Synopsis- Itâs literally where we left off last chapter, and uhh you share your first kissâŚ
Tags- Stockholm Syndrome, Kidnapping!
a/n: Like three people have asked if I have a tag list for this fic, and now Iâm debating on whether I should make one.. but I donât think I can justify making one for just three people. Also, sorry for the long wait, I just didnât know how to go about writing this.
W.c - 10.1k
âIt may not be okay to you,â it says, and for once thereâs no edge to its voice. No hiss. No growl. Just something steady. Certain. âBut to me⌠you being safe and happy is all that matters.â
You pause at that.
Actually pause.
Because the sincerity in its voice makes something ugly twist inside your chest.You stare at this creatureâthis thing that has done nothing but ruin your life since the moment it entered it. And suddenly the heat in your body has nowhere to go except outward.
Your chest tightens painfully as you pull away from it, climbing unsteadily from the nest to pace the edge of the smooth stone platform instead. âI was safe and happy on the boat before you decided to sink it,â you grind out, your voice shaking harder with every word.
Your bare feet slap softly against damp stone as you pace, arms wrapped tightly around yourself like youâre trying to hold your own body together. âI was safe before you decided that I wasnât happy enough for you, and that you could make me happier even if it meant killingâand eatingâeveryone I knew.â
Your throat burns.
âYouâre a fucking asshole,â you spit, turning sharply to glare at it.
It hasnât moved from where you left it.
Still kneeling partly in the water, watching you with those glowing eyes.
âAnd while I can give you some leeway because you donât understand human customsâsaying that you can make me happier than my own family is where I draw the fucking line.â
Your voice cracks at the word family. Pain flashes across your face before you can stop it. âIf my heart ended up broken, I couldâve gone to my mom for comfort.â Your chest heaves. âMy friends wouldâve made me forget about it in a matter of days. We wouldâve drank shitty wine and talked shit about him until I stopped caring.â
Your laugh comes out broken. Bitter. âBut you didnât give me that chance.âThe tears come before you realize theyâre there. Hot against your skin.âYou killed them.âYour voice drops lower then, rough and trembling.
âYou are the one who killed my happiness. Not that fucking rich prick I almost married.â You jab a finger toward it accusingly. âYou didnât give him the chance to ruin it. You killed him before he could.â
Silence.
Complete silence.
Even the bioluminescent glow in the water seems dimmer somehow.
You expect anger. Defensiveness. A hiss. A growl. Something. But it gives you nothing. It just⌠looks at you. And for the first time since youâve known it, it looks genuinely lost. Not confused by your words. Not unable to understand them. But like it genuinely does not know how to fix what youâve just said.
Slowly, it lowers its gaze. Its claws curl slightly against the stone beneath it. You mourn them still,â it says quietly. Not dismissive. Not mocking. Just⌠realizing it. As if some part of it truly believed that enough comfort, enough gifts, enough devotion could erase grief entirely.
Your laugh is wet and miserable. âOf course I fucking mourn them.â You wipe angrily at your face. âThey were my family.â
Its throat works slightly. And then, quieter than youâve ever heard itââI did not understand.âThat makes something in you snap. âYou shouldâve.âThe words echo through the cave.
âYou shouldâve understood that people matter! That they arenât just things you can take because you decided you wanted me!âYour breathing comes hard now, shoulders shaking with the force of it all. âYou donât get to decide what happiness means for me!â
It finally moves then. Slowly. Carefully. Like approaching a wounded animal.
âYou are right,â it says. The words hit harder than if it argued. Your breath catches. Its eyes stay fixed on you as it rises higher from the water. âI was selfish.â
Its voice roughens around the admission. âI saw your pain and thought only of ending it. I saw someone unworthy of you and believed removing him would solve everything.â
Its claws flex weakly. âIn my kind, that is love. Protection. Possession.â
It looks almost ashamed saying it now. âBut humansâŚâIt exhales sharply through its teeth. âYou carry your dead with you.â
The cave falls quiet again.Your chest aches painfully. Because yes. Yes you do. Every human does. And maybe that was the one thing this ancient creature never understood. That grief doesnât disappear just because new happiness is offered in its place.
That love and mourning can exist together. That you can love it and still hate what it did to you. Its gaze softens slightly as it watches you cry. And this time when it reaches toward you, it stops before touching you.
Waiting.
Giving you the choice.
âI cannot return what I took,â it says softly. A horrible sort of honesty. âBut if I could carve open my own chest and give them back to you, I would.â
Your breath stutters. âI know saying sorry means little to humans after death.â Its voice grows quieter still.
âBut I am sorry.â
Its gaze doesnât waver from yours.
âI can make you happy,â it continues, softer now, like itâs offering something instead of declaring it. âOr I can at least try.â
A pause.
âAll you have to do⌠is let me.âThe sincerity in its voice hits somewhere deep. Uncomfortably deep. Because it doesnât sound like itâs lying. It doesnât sound manipulative. It sounds like it believes it. Completely. And somehowâThat makes it worse.
Your jaw tightens, your nails digging into your palms as something sharp and frustrated builds in your chest. Because itâs standing thereâafter everythingâafter everything it just admittedâand it still thinks this can be fixed.
That this can be⌠good. âFine,â you snap, the word breaking out of you before you can stop it. Your voice echoes, louder than anything else thatâs filled this cave.
âYou think you can make me so happy?â you continue, stepping closer without realizing it, anger pushing you forward. âDo it.â
It doesnât move.
It just watches you. âMake me happy,â you shout, the words cracking at the edges now, frustration bleeding into something more fragile. Something more raw.
âIâd love to see you try.â
Your chest rises and falls quickly, your breath uneven as you glare at it, every inch of you tense, bracedâwaiting. For what, you donât even know. For it to fail? For it to finally understand?
For it to stop?
âMake me happy,â you grind out again, quieter this time but no less intense, your gaze locked onto its glowing eyes. And thenâyou see it. The shift. Subtle. But unmistakable. Its expression changes.
Not confusion.
Not hesitation.
Something else. Something⌠brighter. Your stomach drops. Because it looksâhappy. Not in the way a human would be.
Not soft or relieved.
But pleased. Deeply, undeniably pleased. Like youâve just given it something itâs been waiting for. For a long time. Its tail stirs beneath the water, a slow, controlled movement that sends ripples outward, the faint glow along its body seeming to pulse just a little brighter.
âYou are allowing me,â it says quietly.
Not asking.
Understanding.
Accepting.
Your breath stutters. Thatâs not what youâ âI will,â it continues, voice lowering, something almost reverent slipping into it now. âI will make you happy.â
A promise.
Not a challenge. Not a doubt. A promise. It moves closer. Slow this time. Intentional. Like it doesnât want to startle youâlike itâs learned that much at least.
Its hand lifts, hovering near you for just a moment before settling lightly against your cheek, tilting your face just enough so you canât look away. âYou will not feel pain like that again,â it murmurs. âI will not allow it.â
Your heart pounds against your ribs. Its thumb brushes just beneath your eyeâwhere your tears had been earlier, where they still threaten now.
âI will give you everything you require.â
A pause. Then softerââAnd everything you do not yet know you need.â Your breath catches. Because the way it says itâIt doesnât sound like a threat.
It sounds like devotion. Something you have never had before.
Complete.
Unyielding.
Terrifying.
Its hand lingers for just a second longer before pulling back slowly, like itâs reluctant to lose the contact. But it does. And despite everythingâevery thought, every memory, every reason you shouldnâtâYou miss it.
The realization hits almost immediately.
Sharp.
Unwelcome.
Your stomach clenches as your gaze drops, your fingers twitching faintly at your sides like they donât know what to do without something thereâwithout it there. You hate that.
You hate how quickly your body betrays you. Because the moment you look back at itâYou remember. Just how inhumanly beautiful it is. The faint glow beneath its skin, the way its eyes catch the dim light of the cave, the sharpness of its features softened only by the way it looks at youâlike youâre something precious. Something worth everything itâs done.
Your chest aches. because you knowâyou knowâ If things were differentâŚIf it hadnât done what it didâif it hadnât taken everything from you in the name of loving youâyou could have fallen.
Easily.
Dangerously.
You can see it so clearly it makes your throat tighten. The attention. The devotion. The way it learns you, watches you, adjusts itself for you.
No hesitation. No doubt. Just⌠certainty. And thatâs the problem. Because even nowâEven knowing what it is. What itâs done. Your heart stutters anyway.
Weak.
Confused.
Your fingers curl into your palms, grounding yourself as your jaw tightens, trying to push the feeling down before it can take root. Because you know how this ends. You know where this goes. Youâre alone. Isolated.
And itâs the only thing here.
The only voice.
The only presence.
The only touch.
And if it keeps going like thisâ if it keeps looking at you like that, speaking to you like that, giving and giving and givingâyour resistance wonât last forever.
It canât.
Humans arenât built for that. Your heart will bend. Slowly. Reluctantly. Until one dayâIt wonât feel like bending at all. Itâll feel natural.
Wanted.
And that thought terrifies you more than anything else. Because no matter how much you fight itâno matter how much you want to hate itâyou can already feel it starting.
That subtle shift. That dangerous pull. And one dayâyour heart wonât just flutter for it.
Itâll choose it.
ââ
After that day, things shift. Not all at once.
Not in any way you can point to and say this is where it changed. But something does. And once you notice itâyou canât unsee it. It tries harder. Thatâs the first thing. More deliberate. More attentive. Like itâs taken your wordsâmake me happyâand carved them into something permanent. Something it measures itself against.
It brings you more.
More gifts. Not just the strange, glittering things from the ocean floor, but things you can actually use. Clothes in different textures, different styles. Softer fabrics. Warmer ones. Things that almost feel like they were chosen with thoughtâlike itâs learning your preferences the more you exist here.
And the foodâIt changes too. Fish is no longer the only option. It starts bringing crabs, cracking their shells open for you before handing them over. Shrimp, peeled with careful precision. Things that feel closer to what you used to eatâwhat you remember eating.
What you used to be. And slowlyâwithout realizing when it startedâyou stop flinching every time it gets close. You stop watching it like itâs something that might snap at any second.
You stop⌠expecting the worst. It happens in small moments. You laugh onceâquiet, surprised at yourselfâwhen it says something unintentionally funny, misunderstanding a phrase, or repeating something you said earlier in the wrong context.
You freeze after. Like youâve done something wrong. But it doesnât react badly. If anythingâit seems⌠pleased.
Encouraged.
And after thatâIt happens again.And again. You smile when it returns from hunting. Not every time. But enough that you notice.
Enough that it notices too.
Its movements grow lighter when it sees it, its presence less heavy, less overwhelmingâlike itâs learned that this is something good. Something it should seek out. And the realization creeps in, slow and suffocatingâthis is easy.
Too easy.
Thisâthis quiet routine, this constant presence, this unwavering attentionâthis is what you wanted.
With him.
With your fiancĂŠ. A life where you were chosen. Where you were cared for. Where you didnât have to question where you stood.
And nowâyou have it.
Just not with the person you were supposed to. With the thing that took him from you. The thing that ate him. Your stomach twists every time that thought resurfaces.
But it doesnât stop the rest of it.
It laughs sometimes. Or at leastâits version of laughing. A trill.Soft. Warbled. Strangeâbut not unpleasant. You find yourself recognizing the sound, learning the difference between its curiosity, its satisfaction, and its amusement. Learning it. And it learns you. What you like. What you donât. When to come closer. When to give you space. It supplies you with everything. Clothes. Food. Water.
Comfort.
Stability.
Consistency.
Things you didnât realize you were starving for until you had them. And the worst partâthe most dangerous partâi s how your body responds. Every time it looks at you, something in your stomach flutters. Every time it touches youâbrief, careful, almost reverentâyour heart stumbles in your chest like itâs trying to catch up. You tell yourself itâs nothing.
A reaction.
A result of being isolated. Of having no one else. You tell yourself it doesnât mean anything. It canât mean anything.
Because if it doesâif you let yourself believe it doesâthen everything else becomes harder to hold onto.
Your anger.
Your grief.
Your reasons.
So you push it down.
Ignore it.
Pretend it isnât happening. But if you werenât so determined to fight itâif you werenât so focused on not letting it winâyou might have noticed soonerâŚjust how deep youâve already fallen.
ââ
The day starts like any other.
You wake slowly, consciousness pulling you up from sleep in uneven waves, your body still heavy, still warm from the nest beneath you. For a moment, you donât move. You just breatheâslow, steadyâlistening to the familiar silence of the cave.
You can feel it already .
That presence.
Watching.
Your eyes open, and there it is.
Itâs already awake. Of course it is.
It always is.
Perched just at the edge of the briny pool, half-submerged, half-sprawled across the smooth stone, its glowing eyes fixed on you like youâre the first thing it wanted to see. Like youâre the only thing it ever wants to see.
Youâve gotten used to it.
Mostly.
It doesnât make your heart race in fear anymore. Not like it used to. Now it just makes something else stir.
Something quieter.
Something more dangerous.
Your gaze drifts past it brieflyâand lands on your breakfast.
Still alive.
Of course it is.
The crab in its grasp struggles weakly, legs twitching, claws snapping uselessly at the air as it tries to escape.âYou wake,â it says, voice low, steadyâlike itâs been waiting for that exact moment. You push yourself up slightly, rubbing at your eyes as you sit upright, your hair a mess, your thoughts still slow to catch up.
It doesnât wait.
With practiced ease, it cracks the crab in half. The sound is sharp, echoing faintly off the cave walls, followed by the quiet, efficient way it begins to clean itâdiscarding the shell, separating what you can eat from what you canât.
Itâs careful.
Always careful with you.
âHurry,â it murmurs, handing the prepared pieces over, its claws brushing your fingers for only a second longer than necessary. âEat.âYou take it automatically, the warmth of the food grounding, familiar at this point.
âWe have plans today.â You nod without thinking, already bringing the food to your mouth, your body moving on habit more than anything else.
But thenâthe words catch up to you.
Plans.
Your chewing slows.
Your brows knit together slightly as you glance back up at it.
ââŚplans?â you repeat, voice rough from sleep.
Itâs already watching you again.
It always is.
Thereâs something different in the way it looks at you now, though. Something⌠expectant. Almost eager.
Your stomach twists. âWhat do you meanââ you start, lowering the food slightly, confusion creeping in. It cuts you off before you can finish. A small shake of its head. A quiet, firm grunt. âEat.â
The word is softer this timeâbut no less final. Your lips press together. You hesitate. Then sigh quietly and take another bite, though your mind is no longer on the food. Plans. You canât remember the last time you had plans. Anything beyond this cave. Beyond the routine.
Eat. Sleep. Talk. Watch. Repeat.
Your eyes flick back up to it again, suspicion and curiosity mixing uneasily in your chest.
It notices.
Of course it does.
But it doesnât explain.
Doesnât elaborate.
It just watches you eat, patientâwaiting for you to finish like whatever it has planned canât start until you do. And for the first time since youâve been hereâyou feel something unfamiliar settle in your chest.
Not fear.
Not quite.
Something lighter.
Something uncertain.
Anticipation.
âCome. Get in the water,â it says, holding its hands out toward you. You glance down at your clothes before looking back at it, brows furrowing.
âI donât have toââ
âNo.â
It cuts you off before you can even finish. âGet in the water,â it repeats, more firmly this time, staring you down.
You huff softly, crossing your arms.
âI donât know⌠anyone whoâs ever gotten into the water after being told to by a siren or something never comes back out.â Its brows knit together at that, clearly not understanding. After all, youâve gotten into the pool with it plenty of timesâwashing yourself, letting it help you even.
Moments you secretly look forward to.
If only for the excuse to feel its touch.
âGet in,â it grunts again, frustration slipping into its tone.
You roll your eyes.
âFine,â you mutter, pushing yourself up from your nest. You make your way over carefully, steps slow and uneven against the smooth rock so you donât slip. But the moment you reach the edgeâ It moves. Grabbing you with ease, like you weigh nothing, pulling you straight into its space.
A small gasp leaves you as your body presses against its, your hands instinctively bracing against its chest. Up close, itâs⌠overwhelming. Youâre not exactly small by human standards, but compared to itâYou feel tiny.
You hate how much you like that.
âCanât you at least tell me what weâre doing?â you ask, glancing up at it, trying to ignore how close it is. Its gaze lingers on you for a moment.
ThenââYou need sunlight, no?â
The words hit you all at once. Your breath stutters, your fingers tightening where they press against it, your body going still in its hold. âYouââ you blink up at it, searching its face like you misheard. âYouâre taking me⌠up?â It watches you carefully, like itâs gauging your reactionâlike your answer matters more than anything else right now. A slow nod. âYes.â
Simple.
Like itâs obvious.
Like it was always going to happen.
Your chest tightens painfully.
Because you did say that.
You remember it clearlyâfrustrated, angry, desperate for something normal. You told it you needed sunlight, needed something other than this endless dark or youâd die here.
And itâIt listened.
It remembered.
Itâs doing something about it.
Your throat feels dry.
ââŚand youâre just now telling me?â you mutter, though thereâs no real bite to it, your voice quieter than you intended.
It tilts its head slightly, confused by the tone rather than the words. âYou said you needed it,â it replies, like thatâs the only explanation required. Like your needs are reason enough. Your gaze drops for a second, your thoughts tangling over themselves in a way you donât like.
Because that shouldnât matter.
It shouldnât feel like anything.
But it does.
You swallow, forcing your attention back to the presentâto the fact that you are currently being held against something that could drag you into the depths without effort. ââŚand Iâm supposed to just trust you with that?â you ask, glancing back up at it.
âYou are with me.â
The way it says itâso certain. So absolute.
It makes your stomach flip in a way that has nothing to do with fear. You huff softly, rolling your eyes just a bit, even as your grip on it tightens slightly. âYeah, thatâs what Iâm worried about,â you mumble under your breath.
Another pause.
Then a quiet trill.
Amusement. It shifts its hold on you, one arm firm around your waist, pulling you closerâcloser than necessary, your chest pressing against it, your breath catching at the sudden proximity. âYou will not drown,â it says, softer now, like itâs trying to reassure you. âI will not allow it.âYour heart stumbles. Thereâs something about the way it says things like thatâlike itâs not a promise.
Like itâs a fact.
ââŚyou better not,â you mutter, but thereâs no real resistance left in your voice now. Not when your curiosity is already getting the better of you. Not when the thought of sunlight is sitting heavy in your chest. You barely have time to brace yourself before it moves.
Fast. The water surges up around you as it pulls you in completely, the cold rushing over your skin as your breath catches instinctively, your arms wrapping tighter around it without thinking.
It doesnât stop.
It dives.
Then shiftsâupward.
Your ears pop faintly, your lungs tightening as the darkness of the cave begins to fade the further it takes you, the faint glow replaced by something else.
Something brighter.
Something warmer.
Light.
Real light.
Your heart pounds harder as it grows, your body tense, your mind racingâuntil suddenlyâyou break through the surface. Air hits your lungs in a sharp gasp, your head spinning slightly as brightness floods your vision, forcing your eyes shut for a second before you blink them open again. The sky stretches endlessly above you.
Blue.
So blue.
Itâs blinding.
After so long in darknessâ Itâs blinding. Your breath comes out shaky as you take it in. The ocean moves differently out hereâwide, open, endless. Nothing like the cave. Nothing like the life youâve been trapped in. ââŚoh,â you breathe, barely more than a whisper. Behind you, it holds you easily, one arm wrapped around you to keep you afloat.
âYou like it,â it murmurs near your ear.
You donât answer right away.
Instead, you stare at itâreally stare at it.
This is the closest youâve ever been, face to face, with nothing between you but the space you havenât dared to close. And nowânow even that feels too far. Itâs beautiful. Not in the way humans are. Not in any way you can explain without it sounding wrong. Itâs something deeper. Sharper. Something that feels like it was never meant to be seen this close, this clearlyâlike staring too long might burn the image into you permanently.
And maybe it already has.
Your breath comes out uneven.
âYeah,â you pant softlyâthough youâre not sure what youâre agreeing to anymore.
The word barely leaves your lips before youâre moving.
Before you can think.
Before you can stop yourself.
You hesitate just inches away, your lips hovering over itsâyour heart pounding so loudly youâre sure it can hear it, feel it, taste it in the water around you.
Thereâs a moment.
A fragile, breakable momentâand then you close the distance.
Slowly.
Carefully.
Like youâre testing something you donât fully understand. Your lips press against its.
It reacts. Immediately.
Its hand comes up, claws gentle despite what they are, cradling the back of your head as it presses you closer, deeper into it.
A soft, unfamiliar sound leaves itâ a trill.
Low. Vibrating.
It hums through you, through your chest, your lungs, settling somewhere deep inside you in a way that makes your breath hitch. Another follows. And another.
Not quite human. Not quite anything youâve ever heard before.
But you understand it anyway.
You feel it. Its grip tightens just slightly, not enough to hurtâjust enough to keep you there, to make sure you donât pull away too soon. And you donât. You donât want to. For a momentâyou forget everything else.
The cave.
The ship.
The people you lost.
What it did.
What it is.
All of it fades under the weight of thisâthis strange, consuming closeness.
Untilâyou feel it.
That shift.
That awareness creeping back in.
Youâre not alone. You pull back just slightly, breath uneven as your eyes flick awayâand land on them. Shapes in the water.
Multiple.
Watching.
Your stomach drops.
Its cove.
They followed. Theyâre all thereâjust beneath the surface, their glowing eyes fixed on you, their expressions unmistakable even from a distance.
Glee.
Excitement.
Approval.
Like theyâve just witnessed something important. Something expected. Your breath stutters as you freeze, your body suddenly too aware, too exposed under their gaze.
Slowlyâyou look back at it.
And itâs still close.
Still holding you.
Still watching you like youâve just given it everything itâs ever wanted. Your cheeks burn as it sinks inâwhat you just did. What you let happen. This is supposed to be your enemy.
Notânot this.
âSorry,â you mutter quickly, the word slipping out before you can stop it. You glance away from it, eyes darting up to the open sky like it might somehow steady you, ground you back into something familiar.
You swallow. âIt was justâ I was justâŚâOverwhelmed. Thatâs what you settle on.
Thatâs what you tell yourself. The sun, the air, the freedomâafter so long in that cave, anyone would react like that. Anyone would lose their head for a second.
It doesnât mean anything.
It canât mean anything. You cling to that.
Desperately. âIs there a way for me to⌠um, stretch out?â you ask after a moment, your voice a little too casual, a little too forced. Itâs a stupid question.
Youâre surrounded by nothing but open water, endless in every direction. You could stretch out however you want. But thatâs not really what youâre asking. You justâneed to say something. Anything. To break whatever that was. To put space back between you.
It doesnât question it.
âOf course,â it replies easily. And before you can even process what it meansâ It moves.
Its body shifts beneath you, long and fluid, stretching out across the surface of the water with effortless grace. Its tail extends behind it, cutting through the waves while its upper body steadies, creating a solid, unmoving base beneath you. And thenâIt guides you.
Carefully.
Lifting you just enough to reposition you until youâre lying across it.
On top of it.
Your breath catches.
Because itâs⌠stable. More stable than you expected. Its body beneath you is firm, unmoving despite the gentle sway of the ocean around you, its arms settling lightly at your sidesânot trapping you, just⌠there.
Holding.
Supporting.
Your hands press lightly against it at first, unsure, testing
But when it doesnât shift, doesnât drop youâYou slowly relax.
Stretching out.
Actually stretching out.
Your muscles pull and loosen in ways they havenât in daysâmaybe longerâyour back arching slightly as a quiet sigh slips past your lips without permission.
The sun warms your skin.
The breeze brushes against you.
The ocean rocks you gently.
And beneath youâIt stays perfectly still. Like it was made for this. Like it was made to hold you. Your eyes flutter shut for just a second.
