’s savoring the way you tremble beneath him.

“Shit—too much?” he asks, voice tight, lips brushing yours.

You shake your head, a breathy moan breaking free.

“N-no—don’t stop—fuck, ’Toru!”

He groans, pressing his forehead to yours. His hands grip your hips like he’s anchoring himself there, holding you still as he sinks into the feeling of being completely surrounded by you.

“Feels so fucking good,” he whispers. “You—you feel so good.”

He pulls back just enough to thrust in again—slow, smooth, deep—and your body arches.

The sound you make is soft, helpless.

He does it again. And again.

You’re gasping now, fingernails digging into his back, every roll of his hips sending sparks down your spine.

“Yeah? That what you needed?” he murmurs against your throat. “Want me to fuck you slow like this, baby? Let you feel every inch?”

Your only answer is a broken moan—and he grins.

His rhythm stays steady. Deep. Each thrust has your body trembling, your cunt clenching so tight around him that he shudders.

His groans grow louder. He doesn’t care if his crew wakes up from it. Can’t even think about it now, not with the way you clench around him like that.

“Gods, I’m not gonna last,” he admits, voice hoarse. “Not when you’re like this—tight little thing, crying under me—fuck—”

You try to speak, to beg for more, for faster, for anything, but your brain’s not working anymore. All you can do is cling to him, ride out the wave of pleasure crashing over and over—

And he feels it.

Feels the way you start to shake, the way your breath hitches.

He grabs your hand, laces your fingers with his, and presses your arm into the sand beside your head.

“Come for me,” he whispers, voice soft—almost reverent now. “I’ve got you. I’m right here.”

His thrusts grow more desperate—less patient, more need—until your body tightens beneath him with a stuttering gasp and you fall apart all over again.

Your orgasm hits hard. A cry breaks from your throat, your body arching as you clench around him—pulsing, shaking, stars exploding behind your eyes.

Gojo groans as you come—low and rough and helpless.

“Holy shit—fuck, that’s it, that’s my girl—”

He thrusts once, twice more before pulling out and shooting his load all over your stomach and chest with a broken sound, his fist tight around his cock, hips twitching.

And then silence. Heavy breathing.

His lips brush your temple.

“Still with me?” he asks, voice hoarse but soft.

You’re barely breathing.

Chest rising in little, uneven gasps, thighs trembling, your hand still tangled in his hair like you forgot how to let go.

Gojo doesn’t move at first.

He just stays there, nose brushing your cheek, lips parted against your skin. You can feel the beat of his heart where his chest rests over yours, still racing.

He presses a kiss to your jaw.

Then another, to the corner of your mouth. His hand slips down to soothe the shake in your thighs, thumb grazing your hip.

“Sorry,” he murmurs, voice thick. “You okay?”

You nod, blinking dazedly, lips barely able to form the words.

He huffs a soft laugh, curling beside you, arm hooked under your head to ease you into his chest. He’s warm. Still a little damp. Still naked. Still pressing soft kisses wherever he can reach.

You manage a breathless smile, curling closer. His hand trails down your spine, settling low on your back like he needs to keep touching you.

And for a while, that’s all it is.

Touch. Breath. Silence.

Then “I should get you cleaned up,” he murmurs. “You’ve got sand in places sand was never meant to be.”

You laugh—softly, tiredly—and he grins like he just won something.

He shifts, kneeling between your legs, coaxing you to sit up. His hands are gentle, wiping away the mess, brushing the hair from your face, fingers lingering everywhere like he can’t believe you’re real.

And when he wraps you in his discarded shirt, helps you back into the shallows to rinse off, he does it all like you’re something sacred.

Afterwards, he’s dressed again—barely dry, shirt wrinkled and hair a mess, but somehow still glowing in that effortless, infuriating way. He settles next to you, arms folded behind his head, eyes on the stars.

You lie beside him in silence, your body still humming from everything he gave you. Everything you let him give you.

Then he says it, so simply, like it costs him nothing at all: “Stay.”

You turn your head.

His eyes are closed, voice soft. “Just a little longer.”

You don’t answer. You just stay.

You stay as the moon climbs higher, casting silver light across his face. You stay until his breathing evens out, until his eyes can’t stay open any longer and until the smirk fades from his lips, replaced by something softer. Peaceful.

You reach out, brushing your fingers through his hair once—just once.

Then you rise, slow and silent, not daring to look back. The sand is cool beneath your feet as you cross to the water’s edge. Each step feels heavier than the last.

When your toes meet the sea, you pause. Your hand lifts to your chest.

The amulet pulses—soft and bright.

One more step.

The glow flares as your legs shift, flesh transforming back into scaled fin, your body easing into the current like it belongs there.

You look back only once.

He’s still there. Still asleep. Still smiling, just a little.

And then you sink beneath the surface—silent, alone, and glowing like you’re breaking apart from the inside out.

The ocean is quiet today.

Too quiet.

No schools of fish flitting past your chambers. No kelp swaying with the currents. Even the water feels heavier somehow, like the weight of what you did has sunk into the sea itself.

You don't sleep that night. Not really.

You drift. You float.

You try not to think about his hands, his mouth, the way your charm glowed for him like it had never glowed before.

But the sea doesn’t forget.

By morning, a summons arrives.

No explanation. Just a stiff nod from the attendant, eyes carefully averted, voice flat:

“Your father wants to see you.”

You already know what for.

Still, you school your face into something composed as you swim through the winding halls, past the guards who can barely meet your gaze. You feel the glimmer of your charm even now—dulled, but not dark. Not completely.

Your father is waiting.

Throned, still, massive. His presence fills the chamber before his voice ever does.

“You broke the law,” he says.

You lift your chin, but say nothing.

He rises—slowly, deliberately—and you feel the pressure of his disappointment before he’s even crossed the floor. “With him. A human. You let him touch you.” His eyes narrow, ancient and sharp. “You let him claim you.”

Your fingers twitch at your sides. Not in denial. Not even in shame. But in memory.

Because you remember the way Gojo held you like you were something to be worshipped, not stolen. Not claimed.

Still, you say nothing. And your silence seals it.

Your father exhales, slow. “Then you leave me no choice.”

His trident slams to the ocean floor with a crack that echoes through your bones.

“There is only one thing left to sever the bond you’ve created.”

Your breath stutters in your throat.

He looks down at you. “You will return to the surface. And you will bring me his heart.”

You don’t move. You don’t speak.

His words hang heavy in the water, thick as blood.

Your heart thunders, but your voice is barely a whisper. “…No.”

He narrows his eyes. “You would defy me?”

“I—please.” The word leaves you before you can stop it. Your hands rise, open in front of you. “You don’t understand. He’s not like the others. He didn’t take anything—he gave.”

“A trinket,” your father snaps. “A distraction.”

You shake your head. “It wasn’t just that.”

Silence follows. Deep. Crushing.

His eyes bore into you like the weight of the entire sea. But still, you try again.

“Let him go,” you whisper. “Please. If I made a mistake, punish me. But don’t—don’t hurt him.”

Your father stares for a long, still moment. And then, he speaks again. Quietly this time.

“If you cannot do it,” he says, “I have men who will.”

“No—” you surge forward, falling to your knees before him. “Please, Father. I’ll stay here. I won’t see him again. I’ll do whatever you ask, but don’t send anyone after him—don’t kill him.”

You’re shaking. You can feel it. The way your voice trembles. The way the charm around your neck flickers in protest.

But your father doesn’t soften.

He looks down at you—not as his daughter, but as something lesser. A traitor. A disappointment.

“You broke the laws that bind our kind. You let a human inside your mind, your body, your power.” He leans forward. “This is not about love. This is about balance. And you have tipped it.”

You go quiet.

Because you know then—he’s already made up his mind.

Gojo Satoru is as good as dead.

Unless you get to him first.

The moment you rise from the floor, ready to run—he moves faster.

A wave of pressure slams down around you. Not painful, but impossible to push through. You twist, try to swim forward, but it holds you in place like invisible chains.

“I know you, daughter,” he says, voice colder now, more ancient. “I know what you’d do.”

Your eyes widen.

“Don’t,” you breathe. “Please—”

“You would betray your kingdom for one man,” he says. “I won’t let you.”

You surge forward, desperate, heart thudding so loud you swear he can hear it through the water. But the force field remains. Sealed. Final. “Father.”

He turns his back to you. His guards step in. “Lock her in the coral chamber,” he commands.

“No!” Your scream is swallowed by the sea. “Please, don’t do this—he’ll think I left—he’ll think I meant to—”

But your father doesn’t look back. Not even once.

And as the guards grab your arms, drag you through the halls, you realize something far worse than being punished: Satoru will never see this coming.

The coral chamber is silent but for the soft hum of the magic holding it sealed. It’s not a prison in the traditional sense—but it might as well be. The walls pulse with a faint light, ancient enchantments woven into every inch of the reef.

And then a ripple. You spin, heart in your throat, and see her.

Your sister floats just outside the barrier, arms crossed, gaze sharp. “You look like you’re going to pass out,” she says coolly. “Did you think you could hide it forever?”

You exhale shakily. “He wasn’t supposed to find out.”

“I told you,” she snaps, gliding closer, her face stern. “You were reckless. You fell for a land-strider. You gave him your power. Do you have any idea what that means for us?”

“I didn’t give him anything!” you hiss. “It wasn’t like that.”

Her silence is pointed.

You run a hand through your hair, frustrated, angry, terrified all at once. “He wasn’t like the others. He didn’t want to take. He saw me.”

Her jaw tightens.

“And now he’s going to die for it,” you whisper, voice cracking. You reach the edge of the barrier, fingertips barely brushing the glowing wall. “Please. Please, I need to warn him.”

She doesn’t answer. You see it in her face—the doubt, the war she’s fighting behind her eyes. “Do you love him?” she asks finally.

You hesitate. “…Yes.”

Her features flicker, soften just a little. “You know what our father will do to me if I help you.”

“I know. I’m sorry,” you whisper. “But if you don’t, he’ll never even see it coming. He’ll think I abandoned him.”

Silence stretches long between you. Then she breathes out through her nose. “You always were the reckless one.”

And her hand reaches forward. The barrier parts, just a crack. “Go. Now.”

You grip her wrist before she can pull away completely. “I can’t leave,” you say, voice trembling. “He’ll know. He’ll tighten the wards. But please. Just find him. Tell him I didn’t abandon him. Tell him I tried.”

Your sister hesitates. “…I don’t even know what he looks like.”

You give her the faintest smile. “Tall. White hair. Blue eyes. Stupidly pretty. He waits near the tide line at night.”

Her lips twitch. “Sounds irritating.”

“He is,” you breathe out. “But I—he matters.”

Another pause. And then she nods. “I’ll find him.”

You watch her disappear into the deep. You’re left with nothing but the steady pulse of the chamber’s magic and the wild pounding of your heart.

The tide laps gently against the rocks. Gojo sits near the edge, legs drawn up, his arms resting over his knees. The stars scatter across the surface like they’re watching him wait.

He checks the horizon again. Still no sign of you.

It’s the third night in a row.

His easy smile is gone now, replaced with a quiet furrow between his brows. “Starting to think I scared you off,” he mutters, trying to sound light. It falls flat.

Then a shimmer breaks the water. He jerks upright, hopeful.

But it’s not you. A different figure rises—eyes too familiar, but colder. Cautious.

His confusion lasts only a second. “You’re not her.”

“No,” she says. “I’m her sister.” She studies him, as if weighing whether he’s worth the risk she just took. “She didn’t leave because she wanted to,” she says. “Our father found out. He locked her away before she could warn you.”

Gojo goes still. The next beat of his heart is loud enough to drown out the sea.

“She tried,” her sister adds, voice quiet. “She begged.”

For a moment, he doesn’t speak. Just stares out at the water, jaw tight, something in his chest twisting painfully. Then, slowly—he stands.

“…Where is she?” Gojo takes a step toward the tide. “I’m going after her.”

She blinks. “Are you serious?”

His jaw is set. “You just said she’s locked away. I’m not letting her sit there thinking I gave up on her.”

“Okay,” she huffs, flicking a bit of water off her wrist, “and how exactly do you plan to breathe underwater?”

He pauses.

“…Minor setback.”

“Minor—” She cuts herself off, dragging a hand down her face. “Gods, she really would fall for someone like you.”

He flashes a grin. “Thanks.”

“Not a compliment.”

But the smile fades quickly. “I mean it. I have to do something.”

She regards him for a moment. He’s serious. Really serious. No smug teasing, no flirtation—just that unshakable look in his eyes that tells her he’d throw himself into the ocean for you without hesitation.

“She wanted to warn you,” she says more softly now. “She tried. But our father… he knows. And if he catches you near our waters again—he won’t show mercy.”

Gojo’s mouth tightens. “I’m not afraid of him.”

“Then be afraid for her.”

That silences him.

Your sister crosses her arms, not cruel—just resigned. “The only way you keep her safe now is by staying away.”

“…So that’s it?” he asks hoarsely. “I just go? Pretend it never happened?”

“No,” she says, gentler now. “You remember it. Every moment of it. So does she.”

A long silence passes.

Then Gojo turns back to the shore. Shoulders stiff. Jaw clenched. He doesn’t look back when he walks away. But the ache he leaves in the sand stays long after the tide rolls in.

The ship creaks gently beneath their feet as the sails fill again with wind, the salt-stung breeze tugging at hair and loose shirts. They’ve set course for somewhere else. Anywhere else.

Gojo stands at the helm, one hand gripping the wood so tightly his knuckles pale. The horizon is just blue and endless, but he keeps staring, like he expects something to rise out of it. Like he’s hoping to catch one last glimpse of what he left behind.

Behind him, Shoko lights a cigarette and leans against the rail. “He’s been like that all morning.”

“More like all week,” Nanami mutters.

“Yuuji tried giving him an orange,” Nobara says, arms crossed. “Didn’t work.”

Megumi doesn’t say anything, but his eyes are fixed on Gojo’s back. He sees the way his captain keeps shifting like he’s restless. Like he’s waiting for the sea to give something back.

“Did something happen on shore?” Shoko asks finally.

Yuuji plops down on a crate nearby, chewing absently on a strip of dried mango. “Did mystery girl dump him or something?”

Gojo doesn’t flinch. But his grip tightens. Slightly. Sharply. The tension in his shoulders is sudden and obvious—and enough for Shoko to groan under her breath and flick Yuuji on the back of the head. “Yuuji.”

“Seriously?” Nobara scowls.

“...What?” Yuuji says, rubbing the spot. “I was joking!”

Megumi exhales slowly. “Read the room. Or boat.”

Gojo still hasn’t said anything.

Nobara steps up beside him, quieter now. “You don’t have to tell us what happened.”

Gojo’s voice finally breaks through, low and flat, “I left her behind.”

Silence spreads like fog.

“I didn’t want to,” he adds, almost like he’s trying to convince himself. “I had to.”

Shoko crosses her arms. “Is she in danger?”

He doesn’t answer at first. Then—barely audible—“I don't know.”

And that’s all he says. No one jokes after that. Not even Yuuji.

The silence in your chambers has been so loud lately, it’s almost a relief when the door bursts open. Your sister rushes in, breathless, hair wild from swimming too fast. “They’re moving.”

You blink, still half-curled on the smooth stone floor, tail tucked beneath you like you were trying to disappear into it.

Her voice is breathless. Urgent. “The guards—Father’s men—they’re already close. Too close.”

Your heart stutters. “No,” you whisper, sitting upright fast, tail shifting beneath you, trembling. “He—he promised me time.”

“He never meant it,” she says, voice thin and breaking. “He just wanted you calm. You know how he is.”

The charm at your neck pulses once—weak and frightened. “How close?” Your voice comes out barely audible.

She hesitates. That alone is answer enough. “Close enough that you might not make it in time,” she says. “I’m sorry.”

Your chest feels tight. Like the water around you is thickening, pressing in, suffocating. “I should’ve gone sooner,” you murmur, guilt blooming like ink in your gut. “I should’ve warned him.”

Your sister moves closer. “If you leave now—if you swim hard—maybe…”

You don’t respond. Because maybe isn’t good enough.

You move, slow at first, like your body is still catching up to what your mind already knows—then faster, faster, until you’re flying through the water, heart in your throat, pulse roaring in your ears.

Please, you think, over and over, please let me be wrong. Please let them be safe.

Because if you're not—if they aren’t—then it’s already too late.

The ocean is too quiet. Not calm—quiet.

The kind of stillness that makes even seasoned sailors look over their shoulders.

Gojo leans against the railing, forearms braced, eyes fixed on the horizon like he’s trying to find something he can’t name. His hair’s still damp from a morning swim he swore he wasn’t waiting around for. Salt clings to his skin. But his charm’s gone dim.

Behind him, the crew stirs with a strange energy.

Shoko’s brow is furrowed as she peers into the distance through a spyglass. “Feels wrong,” she mutters.

“Like storm weather?” Yuuji asks, quieter now.

“No,” Nanami says, voice low and firm. “Worse.”

Gojo turns finally, eyes narrowed just slightly. “How long until we’re ready to move?”

“Half hour, if the wind holds,” Megumi replies.

Gojo doesn’t nod. Doesn’t speak. Just looks out again—toward nothing—and feels something tightening in his chest.

He doesn’t say it out loud, but they can all tell:

Something’s coming.

The first jolt doesn’t come from above—it comes from below. A violent lurch rocks the ship, enough to knock Megumi sideways and send a bucket skittering across the deck.

“What the hell—?!” Shoko grabs the railing.

“Something hit the hull,” Nanami barks, already moving.

But it’s not just one strike. The second comes harder. Something slams into the underside of the ship with a dull, sickening crack, the kind of force that splinters wood. The whole vessel groans in protest.

“Below deck! Check for breach!” Geto shouts.

Gojo doesn’t move. He knows what this is. Not a storm. Not sea creatures.

This—this is retribution.

Another strike. This time from the side—something sharp tearing into the boards just above the waterline. A wave sloshes over the deck.

“Someone’s attacking us,” Nobara shouts, already drawing her blade.

“No ships in sight,” Shoko says, snapping the spyglass shut. “No sails. Nothing.”

“Because it’s not human,” Gojo says softly.

Everyone goes quiet. The water stills again. Only for a breath.

Then—something breaches. A dark, jagged figure shoots up from the depths, slicing the surface like a living spear before diving back under. Sleek. Fast. Not quite human.

There’s a chorus of shouted commands, boots thundering across wood, hands grabbing ropes and weapons. But Gojo doesn’t shout. He steps to the edge, staring down into the deep.

You promised him time. And he knows now—you never had it.

The first crash nearly knocks the mast loose. It hits low—beneath the waterline. A sickening jolt, wood shattering like ribs, sends barrels tumbling and sailors cursing.

“What the fuck was that?!” Nobara yells, grabbing onto the railing.

“Something’s under us!” Megumi shouts, already disappearing below deck.

Another impact. This one’s higher—near the stern. It scrapes deep, long, like claws carving into the hull.

The crew scrambles, chaos erupting.

“Plug the breach!” Nanami orders, voice like iron even as water pours through the cracks. “We’re taking on fast—!”

Then silence. Not peace. Stillness. It only lasts a second.

And then something launches from the water. It isn’t human. Slippery, scaled, and lean. Gills flaring. Hands like knives. A sea-creature—no, a hunter—lands on the deck.

“Starboard!” Shoko shouts, throwing a harpoon from behind a barrel. It pierces straight through the creature’s side—sends it flailing back over the railing with a screech.

But more are coming. Dozens. Fingers claw the sides of the ship. Webbed hands. Serrated weapons. Shifting forms dart just under the surface, circling like sharks.

Geto kicks a supply crate toward Yuuji. “Arm everyone—now!”

Nobara’s sword is slick with blood already. “I’ll gut every last one of you scaled fuckers!”

Gojo’s still at the edge. Frozen. Not with fear—but with a gut-deep knowing.

This isn’t a random attack. This is a message. From the sea. From the ones who’ve taken you.

Another clawed hand slams onto the railing beside him. He reacts fast—kicks it off, blade out, breath heavy.

Behind him, Nanami grabs rope and starts tying barrels together. “If we have to abandon ship—”

“We’re not abandoning shit,” Gojo snaps, spinning around. “We hold until we can’t.”

But even as he says it—his eyes flick toward the horizon. Still no sign of you. No soft laugh. No glowing charm.

Just the black, roiling sea.

The ship groans—loud, guttural, like it’s begging to stay afloat. They’re everywhere now. Climbing over the sides, pouring up from the sea. Not all of them fully formed—some half-human, half-monstrous, with fins instead of feet, barbed tails slashing through the air. The deck is slick with seawater and blood, bodies scrambling between debris and weapons, screams barely heard over the crash of the waves.

“Get back!” Nobara snarls, kicking a writhing thing off the main mast ladder.

“Too many!” Geto yells. “We won’t hold this!”

“I told you something felt wrong last night!” Shoko ducks under a spear, slices its wielder’s throat clean with a broken bottle. “Where the hell is Gojo?!”

Then they see him. At the far end of the deck. Standing above the chaos, coat soaked and sticking to his skin, hair clinging to his forehead, hands trembling just enough to show he’s running on pure adrenaline. His blade’s buried in one of the creatures—but he doesn’t look back at it. He’s looking at them. “Get to the rafts!” he shouts. “Now!”

“No—” Yuuji tries to argue, but Gojo’s already throwing a crate across the deck, knocking one of the attackers away from a half-loosened life raft. “We’re not leaving you!”

“Just go!” he shouts again, this time louder—eyes hard, desperate. “I’ll keep them off you!”

One of the creatures lunges at him from behind. He ducks it. Spins. Stabs. Another comes from the side. He doesn’t flinch—slams his elbow into its gills, kicks it back into the sea.

And when Geto opens his mouth to argue again—he sees it.

Gojo’s not planning on coming with them. Not yet. This happened because of him. He’s not letting anything happen to his crew—his family.

He’s buying them time. A distraction.

“Move!” Nanami grabs Yuuji by the collar, dragging him toward the rope ladders. “He made his choice—don’t waste it!”

The crew rushes to untie the rafts, each member fending off attacks as they scramble toward escape. The ship lurches again—one final groan from the keel, deep and ugly.

And through it all, Gojo fights. Face bloodied, body bruised from the impact of too many claws and spears. But he doesn’t stop. He doesn’t look away. He stays. Waiting. Hoping.

Because maybe you’ll come. Maybe you know.

The water is far too calm.

Too still for what should’ve been here—shouts, battle cries, fire and fury. All that’s left is quiet. A quiet so deep it feels wrong, like the ocean itself is holding its breath.

You break the surface, expecting chaos. Expecting the fight. But there’s only ruin.

Pieces of the ship drift past you—shards of splintered wood, torn cloth fluttering uselessly. A piece of railing, a shattered crate. The scent of smoke still clings faintly in the air.

