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I really appreciate your ability to write prideful men who are complete losers inwardly who can’t handle being rejected. I really loved Loyalty Has Teeth specifically— the fact that Reader refuses to crawl back and blubber at Yukio’s feet is just amazing and very compelling. The amount of details about the surgery, and just how central that surgery is to the plot, is very interesting.
Fantastic work!
Thank you so much! Honestly I just love exploring characters with "bad" traits and their many sides.
I'm also a sucker for the "ML made the MC suffer but when the MC had enough of his bs ML gets his portion of suffering and chasing" trope, or the name I prefer, "fuck around and find out". But after reading many stories that go like that I always end up annoyed bc MC has no backbone and lets everyone walk over them so I decided I would write the complete opposite.
I'm really glad you liked my self-indulgent story!
A/n: Guys, I won’t lie. I totally forgot about this shit, but we’re back!! And smut is supposed to happen next chapter?? So YAYY!!
It takes a few days—Or at least, you think it does.
Time has long since lost its meaning in this cave. There are no mornings, no nights, no shifting skies to ground you in anything real. Just the steady glow of bioluminescence and the rhythm of Rafayel coming and going.
But eventually—Something in you settles. Or maybe it doesn’t. Maybe you just get tired of waiting.
Tired of the looming thought hanging over your head like an inevitable storm.
Because whether you like it or not—You’re going to have to meet them.So instead of letting it drag out any longer…
You decide to face it.
Get it over with.
At least if Rafayel is there—At least if it’s by your side—Maybe it won’t be as bad as your mind keeps insisting it will be.
You sit at the edge of the pool, your legs submerged as you idly kick at the water, watching the ripples distort the faint glow beneath the surface. Your stomach twists. Your fingers curl slightly against the rock beside you.
You hesitate.
Just for a second.
Then, “The cove,” you whisper. Your voice is quiet, but it carries easily in the enclosed space. Behind you, Rafayel stills almost instantly. It always does when you speak first.
“You’ll be there for it, right?” you ask, your voice softer now, betraying just a hint of the unease sitting heavy in your chest.
A pause.
Not long.
But long enough for you to feel it.
Then,“Of course.”
Simple.
Certain.
Immediate.
You nod to yourself, even though it can’t see it from that angle. Your throat feels tight. “Okay…” you murmur, more to yourself than to it.
You draw in a breath.
Then another.
Steeling yourself.
“Then, um…” God, why is this so hard? “Can I—I want to meet them.”The words come out a little more uneven than you intended, but they’re there.
Said.
Real.
Behind you, there’s a shift.
Subtle.
But noticeable.
You glance back—And for the first time since you’ve known it—Rafayel looks… surprised.
Not confused.
Not curious.
Surprised.
Like it genuinely didn’t expect you to say that.
Like it thought this moment would come differently.
Later.
Forced.
Its gaze searches your face for a moment, like it’s trying to determine if you truly mean it.
“Are you certain?” it asks, its voice lower now.
Careful.
You swallow.
Your heart is beating faster than you’d like to admit.
But you nod anyway.
“Yes.”
The word is quiet.
But firm.
You don’t take it back.
For a moment, it just watches you.
Studying.
Then something shifts in its expression—something almost… pleased.
Not in a mocking way.
Not cruel.
But satisfied.
Like something has fallen into place exactly the way it wanted it to.
“Then I shall fetch them.”Your stomach drops. That fast?
Your fingers twitch slightly against the rock.
“Wait—”
But it’s already moving. Slipping into the water with barely a sound, its massive form disappearing beneath the surface in a smooth, fluid motion.
Gone.
Just like that.
And suddenly—You’re alone again.The cave feels bigger without it.
Quieter.
Colder.
Your heart pounds in your chest as you stare at the water, watching the ripples slowly settle, your reflection staring back at you in broken fragments. What did you just do?
Your breathing picks up slightly as your mind starts to race. There’s no taking it back now.
No undoing it.
You asked for this.
You agreed to this.
And now—They’re coming. A strange tension fills the air, like the cave itself is holding its breath. You don’t know how much time passes.
Minutes.
Maybe less.
But then— The water shifts.
Not gently.
Not like before.
It moves.
Disturbs.
Something beneath it—No.
Multiple things.
Your heart jumps into your throat as the glow beneath the surface begins to fracture, shadows weaving through the light as shapes begin to form.
Too many.
Far too many.
They’re coming.
Holy shit—They’re coming.
Your stomach drops so fast it makes you feel dizzy, your hands gripping the edge of the rock as your feet remain submerged in the water.
And you’re going to have to talk to them. Look at them.
Acknowledge them.
The same creatures that tore through the ship like it was nothing. The same creatures that—You swallow hard, forcing the thought down before it can finish forming.
The water begins to shift more violently now, not just ripples but full, overlapping currents as something—many things—move beneath the surface.
It’s wrong.
There’s too much movement.
Too many shapes.
They circle the pool slowly, deliberately.
Like sharks.
Like predators.
Like they’re sizing you up.
Your breath catches as the glow beneath the water fractures, shadows slipping through the light in long, sleek forms.
One passes close—Too close—And you jerk your foot back instinctively, your heel scraping against the rock as your pulse spikes.
Then—One head breaks the surface.
Then another.
And another.
And another.
Until they’re all there.
One by one, rising from the water like something out of a nightmare you can’t wake up from. There are so many of them.
Too many.
Far more than you were prepared for.
Your chest tightens as your eyes dart from face to face—Different shades of scales.
Different glowing patterns.
Different eyes.
But all unmistakably the same.
Your gaze flickers over them, and a horrible thought creeps in—Did they have to share? Did they divide everyone up between them?
Your stomach churns violently.
You push the thought away.
You have to.
Because they’re looking at you.
All of them.
Watching.
Waiting.
Expecting.
“…um, hello,” you manage, your voice small compared to the sheer presence of them. The moment the words leave your mouth, They light up.
“Hi!”
“Hello!”
“Hi!”
“Hello!”
One after another, overlapping, chiming in like a chorus.
It’s… jarring. The sudden shift from terrifying to—Excited?
Eager?
It throws you off completely.
And for a split second—It reminds you of something so stupid, so out of place, that you almost laugh.
The anchovies from SpongeBob.
The thought is so absurd it nearly makes you dizzy.
Their accents are thick—much thicker than Rafayel’s—each word rolling strangely off their tongues like the language still doesn’t quite belong to them.
But their tone—Their tone is unmistakable.
They’re happy.
Excited.
About you.
And that might be the most unsettling part of all.
Before you can even begin to process it—The water shifts again.
Heavier this time.
Familiar.
Rafayel emerges from beneath the surface, his presence immediately commanding attention without him even trying.
The others quiet slightly—not completely—but enough that you notice the shift.
Respect.
Instinctual.
Immediate.
There’s a large fish clenched between its teeth, still twitching faintly, its body glistening as it breaks the surface with it.
Your gaze drops to it instinctively.
Then back up.
Then back down again.
Right.
Food.
Of course.
It swims up to you with ease, its movements smooth, controlled—completely unbothered by the crowd surrounding you.
Like they don’t matter.
Like the only thing that does—Is you.
One of its webbed hands rises from the water, coming to rest against your shin.
The contact is gentle.
Grounding.
But it still makes your breath hitch slightly.
The other hand reaches up, gripping the fish as it pulls it free from its mouth.
And then—Its jaw shifts.
Unhinges.
Not fully—But enough.
Enough for you to notice.
Enough for something deep in your brain to scream wrong. Your body stiffens as you watch, unable to look away as it prepares to eat, completely unfazed by the audience around it.
Completely unfazed by you.
Like this is normal.
Like this is just another moment.
The others watch too.
Some with interest.
Some with what looks like admiration.
None with discomfort.
Because for them—This is normal. That’s what you tell yourself.
That’s what you have to tell yourself. Because if this is normal for them—If this is their world, their way of living—Then you’re the only thing here that doesn’t belong.
And that thought…
That thought settles somewhere deep in your chest, heavy and inescapable. Rafayel’s presence at your side helps. More than you’d ever admit out loud.
Its hand is still resting against your leg, thumb brushing absentmindedly against your skin in slow, grounding strokes as it finishes its meal like nothing is out of place. Like nothing is wrong. Like you’re not sitting here trying to keep yourself from spiraling.
Your hand lifts, almost unconsciously, brushing against the back of your neck as you look out at the crowd in front of you—At them.
“So um…” you start, your voice quieter than you intend, a little strained around the edges. “What now?”
The reaction is immediate.
The entire cove seems to light up at once. Clicks.
Trills. Excited, overlapping sounds ripple through them like a wave, their bodies shifting in the water, tails flicking as they chatter amongst themselves.
It’s overwhelming.
So much noise.
So much attention.
All directed at you.
One of them begins to move forward.
You notice it instantly—the way its body cuts through the water, eager, almost too eager.
But then it stops.
Mid-motion.
Its gaze flicks to Rafayel.
Waiting.
Asking.
And that’s when you see it clearly—The hierarchy.
The unspoken rules.
None of them will approach you without its permission.
Rafayel lets out a low trill in response, something deeper than the others, more commanding.
Then it gives a sharp nod.
That’s all it takes.
The creature perks up immediately, excitement practically vibrating through its entire body as it resumes its approach.
It’s… smaller.
Not small by any human standard—still large, still dangerous—but compared to Rafayel…
It’s nothing.
Its body nearly trembles as it gets closer, its glowing markings flickering faintly with what you can only assume is emotion.
“Hi!” it chirps, voice bright, almost too bright.
There’s a faint flush spreading across its cheeks, subtle beneath the shimmer of its scales, but noticeable all the same.
It looks… nervous.
Excited.
Honored, even.
“I am—” it starts, stumbling slightly over the words like it’s not used to speaking your language for this long. It repeats its name—something fluid, something that doesn’t quite translate properly in your mind, syllables blending together in a way you can’t replicate.
You nod anyway.
“Hi,” you echo awkwardly, offering a small, unsure smile.
That’s all it takes.
Another one moves forward.
Then another.
And another.
One by one, they approach you—each waiting their turn, each looking to Rafayel for that silent permission before coming closer.
Each introducing themselves in that same excited, stumbling way.
Each one looking at you like you’re something…Important.
Valuable.
Something to be seen.
It’s overwhelming.
But strangely—Not in the way you expected.
There’s no hostility.
No aggression.
No hunger.
Just curiosity.
Excitement.
Reverence.
And as you sit there, responding softly, nodding along, trying to keep up as name after name blurs together—
Your gaze drifts.
Back to Rafayel.
And for the first time—You really see it. Not just as the creature that saved you. Not just as the one that ruined your life.
But as what it is to them.
It’s massive.
Not just bigger—But significantly bigger. Its frame dwarfs the others, its presence alone enough to quiet the space without effort. Its markings glow stronger, more vividly, shifting faintly beneath its skin like something alive.
Even the way it holds itself— Still.
Controlled.
Certain.
It stands apart from them in every way that matters.
And they treat it that way.
Every glance toward it is filled with respect.
With deference.
With something close to awe.
And then—Your gaze shifts back to yourself.
Sitting beside it.
Being introduced by it.
Touched by it.
Claimed by it.
Your stomach flips.
Because whether you want to admit it or not—You’re not just meeting the cove.
You’re being presented to them.
Like you’re a prize.
A trophy.
Something it fought for—And won.
The thought settles in your chest, uncomfortable, sharp around the edges… but you don’t let it show.
You can’t.
Not here.
Not with all of them watching you like this—like you’re something rare, something important, something to be admired.
So you smile.
You nod.
You greet each member of the cove as they come forward, your voice a little steadier now, even if your heart still hasn’t quite slowed down.
“Hi,” you repeat more times than you can count, offering small acknowledgments, doing your best to keep up with names you know you won’t remember later.
They don’t seem to mind.
If anything, they seem thrilled just to hear you speak back to them.
To be acknowledged by you.
It’s… strange.
The way they look at you.
Like you matter.
Like you belong.
And then—Something shifts.
One of them moves closer than the others have so far, slower this time, more careful.
Cradled in its arms—Is something small.
Tiny.
Your brows knit slightly as you lean forward, curiosity overriding your nerves for just a moment.
It lifts the small creature toward you, trilling softly, almost proudly.
“Newly hatched,” Rafayel murmurs from beside you, its voice low near your ear.
You glance at it briefly before looking back down—And your breath catches.
The baby is…
Adorable.
There’s no other word for it.
It’s small—so small compared to the others—its features softer, less defined. Its scales haven’t fully developed yet, lighter in color, almost translucent in some areas where the faintest glow pulses beneath the surface.
Its eyes are large, bright, blinking slowly as it looks up at you with something that can only be described as curiosity.
It makes a soft, chirping noise.
Your heart melts.
“Oh—” the sound slips out before you can stop it, your entire expression softening instantly.
Without thinking, you reach out.
Careful.
Slow.
The creature holding it watches you closely but doesn’t pull away. Instead, it gently places the baby into your hands.
Your breath hitches slightly at the contact.
It’s warm.
So warm.
And soft in a way you didn’t expect—its tiny body shifting slightly as it settles against your palms, making another small, curious sound.You can’t help the small smile that spreads across your face. “They’re… cute,” you murmur, almost to yourself, your voice softer than it’s been this entire time.
That’s all it takes.
Another one approaches.
And another.
Soon—You’re surrounded again, but this time not with overwhelming noise or unfamiliar faces—But with offerings.
Babies.
Tiny, newly hatched creatures being carefully passed to you one after another, each one just as curious, just as small, just as endearing as the last.
Your earlier fear fades—just a little.
Replaced by something lighter.
Something warmer.
You laugh softly at one of their small noises, adjusting your hold carefully, terrified you might drop one even though they seem far more stable than they look.
“They’re so little,” you whisper, gently brushing your thumb along one’s head.
Next to you—Rafayel has moved closer.
Much closer.
You feel it before you even fully register it. Its body pressing just slightly against your back, its presence surrounding you more completely now.
Watching.
Always watching.
But this time—There’s something different in its gaze.
Something you can’t quite place.
Its eyes are fixed on you, not the others, not even the babies—Just you.
Taking in the way your expression has softened.
The way your shoulders have relaxed.
The way your voice has changed.
There’s a flicker of something there—Something deeper.
Heavier.
Something you don’t have a name for.
Its hand comes to rest lightly at your hip, grounding, possessive without being forceful.
And still—You don’t pull away.
Because you’re distracted.
Because you’re holding something so small, so fragile—Because despite everything—Despite where you are, and who you’re with—This moment feels…Almost normal.
Almost peaceful.
And for a fleeting, dangerous second—A thought crosses your mind.
Quiet.
Unspoken.
What if…
What if you had one?
One of your own.
Small.
Curled in your arms like this.
Safe.
Wanted.
The thought hits you harder than you expect, your chest tightening slightly as your smile falters just for a second.
You don’t say it.
You won’t say it.
Not out loud.
Not where it can hear you.
Because something deep in your gut tells you—If you did—It would listen.
It does, after all, give you everything you could possibly ask for. That thought lingers—quiet, dangerous—nestling somewhere deep in your mind as you begin handing the babes back.
One by one.
Careful.
Gentle.
You cradle each tiny body just a second longer than necessary before passing them back into waiting arms, watching as their parents receive them with soft trills and quiet affection.They chirp their thanks to you—some brushing their heads lightly against your hands before retreating, others lingering just a moment longer like they don’t quite want to leave.
And then—They start to go.
One by one, just like they came.
Slipping beneath the surface, their glowing forms fading into the dark water below until all that’s left are ripples and the soft echo of their voices.
Apparently—The babes were the last of them.
The final step.
Your creature stays close, assisting you without being asked.Its hands move carefully as it takes the last of the babes from you, passing them back to their families with an ease that tells you it’s done this before—many times.
They chirp their goodbyes, softer now.
Satisfied.
Content.
And then—They’re gone.
Just like that.
The cave falls quiet again.
Too quiet.
The sudden absence of so many bodies, so many voices—it leaves behind a strange emptiness, like something has been taken with them when they left.
Your hands fall to your lap slowly, still tingling faintly from the warmth of the babies you held.
Your chest feels tight.
Not in fear this time.
Something else.
Something heavier.
And then—It hits you.
All at once.
You just met them.
All of them.
The cove.
Its people.
Its family.
It introduced you to them.
Not as prey.
Not as something to be consumed.
But as something to be known.
Something to be accepted.
Something to be…
Important.
Your breath catches.
Because no human—No human would ever see this side of them.Would ever be allowed this close.
Would ever walk away from it.
And yet—You did. Because of it.
Because of him.
“Rafayel,” you call, your voice quieter than you expect, thick with something you can’t quite name.
It answers immediately.A soft click, followed by the subtle shift of water as it turns fully toward you.
Its gaze locks onto yours.
Attentive.
Always.
Waiting.
And just like before—Your body moves before your mind can catch up.
But this time—There’s no hesitation.
No second guessing.
No fear holding you back.
You close the distance in a single motion, your hands coming up to wrap around its neck, fingers slipping into its long, glowing hair—softer than it looks, strands sliding between your fingers like silk.
And then—You kiss it.
Your lips press against its, firm and certain in a way they weren’t before.
Not tentative.
Not accidental.
Intentional.
Its reaction is immediate.
A sharp intake of breath—if it can even be called that—followed by a low, startled trill that vibrates against your mouth.
Its body stills for half a second—Just half—Like it didn’t expect this.
Like it didn’t expect you to do this again.
And then—It moves. Its hands come up fast, but not rough, one tangling into your hair, the other pressing firmly against your lower back as it pulls you closer—closer than before, eliminating any space between you.
Its lips part slightly against yours, unfamiliar but eager, responding in a way that feels instinctual rather than learned.
The sound it makes—Low.
Deep.
Almost needy—Sends a shiver down your spine.
Its tail shifts beneath the water, restless, the movement causing small waves to lap against the rock as it adjusts to hold you better, to keep you steady as it leans into you.
Like it doesn’t want this to end.
Like it’s been waiting for this.
And then it hits you—It has.
It’s been waiting for this.
For you.
Not just here, not just in this cave, not just in the days—weeks?—you’ve spent tangled in its presence, learning its voice, its touch, its habits.
Longer than that.
Before you even knew it existed.
Before you ever stepped foot on that ship.
Before your life split into a before and after.
It’s been waiting.
Watching.
Wanting.
Waiting for you to turn toward it instead of away.
Waiting for you to stop fighting what it already decided was inevitable.
And for a brief moment—A fleeting, fragile second as you pull back just enough to breathe—You feel something close to pity.
For it.
For the way it looks at you like you’re something it’s been starving for.
Like you’re the only thing that has ever mattered. Like it would tear apart the world—did tear apart the world—Just to have you here.
But then—That moment shatters.
Because you remember.
What it did.
What it took.
What it cost to be here.
And the pity twists into something sharper.
Something complicated.
Because no—You don’t feel bad for it.
Not really.
It doesn’t get to be pitied.
Not after everything.
Not after that.
It should be punished.
It deserves to be punished.
Even if it thought it was helping you.
Even if it truly believes it saved you.
Even if—Even if it looks at you like this.
Like you’re everything.
And yet—You kiss it again.
Because its lips are soft.
Softer than anything you’ve ever felt, pliant and warm against yours in a way that doesn’t match what it is. What it should be.
Because the way your body fits against its—The way it holds you like you were made to be held there—Feels right.