Just a second.
But itâs enough for something in your chest to loosen. To soften. And when you open them again, you donât look at it. You look at the sky.
Because thatâs easier.
Because if you look at it right nowâyouâre not sure what youâll feel. Youâre not sure if you can even handle how you feel.
Itâs too much.
Too tangled.
Too⌠wrong.
Youâve been with this creature forâwhat? Weeks? Months? Years? You donât know. Time doesnât exist the same way down there. Thereâs no sun to rise or set, no clock ticking away in the background, no reminders that the world is still moving without you.
Just it.
And you.
Over and over again.
At first, you counted. You tried to keep trackâmarking time by its hunting trips, by how often you slept, by how many times it brought you food or gifts or something new to fill the emptiness.
But eventuallyâŚyou stopped.
Because it didnât matter.
Because there was nothing to count toward. And nowânow youâre here. Lying on top of it, stretched out under an open sky you havenât seen in what feels like a lifetime, your body warm, your mind quieter than itâs been inâŚtoo long. Your chest rises slowly, your fingers curling slightly where they rest against it, feeling the subtle strength beneath your touch.
You should hate this.
You should hate it.
After everything it did.
After everything it took.
But the longer you stay hereâthe harder that becomes. Because it hasnât hurt you. Not once.
It feeds you.
Clothes you.
Listens to you.
Remembers what you need before you even say it again. Looks at you like youâre⌠everything. And thatâs dangerous. Because part of youâa small, quiet, traitorous partâis starting to lean into it. Your throat tightens slightly at the thought. So you speak. Before you can think too hard about it.
âHow long has it beenâŚ?â you ask softly, your voice almost getting lost in the sound of the waves.
You swallow.
ââŚsince, um⌠everything?âYou donât say it. You donât have to.
The ship.
The sinking.
Your life before all of this.
It knows.
You feel the shift beneath you.
Subtle. Its body stills just a bit more, like the question settles deeper than the others youâve asked. For a momentâIt doesnât answer. The ocean moves around you both, gentle, endless, the sun warm against your skin as the silence stretches just long enough to make your chest tighten again.
ThenââTime moves differently below,â it says slowly.
Carefully.
Like itâs choosing its words in a way it usually doesnât. âWe do not measure it as you do.â That doesnât help. You frown slightly, turning your head just enough to glance down at it.
ââŚthatâs not really an answer.â Another pause.
Longer this time.
Like itâs thinking.
Like itâs trying.
âIf I were to speak in a way you understandâŚâ it begins again, quieter now, âit has been⌠many cycles of your sun.â Your brows knit. âHow many is many?âIts gaze shifts brieflyâup toward the sky, like itâs using it to measure something it rarely pays attention to.
Then back to you.
ââŚmore than you would consider short,â it says.
âAnd less than you would consider a lifetime.â
That doesnât make you feel better. If anythingâit makes your chest feel heavier. Because that meansâŚyouâve been gone long enough for things to change. For people to move on. For the world you knew to keep spinning without you. Your fingers curl slightly against it. ââŚso Iâve just been gone,â you murmur, more to yourself than to it.
Forgotten.
Buried.
A tragedy people talked about for a while before letting it fade into something distant.
Its hand moves thenâslow, deliberateâresting lightly against your side. âYou have not been gone,â it says. Thereâs something in its voice. Something firm. Something that doesnât allow for argument.
âYou have been with me.âYour breath hitsches.
You donât know why that hits the way it does. But it does. Your gaze shifts away again, back to the sky, because thatâs easier than looking at it right now.
ââŚthatâs not the same thing,â you whisper.
But it doesnât respond. It just stays there beneath youâsteady, unmoving, present. Like it has nowhere else it would rather be. And the worst part isâyouâre starting to feel the same way. Not that youâll ever admit that.
Not out loud.
Not to it.
Not even to yourself, really. You let the thought pass as quickly as it came, burying it beneath everything else you should be feeling instead.
Anger.
Grief.
Resentment.
Those are safer. Those make more sense.
So you hold onto thoseâeven as you stay right where you are.
You spend a few more minutes like that, stretched out across it, letting the warmth of the sun sink into your skin. Itâs different up here. Alive in a way the cave never is. The light shifts slowly, the gold bleeding into softer hues, the sky deepening as the sun begins its descent.
You watch it.
Really watch it.
Like youâre afraid if you blink, itâll be gone again for another unknowable stretch of time.
The warmth fades gradually, slipping away little by little until all thatâs left is a gentle heat clinging to your skin, a memory of something brighter. Your chest tightens unexpectedly. Because you missed this. More than you realized. More than you let yourself think about.
âThank you,â you say quietly. The words come out before you can stop them. Before you can question them. Before you can take them back. And for a momentâyou donât even know why you said it. Because it doesnât make sense. It shouldnât make sense.
This thingâthis creatureâit ruined your life. Took everything from you. Left you with nothing but itself. And yetâright nowâwith the sky stretching endlessly above you and the last of the sunlight warming your skinâyou feelâŚGrateful.
The realization makes something twist uncomfortably in your chest. Because you shouldnât feel that. You know you shouldnât.
But you do anyway.
And you hate that. Hate how easily it slips in. How natural it feels. It doesnât respond with words. It rarely does, when things get like this. InsteadâIts head dips, brushing against you, its nose nudging just behind your ear in a soft, almost absent gesture.
A nuzzle.
Instinctive.
Affectionate.
The contact is cool compared to your warmed skin, sending a small shiver down your spine despite yourself. A low trill follows, quieter than before, softerâsomething that hums against you rather than through you.
You donât pull away.
You donât tell it to stop.
You just⌠stay there.
Watching as the sun finally dips below the horizon, the last sliver of light disappearing into the ocean. Darkness begins to creep back in.
Slow.
Inevitable.
But this timeâit doesnât feel as suffocating.
Not with it still beneath you.
Not with its presence grounding you in a way the light just did. And that thoughtâthat quiet, dangerous thoughtâlingers long after the sun is gone. âWe should head back,â you whisper, your voice quieter than you intendâstrained, pulled tight by something you donât quite have the words for. Itâs not just the fading light. Itâs not just the cold slowly replacing the sunâs warmth.
Itâs something deeper.
Something heavier.
The kind of feeling that settles in your chest and refuses to be named. It doesnât move right away. âYou do not want to,â it says softly, like it already knows the answer before you even give it.
Its tail flicks lazily beneath the surface, sending a small splash of water up over both of you. The droplets cling to your skin, cool against the lingering warmth, and you blink at the sensation. For a brief, almost ridiculous moment, you thinkâThis must be what it feels like to sit on a whale. The thought nearly makes you laugh.
Nearly.
But the feeling in your chest is too thick for it to fully form. Your fingers curl slightly against it instead. âNo,â you admit, the word breaking softer than you expect. A small, pathetic sound slips past your lips as you sniff, your throat tightening. You donât want to go back.
Not to the cave.
Not to the dark.
Not to the place where time doesnât exist and the world feels so⌠small. Up here, everything feels endless.
Open.
Free.
And you knowâthe second you go back, that feeling will disappear again. Swallowed whole by stone and shadow. âBut we have to,â you continue, forcing the words out like they make sense, like theyâre logical, like theyâre not just you trying to brace yourself before you lose something you barely got to have.
âThereâs no point in staying. The sun has set after all.â Your voice wavers at the end despite your efforts. You swallow hard, blinking rapidly as you stare out at the horizonânow dark, the last traces of light completely gone.
âLetâs go back home.â
The word feels strange on your tongue.
Home.
You donât know why you said it. You donât know if you meant it.
But itâs out there now.
And it hears it. You feel the shift immediately.
Subtleâbut there. Its hold on you tightens just slightly, not enough to trap you, just enough to acknowledge what you said. To hold onto it. For a moment, it doesnât move. Like itâs giving you time. Like itâs letting you change your mind.
Or maybeâŚ
Like itâs memorizing this. The way you look under the open sky. The way you sound when you say home and mean somewhere it exists.
ThenâIt hums.
Low.
Soft.
Something almost content slipping into the sound. âAs you wish,â it murmurs. And this timeâ It doesnât hesitate. Its body shifts beneath you, fluid and powerful, turning effortlessly in the water. One arm secures itself around you more firmly, pulling you closer against its chest as the other cuts through the surface.
âHold,â it says quietly.
You donât argue.
You canât.
Your arms wrap around it instinctively, fingers gripping tighter than beforeâlike youâre afraid of something, though youâre not sure what. The ocean moves differently now. Faster. The calm surface giving way to the pull of depth as it dives.
The last thing you see is the dark sky aboveâEndless.
Distant.
Before it disappears. Swallowed by the sea.
Cold rushes over you as youâre pulled under, the light fading quicker this time, your body pressing closer to it as your lungs instinctively tense.
But itâs there.
Steady.
Unyielding.
Guiding you back down.
Back to where it waits.
Back to the place you called home.
And as the faint glow of the cave begins to reappear in the distanceâyou realize something that makes your chest tighten all over again. You didnât say that just to comfort it.
You said it becauseâŚa part of you meant it.
ââ
After the kiss, things were⌠different.
Subtle at first.
Then not so subtle at all.
Something had shifted between youâsomething unspoken, something neither of you addressed, yet both of you seemed to understand. The air felt heavier.
Warmer.
Charged in a way you didnât quite know how to name.
It lingered in every glance, every touch, every moment where silence stretched just a little too long. Bathing became⌠complicated. What used to be carefulâalmost clinicalâchanged. Before, it kept its distance, movements slow and deliberate, always mindful of you, always giving you space like it feared crossing some invisible line.
Nowânow it stayed close.
Too close.
Its body pressing lightly against your back as its clawed hands worked the liquid soap over your skin, spreading it in slow, thorough strokes. The slick glide of its touch, paired with the faint drag of its claws, sent unfamiliar shivers down your spine. Its scales brushed against you more often now.
Soft.
Unexpectedly soft.
They grazed your skin with every small movement, smooth and cool, yet somehow warming the longer they lingered. You told yourself it was accidental. That it didnât understand. That this was just how it was. But deep downâyou knew better. Because it watched you.
Always.
Closer now. More attentive.
Like it was studying every reaction, every breath, every slight shift in your body. And you hatedâhow aware of it you were.
Outside of that, it touched you more too. Not in ways that frightened you. Not like before, when every movement felt overwhelming and inescapable. Now it was⌠softer. Intentional. A hand resting on your shoulder when it spoke. Fingers brushing yours when it handed you food. A lingering touch at your wrist, your arm, your backânever enough to trap you, but enough to remind you it was there.
That it was there.
Sometimesâit would ask.
âMay I?â
Its voice quieter than usual, almost hesitant in a way that didnât suit something so powerful. You always knew what it meant. Your nest.
Your space.
Closer.
And sometimesâyou said yes.
You didnât know why. Maybe it was the loneliness. Maybe it was the way it looked at you when it askedâlike your answer actually mattered.
Or maybeâŚ
Maybe it was because you were starting to want it there. On those nights, it would climb up behind you, careful despite its size, adjusting itself so you were comfortably settled against it. Half of its tail would remain in the water, shifting slowly beneath the surface, while the rest of it curved around you. Its arms would wrap around youâsecure, firm, but never tight enough to hurt. Just enough to hold you.Like you were something fragile.
Something important.
Something it couldnât afford to lose. At first, you stayed tense. Rigid in its hold. Waiting for the moment it would become too much. But it never did. It only⌠stayed.
Still.
And eventuallyâyou relaxed.
Just a little.
Enough to let your weight rest against it.
Enough to let your breathing even out. On nights where sleep refused to come, when your thoughts grew too loud in the dark, it would do something else.
Something new.
It would sing.
Softly.
Low, melodic trills weaving into something almost hauntingly beautiful. Not quite a human song, not bound by words or structure, but something deeperâsomething that resonated in your chest, in your bones.
You didnât understand it.
But you felt it.
And slowlyâyour body would loosen.
Your thoughts would quiet. And you would fall asleep to the sound of it, wrapped in something that shouldâve terrified youâbut didnât. Not anymore.
And that was the problem.
Because despite all of itâdespite the warmth, the closeness, the way your body had begun to respond instead of resistâyou never kissed it again.
You couldnât.
That momentâŚit felt too final. Too real. Like crossing a line you wouldnât be able to uncross. Because if you didâif you let yourself do that againâthen youâd have to face what this was becoming. What you were becoming. And you werenât ready for that. But just because you werenât readyâdidnât mean it wasnât.
Rafayelâyour creatureâwas patient.
It had to be.
Patience was what made it a good hunter. What allowed it to wait in the dark, unmoving, unseen, until the perfect moment to strike. What allowed it to gather its kin, to plan, to execute something as massive as sinking a ship without rushing, without error. Patience meant survival. Patience meant control. But with youâthat patience began to thin.
Not gone.
Never gone.
But strained.
Stretched tighter than it had ever been before. Because you had kissed it.
And thatâŚthat meant something.
It knew that much.
It had learned enough about humansâabout youâto understand that. Kissing was not meaningless to your kind. It was not something given freely, not something done without thought. It was reserved. Intentional.
For mates. For those you wished to be mated to.
And youâyou had done that. You had leaned into it. Closed the distance. Pressed your lips to its like you wanted to. Like you chose to. And yetâyou never did it again. You pulled back. Hesitated. Built walls where there hadnât been any before. It didnât understand that.
Not fully.
Because in its worldâthings were simple.
You wanted something?
You took it. You claimed it.
There was no waiting, no questioning, no hesitation born from doubt or fear or morality. Its kind did not hold back. They did not deny themselves. To hesitate was to risk losing. To fear was to invite death.
And yetâhere it was.
Holding back.
For you.
It watched you constantly, more than before. Not in the same distant, observing way it once hadâbut closer. Sharper.
Studying.
Learning.
Trying to understand why you pulled away from something it knew you felt. Because it could feel it. In the way your body responded to its touch. In the way your breath shifted when it got too close. In the way your heart betrayed you every time it held you just a little longer than necessary. You wanted it.
It was sure of that. But you restrained yourself. Caged it behind something it could not see, could not touch, could not tear apart the way it would any other obstacle. And that frustrated it.
Deeply.
Its tail would flick sharper when you turned away too quickly. Its hands would linger longer when you let it touch you, like it was testing how far it could go before you pulled back again. Its voice would drop, quieter, more controlledâlike it was forcing itself to remain calm. Because it didnât want to hurt you. That much was⌠undeniable. Humans were fragile.
You were fragile.
Soft in ways its kind was not. Your skin bruised easily. Your bones could break. Your body could be damaged with far less force than it was used to exerting. It had learned that early.
The way it handled youâcareful.
Measured.
Always aware of the strength it held back. Because it would be so easy to harm you.
Too easy.
And that thought alone was enough to keep its restraint intact. For now. So it stayed gentle. Even as something deeper in it stirred.
Even as that instinctâancient and unyieldingâpushed against the limits it had set for your sake. Even as it watched you lie beside it, just within reachâclose enough to touch. Close enough to take. But not close enough to have. Not yet. You donât necessarily like it sleeping in your nest.
Not because of what it is.
Not because of how close it gets.
But because of how it has to be there.
Half of its body always hangs off the edge, its tail disappearing back into the water while the rest of it curls awkwardly around you.
It looks⌠wrong.
Uncomfortable.
Unnatural.
Like something that was never meant to rest like this.
And every time you notice itâevery time you feel the slight shift of its weight, the way it adjusts itself just a little too oftenâyou canât help the twist of guilt in your chest. It doesnât complain. Not once. But you see it anyway. The way its movements are more careful when it settles. The way it stills completely once youâve gotten comfortable, like it refuses to move again in case it disturbs you. Like your rest matters more than its own.
ââŚare you comfortable?â you ask one night, your voice quieter than usual as you shift slightly in its hold, glancing back at it. Its eyes meet yours almost instantly.
Always attentive.
Always there.
âItâs sufficient,â it replies. The same calm, steady tone. Like thatâs the end of it. Like it doesnât even consider anything beyond that. Your brows knit slightly.
Sufficient.
Not comfortable.
Not good.
Just⌠enough. And you donât like that.
Not when itâs done nothing but make sure youâre more than comfortable. Not when itâs given you everything youâve asked forâyour nest, your clothes, your water, your space.
Not when it bends itselfâliterallyâto fit into a world that wasnât made for it. For you. ââŚthatâs not the same thing,â you mutter, more to yourself than to it. It tilts its head slightly, watching you, waiting.
You hesitate.
Because you donât know how to say it. Donât know how to admit that you care. That youâve been paying attention. That you donât like seeing it like this. Your fingers curl slightly into the fur beneath you. âI justâŚâ you trail off, exhaling softly. âYou donât have to stay up here, you know.âThe words come out more awkward than you intended.â You could just⌠stay in the water. Or something.â
A pause.
âI stay where you are.â
Simple.
Definite.
Like there was never another option to begin with. Your chest tightens again. âThat doesnât mean you have to be uncomfortable,â you push, glancing back at it again, a little more insistence in your voice this time. It watches you for a moment longer than usual.
Quiet.
Observing.
Thenâslowlyâ its hand lifts, brushing lightly against your side, grounding. âI am not harmed by this,â it says. âThatâs not what Iââ you stop yourself, frustration bubbling up in a way you donât expect. Because it doesnât get it. Or maybe it doesâand just doesnât care.
âI just want you to be comfortable,â you finish instead, quieter now. Thereâs a beat of silence after that. A long one. Its gaze lingers on you, something unreadable flickering beneath the surface before it settles again into something softer. Something⌠quieter. Thenâ âI am,â it says. Your brows furrow again. âYou just saidââ
âWhen I am here,â it interrupts, voice low, steady. Its hand shifts slightly, resting more fully against you now. âWith you.â
ThatâŚ
That shuts you up.
Completely.
Your throat tightens, words catching before they can form.
Because you donât know how to argue with that. You donât know if you even can. So insteadâyou go quiet.
Turning your gaze away again, back toward the dim glow of the cave walls. But you donât move away from it. You donât tell it to leave. And after a momentâalmost unconsciouslyâyou shift just a little closer.â Will you tell me more about you? About your kind?â you ask softly, your voice cutting through the quiet of the cave. You donât expect much.
Not really.
Every time youâve tried before, itâs given you fragmentsâpieces of something bigger, something you canât quite put together no matter how hard you try. Stillâyou ask anyway. Because you want to understand it. And that realization alone makes something in your chest twist uncomfortably.
For a moment, it doesnât answer.
Its fingers continue their slow, absent tracing along your side, its gaze fixed somewhere beyond youâlike itâs thinking, like itâs deciding how much to give. ThenââMy kind lives as all things born of the sea do,â it begins, its voice low, steady, carrying that same strange cadence that never quite sounds human.
âWe hunt. We kill. We eat.â
Simple.
Blunt.
Unapologetic.
Your stomach tightens slightly at the words, but you stay quiet, letting it continue. âOur prey varies,â it goes on. âIt must. The sea does not promise consistency. One day, we eat fish. The nextâŚâ
It pauses.
Briefly.
Then its gaze flicks down to you.
âHumans.âYour stomach turns this time. Actually turns. A cold, uncomfortable feeling settling deep inside you.
âWe have never favored your kind,â it continues, almost idly. âYou are not very fatty. Not as sustaining.âThe way it says itâso casual. So matter-of-fact. Like itâs talking about something insignificant. âBut you are⌠interesting,â it adds, something shifting slightly in its tone. âYou run. You scream. You beg.â Your throat tightens. âWe find that amusing.â
Your fingers curl slightly against your nest.
âFish do not do so,â it continues. âThey cannot. They are simple. Predictable. They do not feel in the way you do.âThereâs something almost curious in its voice now.
Like itâs comparing. Like itâs always been comparing. You swallow hard, trying to push down the unease crawling up your spine. âAnd youâre just⌠telling me this?â you murmur, your voice quieter now, strained in a way you canât quite hide. It tilts its head slightly at that, like it doesnât understand the problem.
âYou asked,â it replies simply.
Right.
You did.
Your gaze drifts away for a moment, your mind tryingâand failingâto reconcile the creature that holds you so carefully with the one that just described hunting humans like itâs a game.
It continues before you can say anything else.
âMy kind can be considered the rulers of the sea,â it says, its voice shifting againâfirmer now, more certain.
âThere are creatures larger. Stronger, even. But none rule as we do.â
Your brows knit slightly.
âRule?â you echo.
It hums softly.
âWe maintain order,â it explains. âAs much as order can exist in something as vast as the sea.â
Its hand moves slightly, tracing along your arm now.
âThere are territories. Boundaries. Behaviors that must be enforced. Not all follow them willingly.âYour attention sharpens at that.
âSo youâre like⌠what? A king?â
Its lips twitch slightlyânot quite a smile, but close.âIf that is how your kind understands it.âAnd thenââI am the one they follow.â Thereâs no arrogance in it.
No boasting.
Just⌠truth.
Unshakable.
Certain.
Your breath catches slightly. You knew it was important. You knew it held power. But hearing it like thatâso plainlyâceels different.
âAnd when you accept my offer,â it continues, its gaze settling fully on you now, âyou will rule beside me.â
Your chest tightens instantly. There it is. Again. That word. When. Not if. Never if. Your jaw clenches slightly, but you donât interrupt.
âThere is not much to ruling,â it adds, almost dismissively. âThe sea does not bend to authority the way land does. Survival is the only constant.â
Its fingers still against your skin for a moment.
âBut there are rules,â it says more seriously now.âNecessary ones.â
Your brows furrow. âWhat kind of rules?â
Its eyes flicker slightlyâsomething deeper, darker passing through them before it answers. âThe kind that keep balance,â it says. âThe kind that prevent chaos from consuming everything.â ThatâŚThat doesnât really answer your question.
But the way it says itâyouâre not sure you want more detail. Not right now. âThat is why I exist,â it continues, its voice quieter now, closer. âTo enforce them.â
A pause.
ThenââYou will learn them.â Your stomach tightens again. âThis, I swear.â The finality in its tone leaves no room for argument.
No room for doubt.
And as you lay there, wrapped in its hold, listening to it speak so casually about a world you donât belong toâa world it fully expects you to become a part ofâyou canât help but feel like youâve just been given a glimpse into something far bigger than you ever realized. Something youâre already being pulled into. Whether youâre ready for itâor not.
Regardless of what you thinkâyouâre in your nestâyour bedâand youâre so, so sleepy.
It settles over you slowly at first, then all at once, heavy and unavoidable. Your limbs feel like theyâre sinking into the softness beneath you, your muscles loosening in a way they havenât in⌠you donât even know how long.
And behind youâRafayel.
Your creature.
Itâs there like it always is, large and steady, its presence wrapping around you in a way thatâs become far too familiar. One arm rests loosely over your waist, its touch light but grounding, while the rest of its body curves around you as best as it can.
Itâs warm.
Comforting.
Safe.
Your eyes begin to slip shut, your lashes growing heavy as your breathing evens out, slow and soft. You donât even try to fight itânot tonight. Not when your body is practically begging for rest.
Your thoughts blur. Your awareness dulls. And just as youâre about to fallâjust as you begin to sink into that quiet, weightless space between waking and sleepâIt speaks.
âI think itâs time for you to meet the cove.âYour eyes snap open. âWhat?âThe word comes out rough, barely more than a breath as your body tenses instinctively, sleep slipping through your fingers as quickly as it came.
For a moment, you donât move. Donât fully process it. Then it hits you. The cove. Your heart stutters in your chest as your mind flashes backâunwanted, immediate.
The surface.
The water.
Those shapes beneath it.
Watching.
Waiting.
Your stomach twists. Slowly, you shift in its hold, turning just enough to look back at it, your brows furrowing as confusion and unease settle deep into your bones.