You swim further in. Your eyes are wide, darting. Searching. Where is he?

You don’t realize you're whispering his name until your voice cracks.

The deeper you go, the worse it gets. A mast, snapped clean in two. Ropes hanging uselessly. No figures. No sound. Just wreckage.

And blood—thin, diluted trails fading into the tide.

You pass the remains of a lifeboat. Empty.

Your stomach turns. Your hands tremble, barely keeping you above water now.

Your lips part, but no sound comes out. Just a hollow breath. The glow of your charm dims at your chest—flickering, like it, too, has begun to mourn. You turn slowly in the water.

And then you see it. A large, flat piece of the ship’s hull—still afloat, barely. And on it, unmoving, soaked through, arm dangling off the side—Gojo.

Your breath catches violently in your throat. You freeze. For a second, you don't move. Your body forgets how. Your mind goes blank. Then you’re flying through the water, limbs cutting through it as fast as you can move. You reach him and he’s still there. Still whole. Still—

“Satoru,” you whisper, pulling yourself up onto the debris, crawling to him on shaking arms. “Satoru—”

His skin is cold. Salt-stung. Pale.

You don’t know when you started shaking. Not from the cold, not from the sea.

From what rests in your arms.

You cradle him as best you can atop the broken hull, dragging his weight against you as your tail propels you toward shore. The waves are gentle now—cruelly so, as if mocking what the sea just took.

His head slumps against your shoulder. His skin is ice. No breath. No movement.

And still you keep going. You drag him onto the sand, gasping, coughing. The glow at your chest is frantic now—wild, erratic, pulsing like a heartbeat that doesn't belong to you anymore.

You drag him onto the sand, gasping, coughing. The glow at your chest is frantic now—wild, erratic, pulsing like a heartbeat that doesn't belong to you anymore.

You barely feel the shift until it’s already happening—muscle pulling, fins splitting apart, the weight of your tail giving way to something softer. The cool press of sand meets your knees. Your calves. Your feet. Legs.

Breath shudders out of you. You clutch at the charm, still burning warm against your palm, as if it’s trying to hold you together. But all you can see is him—still too still, too pale, the sea in his lungs and salt on his skin.

“Please,” you whisper, your voice hoarse, your hands pressed against his chest. “Please—” You don’t know who you’re begging. Him. The ocean. The gods. Anyone.

You press your forehead to his, still dripping, still trembling. Saltwater pools around his body. He doesn’t move. Doesn’t twitch. Doesn’t breathe.

He’s gone. You know it.

But you refuse.

“No,” you breathe, louder this time, almost choking on it. “No—I didn’t come this far for you to leave me. You can’t—,” your voice breaks. Your chest heaves.

You sit there for what feels like forever—holding him, cradling his lifeless face, brushing damp white strands from his eyes.

“You said you'd always find me,” you whisper. “Even if I was hiding beneath the sea.”

Silence answers.

And still you stay there, beside him, your charm glowing so desperately it hurts.

Until the sea turns quiet again. Until your tears dry with the wind. Until you're left with nothing but the weight of him—and the crushing ache of everything you didn’t get to say.

You’re not sure how long you’ve sat there.

Long enough for the stars to shift overhead. Long enough for the tide to creep higher around your legs. Long enough to feel the weight of him turning cold in your arms. And still, you can’t let go.

Your fingers slip to your charm. It’s still glowing faintly—soft white, barely flickering, as if mourning with you. You don’t know what you’re doing until it’s already in your palm, the knotted cord pooling there. Your voice is barely a whisper. “I’m sorry, I’m so—so sorry.”

He’s heavy in your arms. Too still. His lips are blue. His skin is cold. You don’t realize you’re crying again until your tears hit his cheek.

Then you slip it around his neck, letting the charm settle over his chest, right where his heart should be beating.

The glow flickers. Soft. Faint. Then—bright.

But it’s not white. It’s blue. The deep, clear cerulean of his eyes. The kind of blue that once made you hesitate mid-sentence. The kind that lit up when he laughed. The kind that stared at you like you were the only thing in the world that mattered.

And then his body jerks. He spasms, and your hands fly to his shoulders just as he twists onto his side, choking, convulsing. He gasps—wet and raw. Saltwater floods from his mouth, spilling over his lips. He coughs hard, body wracked with it, and you hold him through every shudder. “Breathe,” you whisper, your voice breaking. “Please. Just breathe.”

Another violent cough. His fingers dig into the sand, weak and scrambling. His chest heaves. And finally—finally—he sucks in a breath. A real one. It’s ragged. Fragile. But it’s there.

His eyelids flutter open slowly. His gaze is unfocused at first—glassy, dazed. But then those eyes shift. Land on you. “…You,” he croaks, hoarse. Barely a whisper.

Your heart cracks open. You lean over him, one hand cradling his cheek, the other smoothing wet hair back from his face. “I thought I lost you,” you whisper.

He doesn’t speak. Just stares up at you like he doesn’t quite believe it either. Like he’s still half between this world and the next.

“I’m here,” you say, softly. “I’m right here.”

And finally, his eyes flutter closed again—not unconscious, just overwhelmed. He lets out a weak breath and presses his forehead against your palm. And you sit there, holding him, while the waves keep rising.

You feel warmth slowly return to him—the cold fading from his skin, replaced by the heat of life. Of him. He’s curled against you on the sand, breathing shallow but steady, as the ocean hums quietly at your back. Neither of you speak for a long while.

Then, his fingers twitch—reach for yours. And when you lace them together, he holds on like you’re the only thing anchoring him to this world. “…You saved me,” he says, voice rough.

You don’t look at him. “You shouldn’t have been there.”

“I couldn’t stay away.” Your throat tightens. He squeezes your hand, and when you finally meet his gaze, it steals the air right from your lungs. He’s looking at you like you’re a miracle. Like he’s afraid to blink and lose you again.

“I thought you were gone,” you whisper. “I thought I’d never see you again.”

“Same,” he breathes, giving you a half smile—soft, tired. “But apparently I’m too pretty to die.”

You let out a shaky laugh. Then a tear slips down your cheek, and he catches it with his thumb. “No more running,” he says. “No more hiding.”

Your voice trembles. “They’ll come after you.”

“Then let them.” His tone is quiet but sure. “Let them come. I’m not leaving you.”

You barely have time to breathe before his hand is on your jaw, tilting your face toward his. He doesn’t kiss you gently. He crashes into you, his hand cupping your jaw, pulling you in as his lips claim yours with raw, aching need. There’s no hesitation, no fear. Just everything he’s wanted to say and never had the words for.

You melt into him, fingers knotting in the fabric of his shirt—still soaked, still clinging to him like your touch does now. The taste of salt lingers between your mouths, your breaths shared and stolen, again and again. He groans softly into your lips as you shift over him, your body fitting against his like you were always meant to. His hands—calloused and warm—trail down your back, over the ridges of your spine, holding you closer, closer.

When you pull back to breathe, you hover there, foreheads pressed together, your lips barely apart. “I missed you,” he whispers. “More than I can explain.”

Your eyes flutter shut. “I never stopped thinking of you.”

Another kiss. Slower this time. Full of promise and pain and everything you’ve both fought so hard to bury. His tongue slides against yours—gentle, then greedy. And you let him have you, let him take all of it.

Because he came back. Because you saved him.

Because against every odd and warning, he’s still yours.

And you’re not letting go.

author's note. after almost A MONTH we're back gang. the PAIN i went thru before posting this- FUCK TUMBLR'S BLOCK LIMIT i had to delete an entire scene (but dw the full version will be on my ao3 soon)

please do not steal, modify, or translate my work.

2K notes · View notes

lay-z · 2 months ago

Text

WALK THE PLANK | Part 1

Happy Mermay! 𓂃𓂁𓂃 ོ

— mershark!Simon Riley × fem!Reader — 18+ | Pirates of the Caribbean AU; magic; strangers to lovers; slowburn-ish; monsterfucking; possessive/territorial! Simon; breeding kink; time skips; loss of virginity; canon-typical violence; smut; fluff; dub-con (to be safe)

You have been drawn to the sea since your mother gave birth on a pirate ship.

Even though your father warned you to stay away from the Gems Cove many a times while growing up, told you to stop swimming there, stop feeding the fish, stop praying to Calypso, stop serenading the bloody sea at dusk when the last golden rays of sunlight disappear behind the horizon, because you cannot even comprehend what lingers in the depths of the reef, sweet lassie, you never listened, and when your father left one last time to follow after his Captain’s orders one last time, there was no one left to tell you to stop going there.

And with your dear father’s disappearance, your feet only carried you towards the cove with more purpose—and a lot more spite.

Raised and fed by kind townspeople who took pity on your situation, you continued to spend your teenhood at Gems Cove, glaring at the horizon and quietly cursing ever ship that sailed by and didn’t magically take you away.

A warm breeze sweeps through your hair, swirls around your bare legs as you stand there in your flowy white undergarments, dress and boots discarded in a haphazard heap in the shade of a rock, salt curling the strands and sticking to your dewy skin, sunrays dancing on the crystal-clear water, sparkling like a million gemstones.

“Perhaps I’ll become a bloody pirate like you, eh? How does that fucking sound, father?” you sneer again, angrily flicking another broken seashell over the glittering surface as you stand on the rotten boards of the old jetty, gentle waves lapping against the jagged rocks and wooden pillars supporting the planks.

It’s what you’ve been doing for the past decade, whenever you realize once again how incredibly meaningless and mundane your life has turned out to be, like a ruffled feather blowing in the wind—working as a hierling on fishing boats to get by, helping out as a seamstress and barmaid, selling self-made jewellery to drunken travellers, and avoiding the local brothel at all costs like Davy Jones avoids dry land.

Your father had always promised to take you with him—“when you’re old enough, sweet lassie”—though it was too late when you realized that he was simply staving you off. You would have never been old enough, always his little lassie, too soft for the ocean—a pebble with no edges, smoothed by the current.

“Perhaps... Perhaps I’ll have a child only to abandon it, too, huh? Or even better, I bloody snuff it givin’ birth to it like mother did!” You scoff, and the sound ricochets around the enclosing cliffs sharply, like the shot of a well-maintained pistol.

A murder of crows and a few scattered seagulls feeding on a large mutt’s cadaver at the beach nearby, are startled by the sound and take off flight; distracting you momentarily as you glance over your shoulder, squinting against the slowly setting sunlight.

You barely register the gentle sloshing of waves behind you. The mass that heaves itself out of the water to peek up at the jetty, and the quiet, steady dribble of fat drops dripping off sleek skin, back into the ocean.

When you turn around again, you let out a surprised yelp and nearly jump backwards at the sudden sight that greets you, stumbling on bare feet, almost slipping on slick algae.

He’s huge, and it’s barely half his torso that’s sticking out of the water.

Black, beady eyes—marbles containing the depths of the sea—staring at you, with a rather curious twinkle, from behind a mask crafted out of what you assume must be a cracked human skull, secured around his head with a frayed string of hemp rope, its upper row of teeth twinkling with a gold tooth. It exposes a crown of short brown hair sticking to his skull, the sharp curve of jawline and a plump, rosy bottom lip.

His skin is pale, with a silvery shimmer and faint grey stripes along his upper arms and ribs, depending how the light catches it. Paler than the white sand on the beach, like it has never been kissed by the afternoon sun.

Blessed with wide shoulders, a bulky chest, chiselled abs, and large arms with bulging muscles and protruding blue veins running along the inside of his forearms. Half a brown leather harness is secured around his upper torso, a short and tattered sheath attached to it, the blade’s ivory handle seemingly carved from some great fishbone.

You’ve never seen a man quite this large, not even on your father’s crew, but once you spot the row of gills on each side of his neck, you know that you’re not faced with a man, but a beast—and suddenly, all doubts you once held vanish.

As it turns out, your father didn’t lie in his bedtime stories, didn’t exaggerate when he warned you all those years ago: “There are things–beings–lingerin’ below the surface that might not make sense to us, but it don’t mean they’re not real. Aye? If ye feel like ye’re bein’ stalked by the water, chances are bloody high tha’ ye are, lassie.”

“Who–Who are you?” You shake your head, rubbing your eyes on wobbly legs to make sure you’re not dreaming again.

He doesn’t answer at first, only regards you with those dark, soulless eyes, head tilted like a puppy experiencing something new while his chest rises and falls with shallow breaths, until you find your footing again, slowly backing away from the edge of the jetty, holding your breath despite the salty air scratching in your lungs.

“Wait!” He calls out firmly with a voice like gravel coated in oil, barking like a captain yet pleading like a lost boy. You freeze, exhaling a shuddering breath while your sweaty skin pebbles with goosebumps.

The water parts as he glides through it with ease, closing distance while your eyes flicker to observe the large silhouette of his lower half moving below the surface, causing your eyes to widen in fear and disbelief—and curiosity as it begins to tickle you in the back of your mind.

You should grab your clothes and run far away, but you stay where you are, mesmerized by the creature who is now pulling himself out of the water, bracing his forearms on the edge of the first planks while they creak under his added weight.

For a moment, you’re distracted by his body and the sheer power emanating from him; his hands so brawny and veined, he looks like he could crack a coconut without any effort.

“My name,” he takes a deep breath as if it strains him to speak, “is Simon.”

“Simon,” you repeat, and something splashes sharply behind him, breaking the surface like he’s excited to hear you utter his name, and you wonder if your eyes have deceived you—or if you’ve truly just seen a shark tail.

There is a brief yet tense pause, then he speaks your name, loud and clear, and your heart throbs inside your chest. “Why are ya so angry again?” he asks casually, as if he’s talking to an old friend.

Simon belongs to the mythical merfolk.

Different than the mermaids and men you’ve heard of through legends and lore, and the heresy fishermen and pirates alike love to spread, the creatures who call the territory around Whitecap Bay and Isla Sirena their home, he’s a maverick, a lone sea ghoul.

Unlike them, he doesn’t belong to any pod. He’s been on his own for most of his life.

Mershark, they call themselves. “Aye, stronger than those pretty fish,” he tells you one day two, chortling when he adds, “smarter, too.”

He does look like a ruthless tiger shark, his lower half nearly twice as long as a human body, with tough skin, criss-crossed with battle and other scars. And when he catches how your gaze lingers on his unique body, a rare smirk tugs at the corner of his lips, nearly preening under your attention.

Simon lets you inspect and learn as you please, answers your questions about his tail, and why it doesn’t look like any of the merfolk drawings you’ve seen in books—his large caudal fin like a shark’s, undulating from side to side rather than up and down whenever he swims.

And you start spending more time at the cove and less at your hometown, ignoring your lack of money and possibilities in favour of being with him—your scarily handsome sea beast.

After five days, you bring what is necessary, along with a tattered pillow and thin blanket as you stay more nights at the beach, reading aloud old books to him as he can neither read nor write, and sleeping in the sand while Simon prowls his territory underwater, hunting at night.

You’ve never had a friend quite like him, if any at all, but neither ever did he, from what you can tell.

He gets terribly restless when you do end up leaving the cove a couple of hours a day, pacing while the big trademark fin of a shark swims circles in the bay until you return, and Simon ends up bringing you fish to cook over an open bonfire and fresh clams to slurp with lemon juice to keep you from having to leave him again; always making sure you’re fed while he lingers; sometimes sitting awkwardly in the shallows with you, when the tide is lowest, and the temperature burns too hot.

It’s peaceful, being with him.

“Everyone always told me to stay away from Gems Cove. Said it’s too dangerous and cursed,” you remark, kissing your teeth in snide as you gaze out on the calm water. “Nothin’ ever happened, and they stopped pestering me eventually, though.”

There is a pause after you tell him, and you wonder if he’s even listening to you, but then he opens his mouth to speak, and you realize that he’d been hesitating.

“I’ve watched over you whenever ya swam here. Nothin’ would’ve ever happened to you, because I never allowed it,” he admits sheepishly after barely ten days of knowing each other, as the late afternoon sun inches towards the horizon. He points a finger at the span of the cove. “F’all these years, y’know?”

Simon looks straight ahead as you gaze up at him, his skull mask resting in your lap after taking it off for him, and you use the moment to admire how the sunlight makes his dark blonde hair shine, the unruly strands now close-cropped, thanks to you, exposing the three deep claw marks at the side of his skull from a fight with a merman.

Then his jaw clenches and his cheek ticks as if he regrets telling you now, but your heart skips a beat at his admission, utterly touched by it.

“Why?” you croak, and your eyes sting with salty sea spray.

His head tips down at your hand now resting where his hip should be and where his body turns twisted, abnormal. Still, your thumb rubs soothing circles on his sleek looking yet rough skin, sharp like sand and fine glass shards.

Reaching out, he takes your right hand, turns it over to look at your palm, tracing the jagged scar in the middle of it, and huffing through his nose at the memories flooding his mind, before he speaks: “Because you saved me and almost bloody died doin’ it.”

You don’t remember it, but Simon recounts that you’d lost consciousness back then. He could never forget it—stuck and tangled up in a net, thin ropes biting into his skin while a fat hook was piercing his dorsal fin, his own blood attracting more sharks.

You’d jumped into the dark water without hesitation, the full moon the only light illuminating the restless waves, and you cut him free with a rusty pocketknife before pulling out the hook. And Simon remembers your sharp cry of pain, the one that made his heart drop heavy in his chest, then the sweet and copper scent of your blood as it dripped onto him and into the sea, when the hook went through your palm.

Barely a decade old the both of you, when he had to watch from afar how loud men hauled you out of the angry water, pressing down on your still flat chest with force until you sputtered and coughed gallons of salty water while death kept clinging to your complexion.

Simon still wishes he could’ve kissed you back then, protect you from drowning like that, but he was still a silly pup—oblivious to his own powers, because nobody close to him was still alive to teach him.

His shoulders slouch, dry skin pulling taut over his muscles after spending too much time out of the water.

“I never even got to say ‘thank you’ back then.”

The sourness of lemons from supper is still sticking to your lips as you lick them, the taste of seafood lingering in the back of your throat as you listen and watch, barely breathing while Simon paints a vivid picture in your head; lifting the fog of a sad, lonely childhood for a smidge to teach you how you got that nasty scar on your hand.

“You don’t have to thank me,” you reply, not moving your hand as he keeps cradling it in his. “I’d do it again in a heartbeat.”

Then, your father’s words come to your mind: “Whenever the sea calls out to ye, ye walk the plank and take a jump, lassie.” He’d always laugh fondly. “One fearless minx, ye are. Every pirate cap’n would fear the lass who’d cheated Calypso of another innocent soul.”

It makes more sense now, but before you can think about it, Simon turns to you, his eyes dark pools of nothingness, swallowing up all the molten golden brown in his irises.

“That’s what I’m afraid of, love. Bloody reckless y'are.” There is no malice in his baritone voice, just a hint of exasperation and fatigue, as if he’s done with your bollocks after years of playing guardian angel and keeping himself hidden in a desperate attempt not to scare you away, but then there’s a faint smile lifting the scarred corner of his lip—a gnarly scar caused by another fisherman's hook, he’d told you.

A genuine smile graces your lips when you entwine your fingers with his, feeling the smooth, translucent webbing between his fingers, while his body tenses, nostrils flaring with a sharp inhale of breath.

“Wouldn’t have met ya if I was some prudent, Si.”

It’s still a foreign feeling for him to feel air burn in his lungs for so long, but Simon can’t help the way his breath stutters and hitches whenever you’re close to him—whenever you touch him so effortlessly, just as confidently as when you’d jumped into the water to save him from a cruel death.

And Simon is almost sure you don’t know, not yet anyway, but you’re doing things to him he’s never experienced before.

The naturally fearless mershark continues to crumble under your gaze, your voice, your every touch, like a delicate sandcastle blown over by the breeze. He’d endure the burn of air in his lungs, of sunrays on his sensitive skin, a thousand times over if it means he can spend another moment in your bright presence.

“Aye.” He returns your smile, squeezing your hand lightly as you hold his gaze. “Guess ye’r right.”

For the first time in his pathetic life, Simon doesn’t feel that cold and crippling kind of loneliness, and unbeknownst to him, you feel very much the same.

After two weeks, when the Caribbean sun burns too hot at noon, Simon steals you away from the Gems Cover, has he listened to you hiss and moan about your townspeople and the desire to leave the island one too many times in this short amount of time.

“Bring water,” he keeps calling out to you like a mother hen, bracing his arms on the jetty as he watches you fussing about in your makeshift camp at the beach. “Can’t have ya faintin’ on me,” he adds with a teasing lilt, and you roll your eyes, stuffing your flask into your old leather rucksack.

When you sit down at the edge of the jetty, bare legs swinging while the hem of your yellowed tunic flutters around your thighs, Simon feels a different kind of warmth stirring in his chest that spreads down to the tip of his tail, pooling and pulsating low in his gut.

His hands twitch below the surface, clenching into fists to keep himself from reaching out to feel your supple flesh give under his brawny hands, nose twitching as he gets a whiff of your scent—luscious sweat and salt coating your skin, a trace of coconut water on your hair, a whiff of your heavenly womanhood when you squirm on the rotten planks and your knees spread apart.

His mouth fills with saliva and the urge to shove his face between your thighs becomes unbearable as something wild claws and thrashes behind his ribs, razor sharp teeth tearing him apart from the inside while he tries to tame his instincts.

Simon exhales slowly through his nose, dark eyes flickering up to observe your gorgeous face from behind his skull mask as you secure your rucksack on your back, so unaware of this predator—lusting, wanting, adoring you so openly.

Sometimes he wonders if you know that you’re his salvation, and he hates himself for not bracing that surface sooner, for not taking that leap and show himself to you.

“Now c’mon, little legs.” He clears his throat and water splashes as he lifts his arms up, waiting for you to make the final jump. “I’m takin’ ya for a swim.”

Your pearly teeth flash with a grin and then you slip off the edge, right into his embrace before he cradles you close to his buff chest while a pleased rumble bubbles up in his throat at the weight of you finally in his arms, legs wrapping around his midriff where man meets shark.

“Fuckin’ hell, ye’r squishy,” Simon mutters under his breath, earning a glare as he snorts in amusement and slight embarrassment, pale cheeks flushing under the bone of his mask. “I–I mean... soft. In a–a good way.” He adjusts his grip on you, cupping the back of your thighs, squeezing involuntarily.

You squirm against his body, lashes fluttering against the spray and breeze whipping around your body, while your heart beats rapidly against your ribcage, overwhelmed by the closeness to him, not having expected nor ever experienced this effect from a anyone.

“Hold on tight now, aye?”

Adjusting your grip around his neck, you nod, and Simon eases himself into the water, floating on his back while he has you lay on his broad body, keeping you secured to his chest while he starts moving his tail underwater, gliding through the waves as he manoeuvres you both out of the familiar cove, past the colourful reef where the sheltered bay opens up into the vast ocean.