Too right.
Like something in you recognizes it.
Like something in you has been searching for this exact shape, this exact presence, this exact being.
Like everything that’s happened—Every choice, every mistake, every moment—Led here.
To this.
To it.
Maybe that’s what it meant.
When it said you belonged by its side.
And the worst part—The most dangerous part—Is that right now?
You believe it.
Or at least…
You want to.
Your hands slide up, pressing against its chest, your fingers brushing over the small, translucent scales scattered across its skin. They’re smooth, slightly raised, cool compared to the warmth building between you.
“We should—”
Stop.
That’s what you mean to say.
That’s what you try to say.
But the word never comes.
Because it tastes good.
You weren’t expecting that.
You thought it would taste like salt.
Like blood.
Like something rotten and wrong.
But it doesn’t.
It tastes… sweet.
Fresh.
Like tart blueberries, sharp and clean against your tongue in a way that makes your head spin.
“We should…” you try again, your voice weaker this time, less certain.
And then—It starts to sing.
The sound is low at first.
Barely there.
A vibration more than a melody, something you feel before you fully hear.
And then it grows.
Wraps around you.
Slips beneath your skin.
It’s not like anything you’ve ever heard before.
Not human.
Not meant for human ears.
It pulls at something deep inside you, something instinctual, something primal.
Like thirst.
Like hunger.
Like a man dying in a desert finally seeing water.
“Rafayel,” you mewl, your voice breaking slightly as your grip on it tightens.
Your breath hitches sharply as it leans in again, capturing your lips in another kiss, deeper this time, more insistent.
The song doesn’t stop.
It vibrates through both of you, through your chest, your throat, your very bones.
You feel it everywhere.
And suddenly—You’re hot.
Too hot.
The heat builds rapidly, pooling low in your body, spreading through your veins in a way that makes your thoughts blur and your limbs feel heavy.
Wrong.
This is wrong.
“Rafayel,” you whine, your voice strained now, barely holding together as you try—try—to hold onto something resembling control.
And then—It changes.
The sound cuts.
Sharp.
Abrupt.
And in its place—A hiss.
Low.
Dangerous.
Its lips pull back just enough to bare its teeth, sharp and glinting, something more feral flashing across its face.
“No.”
The word is firm.
Final.
There’s no softness in it this time.
No gentleness.
“I will not let you deny us both this because of your foolish human fear.”Its grip tightens slightly—not enough to hurt, but enough to remind you just how easily it could.
Just how much stronger it is.
How much control it truly has.
“You want me,” it continues, its voice lower now, rougher, the remnants of that song still echoing faintly in your head.
Your breath stutters.
Because you do.
God, you do.
And it knows it.
It’s always known it.
“Take what you want.”
The words settle between you—Heavy.
Tempting.
Dangerous.
Take what you want.
The words echo in your mind, over and over, louder than the sound of the water, louder than your own heartbeat.
You’ve never been that person.
Never the one to take.
Never the one to claim.
You’ve always waited. Always given. Always bent yourself into something smaller, something easier, something acceptable for others.
But here—There are no rules.
No expectations.
No one watching except it.
And it wants you to take.
To be selfish.
To choose yourself for once.
Your breath comes uneven, your hands tightening slightly where they rest against its chest, feeling the subtle shift of muscle beneath smooth, scaled skin.
You want it.
God—you want it.
It’s terrifying how much you want it.
Every time you look at it, something inside you lurches, like your heart is trying to escape your chest just to be closer. Just to be held by it instead.
And maybe that should disgust you.
Maybe it would have before.
But now—There’s no one here to judge you.
No one to remind you of what’s right or wrong.
No one to tell you that this is twisted, that this is wrong, that you should hate it.
Because they don’t hate it.
They welcomed you.
Accepted you.
Looked at you like you belonged.
So why shouldn’t you?
Why shouldn’t you take something for yourself for once?
Carpe noctem.
The thought slips in, quiet but firm.
Seize the night.
Seize this.
“Rafayel…” you whine softly, your voice barely holding together as you close the distance again, your lips finding its without hesitation this time.
There’s no uncertainty now.
No pause.
You kiss it like you mean it—like you’ve decided something, even if you can’t fully put it into words.
Its response is immediate.
A low, pleased trill hums against your mouth, its arms tightening around you, pulling you closer—closer—until there’s no space left between you at all.
Like it’s afraid you might change your mind.
Like it’s been waiting too long to risk letting you go now.
“I want you,” you breathe against its lips, the words spilling out before you can stop them.
Honest.
Raw.
Terrifying in their truth.
Its entire body stills for a fraction of a second—And then reacts.The glow beneath its skin brightens, pulsing faintly, its grip on you tightening just enough to ground you without hurting you.
A sound leaves it—deep, resonant, almost reverent.
Like you just gave it something it’s been craving.
Something it didn’t think it would hear.
Its forehead presses lightly against yours, its breath warm against your lips as it studies your face—searching, confirming, making sure this is real.
That you are real.
“You choose me,” it murmurs, voice softer now, but no less intense.
Not a question.
A realization.
And something about that—The way it says it, like it means everything—Makes your chest tighten. Because you did.
You are.
Even if you don’t fully understand why.
Even if part of you is still screaming that you shouldn’t.
Your fingers tighten slightly in its hair, your body leaning into it instead of away.
“I do,” you whisper, quieter this time—but steadier.
And that’s all it needs.
It pulls you in again, slower now, more deliberate, like it’s savoring it this time instead of just taking.
Like it’s learning you.
Like it wants to remember this moment exactly as it is—The moment you stopped fighting. The moment you chose it. “You will not regret this.”
It says it like a promise.
Like a vow.
Each word is punctuated with a soft press of its lips against yours—slow, deliberate, reverent in a way that makes your chest tighten.
A kiss.
Another.
Another.
It doesn’t rush.
Doesn’t devour you the way it easily could.
Instead, it lingers—like it’s memorizing the shape of your mouth, committing the feel of you to something deeper than memory. Like this moment matters more than anything else that’s ever happened to it.
“I will begin preparing,” it continues, voice low, brushing against your lips as it speaks.
Another kiss.
“For the mating ceremony,”
Another.
“At once.”
And then—It kisses you properly.
Not soft.
Not fleeting.
Deep.
Slow.
Achingly intentional.
Its hands come up to cradle your face, claws careful—so careful—as if you might break under too much pressure. Its thumbs brush lightly along your cheeks, grounding you as it presses into you, its lips parting against yours just enough to deepen the connection.
There’s something different in it now.
Not just want.
Not just hunger.
But certainty.
Possession.
Devotion.
Like this—You—Are no longer something it hopes for.
But something it has.The thought sends a shiver through you. Your fingers tighten instinctively in its hair, your body leaning into it despite yourself, despite everything that should be telling you to pull away.
But you don’t.
You can’t.
Because it feels too good.
Too right.
Too—Necessary.When it finally pulls back, it doesn’t go far. Its forehead presses briefly against yours, its glowing eyes searching your face one last time—checking, confirming, ensuring you haven’t changed your mind in the span of a breath.
That you’re still here.
That you’re still its.
Then—It’s gone. Not slowly.
Not reluctantly.
But in a single, fluid motion—its body slipping back into the briny pool, scales catching the dim light for just a moment before disappearing beneath the surface.
The water ripples violently in its wake before settling just as quickly.
Like it was never there at all.
And suddenly— You’re alone.
Again.
The silence crashes in around you, heavy and suffocating after everything that just happened.
Your lips still tingle.
Your skin still burns where it touched you.
Your heart—God, your heart is racing so fast it almost hurts. You lift a hand slowly, pressing your fingers against your mouth like you can still feel it there.
Like if you don’t, it might fade.
“Mating ceremony…” you whisper, the words strange on your tongue, unfamiliar and heavy with meaning you’re not sure you fully understand.
Your gaze drifts to the water.
Dark.
Endless.
Hiding it somewhere beneath the surface.
Preparing.
For you.
For this.
And the weight of it finally settles in.
This wasn’t just a moment.
Wasn’t just a kiss.
Wasn’t just giving in to something you’ve been trying to fight.
This is real.
Permanent.
Binding in a way you don’t yet understand.
Your chest tightens slightly, your breath catching as the realization sinks deeper and deeper.
Because you didn’t just take what you wanted—You gave something in return.Something you might not be able to take back.
And yet—As you sit there, alone in the dim light of the cave, your fingers still pressed to your lips—You don’t feel regret.
Not yet.
Just anticipation.
And something dangerously close to longing.
——
It’s been a while—days, maybe—since you’ve properly spent time with your creature.
It still comes.
Always.
Like clockwork.
Bringing you food, making sure you eat, watching just long enough to ensure you don’t refuse it out of stubbornness or spite.
And every time you ask—every time you try to pull more from it, try to understand what exactly it’s doing, what this “mating ceremony” even means— It gives you the same answer.
“I am preparing.”
Nothing more.
Nothing less.
No explanation.
No details.
No room for argument.
And then it’s gone again.
Slipping back into the dark water before you can press further, before you can grab onto it and make it stay.
It’s frustrating.
Infuriating, even.
Because for something that once wouldn’t leave you alone—Something that watched you constantly, hovered over you like you might disappear if it blinked—It’s suddenly… absent.
Not gone.
Never gone.
But not here.
Not the way it used to be.
It still takes care of you.
Still brings you everything you need.
Still kneels behind you when you bathe, hands careful as ever as it washes your back when you ask, its touch lingering just a second too long before it pulls away.
But even then—Even in those moments—It feels… distant.
Focused.
Like its mind is somewhere else.
On something bigger.
Something more important.
And you don’t know whether to be relieved—Or irritated.
Because nothing has changed.
Not really.
You still have your nest.
Your food.
Your water.
Your strange, quiet routine in this dim, echoing cave.
Everything is exactly the same.
Except—It’s not here. Not watching you.
Not hovering.
Not filling the silence with its presence.
And you—You hate how much you notice that. Your fingers tighten slightly in the fabric of your clothes as you sit there, staring out at the still surface of the water.
Waiting.
For what?
You don’t even know.
It’ll come back.
It always does.
So why are you—Your breath catches slightly.
The realization hits you so suddenly it almost feels like something physical.
Holy shit.
You miss it.
Not just its presence.
Not just the routine.
It.
The way it looks at you.
The way it speaks to you, voice low and careful like you’re something it has to handle gently despite everything it is. The way it touches you—Always so aware of its own strength, always holding back just enough to keep from hurting you.
The way it lingers.
And now—It doesn’t. And the absence of that—Of it—Feels wrong.Your chest tightens, your gaze dropping to your hands as you exhale slowly, trying to shake the feeling off. This is ridiculous. It’s better this way, isn’t it? More space. More distance. Less… whatever this is. But your eyes drift back to the water anyway. Like you expect it to rise up at any moment.
Like you’re waiting.
And that’s the worst part.
Because you are.
Waiting.
For it to come back to you.
And it does.
Eventually—It always does. But this time feels different. You don’t hear it at first. You feel it. The water shifts—subtle at first, then sharper, more alive. The surface ripples like something is rushing beneath it, fast, purposeful. And then— It bursts through.
Not slowly.
Not cautiously.
But with energy.
With excitement.
With something almost… boyish. It breaches the surface in one fluid motion, water cascading down its body as it lets out a series of rapid clicks and trills, louder than you’ve ever heard from it before. Happy. That’s the only word that fits.
It sounds happy. Your breath catches as you sit up straighter, your body reacting before your mind can fully catch up. It looks different like this.
Alive in a way you haven’t seen since… Since before it started disappearing on you. It moves closer quickly, almost too quickly, stopping just short of climbing fully onto your platform—like it’s restraining itself, containing all that restless energy barely beneath the surface.
Its eyes are bright.
Glowing stronger than usual.
Locked onto you like you’re the first thing it wanted to see. Like you are the first thing it came back for “Starfish,” it says, the word slipping easily from its mouth now, familiar, fond. It breaks off again into another string of clicks and trills, faster this time, like it forgot—just for a second—that you can’t understand.
Then it catches itself.
Stills.
Refocuses.
“It’s done.”
The words come out almost breathless.
Excited.
Proud.
“The preparations are done,” it continues, voice steadying but still laced with something barely contained beneath it. Its gaze doesn’t leave you for a second. Not even when it shifts closer, its hands coming to rest lightly against the edge of your platform. “The ceremony shall take place…” A pause. Just long enough for the weight of the words to settle. “On the night of the full moon.”
Silence follows.
Heavy.
Expectant.
The cave seems to hold its breath along with you. And suddenly— Everything feels real again. Not just the kisses. Not just the touches. Not just the way your heart betrays you every time it looks at you like that.
But this.
The ceremony.
The mating.
Whatever that means to its kind.
Whatever that will mean for you. Your throat feels dry. Your fingers curl slightly against your lap as you stare at it, trying to read its expression— But all you find is certainty.
Excitement.
Anticipation.
Like this is something it’s been building toward for far longer than you can even comprehend. And maybe it has. “…The full moon?” you repeat softly, your voice quieter now, more uncertain than you’d like it to be. Its lips curl slightly—not quite a smile, but close.
“Yes.”
A beat. Then softer—“Soon.”And the way it says it— Like it’s counting down the moments—Sends a strange mix of warmth and unease curling low in your chest. Its gaze doesn’t leave yours, intense and unwavering, like it’s searching for something—approval, maybe. Acceptance.
Excitement.
Fear.
Anything.
Everything. “I have prepared everything for you,” it continues, its voice softening slightly, though the underlying excitement is still there, buzzing just beneath the surface. “You will be honored. Protected. Adorned.” Its hand lifts slightly, like it wants to reach for you—But it stops itself.
Just short.
Something it’s been doing more lately. Restraint.
For you. “My cove will witness it,” it adds, quieter now, but no less intense. “Our union will be known. Recognized.” Claimed. The unspoken word lingers anyway. Your chest tightens. Because this isn’t just between you and it anymore. This is… everything.
Its people.
Its world.
Its life.
And you’re being pulled into the center of it. Your gaze flickers to the water for a brief second before returning to it. To Rafayel. Standing there—Waiting. For your reaction.
For your answer.
And for a moment—You don’t know what to say. You don’t even know how to feel.Everything is tangled—too many emotions, too many thoughts colliding all at once for you to make sense of any of it. But one thing—One thing cuts through all of it.
Clear.
Certain.
“I missed you.”
The words leave your lips before you can stop them.
Before you can think. Before you can take them back. And the second they’re out—Your breath catches.
Because you hear it.
What you said.
What it means. Your chest tightens, your gaze flickering briefly away like you can somehow hide the truth of it after the fact.
But it’s too late.
It heard you.
And when you look back—Its eyes are wide.Truly wide.
Not in the way they are when it’s hunting, or angry, or even pleased. But something else.
Something almost… startled. Like you’ve said something it wasn’t prepared to hear. Something it didn’t realize it wanted until you gave it to it. It studies your face, searching, trying to understand—not just the words, but what’s behind them.
And it doesn’t fully get it.
You can see that much.
Not completely.
But it understands enough. Enough to see the way you’re looking at it. The softness. The longing.And slowly—Something shifts in its expression.
“I missed you too,” it hisses back, the words a little uneven, like it’s piecing them together from what it knows of your language, from what it thinks they should mean.
It doesn’t say it perfectly.
But it says it. And somehow—That makes your chest ache even more. There’s a brief pause. A fragile moment where neither of you move. And then—“Can I?” It doesn’t clarify. Doesn’t need to.
Because you know. You feel it in the way it’s looking at you, in the way its body has gone tense like it’s holding itself back with everything it has. It wants to be close.
Closer than it’s allowed itself to be these past few days. Closer than it should be. Your answer comes easily.
Too easily.
“Yes, please.”The moment the words leaves your mouth—Something in it breaks. Not violently. Not dangerously.
But completely.
All that restraint it’s been holding onto—Gone. It moves in a blur.
Faster than you’ve ever seen it out of the water, its body surging forward with a speed that makes your breath hitch as it climbs into your nest beside you.
The structure shifts slightly under its weight, the soft materials bunching and dipping as it settles in—half of its tail still slipping into the water, but the rest of it pressing close.
Too close.
Not that you pull away. You don’t. Because the second it’s there—Its arms are around you. Pulling you in.
Firm.
Certain.
Careful, despite the urgency behind the movement.
Like it’s been holding itself back for too long and doesn’t know how to go slow anymore. Its face buries against your neck, its breath warm against your skin as a low, almost relieved trill escapes it—deep, vibrating, content.
Like something in it has finally settled. Like something that was wrong is right again. Its grip tightens just slightly—not enough to hurt, but enough to keep you there, to anchor you against it. To make sure you don’t disappear. “You are here,” it murmurs against your skin, voice quieter now, almost disbelieving.
“Still here.”
Its hand slides up your back slowly, not hurried this time, not demanding—just… there.
Feeling.
Confirming.
Your body reacts before your mind does, your hands coming up to rest against it, fingers curling slightly into its hair, grounding yourself just as much as it’s grounding itself in you. The silence that follows isn’t empty.
It’s full. Heavy in a different way.
Not suffocating.
Not lonely.
But warm. And for the first time since it left—Since you realized what its absence felt like—That tightness in your chest eases.
Just a little.
Because it’s back.
And somehow—That matters more than you want it to.
“Can you answer my questions about the mating ceremony now?” you ask, your voice quieter than before, but steadier—like you’ve finally gathered the courage to face what you’ve been avoiding. Its hold on you doesn’t loosen. If anything, it tightens just slightly, like the question itself makes it more aware of your presence—more aware that this is real, that this is happening.
“I can try,” it answers.
There’s a pause after that.
Not long—But long enough for you to notice.
Long enough for you to realize that whatever this ceremony is… it’s not something simple. Not something easily explained in human words. Its hand shifts against your back, slow, thoughtful, claws barely grazing your skin as if it’s grounding itself while it thinks.
“The mating ceremony…” it starts, voice lower now, more measured, like it’s choosing each word carefully, “is when you become mine. Fully.”Your breath catches slightly at that.
It notices.
Of course it does.
Its head lifts just enough to look at you, its glowing eyes searching your face, watching your reaction closely before continuing.
“And I become yours,” it adds, quieter this time.
Like that part matters. Like it needs you to understand that this isn’t one-sided. That it’s not just about ownership—But something mutual.
Something binding.
“My kind does not… mate lightly,” it continues, its voice carrying that same careful tone. “We do not take many. Sometimes only one. Sometimes none at all.”
Its fingers curl slightly into the fabric at your back.
“But when we do… it is permanent.”
The word lands heavily.
Permanent.
Your stomach flips.
“There is no separation,” it goes on, watching you the entire time now, gauging every small shift in your expression. “No breaking of the bond once it is made.”
Its other hand comes up, hesitating for only a second before brushing lightly against your jaw, guiding your attention fully back to it.
“You will be tied to me,” it murmurs, softer now, “in body… and in mind.”That makes your brows furrow slightly. “In mind?” you echo. It nods slowly. “Yes.”A pause. Like it’s debating how much to tell you. “How my kind communicates,” it explains, quieter now, “is not only through sound.”Its gaze flickers briefly—almost uncertain—before returning to yours. “The bond allows… connection. Feeling. Awareness of each other.”
Your heart skips.