ââŚwhat did you just say?â
Your voice is quieter now, but thereâs an edge to it. Something sharper. Something more awake. It doesnât hesitate. âYou will meet them,â it says, calm and certain, like this is something already decided, something inevitable. Like your opinion on it doesnât quite matter.
Your chest tightens.
âThe cove,â it continues, its gaze fixed on you, unwavering. âMy people.âYour throat goes dry. Those werenât just shapes in the water. Those werenât just passing figures. They were watching you. And nowâIt wants you to stand in front of them.
To be seen.
To be known.
Your body shifts, pulling slightly away from it without even realizing it, the comfort from moments ago now replaced with something colder. âIâŚâ you start, then stop, your thoughts scrambling to catch up. âI donât think I can do that.â
Itâs quiet.
Honest.
Your fingers curl into the fabric of your nest as your heart picks up, unease settling heavier in your chest. âI just got used to you,â you admit, frustration bleeding into your tone. âAnd now you want me to meet all of them?â Your voice tightens. âI donât even know what theyâll do.â
Your mind fills in the blanks for you.
What they are. What theyâve done. What theyâre capable of. It watches you.
Carefully.
ThenââThey will not harm you,â it says, its voice steady, firm in a way that doesnât allow room for doubt.
You let out a small, humorless breath.
âThatâs easy for you to say,â you mutter, glancing away. A pause. âI would not allow it,â it adds.And thatâThat makes you hesitate. Because thereâs something in its tone. Something certain.
Unyielding.
But stillâyour chest feels tight. Your thoughts too loud. âIâm not ready,â you say again, softer this time. And this timeâIt doesnât argue.
Not immediately.
Instead, its hand shifts slightly against you, grounding rather than holding, its touch lighter than before. âYou do not have to meet them now,â it says after a moment.
Your shoulders relaxâjust barely. âBut you will meet them soon.â And there it is. That inevitability again. That quiet promise you canât escape. Your breath slows, but sleep doesnât come back as easily now. Your mind lingers on it.
On them.
On what it means to be brought before something like that. And as you lay there, caught between exhaustion and unease, one thought settles heavier than the restâthis isnât just about meeting them.Itâs about being introduced.
Claimed.
Shown off.
And you donât know if that thought terrifies youâor something worse.
âBesides, youâve seen them before,â it says, like that alone should ease the tension coiling tight in your chest. âNow you simply have to interact with them.âLike that makes it better.
Like seeing shadows beneath the waterâwatching eyes that didnât blinkâwas the same as standing in front of them. Speaking to them. Being seen by them. âBut stillââ you start, your voice catching slightly as you try to push past the unease crawling up your spine. It doesnât let you. âShh.âThe sound is soft, but firm.
Final.
Its hand shifts, sliding up your arm, fingersâclawed and carefulâcoming to rest just beneath your jaw, tilting your head ever so slightly back toward it. Not forceful. Not rough. But guiding. Silencing. âThere is nothing else to discuss,â it murmurs, its voice low, steady, leaving no room for argument.
Your lips partâready to protest again, to try againâbut the words die before they can form. Because of the way itâs looking at you. Focused. Certain. Unmoving. Like this decision was made long before you even thought to question it.
âNow rest.â
Your chest rises slowly, uneven, your body caught somewhere between resisting and⌠not. Because youâre tired.
So tired.
And itâs still there. Still close. Still warm.
Its hand lingers for a moment longer beneath your jaw before slipping away, tracing down the side of your neck, your shoulderâslow, deliberateâuntil it settles once more around your waist. Pulling you back into it. Not tight enough to trap you. But enough that you feel it. Enough that you know itâs there.
Your body hesitates. Tense for just a moment longer. Thenâslowlyâ It gives in. Your eyes fall shut again, though this time itâs not as peaceful. Not as easy.
Your thoughts linger.
On the cove.
On the way it didnât even consider that you might refuse. And beneath all of thatâsomething quieter. Something more unsettling. The way you didnât fight harder.
Your breathing evens out again despite everything, exhaustion pulling you under whether you want it to or not. And as sleep finally drags you downâyou canât tell if the steady presence wrapped around you is whatâs comforting you.
Okay, I haven't posted in forever (I'm about to graduate, FINALLY), but I actually have three works in progress, so I'll let y'all decide which one I post first.
1. Eckles (from Villains Are Destined to Die) x male reader, in which reader is a freshman in college with no social life who is obsessed with the game of the novel and Eckles specifically. Reader makes a wish and somehow the next day Eckles is in his room, confused, still convinced he's a slave, and trying to kill reader.
2. Stalker male reader x Stalker TA (from this post), where reader falls in love with the TA of one of his classes after the TA gave him a little bit of attention and starts stalking him, not knowing he's also being watched.
3. The second part of Cornered (blind reader x male Tomie), in which I expand a bit more on the reader's increasing dependency on Tomie and how Tomie not just allows it, he encourages it (he absolutely loves reader being more and more dependent on him and makes sure to isolate reader and get rid of everyone who tries to get close, including his own clones)
All of this ended up being yandere x male reader, idk why, but we roll ig
Synopsis: you're still kidnapped! You're having a hard time coming to terms with that, Rafayel, or your creature rather, does its best to comfort you. It's going poorly I'm afraid.
A/n: Guys, read chapter one if you haven't already so that you'll understand what's happening! No smut this chapter. It will take me awhile to post chapter three due to the fact that I haven't started writing it... but enjoy!!
Though worried isnât the word youâd use to describe the look on its face.
NoâItâs sharper than that.
Tighter. It looks⌠defensive. And beneath thatâAngry.
Not fear. Not uncertainty. Irritation.
Like whatever just made that sound isnât something itâs afraid ofâjust something that shouldnât be here.
Shouldnât be interrupting it.
Its grip on you shifts again, more deliberate this time as it pulls you slightly behind it without fully letting go. The movement is subtle, but unmistakable.
Itâs possessive, claiming. Its tail slices through the water in a slow, controlled motion as its body angles toward the darkness deeper within the cave. Its gaze locks onto it, unblinking now, the faint glow in its eyes sharpening into something almost predatory.
The sound comes again. Closer.
It bares its teethâjust slightly. A warning.
Low and quiet, something like a growl rumbles from its chest, not meant for you. Meant for whatever is coming. And thenâWithout looking at youâ âStay behind me.â
Then something breaks the surface. A headâsleek, scaled, unfamiliarâemerges from the water with barely a sound. It pauses, blinking slowly, before lowering itself in a small, almost reverent bow. A soft trill followsâhigh, melodic, almost bird-like, echoing faintly against the cave walls.
You go still behind it. Your creature doesnât move at first. Then it answers.
A sound leaves its throatâlower, deeper, resonant in a way that vibrates through the stone beneath you. Itâs not quite a trill, not quite a growlâsomething in between, layered, ancient. It hums with something you donât understand, something that makes your chest tighten just from hearing it. The smaller creature shifts closerâcurious, cautiousâbut before it can get too near, your creature flicks its tail sharply through the water.
A warning. The smaller one stills instantly.
Its eyesâlarge, reflectiveâlift. And land on you. You suck in a breath. It doesnât look surprised. If anythingâIt looks like it was expecting you.
A strange silence stretchesâthen the sounds start again. A series of trills and low, vibrating tones pass between them, quick and fluid, like a conversation moving faster than you can follow. The smaller creatureâs voice stays light, lilting, rising and falling like a question.
Your creatureâs reply is different.
Deeper.
Heavier.
Each sound it makes seems to press into the air, carrying weight, authorityâlike the cave itself is listening. The smaller creature trills again, softer this time. Hesitant.
Your creature answers immediatelyâsharper now, the low resonance cutting through the space with something that feels like a warning wrapped in command.
The water shifts as the smaller one lowers itself again, posture submissive, but its gaze flicks back to you once moreâlingering. Curious. Knowing. Your creature notices. Of course it does.
Its body shifts slightly, placing itself more firmly between you and the other, its presence suddenly larger, more imposing. Another low sound rolls from its chestâquieter, but far more dangerous.
Final. The smaller creature dips its head again, this time deeper, before slowly backing away into the water. The glow of its eyes lingers for a momentâthen disappears beneath the surface.
The cave falls silent again. But the tension doesnât leave. Because your creature hasnât moved.
Hasnât relaxed. Then it turns back toward you, its hair swaying with the movement, damp strands clinging to its skin before settling. Its gaze finds yours immediatelyâfocused, intent, like nothing else in the cave matters now.
âThey want to meet you.â
Its voice is low, almost a whisperâcareful, like itâs trying not to startle you. You donât answer. You canât. Because your mind catches on one thingâ They. Your stomach drops. They. Not it. Not him. Plural.
Your eyes flick instinctively toward the water, toward the darkness it disappeared into, like you might see something else staring back. Waiting. Watching. How many are there? How many of them are down here? And they want to meet you?
A hollow, disbelieving laugh bubbles up in your chest but never quite makes it out. You havenât even had time to grieve. Not properly. Not at all. Your family is gone.
Your life is gone.
Everything you knewâeveryone you knewâis gone. And nowâNow youâre supposed to stand there and be introduced to the creatures that live beneath the ocean.
To the thing that killed them. To its kind.
Your hands curl into fists at your sides, nails biting into your palms as something sharp and ugly twists in your chest.
âYou want me to what?â you finally say, your voice thin, strainedâlike if you push it any harder, itâll snap. Your gaze locks onto it, something between disbelief and anger flickering behind your eyes. âYou killed everyone Iâve ever loved,â you continue, breath uneven, âdrag me down here, and now you want me to meet your⌠what? Your friends?â
The word feels wrong. Bitter. Your chest rises and falls too fast, too tight. âYou think Iâm just going to go along with that?âIt doesnât interrupt you this time. Doesnât correct you. Doesnât argue. It just watches. Quiet.
Patient.
Like it already knows your answer doesnât matter. Like this was never really a question to begin with. You could swear you saw the corner of its mouth quirk upwards.
Mocking you.
The thought hits fast, sharp, unfairâbut it sticks. You knowâsomewhere, logicallyâthat it probably doesnât understand what it took from you. That in its mind, this was something else entirely. Protection. Salvation.
But that doesnât change anything.
It doesnât bring them back. It doesnât make this hurt any less. And you refuseâYou refuseâto pretend like it does.
Your throat tightens painfully, something breaking loose before you can stop it. A sob slips out. Then another. And another.
Your body folds in on itself as the sound tears out of you, raw and uncontrollable. Your shoulders shake, your hands coming up to your face as if you can hide itâhide from it, from everythingâbut nothing stops it.
Nothing slows it down. Your chest aches, lungs struggling to keep up as your breathing turns uneven, too fast, too shallow for the thick, damp air of the cave. It feels like there isnât enough oxygen here for thisâfor youâbut you canât stop.
You donât want to stop.
Because if you doâThen itâs real. âI justââ your voice breaks completely, the words barely forming through the sobs. âI just want to go homeâŚâ
The admission feels small.
Childish.
Pathetic.
But itâs the only thing left in you that still makes sense. Home. Somewhere warm. Somewhere safe. Somewhere human. Somewhere that isnât this cold, dark cave at the bottom of the ocean.
Somewhere that still has your mom.
Your friends.
Your life.
Your knees pull closer to your chest as you cry, your whole body trembling with it, like you might shake apart completely if it goes on any longer. And through itâthrough all of itâIt watches you.
Silent.
Still.
Like itâs seeing something itâs never seen before. Which it probably isnât. The sea is a dangerous placeâone that breeds dangerous things, things that donât cry, donât break, donât mourn the way you do.
So of course it doesnât understand.
Of course itâs never seen this before. Your sobs donât quiet, but they falterâjust slightlyâas it finally speaks. âThis is your home.â The words land heavy.
Wrong.
It says them without hesitation, without doubt, like itâs stating something undeniable. Something that has always been true.
Your breath stutters.
Your hands slowly lower from your face, tear-blurred eyes lifting to meet its glowing gaze.
It doesnât blink.
Doesnât soften.
âThis has always been your home,â it continues, voice steady, certainâancient in a way that makes your skin prickle.
A pause.
And thenââYou have always belonged by my side.â Something in your chest twists violently. Because it doesnât sound like a lie. Not to it. To it, this is truth. A truth itâs known far longer than you have.
Your head shakes weakly, your voice barely holding together. âNo⌠no, thatâs notââ But the words feel fragile.
Small.
Like they donât carry the same weight as its certainty.
And worseâ A thought slips in, quiet and unwelcome.
What if it believes that so completely⌠because itâs been watching you for longer than you think?
Your breath catches.
The cave suddenly feels smaller.
Colder.
Like itâs closing in around you.
Because if thatâs trueâThen this didnât start on the ship. It didnât start when you fell into the water. It didnât even start when it pulled you under. It started long before that.
And you were the only one who didnât know.
The way it says itâthat you belong togetherâmakes it sound like itâs been written somewhere permanent. Like itâs been there long before either of you existed.
Like fate.
OnlyâItâs the only one who knows how to read it. Your eyes flick back to the water, your body still shaking with uneven sobs.
They.
Did they know?
Is that why they wanted to meet you?
Because to them, this isnât strangeâthis isnât wrongâthis is something expected?
Your chest tightens painfully.
This is insane.
It has to be.
Your brainâstarved of oxygen, drowning, dyingâmaking up something twisted and surreal to soften the end.
That has to be it.
It has to be.
Because none of this makes sense otherwise.
It moves.
You donât even realize it until itâs already touching youâits clawed, webbed hand wrapping around your forearm. You flinch, a sharp breath catching in your throat, but it doesnât stop.
It lifts you.
Effortlessly.
Like you weigh nothing.
A small, startled sound leaves you as the ground disappears beneath you for a second before youâre settled againâcloser.
Too close.
You freeze as it positions you against itself, its long tail coiling slightly beneath you, creating something that almost resembles a seatâa lap.
If thatâs even what you could call it.
Your body goes rigid, hands hovering awkwardly, unsure where to go, what to touch, what not to touch. The cold of it seeps through you instantly, but it doesnât feel harshâjust⌠present.
Intentional.
One of its arms comes around youânot tight, not trappingâbut steady. Keeping you there. Holding you. Like it thinks this is normal. Like this is where youâre supposed to be.
Its other hand moves again, slower this time, more deliberate as it comes up toward your face. You tense, expecting the same strange, invasive curiosityâBut insteadâ It pauses. Just barely brushing against your cheek, where your tears havenât fully dried.
Careful.
Almost hesitant.
âYou areâŚâ it starts, voice quieter now, less certain than before. It searches for the word. âDistressed.âThe way it says it sounds clinical. Observational. Like itâs naming something it doesnât fully understand but recognizes as important. Its hold on you shiftsâsubtly tightening, just enough to keep you from slipping away. âYou are safe,â it adds after a moment.
A pause.
Then, softerââWith me.âIt trills againâlow, resonant, the sound vibrating against your ear in a way that makes your skin prickle. Itâs not unpleasant. Thatâs what makes it worse.
âHumans⌠like to know things about their mates, yes?â it hums, voice curling around the words like itâs testing them, like itâs piecing together something itâs only observed from afar.
Its claws brush over your shoulder, slow, absent, tracing the line of your collarbone with unsettling familiarity. You flinchâof course you doâbut it doesnât stop. Doesnât even acknowledge it.
Like your reactions are expected. Like they donât change anything. âWould it make you feel better,â it continues, softer now, almost coaxing, âif you knew more about me?â
It leans down, closer, its face dipping toward your hair. You feel it before you fully process itâthe cold brush of its nose, the slow inhale as it scents you again, deeper this time.
Possessive.
Curious. Certain. You donât answer. You donât think you can. But it doesnât matter.
It continues anyway.
âI am⌠Rafayel,â it murmurs, the name rolling strangely off its tongue, like something both ancient and newly claimed all at once. The arm around you tightensâjust slightly. âYour destined mate.â The words settle heavy in your chest. Wrong. Impossible. And yet spoken with a certainty that makes your stomach twist.
âMy kindâŚâ it pauses, searching again, adjusting. âWe do not have genders. Not as you do.â Its claws shift against your skin, trailing lightly down your arm, mapping you in slow, deliberate touches. âThere are bearers. And sires.â
A faint hum escapes itâpleased, maybe, that itâs explaining this correctly. âBut for you,â it adds, tilting its head slightly as if considering your understanding, âI would be⌠male. Yes.â
Its tongue flicks out again, dragging gently across your cheek, collecting the tears that havenât yet dried. You flinch harder this time, your breath catchingâbut it only makes that same low sound again, deeper now, almost satisfied.
âTastes like home,â it whispers. The words send something cold through your chest. Not comforting. Not warm. Claiming.
Its hand comes up again, cupping your face, holding you steady as it studies youâreally studies youâlike every reaction, every breath, every tremor matters. âYou are soft,â it murmurs, almost to itself. âFragile.â Not insulting. Just⌠observed. Its gaze lingers on your eyes, glowing faintly in the dim light, unblinking. âBut you endure.â
A pause.
Its claws shift, brushing stray damp strands of hair from your face with surprising care. âYou will learn,â it adds quietly, voice lowering again into something almost soothing, almost hypnotic. âThis place. My world.âIts grip tightens just a fraction more.âAnd me.â
âAnd weâll start by introducing you to them,â it says, voice lowering into something softer, almost soothing as it hushes the broken hiccups still catching in your throat. Its hand moves along your back in slow, repetitive strokesâawkward, like itâs mimicking comfort rather than understanding it. âMy people want to meet you,â it repeats, more firmly this time. The words donât settle. They sink. Heavy. Suffocating.
Your fingers twitch against its arm, your breathing still uneven as your mind triesâand failsâto keep up. Its people. Plural. Waiting. Expecting you. Watching, maybe. âThey will help you learn,â it continues, tone steady, certain, like this is the next inevitable step. Like there is no other path.
Your stomach churns. Learn what? How to be like them? Its claws trail lightly up your spine, pausing between your shoulders before sliding back down again in that same slow, rhythmic motion.
âAnd when the time comesâŚâYour breath catches. Something in the way it says itâfinal. Unavoidable. âWe will complete our union.â The cave feels smaller. The air thinner.
Your chest tightens as the words echo in your head, over and over, louder than your own thoughts. Complete. Like this isnât the beginningâlike this is something already in motion. Something already decided.
Your hands press weakly against it again, not enough to push away, just enough to remind yourself that youâre still separate. Still you. ââŚI donât want that,â you whisper, the words barely holding together as they leave you.
It stills.
Just for a moment. Then its grip shiftsâfirmer, not hurting, but leaving no room for misunderstanding. Its gaze drops to you again, glowing faintly in the dim light, unreadable but unwavering. âYou will.âNot harsh. Not cruel. Certain.
âYou do not have to meet them now,â it says, voice smoothing out again, slipping back into that quiet, measured toneâlike itâs offering you a kindness. A choice. âBut you will have to meet them soon.âThe words linger, heavier than the softness theyâre wrapped in.
Its hand continues its slow path along your back, up and down, up and downâsteady, rhythmic, like itâs trying to lull you into something calmer. Something more accepting. You donât feel calm.cYou feel trapped. âI will be here with you,â it goes on, almost absently, like itâs reciting something already decided. âAlways.â The word always sinks deep. Permanent.
Unchanging.
A life sentence spoken like a promise. It shifts slightly beneath you, its tail adjusting in the shallow water, coiling just enough to keep you secure in its hold. You can feel the subtle strength in itâeven at rest, itâs powerful. Unyielding. âUnless I must leave to hunt.â
Hunt.
Your stomach twists again at the casual way it says it, like itâs no different from stepping out for air. Like itâs something natural. Necessary. Its claws drag lightly over your spine again, pausing at the nape of your neck before smoothing your damp hair back, almost⌠tender. âWhen I am gone,â it continues, âyou will remain here.â
Not a suggestion. Not a question. A rule. âYou will be safe.â Your breath catches. Safe. The word feels warped coming from it. Twisted into something unrecognizable.
âI will provide for you.âThereâs a quiet certainty in its voiceâsomething almost proud. Like this is something it understands completely. Something it knows how to do. Food. Shelter. Protection. Everything it believes you need.
Its hand stills against your back for a moment before moving again, slower now, more deliberate. âYou will not hunger.â A pause. âYou will not be harmed.â Another. âAnd you will not be alone.âYour chest tightens painfully at that one.
Because somehowâthatâs the worst part. Your fingers curl weakly against its arm, your voice small, strained, barely there. ââŚI already am.â Its grip tightens suddenly, the shift so abrupt it knocks the breath from your lungs.
A sound tears from itâlow, jagged, vibrating through its chest and into you where youâre pressed against it. Not quite a growl, not quite anything youâve ever heard before. Something ancient.
Something that warns.
âNo,â it says, firmer now. âYou are not.â The words leave no room for argument. Your body stills despite yourself, your breath catching as its hold lingers for just a second longer before easingânot releasing, just loosening enough to continue.
âI am the ruler of my people,â it continues, voice settling back into something controlled, something steady. âThey come to me for guidance.â Its gaze sharpens slightly as it looks at you, like itâs trying to make sure you understand. âThey will come to you for the same.âYour stomach drops.
You?
The idea is so absurd it almost feels laughableâif it didnât sound so real coming from it. Its claws brush along your arm again, slower now, deliberate, like itâs grounding the words into you. âYou will learn to love it here.âThe certainty in its tone doesnât waver. Not even for a second. ThenâIt leans closer.
Too close.
Its voice drops, barely more than a breath against your skinââYou will learn to love me.â The words settle deep. Heavy. Unavoidable. Before you can respondâbefore you can even process it fullyâits hold disappears.
Just like that.
You barely have time to react before youâre being lowered, placed carefully back onto the smooth rock beneath you. The absence of it is immediateâcold in a different way, emptier. Your body feels too light without its hold.
Too exposed. âI will bring you things,â it says, already shifting away, slipping back into the water. âTo make this space of yours more comfortable.â Your space. The words echo. Like a cage being renamed something softer. Something easier to accept. You donât move.
You canât.
All you can do is watch as it disappears beneath the surface, the water swallowing it whole in secondsâlike it was never there at all. The cave falls silent.
Completely. No voice. No movement.
No presence. Just you. Alone. Your breathing is the only sound left, uneven and sharp in the heavy air as the reality settles in, piece by piece.
The water ripples onceâthen stills. And for the first time since you woke up hereâthereâs nothing watching you anymore. Which somehowâfeels worse. And you realize itâslowly, sickeningly. Itâs already getting what it wants. The thought doesnât come all at once.
It seeps in. Quiet. Unwelcome. But impossible to ignore. Humans need people. Voices. Presence. Touch.
Without it, something in you starts to break. You know that. Everyone knows that. And somehowâsomewhere deep downâyou know it knows that too.
Your arms wrap around yourself, fingers digging into your skin as if that might keep you grounded, keep you you. But the cave is too quiet. Too still. The absence it left behind is louder than anything else. Because now thereâs nothing. No distractions. No one else.
Just youâand the echo of its voice. Your chest tightens. Because you can already feel it. The beginning of it. That awful, creeping shift.
The way your mind reaches for the last thing that spoke to you. That touched you. That acknowledged you. The way a part of youâsmall, traitorous, humanâdoesnât want to be alone like this again. Your throat burns as you swallow hard, shaking your head like you can physically force the thought away. No.No, you wonâtâyou canât.But the realization settles anyway.
Heavy.
Certain.
In the endâIt will get what it wants.
And youâyouâll be helpless to stop it.Because one dayâyour chest twists painfully at the thoughtâone day, the silence will feel worse than it does now. And when it comes backâwhen it speaks, when it touches you, when it fills this suffocating emptinessâyour heart will betray you. It will reach.
It will yearn.
And no matter how much you hate itâno matter how much you fightâyou wonât be able to stop it. Before you can spiral any furtherâItâs back.