“Haven’t been out in open water in so long,” you start shakily, eyes darting around, but the sun’s reflection on the surface blinds you too badly. “What if someone sees us out here?”

Simon shrugs. “Don’t ya worry ‘bout that. I know these waters better than anyone,” he assures you, sounding proud while his chest puffs out.

“Sounds like you expect a pat on your head for that,” you quip as you play with the hair at his nape underwater, and there is a brief pause before his tail breaches to splash a cold wave of water on you.

You squeal and Simon smirks triumphantly at the sound you make, and he can’t stop his hands from roaming over the curve of your back, the thin fabric of your drenched tunic now clinging to your body like a second skin. His fingers twitch to rip it clean off and shed the barrier between you both, but again he pushes the urge far away into the darkest depths of his mind.

The secret he’s so determined to show you turns out to be a cave halfway around the island; unreachable from land, its entrance hidden behind large lumps of boulders covered in moss, seaweed and barnacles. An old smugglers hideout he had discovered in his years of calling this island his territory, though no one has returned here since the Royal Navy has been patrolling close to the island occasionally.

As Simon takes you farther inside, the pool of turquoise water ends in a U-shaped landmass of dark glimmering stone, surrounded by a solid rocky wall with large cracks at the ceiling where daylight spills inside and illuminates the cave. It smells sweet and clean, like a source of fresh water is nearby.

When he sets you down on a dryer spot of stone, you push yourself up slowly, your gaze wandering around the cave in awe, head tilted back, while Simon watches, eyes crinkling deep in the corners with a pleased smile at your reaction.

“You like it?” You nod eagerly, a breathless laugh erupting from your lungs. “Yes! This place is beautiful, Si!”

The water ripples around Simon’s midriff while his tail swishes below the surface, like a mongrel wagging its tail.

A few hours later, Simon is lounging on his back on a larger, flat rock in the middle of the pool while listens to the gentle padding of your bare feet echoing around the cave, enjoying the shade and warm, damp air, while you continue to explore each nook and corner curiously, letting him know whenever you find something worth mentioning. The sound so soothing to him, he nearly dozes off with one arm propped up behind his head.

You’ve found the pile of driftwood that he’d brought to the cave a few days ago, when he’d shoved them into place where the sun shines the brightest through the cracks in the ceiling to let them dry, and you’ve been trying to build and start a fire for a while before you call out his name suddenly.

Simon cracks one eye open, waiting. “Is this your home? Uhm, I mean... Is this where you stay when you’re not at the cove with me?” He lifts his head up and catches you standing at the edge of the pool, dipping your toes into the water tentatively.

“No,” he answers eventually, his tone curt. “I don’t have a home.” You are his home, but he can’t possibly tell you that now.

“So,” you start again, and Simon props himself up on his elbows as he notices how you suddenly avoid his eyes. “Why did you never,” you shrug, pulling your toes from the water, “y’know... try to find a–” You make a vague hand gesture in the air, and his stomach twists into a thousand tight knots.

Simon utters your name, though it comes out as a growl. “A what?”

Your pretty eyes snap up to meet his and you look so innocent, he can barely endure the sight. His chest heaves and his tail slashes briefly before he speaks: “A pod? A family? Come on, say it.”

You lick your dry lips as your cheek warm up. “A mate, Simon.”

His tail swishes, stirring the water. A muscle in his jaw ticks as he clenches his teeth tightly. This question alone nearly offends him, especially coming from you, and he doesn’t quite know what to say while the truth is already trying to claw itself through his gills and up his throat, burning in the back of his tongue as if he ate something rancid and rotten.

Then he huffs. “Why don’t you have one?” He doesn’t even want to know the answer, and fear clogs up his veins when he briefly imagines that you already have one, that you’re simply spending time with a lonely bastard like him out of pity and kindness.

You kick a tiny seashell into the water as you shrug, looking like a child that doesn’t know how to explain itself.

“Never liked anyone in my town. The men are all just–” You sigh, shrugging again, unaware that Simon is already seething at the mere mention that you’ve looked at males in the past.

But the truth is mundane—you feared you’d end up like your mother, with a man who loved his freedom and a life of piracy more than her, only to die scared, giving birth to her child during a storm on a pirate ship.

“Not bloody good enough for you.” He finishes your sentence with a frown on his face. They’re not the words you would’ve used, but deep down, you agree with him.

A dreary smile tugs at your lips as you finally look at him, regarding him lolling about in the rock, muscles stretching and flexing in a way that twists and turns your insides warm and your smile more bashful.

“Perhaps, aye,” you agree, and Simon perks up at that, heart fluttering with hope. “Perhaps that’s it.”

Yes, I planned this as a oneshot, but things got out of hand and I'm having way too much fun in this universe. 🙃 I hope you've enjoyed the first part! If so, I'd always appreaciate your feedback, likes & reblogs. Thank you so much! 🧜🏼‍♂️🩵

#walk the plank 𓂃𓂁𓂃 ོ #mershark!simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #call of duty #cod mermay au #mermay #simon riley x you #ghost x you #ghost x reader #cod x reader #cod smut #simon riley smut #cw dubcon #cw monsterfucking #simon ghost riley x reader

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thewriteadviceforwriters · 8 months ago

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🐚⚓️🫧List of Random Things For Your Dark Coastal Settings | For Writers🐚⚓️🫧

Since you all loved the list of random things for Dark Academia, here’s a list of items, things, sights etc.. you might find in a Dark Coastal setting.

The Cliffside 🌊

Jagged slate-gray rocks jutting out from the churning sea

Swaths of wild, windblown grasses and mosses clinging to the cliffs

Crumbling stone ruins half-hidden in the fog

The eerie cries of seabirds circling overhead

Gnarled, salt-weathered driftwood scattered across the shoreline

The Cove 🐚

A small pebbly beach tucked into a sheltered inlet

Seaweed-covered tide pools teeming with mysterious marine life

Centuries-old fishing nets and lobster traps hung to dry

Weathered wooden rowboats moored at a rickety dock

The salty, briny scent of the sea lingering in the air

The Lighthouse 🗼

A tall, round stone tower with a flickering lantern on top

Faded nautical charts and weather-beaten log books inside

An antique brass telescope trained on the horizon

The heavy thump of the lighthouse bell in the distance

Coils of fraying rope and a tarnished brass spyglass on the windowsill

The Shipwreck 🛥️

The rusted, half-submerged hull of an ancient sailing vessel

Tangled knots of kelp and barnacles clinging to the metal

Fragments of shattered wood and twisted metal debris

The eerie, echoing creaks and groans of the wreckage in the waves

Fragments of weathered, sun-bleached bones glinting in the murky depths

The Coastal Cottage 🏠

A small, weathered wooden house with peeling paint

Tattered sheer curtains fluttering in the salty sea breeze

Shelves lined with antique glass bottles and driftwood sculptures

A wood-burning stove with a teapot whistling softly

The distant sound of foghorns cutting through the mist

The Shipwreck Cove 🚢

Jutting black cliffs, their bases strewn with the bones of broken ships

Seaweed-covered ribs of an old shipwreck, barnacles clinging to the wood

Rusted metal and shattered glass glittering in the crashing waves

Cawing of crows circling overhead, their shadows flickering on the rocks

The hollow, echoing sound of the wind whistling through the caves

The Seaside Cemetery 🪦

Rows of crumbling tombstones covered in moss and lichen

Twisted, windblown trees casting long, ominous shadows

The faint scent of night-blooming jasmine on the breeze

A rusted wrought-iron gate creaking open to the path

Fog rolling in, obscuring the distant sound of the surf

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havanillas · 4 months ago

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Respectfully speaking your female aventurine triggers something visceral in me her petite body and frame signals my brain to revert to 17th century chivalry to serve her as her knight so that I may simply have a glimpse of my lady. Her hair as gold as the soft sand dunes rolling in yhe desert, graceful and ever changing with the wind, free yet conforming to wherever the wind blows, her eyes glinting like the light's refraction in the water—a broken beauty only visible if you take the time to look closely at it. Please, mistress, let me see you once more that I may call you the pen to my book, the glow of the moon when the stars are missing, the sound of the waves crashing on the rocks by the beach that smooth them out into little pebbles. I mean this in every possible lesbian way I love women so much oh my god *explodes*

got sapphic poetry so strong in my inbox that i had to draw it out as soon as possible

#yuri ratiorine #ratiorine #aventurine #dr ratio #raturine

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sluttyminghao · 3 months ago

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♡ pairing: wonwoo x fem!reader ♡ word count: approx 2k ♡ genre: filthy, filthy smut ♡ includes: dom!wonwoo, sub!reader, choking, pool sex, possessive wonwoo, overstimulation, rough sex, hair pulling, multiple orgasms, nipple play (f. receiving), praise + degradation, this is literally just pure filth ♡ a/n: anotha one. tagging @sluttywonwoo bc i know she needs to see this ily bae happy belated birthday

The sun is sinking low on the horizon and bleeding gold and crimson hues across the sky. The last rays from the warm day were scattering perfectly over the glittering surface of the pool. The world is slow and heavy with heat, but you’re not paying attention to anything but the man in front of you.

Wonwoo looks obscene like this; he’s sitting at the edge of the pool, legs spread, and his dark swim trunks clinging to him like a lifeline, small droplets are sliding down his chest in lazy trails. His hair is messy and a little curly, wet from an earlier dip, and he’s watching you with something dangerous simmering in his dark, dark eyes.

You’re kneeling between his legs, your hands trailing slowly up his thighs teasingly, knowing exactly how close you’re pushing him to snapping. From the looks of it, he wasn't far off.

"Quit playing," he growls low, his voice like thunder vibrating through his chest.

You look up at him through your lashes, feigning innocence, but the wicked curve of your lips gives away your intentions immediately. His hand flies to your hair, and you feel him tangle his fingers within the strands, gripping just tight enough to make you gasp.

"You want to act like a fucking brat?" he mutters, leaning down, nose brushing yours. "I'll treat you like one."

Your stomach flips violently, heat pooling between your legs.

Before you can make another smart comment, he pulls you up roughly by the hair, hauling you into his lap so you're straddling him, your bare thighs spreading wide over his. The wet fabric of his trunks does little to hide how hard he is, the thick and heavy length of him pressing right against your soaked swimsuit.

He rocks his hips up once, slow and deliberate, dragging a sharp whimper from your throat, eliciting a smirk on his lips.

"Do you feel that?" he says darkly, his plump lips brushing over the shell of your ear. "That's what you do to me. Every time you look at me like that, every time you fucking tease me..."

You grind down against him instinctively, desperate for friction, and he chuckles, it’s low, cruel, and devastating. His hands have a tight grip on your hips, almost bruising, and forcing you to stay still.

"No, baby. You don't get to take what you want," he hisses. "Not until I say."

You groan out in frustration, but the need for him and his cock is dizzying and all-consuming. Every single one of your nerve endings is on fire, and every muscle in your body is strung tight with want and lust.

Finally, he shifts, ripping violently at the strings of your bikini until the top falls away, your nipples pebbling in the slowly cooling evening air. His mouth is on your tits immediately, hot and demanding, sucking a nipple into his mouth with a groan that rumbles through your entire body.

Your head tips back, a moan ripping from your lips, your hands tangling in his hair, pulling.

"You’re fucking perfect," he mutters against your skin, nipping quickly at the sensitive bud before switching to the other breast. "Perfect and all mine."

The possessiveness in his voice sends another wave of slickness pooling between your thighs. When he finally slides a hand between your bodies, yanking your bikini bottom aside, his fingers slip through your folds easily, finding you dripping.

"Goddamn," he breathes, almost reverent. "All of this for me?"

"Please," you gasp, squirming, but he only smirks, teasing your entrance, brushing your clit with maddening lightness.

"Use your words, baby."

"I need you," you choke out. "Need your cock. Need you to fuck me, Wonwoo — please."

The sound of need and desperation in your voice breaks something in him. In one brutal motion, he’s lifting you and dragging the tip of his cock through your slick folds, smearing himself in your juices before pushing inside you in a single, overwhelming thrust.

You scream as he bottoms out, the stretch of him is too much, too good, your walls are spasming around the sudden intrusion. He fills you up completely, splitting you open until you can feel him in your stomach. You’re almost certain your cervix will be bruised after he’s done with you.

"Fuck, you're so tight," he grits out, forehead pressing to yours, every muscle in his body straining, his neck vein significantly more prominent now than it had been five minutes ago. "So fucking good."

He doesn’t give you a second to adjust. Instead, he sets a punishing pace immediately, snapping his hips up into you hard enough to rock you both, the sound of wet skin slapping against wet skin, filthy and echoing under the open sky.

Each thrust hits something deep inside you, the pleasure is slamming through your body in raw, electric bursts. You can't think nor can you breathe, you can only sob broken curses into his shoulder, clinging to him as he ruins you with each thrust.

"Take it," he growls into your ear, punctuating each word with a brutal thrust. "I want you to take all of it, baby. You're mine. You hear me?"

"Y-yes," you whimper, nails digging into his back and your eyes rolling back as he delivers a particularly hard thrust. "Yours, Wonwoo, all yours!"

His hand sneaks between your bodies again, finding your clit, rubbing tight, punishing circles that send sparks of white-hot pleasure up your spine.

"You gonna cum for me, pretty girl?" he taunts, voice feral. "Gonna let me feel you squeeze my cock?"

You nod frantically, the coil in your belly tightening, spiralling out of control and about to snap.

"Come on," he growls. "Cum for me. Let everyone fucking hear who you belong to."

The filthy words shatter you. You cry out as your thighs tremble, your pussy clenching down hard around him as your orgasm tears through you, blinding and vicious. Wonwoo snarls something guttural you can't quite hear, his hips stuttering as he follows you over the edge, grinding deep inside you, flooding you with his release.

He stays buried in you for a long moment, both of you gasping for air, clinging to each other like lifelines.

Slowly, he pulls back to look at you—your flushed face, your wrecked and desperate expression; and there’s something dark and possessive that flickers in his eyes.

"You think we're done?" he asks, voice rough and dangerous.

You barely manage a shaky laugh.

"I’m not going anywhere," you whisper.

His smile is slow and lethal.

"Good," he says, sliding his arms under you again, lifting you like you weigh nothing. "Because I’m gonna fuck you against every goddamn surface around this pool."

And from the way his cock is already hardening again inside you, you know he’s dead serious.

The water sloshes around you as Wonwoo carries you back into the pool, your body still trembling, hypersensitive from the first orgasm he had already wrung out of you.

You cling to him, barely coherent, your face buried in his neck. His heartbeat thunders under your palms, fast and heavy, matching your own.

But he doesn’t give you a chance to recover.

His grip tightens on your thighs as he presses you back against the pool wall, the cold tile biting into your overheated skin. His cock is still buried inside you, swelling again, hardening even though he just came. The stretch of him is almost unbearable, your walls still fluttering around him, slick with your combined release.

Wonwoo leans back to look at you, his face dark, wrecked, and so goddamn beautiful it hurts.

"You can take it," he says roughly, one hand sliding up your neck, fingers wrapping gently but firmly around your throat. The action alone has your cunt clenching around him, his lethal smirk only growing wider. "You're my good girl, aren't you?"

Your breath stutters at the mere mention of praise, your body arching instinctively into his touch.

"Y-yes," you gasp, voice ragged.

He squeezes his fingers around your throat, just a little bit, but also just enough to make your head spin and your core clench desperately around him.

"Then open up for me," he orders.

And then he starts to move.

No teasing this time. No slow buildup. Just filthy, brutal thrusts, the sound of him slamming into you echoing off the water, obscene and raw. His hand around your throat tightens, cutting off your breath just enough to make every nerve ending light up in dizzying pleasure.

Your mouth falls open in a silent scream, the pressure in your lungs matching the pressure building inside you, tight and white-hot. Everything is beginning to feel too much, your eyes rolling to the back of your head as he continues his precise thrusts.

Wonwoo groans low in his chest, watching you fall apart bit by bit under him, so utterly fucking wrecked.

"You love it, don't you?" he growls, voice feral. "Love being used like this. Love letting me fuck you dumb."

You nod helplessly, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes from the overstimulation, from the lack of air, from how fucking good everything feels.

He finally releases your throat just long enough for you to gasp in a desperate breath — and then he’s back, slamming into you harder, deeper, using your body like it’s his, like he owns it.

"You’re mine," he snarls. "Say it."

"Yours," you cry out, voice breaking. "Wonwoo, I'm yours, I'm yours…"

Your body betrays you, clenching impossibly tight around him, a second orgasm ripping through you even more violently than the first. You sob his name, clawing at his back, your entire body shaking with the force of it.

Wonwoo curses, head dropping to your shoulder, his thrusts turning sloppy, erratic.

"Fuck, fuck, I’m gonna fill you up again, baby," he pants. "Gonna stuff you so full you feel me for days."

You shudder at the filth dripping from his lips, at the unbearable pleasure still sparking through your nerves.

With a deep and broken groan, he slams into you one last time, grinding deep, spilling inside you again, the warmth of it blooming inside your already sensitive core and making your body spasm unconsciously again.

He stays in that position briefly, breathing hard against your skin, holding you so tightly it’s almost bruising, like he’s terrified you’ll slip away.

You don’t. You can’t.

You’re his.

Completely.

When he finally pulls back enough to look at you, your legs are trembling so badly you can’t hold yourself up, so he keeps you pinned against the wall, his hands stroking your sides gently now, in an attempt to ground you.

"You did so good, baby," he murmurs, brushing wet hair back from your face. His voice is raw, low, aching with something more than lust. "So good and perfect for me."

You blink up at him, dazed, tears streaking your cheeks, your lips swollen and trembling. The soft, broken sound you make when he kisses you again, slow and tender this time, almost undoes him completely.

He presses his forehead to yours, breathing you in, keeping you close.

"We’re not done," he whispers, a wicked gleam in his eye despite how wrecked you both are. "Not even close."

And from the way he’s already hardening again inside you, still pulsing, still needing, you know he means it.

You’re not surviving the night. And honestly? You don’t mind.

#svthub #wonwoo smut #seventeen smut #kpop smut #wonwoo x reader #wonwoo scenario #kpop scenario #seventeen scenario #kpop fics #seventeen fics #wonwoo fics #seventeen drabble #kpop drabble #wonwoo drabble

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mimiiis · 29 days ago

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Strangers (Remmick x Fem!Reader)

summary: “Dont talk to strangers or you might fall in love.”- Run away from home, you find yourself begging God to send someone who will love you.

warnings: 18+ mdni— !Not Proofread! , like a lot of religious trauma, heavy mentions/talk of death, death, mention of abuse, freaky ahh vampire, smut, sliight dry humping, boob play (?), munch Remmick, drool/saliva , piv sex, raw sex, creampie, blood, biting, blood sucking during sex, desperate and needy bitches, its a bit gorey and dark but nothing too much

word count: 14.5K

a/n: named after and inspired by the Ethel Cain song. I had a vision, blacked out, woke up to find about half of this written, then it took me two weeks to finish the rest 😔 Mostly because this is my first time writing smut! I hope it’s good as I’m still learning and trying to get the hang of it 😅!! This is lowkey also Nosferatu inspired but kinda of not? Idk, I hope you guys enjoy !!!

You don’t know how you found yourself out here. Alone in the dark, skin damp with sweat from the summer's humid and sticky air. Near an old dirt road, littered with flickering lightning bugs and the sounds of crickets singing throughout the tall grass and wheats. It was dead of night, when the only souls awake were creepers and those made of sin lurking within every shadow. The darkness surrounded you, covering you like a thick and heavy blanket under the night sky.

Your chest heaved, lungs burning and heels aching from how long you’ve been running. You could not even recall when you started running, so lost in your grief and guilt. At this point, you felt so far that you didn’t even care where you were going.

Adrenaline rushed through you, fighting and pushing back all the sadness and anger that wanted to burst up and out of your body. Your tears blinded you, eyes cast to the moon. You used her light as a beacon of hope, following and chasing its end for any kind of safety. Maybe it was the hot summer breeze, or simply your body burning from running for so long, but you swore you felt her rays cast a kind of warmth upon your skin.

You stared into the sky, combing through stars and clouds. Searching the high heavens for any kind of answer to where it was you were going. Distracted, dazed, and mind foggy, it all happened so fast. Just a second ago you were upright, head tilted high and unaware of the earth around you. But suddenly, it all came crashing into you at once. As if the world knew you were lost, it placed a rock in your path. You stepped on it without looking, only noticing when a sharp and jagged pain made its way through the sole of your foot.

It made you fall, sending you flying through the air and landing onto the hard dirt floor. Pebbles and sharp sticks scrapped against the palms of your hands and knees, leaving the ache of parted skin and seeping blood in their path as you caught yourself.

You groaned, cussing out loud at the sudden fall. Your limbs were spread everywhere, cheek and forehead now resting against the ground and having scrapes of their own from the fall. Time had suddenly stopped, the wind no longer brushing your cheeks and the moon nowhere in sight. The realization sent a wave of panic through you.

Your body begged for rest, but the pounding of your heart and mind yelled at you to keep moving. “I have to keep going,” you mumbled to yourself, quickly curling and lifting your body up until you sat on your knees. “I need to keep going.” The harsh burn of your lungs had finally caught up to you, leaving you dizzy and tired. You tried to collect yourself, to set your mind back into running but all that managed to come from it was the word where.

Where were you going?

The thought made everything stop. Your heart slowed its pounding, your breath began to steady, and the faint ache you felt in your heart exploded like a thousand tiny suns inside your chest.

What was your plan? You had run from home. Jumped out the window without a penny or scrap of clothing and didn’t think to look back. You just ran, fighting the feelings and consequences that now caught up to you in the middle of nowhere. Miles from home, you felt all the sadness and frustration you held on a tight leash being to break.

Your mama never understood, your papa didn’t care. No one else in the small town which you came from ever listened to you, they didn’t even want to look at you. So why did you run thinking they would come chasing? You thought they would send out the dogs. Wake every young man and boy to come looking for you when your mama realized you were no longer in bed. But the hours passed and you’ve heard no barks, no shouts of your names and haven’t even seen a single oil lamp since you left home. How foolish you are.

It all came crashing down and out at once. The sadness, the anger, and frustration that had been building up in your chest for years. It wracked into your body all at once, sending you crashing back down into the dirt with heavy sobs and whimpers. You were alone, always had been. But here, in the middle of a wheat field on a hot summer night, it was the first time you truly felt it.

Alone. The word rang like a bell throughout your body, twisting and digging itself deeper into the wound of your heart. A pain that had been there for so long and finally began to fester, infecting the rest of your body until it physically hurt.

God, you’d been lonely for so long now, haven't you?