“You’ll be in my head?” you ask, a little more sharply than you intended. It shakes its head immediately. “No. Not like that.” Its tone is quick—reassuring. “I will not control you. I cannot control you,” it corrects, more firmly now. “But I will feel you. And you will feel me.”
Your chest tightens again.
“That sounds…” you trail off, unsure how to finish that sentence.
Too much.
Too intimate.
Too permanent.
It seems to understand anyway.
“It is how we know our mates are safe,” it says simply. “How we know they are ours.”
There it is again.
Ours.
Its hand stills against your face, its thumb brushing lightly beneath your eye. “There are other parts,” it continues, voice lowering again, something deeper creeping into it now. “Rituals. Offerings. Witnesses.”“The cove will be there,” it adds, almost as an afterthought—but you can tell it’s important. “They will watch. They will acknowledge you.”
Your stomach twists slightly at that.
“Watch?” you repeat.
It tilts its head slightly.
“Yes.”
Like that’s normal.
Like that’s expected.
Because to it— It is. You swallow. “And… what exactly happens?” you ask, quieter now.
There’s a shift in it then.
Subtle.
But unmistakable.
Its pupils narrow slightly, its grip on you tightening just a fraction as something darker, something more instinctual flickers beneath the surface. “The final part,” it says slowly, voice dropping to something almost rough, “is the claiming.”Your breath hitches.Its gaze doesn’t leave yours. “You will take me,” it continues, echoing its earlier words back to you, “as I will take you.” Your face heats instantly.“And through that… the bond is sealed.”
Silence falls between you.
Heavy.
Thick with everything that hasn’t been said outright but is very clearly implied. Its hand slips from your jaw, trailing down your neck slowly before settling back at your waist, pulling you just a little closer again. “But,” it adds after a moment, voice softer now, almost careful again, “it will not happen unless you allow it.”
That makes you pause.
“You’d stop?” you ask quietly.
It doesn’t hesitate.
“Yes.”
The certainty in its voice is immediate. Absolute.
Even now.
Even after everything.
Your chest tightens again—But this time, it’s not fear.
Not entirely. Because for the first time since it started explaining—You realize something.
It wants this.
Desperately. But it still wants you to choose it, the same way it choose you. “You will still need to be prepared for it,” it says, voice low as it leans closer, scenting along your neck in that familiar, grounding way. “The night before the full moon. The bearers of the cove will come for you… and ready you for me.”
Its words settle heavy in your chest.
Prepared.
Readied.
For it.
“The moon is not far from full,” it continues, softer now, almost thoughtful. “Maybe three more nights. Perhaps fewer.”Your breath catches slightly. Three nights.
That’s… nothing.
“I will not be allowed to see you until the ceremony.”
That—That hits harder than anything else it’s said so far.
“I won’t be able to see you?” you ask, the words slipping out before you can stop them, your voice thinner than you intended. Something tight coils in your chest, sharp and sudden, like the ground just shifted beneath you.
It pauses.
Just for a second.
Like it didn’t expect that to be the part that affected you most.But then it looks at you again—really looks at you—and something in its expression softens. “Only for a short while,” it reassures, its hand coming up to cup the side of your face, thumb brushing gently along your cheek.
You lean into it without thinking.“When we reunite,” it continues, quieter now, more certain, “you will not regret it.”Its forehead presses lightly against yours, its voice dropping just enough to feel like it’s meant only for you.
“Our bond will be stronger than ever.”That word again.
Bond.
It lingers between you, heavier now that you understand more of what it means. Your hands come up almost hesitantly, resting against its arms, like you’re grounding yourself in it—like you need to feel that it’s still here while it is. Because soon… it won’t be.
Not like this.
Not for a few days.
And the thought makes your chest ache in a way you don’t want to examine too closely. “That’s… a long time,” you murmur, even though you know it’s not. Not really. But it feels like it. It exhales softly, something almost like a hum slipping from it as it leans into your touch.
“It will pass quickly,” it says, though there’s a faint tension beneath the words—like it’s trying to convince itself as much as you. Its grip on you tightens just slightly, pulling you closer again, as if making up for the time it knows it won’t have. “I will be near,” it adds after a moment. “Even if you do not see me.”
That… helps.
A little.
But not enough.
Because you’ve gotten used to this—To it being here.
To the way it looks at you.
To the way it touches you.
And now it’s going to be gone again.
On purpose this time.
Your fingers curl slightly into it, your gaze dropping for a moment before lifting back up. “Will they… be like you?” you ask quietly, thinking about the bearers.
It tilts its head slightly. “They will not harm you,” it answers first, like that’s the most important thing. Then, softer—“They will care for you as I do.”You don’t know why that makes your chest tighten more instead of less. Because they’re not it.
And you realize—That matters.
More than it should.
Silence settles between you again, but it’s different now.
Heavier.
Shorter. Because it’s ticking down.
Because every moment you have right now is something you won’t have for the next few days.
Its hand slides down to yours, its fingers curling around them, careful but firm.
“You will be safe,” it repeats quietly.
And then, after a pause—
“You will come back to me.”
—
A/n: Do we like starfish for a pet name?? Idk guys, lemme know if you want it changed. Also, yk how I mentioned smut next chapter. It might be the chapter afterwards, Idk if I want to drag it out or not yet..
Synopsis- It’s literally where we left off last chapter, and uhh you share your first kiss…
Tags- Stockholm Syndrome, Kidnapping!
a/n: Like three people have asked if I have a tag list for this fic, and now I’m debating on whether I should make one.. but I don’t think I can justify making one for just three people. Also, sorry for the long wait, I just didn’t know how to go about writing this.
W.c - 10.1k
“It may not be okay to you,” it says, and for once there’s no edge to its voice. No hiss. No growl. Just something steady. Certain. “But to me… you being safe and happy is all that matters.”
You pause at that.
Actually pause.
Because the sincerity in its voice makes something ugly twist inside your chest.You stare at this creature—this 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. “I was safe and happy on the boat before you decided to sink it,” 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 you’re trying to hold your own body together. “I was safe before you decided that I wasn’t happy enough for you, and that you could make me happier even if it meant killing—and eating—everyone I knew.”
Your throat burns.
“You’re a fucking asshole,” you spit, turning sharply to glare at it.
It hasn’t moved from where you left it.
Still kneeling partly in the water, watching you with those glowing eyes.
“And while I can give you some leeway because you don’t understand human customs—saying that you can make me happier than my own family is where I draw the fucking line.”
Your voice cracks at the word family. Pain flashes across your face before you can stop it. “If my heart ended up broken, I could’ve gone to my mom for comfort.” Your chest heaves. “My friends would’ve made me forget about it in a matter of days. We would’ve drank shitty wine and talked shit about him until I stopped caring.”
Your laugh comes out broken. Bitter. “But you didn’t give me that chance.”The tears come before you realize they’re there. Hot against your skin.“You killed them.”Your voice drops lower then, rough and trembling.
“You are the one who killed my happiness. Not that fucking rich prick I almost married.” You jab a finger toward it accusingly. “You didn’t give him the chance to ruin it. You killed him before he could.”
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 you’ve 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 you’ve just said.
Slowly, it lowers its gaze. Its claws curl slightly against the stone beneath it. You mourn them still,” 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. “Of course I fucking mourn them.” You wipe angrily at your face. “They were my family.”
Its throat works slightly. And then, quieter than you’ve ever heard it—“I did not understand.”That makes something in you snap. “You should’ve.”The words echo through the cave.
“You should’ve understood that people matter! That they aren’t just things you can take because you decided you wanted me!”Your breathing comes hard now, shoulders shaking with the force of it all. “You don’t get to decide what happiness means for me!”
It finally moves then. Slowly. Carefully. Like approaching a wounded animal.
“You are right,” 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. “I was selfish.”
Its voice roughens around the admission. “I saw your pain and thought only of ending it. I saw someone unworthy of you and believed removing him would solve everything.”
Its claws flex weakly. “In my kind, that is love. Protection. Possession.”
It looks almost ashamed saying it now. “But humans…”It exhales sharply through its teeth. “You carry your dead with you.”
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 doesn’t 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.
“I cannot return what I took,” it says softly. A horrible sort of honesty. “But if I could carve open my own chest and give them back to you, I would.”
Your breath stutters. “I know saying sorry means little to humans after death.” Its voice grows quieter still.
“But I am sorry.”
Its gaze doesn’t waver from yours.
“I can make you happy,” it continues, softer now, like it’s offering something instead of declaring it. “Or I can at least try.”
A pause.
“All you have to do… is let me.”The sincerity in its voice hits somewhere deep. Uncomfortably deep. Because it doesn’t sound like it’s lying. It doesn’t sound manipulative. It sounds like it believes it. Completely. And somehow—That makes it worse.
Your jaw tightens, your nails digging into your palms as something sharp and frustrated builds in your chest. Because it’s standing there—after everything—after everything it just admitted—and it still thinks this can be fixed.
That this can be… good. “Fine,” you snap, the word breaking out of you before you can stop it. Your voice echoes, louder than anything else that’s filled this cave.
“You think you can make me so happy?” you continue, stepping closer without realizing it, anger pushing you forward. “Do it.”
It doesn’t move.
It just watches you. “Make me happy,” you shout, the words cracking at the edges now, frustration bleeding into something more fragile. Something more raw.
“I’d love to see you try.”
Your chest rises and falls quickly, your breath uneven as you glare at it, every inch of you tense, braced—waiting. For what, you don’t even know. For it to fail? For it to finally understand?
For it to stop?
“Make me happy,” you grind out again, quieter this time but no less intense, your gaze locked onto its glowing eyes. And then—you see it. The shift. Subtle. But unmistakable. Its expression changes.
Not confusion.
Not hesitation.
Something else. Something… brighter. Your stomach drops. Because it looks—happy. Not in the way a human would be.
Not soft or relieved.
But pleased. Deeply, undeniably pleased. Like you’ve just given it something it’s 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.
“You are allowing me,” it says quietly.
Not asking.
Understanding.
Accepting.
Your breath stutters. That’s not what you— “I will,” it continues, voice lowering, something almost reverent slipping into it now. “I will make you happy.”
A promise.
Not a challenge. Not a doubt. A promise. It moves closer. Slow this time. Intentional. Like it doesn’t want to startle you—like it’s 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 can’t look away. “You will not feel pain like that again,” it murmurs. “I will not allow it.”
Your heart pounds against your ribs. Its thumb brushes just beneath your eye—where your tears had been earlier, where they still threaten now.
“I will give you everything you require.”
A pause. Then softer—“And everything you do not yet know you need.” Your breath catches. Because the way it says it—It doesn’t 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 it’s reluctant to lose the contact. But it does. And despite everything—every thought, every memory, every reason you shouldn’t—You 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 don’t know what to do without something there—without it there. You hate that.
You hate how quickly your body betrays you. Because the moment you look back at it—You 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 you—like you’re something precious. Something worth everything it’s done.
Your chest aches. because you know—you know— If things were different…If it hadn’t done what it did—if it hadn’t taken everything from you in the name of loving you—you 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 that’s the problem. Because even now—Even knowing what it is. What it’s 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. You’re alone. Isolated.
And it’s the only thing here.
The only voice.
The only presence.
The only touch.
And if it keeps going like this— if it keeps looking at you like that, speaking to you like that, giving and giving and giving—your resistance won’t last forever.
It can’t.
Humans aren’t built for that. Your heart will bend. Slowly. Reluctantly. Until one day—It won’t feel like bending at all. It’ll feel natural.
Wanted.
And that thought terrifies you more than anything else. Because no matter how much you fight it—no matter how much you want to hate it—you can already feel it starting.
That subtle shift. That dangerous pull. And one day—your heart won’t just flutter for it.
It’ll choose it.
——
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 it—you can’t unsee it. It tries harder. That’s the first thing. More deliberate. More attentive. Like it’s taken your words—make me happy—and 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 thought—like it’s learning your preferences the more you exist here.
And the food—It 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 eat—what you remember eating.
What you used to be. And slowly—without realizing when it started—you stop flinching every time it gets close. You stop watching it like it’s something that might snap at any second.
You stop… expecting the worst. It happens in small moments. You laugh once—quiet, surprised at yourself—when it says something unintentionally funny, misunderstanding a phrase, or repeating something you said earlier in the wrong context.
You freeze after. Like you’ve done something wrong. But it doesn’t react badly. If anything—it seems… pleased.
Encouraged.
And after that—It 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 overwhelming—like it’s learned that this is something good. Something it should seek out. And the realization creeps in, slow and suffocating—this is easy.
Too easy.
This—this quiet routine, this constant presence, this unwavering attention—this is what you wanted.
With him.
With your fiancé. A life where you were chosen. Where you were cared for. Where you didn’t have to question where you stood.
And now—you 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 doesn’t stop the rest of it.
It laughs sometimes. Or at least—its version of laughing. A trill.Soft. Warbled. Strange—but 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 don’t. When to come closer. When to give you space. It supplies you with everything. Clothes. Food. Water.
Comfort.
Stability.
Consistency.
Things you didn’t realize you were starving for until you had them. And the worst part—the most dangerous part—i s how your body responds. Every time it looks at you, something in your stomach flutters. Every time it touches you—brief, careful, almost reverent—your heart stumbles in your chest like it’s trying to catch up. You tell yourself it’s nothing.
A reaction.
A result of being isolated. Of having no one else. You tell yourself it doesn’t mean anything. It can’t mean anything.
Because if it does—if you let yourself believe it does—then everything else becomes harder to hold onto.
Your anger.
Your grief.
Your reasons.
So you push it down.
Ignore it.
Pretend it isn’t happening. But if you weren’t so determined to fight it—if you weren’t so focused on not letting it win—you might have noticed sooner…just how deep you’ve already fallen.
——
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 don’t move. You just breathe—slow, steady—listening to the familiar silence of the cave.
You can feel it already .
That presence.
Watching.
Your eyes open, and there it is.
It’s 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 you’re the first thing it wanted to see. Like you’re the only thing it ever wants to see.
You’ve gotten used to it.
Mostly.
It doesn’t 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 briefly—and 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.“You wake,” it says, voice low, steady—like it’s 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 doesn’t 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 it—discarding the shell, separating what you can eat from what you can’t.
It’s careful.
Always careful with you.
“Hurry,” it murmurs, handing the prepared pieces over, its claws brushing your fingers for only a second longer than necessary. “Eat.”You take it automatically, the warmth of the food grounding, familiar at this point.
“We have plans today.” You nod without thinking, already bringing the food to your mouth, your body moving on habit more than anything else.
But then—the words catch up to you.
Plans.
Your chewing slows.
Your brows knit together slightly as you glance back up at it.
“…plans?” you repeat, voice rough from sleep.
It’s already watching you again.
It always is.
There’s something different in the way it looks at you now, though. Something… expectant. Almost eager.
Your stomach twists. “What do you mean—” 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. “Eat.”
The word is softer this time—but 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 can’t 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 doesn’t explain.
Doesn’t elaborate.
It just watches you eat, patient—waiting for you to finish like whatever it has planned can’t start until you do. And for the first time since you’ve been here—you feel something unfamiliar settle in your chest.
Not fear.
Not quite.
Something lighter.
Something uncertain.
Anticipation.
“Come. Get in the water,” it says, holding its hands out toward you. You glance down at your clothes before looking back at it, brows furrowing.
“I don’t have to—”
“No.”
It cuts you off before you can even finish. “Get in the water,” it repeats, more firmly this time, staring you down.
You huff softly, crossing your arms.
“I don’t know… anyone who’s ever gotten into the water after being told to by a siren or something never comes back out.” Its brows knit together at that, clearly not understanding. After all, you’ve gotten into the pool with it plenty of times—washing yourself, letting it help you even.
Moments you secretly look forward to.
If only for the excuse to feel its touch.
“Get in,” it grunts again, frustration slipping into its tone.
You roll your eyes.
“Fine,” you mutter, pushing yourself up from your nest. You make your way over carefully, steps slow and uneven against the smooth rock so you don’t slip. But the moment you reach the edge— 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, it’s… overwhelming. You’re not exactly small by human standards, but compared to it—You feel tiny.
You hate how much you like that.
“Can’t you at least tell me what we’re doing?” you ask, glancing up at it, trying to ignore how close it is. Its gaze lingers on you for a moment.
Then—“You need sunlight, no?”
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. “You—” you blink up at it, searching its face like you misheard. “You’re taking me… up?” It watches you carefully, like it’s gauging your reaction—like your answer matters more than anything else right now. A slow nod. “Yes.”
Simple.
Like it’s obvious.
Like it was always going to happen.
Your chest tightens painfully.
Because you did say that.
You remember it clearly—frustrated, angry, desperate for something normal. You told it you needed sunlight, needed something other than this endless dark or you’d die here.
And it—It listened.
It remembered.
It’s doing something about it.
Your throat feels dry.
“…and you’re just now telling me?” you mutter, though there’s no real bite to it, your voice quieter than you intended.
It tilts its head slightly, confused by the tone rather than the words. “You said you needed it,” it replies, like that’s 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 don’t like.
Because that shouldn’t matter.
It shouldn’t feel like anything.
But it does.
You swallow, forcing your attention back to the present—to the fact that you are currently being held against something that could drag you into the depths without effort. “…and I’m supposed to just trust you with that?” you ask, glancing back up at it.
“You are with me.”
The way it says it—so 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. “Yeah, that’s what I’m worried about,” 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 closer—closer than necessary, your chest pressing against it, your breath catching at the sudden proximity. “You will not drown,” it says, softer now, like it’s trying to reassure you. “I will not allow it.”Your heart stumbles. There’s something about the way it says things like that—like it’s not a promise.
Like it’s a fact.
“…you better not,” you mutter, but there’s 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 doesn’t stop.
It dives.
Then shifts—upward.
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 racing—until suddenly—you 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.
It’s blinding.
After so long in darkness— It’s blinding. Your breath comes out shaky as you take it in. The ocean moves differently out here—wide, open, endless. Nothing like the cave. Nothing like the life you’ve been trapped in. “…oh,” you breathe, barely more than a whisper. Behind you, it holds you easily, one arm wrapped around you to keep you afloat.
“You like it,” it murmurs near your ear.
You don’t answer right away.
Instead, you stare at it—really stare at it.
This is the closest you’ve ever been, face to face, with nothing between you but the space you haven’t dared to close. And now—now even that feels too far. It’s beautiful. Not in the way humans are. Not in any way you can explain without it sounding wrong. It’s something deeper. Sharper. Something that feels like it was never meant to be seen this close, this clearly—like staring too long might burn the image into you permanently.
And maybe it already has.
Your breath comes out uneven.
“Yeah,” you pant softly—though you’re not sure what you’re agreeing to anymore.
The word barely leaves your lips before you’re moving.
Before you can think.
Before you can stop yourself.
You hesitate just inches away, your lips hovering over its—your heart pounding so loudly you’re sure it can hear it, feel it, taste it in the water around you.
There’s a moment.
A fragile, breakable moment—and then you close the distance.
Slowly.
Carefully.
Like you’re testing something you don’t 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 it— 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 you’ve ever heard before.
But you understand it anyway.
You feel it. Its grip tightens just slightly, not enough to hurt—just enough to keep you there, to make sure you don’t pull away too soon. And you don’t. You don’t want to. For a moment—you 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 this—this strange, consuming closeness.
Until—you feel it.
That shift.
That awareness creeping back in.
You’re not alone. You pull back just slightly, breath uneven as your eyes flick away—and land on them. Shapes in the water.