The water shifts, rippling softly before it breaks the surface, its form rising with something large clutched in its grasp. You blink, your thoughts stuttering to a halt as you stare. It looks⌠soft. Impossibly soft.
Like something that doesnât belong in a place like this. Like if you touched a cloud, if clouds were real enough to hold, to sink your fingers into.
âFor your nest,â it says, extending it toward you. Nest. The word feels strange, foreignâbut the meaning settles quickly as it places the weight of it into your arms. You almost drop it. Not because itâs wetâIt isnât. Itâs heavy.
Solid in a way you werenât expecting, like itâs packed with something dense beneath its softness. Your arms strain slightly as you adjust your grip, staring down at it in confusion before slowly dragging it onto the smooth rock beside you.
A bed. Thatâs what it is. Or⌠their version of one.
âItâs heavy,â you mutter under your breath, more to yourself than to it, your voice still uneven from earlier.It doesnât respond to that. Just watches. Of course it does. You donât ask why itâs dry.
You donât even think to question it beyond a passing thought. Youâre in a cave at the bottom of the ocean, being cared for by something that shouldnât existâdry fabric is the least concerning thing happening right now.
âThis too,â it says, already moving again. Another item is placed into your handsâlarger this time, softer in a different way. Fur. Thick. Warm-looking. A blanketâif you can even call it that.
âYou humans get cold easily,â it continues, voice steady, observational. âThis should help keep you warm.âYour fingers instinctively press into it. Itâs soft.
Really soft.
Andâdry. Again. The realization hits a second later. You pause. Your gaze slowly drops to yourself. Your clothesâyour skinâyour hair. Dry. Completely. Not damp. Not clinging. Not even slightly chilled the way they should be after everything that just happened.
Your breath catches slightly as you stare down at your hands, turning them over like youâll find some explanation there. You were just in the ocean. You drowned. You remember the water in your lungs. The salt. The panic. So whyâhow are you dry?
Your fingers curl slightly, grounding yourself in the feeling of it. The normalcy of it. But nothing about this is normal. Nothing about any of this is.
A quiet unease settles in your chest as you glance back up at it, standing there like this is all expected. Like this is how things are supposed to be now.
â
After that, you do not speak to it. And it does not speak to you. Not really. The silence between you stretches, thick and suffocating, broken only by the quiet sounds of water shifting and your own breathing. It watches you.
Always.
Whether youâre curled up on the not-quite-a-bed it brought you, or sitting with your knees pulled to your chest, staring blankly at the cave wallsâit watches. Unblinking. Attentive. The only reprieve you get is when it leaves to hunt. Those moments are brief.
Too brief.
Because the second itâs gone, the cave feels too bigâtoo emptyâand the silence presses in until your thoughts start getting louder again. So when it returnsâ You hate that part of you that feels relief.
It feeds you the same way it did the first time. Fish. Itâs always fish. Sometimes it tears the head off before handing it to you. Sometimes it eats it itself, sharp teeth sinking in with that same wet, final sound youâre trying to get used to.
You never really do.
You notice things, though. Because thereâs nothing else to do but notice. Its eyes glowâfaintly, but unmistakably. And so does its hair. Not all of itâjust strands, scattered throughout like threads of light woven into darkness. There are markings on its body too. Patterns. Lines. They look like tattoos, etched into its skinâor scales, youâre not entirely sure. You wonder if those glow too. You never ask.
Time loses meaning. Days. Nights. Weeks. Months. Thereâs no sun here. No sky. No way to measure anything except the rhythm of its absence and return. So you stop trying. Until one momentâ One breaking point. âI canât stay here,â you mutter. Your voice sounds foreign.
Rough.
Like you havenât used it properly in a long time. It looks at you. Of course it does. âYes, you can.â Simple. Final. Like thatâs the end of it. Something in your chest snaps.
âNo, I canât,â you fire back, your voice rising, cracking under the pressure of everything youâve been holding in. âI need sunlight. And clothesâand water. Fresh water. Iâm thirsty.âYour hands clench into fists at your sides, nails biting into your palms as you push forward, words spilling out faster now.
âFood is great and all, but I can still die of dehydration. And I want to batheâI want to get out of these clothesââYour voice sharpens at the end, anger bleeding through as your hands grip at the fabric youâre still stuck in. The same fabric. The same reminder. The worst day of your life clinging to your skin like it refuses to let you forget.
âAnd sunlight,â you continue, not giving it a chance to interrupt, your chest rising and falling too fast now, âas insignificant as it might seem to a creature like you, is important. To everything that lives on this planet.âYour voice shakesâbut you donât stop.
âUnless they live near hydrothermal vents,â you add, the knowledge coming out almost bitter, almost desperateâsomething to ground you, something human. âBut those organisms are adapted to that. Iâm not.âYou take a step back, your breath uneven, your entire body tense as you stare at it.
âIâll die,â you say, quieter nowâbut firmer. âThe same way Iâll die here without sunlight.âThe cave falls silent again. Its nonexistent brow lifts slightly as it stares at you, unblinking.
âIs that all?â The question lands wrong. It shouldnât make you this angryâbut it does. Is that all? Your chest tightens, something sharp flaring up behind your ribs. Of course itâs not all.
There are a thousand things you want to sayâquestions, accusations, screamsâbut they sit heavy in your throat, unsaid. Because it saved you. Because it can just as easily un-save you. Because despite everythingâ Youâre still⌠you.
So you swallow it down. You take a slow breath, forcing your body to steady even as your hands tremble slightly at your sides.
âWhat?â is all you manage, the word dragged out of you, rough and strained.
It doesnât react to your tone.
Of course it doesnât. âIs that all?â it repeats, calmer this time, as if clarifying something simple. âI can get you those things.â
You blink.
âI can bring fresh water. Clothes. Even the ointments and oils you humans use to bathe.âYour breath catches. It continues like itâs listing off trivial items, like itâs nothing.
âThe sunlightâŚâ it pauses, just briefly, âwill be more difficult to obtain.â A flicker of something passes through its expressionâcalculation, maybe.
âBut after I gain your trust,â it continues, voice smooth, certain, âit will be no more difficult than the rest.âGain your trust. The words settle strangely in your chest.
Like this is all part of something. Like itâs working toward something. âSo I will ask again,â it finishes, gaze locking onto yours, âis that all?â It speaks differently now. Better. More fluid.
Like the first day was all it needed to understand youâyour language, your cadence, your world. The accent is still there, curling around the words in a way that feels unfamiliar⌠and, frustratingly, not unpleasant.
Your cheeks warm despite yourself. You hate that. You hate that your body reacts at all. You stare at it, trying to process what it just said. It knows where to get those things. Itâs willing to get them. For you.
Your shoulders slump slightly, the fight bleeding out of you all at once, leaving behind something heavier. Tired.
So tired.
âYes,â you mutter, your voice quieter now, lacking the sharp edge from before. âThatâs all.â
A pause.
You swallow. âYes⌠thatâs all I need. For now.â For a moment, it just looks at you.
ThenâIt smiles. Wide.
Too wide.
Its teeth are too sharp, too numerous, the expression not quite rightâsomething uncanny, something that doesnât fit the shape of comfort the way a human smile should. And yetâIt seems pleased.
Satisfied.
Without another word, it turnsâits body slipping smoothly back toward the water. And then itâs gone. Just like that.
Swallowed by the dark.
The cave stretches out around you again, vast and empty, the silence rushing back in to fill every space it left behind. Too big. Too quiet.
Too alone.
You sit there for a long moment, staring at the water where it disappeared, the faint ripples already fading into stillness.
And once againâThereâs nothing. Just you. And the darkness of the cave.
Time stretches againâthin, warped, impossible to measure. It could be hours. It could be days. Your body aches, your mind drifts, and just when the silence starts pressing in too hardâIt returns.
But it isnât alone.
The water stirsâonce, twiceâthen breaks as more of them rise from below.
Your breath catches.
Shapes emerge one after another, sleek bodies cutting through the water with practiced ease, their glowing eyes flickering in the dim light as they follow behind it. And theyâre carrying things. So many things.
Two of them step forward first, setting down large, sealed containers. Water. Freshâyou can tell just by the way it doesnât carry that sharp, briny scent. Another follows, placing down smaller vesselsâoils, soaps, things that smell faintly floral, herbal, clean.
More come after, hauling up heavy trunksâseveral of themâdropping them gently onto the stone near your makeshift bed. Itâs overwhelming. Visually. Emotionally. Too much. Your chest tightens as you look at it all.
Why?
Why is it bringing you so much? âIs this enough for you?â it asks. Its voice cuts through the quiet, steady as everâbut behind it, the others trill softly, excitedly, their gazes fixed on you.
Waiting. Watching. Seeking something.
Approval.
The realization makes your stomach twist.
âMore than,â you say, forcing a small smile onto your face. It feels wrong.
Fake.
But it works.
The reaction is immediateâtheir trills grow louder, brighter, bodies shifting with something like satisfaction as they begin placing everything more carefully around your space.
Your space.
They chirp softly to one another before slipping back into the water one by one, disappearing just as quickly as they arrived. Soon, itâs just you. And it. Again. âThank you,â you mutter, quieter this time, the words automaticâhabit more than anything else.
It doesnât respond.
Just watches.
Always watching.
You turn away from it, moving toward the trunks, your fingers brushing over the surface before lifting one open.
Clothes.
Your breath hitches slightly.
Modern. Familiar.
Normal.
For a second, something in your chest aches at the sight of them.
You dig through, pulling out something simpleâsomething youâbefore moving to the soaps and oils, uncapping a few, testing the scents until you find one that doesnât feel foreign. Something you could almost pretend you chose yourself. Youâre halfway through undressing when it hits you.
That feeling.
That stare.
Your hands freeze on your zipper as you slowly turn your headâAnd there it is. Still watching.
Unblinking.
Your jaw tightens as you mentally curse yourself. Of course it is. âLook⌠I know I canât ask you to leave,â you start, your voice already strained with frustration, âbut can you at least turn around?â
Nothing. It doesnât move. âSideways?âStill nothing. âClose your eyes?â Not even a flicker. You exhale sharply, running a hand over your face. âYou know whatâfine.â
Your voice is tighter now, edged with something between irritation and exhaustion. âWeâre both guys. Some of us just have extra parts. But stillâguys.âThe words feel weak even as you say them.
Like youâre trying to convince yourself more than it.
You donât wait for a response this time.
You strip the rest of the way, movements quicker now, more deliberate, grabbing the soap and oil before stepping closer to the edge of the pool.
For a second, you hesitate.
Thenâyou dive.The water closes over you instantly, cool and heavy, the sensation grounding in a way the cave never is. It clings to your skin, your hair, washing away salt, grimeâeverything. You stay under for a moment longer than necessary.
Just breathing.
Just existing.
Before surfacing again. And realizingâThis is the closest youâve been to it in days.
âIs this safe for the, um⌠ecosystem?â you mutter, your voice echoing faintly against the damp cave walls as you reach for the soap. Your fingers hover over it for a second, hesitant. âLike, Iâm not poisoning the water or anything, right?â You expect an answerâquick, distant, maybe even dismissive. But it doesnât come like that. Not at all.
Before you can even blink, itâs behind you.
The shift in the air is the only warning you get. Then suddenly, its hand is around yoursâthe same hand holding the soapâguiding it slightly upward as it tilts its head, examining the object with quiet curiosity. It brings it closer, sniffing it, as if trying to understand it beyond just sight. âItâs fine. Donât worry,â it says softly, its voice low and smooth, almost blending with the gentle drip of water from the cave ceiling. Thereâs a pause, just long enough for your breath to hitch. âDo you need help?â
Its claws brush lightly against your bare shoulderâbarely there, but enough to send a sharp shiver down your spine. The contact is careful, controlled, yet unfamiliar in a way that makes your chest tighten. âNo, Iâm fine,â you gasp, the words tumbling out faster than you intended. Heat rushes to your face, a deep flush spreading across your cheeks and down your neck at the sheer closeness of it. As soon as the words leave your mouth, you turn away, almost too quickly, and set to work.
You wash yourself with deliberate focus, as if speed alone can steady your racing thoughts. From behind your ears to the curve of your neck, down your arms and across your torsoâyou move efficiently, methodically. The soap lathers easily in your hands, the scent faint but clean, grounding you in something normal, something human. You scrub between your fingers, along your sides, down your legs, careful even as your movements grow faster. Between your toes, across your anklesâeverywhere. Anything to keep your mind occupied. Anything to get you out of this water sooner.
But thenâ You pause.
Thereâs one place you canât quite reach.
Your back.
You twist slightly, stretching your arm as far as it will go, fingers brushing uselessly against skin you canât properly clean. You try again, angling differently, but itâs no use. A quiet sigh escapes you, equal parts frustration and reluctant realization. For a moment, you just stand there, the water lapping softly around you, your shoulders tense.
Then, slowly, you glance back.
Itâs still there.
Still watching you.
Not in a way that feels predatoryâno, itâs something else. Something quieter. Focused. As if youâre the most fascinating thing it has ever seen⌠which, to be fair, in this cave, you probably are. Your gaze lingers for half a second too long before you look away again, heat rising back to your face. âI needâŚâ you start, but the words catch in your throat. Your grip tightens slightly around the soap as embarrassment curls in your chest.
You swallow.
âI need you to wash my back,â you mutter, the words barely above a whisper. For a momentâNothing happens. The water laps quietly around you, your own breathing loud in your ears as you wait, shoulders tense, skin hyper-aware of every second that passes.
ThenâIt moves. Slowly.
You feel the shift before the touch, the water parting as it comes closer, its presence settling at your back again. Closer than before. Its hand brushes your shoulder firstâtesting, almostâbefore sliding lower.
You stiffen instantly.
It pauses.
Just for a second.
Like itâs waiting to see if youâll pull away.
You donât.
ââŚhere,â you mutter quietly, reaching back just enough to press the small container into its hand before turning forward again. Thatâs all it needs. You hear the faint click of it openingâthen the soft, slick sound of liquid being poured.
A second laterâIts hand returns.
Cooler now.
The soap spreads easily across your skin, smoother than before, gliding instead of dragging. You inhale sharply as it starts at your shoulders, its touch slow, controlled as it works the liquid over your back, following the line of your spine againâonly this time the motion is more fluid.
More⌠intentional.
The lather builds quickly under its hand, slipping across your skin as its claws guide the movement, careful not to scratch, only to spread. Your muscles tense, then hesitateâbecause itâs not rough.Not clumsy. It adjusts as it goes, learning in real time, pressure shifting where your body tightens, slowing where you flinch.
Itâs so soft, and caring. You have to will your cunt to not get wet, youâre not going to get horny over your familyâs killer touching you. âYou are⌠tense,â it murmurs again, quieter this time, almost thoughtful.
Wow, thank you captain obvious. The thought appears before you can stop it, itâs not like you could try anyway. Your brain is your brain.
You let out a shaky breath.
âI wonder why,â you mutter, voice low.
It doesnât respond. Its hand moves lower, broader strokes now, covering what you couldnât reach, the liquid soap making everything easierâquickerâyet somehow it doesnât rush.
It takes its time.
Like itâs committing this to memory.
The thought makes your chest tighten again.
You stare forward, jaw set, refusing to react more than you already have.
âDone,â it says finally.
Its hand pulls away.
The absence is immediate.
You exhale softly, shoulders dropping as the tension lingers in your muscles, even as the water settles around you again. But something feels⌠different.
You donât let yourself dwell on it.
You canât.
The second youâre done, you moveâquickly climbing out of the briny pool and back onto the smooth rock where your ânestââas it insists on calling itâwaits for you. The air feels strange against your clean skin.
Too open.
Too exposed.
You grab a towel-like fur first, drying off in hurried motions before reaching for the oils. Your hands move almost automatically, smoothing it over your skinâfamiliar, grounding, something normal in the middle of everything that isnât.
Then clothes.
You dress quickly, movements efficient, almost rushedâlike you can somehow regain control by covering yourself again.It doesnât help that itâs still watching. Of course it is. Your eyes flick up without meaning toâonce, twiceâand each time you meet its gaze, your cheeks burn hotter, something twisting low in your stomach that you refuse to acknowledge.
You look away faster every time.
Youâre done in minutes.
Fully dressed.
Contained.
Safeâor as close to it as youâre going to get here.
You reach for the water without hesitation, pulling one of the containers closer and opening it quickly.
Fresh.
God. You donât even think before drinking. Long, desperate gulps, the water cool and clean as it slides down your throat, easing something tight and painful in your chest. You donât stop until you have to. Pulling back with a shaky breath.
Better.
Slightly.
You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, exhaling slowly as you try to steady yourself.
âSo, umâŚâ you start. And thenânothing. The words donât come. You didnât think that far ahead. But it doesnât matter. Because the second your voice breaks the silenceâIt reacts.
Immediately.
Its posture shifts, subtle but noticeable, attention sharpening as it looks at youâfocused, intent.
Interested.
Excited.
Like thisâyou talking to itâmeans something. Your chest tightens at the sight. Because it looks⌠eager. And that does something uncomfortable to you.
Something you donât like. Something that feels dangerously close to guilt. You swallow hard, your fingers tightening slightly around the container in your hand.
It doesnât deserve that.
It doesnât deserve anything from you. It killed them. It took everything from you. Your family.
Your life.
Your future. You canâtâwonâtâfeel sorry for it. You wonât let yourself.
Even if it looks at you like that. âThe dirty laundry⌠what do I do with it?â you ask finally, the words feeling small after everything else thatâs been said between you.
It doesnât answer.
Not with words.
Instead, it moves closer, the water parting easily around it as it lifts its hands toward youâopen, expectant. You hesitate for only a second before understanding.
Give it to me.
Your fingers tighten briefly around the fabric before you step forward, handing over the fur first. It takes it carefully, almost gently, like even this matters.
Then you reach for your clothes. Your suit. Your wedding suit.
The fabric feels heavier now.
Wrong.
Your jaw tightens as you hold it for a moment longer than necessary before forcing yourself to pass it over. âYou can destroy that,â you say, your voice quieter now, your gaze dropping to the stone beneath your feet. âI never want to see it again.â
Thereâs a pause.
A small one.
But you feel it. It doesnât question you. Doesnât argue.
It just takes it.
Your shoulders stay tense, your hands empty now, unsure where to go, what to do with themselves. âAnd when you returnâŚâ you start again, the words slower this time, more deliberate.
You swallow. âIâd like to talk.â The admission feels strange.
Uncomfortable.
Necessary.
âAbout anything, really,â you add quickly, like you need to justify it.
Your fingers curl slightly at your sides.
âIâll go mad if all I do all day is stare back at you.â
That earns a reaction.
A subtle oneâbut itâs there.
Something shifts in its expression, in the way it looks at you now.
Not just watching. Listening. Understanding.
Slowly, it nods.
âAs you wish.â
The words settle between you, heavier than they should be. Before you can think too much about it, it turns, slipping back into the water once moreâyour discarded past clutched in its grasp. And just like thatâItâs gone again. Longer this time. Long enough for the silence to settle back into your bones, for the cave to feel too big, too hollow, too empty without something watching you.
You hate that.
You hate that you notice. It usually returns quicklyâtoo quickly, almost like itâs drawn back to you no matter what itâs doing.
But this time⌠it lingers.
And just when you start to wonderâ
It comes back.
The water shifts, deeper than before, heavier. Then it rises from beneath the surface, something clutched in its hands.
More than something.
Many things.
It approaches you without hesitation, setting them down onto your platform one by one.
Pearls.
Gold.
Diamonds.
They catch the faint glow of the cave, reflecting it back in fractured light, shimmering in a way that feels almost out of place here.
Too pretty.
Too human.
Your brows knit slightly as you stare at the small pile.
It doesnât surprise you that it has these things.
A creature like thisâliving as long as it must have, moving through the ocean like it owns itâit makes sense. Sunken ships. Lost cargo. Forgotten treasures claimed by the sea.
What surprises youâ
Is that itâs giving them to you.
Your lips part slightly before you force out a quiet, âThank you.â
The words feel automatic.
But your eyes linger on the jewels for only a moment longer before lifting back to it.
Because thatâs not whatâs been sitting in your mind.
Not really.
You inhale slowly, steadying yourself.
âThe shipâŚâ you mutter.
Your voice is low, but it still echoes against the cave walls, bouncing back at you like itâs too loud anyway.
Its attention sharpens immediately.
Of course it does.
You swallow.
âHow did you sink it?â
The question hangs there.Unavoidable. For a moment, it doesnât answer.It just watches you. ThenâIt moves.
Not closer.
But deeper into the water, its tail shifting slowly as if the memory itself pulls it somewhere else. âIâve been watching you for a long time,â it says, each word deliberate, measuredâlike it wants you to feel them settle. âAnd by association⌠your old mate.â
The last word comes out sharp.
A hiss.
Your stomach twists.
âWhen I saw him,â it continues, voice dropping, something darker threading through it, âcourting that other man behind your backâŚâIts tail flicks beneath the surface, the water responding with a low, agitated ripple.
âMy heart broke for you.âThe words should sound gentle. They donât. They sound possessive.
âMy poor mate,â it murmurs, gaze fixed on you now, unblinking. âYou did not deserve to be hurt like that. Even if you did not know it was happening.â Your chest tightens painfully. âAnd since he proved himself undeserving of youâŚâ it goes on, the calm returning in a way that feels worse than the anger, âit made no sense to allow you to complete your union.â
Your breath catches.
âSo I sank the ship.â
Just like that.
Simple.
Final.
âI gathered my kin,â it continues, almost idly, like itâs recounting something mundane. âWe struck the vessel together. Our tails are⌠resilient.â A faint shift of its body emphasizes the point. âIf one of us wishes to sink a ship, it is not difficult to make it appear as something else. An accident.â
Your fingers curl at your sides.
Cold.
Numb.
âWhile it descended,â it adds, quieter now, âmy people fed.â
The words donât hit all at once.
They⌠land.
Slow.
Heavy.
Suffocating.
Your throat tightens.
âAnd I came for you.â
Your gaze snaps to it.
Like that part is supposed to matter more.
Like that part is supposed to fix it.
âAfter I brought you here,â it continues, unbothered, unwavering, âI returned.â
A pause.
âI ate your old mate.â
Your stomach lurches violently.
âIt is only fair,â it says, as if that explains everything.
As if that makes it right.
âIn my world, when one seeks to claim a mate, a challenge is issued.â Its gaze sharpens slightly, something almost proud flickering beneath the surface.
âThe victor consumes the defeated.âSilence crashes over the cave.
Thick.
Suffocating.
Because it says it so normally.
Like it didnât just confess to tearing your life apart piece by piece. Like it didnât justâyour breath comes out uneven, your chest rising too fast now as the weight of it all presses in at once.
Your family.
Your friends.
Everyone.
Gone.
And itâIt stands there like it was justified. Like it was necessary. Like it did it for you.
Your voice feels stuck.
Heavy. But it forces its way out anywayâsmall, strained, barely holding together.
ââŚyou think that makes it okay?â
â
A/n: This chapters are sooo long jeez⌠but itâd be so much more annoying to post if I made them like 1k words each⌠Σ('ââââ)
Synopsis: Mermaid!Rafayel saves FTM! Reader from a loveless marriage, it takes awhile for the reader to show his thanks!!
Tags: Kidnapping!
A/n: This is a multi-chaptered fic that I decided to write for mermay, enjoy!!
Today is perfect.
The wind is softâjust enough to brush against your skin and keep the sun from settling too heavily on your shoulders. It threads through your hair, cool and gentle, carrying the faint scent of salt. The ocean stretches endlessly in every direction, a deep, glistening blue that seems almost unreal, like something painted rather than lived in.