As a girl, you remember praying for a friend. Someone to come and love and treat you like you were wanted. Someone to sweep you off of your feet, who would ride with you into the sunset for a happily ever after. Back then, you had so much faith in God. How delighted you felt to sit upon your bed and stare out into the night sky every single night. To softly clasp your hands together and talk to the Almighty. To whisper about your day and wants, hoping that he would answer, show you that he truly loved and listened to you. The years went by and you never made a friend, no one ever made you feel wanted. You prayed harder, begging to the point of tears for any kind of sign. But it never came. No one ever did. Not even God wanted you.

You haven't prayed in years. The desire to beg and pray to something you could not feel or see went away long ago. And yet, here, under the silver light of the moon, you felt yourself grasping onto any scraps of faith that were left in your body. Your hands began to clench together and your lips began to tremble. You were desperate, searching and clinging onto any kind of comfort the action brought to you.

To who or what you prayed to– you did not care. As long as someone or something answered.

“Please,” you whimpered like an injured dog,”Anyone.”

“Come to me…” You whispered into the darkness, words so faint you could hardly hear them over the sniffles of your nose.

“Come to me,” You began to beg over sobs., whimpering the words over and over again between gasps. “Anyone… just save me. Show me I am loved.” Fat tears fell onto the earth as you bent over to place your head onto the dirt. All that you were is now gone, and all that's left is a scared little girl begging for a friend.

In your desperation, you hadn’t a clue what you were calling for. Never believed in those dark spirits your mama and aunties warned you to be weary about. You did not know what was in the darkness and unknown. What it was that waited in the shadows. Had you known what would show up you would have never uttered the words.

Out of all the prayers you ever muttered or begged, why did God choose to answer this one?

Of all the things to bring you, why him?

☆

Minutes passed and exhaustion began to eat away at you. Sleep gnawed at your eyes and made you yawn, not caring about where you were. You stayed hunched over and on your knees, as still as a rock laying in wait. Tears still fell onto your cheeks, the feeling of hopelessness eating away at you.

You were sure you were going to die, letting your own misery and body eat away at itself until you were nothing but a shell. The only thing you could think of doing was to wallow in your shame and sadness, all you could focus on were the thoughts that ran through your mind. You were so lost within yourself you did not even realize that there was a man now standing next to you.

The sudden sound of the tall grass rustling made you look up, and the sight that you were met with made your blood go cold and had you jumping to collect yourself.

He was pale, skin sweaty and glowing under the moonlight. His body was strong, compact and lined with soft muscles and broad shoulders. A white and blue striped button up clung to his body, suspenders coming from beneath his trousers and a glimmer of light caught on the necklace wrapped around his neck. His arms and body were bent in a surrendered position, palms away from his sides as if to show you he meant no harm. Your heart pounded from the fright his presence suddenly gave you.

You hadn’t heard footsteps at all. Even in your state you surely would have heard the loud footsteps of a man his size. You almost blamed it on the loud chattering of crickets and cicadas, but when you listened you found that you heard none. As if the earth went silent, put on pause by the looming presence of the man before you.

You looked up at him, still on the dirt floor. His face was strong, but with a kind of edged softness that made him seem less threatening. A soft half smile lingered on his lips, parted like he was waiting for you to ask something so he could reply. You didn’t, not yet. Did not know what to say. You were alone with a white man in the middle of a wheat field, in the dead of night– what could you even say?

The moonlight revealed him to you. Every fold and curve of his body, each wrinkle and twitch, you could see it all. All but his eyes. They were shrouded in darkness, a void of light and hidden beneath the shadows of his own face. It all felt wrong, too strange to be normal.

Sweat dripped from your forehead as chills began to run up your spine. The sadness you were feeling was now long gone, fear creeping in slowly to take its place. You felt your mouth open, lips parting and searching for any words to say, but none came out. All you could muster up was the first thing that came to your mind.

“What’s a man doin’ out here…this late at night?” You managed to stutter out, voice hushed but loud enough for him to hear from the distance between you two. They were not the smartest words to say, but it was all you could manage to spit out . The hairs on your arm stood on their ends as you felt him look you up and down.

The half smile of his lips formed a sly grin, and the sound of a chuckle escaped him. “It ain’t nun for you to worry ‘bout right now, darlin.” His voice and words were as smooth as honey. Velvet like and with a deep grumble that made you shiver. His words had no malice, in fact he said them as softly as a lover. “Was just walkin’ ‘round when I saw the path in the grass, followed it out here.” He began to step closer, as slow as a wolf stalking its prey. “What’s a sweet girl like you doin’ out here, all alone, at this hour? Hmmn?”

Concern and kindness dripped in every word he spoke. He slowly bent down towards you, sitting on his haunches a meer foot away. You stared at him, holding in your breath. No man was ever this kind, such a thing didn’t exist. You followed every motion of his body, studying him and trying so hard to peer into his eyes. He was so close now, every dimple of his face and curl of his hair so close, merely a breath away.

You should be terrified, start screaming and trying to defend yourself. Never talk to someone you don’t know, your mama always said. But he didn’t feel like a stranger, no. Despite the unease you felt being around him, he carried an air of comfort. A type of welcoming softness that made you want to spill all your secrets to him if he said the word. He looked like the type of man you woulda begged your mama to let you marry. He was rugged, hands thick and scarred from whatever labor he did. The sight of him made you shiver, in ways that were both good and bad. God, he was so close. When did he creep closer?

“C’mon now… tell me what happened to ya, dove.” His hand was brushing your cheek, wiping away a tear that glistened atop your cheek. And that was it, the breaking point. With a single stroke, your fate was sealed the moment he touched you and spoke those words. It all came tumbling out from your lips. Incoherent and almost all mumbled together, the sobs that you had once stopped all came back from his kind words that were more than your poor and fragile heart could handle.

“Mama and papa, they- they wanted to marry me to that ugly ugly man!” Tears began to blur your vision once more and your dusty bloody hands came to wipe them away. “He’s already had three wives. Beat all of ‘em senseless and left nasty bruises for the world to see after he took ‘em to bed. Then they all died in childbirth, along with the babies who were too big to even come out and take their first breaths… Oh those poor babies, sir.” You hiccuped between every sentence, struggling to catch your breath.

“I don’t want that.. I couldn’t have that, I-i could never,” You leaned into his presence, “No one ever helped me, they never understood. I did what I had to, I swear.” You looked at him with pleading eyes, begging for any sign of understanding from him. Your cries steadied, the wave of immense guilt washing over you like a tide once you said the words aloud. Like a chain snapping free. You began to mutter something more, but he quickly shushed you.

His hands came up to cup your face, holding you as delicate as a flower. “Shh, It’s alright, it’s alright darlin’. You won’t need to be dealin’ with all ‘at any longer. I’m here, okay?” He holds your cheeks in his hands, face lining up with his. He was so close, you could feel your breaths mingling. His warmth seeped into you, deep into you as you stared into the dark void of his eyes. So dark, they practically absorbed all the light they came into contact with. They were as cold as an unforgiving winter, older and more rotten than everything you’ve ever seen before.

It should have scared you, made you want to run and hide in the ends of the earth. But it didn’t.

“I don’t know what to do now, sir.” You whispered, suddenly feeling so shy under his gaze.

“T’s alright. I’m here, I’m here.” His voice was so low, you could feel the rumble in his chest as he spoke. It sent tingles up your spine and down between your legs. It was like a siren song, pulling you under the tide and sweeping you away. “I’ve come, I’m here. I’m all you need, you’re all I need.” The words come out like a mantra, repeating them over and over like he was trying to convince himself what he said was true.

He leaned in closer, placing his forehead against yours. You sighed and closed your eyes at the gesture, feeling his hands begin to wander down to your neck. Something about his hands so close to you made you want to run, to flee and escape the false sense of security you undoubtedly fell for. But you’d rather any false touch than return to the reality of what faced you outside of this moment.

“You just needa feel good, sugar. I can make you feel good.” His tone was dripping with seduction now, each word feeling so sensual you weren’t sure if it was real. He shuts his mouth, moving in closer before placing his lips atop your cheeks, giving them soft butterfly kisses. Your eyes shut, lashes fluttering at the sweet sensation. You surrendered yourself to this unknown sweetness, not knowing it would damn you for all eternity. He kisses down your face, towards your neck, hands angling your neck back to expose more of the sensitive flesh.

You feel his hands wander your body, gripping and searching for more exposed skin. And when he could not find any, his fingers made their way to the buttons on your blouse and began undoing them. His mouth latched onto your neck, leaving soft bites and long kisses along the base as he made his way further down. Your breath hitched at the sensation, a tiny whimper escaping from your throat and your hands came up to grip his shoulders. An attempt to ground yourself to earth, to this moment that felt like heaven hath come at last.

Your body felt like it was on fire, hotter than any summer sun could make you feel. You were burning from the inside out, whimpering like a dog in heat when his hands exposed your chest to the soft night breeze. Ripping the fabric of your blouse, he squeezed the soft flesh of your bare breast. His calloused hands squeezed hard, fingers pinching at your nipple in such an achingly sweet way all you could do was arch your back. You wanted more, your body practically begged for it. You needed it.

Your heart was pounding, chest heaving as you tried to catch your breath. He held you like if you were going to disappear in an instant, mouth stuck on you and kissing and licking all the flesh he could find.

You threw your head back, arms going limp as you surrendered yourself to the sweet pleasure he brought you. Flimsy scraps of clothing was all that separated you two from being flesh to flesh. Your soft moans and his groans filled the air, a symphony of damned and doomed souls not caring to hide this open, raw, and filthy desire.

His mouth went further down, kissing along your collarbones and shoulders. His hand came back to your neck, holding it and craning it so you could still see him from the corners of your eye. His lips part from your skin, eyes looking up to search for yours. Drool dripped from the corners of his mouth, the bewildered and bewitched look in his eyes sent goose pimples rising all over your body. A wolfish grin formed after he took and savored the vision of your surrender.

“I’ll try not to make it hurt.” He slowly whispered, diving back down to the junction of your shoulder and neck. By the time you realized what he said, it was already too late. A sharp and searing pain struck you, sending your body writhing and thrashing against him. You gasped, his soft grip had turned to iron as he pinned you down. You tried to cry, to scream, to fight and push him off but it was no use. You got yourself into this mess, how were you going to get out?

Stupid, stupid girl! The words your mother and father had screamed to you your whole life came rushing back to you. The little life you had lived flashed before your eyes, memories of being a girl and growing up. Soaking in the summer sun, hot meals on cold winter nights. Was this truly it? You felt the sticky liquid of blood begin to drip down your neck, sharp teeth biting and sinking into you. The man beside you groans into your skin, and you realize that this was it.

You couldn’t even cry anymore, the exhaustion of your mind and body finally hitting you. This was it. Your sins had caught up to you and this was your punishment. You stopped fighting the moment you realized no one was coming to save you. God hadn’t come. Even at the end of your life, he sent no one to save you.

Or maybe, he had. Maybe this cruel man sucking on your skin was really the angel of death. The sweet release he brought was your salvation. Lead you in with the feelings you always wanted to feel, the soft touch you always craved. Words were lost to you, but for some odd reason you wanted to thank the man. For ending your life, freeing you from the misery that shackled you onto this earth. But you felt so weak, so tired and just wanted to sleep. So you brought your hand to his cheek, your dirty bloody hand.

You caressed the side of his face, looking down at him as if you understood. He looked up at the sudden touch and met your gaze. And for a second, he stopped. His mouth parted from your skin, and he raised his head to meet yours once more. Shock seemed to choke him, making him forget what it was that he had been doing to gaze into your soul.

The moonlight glimmered and reflected in your eyes, all the sweetness your heart had left pouring out of them. You looked at him as if he had hung the stars, and in the darkness of his heart he felt a kernel of hope ignite. Familiarity, love, and something so old and forgotten that it no longer had a name struck him all at once– you could see the regret in his face. But it was too late. He began to mutter out some words, muddled as his grip fell soft once more and he tried to keep your eyes open. But it was no use. You shut them a few seconds later, succumbing to the darkness and exhaustion of your body, hoping to be far from this world when you opened your eyes.

But when you woke up, you were still here on earth. Still in that wheat field with your face in the ground with bloody hands and knees. It was around midday, when you felt a young man shaking you awake and pouring water down your throat. The summer sun had already burned your skin, making it feel tight and tender from how long you had been laying in it. Your memories flooded

back to you the instant you opened your eyes. You looked around frantically, heart pounding and breathing so heavily that the boy had to help calm you down. He explained how he found you, alone, saw no sign or trace of anyone else being here. You could’ve easily chosen to believe him–fall into a fantasy that the night was nothing but a dream. But the aching bruise and scar of teeth marks across your shoulder and breast made you remember it was real. His face, his hands, the tender kisses he gave you before he almost bled you to death. Even the look he gave you just before you passed out– all real.

You shook in terror, desperately trying to tell the young man your story. Unintelligible mumbles fell from your lips, he simply looked at you with understanding and gentle eyes. “It’s okay, Miss. How ‘bout we get you cleaned up and somewhere safe first?” Was all he said in response, quickly lifting you up and taking you away before you could say another word.

You may have still been alive, breathing and blinking, but you knew that some part of you had died in that field. Marked for death and damned to hell, you knew he would come back for you.

☆

5 years have gone by since that night. Your body grew into itself and the bruises healed, leaving only a faded scar behind. Your face was fuller, mind and soul grown into a woman that had finally made a place in the world for herself. You grew out of your timidness, taking what you wanted before anyone could steal it from you.

You found a home in a town west from where you had run from, living with an elderly woman who paid you to clean her home and keep her company. You made the young boy who found you your lover as well, snatched him up and made him promise to you that he’d never leave. He gave you a silver ring to place on your finger 2 years after being together. You finally had somewhere you belonged. You didn’t feel lonely anymore.

And after that night, you never allowed yourself to be. Never once let yourself wallow in pity or crawl back into the dark hole that led you here in the first place. But on the rare occasion when you would slip up and let the shadows creep in, you could feel him.

Shivers crept up your spine and made your hair stand each time you looked outside during the night. He followed where you went, stalked and waited for the day he could finally take you for his own once more. You could often feel him call you outside, singing a sweet melody meant for only you to hear. Sometimes you swore that the scar would begin to ache. Feeling like it would rip itself open and spill blood all over again, inviting him to come and finish the job.

You knew what he was. A Vampire. A blood sucking demon. A human soul cursed and trapped inside of a dying body forever. Unable to walk in the sun, their hearts turning darker and more rotten with each passing year their bodies stayed on this earth.

The old woman you lived with was superstitious, her house full of herbs and smelling of incense. She had been the one to tell you all of this. She knew secrets and the way the world worked. She would cast and brew spells that warded off evil every other moon. You liked to think that she kept you safe with them. Believed that she was the one that held him back from coming to you.

“If he had continued drinking, you would be one too.” She had once said, spilling the words over breakfast like it was nothing. But to you, they were everything.

The words kept you up at night. Consuming your mind and every waking moment for weeks with the questions of What if? Was that the fate that awaited you? If he turned you, would your heart stop beating or would you still be able to feel its phantom pulse in your chest? How lonely was eternity? Were you ready to face it? At the time, they were all useless questions. Outlandish scenarios you convinced yourself would never come to fruit.

But now, the old lady was dead. Her spells and magic were gone. The protection and security the woman brought to you had vanished.

You confided in your lover with your worries, and he called you mad. He grew distant, never made love or kissed you anymore. You clung onto the scraps he gave you, convincing yourself it was all fine. Until one night, when he got up and left. You found out from the townsfolk he stole a case of booze and ran off. He took that silver ring with him too.

You spent the past few years building a life, then it all came crashing down on you.

You started to feel like the girl in the field again. Cold and shivering. So lost and scared in a world that failed you time and time again.

Were you truly destined to be alone?

Your heart sunk into your chest, falling deep into the pit of your stomach, when something else began to take its place. Something so old and forgotten that it began to creep and crawl out of your throat, plaguing you with a truth you had been denying yourself of all along.

You tried not to think about the way you cried and begged God to bring you someone who could love you. Made it a point to not even think about it. Embarrassed by the fact you felt so desperate enough to confide in Him. But for a long time, you truly believed it was your lover. You thought him to be heaven made, sent for you. His careful and sweet touch was just what you thought you needed. “He will never leave, he will always be here.” Words you would repeat over and over to soothe yourself. But he ended up leaving like you meant nothing to him.

You couldn’t ignore it anymore. The light was gone and the darkness stared at you dead in the eye. What you thought all those years ago was true then. That man who bit your neck and breast, the reason behind the scars and fear you carried with you all those years. He hadn’t marked you for death, he marked you as his.

☆

You were always weak to your impulses. Ruling your body with feeling over logic. You did what felt right in the moment, not caring for the consequences. And now, at your most tired and lonesome, you weren’t going to make an exception.

It was summer once more, and the familiarity of it all came rushing to you. Hot, humid air blew in the wind. The heat that had seeped into the earth during the day now rose up to greet the night, the sun's lingering presence not giving you a moment of peace. Every window of the house was open, welcoming the slight breeze that rustled the leaves outside. You sat on a pillow by the front door, leaning against the frame. You fanned yourself with a makeshift paper fan and breathed so slowly for fear of sweating if you moved too fast. You stared out into the sky, watching the last light of the sun fade away and dip into the earth before the stars came out to shine.

Pink and blue hues began to color the world as the sun winked its final light, making a sudden pang of loneliness pull on your heartstrings. You had decided what you were going to do earlier that day. Felt no remorse or regret. But still, the sadness began to creep in and surprise you. Of all the things you could be feeling– fear, shame, or guilt– sadness was all that came to mind. Sadness and the worn out feeling of spending years waiting and molding yourself into what others wanted you to be. You changed and broke apart pieces of yourself to fit into a narrative that wasn’t even yours. Only for it to all crumble away within a month. You had nothing left to lose anymore.

With a deep breath, you reached into your heart. Clung onto the desperation and small scrap of faith still hidden deep within your soul, and whispered the words you hadn’t dared to utter in years.

“Come to me.”

He didn’t take long to respond to your call. You closed your eyes only for a few seconds, and when you opened them, there he was. Walking through the tall grass, coming from the trees like he had been waiting for you to call. He walked like he owned the very ground he stepped on, purpose in his slow stride. The moon was out by now, shining in her full glory. She illuminated his path towards you, as if she knew where he belonged and led him there herself.

He looked the same as he did in your dreams. Wearing the same thin cotton button up, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and unbuttoned at the top of his chest, exposing a dark colored tank top underneath and a gold necklace that clung onto his neck. He seemed disheveled, hair a mess and clothes wrinkled. Sweat dripped from his forehead, skin damp and making his clothes stick to his skin. Every curve and muscle contoured, you could see it all.

He walked right up and onto the porch, the wood creaking and whining beneath him as he slowly made his way to the door. A smirk painted his lips when he saw you looking at him. So frightened, like a little lamb who called for her mother and instead ended up with a wolf at her door. Just as beautiful as when he’d last seen you.

“Took you long enough, darlin.” His voice sounded just as sweet as you remembered. As gravely and thick as sugar. Your blood went cold at the sound.

He was here. Truly here. Most nights you wondered if the light stubble of his chin and the soft expression of his eyes were things you had imagined, made up on the long nights you would think of him– but they weren’t. He was just how you remembered him, how you dreamed him. You weren’t sure what to say. You spent countless times imagining how this meeting would go. And here you were, mouth gone dry and at a loss for words.

“I wasn’t sure you’d come.” You managed to rasp out, voice catching and cracking slightly as you looked up at him. You were still sitting on the floor of the house, body curling into itself in response to your now pounding heart.

That made him grin, “Now how could I ever resist you? Sweetest thing I’ve ever had,” He looked right into your soul, stripping you bare with just a glance, as he said the words. His eyes roamed over your body, tracing your curves over the thin nightgown you wore. “Sweetest thing to look at, couldn’t stay away. Wanted to come and take ya sooner, but the ol’ witch knew how to keep me away from you.” His voice sounded so soft, so gentle. The kind of tone you’d use to call a pet out of a hiding spot. “It was torture.”

Shivers crawled up and down your spine, breath hitching and catching in your throat. He spoke the words so freely, so casually– like they weren’t dripping with sin. They made your back straighten, hands shake and stomach flutter. Had you been any smarter, you would have run inside, Locked the doors and shut the windows, waited him out until your own death came for you. But it was already here though, wasn’t it? Standing right in front of you with a smirk, ready to eat you right up.

You knew that what he said was fake. A show and act put on and practiced to perfection just for you. It should've made you cower, rethinking your decision and push him away. But all you could think about was how it’s been so long since you last heard such sweet words. Spoken by a man who knew what he wanted, like he needed and craved you so badly he was starving.

“You’ve been waitin’ for me too though, haven’t you sugar?” He hums, cocking his head to the side and swaying closer to the door. “Jus’ finally worked up the courage to ask for it.” He bends down, meeting you eye to eye. A large and almost nasty smirk decorticated his lips, flashes of teeth showing that made a cold sweat drip down your neck.

“I know you thought about me every night.” His voice lowered, gaze darkening. The cold void of his eyes caught the light of the oil lamp hung above your door, consuming all its warmth. You could see yourself in the reflection, all wide eyed and pale with fear. “I did too, dreamt of you.” He got on his hands and knees, inching and crawling closer towards you.

Something told you that he enjoyed it. “How I wished I could touch you again,” he groaned, the sound coming from deep within him. He reached out to touch you, hand shaking in excitement. His fingers came close to your cheek, the tips right about to graze the soft skin, before he flinched away. A hiss leaves him, shaking his hand and bearing his teeth from the sudden pain. If you listened closely, you swore you could hear a faint sizzle.

Ah, right.

You had forgotten about that rule. The most important rule the old woman told you about his kind. He couldn’t touch you, not while you were inside of the house. Vampires weren’t allowed to enter homes unless invited. Weren’t allowed to cross the threshold and take everything that they wanted, when they wanted. To him, it was a minor setback. To you, you thought it was some kind of divine protection. At least, just for a moment. A few more minutes to live, time to muster up the courage and ask what you had been aching to for all those years. You would let him in sooner than later.

He chuckles, lip curling back to flash the fangs of his teeth as he begins to soothe his hand. “You gon’ let me in or not, baby?” He says it inbetween a whiny little laugh, almost whimpering. The cool collectedness of his voice was starting to slip, pulling back to reveal a type of growing and longing desperation. The sound made your heart stutter, stomach leap, you don’t think you were supposed to hear it. “I came all this way.”

The way his eyes softened, lip pouting and body begging to hunch over, made you want to believe him. Take every word he says and let it fill your fragile little heart with the illusion that he loved you. Made you want to say the words that will ruin what was left of your life. You had to take a long, deep breath to collect yourself.

“Not yet.” You reply softly, meeting his pleading gaze.

You turned to sit up on your knees, mirroring his own position. Your back was straight in contrast to his, head shaking as you tried to muster up the little strength left inside of you to fight off the fear that crawled all over you. You were so close to the door, hands almost slipping across that invisible line he couldn't move past.