Multiple.
Watching.
Your stomach drops.
Its cove.
They followed. They’re all there—just beneath the surface, their glowing eyes fixed on you, their expressions unmistakable even from a distance.
Glee.
Excitement.
Approval.
Like they’ve just witnessed something important. Something expected. Your breath stutters as you freeze, your body suddenly too aware, too exposed under their gaze.
Slowly—you look back at it.
And it’s still close.
Still holding you.
Still watching you like you’ve just given it everything it’s ever wanted. Your cheeks burn as it sinks in—what you just did. What you let happen. This is supposed to be your enemy.
Not—not this.
“Sorry,” 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. “It was just— I was just…”Overwhelmed. That’s what you settle on.
That’s what you tell yourself. The sun, the air, the freedom—after so long in that cave, anyone would react like that. Anyone would lose their head for a second.
It doesn’t mean anything.
It can’t mean anything. You cling to that.
Desperately. “Is there a way for me to… um, stretch out?” you ask after a moment, your voice a little too casual, a little too forced. It’s a stupid question.
You’re surrounded by nothing but open water, endless in every direction. You could stretch out however you want. But that’s not really what you’re asking. You just—need to say something. Anything. To break whatever that was. To put space back between you.
It doesn’t question it.
“Of course,” it replies easily. And before you can even process what it means— 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 then—It guides you.
Carefully.
Lifting you just enough to reposition you until you’re lying across it.
On top of it.
Your breath catches.
Because it’s… 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 sides—not trapping you, just… there.
Holding.
Supporting.
Your hands press lightly against it at first, unsure, testing
But when it doesn’t shift, doesn’t drop you—You slowly relax.
Stretching out.
Actually stretching out.
Your muscles pull and loosen in ways they haven’t in days—maybe longer—your 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 you—It 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 it’s enough for something in your chest to loosen. To soften. And when you open them again, you don’t look at it. You look at the sky.
Because that’s easier.
Because if you look at it right now—you’re not sure what you’ll feel. You’re not sure if you can even handle how you feel.
It’s too much.
Too tangled.
Too… wrong.
You’ve been with this creature for—what? Weeks? Months? Years? You don’t know. Time doesn’t exist the same way down there. There’s 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 track—marking 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 eventually…you stopped.
Because it didn’t matter.
Because there was nothing to count toward. And now—now you’re here. Lying on top of it, stretched out under an open sky you haven’t seen in what feels like a lifetime, your body warm, your mind quieter than it’s been in…too 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 here—the harder that becomes. Because it hasn’t 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 you’re… everything. And that’s dangerous. Because part of you—a small, quiet, traitorous part—is starting to lean into it. Your throat tightens slightly at the thought. So you speak. Before you can think too hard about it.
“How long has it been…?” you ask softly, your voice almost getting lost in the sound of the waves.
You swallow.
“…since, um… everything?”You don’t say it. You don’t 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 you’ve asked. For a moment—It doesn’t 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.
Then—“Time moves differently below,” it says slowly.
Carefully.
Like it’s choosing its words in a way it usually doesn’t. “We do not measure it as you do.” That doesn’t help. You frown slightly, turning your head just enough to glance down at it.
“…that’s not really an answer.” Another pause.
Longer this time.
Like it’s thinking.
Like it’s trying.
“If I were to speak in a way you understand…” it begins again, quieter now, “it has been… many cycles of your sun.” Your brows knit. “How many is many?”Its gaze shifts briefly—up toward the sky, like it’s using it to measure something it rarely pays attention to.
Then back to you.
“…more than you would consider short,” it says.
“And less than you would consider a lifetime.”
That doesn’t make you feel better. If anything—it makes your chest feel heavier. Because that means…you’ve 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. “…so I’ve just been gone,” 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 then—slow, deliberate—resting lightly against your side. “You have not been gone,” it says. There’s something in its voice. Something firm. Something that doesn’t allow for argument.
“You have been with me.”Your breath hitsches.
You don’t know why that hits the way it does. But it does. Your gaze shifts away again, back to the sky, because that’s easier than looking at it right now.
“…that’s not the same thing,” you whisper.
But it doesn’t respond. It just stays there beneath you—steady, unmoving, present. Like it has nowhere else it would rather be. And the worst part is—you’re starting to feel the same way. Not that you’ll 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 those—even 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. It’s 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 you’re afraid if you blink, it’ll be gone again for another unknowable stretch of time.
The warmth fades gradually, slipping away little by little until all that’s 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.
“Thank you,” 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 moment—you don’t even know why you said it. Because it doesn’t make sense. It shouldn’t make sense.
This thing—this creature—it ruined your life. Took everything from you. Left you with nothing but itself. And yet—right now—with the sky stretching endlessly above you and the last of the sunlight warming your skin—you feel…Grateful.
The realization makes something twist uncomfortably in your chest. Because you shouldn’t feel that. You know you shouldn’t.
But you do anyway.
And you hate that. Hate how easily it slips in. How natural it feels. It doesn’t respond with words. It rarely does, when things get like this. Instead—Its 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, softer—something that hums against you rather than through you.
You don’t pull away.
You don’t 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 time—it doesn’t feel as suffocating.
Not with it still beneath you.
Not with its presence grounding you in a way the light just did. And that thought—that quiet, dangerous thought—lingers long after the sun is gone. “We should head back,” you whisper, your voice quieter than you intend—strained, pulled tight by something you don’t quite have the words for. It’s not just the fading light. It’s not just the cold slowly replacing the sun’s warmth.
It’s something deeper.
Something heavier.
The kind of feeling that settles in your chest and refuses to be named. It doesn’t move right away. “You do not want to,” 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 think—This 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. “No,” you admit, the word breaking softer than you expect. A small, pathetic sound slips past your lips as you sniff, your throat tightening. You don’t want to go back.
Not to the cave.
Not to the dark.
Not to the place where time doesn’t exist and the world feels so… small. Up here, everything feels endless.
Open.
Free.
And you know—the second you go back, that feeling will disappear again. Swallowed whole by stone and shadow. “But we have to,” you continue, forcing the words out like they make sense, like they’re logical, like they’re not just you trying to brace yourself before you lose something you barely got to have.
“There’s no point in staying. The sun has set after all.” Your voice wavers at the end despite your efforts. You swallow hard, blinking rapidly as you stare out at the horizon—now dark, the last traces of light completely gone.
“Let’s go back home.”
The word feels strange on your tongue.
Home.
You don’t know why you said it. You don’t know if you meant it.
But it’s out there now.
And it hears it. You feel the shift immediately.
Subtle—but 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 doesn’t move. Like it’s giving you time. Like it’s letting you change your mind.
Or maybe…
Like it’s memorizing this. The way you look under the open sky. The way you sound when you say home and mean somewhere it exists.
Then—It hums.
Low.
Soft.
Something almost content slipping into the sound. “As you wish,” it murmurs. And this time— It doesn’t 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.
“Hold,” it says quietly.
You don’t argue.
You can’t.
Your arms wrap around it instinctively, fingers gripping tighter than before—like you’re afraid of something, though you’re 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 above—Endless.
Distant.
Before it disappears. Swallowed by the sea.
Cold rushes over you as you’re pulled under, the light fading quicker this time, your body pressing closer to it as your lungs instinctively tense.
But it’s 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 distance—you realize something that makes your chest tighten all over again. You didn’t say that just to comfort it.
You said it because…a part of you meant it.
——
After the kiss, things were… different.
Subtle at first.
Then not so subtle at all.
Something had shifted between you—something unspoken, something neither of you addressed, yet both of you seemed to understand. The air felt heavier.
Warmer.
Charged in a way you didn’t 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 careful—almost clinical—changed. Before, it kept its distance, movements slow and deliberate, always mindful of you, always giving you space like it feared crossing some invisible line.
Now—now 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 didn’t understand. That this was just how it was. But deep down—you 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 hated—how 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 back—never enough to trap you, but enough to remind you it was there.
That it was there.
Sometimes—it would ask.
“May I?”
Its voice quieter than usual, almost hesitant in a way that didn’t suit something so powerful. You always knew what it meant. Your nest.
Your space.
Closer.
And sometimes—you said yes.
You didn’t know why. Maybe it was the loneliness. Maybe it was the way it looked at you when it asked—like your answer actually mattered.
Or maybe…
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 you—secure, firm, but never tight enough to hurt. Just enough to hold you.Like you were something fragile.
Something important.
Something it couldn’t 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 eventually—you 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 deeper—something that resonated in your chest, in your bones.
You didn’t understand it.
But you felt it.
And slowly—your body would loosen.
Your thoughts would quiet. And you would fall asleep to the sound of it, wrapped in something that should’ve terrified you—but didn’t. Not anymore.
And that was the problem.
Because despite all of it—despite the warmth, the closeness, the way your body had begun to respond instead of resist—you never kissed it again.
You couldn’t.
That moment…it felt too final. Too real. Like crossing a line you wouldn’t be able to uncross. Because if you did—if you let yourself do that again—then you’d have to face what this was becoming. What you were becoming. And you weren’t ready for that. But just because you weren’t ready—didn’t mean it wasn’t.
Rafayel—your creature—was 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 you—that patience began to thin.
Not gone.
Never gone.
But strained.
Stretched tighter than it had ever been before. Because you had kissed it.
And that…that meant something.
It knew that much.
It had learned enough about humans—about you—to 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 you—you 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 yet—you never did it again. You pulled back. Hesitated. Built walls where there hadn’t been any before. It didn’t understand that.
Not fully.
Because in its world—things 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 yet—here it was.
Holding back.
For you.
It watched you constantly, more than before. Not in the same distant, observing way it once had—but 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 controlled—like it was forcing itself to remain calm. Because it didn’t 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 you—careful.
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 instinct—ancient and unyielding—pushed against the limits it had set for your sake. Even as it watched you lie beside it, just within reach—close enough to touch. Close enough to take. But not close enough to have. Not yet. You don’t 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 it—every time you feel the slight shift of its weight, the way it adjusts itself just a little too often—you can’t help the twist of guilt in your chest. It doesn’t complain. Not once. But you see it anyway. The way its movements are more careful when it settles. The way it stills completely once you’ve gotten comfortable, like it refuses to move again in case it disturbs you. Like your rest matters more than its own.
“…are you comfortable?” 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.
“It’s sufficient,” it replies. The same calm, steady tone. Like that’s the end of it. Like it doesn’t even consider anything beyond that. Your brows knit slightly.
Sufficient.
Not comfortable.
Not good.
Just… enough. And you don’t like that.
Not when it’s done nothing but make sure you’re more than comfortable. Not when it’s given you everything you’ve asked for—your nest, your clothes, your water, your space.
Not when it bends itself—literally—to fit into a world that wasn’t made for it. For you. “…that’s not the same thing,” you mutter, more to yourself than to it. It tilts its head slightly, watching you, waiting.
You hesitate.
Because you don’t know how to say it. Don’t know how to admit that you care. That you’ve been paying attention. That you don’t like seeing it like this. Your fingers curl slightly into the fur beneath you. “I just…” you trail off, exhaling softly. “You don’t have to stay up here, you know.”The words come out more awkward than you intended.“ You could just… stay in the water. Or something.”
A pause.
“I stay where you are.”
Simple.
Definite.
Like there was never another option to begin with. Your chest tightens again. “That doesn’t mean you have to be uncomfortable,” 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.
Then—slowly— its hand lifts, brushing lightly against your side, grounding. “I am not harmed by this,” it says. “That’s not what I—” you stop yourself, frustration bubbling up in a way you don’t expect. Because it doesn’t get it. Or maybe it does—and just doesn’t care.
“I just want you to be comfortable,” you finish instead, quieter now. There’s 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. Then— “I am,” it says. Your brows furrow again. “You just said—”
“When I am here,” it interrupts, voice low, steady. Its hand shifts slightly, resting more fully against you now. “With you.”
That…
That shuts you up.
Completely.
Your throat tightens, words catching before they can form.
Because you don’t know how to argue with that. You don’t know if you even can. So instead—you go quiet.
Turning your gaze away again, back toward the dim glow of the cave walls. But you don’t move away from it. You don’t tell it to leave. And after a moment—almost unconsciously—you shift just a little closer.” Will you tell me more about you? About your kind?” you ask softly, your voice cutting through the quiet of the cave. You don’t expect much.
Not really.
Every time you’ve tried before, it’s given you fragments—pieces of something bigger, something you can’t quite put together no matter how hard you try. Still—you ask anyway. Because you want to understand it. And that realization alone makes something in your chest twist uncomfortably.
For a moment, it doesn’t answer.
Its fingers continue their slow, absent tracing along your side, its gaze fixed somewhere beyond you—like it’s thinking, like it’s deciding how much to give. Then—“My kind lives as all things born of the sea do,” it begins, its voice low, steady, carrying that same strange cadence that never quite sounds human.
“We hunt. We kill. We eat.”
Simple.
Blunt.
Unapologetic.
Your stomach tightens slightly at the words, but you stay quiet, letting it continue. “Our prey varies,” it goes on. “It must. The sea does not promise consistency. One day, we eat fish. The next…”
It pauses.
Briefly.
Then its gaze flicks down to you.
“Humans.”Your stomach turns this time. Actually turns. A cold, uncomfortable feeling settling deep inside you.
“We have never favored your kind,” it continues, almost idly. “You are not very fatty. Not as sustaining.”The way it says it—so casual. So matter-of-fact. Like it’s talking about something insignificant. “But you are… interesting,” it adds, something shifting slightly in its tone. “You run. You scream. You beg.” Your throat tightens. “We find that amusing.”
Your fingers curl slightly against your nest.
“Fish do not do so,” it continues. “They cannot. They are simple. Predictable. They do not feel in the way you do.”There’s something almost curious in its voice now.
Like it’s comparing. Like it’s always been comparing. You swallow hard, trying to push down the unease crawling up your spine. “And you’re just… telling me this?” you murmur, your voice quieter now, strained in a way you can’t quite hide. It tilts its head slightly at that, like it doesn’t understand the problem.
“You asked,” it replies simply.
Right.
You did.
Your gaze drifts away for a moment, your mind trying—and failing—to reconcile the creature that holds you so carefully with the one that just described hunting humans like it’s a game.
It continues before you can say anything else.
“My kind can be considered the rulers of the sea,” it says, its voice shifting again—firmer now, more certain.
“There are creatures larger. Stronger, even. But none rule as we do.”
Your brows knit slightly.
“Rule?” you echo.
It hums softly.
“We maintain order,” it explains. “As much as order can exist in something as vast as the sea.”
Its hand moves slightly, tracing along your arm now.
“There are territories. Boundaries. Behaviors that must be enforced. Not all follow them willingly.”Your attention sharpens at that.
“So you’re like… what? A king?”
Its lips twitch slightly—not quite a smile, but close.“If that is how your kind understands it.”And then—“I am the one they follow.” There’s 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 that—so plainly—ceels different.
“And when you accept my offer,” it continues, its gaze settling fully on you now, “you will rule beside me.”
Your chest tightens instantly. There it is. Again. That word. When. Not if. Never if. Your jaw clenches slightly, but you don’t interrupt.
“There is not much to ruling,” it adds, almost dismissively. “The sea does not bend to authority the way land does. Survival is the only constant.”
Its fingers still against your skin for a moment.
“But there are rules,” it says more seriously now.“Necessary ones.”
Your brows furrow. “What kind of rules?”
Its eyes flicker slightly—something deeper, darker passing through them before it answers. “The kind that keep balance,” it says. “The kind that prevent chaos from consuming everything.” That…That doesn’t really answer your question.
But the way it says it—you’re not sure you want more detail. Not right now. “That is why I exist,” it continues, its voice quieter now, closer. “To enforce them.”
A pause.
Then—“You will learn them.” Your stomach tightens again. “This, I swear.” 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 don’t belong to—a world it fully expects you to become a part of—you can’t help but feel like you’ve just been given a glimpse into something far bigger than you ever realized. Something you’re already being pulled into. Whether you’re ready for it—or not.
Regardless of what you think—you’re in your nest—your bed—and you’re so, so sleepy.
It settles over you slowly at first, then all at once, heavy and unavoidable. Your limbs feel like they’re sinking into the softness beneath you, your muscles loosening in a way they haven’t in… you don’t even know how long.
And behind you—Rafayel.
Your creature.
It’s there like it always is, large and steady, its presence wrapping around you in a way that’s 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.
It’s warm.
Comforting.
Safe.
Your eyes begin to slip shut, your lashes growing heavy as your breathing evens out, slow and soft. You don’t even try to fight it—not tonight. Not when your body is practically begging for rest.
Your thoughts blur. Your awareness dulls. And just as you’re about to fall—just as you begin to sink into that quiet, weightless space between waking and sleep—It speaks.
“I think it’s time for you to meet the cove.”Your eyes snap open. “What?”The 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 don’t move. Don’t fully process it. Then it hits you. The cove. Your heart stutters in your chest as your mind flashes back—unwanted, 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.
“…what did you just say?”
Your voice is quieter now, but there’s an edge to it. Something sharper. Something more awake. It doesn’t hesitate. “You will meet them,” it says, calm and certain, like this is something already decided, something inevitable. Like your opinion on it doesn’t quite matter.
Your chest tightens.
“The cove,” it continues, its gaze fixed on you, unwavering. “My people.”Your throat goes dry. Those weren’t just shapes in the water. Those weren’t just passing figures. They were watching you. And now—It 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. “I…” you start, then stop, your thoughts scrambling to catch up. “I don’t think I can do that.”
It’s quiet.
Honest.
Your fingers curl into the fabric of your nest as your heart picks up, unease settling heavier in your chest. “I just got used to you,” you admit, frustration bleeding into your tone. “And now you want me to meet all of them?” Your voice tightens. “I don’t even know what they’ll do.”
Your mind fills in the blanks for you.
What they are. What they’ve done. What they’re capable of. It watches you.
Carefully.
Then—“They will not harm you,” it says, its voice steady, firm in a way that doesn’t allow room for doubt.
You let out a small, humorless breath.
“That’s easy for you to say,” you mutter, glancing away. A pause. “I would not allow it,” it adds.And that—That makes you hesitate. Because there’s something in its tone. Something certain.
Unyielding.
But still—your chest feels tight. Your thoughts too loud. “I’m not ready,” you say again, softer this time. And this time—It doesn’t argue.
Not immediately.
Instead, its hand shifts slightly against you, grounding rather than holding, its touch lighter than before. “You do not have to meet them now,” it says after a moment.
Your shoulders relax—just barely. “But you will meet them soon.” And there it is. That inevitability again. That quiet promise you can’t escape. Your breath slows, but sleep doesn’t 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 rest—this isn’t just about meeting them.It’s about being introduced.
Claimed.
Shown off.
And you don’t know if that thought terrifies you—or something worse.
“Besides, you’ve seen them before,” it says, like that alone should ease the tension coiling tight in your chest. “Now you simply have to interact with them.”Like that makes it better.
Like seeing shadows beneath the water—watching eyes that didn’t blink—was the same as standing in front of them. Speaking to them. Being seen by them. “But still—” you start, your voice catching slightly as you try to push past the unease crawling up your spine. It doesn’t let you. “Shh.”The sound is soft, but firm.
Final.