The waves rock the boatâno, the yachtâslowly, rhythmically. Itâs the kind of movement that lulls people to sleep, steady and calm, like a cradle. If you close your eyes for too long, you feel like you might drift off right where you stand, lulled by the hush of water against metal and the distant hum of quiet conversation behind you.
Today is perfect.
Youâre getting married.
The thought still feels strange when you try to hold it for too long, like it might slip through your fingers if you think too hard about it. Married. To him. To the man everyone keeps telling you is perfect for youâthe man who is perfect for you, you remind yourself.
Youâre surrounded by people you love. Laughter spills across the deck in soft bursts, glasses clink somewhere behind you, music hums low enough to be felt more than heard. Your family, your friendsâtheyâre all here, smiling, celebrating, watching you like youâre something worth admiring.
And really, what more could you ask for?
Well.
You could think of one thing.
Your gaze drifts back out to the water, your grip tightening slightly on the railing as the yacht sways beneath you. Itâs subtle, barely noticeable, but itâs thereâconstant, unavoidable.
Youâre getting married on a boat.
A yacht. Whatever.
And you hate it.
You wouldâve preferred land. Solid, unmoving ground beneath your feet. Something stable. Predictable. A courthouse wouldâve been fineâhonestly, more than fine. Quiet, simple, quick. No audience, no spectacle, no overwhelming sense that everything has to be perfect because itâs being seen.
Eloping sounded even better.
Just you, him, and a moment that belonged only to the two of you.
Not thisâthis overly extravagant event that probably cost more than a human liver on the black market.
âDonât worry,â your soon-to-be husband had told you when you voiced your opinion, his voice warm, reassuring in that way that always made it hard to argue with him. âItâll all be worth it in the end. Weâll be bound together until death.â
You remember the way he smiled when he said itâsoft, affectionate, certain. Like there was no version of reality where this didnât work out exactly as planned.
Heâs so romantic when he wants to be.
He knows you canât say no to him when he talks like that.
You glance down at the ring on your finger again, watching how it catches the sunlight. Itâs beautifulâof course it is. Everything about today is.
Carefully chosen. Carefully planned.
Carefully perfect.
Unfortunately, all of your friends and family were on his side. âIâve never been on a yacht before, Iâd like to at least step on one before I did.â They had said. âThis might just be my only chance, donât ruin this for me.â They had said. Gaslighting at its finest. But still, you gave in.
Because what are you, if not a people-pleaser?
And now youâre hereâsurrounded by people you love, and people you barely recognize, all of them blending together into a blur of faces and soft voices. The room hums with anticipation, low and constant, like something waiting to happen.
You stand at the front, hands clasped a little too tightly, eyes fixed on the doors separating you from him.
Your soon-to-be husband.
Because, as much as you want it to be trueâas much as it feels trueâhe isnât yours yet. Not officially. Not completely.
The thought lingers longer than it should.
Thenâ
As if summoned by it, the doors begin to creak open.
The sound cuts through the quiet, drawing every eye in the room forward. Your breath catches, your fingers tightening as your heart stutters once, twice, too fast.
Soft laughter slips through the opening.
Noâ
Not soft.
Drunken.
It spills out carelessly, followed by the sight of him as he steps through the doorwayâyour almost-husband, dressed perfectly, looking exactly the way heâs supposed to. Composed. Effortless. Untouchable.
Perfect.
But he isnât alone.
His secretary stumbles in just behind him, close enough that it feels wrong. Too close. His laughter lingers in the air, his steps uneven as he nearly bumps into your soon-to-be husband before catching himself. For a moment, he doesnât seem to notice where he isâlike heâs forgotten, like this isnât the exact moment heâs meant to be stepping into.
Then it hits him.
The room. The silence. The eyes.
You.
His posture straightens almost instantly. The smile shiftsâsharpened, controlledâas he glances around quickly before moving forward, leaving his secretary behind as he hurriedly slips into the nearest empty seat, head lowered just enough to pretend he wasnât just⌠there.
Your stomach twists.
You wonder, briefly, why heâs here at all.
Why he was with him. Why he would bring himâhimâto something like this when you had made it clear, more than once, that you didnât want him anywhere near your wedding. Not when the way he looked at him lingered too long, too obvious. Not when it felt like he was waiting for something that didnât belong to him.
But it seems, once again, that he heard youâ and chose to ignore it. Your jaw tightens slightly, the thought slipping in before you can stop it: Why am I marrying a man like this?
It sits there, heavier than it should be. Louder than it should be. For a secondâjust a secondâit almost feels real.
Then he looks up. And he smiles at you. And just like that, everything else fades. Your breath catches, your heart stumbling over itself as warmth rushes through your chest, soft and familiar and dangerously convincing.
Because when he looks at you like thatâlike youâre the only person in the room, the only thing worth seeingâitâs easy to forget.
Easy to forgive. Easy to believe.
Your lips part slightly, your thoughts unraveling as you hold onto that smile, onto the feeling it gives you. This is the man youâre going to marry.
Heâs choosing you.
And notâ You force the thought away before it can fully form, before it can settle into something ugly.
Because in the end, it doesnât matter. Youâre the one at the altar. Youâre the one heâs going to marry. Not him.
The thought barely fades beforeâ A deafening crash splits through the air.
Itâs violent. Sudden. Wrong.
The entire yacht lurches, tilting sharply to one side. The ground shifts beneath your feet, heels slipping against polished flooring as a chorus of startled screams erupts around you. Glass shatters somewhere behind you, the sharp sound cutting through the panic as the once-perfect atmosphere fractures in an instant.
Your balance falters. You reach out blindly, fingers brushing against nothing before catching yourself just enough to stay upright. Your heart slams against your ribs, fast and disoriented, as the world seems to tip with you.
ââWhat was that?â someone shouts.
No one answers at first.
Because no one knows.
âMaybe it was just some random turbulence,â someone says, voice stricken with panic.
Then, as if insulted that someone dared to think that this was something else than what it truly was.
Your eyes snap forward just in time to see him stumble.
Your soon-to-be husbandâsteady, composed, perfectâloses his footing as the yacht jerks again. His body pitches forward, a sharp breath leaving him as he crashes hard against the floor.
You donât even realize youâve moved until youâre already rushing toward him, your pulse roars in your ears. The room spins, uneven and unstable, but none of it mattersânot when heâs on the ground.
Not when he could be hurt. You drop to your knees beside him, hands hovering for a second before finally settling against his arm, his shoulderâanywhere, everywhereâjust to make sure heâs there. âIâm hereâare you okay? Can youââ
Another presence collides beside you.
You donât have to look to know who it is.
The secretary. Heâs there almost instantly, dropping down on the other side, reaching for him with the same urgency, the same concernâhis hands gripping your fiancĂŠ just as yours do. For a brief, fleeting second, the three of you are caught together.
Your hands.
His hands.
On him.
Your gaze flickers up despite yourself, locking with the secretaryâs for half a heartbeat. Something unreadable passes through his expressionâsomething tight, something too quick to nameâbefore the yacht jerks again, harder this time.
The lights flicker.
The floor tilts further.
And suddenlyâ
Itâs quiet.
Too quiet.
The kind of silence that presses in on your ears until the only thing you can hear is yourselfâyour uneven, panicked breaths coming too fast, too shallow.
Then the ocean rises. You watch it happen, frozen, as the water surges up the tilted side of the yacht, dark and endless and wrong. It crashes through the open windows with a force that doesnât feel natural, glass already shattered, leaving nothing to stop it.
It pours in.
Fast.
Relentless.
âOH MY GOD!â someone screams. The spell breaks. Chaos erupts all at onceâvoices overlapping, bodies scrambling, the sharp slap of water against floors as it rushes inward, swallowing everything in its path. Itâs freezing when it reaches you, soaking through fabric, clinging to your skin like it wants to drag you down with it.
âWEâRE ALL GONNA DIE!â
Your head snaps toward the voice.
Itâs him.
Your soon-to-be husband. For a split second, your mind catches on something small, something meaninglessâwhen did he even get up?
But then you see it.
Heâs not looking at you. Heâs not reaching for you. Heâs already movingâpulling someone along with him, gripping tightly, urgency written all over his face.
The secretary.
Of course.
Your stomach drops harder than the tilting floor beneath you.
Youâre still on your knees.
Still where you fell.
Stillâforgotten.
Like you were never part of this moment to begin with. Your fingers curl against the slick floor, something sharp twisting in your chest as the realization settles in, heavy and undeniable. Not even now. Not even when everything is falling apartâ
He didnât choose you.
âI THOUGHT YOU SAID THIS SHIP WAS UNSINKABLE!â someone shoutsâone of his colleagues, their voice edged with panic and accusation as they shove past, desperate to get out, to get anywhere that isnât here. People are slipping, screaming, pushing past each other in blind terror as the water rises higher, faster, turning the room into something unrecognizable.
You swallow hard. âYeah,â you mutter under your breath, the words tasting bitter as you finally force yourself to stand, legs unsteady beneath you. âThey said that about the Titanic too.â
The floor shifts again, more violently this time.
Water climbs past your ankles.
And for the first timeâ
You realize with startling clarity that you might not make it out alive. Your feet move before you even register the decision. One moment youâre standing in the middle of the room, frozen in the chaos, and the next youâre right in front of himâthe love of your lifeâholding someone that isnât you.
On your wedding day.
âHow long?â you mutter, voice low, almost lost beneath the noise of rushing water and distant screams. âWhat?â your used-to-be soon-to-be husband says, blinking at you like he doesnât understandâlike he hasnât just been caught. His eyes flicker, not to your face, but to your veil, now pushed back, no longer softening your expression. No longer hiding anything.
âDonât play dumb with me,â you growl, teeth clenching hard enough to ache. The water sloshes around your legs as you take a step closer, your pants heavy and soaked.âHow long have you been sleeping with him?â Your voice sharpens, cracks. âHow long have you been bending him over the desk in your fucking office thinking Iâd never find out?â He starts talking immediatelyâtoo fast, too desperateâwords tripping over each other in a messy attempt to explain, to deny, to fix something thatâs already rotted through.
You donât listen. You canât.
Your hands drag down your face slowly, fingers pressing into your skin like youâre trying to wake yourself up from thisâlike this might still be something you can escape if you just try hard enough. âWait,â you mutter, cutting him off with a hollow laugh. âDonât tell meâŚâ Your eyes flick between them, taking in the way they stand too close, the way the secretaryâs hand is still gripping his sleeve like he belongs there.
âYouâre the one doing the bending?â A broken chuckle slips past your lips, your hand coming up to cover your mouth as your shoulders shakeânot quite laughter, not quite anything else. His hand shoots out. Fast. Desperate. Your wrist is caught before you can take another step, his grip tightâtoo tightâlike if he loosens it even a little youâll disappear entirely.
âWaitââ
You freeze.
Not because you want to. Not because you care. But because his touch still does something to youâsomething awful and familiar. âLet go.â Your voice is low, strained, barely holding together. âI can explain,â he rushes out, stepping closer, water sloshing around his legs as if it isnât climbing higher by the second. âItâs not what you think, I swear, youâre justâthis isnâtââ
âLet go.â
Your tone sharpens, and when he doesnât listenâwhen his fingers only tighten, like he still thinks he has a right to hold youâyou rip your arm back. This time, you donât hesitate. You donât look at him. You donât look at them.
You just pull free. âIâm so fucking stupid,â you breathe, the words tasting bitter. Around you, people are still rushingâshoving, slipping, screaming as they fight their way toward the exits. The water has risen to your knees now, cold and relentless, soaking everything it touches. The yacht groans, metal protesting as it sinks faster than it ever should.
Your gaze drifts downward. Bodies. Some are still crumpled where they fell, limbs twisted, caught beneath overturned chairs and each otherâ but others⌠Others have started to move.
Not alive.
Just⌠lifting. The water carries them slowly, sleeves brushing against your legs, faces tilting just beneath the surface as if they might look at you if you stare long enough.
Theyâre scattered across the floor, unmoving across the surface of the water. Not a twitch, not a breath. In the back of your mind, something clicks into place. In the panic, people pushed. Trampled. Stepped over whoever got in their way just to get out.
The poor souls beneath them never stood a chance. The last thing they felt was the weight of survivalâof desperationâcrushing the air from their lungs, caving in their chests beneath the feet of people who once claimed to love them.
At any other time, youâd be horrified.
Disgusted.
Sickened by how quickly humanity turns on itself.
But right nowâ
You feel nothing.
Not when the man youâve chosen, over and over again for six years, hasnât chosen you once. Not when youâre so wrapped in your own unraveling that you donât even stop to wonder if your family made it out.
A distant thought flickers insteadâquiet, intrusive.
Who else knew?
He couldnât have kept something like this hidden on his own. Secrets like this donât exist in isolation.
Maybe his entire bachelor party knew.
Maybe they laughed about it.
Maybe they watched you smile and said nothing.
âFuck,â you exhale, shaking your head slightly. âIâm so stupid. My god.â Your eyes lift again, scanning the room as the chaos begins to shiftâslow, inevitable.
People are realizing. Realizing the same thing you did.
That thereâs nowhere left to run. That the doors wonât save them.
That struggling is pointless.
The panic dulls into something heavier. Quieter. You watch as couples cling to each other, sobbing into shoulders, whispering things that shouldâve been said sooner. Apologies. Confessions. I love youâs that come far too late.
The water rises higher. The ship sinks deeper. And all you can doâIs watch.
Helpless to stop the havoc around you. A sharp crack splits through the ship. It comes from below.
The floor jerks violently, the entire structure groaning like itâs finally giving up. The tilt worsensâsending everything sliding, crashing, collapsing into the rising water.
Then it hits your chest. Cold. Violent. You gasp on instinctâand choke as salt floods your mouth.
The room disappears. Thereâs no up. No down.
Just water. Bodies slam into youâarms, shoulders, something grabbing at your wrist before slipping away just as fast. Not pushingâclinging. Desperate.Trying to live. You kick, forcing yourself forward, but the current fights you. It drags at your limbs, pulls you sideways, spins you just enough to steal your sense of direction. Your hair sticks to your face, blinding you. Your lungs burn, tight and screaming as panic claws its way through your chest.
You try to swim upâBut which way is up? Of course youâre panicking. Youâre drowningâwhat else are you supposed to do? Your chest spasms, begging for air, your body desperate to inhale, to breatheâbut you canât. You canât. Not unless you want to empty what little air you have left. Everything feels the same.
Dark.
Heavy.
Endless.
Youâre alone.
Youâre cold.
Youâre drowning.
Youâre going to die.
Your movements slow when the realization settles inânot sudden, not dramatic. Just⌠inevitable.
Youâre going to die.
Your perfect day has twisted into something unrecognizable. Youâre surrounded by people who are either dead or dying, and soonâyouâll be one of them. Youâre going to die in this stupid suit. The one he picked out for you. The one you smiled in, stood in, promised forever in.
And worst of allâ Youâre going to die loving someone who never loved you. A bitter laugh tries to rise in your chest, but it dies before it can exist. Youâd cry if you couldâbut you wonât waste what little air you have left on him. On either of them.
Youâre going to dieâ And so is everyone you loved. Your mom. Your dad. Your siblings.
All because you wanted something as stupid as a wedding. Because you said yes. Because you believed. Your chest tightens painfully, your thoughts spiraling as your strength fades further, limbs growing heavier, slower.
Why did you have to get engaged?
Why did you have to get married?
Is this some kind of punishment?
A cruel joke?
The gods getting back at you for something you donât even remember doing? Making sure you never get to be happyânever get to keep anything good?
What the fuck did you do to deserve this?
The question echoesâloud, desperateâThen. Something hard slams into your back. Pain explodes through youâsharp, suddenâknocking whatever focus you had left clean out of your head.
And you gasp.
Itâs instinct.
Automatic.
Fatal.
The last bit of air in your lungs bursts out of you in a rush of bubbles, slipping past your lips, rising in a trail you canât follow. Your chest seizes immediately after, your body tryingâfailingâto drag in a breath that isnât there.
Nothing comes.
Your mouth opens again.
Water floods in.
Burning.
Your vision blurs, darkening at the edges as your body jerks weakly, hands clawing at nothing. The pressure in your chest builds, unbearable, your throat tightening as everything in you screams to breathe.
This is it.
This is when you die.
Alone.
Cold.
Your movements slow.
Then stop.
Your body goes slack, driftingâweightless now, sinking deeper into the dark.
The last thing you see are the bubbles.
Floating away from you.
Leaving you behind.
And thenâ
Something moves against the current.
Not drifting.
Not struggling.
Swimming.
Toward you.
Fast.
The water shifts around it, bending in a way that feels unnaturalâlike it belongs to whatever is coming, not the other way around.
A shape cuts through the dark.
Large.
Wrong.
Beautiful.
And thenâ
Eyes.
They find you instantly.
Lock onto you like theyâve always known exactly where you were.
Like theyâve been waiting.
It reaches you in seconds.
One handâif you could call it thatâfilled with claws close around your arm, firm and unyielding as it pulls you toward it. The other moves to your face, tilting it just enough, studying you like youâre something fragile.
Something important.
Up close, itâs worse.
Or better?
You canât tell.
Skin that doesnât quite look human in the dim light filtering from above, hair drifting around it like itâs alive, and those eyesâglowing faintly, reflecting something deep and endless.
Ancient.
Hungry.
Relieved.
Its grip tightens slightly. And for a momentâ You swear it looks⌠upset. Like youâve done something wrong.
And then⌠nothing.
Everything goes black.
-
Sound returns first. Not voices.Not screaming.
Just⌠water. A slow, steady drip. A distant current brushing against stone.
Your chest convulses.
Violently.
You cough before youâre even fully aware of itâyour body forcing itself back to life as water tears out of your lungs, burning your throat on the way up. Itâs messy, painful, desperate. Each breath you drag in feels wrong, too sharp, too cold, like your lungs forgot how to work and are learning all over again. You curl onto your side, palms pressing into something smooth beneath you. Not jagged. Not harsh. The ground is cool, damp, but worn downâlike itâs been shaped over time, softened by water.
You inhale again.
The air feels thin. Heavy. Hard to hold onto.
You suck in another breath anyway.
And another. And anotherâ Until your chest stops trying to collapse in on itself. You inhale again.
The air is different. Heavy, yesâbut not suffocating. It clings to your lungs, thick with salt and something faintly sweet, almost mineral-like.
Youâre breathing.
Youâre alive. The realization settles slowly, almost unreal. The space around you is quietâpeaceful in a way that feels undeserved after everything that just happened. No screams. No rushing water. Just the soft echo of droplets falling somewhere deeper within the cave.
Your fingers shift slightly against the ground. Itâs not just stone. Thereâs something layered over itâthin, almost velvety in places. Algae, maybe. Soft enough that it cushions the pressure of your weight. You lift your head.
Light greets you.
Dimâbut warm.
The cave walls glow faintly with streaks of bioluminescence, soft blues and muted greens casting a gentle, wavering light across the space. It doesnât hurt your eyes. It doesnât overwhelm. It just⌠exists.
Enough to see.
Enough to feel safe.
For a momentâ
You think youâre alone.
Itâs a stupid thought. You know it is. Unless youâre in some sterile, sealed-off space, youâre never truly aloneânot really. Thereâs always something. Still, the silence convinces you. The cave is dark, damp, the air thick and hard to breathe. Your lungs still ache from the ocean, each inhale shallow, uneven. Water drips somewhere in the distance, slow and rhythmic, echoing off the walls.
It feels empty.
It feels safe.
And then you rememberâ
Something brought you here. Something pulled you out of the water. Something didnât let you die. So why would it leave you alone now?
Your gaze shifts, unfocused at first, scanning the uneven walls of the cave. Soft bioluminescence clings to the stone, faintly glowing, casting just enough light to see shapesânothing clear, nothing comforting. The glow reflects off the shallow pool in front of you, rippling gently with each small movement of the water.
Exceptâ
Not all of it.
Thereâs a break in the reflection.
A patch where the light doesnât reach.
At first, your mind doesnât process it. It takes a second. Maybe two.
Then it clicks.
The light isnât missing.
Itâs being blocked.
Something is there.
Right there.
Watching you. Your breath catches in your already aching lungs as you stare into the eyes of yourâ Savior?
Thatâs what you should call it, right?
It saved you. Dragged you out of the ocean when everyone else sank into it. When everyone else was swallowed whole.
So⌠your savior.
The word feels wrong.
Heavy.
Too kind for something that looks like that.
Your throat tightens as your mind scrambles to catch up, thoughts tripping over each other in a mess of confusion and fear.
Why?
Of all the people on that shipâ All the ones screaming, begging, clinging to lifeâ Why you? Your fingers twitch against the damp ground beneath you, nails scraping lightly against stone as you force yourself not to move too suddenly. Not to provoke it.
You consider speaking.
Asking.
But the thought dies just as quickly as it comes.
You donât even know if it can speak.
You donât know what it is. You donât know if it understands you. You donât know if itâs about toâEat you.
Your stomach drops.
A cold wave of realization crashes over you, sharper than the ocean ever was.
If it wanted to⌠Wouldnât it have already?
Your gaze flickers over it againâtaking in the stillness, the way it watches you without moving, without blinking, like itâs waiting for something. Or maybeâ Maybe it is waiting.
Waiting for you to react.
To panic.
To scream.
A sick thought curls in your mind.
Maybe it wants to hear it.
Maybe it wants to enjoy it.
Your breath stutters, chest tightening painfully as fear finally sinks its claws into you fully, no longer dulled by shock or adrenaline.
Oh. Oh my god. Your heart starts pounding harder, louder, like itâs trying to escape your chest entirely.
Youâre going to die.
The thought lands, heavy and certain.
A whimper slips past your lips before you can stop itâsmall, broken, loud in the suffocating quiet.
Your stomach drops.
That mightâve been your second biggest mistake.
The firstâŚ
Well. You donât really have to think too hard about that one.
The sound seems to reach it instantly.
Its gaze sharpensâif thatâs even possibleâand something in the air shifts, like youâve just reminded it that youâre there. That youâre real.
That youâre alive.
And then it moves.
Across the briny pool, the water barely ripples around it. Thereâs no frantic splash, no wasted motionâjust a smooth, gliding shift forward, like it belongs to the water in a way you never could.
ItâsâŚ
Your breath hitches.
Beautiful.
The word comes uninvited, sliding into your mind like itâs always been there, waiting.
It doesnât rush you. It could. You know it could. Something deep in your bones tells you that if it wanted to, it would be on you in an instantâfaster than you could react, faster than you could scream.
But it doesnât.
It moves slowly.
Carefully.
Like itâs⌠aware of you.
Like it knows that one wrong move might send you scramblingâmight make you bolt, even though thereâs nowhere to go.
Like it doesnât want to scare you.
The thought is ridiculous.
It should be ridiculous. This thingâwhatever it isâshould inspire nothing but fear. Terror. The kind that roots you in place or sends you running blindly in the opposite direction.
And yetâ
Thereâs something about it. Something almost⌠awe-inspiring. That makes your fear stutter. Not stopânever thatâbut shift into something sharper. Stranger.
Until it reaches for you. And that illusion shatters instantly. A sharp, humiliating spike of panic shoots through you, your body reacting before your mind can catch up. You jerk back slightly, breath hitching, your entire body tensing as if you might boltâlike prey finally remembering what it is.
Because no matter how beautiful it looksâ
No matter how gently it movesâ
Itâs still something unknown.
Something dangerous.
And itâs reaching for you.
And before you can even think to pull away, it latches onto your ankleâfirm, unyielding. Not painful, but impossible to escape. It uses you like an anchor, hauling its body up onto the smooth stone where you lay.
Its body.
Godâits body. Half fish. Half man.