So much time, so days and hours spent wondering what this meeting would be like. He had taken over your mind, your body, your very soul since that first night. He knew how to lure you out. His sweet words and voice, seduction rolling off of his tongue like syrup. Yet, looking at him now. Bent over, almost begging to have you– it may be what will break you.

God, you wanted it so badly. To have that taste of delicious sin. Feel the high of life before crashing and plummeting to your death. Feel his hands roam and touch your body, lips pressing against your skin. Your very being ached for it.

But you couldn’t. Would not allow yourself to give into the pleasures you had longed for. Not after you spent years wondering over the reason you’re still here, the reason you even called him again. Your life, your death.

You leaned in closer to the door, hands touching the warm wood below you. Eyes slanting, seducing him back as you asked, “Why didn’t you kill me?”

You dragged the words out, making sure he heard each one. Soft and slow, like a blade against skin, cutting deep. You stared into his eyes, making sure you didn’t leave his sight. Though the longer you looked, you swore you felt a warmth grow inside of their relentless cold.

He blinked, brows furrowing at the words. Startled and taken aback, he leaned away from you ever so slightly. As if he had never expected you to ask that. In the perfected and practiced scenario of his mind, he never thought it a possibility. He almost looked hurt, face slowly falling and the polished act had begun to slip away. You hit a nerve. One you did not even know existed.

“You had me in your palm. I was willin’, I was ready.” You continued when he did not answer, “I still am.” You inch closer, your turn to crawl to him. To the beast outside of your door. “What changed?”

If you were the lamb, and he the wolf– why did he looked absolutely terrified all of us sudden? Petrified. His eyes widened, staring at you.Trying to look right through you and your intentions. Like you found out something only he knew. He scrambled for a response, trying to figure out the game you began to play.

“When you taste something so sweet, wouldn’t you wanna savor it?” He whispers through nervous chuckles.

You frowned at his response. He was lying to you. You didn’t want anymore lies. You didn’t think that you deserved them. How much longer were you supposed to follow his rules, play his games. Even at the end of your life, as you handed yourself to him on a silver platter, why could he not just say things plainly?

“Don’t lie to me.” Annoyance and ire begin to bubble.

“Not now. Not anymore,” But the feelings fell away as fast as they came, revealing and leaving you with the tiredness you’ve felt all along. “Please.” You whimpered, not wanting to fight for it anymore.

The words fade into the night, leaving the two of you in silence. Lightning bugs flutter and flickered their lights in the darkness. Crickets string their song in the tall grass and in a nearby tree, a lone mourning dove sings.

You weren’t sure for how long you were like that. On your hands and knees, looking and begging at him to tell you the truth. While his eyes pleaded and begged for you to grant him mercy. Both merely an inch apart, separated by a door frame and three little words.

You had always thought that vampires didn’t have hearts. That there was only a rotten and empty shell inside of their chest where a heart must have been instead. So, why could you hear his pounding? His chest rose and fell as he attempted to steady the relentless beat, but it would not stop thumping. Not while you were in front of him, not while you looked at him like that.

You supposed that he never understood or grasped his own desperation for you until now. Didn’t know or acknowledge just how badly he wanted you. How could he resist you? The second you called, he came crawling. He’d crawl for miles if you asked.

“You wanna know why I couldn’t kill you?” He speaks suddenly, voice sounding like a shout in the silence. “Why I couldn’t finish it?” He gulps, inching back to you. The desperation was still there, but he made it his own. He stared you down as you did him, and you could see that he was just as done with games as you were. You nod lightly, pursing your lips shut. He rises from his position, sitting back on his knees to tower over you.

“Caue of that..” He takes a deep breath. “Cause of that damned look you gave me.” He sighs, almost embarrassed to admit it.

The words confused you, sending you down a spiral of questions in your mind. He answers them before you can even ask.

“The look you gave me, right before ya fell asleep.” Ah.

You had forgotten that. Forgotten the way you thought he was your savior and looked at him like so. Like he hung the stars, like he was the first person to have ever loved you. With a mouth and face full of blood, you thought that the angel of death was sent to collect you. You would’ve never have thought to see your angel begging for you outside of your door.

“No one’s looked at me like that. Not for a long time. Made me realize something. The reason I was able to feel you, to know you needed me.” The words sent a chill down your spine, and you felt your cheeks heat. Your breath caught, eyes widening and you saw him reach his hand towards you once more.

“You’re mine darlin’. You’ve been mine for longer than you’ve known.” His fingertips brushed against your cheek, caressing the skin so lightly you weren’t even sure that he was. “You feel like sunlight.” Passion and defeat dripped in every word he spoke. He knew what it was he felt, he didn’t need to convince himself of it anymore.

You’re sure that you heart was trying to escape from your chest. Pounding at your ribs, sending all the blood of your body to your head and face. You felt your hands shake, knees wobbling and every inch of you felt like it was burning. So hot, the summer heat and his touch only made you feel hotter. Your mouth went dry, and your eyes still hadn’t left his.

He told the truth. The whole hearted, raw and bloodied truth. The rot and cold in his eyes fell away, and beneath it just lay a man. He looked so human.

“How could I kill the one thing that feels like sunlight?” He whispered so softly. You felt your chest and something so deep inside of you begin to ache at the words.

His hand wiped a stray tear you didn't even know had fallen. And just like before, your fate was sealed with just one touch and a few sweet words.

You knew what awaited you if you let him in. The death that you’re sure would’ve still followed even after this. Yet, you did not care. You’ve been waiting for each other for a long time now. Longer than either of you could recall. You needed him, the same way he needed you. Even in life, even in death.

“Come to me.” You whispered once more, and the spell keeping you from him broke.

He crawled to you like a starved man, ready to pounce and devour the feast set before him.

He kissed you so fast, so desperately, it took a second for you to realize that his lips were on yours.

At the taste of you, a deep groan escaped him. You felt pure, sweet, just like before. Tasting like a sweet summer wine made just for him to devour. It had his head spinning, arms wrapping around your back to pull you against him. Holding your body close, feeling and groping all he could to make sure you were real.

You felt your heart pound faster than before, surely making its way through your skin and out of your chest by now. You could feel it leap out of you, along with all sense and reason.

From the way he kissed you, the way his hands wandered and linger over your body, you knew he meant to devour. Could feel the way he meant to consume your very heart and soul from the inside out. Your body and mind surrendered into his touch, having been no longer yours since the second he came crawling back to you. You felt your knees ache, shaking and going numb from the surge of pleasure that began to spread throughout your body.

He was the spark that reignited an old flame deep inside of you. One that had died out the second your old lover left you.

You kissed him deeper, hands grasping at his arms like some kind of tether to the world. Holding you up and pulling you closer, chest to chest like you were trying to stick yourself onto him.

They wandered up, feeling and caressing the soft muscles of his shoulders beneath the thin cotton of his shirt, feeling the warmth of his body against yours. He felt like fire in the summer heat, burning you with every graze.

Your hands soon find purchase in his hair. Fingertips running and combing through the soft locks, lightly grasping at small bunches. It tickled, sending shivers down his spine and forming goosebumps down his body from the way you pulled and clung onto him. It made his cock twitch.

He hummed, mouth parting from yours to let out a soft chuckle and moan. A small trail of spit clung onto both of your lips, connecting you for a second more before breaking off and dripping down your chest. You gasped for breath, chest heaving in time with his own— panting likes dogs. Breathing so heavily, it left you lightheaded. You didn’t know where he started and you ended anymore.

Waves of pleasure washed over you, crawling down your back and in between your thighs with the sweat that dampened your flesh. It made the fabric of your nightgown stick to you like a second skin, the feeling growing more uncomfortable and irritating by the second. It hugged your curves, bunching around your hips and thighs until it felt like you were being covered in heavier layers.

A whine left your throat, sweet and high pitched from the way you felt his hands begin to roam down your body. Feeling you up, caressing all the bare skin he could find until all that was left to touch was the thin fabric. Thick hands stopped at your thighs, playing with the ends of the dress, running calloused fingers across the soft sensitive tops and stopping right before the place where your thighs met.

You looked up at him, eyes pleading and begging him to undress you. To take you. Help you with the growing ache that grew in your cunt.

You swore you felt like you were going to die. Body shaking and searching for any type of release. All you could feel, see, hear, or even think of was him. The smooth, deep musk of his body filled your nose. He smelled like pinewood and salt, tasted like iron and whiskey. The low groans and moans that rose from within his chest shook you, the vibrations running down deeper than you would’ve thought they could.

He had barely begun to touch you, and you were already drunk off of his very being.

Thoughtlessly, your hips began to rut against the knee he had placed between your thighs. Having spread them and sat you over his lap when he began to kiss you. The fabric of his trousers was rough and coarse, but if you angled your hips a certain way— it felt like bliss. You grinded against his thigh, swaying back and forth as your fingers dug deep into the skin of his shoulders. Nail forming tiny crescent moons, trying to hold him still as you used him.

The feeling of it was electric, fire coursing and flowing through your veins with every move and touch. It was in your bones. So strong and consuming. You’ve never felt this way before.

If your mother could see you now, she’d damn you to hell twice over. Shout and call you words that a good church lady should never even know. It wouldn’t have mattered, couldn’t find it in you to care. You gave yourself to the devil long ago, ached for him to swallow you whole.

“Poor baby,” He teases breathlessly, a smirk making his way onto his lips at your display. “Really need me that much, do ya?” His lips were at your ear, licking and biting the shell softly. His hands came to your hips, gripping at them to stop your frantic movements.

You whined, but quickly nodded in response, all too eager. The reaction made him laugh, mouth moving down your cheek.

“T’s alright, I’m here to make you feel good.” He whispered against your skin, before diving back in to kiss your lips.

It was softer this time. Slower, more tender. His head dipped into yours, lips meeting in a soft sweet peck. He closed his eyes, hands crawling back up your hips before gently laying you down. The hard wooden floor hit your back, the smoothness of the boards cold against your skin. Time seemed to slow down at the sudden softness of his actions, the pulsing want of your body burning down into soft embers.

He wanted to enjoy it now. Savor every bit and taste he took of you. No longer rushed, he realized you weren’t going anywhere.

He kissed along your mouth, wandering down slowly to your chin and softly to your neck. Your head tilted back, exposing the sensitive skin for him to breathe in. Your skin was salty, tongue darting out to taste and lick along the lines of your collarbones as he made his way closer and closer to the junction between your shoulder and neck. Your blood was pulsing, rushing and filling each part he dared to touch.

His hands roamed your waist, rising to grope at your breasts. He took them in his hands, feeling your heartbeat through the fat, before giving them a soft squeeze that had you moaning. Your back arched at the touch, and you had to bite your lip shut. Your nerves felt like frayed wires, everything a thousand times sensitive. Every feeling and sensation heightened in a way that had you reeling. You could feel the wetness between your thighs grow, legs starting to shake and wanting to rut against him once again.

His lips finally made their way to your shoulders, kissing every throbbing pulse point he could find. His teeth grazed your skin, lightly biting and sucking.

He left your chest, hands coming up to pull the flimsy straps of your night dress down. He yanked on the fabric, pulling it down so harshly that it ended up tearing right down the middle. Revealing your skin to the night breeze, your breasts and stomach clear for him to see.

On instinct, your arms moved swiftly in an attempt to cover up yourself. Embarrassment leaving your cheeks hot from the sudden exposure which came all too quick. He grabbed you by the wrists before you could even place a hand on yourself, a faux frown forming on his lips as he raised his head to look at you. Eyes wandering over your naked body, taking in every curve.

“Ain’t no hiding from me, sugar.” He whispered hoarsely, a possessive tone beneath the words.He placed your hands to your side with force. Keep them there.

“It's all mine anyways.”

He dove back in quickly, meeting your breasts again. His calloused fingers were rough against the soft and plush flesh. Your nipples hardened, aching for attention in the cold air. When he took note of them, he wasted no time. Pinching and flicking at the sensitive buds, you let out an almost whimper like moan. A whiny, needy, little noise that came from the back of your throat. The sound had his cock leaking with want.

He brought his mouth down, gently sucking one in between his lips. His tongue rolled over the bud, circling so softly it felt faint. Spit rolled down between the valley of your breasts as he moved onto the neglected one. He sucked just as softly, and you felt your desire leak.

You pulled at his clothes, trying to tear the wrinkled shirt off of him. You wanted him naked, skin bare and flush against yours. You needed to feel him. Craved his warmth. You clawed at him, hips bucking and back arching until he got the hint.

He raised himself up, messily undoing the buttons of the shirt before throwing it off and behind him. He glistened in the moonlight, the paleness of his skin glowing with the thin layer of sweat that clung to his skin. The sight of his broad shoulders and soft muscles made your skin crawl, hands going numb and pulling away. You stared at him dumbfoundedly, like he really did hang the moon and stars.

You had never really looked or took in the male form before. When your old lover would have you, your face was always stuffed in the pillows or pressed against his head. Blind to his body, you always pictured him clothed even when he was bare and pressed against you.

But now, looking up at this man, you realized why a woman would crave sin so badly. The way his muscles flexed with every move, the lines that contoured his chest and stomach— going all the down, down, down, to his hips. Your eyes lingered at the small patch of hair that trailed from his belly and disappeared from beneath his pants. The sight made your knees weak.

You squeezed your thighs, taking in a shaky breath. You met his eyes once more, and behind them saw a cool darkness. Focused, pupils red and burning with lust as he admired the sight of you.

He tore the remaining scraps of your nightgown, leaving you naked as the day you were born. Body free and open for only him to see, his eyes wandered and explored every part of you. Taking in every fold, every birthmark, dimple, and scar that littered your body.

His hands felt across your skin, squeezing and making their way across the smooth expanse so slowly. Down your thighs, up to your stomach, between your chest, caressing and worshiping every inch he touched. And where his hands went, so did his lips. He leaned his head down, kissing and licking his way up your body, savoring the taste and smell of desire that exuded off of you.

He came up so slowly, planting open mouth kisses across your collarbones and neck. Leaving a hot, wet trail behind. His lips smiled at every squirm and whimper that left you, mouth coming to bite and kiss your puffy lips.

Deep and harsh, you felt his tongue push past and into your mouth. Drool and saliva dripped from the corners, smudging over your cheeks and falling onto your chest. It had you gripping at his shoulders, gasping for breath with every break of your lips. Your cheeks felt so hot, like a fever has come down on you. He parted for a few seconds , breathing in the air you exhaled, before you felt a sharp sting at your bottom lip.

You winced, eyes blinking shut and brows furrowing at the sudden pain. A dullness spread throughout your skin, and suddenly the taste of iron and a thick substance melts into your mouth. Blood.

Your eyes opened, searching for his own to find him looking right at you. A smirk decorated his lips, blood smeared all over him like it was rouge. The deep crimson color was stark against his skin, shining in the light as you looked at him. The sight made a small sense of panic crawl up your back, pleasure starting to slowly to creep away.

He seemed to notice, quickly moving back into you

and sucking at the small puncture wound he created. He groaned, hips grinding against your core as he kissed you harder. You could feel his hard throb against your thigh, a small wet patch forming where the head rested. The action made all doubt melt away.

You shuttered, body going limp in his arms.

“That’s right,” he slurs against you, “Just let me handle it, yeah?” His voice was soft, almost reassuring as you felt him push away. His hands grabbed at your thighs, strong hands gripping the flesh as he parted them slowly. “Let me take care of you.”

He slid down your body, lips kissing and mouthing along your skin once more. He left small bites and a faint trail of blood everywhere he touched. You arched into the sensation. He went lower than before, kissing down your stomach onto your pubic bone before he was face to face with your cunt.

He laid his head between your thighs, hands holding the flesh of where your thigh and ass met in an iron grip. He moaned by simply looking at you. You could feel his burning gaze, closely watching the way your arousal and pleasure dripped out of you.

You wanted to close your legs shut from embarrassment, a whimper leaving you as you felt his breath on the wetness that coated your folds. You bucked your hips, incoherent pleas and whiny little begs leaving your mouth.

Your movement only made his grip tighten. His brows furrowed, sending you a glare.

He tuts, playfully shaking his head and scolding you like a child. “If you can’t wait, I won’t do it at all.” He threatens, voice dripping with lies. God he wanted you. Craved you. He believed that if he went one more second without tasting the sweetness of your cunt he was sure he was going to die.

“No, please,” You immediately begin to beg, “I’ll be good, I’ll be good.” You stutter over your words, head shaking and eyes glistening with tears as you look down at him. “Please.”

He grins in amusement at the display, watching you squirm beneath him. He took it in, all your desperation and neediness. The way you still slightly bucked your hips into him, your fingers gripping and clawing at the wood beneath you.

You were right under his thumb. All his.

“Mmn, good girl.” He whispers huskily, softly nodding his head before leaning in to kiss your cunt. It was a small, faint peck. But the touch had your head dipping back with pleasure.

His hand came around, rubbing two fingers over your lips. He gathered your wetness, smearing the stickiness all over before parting your folds. He spread you open, fingers caressing and exploring the tender skin before dipping down to tease your hole. The feeling had you shivering, a pathetic little whine escaping your throat as you felt his fingers suddenly push inside of you.

Thick and long, his digits filled you up entirely. Your cunt clenched around them, gushing when he entered you. Your eyes squeezed shut, softs gasps escaping your lips at the feeling. He filled you so sweetly, almost entirely.

You were so tight. Hole aching and throbbing around him. Heat spread over your body, pleasure filling and taking over every thought and sensation as he touched you.

You could feel your wetness drip out of you and onto his skin, a light squelching noise coming from between your thighs as he began to thrust in and out of you. Your face went hot, almost going lightheaded from the overwhelming feeling.

Deep and soft, his fingers curled and stretched you out. Loosening you up, pulling you apart and picking you back up again. They touched and prodded at your sweet spot, teasing you like he already knew you from the inside out.

Your gasps got louder, turning into soft breathy moans. Your hips began chasing his touch, trying to keep up and follow his pace for more.

His mouth latched onto your clit, tongue swirling over the sensitive bud. Sucking and licking at it so softly that each flick sent a chill crawling up your back. You arch, nipples hardening and sweat dripping down your skin as you try so hard not to close your thighs.

He lapped at your arousal hungrily, licking up all that flowed out if you like one would to a melting ice cream cone. He moaned into your cunt with each taste.

He drank it all up, fingers curling and beckoning more of that sweetness out of you. It was like the tastiest honey, dripping and flowing just for him. You were sweeter than any human blood could be, more addictive than any booze or drug. He couldn’t get enough.

Your fingers ran through his hair, pulling at his locks in a sad attempt to pull him away. But you were too weak, muscles having gone numb the second you felt him suck on your bundle of nerves. He took all your strength, taking it for himself as well as every other thought that filled your head.

You ended up pulling him closer to you, hand guiding him into a smooth rhythm as he continued to eat you out.

It almost felt like a dance, the way he loved. He would start off soft and slow, fingers and mouth lapping and thrusting into you like he was the world's sweetest lover. Kissing and touching all your sweet spots, whimpering against your skin like he had wanted nothing else in the world.

Only to switch it up suddenly. Start sucking so harshly that you could feel the pleasure in your fingertips. Fingers thrusting so fast you could feel yourself spill over his palm, that nasty wet sound getting louder until you were crying from embarrassment. Tears stained your cheeks as you moaned in pleasure with each movement.

His movements were unpredictable, slowing and speeding whenever he felt like it. He took in every moan and shake of your body, greedily trying to pull out as much as he could.

It was beginning to feel like too much. The way his hand gripped at your skin, pulling you closer so he could taste you deeper. His nails were digging in so deep you swore you felt the skin puncture, small droplets of blood forming at the tiny tears.

His mouth and chin were wet, dripping with your desire. He would hardly part from you, only doing so to take in a deep breath and dive back in. He groaned and moaned loudly into your cunt, the vibrations settling deep inside of you. His eyes were closed in bliss, brows furrowed in concentration as he continued his assault.

Pleasure began to boil over, a burning sensation filling your chest and lower abdomen. Waves lapped at your core, beckoning you to fall apart and let go. You felt your body shake, hips desperately chasing his mouth for relief.

You clench around his fingers, back arching and fingers pulling at his soft locks in an attempt to keep his mouth on you. You got wetter by the second, hole spasming with each thrust and lick he continued to give you.

You were so close, loud moans escaping your lips as you inched closer and closer to the edge. You were going to fall, tip over into the sweet abyss of relief, until he pulled away.

Stopping all motion and movement, he basically forced himself off of you. Fingers slipping out and mouth moving away, he left you high and dry.

Incoherent mumbles fell from your lips, cries and begs pleading for more tumbled off of your tongue. You chased his touch, hands searching for his face or shoulders but he had already pulled away.

He sat up, panting like a dog as he stared down at the sight of you. Legs spread wide, body covered in a thin sheet of sweat, lips still bloody from his bite and the trail he left over your skin. He wanted to let you finish, he really did. To taste your release on his tongue, lick it up until the very last drop and hear your sweet little voice pitch and whine for him. But his cock was too hard, aching and dripping with need for you. It twitched in his pants, so close to spilling from the mere act of him tasting you. He couldn’t take it anymore.

He gulps, settling himself between your legs and laying over your body. His hands touch you once more, groping at your waist and breast before grabbing your chin. He makes you look at him, eyes half lidded and filled with tears as he kisses you.

“Need you baby,” He moans into you, lips wandering over your face. From your cheeks, to your temple, and down your chin. You humm, hands grasping at his shoulder until he slips back away. “Need you so bad.” His voice is nothing short of a whimper. Raspy and thick with desire, it sounds like a cry from deep within his chest.

His hands let you go, rushing to unbuckle his pants. You watch him fumble with the belt, groaning at his shaking hands for not staying still. Excitement fills him the second he's able to actually pull his cock out, sighing in relief when it escapes the confines of his pants.

It bobs a bit when he pulls it out. Thick and achingly hard, the tip leaks with a stickiness that drips from his head. It's heavy, a soft pink with a nice long viens that starts at the base and makes its way to the very top. He moans when he wraps his hand around himself, stroking the member and spreading his own need over himself.

He aims it down, dipping the cockhead between your folds. Teasing and rubbing himself full of your wetness, he nudges at your clit. You whimper, closing your eyes as he teases you. He rubs himself all over, fucking your lips and coating every inch with your slick until he finally nudges the head against your hole.

You’re shaking by now. Vision white and blurred as you whimper and whine beneath him. He grabs your hips, holding you tight and steady. Drool drips from the corners of his chin, falling onto your lower belly. He groans, taking in a deep breath before finally inserting himself inside of you.

It’s filthy, the way both you moan and whimper when you feel each other. His cock stretches you out, the ache of it easing into pleasure as you adjust to his size. Your warmth envelopes him, clenching tightly and he whines at the feeling. You're panting, catching the breath that left your lungs while you feel him all around you.

He gives you a few more seconds to adjust, before moving his hips.