Its hand shifts, sliding up your arm, fingers—clawed and careful—coming to rest just beneath your jaw, tilting your head ever so slightly back toward it. Not forceful. Not rough. But guiding. Silencing. “There is nothing else to discuss,” it murmurs, its voice low, steady, leaving no room for argument.
Your lips part—ready to protest again, to try again—but the words die before they can form. Because of the way it’s looking at you. Focused. Certain. Unmoving. Like this decision was made long before you even thought to question it.
“Now rest.”
Your chest rises slowly, uneven, your body caught somewhere between resisting and… not. Because you’re tired.
So tired.
And it’s 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 shoulder—slow, deliberate—until 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 it’s there.
Your body hesitates. Tense for just a moment longer. Then—slowly— It gives in. Your eyes fall shut again, though this time it’s not as peaceful. Not as easy.
Your thoughts linger.
On the cove.
On the way it didn’t even consider that you might refuse. And beneath all of that—something quieter. Something more unsettling. The way you didn’t 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 down—you can’t tell if the steady presence wrapped around you is what’s 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
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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 isn’t the word you’d use to describe the look on its face.
No—It’s sharper than that.
Tighter. It looks… defensive. And beneath that—Angry.
Not fear. Not uncertainty. Irritation.
Like whatever just made that sound isn’t something it’s afraid of—just something that shouldn’t be here.
Shouldn’t 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.
It’s 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 teeth—just slightly. A warning.
Low and quiet, something like a growl rumbles from its chest, not meant for you. Meant for whatever is coming. And then—Without looking at you— “Stay behind me.”
Then something breaks the surface. A head—sleek, scaled, unfamiliar—emerges from the water with barely a sound. It pauses, blinking slowly, before lowering itself in a small, almost reverent bow. A soft trill follows—high, melodic, almost bird-like, echoing faintly against the cave walls.
You go still behind it. Your creature doesn’t move at first. Then it answers.
A sound leaves its throat—lower, deeper, resonant in a way that vibrates through the stone beneath you. It’s not quite a trill, not quite a growl—something in between, layered, ancient. It hums with something you don’t understand, something that makes your chest tighten just from hearing it. The smaller creature shifts closer—curious, cautious—but before it can get too near, your creature flicks its tail sharply through the water.
A warning. The smaller one stills instantly.
Its eyes—large, reflective—lift. And land on you. You suck in a breath. It doesn’t look surprised. If anything—It looks like it was expecting you.
A strange silence stretches—then 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 creature’s voice stays light, lilting, rising and falling like a question.
Your creature’s reply is different.
Deeper.
Heavier.
Each sound it makes seems to press into the air, carrying weight, authority—like the cave itself is listening. The smaller creature trills again, softer this time. Hesitant.
Your creature answers immediately—sharper 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 more—lingering. 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 chest—quieter, 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 moment—then disappears beneath the surface.
The cave falls silent again. But the tension doesn’t leave. Because your creature hasn’t moved.
Hasn’t 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 immediately—focused, intent, like nothing else in the cave matters now.
“They want to meet you.”
Its voice is low, almost a whisper—careful, like it’s trying not to startle you. You don’t answer. You can’t. Because your mind catches on one thing— 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 haven’t even had time to grieve. Not properly. Not at all. Your family is gone.
Your life is gone.
Everything you knew—everyone you knew—is gone. And now—Now you’re 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.
“You want me to what?” you finally say, your voice thin, strained—like if you push it any harder, it’ll snap. Your gaze locks onto it, something between disbelief and anger flickering behind your eyes. “You killed everyone I’ve ever loved,” you continue, breath uneven, “drag me down here, and now you want me to meet your… what? Your friends?”
The word feels wrong. Bitter. Your chest rises and falls too fast, too tight. “You think I’m just going to go along with that?”It doesn’t interrupt you this time. Doesn’t correct you. Doesn’t argue. It just watches. Quiet.
Patient.
Like it already knows your answer doesn’t 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, unfair—but it sticks. You know—somewhere, logically—that it probably doesn’t understand what it took from you. That in its mind, this was something else entirely. Protection. Salvation.
But that doesn’t change anything.
It doesn’t bring them back. It doesn’t make this hurt any less. And you refuse—You refuse—to 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 it—hide from it, from everything—but 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 isn’t enough oxygen here for this—for you—but you can’t stop.
You don’t want to stop.
Because if you do—Then it’s real. “I just—” your voice breaks completely, the words barely forming through the sobs. “I just want to go home…”
The admission feels small.
Childish.
Pathetic.
But it’s the only thing left in you that still makes sense. Home. Somewhere warm. Somewhere safe. Somewhere human. Somewhere that isn’t 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 it—through all of it—It watches you.
Silent.
Still.
Like it’s seeing something it’s never seen before. Which it probably isn’t. The sea is a dangerous place—one that breeds dangerous things, things that don’t cry, don’t break, don’t mourn the way you do.
So of course it doesn’t understand.
Of course it’s never seen this before. Your sobs don’t quiet, but they falter—just slightly—as it finally speaks. “This is your home.” The words land heavy.
Wrong.
It says them without hesitation, without doubt, like it’s 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 doesn’t blink.
Doesn’t soften.
“This has always been your home,” it continues, voice steady, certain—ancient in a way that makes your skin prickle.
A pause.
And then—“You have always belonged by my side.” Something in your chest twists violently. Because it doesn’t sound like a lie. Not to it. To it, this is truth. A truth it’s known far longer than you have.
Your head shakes weakly, your voice barely holding together. “No… no, that’s not—” But the words feel fragile.
Small.
Like they don’t carry the same weight as its certainty.
And worse— A thought slips in, quiet and unwelcome.
What if it believes that so completely… because it’s been watching you for longer than you think?
Your breath catches.
The cave suddenly feels smaller.
Colder.
Like it’s closing in around you.
Because if that’s true—Then this didn’t start on the ship. It didn’t start when you fell into the water. It didn’t even start when it pulled you under. It started long before that.
And you were the only one who didn’t know.
The way it says it—that you belong together—makes it sound like it’s been written somewhere permanent. Like it’s been there long before either of you existed.
Like fate.
Only—It’s 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 isn’t strange—this isn’t wrong—this is something expected?
Your chest tightens painfully.
This is insane.
It has to be.
Your brain—starved of oxygen, drowning, dying—making 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 don’t even realize it until it’s already touching you—its clawed, webbed hand wrapping around your forearm. You flinch, a sharp breath catching in your throat, but it doesn’t 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 you’re settled again—closer.
Too close.
You freeze as it positions you against itself, its long tail coiling slightly beneath you, creating something that almost resembles a seat—a lap.
If that’s 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 doesn’t feel harsh—just… present.
Intentional.
One of its arms comes around you—not tight, not trapping—but steady. Keeping you there. Holding you. Like it thinks this is normal. Like this is where you’re 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 curiosity—But instead— It pauses. Just barely brushing against your cheek, where your tears haven’t fully dried.
Careful.
Almost hesitant.
“You are…” it starts, voice quieter now, less certain than before. It searches for the word. “Distressed.”The way it says it sounds clinical. Observational. Like it’s naming something it doesn’t fully understand but recognizes as important. Its hold on you shifts—subtly tightening, just enough to keep you from slipping away. “You are safe,” it adds after a moment.
A pause.
Then, softer—“With me.”It trills again—low, resonant, the sound vibrating against your ear in a way that makes your skin prickle. It’s not unpleasant. That’s what makes it worse.
“Humans… like to know things about their mates, yes?” it hums, voice curling around the words like it’s testing them, like it’s piecing together something it’s only observed from afar.
Its claws brush over your shoulder, slow, absent, tracing the line of your collarbone with unsettling familiarity. You flinch—of course you do—but it doesn’t stop. Doesn’t even acknowledge it.
Like your reactions are expected. Like they don’t change anything. “Would it make you feel better,” it continues, softer now, almost coaxing, “if you knew more about me?”
It leans down, closer, its face dipping toward your hair. You feel it before you fully process it—the cold brush of its nose, the slow inhale as it scents you again, deeper this time.
Possessive.
Curious. Certain. You don’t answer. You don’t think you can. But it doesn’t matter.
It continues anyway.
“I am… Rafayel,” it murmurs, the name rolling strangely off its tongue, like something both ancient and newly claimed all at once. The arm around you tightens—just slightly. “Your destined mate.” The words settle heavy in your chest. Wrong. Impossible. And yet spoken with a certainty that makes your stomach twist.
“My kind…” it pauses, searching again, adjusting. “We do not have genders. Not as you do.” Its claws shift against your skin, trailing lightly down your arm, mapping you in slow, deliberate touches. “There are bearers. And sires.”
A faint hum escapes it—pleased, maybe, that it’s explaining this correctly. “But for you,” it adds, tilting its head slightly as if considering your understanding, “I would be… male. Yes.”
Its tongue flicks out again, dragging gently across your cheek, collecting the tears that haven’t yet dried. You flinch harder this time, your breath catching—but it only makes that same low sound again, deeper now, almost satisfied.
“Tastes like home,” 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 you—really studies you—like every reaction, every breath, every tremor matters. “You are soft,” it murmurs, almost to itself. “Fragile.” Not insulting. Just… observed. Its gaze lingers on your eyes, glowing faintly in the dim light, unblinking. “But you endure.”
A pause.
Its claws shift, brushing stray damp strands of hair from your face with surprising care. “You will learn,” it adds quietly, voice lowering again into something almost soothing, almost hypnotic. “This place. My world.”Its grip tightens just a fraction more.“And me.”
“And we’ll start by introducing you to them,” 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 strokes—awkward, like it’s mimicking comfort rather than understanding it. “My people want to meet you,” it repeats, more firmly this time. The words don’t settle. They sink. Heavy. Suffocating.
Your fingers twitch against its arm, your breathing still uneven as your mind tries—and fails—to keep up. Its people. Plural. Waiting. Expecting you. Watching, maybe. “They will help you learn,” 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.
“And when the time comes…”Your breath catches. Something in the way it says it—final. Unavoidable. “We will complete our union.” 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 isn’t the beginning—like 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 you’re still separate. Still you. “…I don’t want that,” you whisper, the words barely holding together as they leave you.
It stills.
Just for a moment. Then its grip shifts—firmer, not hurting, but leaving no room for misunderstanding. Its gaze drops to you again, glowing faintly in the dim light, unreadable but unwavering. “You will.”Not harsh. Not cruel. Certain.
“You do not have to meet them now,” it says, voice smoothing out again, slipping back into that quiet, measured tone—like it’s offering you a kindness. A choice. “But you will have to meet them soon.”The words linger, heavier than the softness they’re wrapped in.
Its hand continues its slow path along your back, up and down, up and down—steady, rhythmic, like it’s trying to lull you into something calmer. Something more accepting. You don’t feel calm.cYou feel trapped. “I will be here with you,” it goes on, almost absently, like it’s reciting something already decided. “Always.” 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 it—even at rest, it’s powerful. Unyielding. “Unless I must leave to hunt.”
Hunt.
Your stomach twists again at the casual way it says it, like it’s no different from stepping out for air. Like it’s 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. “When I am gone,” it continues, “you will remain here.”
Not a suggestion. Not a question. A rule. “You will be safe.” Your breath catches. Safe. The word feels warped coming from it. Twisted into something unrecognizable.
“I will provide for you.”There’s a quiet certainty in its voice—something 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. “You will not hunger.” A pause. “You will not be harmed.” Another. “And you will not be alone.”Your chest tightens painfully at that one.
Because somehow—that’s the worst part. Your fingers curl weakly against its arm, your voice small, strained, barely there. “…I already am.” Its grip tightens suddenly, the shift so abrupt it knocks the breath from your lungs.
A sound tears from it—low, jagged, vibrating through its chest and into you where you’re pressed against it. Not quite a growl, not quite anything you’ve ever heard before. Something ancient.
Something that warns.
“No,” it says, firmer now. “You are not.” 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 easing—not releasing, just loosening enough to continue.
“I am the ruler of my people,” it continues, voice settling back into something controlled, something steady. “They come to me for guidance.” Its gaze sharpens slightly as it looks at you, like it’s trying to make sure you understand. “They will come to you for the same.”Your stomach drops.
You?
The idea is so absurd it almost feels laughable—if it didn’t sound so real coming from it. Its claws brush along your arm again, slower now, deliberate, like it’s grounding the words into you. “You will learn to love it here.”The certainty in its tone doesn’t waver. Not even for a second. Then—It leans closer.
Too close.
Its voice drops, barely more than a breath against your skin—“You will learn to love me.” The words settle deep. Heavy. Unavoidable. Before you can respond—before you can even process it fully—its hold disappears.
Just like that.
You barely have time to react before you’re being lowered, placed carefully back onto the smooth rock beneath you. The absence of it is immediate—cold in a different way, emptier. Your body feels too light without its hold.
Too exposed. “I will bring you things,” it says, already shifting away, slipping back into the water. “To make this space of yours more comfortable.” Your space. The words echo. Like a cage being renamed something softer. Something easier to accept. You don’t move.
You can’t.
All you can do is watch as it disappears beneath the surface, the water swallowing it whole in seconds—like 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 once—then stills. And for the first time since you woke up here—there’s nothing watching you anymore. Which somehow—feels worse. And you realize it—slowly, sickeningly. It’s already getting what it wants. The thought doesn’t 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 somehow—somewhere deep down—you 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 there’s nothing. No distractions. No one else.
Just you—and 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 you—small, traitorous, human—doesn’t 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 won’t—you can’t.But the realization settles anyway.
Heavy.
Certain.
In the end—It will get what it wants.
And you—you’ll be helpless to stop it.Because one day—your chest twists painfully at the thought—one day, the silence will feel worse than it does now. And when it comes back—when it speaks, when it touches you, when it fills this suffocating emptiness—your heart will betray you. It will reach.
It will yearn.
And no matter how much you hate it—no matter how much you fight—you won’t be able to stop it. Before you can spiral any further—It’s 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 doesn’t belong in a place like this. Like if you touched a cloud, if clouds were real enough to hold, to sink your fingers into.
“For your nest,” it says, extending it toward you. Nest. The word feels strange, foreign—but the meaning settles quickly as it places the weight of it into your arms. You almost drop it. Not because it’s wet—It isn’t. It’s heavy.
Solid in a way you weren’t expecting, like it’s 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. That’s what it is. Or… their version of one.
“It’s heavy,” you mutter under your breath, more to yourself than to it, your voice still uneven from earlier.It doesn’t respond to that. Just watches. Of course it does. You don’t ask why it’s dry.
You don’t even think to question it beyond a passing thought. You’re in a cave at the bottom of the ocean, being cared for by something that shouldn’t exist—dry fabric is the least concerning thing happening right now.
“This too,” it says, already moving again. Another item is placed into your hands—larger this time, softer in a different way. Fur. Thick. Warm-looking. A blanket—if you can even call it that.
“You humans get cold easily,” it continues, voice steady, observational. “This should help keep you warm.”Your fingers instinctively press into it. It’s soft.
Really soft.
And—dry. Again. The realization hits a second later. You pause. Your gaze slowly drops to yourself. Your clothes—your skin—your 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 you’ll find some explanation there. You were just in the ocean. You drowned. You remember the water in your lungs. The salt. The panic. So why—how 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.
—
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 you’re 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 walls—it watches. Unblinking. Attentive. The only reprieve you get is when it leaves to hunt. Those moments are brief.
Too brief.
Because the second it’s gone, the cave feels too big—too empty—and the silence presses in until your thoughts start getting louder again. So when it returns— You hate that part of you that feels relief.
It feeds you the same way it did the first time. Fish. It’s 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 you’re trying to get used to.
You never really do.
You notice things, though. Because there’s nothing else to do but notice. Its eyes glow—faintly, but unmistakably. And so does its hair. Not all of it—just 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 skin—or scales, you’re not entirely sure. You wonder if those glow too. You never ask.
Time loses meaning. Days. Nights. Weeks. Months. There’s no sun here. No sky. No way to measure anything except the rhythm of its absence and return. So you stop trying. Until one moment— One breaking point. “I can’t stay here,” you mutter. Your voice sounds foreign.
Rough.
Like you haven’t used it properly in a long time. It looks at you. Of course it does. “Yes, you can.” Simple. Final. Like that’s the end of it. Something in your chest snaps.
“No, I can’t,” you fire back, your voice rising, cracking under the pressure of everything you’ve been holding in. “I need sunlight. And clothes—and water. Fresh water. I’m thirsty.”Your hands clench into fists at your sides, nails biting into your palms as you push forward, words spilling out faster now.
“Food is great and all, but I can still die of dehydration. And I want to bathe—I want to get out of these clothes—“Your voice sharpens at the end, anger bleeding through as your hands grip at the fabric you’re 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.
“And sunlight,” you continue, not giving it a chance to interrupt, your chest rising and falling too fast now, “as insignificant as it might seem to a creature like you, is important. To everything that lives on this planet.”Your voice shakes—but you don’t stop.
“Unless they live near hydrothermal vents,” you add, the knowledge coming out almost bitter, almost desperate—something to ground you, something human. “But those organisms are adapted to that. I’m not.”You take a step back, your breath uneven, your entire body tense as you stare at it.
“I’ll die,” you say, quieter now—but firmer. “The same way I’ll die here without sunlight.”The cave falls silent again. Its nonexistent brow lifts slightly as it stares at you, unblinking.
“Is that all?” The question lands wrong. It shouldn’t make you this angry—but it does. Is that all? Your chest tightens, something sharp flaring up behind your ribs. Of course it’s not all.
There are a thousand things you want to say—questions, accusations, screams—but they sit heavy in your throat, unsaid. Because it saved you. Because it can just as easily un-save you. Because despite everything— You’re 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.
“What?” is all you manage, the word dragged out of you, rough and strained.
It doesn’t react to your tone.
Of course it doesn’t. “Is that all?” it repeats, calmer this time, as if clarifying something simple. “I can get you those things.”
You blink.
“I can bring fresh water. Clothes. Even the ointments and oils you humans use to bathe.”Your breath catches. It continues like it’s listing off trivial items, like it’s nothing.
“The sunlight…” it pauses, just briefly, “will be more difficult to obtain.” A flicker of something passes through its expression—calculation, maybe.
“But after I gain your trust,” it continues, voice smooth, certain, “it will be no more difficult than the rest.”Gain your trust. The words settle strangely in your chest.
Like this is all part of something. Like it’s working toward something. “So I will ask again,” it finishes, gaze locking onto yours, “is that all?” It speaks differently now. Better. More fluid.
Like the first day was all it needed to understand you—your 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. It’s 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.
“Yes,” you mutter, your voice quieter now, lacking the sharp edge from before. “That’s all.”
A pause.
You swallow. “Yes… that’s all I need. For now.” For a moment, it just looks at you.
Then—It smiles. Wide.
Too wide.
Its teeth are too sharp, too numerous, the expression not quite right—something uncanny, something that doesn’t fit the shape of comfort the way a human smile should. And yet—It seems pleased.
Satisfied.
Without another word, it turns—its body slipping smoothly back toward the water. And then it’s 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 again—There’s nothing. Just you. And the darkness of the cave.
Time stretches again—thin, 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 hard—It returns.
But it isn’t alone.
The water stirs—once, twice—then 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 they’re carrying things. So many things.
Two of them step forward first, setting down large, sealed containers. Water. Fresh—you can tell just by the way it doesn’t carry that sharp, briny scent. Another follows, placing down smaller vessels—oils, soaps, things that smell faintly floral, herbal, clean.