Its tail is longâtoo longâcoiling and swaying in the dark water behind it, the movement slow and hypnotic even as the rest of it rises above you. Droplets slide from its scales, catching the dim bioluminescent glow and scattering it across shades of deep blue and violetâcolors shifting with every small movement, impossible to pin down.
Itâsâ
Beautiful.
The word comes again, uninvited, stubborn. And wrong.
Because its upper halfâits human halfâis just as arresting. Its face is sharp, almost delicate in structure, framed by fin-like ears that twitch subtly with every sound. Its eyes glow faintly, fixed on you with an intensity that makes your chest tighten.
Its teethâ Sharp.Not hidden. Not softened. Meant for something far from gentle. And its clawsâstill wrapped around your ankleâdig just enough to remind you how easily it could break you if it wanted to.
Itâs massive.
Itâs inhuman. And itâs staring at you like youâre something it doesnât quite understand.
Your thoughts fracture. Part of you wants to recoilâto scream, to scramble away, to wedge yourself into some corner of this cave and make yourself small enough to disappear.
Another partâquieter, strangerâwants to reach out.
To touch. To trace the shimmer of its scales, to see if itâs as real as it feels. To tell itâ
Youâre beautiful.
Your body chooses neither. You freeze. Completely. Even as it shifts closer, even as its weight presses into the space around you, even as it looms so near you can feel the faint chill of itâsalt, water, something deeperâyour body refuses to move.
Your breathing stutters, shallow and uneven, barely there at all.
It leans in. Close. Too close. For a split second, your mind misfiresâsomething soft and absurd sparking through the panic.
Itâs going to kiss you.
But insteadâ
It speaks.
âAre you⌠alright?â The words are slow. Careful. Like they donât belong in its mouth. The accent is thickâancient, almost unplaceableâlike a language thatâs been sitting untouched for centuries, dragged back into use only now. Each syllable sounds deliberate, uncertain, as if itâs learning while it speaks.
Your brain struggles to process it.
It can talk.
It canâtalk. Its brows furrow slightly as it studies you, something almost⌠concerned flickering across its expression.
Concern.
From that.
Its grip shifts, loosening at your ankle as one clawed hand liftsâslow, deliberateâuntil it reaches your face.
You flinch. Barely. But it notices. The movement pauses for half a second before continuing, slower this time, more careful, until its claws gently cup your chin.
So gentle it doesnât make sense.
Like it knows exactly how fragile you are.
Like itâs trying not to break you. It tilts your face slightly, examining you, eyes flicking over every detailâyour lips, your eyes, the way your breath stutters, the tension in your body. Its other hand trails down, hovering, then lightly brushing over your arm, your sideâchecking. Searching.
For injuries.
For damage.
You still canât speak. Your tongue feels too heavy, your thoughts too loud and too empty all at once. All you can do is stare back at itâ At the creature that dragged you from deathâ And doesnât seem to know what to do with you now.
And thenâYour stomach growls.
Loud.
Sharp.
Embarrassingly human.
The sound cuts through the tension like a blade. You freeze even harder, if thatâs even possible, heat crawling up your neck despite everythingâthe situation, the creature looming over you, the fact that you almost drowned not that long ago.
Its head tilts.
Just slightly.
Curious.
The sound must mean something to it. Or maybe it doesnâtâbut it notices. That much is clear. Its glowing gaze flicks down to your stomach, then back to your face, something unreadable passing through its expression. Thenâ It leaves.
Just like that. The absence is almost worse.
Youâre left alone in the dim cave, the quiet rushing back in, your heart still pounding as you stare at the spot it disappeared into. For a brief, horrible second, you wonder if it changed its mindâif it decided you werenât worth the trouble after all.If itâs going to come back toâNo. Before the thought can finish, the water shifts again.
It returns.
And in its clawsâA fish.
Large. Silver. Barely alive. It writhes weakly, gills flaring, tail twitching as itâs held firmly in place. Water drips from it, pooling beneath you as the creature moves closer again, extending it toward you like an offering.
Like a gift. Your stomach twists.
â...I canât eat that,â you manage, your voice rough, unused.
It pauses.
Blinking at you.
You swallow, forcing the words out despite how ridiculous this feelsâexplaining food safety to a sea creature that could probably tear you apart without effort. âItâsâ itâs not prepared,â you say, gesturing vaguely. âItâs still⌠alive. And there are bones. Tiny ones, I could choke.â
It stares at you.
Silent. Processing. ThenâWithout warningâ It lifts the fish to its mouth and bites down.
Hard. The sound is wet. Sharp. Final. You flinch as the head is torn clean off, your stomach lurching at the sight as it discards it carelessly into the water. Blood clouds faintly around its hands, quickly dissolving into the pool. It doesnât stop. Its claws sink into the body next, slicing it open with practiced ease. It pulls it apart, exposing flesh and organs, and without hesitationâEats them.
You stare. Horrified. Fascinated. Frozen. It works efficiently, like this is routine, like this is normalâbecause for it, it is. Once itâs done, it carefully begins picking through whatâs left, its claws moving slower now, more deliberate.
It removes the bones.
One by one.
Small. Precise.
Making sure nothing sharp remains.
When itâs finished, it holds the fish out to you again.
Clean.
Safe.
Prepared.
âYou hesitate.â
Of course you do.
The fish sits in its handsâcleaned, prepared, offeredâbut itâs still wrong. Everything about this is wrong. The cave, the creature, the way itâs watching you like your answer actually matters. Your stomach twists again.
Two days. You havenât eaten in two days. Not because you couldnâtâ Because you wouldnât. Because you wanted the suit to fit just right. Because you wanted to look perfect standing beside him. Because you thought that mattered more than something as simple as hunger.
Your fingers tremble slightly as you reach out. For a second, you almost pull back. But hunger wins.It always does. You take it. Your hands brush its for the briefest momentâcold, damp, solidâand you flinch before you can stop yourself, pulling the fish closer to your chest like you need the distance.
It doesnât react. Just watches. You swallow hard, staring down at it. Thenâ Slowlyâ You take a bite. Itâs not as bad as you expected. That almost makes it worse.
The texture is strange, softer than it should be, the taste unfamiliar but not unbearable. Your stomach reacts instantly, a sharp reminder of just how empty itâs been, urging you to keep going even as your mind protests. So you do. Small bites. Careful ones. All while watching it. You donât look away. Not once.
Even as you chew. Even as you swallow. Even as the knot in your stomach slowly loosens, replaced by something steadier, heavier. It doesnât move. Doesnât speak. Just⌠observes.
Like itâs making sure youâre doing it right. Or making sure youâre not going to choke. The thought sends a strange flicker through your chest. When youâre doneâor at least as done as you can beâyou lower your hands slightly, breathe a little more even now. For a moment, nothing happens.
Thenâ It leaves again. You tense immediately, your eyes snapping to where it disappeared, your body going rigid like youâre expecting something worse this time.
But againâ It comes back. With more fish. Alive. They slip from its grasp into the pool with soft splashes, immediately darting away, circling through the dimly lit water. Silver flashes against blue, movement in an otherwise still space.
You blink, watching them. Confused. Your gaze flicks back up to it. It notices. Of course it does. âFor later,â it says, the words still slow, still slightly uncertainâbut clearer now. Easier.
Like itâs learning. Like itâs adjusting to you. Silence settles again. It doesnât leave this time. Just stays. Watching. Waiting.
Your grip tightens slightly around yourself, your mind finally catching up now that your body isnât screaming at you for food. Questions crowd in all at once, loud and relentless, pressing against your skull until you canât ignore them anymore. âWhatâŚâ your voice falters, rough from disuse. You swallow, trying again. âWhat are you?â The question hangs there between you. Heavy. Obvious. It stills.
Not completelyâbut enough that you notice. The faint sway of its tail slows, the water around it settling as its glowing gaze fixes on you more intently, like itâs turning the question over in its mind rather than avoiding it. âIâŚâ it starts, the word careful, unfamiliar. It pauses, brows pulling together slightly.
âI do not know how to describe what I am⌠to you.â Its voice is steadier now, though still thick with that strange, ancient cadence. Each word sounds chosen. Placed. âIt goes beyond your understanding⌠as a human.â Thereâs no arrogance in it. Just fact.
It studies your face as it speaks, like itâs watching for confusion, for fearâadjusting itself accordingly. âI am of the sea,â it continues after a moment. âBorn to it. Bound to it.â Its claws shift slightly against the stone, a quiet, absent movement. âIt answers me. And I⌠answer it.â A pause.
Its gaze flicks briefly toward the pool, where the fish still circle, before returning to you. âThere are words for what I am,â it adds, quieter. âBut they are not⌠yours.â Silence settles again, heavier this time. You nod slightly, even though it doesnât really answer anything. Or maybe it answers too much. The next question presses at you immediatelyâsharp, insistent.
Why did you save me?
You can feel it sitting in your chest, waiting to be spoken. But your throat tightens.
Because youâre not sure youâre ready to hear it. So insteadâ You look away from it, just briefly, like that might make it easier. âDo you knowâŚâ you start, your voice quieter now. âWhat happened to the ship?â You swallow. âWhy did it sink?âThis time, it doesnât hesitate.
âI do.â The answer is immediate. Certain. Something in your chest drops. Its gaze doesnât leave yours as it speaks again, softer nowâbut heavier. âI sank it.â Your heart drops. WhatâŚ? Did it justâ
Your eyes widen, something hot and sudden boiling up in your chest as you stare at it. It just stands thereâcalm, unmovingâlike it didnât just confess to killing everyone you loved. âWhy?â you choke out, your voice cracking as you fight to keep the tears from spilling. âHe hurt you.â Thatâs it. Thatâs all it says. Like itâs enough.
âWho?â you ask, breath uneven, confusion tangling with the anger rising in your chest. âYour mate.âYou blink. Your mateâŚ? For a second, it doesnât registerâthen it hits. Your used-to-be soon-to-be husband. âWhatâŚâ your voice comes out dazed, hollow. âWhat does he have to do with anything?âSomething in its expression shifts.
Sharpens. Its lips pull back, revealing those too-sharp teeth as a low hiss slips past them. Its tongue flicks outâlonger than it should be, a deep shade of blueâas it drags slowly over its fangs. âHe has everything to do with it,â it snarls, the words edged with something raw, something angry.
Your breath catches. âAll he had to do was love you,â it continues, voice tightening, eyes flashing a deeper violet. âAnd I would have left you alone.â Left you alone. The words settle strangely in your chest. âBut itââ its expression twists, something almost disgusted crossing its face, âit was courting another.âThe word sounds old. Heavy. Wrong in your worldâbut right in its.
âHe was courting another,â it repeats, voice dropping lower, more dangerous, âwhile you stood beside him as his chosen mate.â Your stomach churns. The image flashes in your mindâit, laughing, smiling, touching someone that wasnât youâlike it was nothing. Like you were nothing. âAnd soâŚâ Its voice softens. Not kinderâjust quieter. More certain. âI decided to give in to my desires.â Its gaze locks onto yours fully now, unblinking, intense âAnd take you.â
âTake me?â you mutter, the word sitting wrong in your mouth. Is that what this is? An abduction.
Your stomach twists violently. All those peopleâThey died because of you. âBut⌠so many people died,â you hiss, your voice trembling as you glare at it. âMy mom died. Everyone Iâve ever knownâeveryone Iâve ever lovedâdied.â Your body starts shaking, the weight of it crashing down all at once. The tears come before you can stop them, hot and uncontrollable, blurring your vision. The man you were going to marry betrayed you.
Your entire life is gone. And nowâ Youâre trapped with the thing that took it from you. âIt is a small price to pay for your ensured happiness,â it says. Like itâs nothing. Like itâs reasonable. It moves closerâfast this time, no longer hiding its speed. The water ripples sharply behind it as it closes the distance in a second, its presence suddenly overwhelming.
âWhy are your eyes leaking?â It asks, voice laced with something that almost sounds like concern. Your breath stutters. Its hands rest inches from your feet, claws scraping lightly against the stone. This time, you donât freeze. Your body jolts, instinct finally kicking in as you scramble backward, desperate for spaceâany spaceâuntil your back hits the cold wall of the cave. Itâs not enough. It will never be enough.
It follows. Of course, it does. Its body slides fully onto the rock, closing the distance like it was never there to begin with. The more you try to escape, the closer it seems to get. âNoââYou try to kick it away, panic spiking, but it catches your ankle effortlessly, pulling you toward it like you weigh nothing.
Your breath catches sharply as its clawed hand comes upâAnd cups your cheek. Gentle. Too gentle. You go still, not by choice this time, but because your body doesnât know what to do with thisâthis contradiction. It leans in. Close enough that you can feel the cold of it before it even touches you.
Its nose brushes against your cheek, dragging slowly along your skin as if itâs scenting you, taking you in in a way that feels far too intimate. ThenâIts tongue flicks out. Warm. It drags across your cheek, catching the tears there. You flinch hard, a broken sound catching in your throat.
âThese are⌠tears, yes?â It murmurs, almost to itself. Then it makes that sound againâlow, strange, something not quite humanâand pulls you closer, like your distress is something it needs to fix. âAre you sad?âIt nuzzles into your neck, its nose cold against your skin, breath ghosting faintly over you.
Your hands press against its shoulders instantly, the chill of it seeping into your palms as you try to create spaceâany space at all. âAre you really asking me that?â You choke out. Your hands press harder against its shoulders, but it doesnât moveânot really. It only tilts its head slightly, like itâs trying to understand you, like your reaction doesnât match what it expects.
âI do not understand,â it says quietly. Something in you snaps. A hollow laugh escapes your throat, sharp and broken. âOf course you donât,â you whisper, shaking your head. âWhy would you? You killed them.â Its expression tightensânot guilt, not regretâsomething else. Something darker. âI removed what would harm you,â it replies, voice low, certain. Harm you. Your breath stutters.
âMy mother?â You hiss, anger rising again, choking, suffocating. âMy friends? Everyone Iâve ever loved?â He doesnât answer right away. Instead, its gaze driftsâpast you, toward the open water behind it. Like itâs listening to something.
You frown, your words faltering as a strange silence settles over the cave. The water stills. Too still. Even the fish stop moving. Your chest tightens. âWhatâŚâ You start, your voice barely above a whisper. The creatures grip on you shiftsânot tighter, but more certain.
Protective.
Possessive.
Its eyes darken, the faint glow in them sharpening into something almost⌠alert. ThenâFrom somewhere deeper in the caveâ Something moves. Not small.
Not subtle. The sound is low. Heavy.
Ancient. And for the first time since you met itâThe creature looks⌠Worried.
â
A/n: depending on how this one does, Iâll post chapter 2..
hii, i found your acc through the yakuza a/b/o story. youre probably tired of getting ask's about them.
but im more interested with the deal between mc and shinpei. can we get more insight between them?
Don't worry I love talking about my stories lmao
So, basically, Shinpei grew up in a somewhat similar environment to Yukio, so it was not easy for him to trust people. He met Tetsuo pretty early on (in his late teens or early twenties), and they have barely been seen apart from each other since. I wouldn't really say their relationship is brotherly, since the line between boss and subordinate is drawn pretty clear (mostly because of Tetsuo, who insists on keeping that kind of professionalism), but Shinpei would trust Tetsuo with his life in a heartbeat, in the same way Tetsuo would gladly give away his life for Shinpei's, so there's that.
In that same context, Shinpei has been a constant in Tetsuo's life since way before MC was born, so MC grew up with Shinpei as some kind of weird uncle who liked to dote on him. Shinpei also cherished MC almost as his own child, and he was just a tiny bit happy to hear that MC and Yukio had bonded together. Yukio's rejection was the beginning of the downfall of Yukio's own relationship with his father, and since Shinpei felt responsible for MC (both as a parental figure and as a way of "fixing" his son's mistakes) he became pretty adamant with MC's request (leaving the main house of the clan, retiring when Yukio becomes Oyabun, finding a doctor who can do the gland removal surgery and bribing the hospital so it's not reported to the authorities, etc)
Basically, MC sees Shinpei as some kind of uncle he grew up with and is really grateful for, and Shinpei sees MC as almost a son he both cherishes and feels guilty/responsible for. None of them is really good at showing affection in the standard way, though, since the line between boss and subordinate was never erased, so they show affection differently: Shinpei in the things he does to make MC's life easier and MC in his loyalty to Shinpei
I hope that answered your question! And if you have more just ask. I really love talking about my OCs
that thing you wrote on the 24th of 11. đ¨âđłđ. esp. the ending. it feels happy in a slightly unexpected way. probably because whoever reads it knows full well it's only happy for you. you must be good to have been able to make it all work.
I'm not really sure which story you're referring to (I suppose Loyalty Has Teeth?)
But thank you! I love happy endings, although a huge part of my work doesn't reflect that lmao. I also love open endings so you'll probably find a lot of those in future works
You're desperate for a job, so you decided to take the risk and accept a random job offer you saw in an email. Was it stupid? Absolutely. But itâs already a little too late to regret it.Â
Dubcon. Youâre into it but youâre stubborn. And a brat. Stalking. Obsession. Heâs an asshole. Slight yandere tendencies. Rough. Somethingâs wrong with him. Home intrusion. Holding you âhostage.â Fear, paranoia. Sarcastic uses of âprincess.â Eating you out, fingering. Blowjob, handjob. He smacks you a few times. Biting, hair pulling. Too much plot. Old-couple style bickering. Iâm allergic to staying serious.Â
6.8k words
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Youâve been out of a job for a while now. The last one, well, the company was shit anyway. You werenât gonna allow yourself to be treated like that. So, you left, thinking that with the credentials you have, finding something else wouldnât be too bad.Â
Boy were you wrong.
Now youâre sitting at home, face buried in a computer, sending application after application, email after email, just to be ghosted. Each application that you sent in vain is breaking your resolve down bit by bit. You buried your face in your hands. All you could do was take a deep breath and hope someone replies. You werenât regretting leaving the shithole at all, no, but you definitely shouldâve thought about it more before quitting so abruptly.Â
To clear your mind, you decided to get yourself a cup of tea. Whatever tea that your old coworker sent youâCamdenâs the name if youâre remembering correctly. You didnât even know why or how he sent it to your place, but you appreciated the sentiment. He was the only person who was on the easier side of the spectrum to tolerate. With the package, he tacked on a little written note about how he knows your next job will treat you better.Â
Honestly? He felt a little weird to you. Not in a mean way, but he felt a littleâŚoff? In general heâs nice enough, got a bit of sass in him, messes with you and annoys you. Though, you did notice that he really likes commenting about if thereâs noise around your apartment, or if you noticed anything odd lately. Weird and definitely a little creepy, but no malice. Even if you did hear something, raccoons and cats are quite common around your area. Maybe he just has issues.Â
However, from what youâve heard from others, heâs downright rude. He was an asshole, actively targeted them and made their life harder, cutting people off, walking away, ignoring people. Cold, blunt, harsh. So of course, you made sure that tea wasnât laced with anything. Just in case. It wasnâtâthe tea was actually quite nice and expensive. At this point, why say no to that?
By the time you made the cup and came back to your desk, there was an email waiting for you. Excited, thinking it was a companyâs response, you opened it.Â
âŚ
This email was the sketchiest shit someone could ever receive. Youâve never reached out to thisâŚcompany? It just sounds like one personâ a lot of Iâs and myâs. They mentioned how theyâre a small startup, and theyâve just started looking for workers, maybe one to two to start with and see how things go. Looking up this company leads nowhere either. Literally everything in you was screaming that this was a scam and to just ignore this email, but then you saw his name. Your coworker, the one that sent you the tea, recommended you? ToâŚthis place???
All you could do is sit there for a bit, staring at the email.Â
What the fuck.
What was he trying to do? This all felt really weird, but the thing is? The money listed on that email was insane. Too good to be true.Â
âŚ
You accepted the offer.Â
Youâre taking the risk. Youâre basing this entire decision on the fact that your odd, but maybe well-meaning (?) former coworker decided to vouch for you, and that fat ass paycheck? That was way too persuasive. You could always just dip and report the coworker and âcompanyâ for fraud or whatever. It wouldnât be that bad.Â
Just a little while after accepting the offer, the âcompanyâ responded. Told you to get ready to be onboarded in a few days, and sent you an address. You looked it up, and it wasnât too far from your place. It wasâŚin a little hole-in-the-wall place though. Old mechanics shop. The email did say something about having you assembling robots, so that checks out.Â
Well, you did get ready for this spontaneous new job. Mostly, you just went out and grabbed a switchblade just in case. Thought about getting a gun, but that honestly felt a little too over the top. Everything else was easyâjust tidy yourself up before you leave, and youâre good.Â
Of course, you never told your parents. They will personally damn you to whatever hell they chose and lock you up just to sharpen your survival instincts. You did mention it to a few friends though, just in case something did happen. Fortunately, or unfortunately, they are also quite far so they couldnât have come all the way here overnight to lock you up as well. Theyâre all calling you stupid.
You believed that youâll be fine.Â
â
Your first day arrived, andâŚit was a little weird. No one was there except you, but the place was tidy. It truly was a mechanicâs shop, but it seems like someone came by and renovated it just a little. Again, probably the most weird is that there was no one there. You were told you were getting onboarded, but all you received when you got there was a packet on the counter with your name and more emails.Â
The packet itself was full of instructions. What to do, what not to do, things to watch out for. It mentioned that the place had cameras, so âyouâre safe.â At least theyâre being transparent that youâre being watched. You tried to not think too much about it.
You got real bored reading the packet. The gist of it was that you will be sent essentially a kit to build a humanoid robot...for some reason. Research reasons? Fucking weird. Stop trying to make robots so human. Makes no fucking sense.Â
The cameras watching you would be monitoring your progress to know when to send the next parts, but they reassured you that you can work at your own pace. Thereâs no real deadline to things, as long as you actually do your work. You can treat the shop as your ownâplay whatever music, eat whatever you wantâeverything else will be managed remotely. Honestly quite the conditions. Definitely something you can get behind.Â
All communications will be through email, and you're free to contact them if you have any questions. I mean, theyâve been really clear with their instructionsâbuild that robot, you get paid.Â
And, thatâs how the first week went by. The day after your âonboarding,â you were met with a box of parts and wires, and like a complex 3D puzzle, you spent the week building. It was honestly therapeutic. You had your headphones on, front door locked, and going by a manual, you reached flow state building that thing. Thereâs a million pieces to everything along with all kinds of wires, but honestly? You liked a challenge.Â
â
A few months went by like this. Flew past, in your opinion. But that paycheckâmy god. This was the best decision youâve ever made.Â
You were quite a fast worker, or at least you like to think so. The only thing the robot is physically missing are the legs. You had the thing sitting on a chair by your desk, since you thought it was easier to maneuver around it without having to move or step over robo legs every time you needed to check something.Â
So far, the robot isâŚquite naked. You knew it was planned to look human, and you were sent all necessary silicone âskinâ for this thing to make it look less robotic. Kind of like those cosplay muscle suits, but for the whole body to cover up the machinery. Creepy as fuck.Â
You decided to ignore that and take a few creative liberties. You left one of his arms and one of his legs mechanical, and got creative with cutting open a largeâŚhole (?) by his ribs, opposite to his mechanical arm.Â
You also refrained from putting the face on completely to lean more into the âcyborgâ aesthetic, but also because the face started to remind you of a certain someone. You didnât want to think about it.Â
All of these creative changes were reported to your boss though. They didnât seem to mind the changesâyou are the only one willing to work here anywayâand even sent clear silicone âskinâ for the mechanical parts as opposed to the flesh-toned suit. Just so the machinery itself was protected, they claimed. At least it doesnât take away from the overall design.Â
â
For the past few weeks, you worked on programming. Getting him to talk and move, mostly. Personality-wise, it was too easy. The company gave you pre-written code because they have a stick up their ass apparently. His personality had to be just the way they wanted it, so you didnât need to code anythingâjust include the file into his system, and youâre good.Â
It is making you want to pull your hair out though. This thing has so much attitude that it messes with you when youâre working on its motor functions. The more you interact with it, the more it reminds you of Camden. Maybe heâs behind all thisâmaybe he recommended you for this job for a reason. To piss you off because you left him alone to deal with shitty treatment.Â
Even with how weird everything seemed while building the thing, you started talking to âCaseâ for fun. You took some letters from Camdenâs name for fun, but ultimately, itâs short for âcase studyâ becauseâwho knows. Working this job might get you ended up as one, used to emphasize what not to do when you receive a random email with a job offer. Maybe youâll get covered by one of those insensitive online true crime podcasters someday.