Slowly, he moves back and forth. Pushing in and out at a steady pace. His eyes are closed shut, mouth slightly parted as he tries to control himself. His grip is iron on you once more, knuckles white and nails digging in as he holds back.

He wanted to savour it, take in and absorb every second of this into his memory. Your breathy little moans, the way his cock throbs inside of you, the way your back arches and head tilts back. You felt like heaven, sunlight, and every other divine feeling that had been out of his reach for hundreds of years.

He leans in closer, chest pressing against yours as he thrust in deeper. Filling you up to the hilt, his cock reaching a place you didn't even know a man could touch.

You feel him in your stomach, the weight of him inside of you. The way the tip kissed your cervix and nudged at your sweet spot each time he moved had your eyes rolling into the sockets. Every movement he made was like he was plucking at the strings of your nerves, already raw and overstimulated.

Your hands claw at his back, leaving tender scratches across his skin. Your legs wrap themselves around his waist, pulling him in deeper. Your skin is pressed against his. Chest to chest and he covers your body like a blanket. Placing all his weight over you and trapping you underneath him.

He moans like a bitch in heat from just being inside of you. Louder than you have been the whole night, his body so sensitive and overwhelmed from just feeling your heat.

He pulls his hips back, leaving just his tip inside before gradually filling you back up. His cock is thick, leaving you feeling like he’s splitting you in half with each thrust.

Your arousal coats both of you, a loud squelching sound coming from where the two of you meet. It's everywhere, coating the inside of your thighs and his own. You even feel it drip down your ass. Utter embarrassment fills you at the way he slides in so easily, body showing just how much it wants him.

You can feel your cunt clenching around his cock. Keeping him close and not wanting to let him go.

You lift your hips to meet his, following where his length went to keep him inside no matter what.

“Yeah, darlin, just like that.” He mewls when he feels you start to move with him. He lets out a sigh from deep within his chest, the rumble of it makes you gasp. You could feel it inside of you, everywhere and all around.

You lips meet his, kissing desperately and messily as he keeps fucking into you.

His pace begins to grow faster, needier. Hips starting to slam into you. His balls slap against your ass, heavy and full of cum with each brutal thrust. You're both moaning into each others mouths,

He groans into your skin, breathing your scent in.

“So good, f-fuck- dreamt of this pussy baby.” He whines, licking up your cheek and down your neck.

“She’s grippin me real tight, knows who she belongs to.” He’s hardly moving his hips anymore. Just desperately humping and grinding into your cunt— not wanting to part from your wet warmth.

Your head is tilted back in pleasure, exposing the long expanse of your neck and collarbones. You looked so beautiful beneath him. The way you writhed and whimpered in his hold. Eyes all teary and looking up at him with need.

“Mnh, You and I gon’ be together forever, right darlin?” He whimpers into your skin, sucking a love bite into a pulse point at the side of your neck. It makes your body bolt, frantically nodding your head and whispering little “yes”es out like a prayer.

“Yeah, just like we was meant to be.” He kisses lower down, passing and licking at your collarbones before coming to the junction where your shoulder and neck met.

He had seen it the second he walked up to you, the scar.

It was only a small mark, healed and lighter than the rest of your body. It had a wrinkly texture, looking a bit mangled from the way your flesh melded itself back together. It was in the shape of an oval, faint little holes circling it that made it look like someone tried to chew and rip the skin off. The way an apple looks when you bite it. Clear punctures of teeth.

The scar from when he bit you.

“Really left my mark on you, didn’t I?” He hums against the skin, kissing it so tenderly you almost didn’t feel it with the way he was fucking you.

In more ways than one, you wanted to reply. But your mouth was dry, throat hoarse from the moans he kept dragging out of you. You wanted to run your fingers through his hair, kiss his forehead, and pull him even closer to you until your bodies basically melted together. But all strength left you. Gone along with your mind, solely focused on the way he touched and made you feel.

So you said nothing, did nothing, but let out a high pitched cry when you felt him bite you.

Sharp teeth tore through your flesh, opening the scar anew. You could feel him groan in delight, cock twitching inside of you as he started to suck your blood. His eyes rolled to the back of his head, pure bliss on his tongue as he tasted you.

It awoke a primal urge inside of him, taking over his very mind and controlling his body. You were his, and he needed the world to know that. To mark you up and claim you as his in any way possible. He grew harder at the thought, pounding your poor pussy faster and biting you harder.

Pain ran through your body, teeth grinding and hissing at the sensation that spread throughout your shoulder. You wanted to shout, tears falling from the corners of your eyes at the overwhelming sensations that took hold of you.

Blood spurt from your neck, dripping down onto your breasts over your body. You could feel the burning heat of it flowing across your skin. The thick liquid went down to where your body met his, chests covered in the sticky crimson as he continued to eat away at you.

His mouth was stuck on the wound, lips wrapped and suctioning around it as he drank up all that he could. His chin was covered with you, licking at your shoulder the same way he had your cunt.

His cock dragged itself over your sweet spots, nudging and fucking your walls with a passion so intense it had you seeing stars. You could feel your body betray you, cunt clenching and fluttering around him so tightly like it was scared to let him go.

The mixture of pain and pleasure soon started melting together, leaving only a euphoric sensation humming throughout your body. The ache of your shoulder began to dull, fading into a numbness that left every other feeling heightened.

It shouldn’t have felt this good. The way he kept rutting into you, sucking and fucking you over a ledge and into oblivion.

His hips were flush against your, the thick hairs above the base of his length brushing and stimulating your clit.

His mouth leaves your neck, blood dripping down his chin as he goes to kiss you. Red paints your lips, and you can taste the bitter iron of it all over. You whine, feeling him whimper and suck at your tongue. It's all messy, filthy, and so disgustingly erotic than anything else you’ve ever experienced.

You can feel the knot of your stomach begin to tighten once more, walls fluttering around his length. You flutter around him, wetness dripping out to coat both of you and the obscene sound of it has your head spinning.

He feels your release ready to take over you and he fastens his pace slightly. A needy little whine escapes your throat, breath catching.

“Hah- Need you, baby.” He moans into your mouth, hands gripping your shoulder to keep you in one place. “Need you so bad.” He’s close too, hips rutting desperately into you, balls tightening and threatening to spill.

“Say you need me too.” He almost cries, movements beginning to stutter. He’s begging for it, repeating the words into your skin over and over. Like if you said it it meant this was real. You felt so good, too good— he thought that he finally reached heaven.

“Need you, need you.” You breathlessly managed to gasp, fingers clawing at the tender skin of his back.

With one harsh thrust, you feel yourself falling over the edge. Waves of pleasure envelope you, drowning until white blurs your vision. Your body shakes, going numb at the feeling of his own spend filling you up.

He lets out a wanton moan, finally cumming deep inside of you. His hips continue to rutt into you, working through both of your orgasms as he empties his balls into you. His body collapses over yours, his weight crushing you as he groans and bottoms out.

You can feel it start to drip out of you, a white ringlet forming around his base as he finally slows his relentless pace. It's thick and needy, like he deprived himself of release for so long until he was able to give it to you. You gush all over him, walls fluttering and taking all that he gave you.

Emotions rush through you as you come down. Delight and bliss, relief and happiness fill your chest. You’re breathing so heavily, mind and body becoming exhausted from the way he took you. You could feel yourself growing tired, the rush of adrenaline passing over.

In its place, a strange cold began to set in. Your fingertips and toes turned numb. It pulled at your mind, whisking away all strength and energy. Your eyes grew heavy, threatening to shut.

The familiar song of sleep called to you. Lulling you in with her sweet melody.

You wanted nothing more than to succumb to the darkness. Wrap yourself in its embrace and not feel anything else. And you were going to. So close to falling over and closing your eyes.

But then you felt his hand come to your cheek.

Warm, wet, and sticky. It brought you back to life.

You suddenly became aware of your blood on your skin, already beginning to dry and crust along your skin. It covered you like a thin layer of sweat, painting you red. You could feel the wound of your shoulder ache, throbbing softly as it slowly stopped bleeding.

Right. He had bitten you. Ripped and tore your flesh with his teeth, marking you as his own.

You were dying.

His fingers grabbed at your chin, softly turning your head to his. His eyes glowed faintly, a deep red piercing into the veil of your soul. You were already naked. Body and soul having been torn apart and stripped to your very core by his own hands– yet his gaze had you feeling embarrassed. It felt so intimate, full of a love you’ve never seen before. Your heart ached at the feeling.

“Fallin’ asleep?” He asks in a whisper, soft smile flashing his sharp teeth. They were full of blood, the pearly whites now a deep crimson.

You nod lightly, eyes blurry as you look up at him.

From this angle, he looked like something heavenly. Moonlight covered his skin, surrounding him in a faint glow. The lamp above your door gave off a ringlet of warm light, his head centered around it in a way that made it look like a crown. Your blood covered his mouth and chest, all messy and filthy. A glimpse into the ravenous beast he truly was.

The sight should be terrifying, have you crying and saying your prayers. But all you could think of was how beautiful he looked. Unearthly. Your angel of death.

Your weak response made him chuckle, leaning down to plant a kiss on your cheek.

The cold you had felt started to settle into your bones, making you shiver in the summer heat.

His lips wandered to yours, kissing you with a softness that almost hurt.

“Am I dying?” You croak out. Your voice was quiet, so low and hoarse you weren’t even sure you said the words. It was a silly question, one you already knew the answer to. But asking made you feel better for some reason. Made it feel real.

He parted from you, eyes softening and brows furrowing with concern. His hand moved to your forehead, wiping away the hair and sweat that had stuck to your skin. The feeling brought you comfort, you leaned into his touch.

“It’s only for a bit. You’ll be with me before you know it.” His response is sweet. Holding no trace of malice or lies.

Be with me, the words echoed throughout your head.

What was left of your mind struggled to understand the words, unsure of what being with him meant. Until it all hit you at once.

Oh, so this is what it felt like.

The feeling you had been running from since the day you met him. The feeling you were always told to be terrified of as a girl. The feeling you now embrace and longed for, finally come to you.

You can’t help but to think of the despair and sadness that lead you to this moment. From your parents' absent love to your struggling faith. You wondered if this was always how it was meant to happen.

Was this truly the very thing you were destined for?

“I used to be so lonely,” You start to think aloud, “I would beg God to send someone who loved me.” Your voice is frail, shaking and thin. “ I’d look for him everywhere, trying to find a sign he was listening, but I never found one.” Your own bloodied hand comes to touch his cheek, fingertips leaving a red mark beneath his cheekbone.

“I stopped believing in him for a long time after that.”

You can feel your mind slipping, the hand that touched him falling away back into your lap. Your mind grasped at your fading soul, but it was too weak to hold on.

“But now, I realize he’s real. He has to be,” Small tears fall from your eyes. “He sent you to me. You were his plan all along.” Your words were dripping with hope. The belief of a girl who had nothing but her faith, coming back up and out of you like a confession.

“Nah, ain’t no God, baby.” He replies, voice so soft and gentle. Speaking to you like how one would a weeping child. “It’s just me.”

His hand grip your hips, holding you steady as he slowly pulls away, slipping his softened cock out. The feeling has you both wincing. Sadness fills your chest at the seperation, scared that he’ll leave you alone if you weren’t feeling him.

As if he knew, he leans back in immediately, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling you close. His strong arms pull you up, body already half limp as he fixes you tightly against his chest. He holds you in a half hug, almost like how a bride is carried down the aisle.

You watch his every move, awe and love filling your now faintly beating heart. You’ve never felt so warm, so loved and cherished.

“I don’t even know your name…” You rasp out, eyes finally start to close for good.

Your head falls, strength leaving you at last. Your mind is drifting off, heartbeat slowing by the second.

You can’t feel anything but him now. His faint warmth seeped into you, being your small tether to the world still around you.

You don’t even care if you wake up after this or not. At the moment, you’re just happy to have him there. To have been loved and taken by a man who made you feel like he truly loved you. Right now, that was all that mattered.

The last of your consciousness fades, letting go of your final breath as hear him reply.

“Remmick. It’s Remmick, darlin’.”

His name is like a song. The way he says it like a melody. The southern drawl of his voice is gone and replaced with something so old and distant, you’re sure you must’ve known it in another life. Something so beautiful that you’re upset you even forgot about it.

You use the very last of your strength to smile, finally falling into that deep and familiar sleep you would always come back to.

You were always told to fear death. To cower at the very thought and run whenever it was mentioned. Foreign and horrific, everyone described. They never told the truth. How could they, they never knew it for themselves. And if they did, all they would do is talk about how sweet it truly was.

You wake not long after. With him still holding you in his arms.

He denies it, but swore you saw tears fall from his eyes as soon as you opened yours.

No longer lonely, now loved and cared for, you raised your head up to give him kiss. Thanking him for finally giving you a home, a place to belong.

Thank you for reading </3!! Comments and reblogs are v much appreciated! If you have any insights please leave them kindly!!

a/n: i lowkey fear it kinda fell apart at the end, but we still ballin 😗✌️I hope the story and smut were good, im proud of myself for finally finishing something (FOR ONCE LOL)

#i fear i went overboard mayhaps #ts is NASTY i fear #WHY WAS THIS 30 PAGES ON GOOGLE DOCS #remmick x reader #remmick smut #remmick sinners #sinners #sinners fanfiction #sinners fic #jack o'connell #sinners remmick #fanfiction #fanfic #x reader #☾☼mims writes

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syluses · 4 months ago

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siren! rafayel x female reader

cw ▻ 18+, noncon, nsfw, smut, yandere and unhealthy behaviors, monster(?) on human, merman rafayel, minor violence, dark content beware

wc ▻ 11k, longform oneshot, buckle up

an ▻ HAPPY BIRTDAY RAF 🐬🐳🩵🎉🎂 i busted my ass on this one and its a day late but here we are :,) please heed the tags and do enjoy raf girlies :] eee his characterization is quite tricky but im getting there </3 (also please do forgive typos 🥲)

𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒔, 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒔, + 𝒓𝒆𝒃𝒍𝒐𝒈𝒔 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒚 𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒓𝒆𝒄𝒊𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒅 ♡

Waves crash against the rocks.

Sea salt shoots up and stings your cornea, your knuckles going white around the wooden ledge they grip onto for dear life. And to be perfectly accurate, that is what this is- life or death- something you’re not entirely certain you’ll make it to the other end of. With a frantic prayer, you plant your heels under the thwarts and try to find balance as the little canoe rocks violently.

Froth builds up around it; towering waves cresting over and leaving behind liquid dust, the air thick with it like a mist.

You squint your eyes to blot out the pelting rain; keeping them open for too long is a near impossible task anyway, what with the burn.

This was stupid, you know that. Whether or not it was a wise decision was never the question in your head.

No, the only one present- overarching all other thought, making it physically impossible to function in your day to day life- was if your fiancé was still alive. Or if what all the townsfolk gossiped about in whispering peels during brushes with them on the cobbled path was true—

If the waves got to him. If he was really lost at sea.

Stupid or naive or plain crazy (as one onlooker labeled you without so much as a care to just how worn-out this whole ordeal’s made you)- you don’t care. Truthfully, you think you’re a little beyond the point of it, of self doubt or second guessing.

The only room left is for action: the strong men at the tavern and the local fisherman you clumsily rallied together were helpful in some ways, but their help only lasted so long until exasperation kicked in and they called it quits.

The choice to do something is yours and only yours.

Look, girl. We combed the port front to back. Turned over the barrels and crates and all, found nothin’. And we’ve been hauling out them nets for weeks now— wouldn’t you be surprised-? nothin’ there, either. Your fiancé's gone. I’m sorry, but—

You didn’t stay to hear the rest, embittered by it.

They’d done you a kindness, carving time out of their strict schedules and afternoon, beer-induced naps. And you’ll always be thankful for that, that despite knowing deep in their hearts that you were a lost cause, they stepped up to bat regardless, but—

There’s no returning home for you. Wiping your brow of its sweat then throwing a towel over your shoulder, heading in for the night.

The spot beside you in bed is eerily empty and cold; you wake from nightmares in sheer darkness and swat a hand to feel him but you’re met with wrinkled sheets and a silence that sneers. Without him, this place is empty.

The town is beautiful- small- but beautiful- with its glittering fairy lights strung from shop to shop, worn paths branching off into pebbled ones that lead to the shore and the peer, the more developed side of it farther down the sand— and it used to feel comforting. Like home.

Now, there’s no lantern aglow on the porch banister to point you in the direction of home. You’re aimless and sad. Like a ship without a sail.

The first week afterward (the news that his crew never returned from their trip), you hid away in your room crying all day, the better part of you half expecting his footfalls to echo down the hall. Though, they never did. It’s fine, you’d reasoned with eyes clamped shut, splayed over his half of the mattress, he’ll be back tomorrow.

Tomorrow came. It went, too.

And he—

He’s still gone—

Worried neighbors flitted by and left steaming pastries by the door. You hardly had an appetite for them, though, delightful as they were sat outside your cracked window, the smell of pecan pie drifting under billowing, sheer curtains.

It’s encroaching on around a month now. A month of loneliness and denial and the cruel, pitying stares the locals level you in the times you seldom leave home.

Your fiancé's absence, as unexpected as it was devastating, has stretched on long enough to kindle a sort of determination in you. You pile your bones off the bed and set out for the shore with a small, leather bag at your waist and sandals that hang off your feet, nervous but hellbent.

That bag, now: floating off in the distance, whisked away by whirling winds and swallowed up by the sea. One valiant flipflop remains hanging off your big toe, but you question, albeit with little concern for it, for just how much longer it will last.

Your fingers shake as they peel hair from your temple. You can’t see, can’t see anything— the boat shakes and croaks as the bottom steadily fills, and you have the dreadful realization that you are slowly sinking and cannot stop it.

Through bleared eyes, you watch several, ringlet-like waves form on the horizon and disappear behind rolling, closer ones. You brace endlessly for impact, but another wave bulges and effortlessly lifts your canoe- a temporary respite from the others that come crashing over.

When it lets you down, you quickly squint to see what’s coming for you next and immediately pale.

It’s massive. Dark, cobalt, scraping the underbelly of the black sky. Another tall wave (but a small fish in comparison) interlopes into it and is swallowed within a blink. It only worsens it, feeds it.

You have no chance. None at all. It’s over. It’s over and despite it all- the pointed meddling of your neighbors and all the chatter meant to maim the stubborn belief you held that your to-be husband was still alive- a small hope flares to life in your chest.

It says maybe dying here wouldn’t be so bad. Maybe, if all of them were right after all, you’d be able to see him again.

As that unbeatable wave draws nigh, seemingly moving at a snail’s pace- casual in its approach but so terrifyingly powerful- it droops at the top and paints you in an opaque shadow.

You can’t see, can’t hear. The deafening roar of thunder and the foamy tide clapping against itself is tuned out. Your eyes see nothing but darting smears of lightning and the hurt of heartbreak and sea salt.

It’s happening. It’s over.

You give your fingers one last twitch to remind yourself that, for the moment, remarkably, you’re still alive. They feel fat with the cold, hardly budging.

Your last flip flop gusts over your shoulder and your ribcage rattles with a chill.

Your teeth chatter out one final prayer and perhaps a choked sob- although you can’t tell if it’s the brine gathering at your feet, rising with a gurgle- And you watch with wide, teary eyes as that tsunami finally descends—

A flash of color, indigo and bright, bobs above the slanted tide.

‘You. You shouldn’t be out here.’

Your eyes widen. Milliseconds before the boat is hit, a slosh from the side tips it and you’re catapulted into the open water.

It feels like an open flame.

Arctic temperatures freeze you to the bone. You’re reminded of hellfire as the cold licks away at your skin, limbs warping around you in violent currents.

You let out a scream of despair and watch as it turns to suds.

You know it was stupid, you know it was stupid, you know it was stupid— But you were hurting. And that life back at town- now devoid of the man you thought to be your veritable soulmate, who you were convinced you’d spend your final breaths with- is not the one you want to continue on with.

(But… you don’t wanna die.)

You dig to the surface with a sputter.

You manage to keep yourself afloat for all of two seconds before the ocean— or something that feels oddly like a fist— latches onto your ankle and pulls.

Consciousness is a slightly longer affair… but that, too, fades.

Teal blips across your spasming eyes. A vivid, long tail flicks along your arm, almost curiously, before curling behind you and disappearing.

Bubbles erupt from your jaw and shoot up, up, up.

Maybe, you think vaguely as the world blackens, quietens, you’ll find your missing fiancé lying at the seabed. The thought, surprisingly, isn’t as comforting as it is disturbing, but you suppose a reunion only in death would be better than none at all.

‘Silly human. Don’t worry, I got you.’

⊹⊹⊹

A voice breaks the quiet of night. Dulcet, lamenting.

The ocean whirs in his ears endlessly, his tail gliding below him in a dull swish. A school of fish passes by, and then another. A curious, blue one swims at his side and he biffs it dismissively.

“Not now, fishie.”

Rafayel isn’t concerned about the life swirling around him in colorful dots of assorted sizes, floating above the seabed, no- that’s all ubiquituous to him. It’s that song— that smooth sound drifting like a dirge from somewhere on the surface— that stirs something deep in his chest.

It was like that last night, too, and then a few nights before.

After over two decades of swimming in unbroken boredom- with each day bringing about the expectation of nothing more than waking up to see another- the siren feels a shift.

Something is breaking the monotony.

An excitement, existing deep in his chest but incipient, is invoked within him like an ancient god brought to wakefulness. Rafayel feels his bones rouse with the phantom aches of a slumber he never fell into- but the feeling is all the same. He rubs the disbelief from his eyes and pushes aside waving reeds before rocketing upwards.

When the waves kiss the morning foam,

From beneath the surface, the crescent moon is lopsided and shakes as Rafayel gets closer to breaching it.

The dainty shadow of a hand cuts in front of the white orb, as if wanting to capture it, before falling back to her side.

A gentle splash.

From up here, he can hear the things of land- the crickets and cicadas of summertime- purr from afar. That’s not what he came here for, though, what’s been stringing him in from the depths like fish in a trawl or moth to a flame.

And still, in the span of the last week, Rafayel has yet to get her name... (Something that definitely has to be remedied sooner or later, he quietly decides- despite the other half of him still holding onto the pride of coasting solo, the embarrassment at being led off by a mere voice. A land creature’s, at that.)

He latches onto the long, thick leg of the peer and props himself just under the overhang of it, laying his nose flat in the water but opening his eyes above it. It’s amplified now, that pretty noise, and the only thing separating the two- him and the human- is the planks of wood overhead.

Her feet rest on it. He hears her sandals squelch before she toes them off, sits down, and loops her legs over the edge.

Rafayel, with fluttering lashes and an interest so unexpected but strong it’s paralyzing- watches her heels make ripples just beside him, his heart thumping wildly. It could be out of the thrill of doing something this unusual, or the silent anticipation of maybe getting caught (although, he doubts he will, for the main reason that his kin don’t lack in cunning).