More come after, hauling up heavy trunks—several of them—dropping them gently onto the stone near your makeshift bed. It’s overwhelming. Visually. Emotionally. Too much. Your chest tightens as you look at it all.
Why?
Why is it bringing you so much? “Is this enough for you?” it asks. Its voice cuts through the quiet, steady as ever—but behind it, the others trill softly, excitedly, their gazes fixed on you.
Waiting. Watching. Seeking something.
Approval.
The realization makes your stomach twist.
“More than,” you say, forcing a small smile onto your face. It feels wrong.
Fake.
But it works.
The reaction is immediate—their 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, it’s just you. And it. Again. “Thank you,” you mutter, quieter this time, the words automatic—habit more than anything else.
It doesn’t 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 simple—something you—before moving to the soaps and oils, uncapping a few, testing the scents until you find one that doesn’t feel foreign. Something you could almost pretend you chose yourself. You’re halfway through undressing when it hits you.
That feeling.
That stare.
Your hands freeze on your zipper as you slowly turn your head—And there it is. Still watching.
Unblinking.
Your jaw tightens as you mentally curse yourself. Of course it is. “Look… I know I can’t ask you to leave,” you start, your voice already strained with frustration, “but can you at least turn around?”
Nothing. It doesn’t move. “Sideways?”Still nothing. “Close your eyes?” Not even a flicker. You exhale sharply, running a hand over your face. “You know what—fine.”
Your voice is tighter now, edged with something between irritation and exhaustion. “We’re both guys. Some of us just have extra parts. But still—guys.”The words feel weak even as you say them.
Like you’re trying to convince yourself more than it.
You don’t 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.
Then—you 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, grime—everything. You stay under for a moment longer than necessary.
Just breathing.
Just existing.
Before surfacing again. And realizing—This is the closest you’ve been to it in days.
“Is this safe for the, um… ecosystem?” 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. “Like, I’m not poisoning the water or anything, right?” You expect an answer—quick, distant, maybe even dismissive. But it doesn’t come like that. Not at all.
Before you can even blink, it’s behind you.
The shift in the air is the only warning you get. Then suddenly, its hand is around yours—the same hand holding the soap—guiding 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. “It’s fine. Don’t worry,” it says softly, its voice low and smooth, almost blending with the gentle drip of water from the cave ceiling. There’s a pause, just long enough for your breath to hitch. “Do you need help?”
Its claws brush lightly against your bare shoulder—barely 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. “No, I’m fine,” 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 torso—you 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 ankles—everywhere. Anything to keep your mind occupied. Anything to get you out of this water sooner.
But then— You pause.
There’s one place you can’t quite reach.
Your back.
You twist slightly, stretching your arm as far as it will go, fingers brushing uselessly against skin you can’t properly clean. You try again, angling differently, but it’s 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.
It’s still there.
Still watching you.
Not in a way that feels predatory—no, it’s something else. Something quieter. Focused. As if you’re 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. “I need…” you start, but the words catch in your throat. Your grip tightens slightly around the soap as embarrassment curls in your chest.
You swallow.
“I need you to wash my back,” you mutter, the words barely above a whisper. For a moment—Nothing 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.
Then—It 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 first—testing, almost—before sliding lower.
You stiffen instantly.
It pauses.
Just for a second.
Like it’s waiting to see if you’ll pull away.
You don’t.
“…here,” you mutter quietly, reaching back just enough to press the small container into its hand before turning forward again. That’s all it needs. You hear the faint click of it opening—then the soft, slick sound of liquid being poured.
A second later—Its 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 again—only 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 hesitate—because it’s not rough.Not clumsy. It adjusts as it goes, learning in real time, pressure shifting where your body tightens, slowing where you flinch.
It’s so soft, and caring. You have to will your cunt to not get wet, you’re not going to get horny over your family’s killer touching you. “You are… tense,” it murmurs again, quieter this time, almost thoughtful.
Wow, thank you captain obvious. The thought appears before you can stop it, it’s not like you could try anyway. Your brain is your brain.
You let out a shaky breath.
“I wonder why,” you mutter, voice low.
It doesn’t respond. Its hand moves lower, broader strokes now, covering what you couldn’t reach, the liquid soap making everything easier—quicker—yet somehow it doesn’t rush.
It takes its time.
Like it’s committing this to memory.
The thought makes your chest tighten again.
You stare forward, jaw set, refusing to react more than you already have.
“Done,” 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 don’t let yourself dwell on it.
You can’t.
The second you’re done, you move—quickly climbing out of the briny pool and back onto the smooth rock where your “nest”—as it insists on calling it—waits 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 skin—familiar, grounding, something normal in the middle of everything that isn’t.
Then clothes.
You dress quickly, movements efficient, almost rushed—like you can somehow regain control by covering yourself again.It doesn’t help that it’s still watching. Of course it is. Your eyes flick up without meaning to—once, twice—and 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.
You’re done in minutes.
Fully dressed.
Contained.
Safe—or as close to it as you’re going to get here.
You reach for the water without hesitation, pulling one of the containers closer and opening it quickly.
Fresh.
God. You don’t 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 don’t 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.
“So, um…” you start. And then—nothing. The words don’t come. You didn’t think that far ahead. But it doesn’t matter. Because the second your voice breaks the silence—It reacts.
Immediately.
Its posture shifts, subtle but noticeable, attention sharpening as it looks at you—focused, intent.
Interested.
Excited.
Like this—you talking to it—means something. Your chest tightens at the sight. Because it looks… eager. And that does something uncomfortable to you.
Something you don’t like. Something that feels dangerously close to guilt. You swallow hard, your fingers tightening slightly around the container in your hand.
It doesn’t deserve that.
It doesn’t deserve anything from you. It killed them. It took everything from you. Your family.
Your life.
Your future. You can’t—won’t—feel sorry for it. You won’t let yourself.
Even if it looks at you like that. “The dirty laundry… what do I do with it?” you ask finally, the words feeling small after everything else that’s been said between you.
It doesn’t answer.
Not with words.
Instead, it moves closer, the water parting easily around it as it lifts its hands toward you—open, 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. “You can destroy that,” you say, your voice quieter now, your gaze dropping to the stone beneath your feet. “I never want to see it again.”
There’s a pause.
A small one.
But you feel it. It doesn’t question you. Doesn’t argue.
It just takes it.
Your shoulders stay tense, your hands empty now, unsure where to go, what to do with themselves. “And when you return…” you start again, the words slower this time, more deliberate.
You swallow. “I’d like to talk.” The admission feels strange.
Uncomfortable.
Necessary.
“About anything, really,” you add quickly, like you need to justify it.
Your fingers curl slightly at your sides.
“I’ll go mad if all I do all day is stare back at you.”
That earns a reaction.
A subtle one—but it’s there.
Something shifts in its expression, in the way it looks at you now.
Not just watching. Listening. Understanding.
Slowly, it nods.
“As you wish.”
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 more—your discarded past clutched in its grasp. And just like that—It’s 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 quickly—too quickly, almost like it’s drawn back to you no matter what it’s doing.
But this time… it lingers.
And just when you start to wonder—
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 doesn’t surprise you that it has these things.
A creature like this—living as long as it must have, moving through the ocean like it owns it—it makes sense. Sunken ships. Lost cargo. Forgotten treasures claimed by the sea.
What surprises you—
Is that it’s giving them to you.
Your lips part slightly before you force out a quiet, “Thank you.”
The words feel automatic.
But your eyes linger on the jewels for only a moment longer before lifting back to it.
Because that’s not what’s been sitting in your mind.
Not really.
You inhale slowly, steadying yourself.
“The ship…” you mutter.
Your voice is low, but it still echoes against the cave walls, bouncing back at you like it’s too loud anyway.
Its attention sharpens immediately.
Of course it does.
You swallow.
“How did you sink it?”
The question hangs there.Unavoidable. For a moment, it doesn’t answer.It just watches you. Then—It moves.
Not closer.
But deeper into the water, its tail shifting slowly as if the memory itself pulls it somewhere else. “I’ve been watching you for a long time,” it says, each word deliberate, measured—like it wants you to feel them settle. “And by association… your old mate.”
The last word comes out sharp.
A hiss.
Your stomach twists.
“When I saw him,” it continues, voice dropping, something darker threading through it, “courting that other man behind your back…”Its tail flicks beneath the surface, the water responding with a low, agitated ripple.
“My heart broke for you.”The words should sound gentle. They don’t. They sound possessive.
“My poor mate,” it murmurs, gaze fixed on you now, unblinking. “You did not deserve to be hurt like that. Even if you did not know it was happening.” Your chest tightens painfully. “And since he proved himself undeserving of you…” it goes on, the calm returning in a way that feels worse than the anger, “it made no sense to allow you to complete your union.”
Your breath catches.
“So I sank the ship.”
Just like that.
Simple.
Final.
“I gathered my kin,” it continues, almost idly, like it’s recounting something mundane. “We struck the vessel together. Our tails are… resilient.” A faint shift of its body emphasizes the point. “If one of us wishes to sink a ship, it is not difficult to make it appear as something else. An accident.”
Your fingers curl at your sides.
Cold.
Numb.
“While it descended,” it adds, quieter now, “my people fed.”
The words don’t hit all at once.
They… land.
Slow.
Heavy.
Suffocating.
Your throat tightens.
“And I came for you.”
Your gaze snaps to it.
Like that part is supposed to matter more.
Like that part is supposed to fix it.
“After I brought you here,” it continues, unbothered, unwavering, “I returned.”
A pause.
“I ate your old mate.”
Your stomach lurches violently.
“It is only fair,” it says, as if that explains everything.
As if that makes it right.
“In my world, when one seeks to claim a mate, a challenge is issued.” Its gaze sharpens slightly, something almost proud flickering beneath the surface.
“The victor consumes the defeated.”Silence crashes over the cave.
Thick.
Suffocating.
Because it says it so normally.
Like it didn’t just confess to tearing your life apart piece by piece. Like it didn’t just—your 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 it—It 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 anyway—small, strained, barely holding together.
“…you think that makes it okay?”
—
A/n: This chapters are sooo long jeez… but it’d be so much more annoying to post if I made them like 1k words each… Σ('◉⌓◉’)
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 soft—just 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 boat—no, the yacht—slowly, rhythmically. It’s 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.
You’re 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 you—the man who is perfect for you, you remind yourself.
You’re 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 friends—they’re all here, smiling, celebrating, watching you like you’re 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. It’s subtle, barely noticeable, but it’s there—constant, unavoidable.
You’re getting married on a boat.
A yacht. Whatever.
And you hate it.
You would’ve preferred land. Solid, unmoving ground beneath your feet. Something stable. Predictable. A courthouse would’ve been fine—honestly, more than fine. Quiet, simple, quick. No audience, no spectacle, no overwhelming sense that everything has to be perfect because it’s being seen.
Eloping sounded even better.
Just you, him, and a moment that belonged only to the two of you.
Not this—this overly extravagant event that probably cost more than a human liver on the black market.
“Don’t worry,” 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. “It’ll all be worth it in the end. We’ll be bound together until death.”
You remember the way he smiled when he said it—soft, affectionate, certain. Like there was no version of reality where this didn’t work out exactly as planned.
He’s so romantic when he wants to be.
He knows you can’t 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. It’s beautiful—of course it is. Everything about today is.
Carefully chosen. Carefully planned.
Carefully perfect.
Unfortunately, all of your friends and family were on his side. “I’ve never been on a yacht before, I’d like to at least step on one before I did.” They had said. “This might just be my only chance, don’t ruin this for me.” They had said. Gaslighting at its finest. But still, you gave in.
Because what are you, if not a people-pleaser?
And now you’re here—surrounded 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 true—as much as it feels true—he isn’t yours yet. Not officially. Not completely.
The thought lingers longer than it should.
Then—
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.
No—
Not soft.
Drunken.
It spills out carelessly, followed by the sight of him as he steps through the doorway—your almost-husband, dressed perfectly, looking exactly the way he’s supposed to. Composed. Effortless. Untouchable.
Perfect.
But he isn’t 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 doesn’t seem to notice where he is—like he’s forgotten, like this isn’t the exact moment he’s meant to be stepping into.
Then it hits him.
The room. The silence. The eyes.
You.
His posture straightens almost instantly. The smile shifts—sharpened, controlled—as 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 wasn’t just… there.
Your stomach twists.
You wonder, briefly, why he’s here at all.
Why he was with him. Why he would bring him—him—to something like this when you had made it clear, more than once, that you didn’t 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 didn’t belong to him.
But it seems, once again, that he heard you— 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 second—just a second—it 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 that—like you’re the only person in the room, the only thing worth seeing—it’s 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 you’re going to marry.
He’s choosing you.
And not— You force the thought away before it can fully form, before it can settle into something ugly.
Because in the end, it doesn’t matter. You’re the one at the altar. You’re the one he’s going to marry. Not him.
The thought barely fades before— A deafening crash splits through the air.
It’s 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.
“—What was that?” someone shouts.
No one answers at first.
Because no one knows.
“Maybe it was just some random turbulence,” 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 husband—steady, composed, perfect—loses his footing as the yacht jerks again. His body pitches forward, a sharp breath leaving him as he crashes hard against the floor.
You don’t even realize you’ve moved until you’re already rushing toward him, your pulse roars in your ears. The room spins, uneven and unstable, but none of it matters—not when he’s 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 shoulder—anywhere, everywhere—just to make sure he’s there. “I’m here—are you okay? Can you—”
Another presence collides beside you.
You don’t have to look to know who it is.
The secretary. He’s there almost instantly, dropping down on the other side, reaching for him with the same urgency, the same concern—his hands gripping your fiancé 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 secretary’s for half a heartbeat. Something unreadable passes through his expression—something tight, something too quick to name—before the yacht jerks again, harder this time.
The lights flicker.
The floor tilts further.
And suddenly—
It’s quiet.
Too quiet.
The kind of silence that presses in on your ears until the only thing you can hear is yourself—your 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 doesn’t feel natural, glass already shattered, leaving nothing to stop it.
It pours in.
Fast.
Relentless.
“OH MY GOD!” someone screams. The spell breaks. Chaos erupts all at once—voices overlapping, bodies scrambling, the sharp slap of water against floors as it rushes inward, swallowing everything in its path. It’s freezing when it reaches you, soaking through fabric, clinging to your skin like it wants to drag you down with it.
“WE’RE ALL GONNA DIE!”
Your head snaps toward the voice.
It’s him.
Your soon-to-be husband. For a split second, your mind catches on something small, something meaningless—when did he even get up?
But then you see it.
He’s not looking at you. He’s not reaching for you. He’s already moving—pulling 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.
You’re still on your knees.
Still where you fell.
Still—forgotten.
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 apart—
He didn’t choose you.
“I THOUGHT YOU SAID THIS SHIP WAS UNSINKABLE!” someone shouts—one of his colleagues, their voice edged with panic and accusation as they shove past, desperate to get out, to get anywhere that isn’t 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. “Yeah,” you mutter under your breath, the words tasting bitter as you finally force yourself to stand, legs unsteady beneath you. “They said that about the Titanic too.”
The floor shifts again, more violently this time.
Water climbs past your ankles.
And for the first time—
You realize with startling clarity that you might not make it out alive. Your feet move before you even register the decision. One moment you’re standing in the middle of the room, frozen in the chaos, and the next you’re right in front of him—the love of your life—holding someone that isn’t you.
On your wedding day.
“How long?” you mutter, voice low, almost lost beneath the noise of rushing water and distant screams. “What?” your used-to-be soon-to-be husband says, blinking at you like he doesn’t understand—like he hasn’t 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.
“Don’t play dumb with me,” 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.“How long have you been sleeping with him?” Your voice sharpens, cracks. “How long have you been bending him over the desk in your fucking office thinking I’d never find out?” He starts talking immediately—too fast, too desperate—words tripping over each other in a messy attempt to explain, to deny, to fix something that’s already rotted through.
You don’t listen. You can’t.
Your hands drag down your face slowly, fingers pressing into your skin like you’re trying to wake yourself up from this—like this might still be something you can escape if you just try hard enough. “Wait,” you mutter, cutting him off with a hollow laugh. “Don’t tell me…” Your eyes flick between them, taking in the way they stand too close, the way the secretary’s hand is still gripping his sleeve like he belongs there.
“You’re the one doing the bending?” A broken chuckle slips past your lips, your hand coming up to cover your mouth as your shoulders shake—not quite laughter, not quite anything else. His hand shoots out. Fast. Desperate. Your wrist is caught before you can take another step, his grip tight—too tight—like if he loosens it even a little you’ll disappear entirely.
“Wait—”
You freeze.
Not because you want to. Not because you care. But because his touch still does something to you—something awful and familiar. “Let go.” Your voice is low, strained, barely holding together. “I can explain,” he rushes out, stepping closer, water sloshing around his legs as if it isn’t climbing higher by the second. “It’s not what you think, I swear, you’re just—this isn’t—”
“Let go.”
Your tone sharpens, and when he doesn’t listen—when his fingers only tighten, like he still thinks he has a right to hold you—you rip your arm back. This time, you don’t hesitate. You don’t look at him. You don’t look at them.
You just pull free. “I’m so fucking stupid,” you breathe, the words tasting bitter. Around you, people are still rushing—shoving, 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 other— 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.
They’re 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 survival—of desperation—crushing the air from their lungs, caving in their chests beneath the feet of people who once claimed to love them.
At any other time, you’d be horrified.
Disgusted.
Sickened by how quickly humanity turns on itself.
But right now—
You feel nothing.
Not when the man you’ve chosen, over and over again for six years, hasn’t chosen you once. Not when you’re so wrapped in your own unraveling that you don’t even stop to wonder if your family made it out.
A distant thought flickers instead—quiet, intrusive.
Who else knew?
He couldn’t have kept something like this hidden on his own. Secrets like this don’t exist in isolation.
Maybe his entire bachelor party knew.
Maybe they laughed about it.
Maybe they watched you smile and said nothing.
“Fuck,” you exhale, shaking your head slightly. “I’m so stupid. My god.” Your eyes lift again, scanning the room as the chaos begins to shift—slow, inevitable.
People are realizing. Realizing the same thing you did.
That there’s nowhere left to run. That the doors won’t 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 should’ve been said sooner. Apologies. Confessions. I love you’s that come far too late.
The water rises higher. The ship sinks deeper. And all you can do—Is 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 it’s finally giving up. The tilt worsens—sending everything sliding, crashing, collapsing into the rising water.
Then it hits your chest. Cold. Violent. You gasp on instinct—and choke as salt floods your mouth.
The room disappears. There’s no up. No down.
Just water. Bodies slam into you—arms, shoulders, something grabbing at your wrist before slipping away just as fast. Not pushing—clinging. 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 up—But which way is up? Of course you’re panicking. You’re drowning—what else are you supposed to do? Your chest spasms, begging for air, your body desperate to inhale, to breathe—but you can’t. You can’t. Not unless you want to empty what little air you have left. Everything feels the same.
Dark.
Heavy.
Endless.
You’re alone.
You’re cold.
You’re drowning.
You’re going to die.
Your movements slow when the realization settles in—not sudden, not dramatic. Just… inevitable.
You’re going to die.