Case never responds though, or at least verbally. You refuse to put his voicebox in just yetâheâs been pissing you off for the past week ever since you confirmed that the personality in his system was solid. Turning away when you were trying to look at his wires, grabbing things you had and moving his hand away when you reached for it. Once, this asshole pretended to be electrocutedâviolently shaking and flinging his arm everywhereâwhen you connected the wires in his back. Adding a voice to all this will test your patience to its fucking limit.Â
Even though he couldnât respond verbally, it did feel like heâs listening. Gossiping, venting, or just small talkâCase âlooksâ at you and chills his antics a bit. If you asked him a question, he just stares with his cold, glass eyes. You caught the light of a camera behind it every once in a while.
Other times, he makes soft whirring noises as some sort of acknowledgement. You never figured out which component makes that noise, but as long as it doesnât blow up, you didnât care. You still felt yourself growing to like this thing more and more. Maybe one day itâll actually be nice to you.Â
â
Another few months went by smoothly. Case can now walk and move quite like a person, although slightly clanky. You had to give him some of your clothes and a new wig, because you never want to walk in and see a giant naked bald cyborg man just standing there ever again. Almost gave you a heart attack. You started shoving him into a closet when you leave, but lately, youâre thinking about not doing it anymore. For some reason, his clothes always look a little dirty when you bring him out. The closet wasnât even that disgusting.
Apart from that, Case is getting slightly more concerning. Not really likeâa genuine safety concern, like he went berserk and decided to destroy mankind, butâŚyou put his voicebox in. At this point, thereâs not much to do with his motor functions anymoreâhis limbs work fine, he has decent balance, he can walk and do things on his own, and likes to follow you around like a giant robotic child. Messes with you like one too. But because you installed his voicebox, he now has the ability to comment or respond to your ramblings.Â
Initially, it was fine. All grand and special because the robot youâve been working on 40 hours each week for the large part of a year can now move and talk like a person. Or cyborg, for that matter. He does have quite a nice voice, all things considered. A nice, slightly robotic baritone. You tune him out often enough for you to consider it akin to white noise now, though.Â
He didnât say much at first either, just greetings, farewells, some quips, jokes, and name-calling, but because you talk at him so much, he started responding verbally more and moreâas if he realized he can now talk and wonât need to stare at you when youâre expecting a response.Â
As he spoke more and more, heâs gotten into the habit of starting more conversations. Sometimes, there wasnât even a conversationâhe would just walk up to you or look at you when youâre working just to tell you some odd fact. Like how a kid thinks everything is so cool and that they have to share. He has randomly stopped you and quoted some facts about a star or claimed that you worked like an old lady. Anything really.Â
The thing thatâs been getting to you though, was sometimes heâll just walk up and comment somethingâŚpersonal? Like the night beforeâyou were experimenting with a new recipe, but almost burned your apartment down. The firefighters managed to get there before any fire actually started though. Incredibly timely. The next day around lunchtime, Case randomly decided to study your lunch.Â
âHow often do you burn your food?â He asked, as if teasing you.Â
A chill went down your spine. What the fuck? This question caught you extremely off-guard.Â
After a few moments of silence, he turned to look at you, his soft whirring echoing loud in your brain. You eventually gave him an answer, which was satisfactory enough to send him back on his merry way (which was just wandering the room and looking at things). He later asked if eating burnt food would char your brain, which made you think that he went back to his usual self and started making random nonsensical comments again.Â
That night, you couldnât sleep. You hated that you couldnâtâitâs not like he could actually know what goes on in your apartment. You knew the shop was rigged with camerasâyou knew since the first day. But your apartment? Your personal life? You didnât understand.Â
After clocking off, you went straight home and checked it for cameras or any other bugs. Nothing, thankfully, but the raccoons outside decided that night was perfect for a party at the dumpster for some reason. You feared that if you pay too close attention, youâll somehow hear his mechanical movements by the raccoons.Â
You convinced yourself that you were being paranoid, and that Case has been asking random unrelated questions and making odd comments and insults ever since he could talk. It was pure coincidence he asked about your lunch.Â
But from then on, the questions and comments kept comingâall small and seemingly discreet. They could all be chalked up to coincidence, but the frequency of it was getting you more and more anxious. Heâs so talkative now, almost as if youâre interacting with a real person. Since you gave him clothes, he doesnât even look that cyborg-like. And apart from the few way-too-specific questions, he seemedâŚnormal. As if the questions never meant anything.Â
Heâs asked you stuff like how your car was doing, what kinds of tea you liked, if the rain messed up the laundry you hung up on your patio, if the critters around your apartment were making noiseâstuff he should never know about. Heâs never stepped out of this shop, never been connected to anything other than a power source, always been shut off at the end of each day, and all âknowledgeâ he has were given by the company and reviewed by you. Why does he know about your car troubles, the raccoons outside, or your patio??
Still, this could very well be small talk heâs trying to makeâyou mightâve mentioned something small and forgot about it, and as a bot, he doesnât âforgetâ things unless you delete it directly. In fact, you have checked his memory. Nothing in there looked off. He goes back to his normal antics after each comment anyway. Back to pissing you off with that attitude of his and wandering around.
Eventually, you just had enough. You needed a little break. You have never taken one yetânot that it wasnât allowed, but itâs not like you had much to do. You had the weekends to yourself, anyway. But, this week, you decided to contact your still-faceless boss that youâre taking a week off. Itâs been close to a year and you just need some alone time. You claimed that the week off was for an emergency, and reluctantly they agreed to it.Â
You would love to be able to say that it rejuvenated you, or that it cleared up your head and got you energized to get back to work. In fact, things got worse.Â
You still felt like you were being watched or that someone was right around the corner. You were wary of every little dart of a shadow, every little thump. You feared walking into an empty room just to see the robot, sitting there, or hear his quiet mechanical whirs around your apartment. Yes, of course his antics would be a coincidenceâdefinitely creepy, but heâs not following you. Or at least you kept trying to convince yourself that heâs stuck in the shop. Stuck in that closet again. You had the keys after all. He physically couldnât get out.
You tried contacting your friends or family, but of course, you chose the one week theyâre incredibly busy to be off work. Even so, they found the time to berate you for taking this job in the first place. You canât deny that you deserved the scolding though.
You were alone. And honestly? You were scared.Â
â
It was the Saturday before going back to work. Youâve spent the whole week in bed for as long as you could. Doing absolutely nothing but trying anything to quell this irrational paranoia.Â
Youâve been tossing and turning in bed even though itâs already the afternoon, and just contemplating. Should you even go back? Should you just move back with your parents until youâre mentally well enough to live on your own again? But itâs already been a year, and youâve been treated and paid very well. This little thing shouldnât get to you as much as it should, but you couldnât help that it did.Â
You pulled the sheets over your head, refusing to get out of bed, and pulled out your phone instead. Anything to not face the world right now.Â
Too bad, the world wanted to be faced. The moment your phone turned on, you heard a shuffling noise. You froze and just listened. Maybe it was a raccoonâor your neighbor's cat. Anything sensible. Logical.
The shuffling continued and started to sound like clunky footsteps. You could hear your heart thumping in your ears. You hoped it was a neighbor, but alas, three knocks resounded on your door.Â
âŚ
You werenât expecting anyone or any packages. Your friends and family were all busy. You never interacted with your neighbors.Â
Your heart got stuck in your throat.Â
You stayed frozen for a little while longer, seeing if someone just had the wrong door or whoeverâs out there will announce themselves. If you stayed still long enough, maybe theyâll think the house was empty.Â
Unfortunately, they didnât. They continued to knock on the doorâpatient at first, but you could hear the irritation after a while. You mustered up your strength and forced yourself out of bed, slowly making your way to the front door and looking out the crappy peephole.Â
No one?
You moved back but was met with more knocks, scaring the living shit out of you. You peeped through the hole again, but again, there wasnât anyone there. Was the peephole that trash? But youâll still be able to see something, right?
Now thoroughly alarmed, you grabbed the switchblade you got for your first day of work and held it as if you knew how to use it. You didnât. You never opened the damn thing before. But, itâs still better than nothing.Â
You held the opened blade in your hands, and with a deep breath, opened the door.Â
âŚ
There was actually no one?Â
You are incredibly confused and honestly, scared shitless. You thought youâre going insane. Is some ghost messing with you?? It couldnât be kids, you didnât hear anything at allâno footsteps, no whispering, no laughter.Â
Though, it seems like the universe has some sort of vendetta against you.Â
Right as you were about to close the door and finally start to calm yourself down, someone darted through the door from around the wall, slammed the door shut, grabbed you, and pushed you backwards. And of course, out of panic, you dropped that blade, It hit the floor with a sharp twang. As if itâll ever be of any help, seeing todayâs the first time it even saw the light of day. At least it didnât hit you.
Your brain went into overdrive, adrenaline pumped through your veins like it was on fire. You wanted to scream, yell for help, fight backâanythingâbut whoever it was that burst through your door knew and stilled your flailing with a grip to your arm and slammed a hand over your mouth. It was cold.Â
With one hand on your arm and another over your mouth, you tried to shove the person with your free hand. There wasnât much you could do. They didnât budge.Â
You are so fucking dead.
âItâs a miracle you havenât killed yourself with that thing yet,â he said, kicking the blade away with a chuckle.Â
You froze. Heart dropping to your ass kinda fear gripped you like a vice.Â
You were right. You werenât paranoid for no reasonâCase fucking burst through your door and has you hostage. What the actual fuck can you even do now. Is he actually gonna kill you? Lock you up forever??
âI almost went insane in there, yâknow. You were gonna leave me in a closet for a week. I noticed that you also did nothing but rot in bed for your entire âbreakââhow are you not dead yet?â Case babbled at you as if there was nothing wrong with a robot the size of a full-grown man breaking into a home.Â
As he rambled, he kept walking you backwards while you triedâin vainâto shove him away. He complained about how boring it was lounging in the shop. No one walked by, there were no animals around to watchânothing but the distant sound of cars. Boring. Mind-numbing.Â
You eventually hit a wall. It was then he realized that he had his hand over your mouth and that heâs been talking to himself for the last few moments.Â
âOh shit. AlrightâIâm removing my hand now. Behave,â he ordered, treating you like some kid. Brother you broke in and you expect someone to behave???Â
You still âbehavedâ though, but it was mostly you trying to wrap your head around what the fuck just happened while your heart pounded out of your chest. So. Case isâŚsentient?? Conscious?? Because you have looked over all of his programming. Breaking into a home was 100% not in there, let alone holding someone hostage.Â
âWâŚwhat the fuck???â is all that you could muster.Â
How did he get out? You had him shut off and stuffed in a locked closet before you left. Your heart was racing and your mind spinning, but none of that answered any questions.
Hearing your confusion, Case had the audacity to roll his eyes.
âHow do you have such a brilliant brain but have the survival instincts of a wet sandwich? Youâve worked with me for a year and you never noticed anything. Scratch thatâitâs technically way more than a year,â he continued to ramble.Â
What the fuck is he talking about? Noticed what? Whatâs way more than a year?
You continued to stare, dumbfounded, lips opening and closing with nothing coming out. He rolled his eyes again.
âDo I have to explain everything to you?â
âHow did you get out??? What are you doing here? What do you want from me??? What are you??âÂ
Now, questions started to spill out of you rather incohesivelyâanything that came into your brain flew out of your mouth. He sighed and stared at you like youâre stupid. Since when did this robot get this expressive?
âOk. Youâre not getting it. Take a seat,â he grabbed you by both arms and essentially threw you onto whatever surface was closestâwhich was the nice little dining table you got yourself with the money from this job. Thankfully there wasnât much on the table to begin with.Â
Shoving you onto the table, he trapped you in with both arms on either side of you. You did try to scoot back and get out of his reach, and maybe even tried to kick him in the process, but no scooting or kicking was enough. He just grabbed your leg with his cold, mechanical hand, and pulled you back. Grabbed your wrists so you couldnât shove, either.Â
âStop that. Iâm only here because I got bored,â he said, as if itâs in any way reassuring or logical.Â
âYouâre bored?? Why here of all places? You can literally walk five minutes to an arcade. Alsoâfucking let go of me-â You retorted, trying to twist out of his grasp again, to no avail.Â
âBecause I like youâcouldnât you tell? Now stop with that shit.â
âŚ
You froze, earning a little disingenuous âthank you.âÂ
âLet me spell this out as clear as I can because I donât know how else I can communicate this to you at this point-â he looked at you like he pitied you for not catching onto anything. Brother there was nothing that happened that hinted that anyone liked anything ever. And he thought youâre dense for not noticing?
âI have gifted you things, written you cards, befriended you in that shithole, gotten you a job, listened to your incessant ramblingsâby the way, you talk a lot. I even check up on you all the time to make sure you donât get yourself killed. Who do you think called for someone when your stove caught on fire? And yet, look at you now. Staring at me in silence as if I havenât been obvious the past year.âÂ
âŚ
âYouâre Camden??? And have you been following me???âÂ
âOh so now you get itâŚNow that I think about it, is this why you call me Case? Sounds quite similar to Camden, doesnât it?â
Oh god. You actually do feel a bit stupid nowâall the stuff that reminded you of your old coworker wasnât actually all coincidence. All the bumps and noises you hear outside arenât just raccoons and cats.Â
Youâre frozen.Â
Your headâs spinning.Â
You feel sick.Â
What the fuck.Â
âB-but how?? And who actually runs the shop?? Who have I been reporting to for the past year? Stop talking as if this is common knowledge, asshole. And youâve been stalking meâsince when was that ever a good and normal thing to do??â
âThere we are, welcome back to earth, princess. Long story short, itâs not hard to upload your consciousness to the internet when youâre a bot. But weâre not here for that right nowâremember what I said? Iâm bored.â
âSo..so âCamdenâ was also a bot? You uploaded your entire consciousness to give me instructions, for a year, on how to build you?? Why me?? Isnât there a better way to do all of this?? Just ask me out like a normal person.â
âI said, weâre not here for that right now. I like you. Iâm bored. Entertain me.â
âFuck you. How is that my problem?? You broke into my place, stalked meâyou literally have me hostage right now. Also, if this entire thing was orchestrated by you anyway, your boredom is your own fault. Entertain yourself bitch.â
âAlright, asshole, you said it. Entertain myself? Thatâs a green light if Iâve ever seen one.âÂ
And with that, he let go of your wrists. You were happy for a split second, but that shattered immediately when he shoved you back onto the table, grabbed your hips to pull you closer, and slammed his lips onto yours.Â
You flailed. Hands shoving as much as you could, legs kickingâall in vain. He kept one hand on your hips and the other buried in your hair as he devoured you as much as he could. He laid his entire cold, heavy body on top of yoursâyou were pinned.Â
He took your surprised gasp as an invitation to shove his cold tongue down your throat, swallowing any complaints you could ever want to muster. His tongue wasnât even wet.Â
You knew you shouldnât like this, but adrenaline is pumping and blood is rushing everywhere but the correct places. You felt him grind into you, forcing you to bite back a moan. You were not about to give this asshole any satisfaction.Â
âStaying quiet, huh? The one time you shut up is the only time I donât want you to. Letâs see how long you can keep this up,â he mumbled against your lips.Â
His mouth trailed down to your neck, nipping and sucking any skin he could come in contact with while the hand in your hair repositioned itself under your shirt. You shuddered at the lack of warmthâyour bodyâs reacting too much for your liking.Â
Then, he bit you. Hard. You could feel his hands on you tighten their grip as you yelped. He had the guts to smirk.
âWhat the fuck was that for? That hurt-â you hissed. You could feel his hand get close to your chest, fingers hovering.Â
âStop that shit, you think I donât know you like it rough?â And with that comment, he found your nipples, and he pinched, earning another yelp from you.
Your face heated up. You did like it rough, but youâre not gonna confirm that. You both knew youâre just being stubborn. Fuck, you could feel yourself twitching. Youâre beginning to wonder if he can physically feel anything.
He laughed at you, pecked you on the lips, then lifted your shirt up to your face.Â
âOpen.â
You didnât.Â
That didnât deter him though, he still shoved the hem of your shirt between your teeth, complaining about how youâre being an ass and making things harder for him.Â
Incredible.Â
With your shirt out of the way, he started nipping and sucking on your chest while a hand twisted and pinched. His other hand went to palm the tent in your pants. At this point you couldnât keep your noises inâthe shirt in your mouth was also getting more soaked by the second.Â
Your hands were grabbing at whatever you could to keep yourself groundedâhis arm, then up to his shoulder, in his hairâthank god you glued that thing on well.Â
Then suddenly, he pulled away. You were about to whine, but he didnât give your brain much time to comprehend anything. He only took one step away to give him enough space to yank off your pants and threw them onto the floor. Cold air hit your skin as you shuddered, your cock springing free.
Case wasted no time in pressing himself back onto you, this time grabbing your thighs and bending you, throwing your legs over his shoulder and letting himself get face to face with your most sensitive parts.Â
âWhat are you-â You couldnât even get your surprised, angry yelp out all the way before two fingers were shoved down your throat.Â
âStop questioning things and enjoy it, princess. Now suck.âÂ
Stuck with being bent like a pretzel, sucking on his fingers was all you could do. Case gave you a satisfying hum, watching your tongue circle his fingers, getting saliva everywhere. You were bent beneath him, shirt lifted and crumpled, bites and bruises all over your skinâheâs so upset you never built a dick into him. Instead, he just shoved in another finger and pressed on your tongue just to see you gag on it.Â
Now, heâs not gonna leave you hanging. With a free hand, he started jerking youâslowly, earning a groan from you. His cold hand on your burning cock sent a shiver through you. He placed kisses on your inner thigh before reaching the most tender part and biting. A startled moan escaped from you. You wanted to yell at him, but his fingers in your mouth were making that very hard.Â
Eventually, he reached your hole. He finally pulled his fingers out of your mouth with a light cough from you, and started circling your entrance.Â
âH-hurry up you asshole-â you sputtered out. Case just smiled.Â
Before you could get another word out, he slowly pushed a finger in. Too slow.Â
âYou think Iâm here to give you what you want? Iâve taken it slow for over a year, you can handle a little more.â
And to emphasize his words, he squeezed the base of your dick before dragging his tongue around the tip at an excruciating pace while his finger sank deeper. You tried bucking your hips, but he had you locked in place. You could only sit there and take it.Â
Despite his big talk, he eventually got impatient. He shoved another finger in you and took your length into his mouth, hands moving to play with your balls. His fingers scissored and tongue dancedâyouâre both thoroughly enjoying this.Â
He added the last finger and took you to the back of his throat all in one go. He held himself there, face buried into your pelvis, constricting his throat to tease you. He didnât need to breathe, after all. Your whole body shuddered.
His fingers worked to open you up, intentionally avoiding your prostate, pistoning in and out at a pace too slow for your liking. You tried bucking your hips again, still no luck. You're getting impatient.Â
âFuuuck Caseâis this all you got? G-go faster-â
He hummed around you, sending delicious vibrations to your core, but it wasnât enough. Instead of complying to your wishes, he pulled away fullyâmouth off of you, fingers out of you, and he took a step back, letting you lay there on the table a shivering mess. You groaned, too frustrated at this point.Â
âWhat the fuck is wrong with you, Case?â
You watched as lifeless eyes darted across your body, catching the red glint of a camera indicator behind his pupils.Â
âYouâre getting too closeâI just want to savor this moment a little longer. Am I not allowed to admire the masterpiece I created?â
You buried your face in your hands and groaned.Â
âAssholeâadmire any longer, Iâm locking you out here and finishing myself off alone.â
You sat up to prove a point. Your head still spun and your bodyâs still tingling, but heâs the type to respond to provocations. And as if on cue, he stepped back between your legs.Â
âAs if your legs can even carry you there,â he murmured against your lips, voice low, hand traveling up your neck. He just held it there like itâs now an accessory of yours.Â
âYouâre not getting away from me until I let you. You think that door can stop me?â He bit down on your lip, drawing another noise from you.Â
âActuallyâŚI know what you have in there. How âbout we head in there together and let me fuck you open with that dildo of yours, yeah? Would that satisfy you, princess?â
Despite his angered ramblings, he had no intention of moving you anywhere. Heâs planning on wrecking you on that table until heâs satisfied. Heâs not letting some toy dim his shine.
He pulled you in for another kiss, stealing your breath as you gasped for air. Pulling back again, he flipped you over onto your stomach and held your wrist behind your back. Despite not being equipped with anything, he grinded his hips against your ass.Â
âItâs such a shame I canât show you how I would destroy this ass of yours. Look at itâitâs begging for me.âÂ
You were about to retort with something stupid but a crisp, harsh smack derailed any train of thought.Â
âYouâŚy-you slapped me??? Who do you think you are-â
Another smack ended that sentence quite instantaneously. Your face flushed as you whimpered, trying to look back as much as you could to glare at him. All you could catch was his smug fucking grin.Â
âWell, I donât need to think. Iâm the one with the ability to make you beg. Be a good boy and take whatever I give you, hear me?â
With that, he bent down and bit your ass, kneading the other his palm. You hissed, but you could still feel your dick twitching. Hearing him chuckle, you knew he saw it too. How pathetic.Â
He once again ordered for you to open your mouth, and once again you refused. With a cold look, he grabbed your hair and yanked your head back, taking advantage of your shock to shove his fingers back into your mouth.Â
âYou really do like pissing me off, donât you? Do you want me to go in dry?â
You glared, but it didnât take long for him to take his fingers out your mouth and shove them back into your hole. You moaned as he started moving again.Â
To give himself a better angle, he let go of your wrist and lifted one of your legs up onto the table, your knees hitting the wood with a dull thunk and creating a nice arch in your back. You could feel him staring.Â
âPervert,â you choked out.Â
He didnât answer, but he did press down hard onto your prostate. You jolted, and in your mindâs haze, you could hear his laugh. Asshole.Â
But at least he continued. Your legs are shaking and without this table, youâll be crumbling to the ground like a wet paper towel. He started toying with your dick again, jerking it nice and slow, watching beads of precum drip onto the table. Out of the corner of your eyes, you saw him lick his lips.Â
His movements are becoming more intense, attacking your prostate with a passion and jerking you off in time of this fingerâs thrusts. While your eyes rolled to the back of your head, you felt something else around your hole.Â
Just as you cracked an eye open to look at him burying his face into your ass, you felt him shove his tongue into you. More and more noises spilled out of you as he worked you open with both his fingers and mouth, thrusting, sucking, and licking all at once. That hand on your cock didnât slow down either.Â
Your hands clawed at the table, searching for anything you could hold onto to keep yourself sane. Drool pooled a little beneath you, but at this point, you couldnât care less.Â
âCaseâCase pleaseâI-Iâm close-â you mumbled into the table, hoping heâll listen and be nice to you. And finally, for once, he was.Â
With a newfound determination, Case started pumping your cock, adding another finger into you in the process. He continued to lick and suck the skin of your thighs before finally paying attention to your hole again. He shoved his tongue in, humming with content, and started attacking your prostate along with his fingers. Youâre seeing stars.Â
Your legs were trembling, whole body shaking, voice rawâit didnât take long for you to snap. With a shout, you came, coating your table and his hands in white. Your chest heaved as you slumped onto the table, thoroughly exhausted. You could barely feel Case run his hands up your thighs and back, soothing you with a quiet hum.Â
Everything was silent for a bit. All you could hear was the soft whirs as Case continued to run his hands over your skin.Â
âDamn. You still alive?â he asked halfheartedly, lightly smacking your ass as if heâs trying to wake you up. You rolled your eyes.Â
âI feel like I died at least three times tonight.â
Case laughed.Â
âSeems like youâre still coherent. Good enough for me.â
And with that, he pulled you off the table and threw you over his shoulders, immediately heading in the direction of your bedroom.