Maybe it’s just out of delight- the fibers of his being tingling with invisible sparks of… something. It makes him feel a little clumsy, innocent and fumbling like when he was a young merfolk just learning how to evade a rip current.

Similarly, she pulls him under. Drags him far out. Her voice is the tide and he’s all too willing to drown.

It’s… certainly not the first time he’s seen them- human legs- and he’ll be the first to admit that he wasn’t so sure about them initially- but he thinks he likes hers the best. It’s starting to grow on him, but just a little.

She’s soft. Smooth. At least, that’s how she appears- though he can’t say for certain because he’s never tested that theory, yet.

He’s extra careful to keep his hands to himself, intrigued as he is, lest his nails pierce through and break her. It’s a more common notion underwater, shared between much of the fishfolk, that humans are meant to be broken. Pieced apart in hungry hands or brought to the depths for a more extended, decadent death.

To be fair, he’s not a firm denier of that...

But this human, this girl who’s collided into his infinitely bleak life with all the grace of a ship wrecked hours off from shore, and whatever the hell she’s singing about— Rafayel’s not quite stupid enough to break her, no… He’s not quite willing to, either.

When the scent of roses pierces the lungs, The fish stranded at your fingertips…

For the rest of the moonlit evening, Rafayel floats beneath the peer at her (unwitting) side and listens to her languishing until she stands to her feet and retreats down the beach, disappearing into a cluster of warm, tiny lights in the distance.

Blood,

Blood covers the sea.

Rafayel, with an inexplicable pang of sorrow- unable to fight the influence of her songs- can’t help but wonder what has made the girl so sad.

It’s not in their baser nature, the sirens, to commiserate, least of all with the humans. It’s a weakness, to cry, an open wound that his kind is all too susceptible to deepening- so they avoid it entirely. Call it preservation. But for as much as Rafayel loves the ocean- and yes, to an extent, his people- he was never all that interested in their society, and if showing a little bit of heart for the landfolk means escaping the bland shadows of the sea, then maybe right now is a good time to start.

…Before she swims away, anyway.

⊹⊹⊹

Silence sours the balmy air of your home, but you swear you hear something singing to you.

It was real.

It had to be, what happened just a number of days ago.

When you’d been retrieved from a bed of seaweed on the shore with little memory of what happened, you had retained just enough to know that something was… off.

That something having to do with the violent storm at sea and your lack of succumbing to it- the darting shadow that appeared by the boat and was there when you went under— wasn’t adding up.

You… shouldn’t be alive.

That thought was present even in the thick mist of early morning as boats began unmooring from the docks— stark epiphany, realer than the concerned hands of the fishermen as they helped you into town, your legs hardly capable of carrying you there on their own. Much less your frazzled mind; you didn’t quite miss the way they’d stared at you during the trek off shore, throwing frantic looks over your shoulder even as the sand gave to the reedy path leading into the village.

The rolling waves got flatter as you drew off from it, but something in you- like some inexplicable base instinct- was telling you to run. Away or back to it, you don’t know, but you feel the frigidity of the sea still in your chest, lapping away at your sanity as days pass.

The burn is surreal. Nothing makes sense.

You should be dead- scraping there at the bottom of the sea, drifting with your supposedly dead fiancé in a place where the light doesn’t dare reach—

But you’re not.

The earth feels shapeless beneath your feet. A perpetual dizziness in your skull that makes you feel like you’re swaying on a dock- but your toes are planted in dry land.

You’re alive. The scale tipped against you but it didn’t matter. The sea spat you out, didn’t want you.

Surprisingly, you take the whole ordeal in stride. The first days after being plucked from the shore are rocky and dreamy, but you find your footing and with it comes an unexpected hope.

If you survived, your fiancé must’ve as well. He’d always been the stronger of you two, anyway, more stout and determined.

The waves did not drag him under. Couldn’t have.

The canoe you took out to sea is gone, not to your surprise. It was more or less reduced to splinters. But you wonder if it was even real to begin with, if the canoe ever existed that day when you unroped it from its notch and embarked on the perilous journey. Down to the very point where you pattered off your porch steps and made the choice to look for your fiancé yourself- the whole sequence of events is wrapped in a forgetful fog.

But deep down, despite the whispers of doubt surrounding you and your own mental haze, you know it happened. All of it.

It was real, and something

Is singing to you—

(Wet hands descend the span of your belly. Sand feels like gravel beneath you, soaked and cold beneath a yellowed moon as night fades. Reverent, curious. Long nails carefully unravel algae from your fingers and thighs. The debris is tossed away, thrown down the shore without thought.

-…. in good shape, cutie. Is there anyone on land who’d sing for you if you disappeared? A gentle laugh- but even in your state of unconsciousness, you pick up on the note of disdain there. I guess if there was, you wouldn’t turn to the sea so much.)

Hands. Curious hands kneading into you like wet clay on a spinning wheel. Reshaping. Admiring. There’s painterly intent in every touch, every brush. Something between the cove of your legs gives a wanting throb and your tongue feels like cotton. Fire licks from your belly to your brain and makes it benumbed, pleasantly heavy as the gentle, rhythmic lull of the tide cools the tips of your toes.

Salt burns your throat.

You wake with it sore.

Rubbing it groggily, you come to before dawn fully does, the horizon flickering with a diluted, white-orange beneath a starry sky.

It gets to be too much. The emptiness of your bed, the suffocating drivel of the townsfolk and the lack of certainty in what happened to you.

Dubbed crazy or not by all around you, you’re past the point of caring. You have to leave. Worried neighbors advised you against it, adamant that you ward off on visiting the peer at least until your mind fog lessened; preferably, you’d wait an extra few months so the wound of heartbreak would seal over, but it seems they know better than to ask that of you.

He’s still out there, your to-be husband. He’s got to be.

You think something else might be, too. The thing that saved you. Although, the reasons it has for doing so are beyond you.

Go back, a lilting voice sings somewhere in the back of your head, a dull throb like a separate, beating heart. It thumps in your skull and sends a thrill through you. It speaks in urgency, like it’s warning you not to disobey— but all the sharpness of it is masked in dulcet chords.

Go back, back to the sea.

Crazy or not, you think it’s calling for you.

The lyrics lead you to the front door. Maybe you ought to think this over more, sleep on it (God knows you’re failing at that seemingly simple task). But something is driving you, picking up and physically moving your limbs for you as if your settings have been switched to autopilot.

You shrug on a thin cardigan to stave off the crisp air of early morning, not bothering to lock your door behind you.

A weird, eerie voice in your subconscious- hardly sounding like yours- says you won’t be coming back anyway.

Thankfully, you have half the mind to shoo it away and steel your nerves. Of course you’ll be coming back home. You’ll find your errant fiancé and burst through the little blue-painted door with celebration. All the village will cough up their sheepish apologies for the things they’d said- the faithless assumptions they made- and raise a mug to his return.

The key to finding him is finding that other thing, first. The thing with a watery fist and roaming nails, the glinting coral-red eyes that blurred beneath coiling waves and the tail that you’re sure swam you back to safety.

The locals can say all they want about you: The ruddy, fading ring of scratches wrapping around the bone of your ankle—

That’s all the proof you need to spur you onward.

Onward is the ocean.

⊹⊹⊹

Water gushes against the rocks at the seaside.

Dark and slate-grey, they dry up under the sun immediately. Seagulls caw overhead. The sand is warm- not cool as it was in your last visit- near scalding as you head towards the shore.

You hiss and don’t make it halfway until you start leaping, bare feet burning. You hurry into the water, standing only ankle-deep, and mentally scold yourself for forgoing shoes— but to your defense, your sandals had been lost to the abyss that was the sea just barely seven days ago.

The horizon is blinding. Sunlight bounces off the plane of the sea and glistens, just as bedazzled as a wealthy woman’s neck. It’s a far cry from what it was last week- all whorling ridges and roaring waters- and for that you’re thankful.

That storm, and being launched into the hellish currents of it, will remain in your dreams for a long time coming.

Even now, just looking at it from far out takes your breath a little.

It’s horrifying. It’s… beautiful.

…And it’s singing to you—

“I know you’re there,” you whisper.

Your voice is just a breath at first, hushed as you toss a squirrely look down the beach- where the fishermen drudge around as little specks- and straighten your spine.

You’re alone here, though. You’re allowed to be as crazy as you want.

You speak louder, forcing down the lump of embarrassment in your throat that says your voice is falling on deaf ears. And you know the ocean doesn’t have ears, or eyes; it hardly had the heart to spit you back out of it.

But that thing that snatched you into its arms and left you boneless on the sand does.

With hands bunched, shaking, you declare, “I know, you’re there.”

Nothing.

A short whitecap curls over the tips of your toes and stretches a few feet behind you before receding.

It melds seamlessly into the blue.

Nothing, and then-

Yards off, a colorful blur warbles. As it swims closer, you hold your ground, squint to assure it’s not a sea turtle or other creature (albeit, no typical marine animal is that shape or size), and let out a little gasp. Its head pops above the surface gracefully, and it’s full of hair, a vibrant shade of indigo that strikes a familiar chord in you instantly.

“It’s you,” you startle, almost out of breath. The fingers clutched tightly at your sides unfurl. Your heart picks up its speed, an abrupt surge of emotions- shock, relief, and confusion- leaving no different an effect than a stungun would.

“You’re real, I- I knew it—!”

“Shhh,” is his first word, coral-blue eyes narrowing with apathy as he palms himself closer, about knee-deep in the water now. And yet you step away, applying some distance as you stagger because for whatever reason, the knowledge that his creature- or fish-man- saved you doesn’t take the cake when it comes to self-preservation.

You don’t even have a name to put to his face (or tail), and up until now, you were certain mermaids and unicorns and fairies only existed between the pages of whimsical books or the imaginations of children.

Right then, you think, they also existed in the sage warnings of the Greeks before they sailed off to sea.

The quiet epiphany plays with your nerves.

“You don’t have to be so loud, you know. I can hear you just fine, thanks.”

Ear-length, wavy hair bobs with the movement as he tilts his head. You can’t help but feel estranged from the idea of caution, though, as he drifts a bit closer and gives you a petulant pout.

He gets as close as the sandbar will allow before pausing, broad shoulders jutting above the ripples.

And he’s childish still, the picture of harmlessness as he looks up at you, squinting in the sun, and murmurs, “buuuut, I admire your enthusiasm, cutie... Were you looking forward to our reunion that bad?”

You blink, lashes fluttering. A breath you’d been holding finally escapes you, a whit of that unease ebbing out just like the cool tide underfoot.

You’re… hardly a sailor, anyway. You’ve no ship to be wrecked; no, the man that served as the anchoring element in your life is missing. The boat in your life has gone AWOL. With it your warmth and love. It’s why you’ve even come out here in the first place, the flights of fancy belonging to a grieving woman or not.

The reminder of your lost fiancé steels you.

You lift a shaky hand to use as a visor against the sun, blotting it out so you can peruse the man-fish without obstruction.

“You saved me,” is all you really know to say. You’d had all sorts of lofty plans coming back out here, but you’d never fully considered what you’d do if your new friend (he is a friend, right?) did show.

He lets out an amused, dry sound. The ghost of a smile curls at his pink lips, though. He can’t quite hide that one from you.

“I did. Have you come to show me your gratitude?” He lowers his gaze then, glancing at your shins momentarily before peering behind you, at the grassland stopped just after the shore and right before the village.

He grumbles, “Or will humans with pitchforks show up any minute, intent on slaughtering me and my kind?”

For some reason, the most you take from that statement is the very end of it, quickly saying, “T-There’s more of you?”

He looks up at you. Makes a scoffing sound but it only holds half its bite.

“Well, of course there is. Silly girl,” he comments, that little grin returning with a vengeance as behind him, something teal shoots up from the water and pelts a small flurry of droplets your way. You close your eyes and turn, the gentle sound of his laughs ringing out.

When you look back at him, a long tail- gorgeous and as pigmented as turquoise paint- flicks under the sun and glitters no different than rhinestones.

“It was only me that was generous enough to save you, though. That’s the most important part.”

⊹⊹⊹

Trust is a big word, it is.

But there is no doubt in your mind that you would’ve succumbed to a watery death if not for the merman- Rafayel, he’d informed with a coy flap of his tail- intervening, and you’re grateful to him for that. His saving you— it means something. And you owe him.

You head for the shore each morning with a silent debt hanging over your head, but he never demands anything of you in return. During lazy afternoons by the cove trading pretty, swirled shells and at first tentatively getting in the water with him to swim at nightfall, you wait for the catch to come, for him to name his price.

You think it’s only fair. Rescuing something as valuable as a life is nothing to scoff at: you’d cough up the change.

He never holds out his hand.

If anything, Rafayel seems wholly uninterested in that.

You’re not entirely sure why you formulated your ideas of merfolk around blood-thirst and thievery (perhaps because of the myths), but the one you’re befriending is nothing like that. He’s playful and sassy and a little bit flirtatious but you suppose- if the legends of sirens luring sailors to the depths are really true- then it adds up. It’s only natural he’d be a whit on the provocative side, right?

Rafayel is friendly, clingy even when you convince him that you have no intentions of alerting the village any time soon of his presence. You tell him with a wry laugh that they’d hardly believe you anyway because everyone thinks you’ve lost it.

You see it in his pleasant face- the blip of interest that passes by- that he wants to ask why, but he holds off on it when you pour him with questions about what goes on in the deep blue and if his kind really eats fishermen.

He huffs, propping his elbow on the half-submerged rock he’d helped you onto, still in sight of the shore but more intimate a setting.

“What kind of question is that? Do you really think I could do something like that? Look at me,” he balloons out his cheeks and puffs. “I’m an innocent little fishie.”

You laugh, and drop the interrogation in favor of a more lighthearted one. You ask Rafayel what life off land is like.

With a mischevious twinkle in his marbled, red-blue eye, he tells you about what lurks in ocean trenches first, painting vivid imagery in your head of glowing bulbs in the dark and rows of jagged teeth that peer out of deep crevices.

You blanche and he can’t help but chuckle softly, a dash of something in his gaze that resembles ardor as it flits appreciatively along the curve of your face.

It’s not all horrifying, though, he eventually concedes.

He scoops shiny things up from the sand lining the ocean floor and gifts them to you in your following meetings. He tells you that the fish- sleek and chromatic- dance around him in schools where everything is crystalline. They sleep on beds of coral under-tail and stick close to the fins of whales, apparently having nothing better to do. Sometimes they get a little clingy, he admits, and he has to shoo them away, but the little creatures are friendly- and his underwater world is nothing short of beautiful.

Rafayel loves the sea. It’s his home.

“And what about you, cutie? What’s your home like?”

That gives you pause, but just for a moment.

You know what home is like; you’d only dwelled there, in the tiny village off the shoal, since you were a little girl.

And home is nice…. Or, it was. Now, it’s a husk of the warmth you once knew. Days drag by in drab monotony and the added, very much unwanted reminder that your fiancé has yet to return. Seagulls squawk outside and tricycle bells ring. Concerned neighbors knock on your door but this place feels dull. No more face to put to this snuggly seaside village.

With a small smile- one that Rafayal thinks is more wistfully sad than anything- you tell the merman about the things you cherish here, deliberately omitting what you desperately miss.

Memories of childhood circle back to you in fuzzy fragments: Despite the present, you can still at least cherish the past, right…?

Listening to you recount gems of your youth with a smile, it’s evident to Rafayel that you love it here.

Just… he understands that maybe it’s not as much as you used to.

His face takes on more of a sober look then, his cheeks, dappled with teal scales that break the surface in some spots, dusting a soft pink. You don’t really understand why- perhaps a mild case of sun burn- but he asks,

“And what about in it? Is there… Someone who’s special to you, who brings it warmth? Even underwater, in order to survive, we merfolk need a suitable temperature, you know.”

Ah. That.

You offer a hum of acknowledgment before glancing off, far out to where the flat whitecaps stretch into nothingness. Lounging around by the coast with your new, unlikely friend, the scenery is idyllic here.

You almost will yourself into forgetting what you’re really here for, what hurled you face-first into this predicament.

Sorrow hangs in your heart. The visage of your fiancé passes in your head rapidly, kaleidoscopic, his smiles and the tender moments spent with him, the sound of his laugh.

You are less and less certain of yourself. You are not sure if the gossipping townsfolk are correct or not to assume the worst, but what you do know is that it’s creeping up on two months and not one shiphand has returned. Not even an errant oar has washed ashore.

“Yes. But…” A pause. You swallow thickly and give your head a belated, uncertain shake. Tears form in the back of your throat and you pile them down, frustrated they’d showed up uninvited.

Perhaps you’re more weak to all the bleak murmurs than you’ve let on.

You laugh, but the sound lacks humor. “Everyone thinks he’s dead, all the people at the village.”

“…You wanna share?”

You shrug and draw one knee to your chest, the other still bent over the rocky ledge, dangling in the cool water. They’re still today, the waters, relatively level— but inwardly, you warn yourself against being so easily deceived by them: they looked more or less the same the day you rowed out.

The storm was nothing short of terrifying, yes, but you think the lack of expecting it somehow made it more devastating.

“Well, there’s not much to,” you respond, tongue in cheek. You don’t mean to sound uninterested in this conversation all of a sudden, but you suppose it’s a defense mechanism. Rafayel props his elbows on the rock and listens intently, giving his brow a little quirk at your tone.

“But my… fiancé,” why the words are suddenly hard to get out, you don’t know, “he went off to sea. Hasn’t come back yet.”

At your knees, Rafayel is noticeably quiet, but you get the inexplicable sense that he’s invested.

“I guess he’ll come back with lots of fish whenever he does,” you sigh. Your attempts to remain lighthearted just barely working.

Quickly, you try to breeze past the topic, but the merman chimes- “A fisherman? You were courting a fisherman?”

Courting. The word sounds a little funny, medieval almost, but you hum.

It’s his turn to make a tongue-in-cheek comment, lifting his scaly fist to support his chin. “He must’ve been a real prize to deserve all that singing... What do I get for saving you?” He says playfully, almost pettily, but you get the weird idea that this is more serious to him than he lets on.

You want to heave a laugh at his pouting words, but confusion stops you. You snap your head to him.

“You-?”

Quickly, Rafayel quips, “Yes, just about the whole sea can hear you at night. Why is that surprising?”

For some reason, a whit of hope warms your chest throughout. If Rafayel is cognizant of something as trivial as songs from above the surface, surely he must’ve been privy to a shipwreck or the hurried shouts of sailors as their boat went down.

Not that you believe it did, just—

You scramble upright, planting your palms on the rock in a kneel as you say- in a voice you’re not keen on sounding as desperate as it comes out-

“Have you ever heard anything else? A- A boat sinking? People drowning or- or—“ You stuff out an anxious breath, all the worries and doubts you’d been housing for weeks now bubbling to the surface. You suppose if anybody has garnered your confidence, though, it’s the merman that saved your veritable life.

Still, a lump of unease burns in your throat. Thick and acidic. It makes your voice shake but you ignore it, leaning over the edge. If you fall in, he’ll save you again anyway. If not a friendship (but you definitely treat it as such), there is still a mutual fondness between you two- a silent trust- and you’re sure, beside the marks on your ankle he left by accident in the heat of the moment, he would not let harm befall you.

“Because they say he’s gone— my lover— they say his crew got hit by something- like a plague or a storm- and succumbed out there. But maybe- maybe you heard something? Rafayel- did you hear or see any group of fishermen out there?” You bluster, before adding on like an afterthought, “two months ago?”

The longer your mouth moves, the wider Rafayel’s eyes get.

And then, you think it’s something like… recognition that skips across multihued eyes.

He’s quiet for a moment, mouth ajar. His bright turquoise tail, the tip jutting out from the tide as it sways idly, stops midway in the air and floats awkwardly.

Your brow furrows. You fear the worst. Your nails dig into the gritty surface, fingerpads whiting as you shake your head.

“Rafayel-? W-What’s wrong?”

Curtly, he shuts his mouth. An easy smile replaces his momentary surprise.

When he speaks, it’s in a familiar, somewhat sarcastic but harmless tone, and his tail sparks to life behind him, albeit quite unsteadily.

“Nothin’, cutie,” he lifts an arm to adjust his perch on the rock but it slips. His face dusts pink, his brows twitching together; all of it, the clearly disturbed signs of his composure, he ignores. Your heart thrums.

“I was just thinking how brave you were to venture off to sea after him. He’s lucky to have someone like you still waiting at home for him.” His compliment is overlooked. You’re too caught up in the rush of unease that sweeps through you- the niggling feeling that says there’s something more to this you’re not seeing- that you can hardly utter a bashful thanks.

“But- did you happen to hear anything, or-?”

Rafayel adds casually, “I’m sure the guy is fine wherever he is, though. And no, cutie. But I’ll let you know if that changes.”

Something like hesitance grips you as you watch, with silence, the friendly merman lose the better part of his mirth. You wonder if you’ve said something wrong as his exterior hardens cooly, if you’ve divulged too much of your emotions and quite possibly lost your final companion. Maybe you’re overthinking it- but if that’s the case, if even a fish-man from the sea has taken the same opinion as the land-living locals, then some drama seems warranted.

You don’t want to be alone again. And Rafayel- Rafayel was starting to really grow on you despite all your differences—

He strums his fingers against his jaw, painting the picture of boredom, and puffs out his lips, eyes drifting away almost flippantly as if he’s dead to the wounded look you send him.

A yawn. He unfolds his lean arms and ducks under the water.

“Wait- Rafayel-?”

“Sorry, princess, the fishies are calling me. They said it’s getting late now, and that I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“But—“

“Hop on my back, let me take you back to shore. Your little legs can only doggy paddle you so far,” he lets out a light laugh but you don’t miss the dash of mockery there, as if you’re some unfortunate soul cursed with four limbs and warm blood. Still, you bite your tongue- and the unbidden pang of unease in your chest- and slip off the rock.

You loop your arms around his middle, his muscles flexing in response, lean and tight, and keep your chin above the tide as he floats towards the sand bar.

“Rafayel, are you okay?”

“Of course, cutie. Why, aren’t you?”

“Y-Yeah. It’s just-“ you poorly stifle a sigh, still a bit taken aback by his sudden desire to truncate your meeting. That, and his odd behavior when you asked about any possible shipwreck.

You eventually settle on, “Please just keep it on your radar. If you hear or see any ships, call me, okay?”

“We don’t have shellphones under the water, you know. How am I supposed to alert you?” You can’t see the face he’s making, saddled on his back as his long tail gusts through the gentle currents, but you realize he’s teasing.

“I- I don’t know,” you admit clumsily. “Maybe I’ll just know if you say my name.”

I mean, it’s not too crazy an idea, is it? You felt a stirring towards the ocean- real and audible- would a creature living in it really be so different?

Perhaps the townsfolk are right in their claims made against you, that you’ve lost it.