Your perfect day has twisted into something unrecognizable. You’re surrounded by people who are either dead or dying, and soon—you’ll be one of them. You’re 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 all— You’re 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. You’d cry if you could—but you won’t waste what little air you have left on him. On either of them.
You’re going to die— 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 don’t even remember doing? Making sure you never get to be happy—never get to keep anything good?
What the fuck did you do to deserve this?
The question echoes—loud, desperate—Then. Something hard slams into your back. Pain explodes through you—sharp, sudden—knocking whatever focus you had left clean out of your head.
And you gasp.
It’s 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 can’t follow. Your chest seizes immediately after, your body trying—failing—to drag in a breath that isn’t 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, drifting—weightless now, sinking deeper into the dark.
The last thing you see are the bubbles.
Floating away from you.
Leaving you behind.
And then—
Something moves against the current.
Not drifting.
Not struggling.
Swimming.
Toward you.
Fast.
The water shifts around it, bending in a way that feels unnatural—like it belongs to whatever is coming, not the other way around.
A shape cuts through the dark.
Large.
Wrong.
Beautiful.
And then—
Eyes.
They find you instantly.
Lock onto you like they’ve always known exactly where you were.
Like they’ve been waiting.
It reaches you in seconds.
One hand—if you could call it that—filled 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 you’re something fragile.
Something important.
Up close, it’s worse.
Or better?
You can’t tell.
Skin that doesn’t quite look human in the dim light filtering from above, hair drifting around it like it’s alive, and those eyes—glowing faintly, reflecting something deep and endless.
Ancient.
Hungry.
Relieved.
Its grip tightens slightly. And for a moment— You swear it looks… upset. Like you’ve 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 you’re even fully aware of it—your body forcing itself back to life as water tears out of your lungs, burning your throat on the way up. It’s 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 down—like it’s 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 another— Until your chest stops trying to collapse in on itself. You inhale again.
The air is different. Heavy, yes—but not suffocating. It clings to your lungs, thick with salt and something faintly sweet, almost mineral-like.
You’re breathing.
You’re alive. The realization settles slowly, almost unreal. The space around you is quiet—peaceful 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. It’s not just stone. There’s something layered over it—thin, almost velvety in places. Algae, maybe. Soft enough that it cushions the pressure of your weight. You lift your head.
Light greets you.
Dim—but warm.
The cave walls glow faintly with streaks of bioluminescence, soft blues and muted greens casting a gentle, wavering light across the space. It doesn’t hurt your eyes. It doesn’t overwhelm. It just… exists.
Enough to see.
Enough to feel safe.
For a moment—
You think you’re alone.
It’s a stupid thought. You know it is. Unless you’re in some sterile, sealed-off space, you’re never truly alone—not really. There’s 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 remember—
Something brought you here. Something pulled you out of the water. Something didn’t 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 shapes—nothing clear, nothing comforting. The glow reflects off the shallow pool in front of you, rippling gently with each small movement of the water.
Except—
Not all of it.
There’s a break in the reflection.
A patch where the light doesn’t reach.
At first, your mind doesn’t process it. It takes a second. Maybe two.
Then it clicks.
The light isn’t missing.
It’s being blocked.
Something is there.
Right there.
Watching you. Your breath catches in your already aching lungs as you stare into the eyes of your— Savior?
That’s 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 ship— All the ones screaming, begging, clinging to life— 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 don’t even know if it can speak.
You don’t know what it is. You don’t know if it understands you. You don’t know if it’s about to—Eat you.
Your stomach drops.
A cold wave of realization crashes over you, sharper than the ocean ever was.
If it wanted to… Wouldn’t it have already?
Your gaze flickers over it again—taking in the stillness, the way it watches you without moving, without blinking, like it’s waiting for something. Or maybe— 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 it’s trying to escape your chest entirely.
You’re going to die.
The thought lands, heavy and certain.
A whimper slips past your lips before you can stop it—small, broken, loud in the suffocating quiet.
Your stomach drops.
That might’ve been your second biggest mistake.
The first…
Well. You don’t really have to think too hard about that one.
The sound seems to reach it instantly.
Its gaze sharpens—if that’s even possible—and something in the air shifts, like you’ve just reminded it that you’re there. That you’re real.
That you’re alive.
And then it moves.
Across the briny pool, the water barely ripples around it. There’s no frantic splash, no wasted motion—just a smooth, gliding shift forward, like it belongs to the water in a way you never could.
It’s…
Your breath hitches.
Beautiful.
The word comes uninvited, sliding into your mind like it’s always been there, waiting.
It doesn’t 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 instant—faster than you could react, faster than you could scream.
But it doesn’t.
It moves slowly.
Carefully.
Like it’s… aware of you.
Like it knows that one wrong move might send you scrambling—might make you bolt, even though there’s nowhere to go.
Like it doesn’t want to scare you.
The thought is ridiculous.
It should be ridiculous. This thing—whatever it is—should inspire nothing but fear. Terror. The kind that roots you in place or sends you running blindly in the opposite direction.
And yet—
There’s something about it. Something almost… awe-inspiring. That makes your fear stutter. Not stop—never that—but 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 bolt—like prey finally remembering what it is.
Because no matter how beautiful it looks—
No matter how gently it moves—
It’s still something unknown.
Something dangerous.
And it’s reaching for you.
And before you can even think to pull away, it latches onto your ankle—firm, 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.
God—its body. Half fish. Half man.
Its tail is long—too long—coiling 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 violet—colors shifting with every small movement, impossible to pin down.
It’s—
Beautiful.
The word comes again, uninvited, stubborn. And wrong.
Because its upper half—its human half—is 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 teeth— Sharp.Not hidden. Not softened. Meant for something far from gentle. And its claws—still wrapped around your ankle—dig just enough to remind you how easily it could break you if it wanted to.
It’s massive.
It’s inhuman. And it’s staring at you like you’re something it doesn’t quite understand.
Your thoughts fracture. Part of you wants to recoil—to scream, to scramble away, to wedge yourself into some corner of this cave and make yourself small enough to disappear.
Another part—quieter, stranger—wants to reach out.
To touch. To trace the shimmer of its scales, to see if it’s as real as it feels. To tell it—
You’re 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 it—salt, water, something deeper—your 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 misfires—something soft and absurd sparking through the panic.
It’s going to kiss you.
But instead—
It speaks.
“Are you… alright?” The words are slow. Careful. Like they don’t belong in its mouth. The accent is thick—ancient, almost unplaceable—like a language that’s been sitting untouched for centuries, dragged back into use only now. Each syllable sounds deliberate, uncertain, as if it’s learning while it speaks.
Your brain struggles to process it.
It can talk.
It can—talk. 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 lifts—slow, deliberate—until 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 doesn’t make sense.
Like it knows exactly how fragile you are.
Like it’s trying not to break you. It tilts your face slightly, examining you, eyes flicking over every detail—your 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 side—checking. Searching.
For injuries.
For damage.
You still can’t speak. Your tongue feels too heavy, your thoughts too loud and too empty all at once. All you can do is stare back at it— At the creature that dragged you from death— And doesn’t seem to know what to do with you now.
And then—Your stomach growls.
Loud.
Sharp.
Embarrassingly human.
The sound cuts through the tension like a blade. You freeze even harder, if that’s even possible, heat crawling up your neck despite everything—the 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 doesn’t—but 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. Then— It leaves.
Just like that. The absence is almost worse.
You’re 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 mind—if it decided you weren’t worth the trouble after all.If it’s going to come back to—No. Before the thought can finish, the water shifts again.
It returns.
And in its claws—A fish.
Large. Silver. Barely alive. It writhes weakly, gills flaring, tail twitching as it’s 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.
“...I can’t eat that,” you manage, your voice rough, unused.
It pauses.
Blinking at you.
You swallow, forcing the words out despite how ridiculous this feels—explaining food safety to a sea creature that could probably tear you apart without effort. “It’s— it’s not prepared,” you say, gesturing vaguely. “It’s still… alive. And there are bones. Tiny ones, I could choke.”
It stares at you.
Silent. Processing. Then—Without warning— 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 doesn’t stop. Its claws sink into the body next, slicing it open with practiced ease. It pulls it apart, exposing flesh and organs, and without hesitation—Eats them.
You stare. Horrified. Fascinated. Frozen. It works efficiently, like this is routine, like this is normal—because for it, it is. Once it’s done, it carefully begins picking through what’s left, its claws moving slower now, more deliberate.
It removes the bones.
One by one.
Small. Precise.
Making sure nothing sharp remains.
When it’s finished, it holds the fish out to you again.
Clean.
Safe.
Prepared.
“You hesitate.”
Of course you do.
The fish sits in its hands—cleaned, prepared, offered—but it’s still wrong. Everything about this is wrong. The cave, the creature, the way it’s watching you like your answer actually matters. Your stomach twists again.
Two days. You haven’t eaten in two days. Not because you couldn’t— Because you wouldn’t. 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 moment—cold, damp, solid—and you flinch before you can stop yourself, pulling the fish closer to your chest like you need the distance.
It doesn’t react. Just watches. You swallow hard, staring down at it. Then— Slowly— You take a bite. It’s 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 it’s been, urging you to keep going even as your mind protests. So you do. Small bites. Careful ones. All while watching it. You don’t 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 doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. Just… observes.
Like it’s making sure you’re doing it right. Or making sure you’re not going to choke. The thought sends a strange flicker through your chest. When you’re done—or at least as done as you can be—you lower your hands slightly, breathe a little more even now. For a moment, nothing happens.
Then— It leaves again. You tense immediately, your eyes snapping to where it disappeared, your body going rigid like you’re expecting something worse this time.
But again— 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. “For later,” it says, the words still slow, still slightly uncertain—but clearer now. Easier.
Like it’s learning. Like it’s adjusting to you. Silence settles again. It doesn’t leave this time. Just stays. Watching. Waiting.
Your grip tightens slightly around yourself, your mind finally catching up now that your body isn’t screaming at you for food. Questions crowd in all at once, loud and relentless, pressing against your skull until you can’t ignore them anymore. “What…” your voice falters, rough from disuse. You swallow, trying again. “What are you?” The question hangs there between you. Heavy. Obvious. It stills.
Not completely—but 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 it’s turning the question over in its mind rather than avoiding it. “I…” it starts, the word careful, unfamiliar. It pauses, brows pulling together slightly.
“I do not know how to describe what I am… to you.” Its voice is steadier now, though still thick with that strange, ancient cadence. Each word sounds chosen. Placed. “It goes beyond your understanding… as a human.” There’s no arrogance in it. Just fact.
It studies your face as it speaks, like it’s watching for confusion, for fear—adjusting itself accordingly. “I am of the sea,” it continues after a moment. “Born to it. Bound to it.” Its claws shift slightly against the stone, a quiet, absent movement. “It answers me. And I… answer it.” A pause.
Its gaze flicks briefly toward the pool, where the fish still circle, before returning to you. “There are words for what I am,” it adds, quieter. “But they are not… yours.” Silence settles again, heavier this time. You nod slightly, even though it doesn’t really answer anything. Or maybe it answers too much. The next question presses at you immediately—sharp, insistent.
Why did you save me?
You can feel it sitting in your chest, waiting to be spoken. But your throat tightens.
Because you’re not sure you’re ready to hear it. So instead— You look away from it, just briefly, like that might make it easier. “Do you know…” you start, your voice quieter now. “What happened to the ship?” You swallow. “Why did it sink?”This time, it doesn’t hesitate.
“I do.” The answer is immediate. Certain. Something in your chest drops. Its gaze doesn’t leave yours as it speaks again, softer now—but heavier. “I sank it.” Your heart drops. What…? Did it just—
Your eyes widen, something hot and sudden boiling up in your chest as you stare at it. It just stands there—calm, unmoving—like it didn’t just confess to killing everyone you loved. “Why?” you choke out, your voice cracking as you fight to keep the tears from spilling. “He hurt you.” That’s it. That’s all it says. Like it’s enough.
“Who?” you ask, breath uneven, confusion tangling with the anger rising in your chest. “Your mate.”You blink. Your mate…? For a second, it doesn’t register—then it hits. Your used-to-be soon-to-be husband. “What…” your voice comes out dazed, hollow. “What does he have to do with anything?”Something in its expression shifts.
Sharpens. Its lips pull back, revealing those too-sharp teeth as a low hiss slips past them. Its tongue flicks out—longer than it should be, a deep shade of blue—as it drags slowly over its fangs. “He has everything to do with it,” it snarls, the words edged with something raw, something angry.
Your breath catches. “All he had to do was love you,” it continues, voice tightening, eyes flashing a deeper violet. “And I would have left you alone.” Left you alone. The words settle strangely in your chest. “But it—” its expression twists, something almost disgusted crossing its face, “it was courting another.”The word sounds old. Heavy. Wrong in your world—but right in its.
“He was courting another,” it repeats, voice dropping lower, more dangerous, “while you stood beside him as his chosen mate.” Your stomach churns. The image flashes in your mind—it, laughing, smiling, touching someone that wasn’t you—like it was nothing. Like you were nothing. “And so…” Its voice softens. Not kinder—just quieter. More certain. “I decided to give in to my desires.” Its gaze locks onto yours fully now, unblinking, intense “And take you.”
“Take me?” you mutter, the word sitting wrong in your mouth. Is that what this is? An abduction.
Your stomach twists violently. All those people—They died because of you. “But… so many people died,” you hiss, your voice trembling as you glare at it. “My mom died. Everyone I’ve ever known—everyone I’ve ever loved—died.” 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 now— You’re trapped with the thing that took it from you. “It is a small price to pay for your ensured happiness,” it says. Like it’s nothing. Like it’s reasonable. It moves closer—fast 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.
“Why are your eyes leaking?” 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 don’t freeze. Your body jolts, instinct finally kicking in as you scramble backward, desperate for space—any space—until your back hits the cold wall of the cave. It’s 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. “No—”You 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 up—And cups your cheek. Gentle. Too gentle. You go still, not by choice this time, but because your body doesn’t know what to do with this—this 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 it’s scenting you, taking you in in a way that feels far too intimate. Then—Its tongue flicks out. Warm. It drags across your cheek, catching the tears there. You flinch hard, a broken sound catching in your throat.
“These are… tears, yes?” It murmurs, almost to itself. Then it makes that sound again—low, strange, something not quite human—and pulls you closer, like your distress is something it needs to fix. “Are you sad?”It 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 space—any space at all. “Are you really asking me that?” You choke out. Your hands press harder against its shoulders, but it doesn’t move—not really. It only tilts its head slightly, like it’s trying to understand you, like your reaction doesn’t match what it expects.
“I do not understand,” it says quietly. Something in you snaps. A hollow laugh escapes your throat, sharp and broken. “Of course you don’t,” you whisper, shaking your head. “Why would you? You killed them.” Its expression tightens—not guilt, not regret—something else. Something darker. “I removed what would harm you,” it replies, voice low, certain. Harm you. Your breath stutters.
“My mother?” You hiss, anger rising again, choking, suffocating. “My friends? Everyone I’ve ever loved?” He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, its gaze drifts—past you, toward the open water behind it. Like it’s 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. “What…” You start, your voice barely above a whisper. The creatures grip on you shifts—not tighter, but more certain.
Protective.
Possessive.
Its eyes darken, the faint glow in them sharpening into something almost… alert. Then—From somewhere deeper in the cave— Something moves. Not small.
Not subtle. The sound is low. Heavy.
Ancient. And for the first time since you met it—The creature looks… Worried.
—
A/n: depending on how this one does, I’ll 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. 👨🍳💋. 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 it’s already a little too late to regret it.
Dubcon. You’re into it but you’re stubborn. And a brat. Stalking. Obsession. He’s an asshole. Slight yandere tendencies. Rough. Something’s wrong with him. Home intrusion. Holding you “hostage.” Fear, paranoia. Sarcastic uses of “princess.” Eating you out, fingering. Blowjob, handjob. He smacks you a few times. Biting, hair pulling. Too much plot. Old-couple style bickering. I’m allergic to staying serious.
6.8k words
—
You’ve been out of a job for a while now. The last one, well, the company was shit anyway. You weren’t gonna allow yourself to be treated like that. So, you left, thinking that with the credentials you have, finding something else wouldn’t be too bad.
Boy were you wrong.
Now you’re 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 weren’t regretting leaving the shithole at all, no, but you definitely should’ve thought about it more before quitting so abruptly.
To clear your mind, you decided to get yourself a cup of tea. Whatever tea that your old coworker sent you–Camden’s the name if you’re remembering correctly. You didn’t 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.
Honestly? He felt a little weird to you. Not in a mean way, but he felt a little…off? In general he’s 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 there’s 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.
However, from what you’ve heard from others, he’s 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 wasn’t laced with anything. Just in case. It wasn’t–the 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 company’s response, you opened it.
…
This email was the sketchiest shit someone could ever receive. You’ve never reached out to this…company? It just sounds like one person– a lot of I’s and my’s. They mentioned how they’re a small startup, and they’ve 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? To…this place???
All you could do is sit there for a bit, staring at the email.
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.
…
You accepted the offer.
You’re taking the risk. You’re 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 “company” for fraud or whatever. It wouldn’t be that bad.
Just a little while after accepting the offer, the “company” responded. Told you to get ready to be onboarded in a few days, and sent you an address. You looked it up, and it wasn’t too far from your place. It was…in 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.
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 easy–just tidy yourself up before you leave, and you’re good.
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 couldn’t have come all the way here overnight to lock you up as well. They’re all calling you stupid.
You believed that you’ll be fine.
—
Your first day arrived, and…it was a little weird. No one was there except you, but the place was tidy. It truly was a mechanic’s 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.
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 “you’re safe.” At least they’re being transparent that you’re 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.
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. There’s no real deadline to things, as long as you actually do your work. You can treat the shop as your own–play whatever music, eat whatever you want–everything else will be managed remotely. Honestly quite the conditions. Definitely something you can get behind.
All communications will be through email, and you're free to contact them if you have any questions. I mean, they’ve been really clear with their instructions–build that robot, you get paid.
And, that’s how the first week went by. The day after your “onboarding,” 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. There’s a million pieces to everything along with all kinds of wires, but honestly? You liked a challenge.
—
A few months went by like this. Flew past, in your opinion. But that paycheck–my god. This was the best decision you’ve ever made.
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.
So far, the robot is…quite naked. You knew it was planned to look human, and you were sent all necessary silicone “skin” 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.
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 large…hole (?) by his ribs, opposite to his mechanical arm.
You also refrained from putting the face on completely to lean more into the “cyborg” aesthetic, but also because the face started to remind you of a certain someone. You didn’t want to think about it.
All of these creative changes were reported to your boss though. They didn’t seem to mind the changes–you are the only one willing to work here anyway–and even sent clear silicone “skin” for the mechanical parts as opposed to the flesh-toned suit. Just so the machinery itself was protected, they claimed. At least it doesn’t take away from the overall design.
—
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 didn’t need to code anything–just include the file into his system, and you’re good.
It is making you want to pull your hair out though. This thing has so much attitude that it messes with you when you’re working on its motor functions. The more you interact with it, the more it reminds you of Camden. Maybe he’s behind all this–maybe he recommended you for this job for a reason. To piss you off because you left him alone to deal with shitty treatment.
Even with how weird everything seemed while building the thing, you started talking to “Case” for fun. You took some letters from Camden’s name for fun, but ultimately, it’s short for “case study” because–who 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 you’ll 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 yet–he’s 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 electrocuted–violently shaking and flinging his arm everywhere–when you connected the wires in his back. Adding a voice to all this will test your patience to its fucking limit.