âWhat the fuck, CaseâI just came. Iâm exhausted. Let me go, you fucking asshole-â
âTch. As if I care about that.â
He shut the door behind him and threw you onto your bed, climbing over you once again.Â
âIâve said this before, princess. Youâre not getting away from me until I let you.â
Did a double take when you mentioned the Tomie fic cause my ass thought I found you when you did the mafia ABO, but NAH itâs actually Tomie cause I adored that fic a lot and go back to it every now and then lmaooo
The dots were not connecting in that moment, but yeah I adore your work and hype for more đ
Stop that makes me so happy đ
I've been telling myself I'm gonna write more but procrastination is really getting the best of me lately. I really gotta start working on my drafts so thank you for the extra motivation đ
Hiii just found your blog I'm entranced and invested sooo much... also I absolutely LOVED your tomie x reader it was so fucking good even as someone who's never consumed any tomie or junji ito media in general
idk i just really really really loved it. Have a great dayyy
Thank you so much!! The Tomie one-shot has a special place in my heart because I genuinely loved writing it so much. I'm really happy you enjoyed it.
And if you're interested, I actually have two works on my drafts right now that have a similar dynamic (because, for some reason, I've been thinking about yandere characters a lot). One is with Eckles from the manhwa "Villains Are Destined to die" and the other with an OC
Teacher assistant x yandere sick male reader who is heavily touch/praise starved and obsesses over the TA just because TA told the reader "good job". (lmao)
You were sick. A heart disease that kept you in the hospital for most of your childhood. Your parents, always busy and traveling because of work, stopped coming to see you in the hospital when you were old enough to talk. You were basically raised by nurses and your older brother, the "perfect child" who would inherit your parents' company after they retire.
Your parents were not the best to him, either. They were barely home. But the times they were there, they couldn't stop praising your brother for being such a good child. You, on the other side, were stuck in a hospital room until you turned ten, receiving nothing but pity and condescending smiles.
Still, the only desire your tiny self had was to be praised in the same way they did your brother. So when you were healthy enough to stop seeing private tutors and attend middle school like a normal child, you put all your effort into following your brother's steps and becoming the best of your class. You showed your grades to your parents, excited, expecting a pat on the head and your first "you worked hard. Good job!"
"Oh, baby." Instead, your mother looked at you with that same condescending expression, the one you would give to a toddlerâthe one that made you feel stupid. "You don't have to do all that. What if you end up in the hospital again?"
Not even a good job. Not even a smile. Just that look, the one that screamed they never expected anything from you anyway.
You were confused. You were frustrated. And attempt after attempt, it was the same thing. You never received more than infantilized complimentsâthey talked to you as if you were still five, still stuck in between hospital machines and white blankets. They talked to you as if you were fucking stupid. So you tried doing the opposite, letting your grades drop, insulting teachers and housekeepers, being difficult in general. Nothing changed. They wouldn't praise you nor lecture you. They just told you to "enjoy and not worry about complicated things," as if you were so dumb you couldn't even comprehend how life was supposed to work. As if there was something wrong with your head instead of your heart.
So you gave up, living in the way they wanted you to, making friends with the first person who said something nice about you, even if they drained your pockets on a daily basis. And then you meet him. It was a dumb reason, an exam in a random college class you were not even that interested in. You actually tried in this paper to make your brother stop pestering you about your barely passing grades. The TA was just returning the papers.
"You actually tried this time." He said. He was so stiff. You don't think you have ever seen him make a not-bored face. "Good job."
But those words were enough to hook you.
You started trying in that one class just to keep squeezing praise out of him. Soon, it wasn't enough. Following him home, stealing small stuff, taking pictures in secret, all while the two of you began growing closer, making you obsessed in a way you didn't know you were capable of.
When you finally convinced him to let you visit his place, you were over the moon, already planning where you could install cameras without him noticing, what you could take that wasn't very obvious. He stepped into the kitchen to answer a phone call, and you took the chance to sneak around the place, mentally mapping everything, looking in the walk-in closet for something to take home.
That's when you see it, the weird door at the back of the small room. Why would he have something like that?
You open it, turning the light on and letting your eyes get used to it.
Your face is everywhere.
The walls are completely covered with pictures of you. Some from your socials, some clearly taken without your knowledge. There are things you thought you lost, carefully organized in a shelf at the end of the room, and next to it, a desk with too many screens. Some of them have your social media open, a copy of your schedule, and the classes you planned on taking next semester, some even with your family contact information. The rest, though, were connected to cameras, displaying the inside of your dorm; a direct view to the bed, in the bathroom's mirror, in the small kitchen. He had a full view of every one of your private spaces.
"Didn't I tell you to stay in the living room?" His whisper right in your nape makes you flinch, voice so heavy you could feel it pushing you down. "You were not supposed to see this."
...
I'm actually writing this one as a full part I just wanted to post a small heads-up because I'm fucking bad at waiting
Pairing : Yandere Bully (Kaino) x Male Crossdresser Reader
Author's Note : not sure if i can call this a part 3 since it isn't exactly a fic, but here's a quick scenario showcasing how Kaino would react if a new person were to try to enter your life.
PART 1 | PART 2 | requests
Jealousy wasnât an emotion Kaino felt often.
What was there to be jealous of? He had everything he wanted: friends, money, decent grades.
You.
With your secret held over your head, heâd been able to keep you close. Not that you were enthusiastic about it.
But he could overlook that for now. Youâd learn to love having him around eventually. Kaino was a patient man, and it wasnât like you had any other friends to cling to. He was your only choice of company.
Until someone came along to shatter that perfect picture.
For the first time in his life, Kaino felt his chest tighten when he saw someone hanging around you these past few days. A junior you were assigned to tutor; sweet and innocent, a complete opposite of him. Maybe that was your type.
Kaino could only watch from a distance as your usually stoic expression softened whenever you spoke to the younger guy. Barely noticeable, but Kaino noticed.
Of course he could tell. The slight twitch of your lips was a dead giveaway.
His own lips twitched up into an irritated smirk when his gaze caught the juniorâs touch lingering a little longer than usual as he brushed a dried leaf off your shoulder.
Kaino pulled you into an empty classroom during your free period that day, teeth sinking into your shoulder blade, lips following to suck at the spot heâd just bitten until the sting bloomed into a purple bruise.
He repeated the same process until he was finally satisfied that heâd gotten rid of any traces of that juniorâs touch on your skin.
You stood there, dumbfounded, watching him leave without an explanation. Your collar hung loose, stretched out to make room for his lips.
The next day, you covered the marks with foundation and tore into him with a string of curses. When you demanded to know why, Kaino only shrugged.
âJust an urge,â he said, like it was reason enough.
If you still didnât get the hint after that, Kaino would finally put your secret to proper use.
Once he caught the junior alone, he pulled him aside and cornered him the same way he had once cornered you. Then he took out his phone and showed the poor, shock-ridden kid an array of photos. You in your crossdressing glory, captured from angles you never realized existed.
Kaino, under the guise of concern, told the junior to start avoiding you if he didnât want to be seduced and deceived by you, dragging your name through the mud by making up rumors on the spot.
Like how youâd thrown yourself at him, for example.
It wasnât true. Not yet.
But he could only wish.
He ended the confrontation with a threat: to keep this conversation between the two of them, unless the junior wanted his life ruined.
The next day, the junior started avoiding you like the plague. He had changed tutors without telling you and blocked your number completely.
It wasnât the first time Kaino used your secret to drive people away. He did it in public, too, whenever the two of you were out together.
Strangers approached you often. They would compliment you, smile, and then comes the inevitable phrase, âCan I get your number?â
Kaino would simply wrap an arm around your waist and give the stranger asking a smile that didnât quite reach his eyes.
âHeâs a man,â heâd say bluntly.
It was always entertaining to watch their expression collapse into embarrassment as they apologized and hurried away.
Youâd glare up at him after the awkward encounter. âWhat was that for?â
Kaino would shrug, the hand at your waist tightening just a touch, a soft squeeze that didnât match the coldness in his eyes.
âJust felt like it,â heâd say, gaze drifting elsewhere. âItâs rude to have people approach you when weâre out on a date.â
âThis isnât a date.â not yet.
Kaino only hums in response.
Youâll learn eventually.
Heâd keep you by his side until he was your only option for love, if he had to.
Hii, do you ever plan on making a full fic of the silly transmigration alpha prince x beta reader? It was such a funny and amazing concept that I need more of đŤđ
Thank you!! Honestly it was just a silly idea I had in mind so I basically have nothing more to add to the plot besides this đđ
But if someone has ideas to add to this I would love to read them, and I might even make it a fic if my creativity cooperates with me for once. I do think it would be really funny to write so if you have any ideas/recommendations please do share them đ
Not what I would usually post but I was trying to practice drawing faces and it was going bad (like really REALLY bad)
And then the literal next second, I magically spawned the ability to draw faces
Like I'm so confused but so proud at the same time idk how I did it and idk how to feel
But anyway, y'all can ignore this I was just feeling kinda happy lmao I might delete this tomorrow when the lack of sleep is not messing with my ability to make smart decisions
The girl who didn't exist | Yandere! Bully x Male! Reader [ Pt. 2 ]
! MDNI !
pairing : Yandere Bully x Male Crossdresser Reader
content warning : dubcon, bullying (verbal and physical), general yandere behavior
author's note : finally finished writing. never expected to write so much since this was supposed to be a quick fic lol T-T anyways, enjoy reading, my inbox is also open for requests!
PART 1 | requests
Walking into your shared classroom felt like a death sentence. Kainoâs presence lingered, suffocating and more intimidating than usual after what happened last night. His eyes followed your form as you went to take your seat at the very back row, his gaze almost stripping you. Measuring. Calculated.
With his group, heâd still bump your shoulder whenever you passed him in the hallways, a muttered âPrincessâ under his breath. But instead of his usual confidence, the insult felt hesitant. Like a question he didnât know how to ask you.
Then lunch time came. Youâd usually pack your own lunch and eat in an empty classroom to hide yourself away from Kaino and his group, but trouble seemed to find you either way.
You were halfway through your hearty meal when you heard the classroom door slide open then back close. Instinctively, your head turned towards the sound. It was Kaino.
The sound of dragging reached your ears, and before you could protest, he dropped into the seat he placed across from you, the force rattling the table. His friends were elsewhere. For once, it was just him and you.Â
You expected him to start speaking as soon as he sat down, but the silence simply stretched on. Finding it awkward, you turn your attention back to your meal and continue chewing with feigned calmness. Like how you acted unbothered when he approached you last night.
Then he finally cleared his throat âHey.â
You didnât bother to look up from your meal and look at him, afraid that you might give off a hint for him to pick up on if you raised your head. âWhat?â
You felt him lean closer, eyes narrowed and eyebrows furrowed in suspicion. âDo you have a sister?â He asked.
You paused your chewing for a mere second, your shoulders tensing. Then you continued, not wanting to raise suspicion âNo.â You answered. Kainoâs expression made it seem like you had just slam the door on his face.Â
âCousin?â He asked again, teeth gritted in frustration. He wasnât too far off, but you werenât about to let yourself get caught.
âNo.â You shot him down again, but he was persistent.
âNeighbor?â âNo.â
âFriend?â â..â You raise a brow.
âAnyone who looks like you?â Finally, you raised your gaze to look at him, and for a split second, you caught his eyes lighting up. A semblance of hope.
âNo. Why are you asking me all of this?â You asked flatly.
Kainoâs face flickered almost immediately, expression tight. He was unable to answer, itâs not like he could openly admit that he was currently obsessing over someone who looked like you. That would be..
Kaino shook his head at the thought. Yes, you were pretty, but he cursed himself for looking at you that way. There was no way he could like a boy, no matter how pretty you were.
âForget about it,â he scoffed under his breath. The silence persisted, both of you silently staring at each other. His eyes watched you with the intensity of someone trying to remember a blurry dream.
Then the bell rang. You took it as an opportunity to escape the situation. Your chair scraped when you stood up, packed your things, and left the room. Kaino stayed still for a second longer, then muttered something under his breath and walked out.
That night, your phone that was usually cold from the lack of messages buzzed to life with continuous messages. It started with an unknown number.
Unknown: Do you go to bars?
Unknown: This is Kaino btw.
You simply stared at the screen until it blurred. You didnât bother replying, telling yourself that heâd forget about the whole ordeal after a few days. Then another message came in two minutes later.
Kaino: Hello?
Kaino: I know youâre reading my texts.
You set the phone down like it was hot, turning it off and heading to sleep.
That didnât stop Kaino from trying anyway. The next day, he followed you halfway to your locker like a duck trailing behind its mother and asked almost absent-mindedly âHave you ever tried growing your hair out?â
You blinked at him. âWhat?â
He furrowed his eyebrows, almost as if he was upset at himself for asking something so ridiculous. âNevermind. You look like a princess with short hair either way.â He muttered dismissively, lost in his own thoughts.
Later, you caught him scrolling on his phone between classes, thumb flicking too fast, searching, searching, and searching. But there was nothing to find. He was obviously starting to grow frustrated. You almost laughed.
The girl didnât exist online because she didnât exist at all.
Kainoâs frustration turned into obsession, and obsession turned into recklessness. He started hovering, looming in your periphery, waiting for a crack in you. The intensity of his assaults grew, not only verbally but also physically.
Normally heâd only shove, push, and pull. But recently, he began to use his fist against you, leaving bruises on their wake. You were going back to your dorm with a black eye, swollen lips, and bruised abdomen daily.
As much as Kaino felt guilty for having to rely on such measures, it was his way of easing his frustrations. He thought that if you looked beaten up enough, he would stop finding you pretty and stop comparing you to the stranger heâd been obsessing over.
But that only made it worse. Who knew he could find someone so attractive even when theyâre all bruised up and crying?
Kaino was starting to get restless. Nothing was working. No matter how much your face bled and swelled, he still found himself locked in a bathroom stall after each beating, face flushed and a hand tucked inside his pants. Heâd moan your cousinâs name like a prayer with each stroke of his hand, yet it never felt right.
Then he tried your name once. âY/..n,â he muttered under his breath, eyes half-lidded and mouth slightly agape as his breathing quickened. He felt a shiver run down his spine, eyes wide as he felt the familiar warmth of his climaxâs aftermath staining his hand.
He stared at his hand as if he grew a sixth finger, skin sticky from his own release. â.. What the fuck?â
It was only a matter of time before desperation got the best of him. He needed to see her again.
The cornering happened on a Friday. It happened behind the gym after classes, when the sky was bruised in the late afternoon and the air smelled like rain. You were on your way home when Kaino stepped in to block your path.
Your stomach dropped at the mere sight of him. âMove,â you said, almost instinctively.
Kaino refused to budge. But he also didnât touch you. His hands were at his sides, fists flexing like he was wrestling himself. âI know it was you,â he said.
Your blood went cold.
He took a step forward, you took one back. That reaction was enough to tell him everything he needed to confirm, a raw laugh escaping his lips. It wasnât mocking, not deranged either, just.. cold. It was a laugh youâd hear from someone in disbelief.
âI canât find her. I canât find anyone matching whatever information she gave me that night. And youâre the only person who makes sense.â
You tried to step around him. He shifted with you, still not touching, but blocking. âStop,â you snapped. âI donât want to hear whatever conspiracy theory you have.â
âIâm not gonna hurt you.â Kaino swallowed, but it seemed like he was reassuring himself more than he was reassuring you. âI canât stop thinking about you,â he admitted. âNot just because of that âgirlâ. But because itâs.. you.â
Your throat tightened. You wanted to spit something back. You wanted to walk away. Was this a confession? If so, then it was ridiculous.
âIâve heard enough,â you stopped him before he could start rambling. âI donât care about what you feel about me or that girl you speak of. I just want to go home.â
You could sense his anger rising at the blunt rejection. Maybe it wasnât such a good idea to turn him down when he was finally vulnerable for once. You found that out the hard way.
âKainoââ You gasped out. His weight was pressed against yours, your lips swollen and cheeks bruised by the hand tightly gripping them to keep your head in place. You feel a wave of deja vu hit you as soon as his lips meet yours for the second time into a rough, heated kiss.
You could almost feel his frustration. His desire.
His grip on your cheeks tightened, prompting you to part your lips to give way for his tongue to slide right in. A hand wandered down your waist and brushed over the bruises he had left a couple days ago. His touch so gentle spoke to you, as if asking for your forgiveness with no words.
He pulled away soon after, watching your expression with a dark look. Expecting. âDo you remember everything now, [Fake name]?â He asked. âDid you enjoy watching me piece everything together like an idiot?â
You flinched at the harshness in his tone, chest aching at the thought of being caught. Averting your gaze, you couldnât bring it upon yourself to look at him. â.. Thereâs no need for all of this. Just beat me to a pulp already if youâre that mad.â
He frowned in dissatisfaction at your answer. Did you really think he was confronting you just because he was mad?
No, he wasnât just mad. He was livid.
Not only at you, but at himself for taking this long to make his move.
âAnd you think that would make everything alright?â He scoffed out a laugh. âNo, youâre going to do something else for me.â
Thatâs how you found yourself wearing an exact replica of the clothes you wore that night at the bar. You were surprised that heâd even remember what you wore. But then again, he did imagine ripping it off of you that night but never got the chance to do so.
His hands settle at your hips, thumbs slowly tracing circles against the fabric. âYouâre so pretty,â he muttered under his breath, looking at you as if he was undressing you with how intensely his dark eyes stared at you.
Then he leaned in to kiss you. It was slower than you expected. Like heâs deliberately refusing to rush, even though his body wants to. His lips part, warm and insistent, the sound he makes is quiet and wrecked, like he was granted access to something sacred.
Kaino exhaled through the kiss. He lifts one hand and trails his knuckles lightly along the side of your thigh, over the hem of the skirt, testing your reaction and was satisfied when he felt you groan against him. He ate up your moans and whimpers like a starving man in the middle of a desert.
His hands eventually trailed higher until it brushed against your throbbing erection. He pulled away, eyes dragging over your face again. âYou know,â his voice dropped until you could barely hear him. âI keep thinking about you leaving that night.â
Your stomach tightens. Kainoâs thumb circled around the tip of your leaking cock. A restraint disguised as touch. âWhat about it?â you asked quietly.
Kaino leans forward and presses a gentle kiss to your forehead. A stark contrast to the rough hand that suddenly wrapped around your shaft, making you gasp out loud. He pulled you with him until you were chest to chest. His hand slid up and down at a constant pace, using your pre-cum as a lubricant to help his hand glide more smoothly.
His touch was careful, but the need underneath it is obvious. âI wonât make the same mistake twice,â he says. "You wonât be leaving tonight." It was phrased like a fact; landed like a boundary.
You hissed at the warmth building up at your lower abdomen, eyes glazed with tears as your grip around Kainoâs shoulders tightened, trying to keep yourself steady. Your legs were trembling, his words blurring inside your head.
You muster up some of your strength to reply, voice breaking slightly. âThatâs not.. your decision.â
Kainoâs jaw tightens, a flash of something possessive, and then he visibly reins it in. His hands loosen, his shoulders drop.
âSay it,â he says hoarsely, basically pleading. âSay youâll stay because you want to.â
He kisses you again, deeper this time. As if you were going to fade away if he lets you go.
The pace of his hand quickened, learning each vein and ridges with a patience that feels deliberate and shaky. You feel his restraint slowly fading, allowing the entirety of his desire to take over.
Your breathing grew heavy, mouth brushing against his. You closed your eyes tightly, the tears resting against the brim of your eyes trailing down your cheeks as you reached your climax and painted Kainoâs hand white with your load.
You were shaking in his hold. Kaino stills. Then very quietly he muttered, âI donât want to hurt you.â
âBut you did,â you say shakily in disdain, not cruel, just true.
Kaino pulled his soiled hand away from under your skirt, using his other hand to wipe away the tears from your cheeks. âI know.â His eyes didnât seem to show any remorse despite his acknowledgement.
Instead, his mouth finds your neck. He kisses there, slow, then pauses as if heâs about to bite, about to mark, about to make his claim final.
He stops himself.
Instead, he presses his lips there again, gentler, and murmurs against your skin, âYou can go ahead and hate me for it. It wonât change the fact that youâre mine.â
Silly omegaverse transmigration + royalty idea because I've been reading a lot of transmigration stuff lately. Alpha prince x beta reader.
You were the average office worker, stuck between endless work hours and no breaks in your schedule, dreading every day you were forced to work while dreaming about a quiet and comfortable retirement, away from all the city chaos. One day, walking back home after working overtimeâagainâyou get into a traffic accident because of a drunk truck driver. In your last moments, at the end of your boring, empty life, your only regret is never achieving your so-desired retirement.
But then you wake up in a bed that's not yours, in a room you don't recognize, and a woman bolts into the room yelling how you're late on your first day of work because how dare you oversleep after literally dying?
You feel pretty alive, though, and in between her yelling and your confusion, you change into the weird butler clothes lying on the night table next to the bed, rushing to attend a certain "fourth prince" that you don't know anything about.
Context clues help you figure out you're in a different countryâhell, a different century. You heard about it from your coworker, the "transmigration" thing or something, and when you remember the novel she lent you that you barely skimmed over, everything makes sense.
You're stuck in the world of the novel, a weird place withâsecondary genders? You haven't completely grasped the concept, but you have a basic idea of what it is because of the few things you remember from the novel.
And then you meet the novel protagonists, the first prince and his fiance. Everyone is gushing about how perfect a couple they are, alpha and omega, fated mates. And you couldn't care less, not after all the work that was dumped into you when you, a bland beta, were assigned as the personal butler for the fourth prince, the youngest son of the family, and an alpha his father dotted on way too much.
But, honestly? You're not complaining at all. Yes, you have a lot of work to do, but you have way better pay than an average office worker, a much nicer place to stay than the one-room apartment you used to call home, and even paid vacations!
The main story was developing far away from you, a background character who wasn't even mentioned in the book, so, as long as you kept a low profile, your dream of a comfortable retirement with plenty of money to spend wouldn't be hard to achieve. You just need to endure until the fourth prince's engagement ceremony, where he was to choose a bride. After the ceremony, as tradition dictates, there will be a shift of the personnel serving him, a sign of a new start and a new life tied to his chosen partner. Then, your workload would decrease, and you would make use of your savings to have a very deserved vacation near the sea.
'It's the perfect plan,' you thought, standing with the other servants while the fourth prince selected their bride-to-be among the debutantes who sent marriage applications.
So then why...?
"I want him." The prince's voice is firm, with no degree of doubt as his finger points directly towards you. For a moment, you think your jaw is dislocated with how far it dropped. No, no, this must be a mistake. You were his butler. And a beta. And you were about to leave for your first vacation in a decade!
"The butler?" The king asks, nothing but curiosity in his tone.
"Yes. There is no chance I will take the crown, so there's no need for an heir either."
The room grows silent, your head spins when the king seems to actually consider his son's request. There's no way. Absolutely no way.
"Very well," the king nods. "Congratulations on your engagement."