There’s nothing left in you that cares, though.

Rafayel lets out a small chuckle but sounds oddly endeared. “How romantic.”

“Rafayel—“

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll let you know if anything’s up. Don’t worry!”

⊹⊹⊹

From the shipdeck, the water is beautiful, even as it takes you down under, swallowing up the thick hull in a lazy gulp.

A white moon pours down. The waves sparkle like sequins. It’s… hypnotizing, in a way. Your fist flies to your collar when the sails tear, the harsh rip of it reminding you of the breath still in your lungs, and you hold the locket there like it’s a lifering.

The crewhands scramble for them- and for the tiny boat hanging off the side. Another powerful slosh to the boat sends slippery hands in a fray; you hear the vague sound of wood cracking, planks you thought to be sturdy splintering. You’re no more than a raft drifting, victim to the elements.

The emergency lifeboat whistles as it drops, freefalling from the ropes and into the coiling sea.

It has no heart for mercy, the sea, but you’ve still one for home, a deep-seated urge within to return that has your nails digging bluntly into your palms, blood drawing in the paths of them.

…H-Home.

Sailors scream around you.

Someone, you realize with a flash of confusion, in the chaos- in the maelstrom of wind and shooting rain- is even singing.

The sound of it chills you to the bone.

Dazedly, you think they must’ve lost it. To be fair, there’s no blame there— men have drowned in waters far flatter: your crew is miles from the nearest chunk of land and the vessel can’t withstand this weather— you’re all gonna die and the crewmate must know. He knows and he’s singing.

Crashing waves silence heavy thunder. The sky glows endless white, one last fissure of lightning darting down before the deck lights bright gold.

Fire surges. It dances in your eyes and you swallow a scream.

She’s waiting at home, still. It can’t be over, it can’t be, it can’t be—

Fiery yellow, and then everything spins, your world going lopsided as the ship groans and you tip.

And then, it’s all blue.

Dark, vast cerulean interpolated only by flotsam that drifts away the moment you reach for it, fingers desperately clawing for the surface.

Up, or down— you’re not sure which way you’re swimming.

You do know, though, that you never find your buoyancy.

Hands. Hands on you and dragging you down, down, down, and then it’s clear the wrecked pieces of the ship are getting further away, not closer. A deepness surrounds you. Cold, quiet. The storm’s effects are mitigated the lower you sink— it’s counterintuitive, you think, because surely you’ll drown regardless, but a strange sense of calm washes over you as the air peters from your lungs. They spasm as you choke.

But you got to get home, you must get home to her—

The tips of your boots touch the sandy floor.

It’s tranquil, under the sea. The reefs are vivid, swaying with bubbling marine life. Navy blue swirls around you and is limned with muted fire light, displacing itself with every wild movement of your limbs. You flail them helplessly but something—

Something is holding you down and it’s singing—

From afar, and through bleared eyes, the coral looks like upright rods of colorful bone, yellow and blushing-orange. An opaque red smears over them— curling and wavering into smoke-like trails. It’s reminiscent of black and white marble. Beautiful, in a way.

A long, glittering tail scrapes across your leg.

You realize it’s blood- your blood- and then in a heartbeat, a pair of talons pierce through the veil and—

A gasp.

You come to wakefulness with a frightened noise.

That dream- you’d been having it for days now, each more fragmented and blurry than the last… But this time, it’s strikingly clear.

Horror frosts your eyes over, glossy and wide as you undo the covers bound tightly around you, standing to shaking feet.

That awful, awful dream— it’s not in your point of view, you realize, it’s in your fiancé’s, and that same claw that had been gracious enough to scoop you up and save you from stormful, roaring swells—

Dragged your lover down to the depths, burying him in liquid oblivion.

As you shrug on a thin cardigan and hurry outside, dashing under moonlit lawns with the single-minded focus to reach the beach, you vaguely wonder if you’re being unreasonable, if all these little dreams and visions and songs you’ve been experiencing are nothing short of delirium. But this is too coincidental— Rafayel had smoothly shirked all your questions days ago, and you realize now that the dull look in his eye wasn’t boredom but jealously, ugly and sudden, masquerading under disinterest.

Knowledge of that- and your naivety- comes to you in piecemeal.

You’ve been stupid. You’d been holding onto the feeble hope that your soon-to-be husband was somewhere out there, scraping together shellfish on an uncharted islet or lost at sea with his crew-mates but alive. Deep down, you always knew it was the dreams of a fool.

But damn it all if you’d just… stopped yourself for one fucking second to nudge aside your denial and take a good look at your marine friend, you’d have seen the lack of common sense in it. Your lover’s met no different and no more painless, as much as it horrifies you- a fate than the sailors depicted in all those whimsical tales of old.

You sing out to the sea. Anger warms your chest like a fleece, cardigan be damned, fists clenched so tight your palms swell as you cry out.

Panic, subtle but niggling, speaks to you from underneath thick layers of hate and pain, but you’re beyond the point of reason. No, you need to hear it from the siren himself just what the fuck happened to your other half— if he can hear your lamenting after dark without issue, surely he would’ve at least caught wind of some devastation off the coast or spotted the debris in his own waters—

But he’s been keeping something from you.

“Rafayel!” You cry again. It’s impossible to swallow the lump in your throat; it seeks to climb to the surface but for now, with a remnant of control that surprises yourself, you manage to keep from spitting it up.

Nausea turns in your belly, but you keep it at bay. Just barely.

Unshed tears burn your cornea. “Rafayel!” You don’t scream, no, your lungs are too wounded and overwhelmed by the simple task of drawing air to, but it’s a near thing.

Furious, beginning to think he’ll conveniently not show or he’s merely ignoring you, your feet splash into the water until you’re shin-deep.

You hiccup. “R-Rafayel! I know you’re there!”

Eventually, a head bobs above the tide, infuriatingly nonchalant, and a turqoise fluke appears not long after it, twinkling just barely under a clouded, night sky.

He doesn’t look as tired as you’re sure you do- and not by a long shot quite as disturbed. If anything, he looks a little pleased with himself.

Wet indigo waves give a little bounce as he lazily approaches, watchful eyes glimmering with something you’re both too enraged and emotional to name. Something like betrayal courses through you— distracting you from the very real fact that the siren is drawing closer.

He says nothing as you shake your hands emphatically, eyeballs practically bulging out your head. They might pop out and roll. “You-! You knew!” You accuse, momentarily stunned at the broken sound of your voice. “You knew all along b-because you did it, didn’t you? You’ve been lying to my face this whole time— You killed him! Y-You ripped him apart I fucking saw it—“

Your tirade is clipped short with a hiccuping gasp as you fully erupt into tears. You don’t bother to wipe them or even hang your head, brows furrowed as Rafayel regards you with a contemplative, almost curious look.

An undercurrent of desire, dark and intense, exists under it, though, and you can’t will yourself for any longer to view him as the same harmless, aquatic humanoid who’d rescued you.

You find yourself for both a lack of coherency and also gratitude; he could’ve left you to decay at the bottom of the ocean for all you care, or thrown you to the hands of Neptune or the feeding pit of sharks— it’s almost preferable to this.

Rafayel’s face, admittedly handsome, in a pretty way (albeit, you’ve no idea why your brain is suddenly forming opinions on his appearance, especially now of all times), is relaxed, devoid of emotion. You recognize the impatience there, though… like there’s been a string that you’ve pulled taut.

The silent truth that has been overarching your life for the past couple months- you don’t want to come to terms with it or you might break otherwise.

For the life of you, you can’t even understand what his goals were in all of this—

You hurl your anger at him and flail your arms and shout until your trachea feels like aggregate when you swallow, and he waits it all out with an ease that gets you impossibly riled up.

You suck in a sharp breath and shudder when you open your eyes again, color seeming to reenter your periphery, and measure the distance Rafayel has bridged.

Gasping, you go to take a step back, knees knocking together like newborn foal as a distinct sense of panic rips through you- not right, it screams, and, you messed up, you messed up, you stupid, stupid—

“Silly girl,”

A loud splash. A resistance.

Rafayel lurches his arm, belly almost brushing against the sandbar, and takes ahold of your ankle.

You let out a yelp, instantly reaching down to try to unlatch him from you, dismay robbing you of oxygen, but it’s too late for that. Each of your clumsy attempts is precluded. Faded scars line the knob of your ankle and Rafayel presses into them with the smooth pads of his fingers- forcefully, but he’s mindful not to use his nails. He’s learned since the last time.

He gives one good tug and you stand no chance, falling with a slosh.

Pulling you towards him, he’s fully confident now that you’re in his liquid domain, slowly dragging you away from the shallow end, from home- or at least, the shriveled, sad remains of it.

Mortified, and still very much resisting him— the merman surprisingly gentle, cognizant of your frailty despite the iron grasp he subdues you with— you throw a frantic glance up and watch as the shore shrinks.

“No!” He’s very careful to keep your head above the tide, but you’re choking still.

This is not the first time he’s helped you into the ocean and swam recreationally with you, usually with the addition of little trinkets and pretty shells you bring to swap, but it’s definitely the first time he’s trapped you in his arms, lean and impossible to swat away, and ignored your asks to return to land.

You remember your front door then, funnily enough, how you left in a tizzy and far too shaken to lock it, and burst into another sob.

You’ll not be returning, will you?

“Please!” You blubber with all the grace of a fish out of water. You squirm like one, too. “Please, don’t kill me, Rafayel, don’t- don’t eat me—!”

A laugh, breathy but humored- cruel in its softness- rings at your ear. Gorgeous tail folded in front of you, brushing against your rear and the underside of your thighs as they fruitlessly kick out, Rafayel uses it to propel you both backwards, treating your kidnapping like a pleasant stroll.

“Of course I won’t eat you, princess,” he coos, placing a painless but clearly posessive- like he’s marking his territory- nip to the juncture of your neck and shoulder. It makes you shiver. “Don’t you understand by now?” He frowns, “You’re mine. The ocean’d sooner dry up then watch me lay a fin on you.”

There’s exactly zero things funny about this situation, so with a pang of wrath, you don’t know why he’s laughing. Maybe at the irony, because in any case, he most certainly has laid a fin on you—

You feel angry at yourself next in the seconds that follow, managing to bite into the flesh of his scale-dotted forearm and slip out of his grip— thrashing away without ceremony before he hisses and curtly regathers you.

“You’re a slippery fishie, huh, cutie? You can’t seriously think I’ll just let you swim away though, right?” His tone darkens then, deepening with a quiet warning you can’t help but feel is incongruous to the generally mild, sassy but otherwise friendly merman you’d grown to know.

When you try to break free again, the exertion summoning a state of near dry-drowning, Rafayel drops all efforts at patience and seizes you by the throat.

His hand curling around your neck, almost playing at the idea of testing just how tragic your power dynamic really is, he lets out a frustrated noise behind you. He knocks his nose into the side of your face, tealy lamella spotting the surface of his cheek and scratching against yours.

Unfamiliarly low, he grumbles out, “You’d better stop fightin’, girl, because if you spin out of control, there’s no guarantee what’ll happen to you. You’re hurting yourself. Stop it, now, I said.”

That fully frightens you. The scream buried within your throat dies, withers into nothing.

Attenuated, pointed nails graze the soft flesh of your jugular, reminding you of all the horrific, brutal ways he could sunder you in two, but they don’t draw so much as a drop of blood.

“P-Please—“ You sputter, desperately digging at his forearms that make an X over your midriff and collarbone, your toes launching out of the water. Your fight, for as valiant as it is, is sapping you of an impressive amount of energy and at an alarmingly fast rate.

But you can’t stop. You refuse to buckle to him- because to bow your head and agree to give in would be like finally surrendering to the cold reality that has, as of a number of weeks ago, completely shrouded your life.

Y-You can’t admit he’s dead— that you’re entirely crazy, widowed, and in the strictest definition alone—

“Ah-ah, princess,” he murmurs as you heave wildly, “don’t you think that’s enough running away? It’s not fair if I can’t come on land at all, you know. Come and swim with me for a while.” Rafayel coaxes, resuming his more mild demeanor within a blink.

He releases a somewhat exasperated, yet thrilled sigh. It shakes as it leaves his damp lips, blue and fuschia-red eyes glittering with barely repressed delight as he lifts his chin from your shoulderblade.

Then, he leans in towards your ear, and he sings.

⊹⊹⊹

Everything is dream-like.

Birds soar overhead in a breezy circle. They offer a few, occasional squawks that help you to the conclusion of seagulls: paired with the rhythmic, wet purr enveloping you- and the warmth flushing your cheeks- you’d wager you’re at the ocean.

Perhaps a relaxing beach day with your fiancé. He’s laid out the cloth (albeit, it feels oddly… hard, smooth as if the sand beneath is without lumps), and you’ve just stirred from a long nap set to the backdrop of light, gusting sand and crashing whitecaps.

Something in your core throbs.

A particularly tall wave in comparison to the other relatively flat ones smacks against the black rock and cools your skin. Sweat beads at your forehead, the center of your thighs offering a sequence of dull aches that have you feeling weak, wanting nothing more than to let your eyes roll back and stay that way.

You make an incoherent noise as the metaphorical fog clears, buttery, white light warming you. Dawn, you realize hazily, lashes fluttering open gradually, it’s dawn.

…But when you’d last blinked, it was late into the night.

Memories pour back in, a potpourri of muddled events tracing back to this moment- uncertainty startling you upright as—

A hand, firm and a little slimy, presses your belly down.

It bars you from most movement, strong but gentle. A tongue- long and flat and fucking mind-numbing as it laps at your pussy- swirls experimentally against your clit and vibrates with a low, satisfied moan.

Not yours; but the next one that rings out, high and aroused and very, very afraid, is.

You can hardly recognize the sound of it. A thick beat of silence passes before you finally do, brain struggling to reconcile with this startling, admittedly idyllic panorama laid out before you.

A disoriented glance tossed down tells you all you need to know to confirm your fears, a sickness churning so deep in your gut you think it’s plausible you could puke up yesterday’s supper. What spills out from your slack jaw is another helpless, pleasured mewl instead.

Rafayel, mostly submerged in the water but with his upper half braced against the flat rock’s ledge, drapes your legs (trembling, you confusedly note, as if they’ve been positioned that way for a while now) over his broad shoulders to better present his prize and feasts on it like a man starved. One large hand serves as like an anchor on your abdomen, keeping you moored as you positively lose your mind, the other carefully thumbing apart your slick folds.

Somewhere between the span of late last night and very early this morning, he’s gotten them puffy and unbelievably wet, your tight hole clenching around absolutely nothing as his lips- just as swollen and needy- suckle on your tiny bump of nerves.

You rest your head back against the smooth surface of the rock, lukewarm but not quite scorching yet- the sun still moseying its way up the sky, clouds parting to reveal a diluted yellow canvas behind them. Resignation weighs you down better than any hand ever could.

You bite down another moan mixed with a sob and leave dents in the tender tissue of your bottom lip.

He parts with your pussy for just a moment, hesitating like he’s sad to step out from its warmth, knuckling over your labia with a reverence you feel is misplaced considering the circumstances.

He’s cruel when he lifts his eyes to yours, heavy-lidded and utterly transfixed.

The sincere, amorous glint in them is like a bucket of ice water dumped over your head, something you couldn’t prepare for or adapt to in time, his head dipping down briefly to pepper a lingering kiss to the gooey seam of you. Mine, everything about the way he gazes up at you says, and, if you don’t believe me then let me prove it.

“You’re gorgeous,” he groans, the dark sphere of his pupils spilling out like ink onto a multicolored canvas. He’s worshipful in nature, but curious- tentative to every little twitch your fatigued face gives, wondering how to push your buttons just right- perhaps above all, just desperate to know if your slick cunt will keep supplying him with that sweet, hot nectar- but it’s been so generous to him thus far, so he figures he’ll just keep on taking.

“It looks just like a seaflower,” he murmurs, breath ragged over the placid lull of the tide as he strokes your flesh, “Like the ones I’d grab from the ocean floor to give you, but so much prettier... Sweeter.”

Rafayel is careful not to hurt you- you can tell, somehow, that he’s fighting tooth and nail with his inner animal, his baser instincts, to keep the last modicum of his control. Hurting you, no matter how accidental or quick, would be detrimental. He knows that. He’s felt it. And to be perfectly honest, he’s quite enjoyed it— but you don’t fall under the category of food or paltry entertainment, no, you’re so much more than that to him.

The pretty, kind girl who kept the brainless town out of your unlikely relationship, who sang her way into his heart and stole it despite himself. His best friend, his sweet little playmate and—

…Mate. Yes, his mate.

“Have you been feeling me?” He asks suddenly. “At home, in bed? I’ve been trying to call out for you,” he relays in an affected pant you wish to unhear as he resumes suckling at your shamefully wet pussy.

You hate this, how worked up he’s managed to get you, how pliant your own body has become as it all but sells itself to him- guilt and confusion swelling in your chest. “I’ve been trying to get you to see how much I like you, princess. B-But it’s like you’ve been shooing me away or something—“

You hardly give any mind to what he’s muttering about, the point of his nose nudging against your sensitive nerves and expediting your release as he licks eagerly at your folds, your whole body trembling with delight. You don’t think you really want to know, anyway.

Sea salt shoots up against the rock, licking your limbs with a cool spritz. He muffles a low breath of amusement into you. “But you’re here now, I guess. Mngh- and you’re so delicious. You’re… fragile though,” he pants, prodding his long, hot tongue against your tiny clenching hole before delving inside it with a violent shudder, his cheeks bright red. “You might have to help me inside, cutie. I don’t exactly wanna break you.”

That stuns you. His words, single-minded and husky, remind you of just how fucked up this all is— and a panic crosses the involuntary fog of your head as you snap it down to get a good look at him.

You were sure merfolk had their own means of reproduction, but it’d never been more than a passing curiosity until now, your heart in your throat as you squint to make out just what he’s working with beneath the water.

Lazily, he looks up to you and smiles when he discovers what you’re doing. It’s a hungered, smitten one, sharp teeth peeking out and all. All your squirming is nothing more than an attempt at self-preservation, unsure of just what he’s endowed with but vaguely knowing- by the size of his tail and difference of species- you sure as hell won’t be compatible with it.

The need to escape is puissant and your limbs begin to move— but they feel oddly leaden, less like flesh and more like stone.

“You wanna see me, pretty girl, yeah? What’re you planning to do?” He coos, swilling away at your watering cunt, nursing from the endless stream of juices like a man possessed. Your fiancé's face flashes before your mind and you make a choked sound.

As if sensing your thoughts, Rafayel lets out a little contented noise and nuzzles against the soft inner portion of your shaking thighs.

“He screamed, just so you know,” a low chuckle rumbles from his chest and warps into a pretty moan. It’s too light and dulcet for comfort, and it feels disproportionate to the general sting of it all. You loathe the unbidden current of arousal that gushes through you at it, wetting his slender fingers as it trickles down the thigh he cuffs.

One final shlick of your throbbing pussy and the merman maneuvers with relative ease onto the rock, his thick tail flopping off at the edge and disappearing into the crystal water. And there’s nothing exactly large about Rafayel’s stature, but he feels heavy as he hovers over you, elbows flanking either side of your head, and the appendage that seems to summon itself between you, drooping with engorged need over your stuttering belly—

You don’t want to look. Too afraid to.

You suppose you don’t have to, anyway: Rafayel grabs your face and cradles your jaw in his smooth palm, hot, labored breaths warming your slack lips. The sun is lifting higher, now, a clementine-gold sky burning like blood low on the horizon. Soon, the temperatures- and his touch as it charts out the most intimate parts of you- will begin to bake your skin.

“He was all bubbly under the water,” he groans with a trace of humor, “but I saw the worry written all over his face. Back then, I’d always wondered why he looked so concerned... not afraid, concerned. But I guess… it was ‘cause he had you to get back home to, huh, cutie?”

Saccharine sweet, he dotes before wrenching your chin up in a desperate, heedless kiss- the action all too cathartic too him but world-stopping for you- and you feel the fat head of something foreign bob between your folds.

“Poor guy,” he moans, voice absolutely ruined as you lurch helplessly beneath him, back arching to accommodate the impossible stretch. You expect it to hurt- to be a searing pain as his massive, inhuman cock spears you apart- but a near blinding delight racks through your body instead as he worms his way inside your walls, wet and primed, your eyes fluttering back.

“But at least his death served a purpose. You’d never have sung for me otherwise. Would never have- went out looking,” he shudders, hanging his head against the sweaty column of your neck, his brilliant-blue tail sloshing in the water on its own accord.

“It’s all thanks to him,” he growls out, tone oozing possession- the innocent little merman you befriended dematerializing before your very eyes. “You’re mine now. Mine.”

And when it’s all said and done, strong, toned arms gathering you up with a low splash as the docks rupture with gradual life, the boots of fisherman croaking over waterlogged wood, and Rafayel takes you under the water- giving you breath with a deep, intimate kiss-

You’ve the feeling that your dreams of reuniting with your lover will fulfill themselves in their own roundabout, warped way.

But you know Rafayel’s not ever letting you go as he undresses your finger of its sparkling ring and tucks you away in his underwater cove— placing you in his nest with reverence before prying apart your numbed legs with rekindled hunger.

Curling across your face, a soaked lock of your hair drifts absently in the still waters and Rafayel thumbs it aside, clipping it back with a little clamshell fashioned as jewelry. He leans over you contentedly, whole body and fluke swallowing you up without difficulty or protest, and happily feeds you oxygen from his lips.

You cling to him helplessly and have no choice— several hundred feet below land level— but to hungrily nurse from him every few hours and pray he won’t make the sudden decision to deprive you of it.

Something in his rippling eyes tells you he won’t, though.

He dips down to paste a lingering peck into your temple, the pad of his thumb roving appreciatively under your eye.

“Don’t you think you’ve seen enough of the land, princess? The brainless humans up there don’t want you anymore, and that’s okay,” he whispers, tiny bubbles floating like balloons before popping. “You belong down here, with me. Who says you need a tail or fins to be one of us?” Mistily, you wonder just what exactly he’s trying to say and who he’s trying to convince of its veracity, a blip of frustration marring his pretty face before it retreats.

“I’ll give you life for as long as I live,” he vows, mouth brushing tenderly against yours as his cheeks puff out and he blows.

“See? Just like this, princess. Just keep holding onto me.”

#love and deepspace #lads smut #lads rafayel #rafayel x reader #rafayel smut #rafayel x you #love and deepspace x reader #lads x reader #love and deepspace smut #rafayel love and deepspace #yandere #calebrity #if u see a typo #pretend u didnt #anyways back to my gege bullshit #expect at least a lil drabble of him within the next week or so 🤡#syluss new card looks domestic as hell as well so….#goodnoight 🫡#‧₊ 🍰.┊𝒄𝒂𝒌𝒆𝑓𝑖𝑐𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛

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