Even though he couldn’t respond verbally, it did feel like he’s listening. Gossiping, venting, or just small talk–Case “looks” 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 doesn’t blow up, you didn’t care. You still felt yourself growing to like this thing more and more. Maybe one day it’ll actually be nice to you.
—
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, you’re thinking about not doing it anymore. For some reason, his clothes always look a little dirty when you bring him out. The closet wasn’t even that disgusting.
Apart from that, Case is getting slightly more concerning. Not really like–a genuine safety concern, like he went berserk and decided to destroy mankind, but…you put his voicebox in. At this point, there’s not much to do with his motor functions anymore–his 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.
Initially, it was fine. All grand and special because the robot you’ve 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.
He didn’t 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 more–as if he realized he can now talk and won’t need to stare at you when you’re expecting a response.
As he spoke more and more, he’s gotten into the habit of starting more conversations. Sometimes, there wasn’t even a conversation–he would just walk up to you or look at you when you’re 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.
The thing that’s been getting to you though, was sometimes he’ll just walk up and comment something…personal? Like the night before–you 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.
“How often do you burn your food?” He asked, as if teasing you.
A chill went down your spine. What the fuck? This question caught you extremely off-guard.
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.
That night, you couldn’t sleep. You hated that you couldn’t–it’s not like he could actually know what goes on in your apartment. You knew the shop was rigged with cameras–you knew since the first day. But your apartment? Your personal life? You didn’t understand.
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, you’ll somehow hear his mechanical movements by the raccoons.
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.
But from then on, the questions and comments kept coming–all small and seemingly discreet. They could all be chalked up to coincidence, but the frequency of it was getting you more and more anxious. He’s so talkative now, almost as if you’re interacting with a real person. Since you gave him clothes, he doesn’t even look that cyborg-like. And apart from the few way-too-specific questions, he seemed…normal. As if the questions never meant anything.
He’s 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 noise–stuff he should never know about. He’s 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 “knowledge” 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 he’s trying to make–you might’ve mentioned something small and forgot about it, and as a bot, he doesn’t “forget” 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 yet–not that it wasn’t allowed, but it’s 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 you’re taking a week off. It’s 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.
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.
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 coincidence–definitely creepy, but he’s not following you. Or at least you kept trying to convince yourself that he’s stuck in the shop. Stuck in that closet again. You had the keys after all. He physically couldn’t get out.
You tried contacting your friends or family, but of course, you chose the one week they’re incredibly busy to be off work. Even so, they found the time to berate you for taking this job in the first place. You can’t deny that you deserved the scolding though.
You were alone. And honestly? You were scared.
—
It was the Saturday before going back to work. You’ve spent the whole week in bed for as long as you could. Doing absolutely nothing but trying anything to quell this irrational paranoia.
You’ve been tossing and turning in bed even though it’s already the afternoon, and just contemplating. Should you even go back? Should you just move back with your parents until you’re mentally well enough to live on your own again? But it’s already been a year, and you’ve been treated and paid very well. This little thing shouldn’t get to you as much as it should, but you couldn’t help that it did.
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.
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 raccoon–or 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.
…
You weren’t expecting anyone or any packages. Your friends and family were all busy. You never interacted with your neighbors.
Your heart got stuck in your throat.
You stayed frozen for a little while longer, seeing if someone just had the wrong door or whoever’s out there will announce themselves. If you stayed still long enough, maybe they’ll think the house was empty.
Unfortunately, they didn’t. They continued to knock on the door–patient 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.
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 wasn’t anyone there. Was the peephole that trash? But you’ll 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 didn’t. You never opened the damn thing before. But, it’s still better than nothing.
You held the opened blade in your hands, and with a deep breath, opened the door.
…
There was actually no one?
You are incredibly confused and honestly, scared shitless. You thought you’re going insane. Is some ghost messing with you?? It couldn’t be kids, you didn’t hear anything at all–no footsteps, no whispering, no laughter.
Though, it seems like the universe has some sort of vendetta against you.
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 it’ll ever be of any help, seeing today’s the first time it even saw the light of day. At least it didn’t 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 back–anything–but 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.
With one hand on your arm and another over your mouth, you tried to shove the person with your free hand. There wasn’t much you could do. They didn’t budge.
You are so fucking dead.
“It’s a miracle you haven’t killed yourself with that thing yet,” he said, kicking the blade away with a chuckle.
You froze. Heart dropping to your ass kinda fear gripped you like a vice.
You were right. You weren’t paranoid for no reason–Case 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??
“I almost went insane in there, y’know. 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 “break”–how are you not dead yet?” Case babbled at you as if there was nothing wrong with a robot the size of a full-grown man breaking into a home.
As he rambled, he kept walking you backwards while you tried–in vain–to shove him away. He complained about how boring it was lounging in the shop. No one walked by, there were no animals around to watch–nothing but the distant sound of cars. Boring. Mind-numbing.
You eventually hit a wall. It was then he realized that he had his hand over your mouth and that he’s been talking to himself for the last few moments.
“Oh shit. Alright–I’m removing my hand now. Behave,” he ordered, treating you like some kid. Brother you broke in and you expect someone to behave???
You still “behaved” 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 is…sentient?? Conscious?? Because you have looked over all of his programming. Breaking into a home was 100% not in there, let alone holding someone hostage.
“W…what the fuck???” is all that you could muster.
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.
“How do you have such a brilliant brain but have the survival instincts of a wet sandwich? You’ve worked with me for a year and you never noticed anything. Scratch that–it’s technically way more than a year,” he continued to ramble.
What the fuck is he talking about? Noticed what? What’s way more than a year?
You continued to stare, dumbfounded, lips opening and closing with nothing coming out. He rolled his eyes again.
“Do I have to explain everything to you?”
“How did you get out??? What are you doing here? What do you want from me??? What are you??”
Now, questions started to spill out of you rather incohesively–anything that came into your brain flew out of your mouth. He sighed and stared at you like you’re stupid. Since when did this robot get this expressive?
“Ok. You’re not getting it. Take a seat,” he grabbed you by both arms and essentially threw you onto whatever surface was closest–which was the nice little dining table you got yourself with the money from this job. Thankfully there wasn’t much on the table to begin with.
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 couldn’t shove, either.
“Stop that. I’m only here because I got bored,” he said, as if it’s in any way reassuring or logical.
“You’re bored?? Why here of all places? You can literally walk five minutes to an arcade. Also–fucking let go of me-” You retorted, trying to twist out of his grasp again, to no avail.
“Because I like you–couldn’t you tell? Now stop with that shit.”
…
You froze, earning a little disingenuous “thank you.”
“Let me spell this out as clear as I can because I don’t know how else I can communicate this to you at this point-” 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 you’re dense for not noticing?
“I have gifted you things, written you cards, befriended you in that shithole, gotten you a job, listened to your incessant ramblings–by the way, you talk a lot. I even check up on you all the time to make sure you don’t 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 haven’t been obvious the past year.”
…
“You’re Camden??? And have you been following me???”
“Oh so now you get it…Now that I think about it, is this why you call me Case? Sounds quite similar to Camden, doesn’t it?”
Oh god. You actually do feel a bit stupid now–all the stuff that reminded you of your old coworker wasn’t actually all coincidence. All the bumps and noises you hear outside aren’t just raccoons and cats.
You’re frozen.
Your head’s spinning.
You feel sick.
What the fuck.
“B-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 you’ve been stalking me–since when was that ever a good and normal thing to do??”
“There we are, welcome back to earth, princess. Long story short, it’s not hard to upload your consciousness to the internet when you’re a bot. But we’re not here for that right now–remember what I said? I’m bored.”
“So..so ‘Camden’ was also a bot? You uploaded your entire consciousness to give me instructions, for a year, on how to build you?? Why me?? Isn’t there a better way to do all of this?? Just ask me out like a normal person.”
“I said, we’re not here for that right now. I like you. I’m bored. Entertain me.”
“Fuck you. How is that my problem?? You broke into my place, stalked me–you 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.”
“Alright, asshole, you said it. Entertain myself? That’s a green light if I’ve ever seen one.”
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.
You flailed. Hands shoving as much as you could, legs kicking–all 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 yours–you were pinned.
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 wasn’t even wet.
You knew you shouldn’t 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.
“Staying quiet, huh? The one time you shut up is the only time I don’t want you to. Let’s see how long you can keep this up,” he mumbled against your lips.
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 warmth–your body’s reacting too much for your liking.
Then, he bit you. Hard. You could feel his hands on you tighten their grip as you yelped. He had the guts to smirk.
“What the fuck was that for? That hurt-” you hissed. You could feel his hand get close to your chest, fingers hovering.
“Stop that shit, you think I don’t know you like it rough?” 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 you’re not gonna confirm that. You both knew you’re just being stubborn. Fuck, you could feel yourself twitching. You’re 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.
“Open.”
You didn’t.
That didn’t deter him though, he still shoved the hem of your shirt between your teeth, complaining about how you’re being an ass and making things harder for him.
Incredible.
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 couldn’t keep your noises in–the shirt in your mouth was also getting more soaked by the second.
Your hands were grabbing at whatever you could to keep yourself grounded–his arm, then up to his shoulder, in his hair–thank god you glued that thing on well.
Then suddenly, he pulled away. You were about to whine, but he didn’t 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.
“What are you-” You couldn’t even get your surprised, angry yelp out all the way before two fingers were shoved down your throat.
“Stop questioning things and enjoy it, princess. Now suck.”
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 skin–he’s 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.
Now, he’s not gonna leave you hanging. With a free hand, he started jerking you–slowly, 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.
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.
“H-hurry up you asshole-” you sputtered out. Case just smiled.
Before you could get another word out, he slowly pushed a finger in. Too slow.
“You think I’m here to give you what you want? I’ve taken it slow for over a year, you can handle a little more.”
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.
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 danced–you’re both thoroughly enjoying this.
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 didn’t 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.
“Fuuuck Case–is this all you got? G-go faster-”
He hummed around you, sending delicious vibrations to your core, but it wasn’t enough. Instead of complying to your wishes, he pulled away fully–mouth 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.
“What the fuck is wrong with you, Case?”
You watched as lifeless eyes darted across your body, catching the red glint of a camera indicator behind his pupils.
“You’re getting too close–I just want to savor this moment a little longer. Am I not allowed to admire the masterpiece I created?”
You buried your face in your hands and groaned.
“Asshole–admire any longer, I’m locking you out here and finishing myself off alone.”
You sat up to prove a point. Your head still spun and your body’s still tingling, but he’s the type to respond to provocations. And as if on cue, he stepped back between your legs.
“As if your legs can even carry you there,” he murmured against your lips, voice low, hand traveling up your neck. He just held it there like it’s now an accessory of yours.
“You’re not getting away from me until I let you. You think that door can stop me?” He bit down on your lip, drawing another noise from you.
“Actually…I know what you have in there. How ‘bout we head in there together and let me fuck you open with that dildo of yours, yeah? Would that satisfy you, princess?”
Despite his angered ramblings, he had no intention of moving you anywhere. He’s planning on wrecking you on that table until he’s satisfied. He’s 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.
“It’s such a shame I can’t show you how I would destroy this ass of yours. Look at it–it’s begging for me.”
You were about to retort with something stupid but a crisp, harsh smack derailed any train of thought.
“You…y-you slapped me??? Who do you think you are-”
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.
“Well, I don’t need to think. I’m the one with the ability to make you beg. Be a good boy and take whatever I give you, hear me?”
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.
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.
“You really do like pissing me off, don’t you? Do you want me to go in dry?”
You glared, but it didn’t 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.
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.
“Pervert,” you choked out.
He didn’t answer, but he did press down hard onto your prostate. You jolted, and in your mind’s haze, you could hear his laugh. Asshole.
But at least he continued. Your legs are shaking and without this table, you’ll 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.
His movements are becoming more intense, attacking your prostate with a passion and jerking you off in time of this finger’s thrusts. While your eyes rolled to the back of your head, you felt something else around your hole.
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 didn’t slow down either.
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 couldn’t care less.
“Case–Case please–I-I’m close-” you mumbled into the table, hoping he’ll listen and be nice to you. And finally, for once, he was.
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. You’re seeing stars.
Your legs were trembling, whole body shaking, voice raw–it didn’t 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.
Everything was silent for a bit. All you could hear was the soft whirs as Case continued to run his hands over your skin.
“Damn. You still alive?” he asked halfheartedly, lightly smacking your ass as if he’s trying to wake you up. You rolled your eyes.
“I feel like I died at least three times tonight.”
Case laughed.
“Seems like you’re still coherent. Good enough for me.”
And with that, he pulled you off the table and threw you over his shoulders, immediately heading in the direction of your bedroom.
“What the fuck, Case–I just came. I’m exhausted. Let me go, you fucking asshole-”
“Tch. As if I care about that.”
He shut the door behind him and threw you onto your bed, climbing over you once again.
“I’ve said this before, princess. You’re not getting away from me until I let you.”
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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 it’s 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 😋
Stop that makes me so happy 😭
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 🙌
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 toddler—the 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 compliments—they 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 wasn’t 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, he’d been able to keep you close. Not that you were enthusiastic about it.
But he could overlook that for now. You’d learn to love having him around eventually. Kaino was a patient man, and it wasn’t 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 junior’s 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 he’d just bitten until the sting bloomed into a purple bruise.
He repeated the same process until he was finally satisfied that he’d gotten rid of any traces of that junior’s 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.
“Just an urge,” he said, like it was reason enough.
If you still didn’t 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 didn’t want to be seduced and deceived by you, dragging your name through the mud by making up rumors on the spot.
Like how you’d thrown yourself at him, for example.
It wasn’t 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 wasn’t 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, “Can I get your number?”
Kaino would simply wrap an arm around your waist and give the stranger asking a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.
“He’s a man,” he’d say bluntly.
It was always entertaining to watch their expression collapse into embarrassment as they apologized and hurried away.
You’d glare up at him after the awkward encounter. “What was that for?”
Kaino would shrug, the hand at your waist tightening just a touch, a soft squeeze that didn’t match the coldness in his eyes.
“Just felt like it,” he’d say, gaze drifting elsewhere. “It’s rude to have people approach you when we’re out on a date.”
“This isn’t a date.” not yet.
Kaino only hums in response.
You’ll learn eventually.
He’d 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 😫🙏
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 😭😭
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 🙌
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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. Kaino’s 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, he’d still bump your shoulder whenever you passed him in the hallways, a muttered “Princess” under his breath. But instead of his usual confidence, the insult felt hesitant. Like a question he didn’t know how to ask you.
Then lunch time came. You’d 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.
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 “Hey.”
You didn’t 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. “What?”
You felt him lean closer, eyes narrowed and eyebrows furrowed in suspicion. “Do you have a sister?” He asked.
You paused your chewing for a mere second, your shoulders tensing. Then you continued, not wanting to raise suspicion “No.” You answered. Kaino’s expression made it seem like you had just slam the door on his face.
“Cousin?” He asked again, teeth gritted in frustration. He wasn’t too far off, but you weren’t about to let yourself get caught.
“No.” You shot him down again, but he was persistent.
“Neighbor?” “No.”
“Friend?” “..” You raise a brow.
“Anyone who looks like you?” Finally, you raised your gaze to look at him, and for a split second, you caught his eyes lighting up. A semblance of hope.
“No. Why are you asking me all of this?” You asked flatly.
Kaino’s face flickered almost immediately, expression tight. He was unable to answer, it’s 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.
“Forget about it,” 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 didn’t bother replying, telling yourself that he’d forget about the whole ordeal after a few days. Then another message came in two minutes later.
Kaino: Hello?
Kaino: I know you’re reading my texts.
You set the phone down like it was hot, turning it off and heading to sleep.
That didn’t 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 “Have you ever tried growing your hair out?”
You blinked at him. “What?”
He furrowed his eyebrows, almost as if he was upset at himself for asking something so ridiculous. “Nevermind. You look like a princess with short hair either way.” 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 didn’t exist online because she didn’t exist at all.
Kaino’s 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 he’d 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 he’d been obsessing over.
But that only made it worse. Who knew he could find someone so attractive even when they’re 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. He’d moan your cousin’s name like a prayer with each stroke of his hand, yet it never felt right.
Then he tried your name once. “Y/..n,” 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 climax’s aftermath staining his hand.
He stared at his hand as if he grew a sixth finger, skin sticky from his own release. “.. What the fuck?”
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. “Move,” you said, almost instinctively.
Kaino refused to budge. But he also didn’t touch you. His hands were at his sides, fists flexing like he was wrestling himself. “I know it was you,” 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 wasn’t mocking, not deranged either, just.. cold. It was a laugh you’d hear from someone in disbelief.
“I can’t find her. I can’t find anyone matching whatever information she gave me that night. And you’re the only person who makes sense.”
You tried to step around him. He shifted with you, still not touching, but blocking. “Stop,” you snapped. “I don’t want to hear whatever conspiracy theory you have.”
“I’m not gonna hurt you.” Kaino swallowed, but it seemed like he was reassuring himself more than he was reassuring you. “I can’t stop thinking about you,” he admitted. “Not just because of that ‘girl’. But because it’s.. you.”
Your throat tightened. You wanted to spit something back. You wanted to walk away. Was this a confession? If so, then it was ridiculous.
“I’ve heard enough,” you stopped him before he could start rambling. “I don’t care about what you feel about me or that girl you speak of. I just want to go home.”
You could sense his anger rising at the blunt rejection. Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to turn him down when he was finally vulnerable for once. You found that out the hard way.
“Kaino–” 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. “Do you remember everything now, [Fake name]?” He asked. “Did you enjoy watching me piece everything together like an idiot?”
You flinched at the harshness in his tone, chest aching at the thought of being caught. Averting your gaze, you couldn’t bring it upon yourself to look at him. “.. There’s no need for all of this. Just beat me to a pulp already if you’re that mad.”
He frowned in dissatisfaction at your answer. Did you really think he was confronting you just because he was mad?
No, he wasn’t just mad. He was livid.
Not only at you, but at himself for taking this long to make his move.
“And you think that would make everything alright?” He scoffed out a laugh. “No, you’re going to do something else for me.”
That’s how you found yourself wearing an exact replica of the clothes you wore that night at the bar. You were surprised that he’d 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. “You’re so pretty,” 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 he’s 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. “You know,” his voice dropped until you could barely hear him. “I keep thinking about you leaving that night.”
Your stomach tightens. Kaino’s thumb circled around the tip of your leaking cock. A restraint disguised as touch. “What about it?” 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. “I won’t make the same mistake twice,” he says. "You won’t 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 Kaino’s 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. “That’s not.. your decision.”
Kaino’s jaw tightens, a flash of something possessive, and then he visibly reins it in. His hands loosen, his shoulders drop.
“Say it,” he says hoarsely, basically pleading. “Say you’ll stay because you want to.”
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 Kaino’s hand white with your load.
You were shaking in his hold. Kaino stills. Then very quietly he muttered, “I don’t want to hurt you.”
“But you did,” 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. “I know.” His eyes didn’t seem to show any remorse despite his acknowledgement.
Instead, his mouth finds your neck. He kisses there, slow, then pauses as if he’s 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, “You can go ahead and hate me for it. It won’t change the fact that you’re mine.”
