JaeByrd96

“Donaka…” you giggle quietly as he kisses your neck, his big hand gripping your thigh through that convenient slit in your skirt. “You’re going to undo all Ava’s hard work…”

You realize that he must have picked the triple strand of pearls to hide some of the inevitable damage he would wreak upon your tender skin. It’s exhilarating, and embarrassing, and you don’t know what to do with this effervescence bubbling up inside your chest.

“Mmmm she did too well,” he muses darkly, nipping at your chest. “I can’t keep my hands off you, my pretty little pet.”

You tug at his tie greedily, just to smooth it down his chest again. You’ve been having your own crisis of lust since he came out of the closet dressed all in black earlier, your pearls dripping from his fingers in offering. The way he slid them across your cleavage before clasping them behind your neck was a diabolically exquisite torture.

The matching white gold and pearl drops he offered from a velvet box inside his pocket didn’t hurt either. Who knew you were such a magpie at heart?

“We’re going to look like horny teenagers at the drive-in when we get out of this car,” you laugh, praying your hair isn’t standing up in all directions after Isabel’s careful artistry.

“I don’t think I can pass for that anymore,” he states through a low chuckle. “Though the feeling of spiraling madness certainly rings true.” His clever fingers hook in the side of your panties, pulling them down your legs in one smooth motion that makes you yip in surprise.

“Donaka! No!”

Your horror surely delights him even more than the possession of that scrap of silk he tucks so deftly into his suit pocket. “I’ll take these for good luck,” he tells you with a wicked grin and a sharp glint in his obsidian eyes that dares you to argue.

“You are the worst,” you grumble, your face on fire.

“No unsightly panty lines, bunny. You should thank me.” You know that bullying you is his version of a playful mood–and you wonder what has him so riled up.

“Where are we going that excites you this much?” you speculate aloud.

“Hmm. It’s the anticipation of a battle,” he tells you, pulling you close with his arm around your waist again. “I live for a good fight.”

“Are we…going to see a fight?”

“After a fashion.”

“What–” He kisses you hard, nipping at your lower lip.

“We’ll be there soon. Just be patient.”

He looks out the window silently after that, though his grip on your waist varies in pressure, and you know beneath that inscrutable facade he’s thinking on something.

Fine.

You rest your head on his shoulder, and you can almost pretend the two of you are a normal couple, watching the lights of the tall buildings zip by. It’s hard to track from the back seat, but you think you’re in Wan Chai when the car slows, the dark waters of Victoria Harbor shimmering in the moonlight beyond. You see the undulating curves of the Hong Kong Expo Center ahead, lit up like a bioluminescent manta ray at night.

The car pulls to a stop before the dramatically lit entryway, crowded with obviously well-heeled people making their way inside. Here and there a camera flash goes off in the throng. By the time Chao makes his way around to open the door you are holding Donaka’s hand with a death grip, suddenly so nervous you could die.

“You’re alright, bunny,” he soothes in a low voice. “I’ve got you.” Then you are bundled out of the car, into the throng.

📷 ✨✨

“The cameras are just for the film stars,” Donaka assures you, cutting through the crowd with the efficiency of a shark patrolling his reef. “The Tattler has to publish something tomorrow.” You realize he's talking about the Hong Kong society rag, and the thought of even being in the background of something like that feels too surreal for words.

"Oh my god. Is that Michelle Yeoh?"

"Probably."

You don't get a chance to gawk for long though. With your hand in his you are soon pulled through the door. It's still crowded, but somehow a little less chaotic. There are wine-red banners hanging everywhere declaring CHRISTIES in vertical script. “There’s an auction tonight?”

“The auction of the century, darling. You’ll see.”

The two of you follow the flow of the crowd, Donaka keeping you tucked against his side with an arm around your waist. You ride up an escalator, into a cavernous room filled with amphitheater seating. Hanging artfully above the raised dais below is a line of huge traditionally painted silk scrolls, dramatically lit, obviously the stars of this show.

They're gorgeous, depicting an ongoing bird's eye scene of a mountainous palace and fortification and all the well-heeled people and soldiers and servants going about their lives there. You relate too well to those little people drawn in such precise water color strokes, many bending over in some household task. There's a panel that shows ladies of the court primping and gossipping as they paint their faces and do their hair—it still doesn't feel real, that that could be your life now.

Any minute you're going to wake up in your attic apartment with your three little mice companions, the chariot turned back into a pumpkin and your glass slippers no where to be found…

"Can you imagine…" muses Donaka, peering at a panel depicting a detail of soldiers escorting a covered palanquin down a garden path. "A palace so vast you had to travel between the wings on horseback? What a time to have lived in."

"Feeling like you were born in the wrong century?" you tease him, noting his interest with the ornately armored soldiers.

He lifts an eyebrow at you, amused.

"I'm sure you were a fearsome warlord in a past life, dear."

This wins you a huff of a chuckle, and an affectionate squeeze at your waist that speaks novels more to you. He's enjoying himself, and you are too. The two of you make your way down the lineup of the scrolls. They span a good thirty feet, tower over your heads, and every square inch is filled with breathtaking detail. They're painted in such distinctive greens and turquoise tones with pops of red. For something so old the colors are so vivid, and something flips a switch for you.

"Donaka…are these…The Palace of Eighteen Perfections scrolls?"

"There's my little art historian."

It warms you to hear the pride in his voice, but you still shrug it off—just one of your many interests that never really amounted to anything. But you remember reading about a set of scrolls found in a steamer trunk in someone's attic in England a couple years ago, believed to possibly be the find of the century in Asian art if it could be proved they were, in fact, the missing royal scrolls written about in historical texts, but lost in the Opium Wars.

"Qing Dynasty," Donaka goes on. "Painted by Yuan Jiang in 1693. Once lost, now found and up for grabs to the highest bidder. Do you want them?"

He asks so casually—but you know the auction estimate must be millions.

You're proud of yourself for holding back some practical but asinine answer, like But where would we even put them?

These belong in a museum anyway. But you doubt any of the traditional museums will have the hard cash to acquire them. They'll go to some Saudi prince or Mainlander magnate, hidden away from the public eye forever…or just maybe your evil billionaire boyfriend, who possibly you could convince to lend them for display…

"I guess, if you have an extra 50 mil burning a hole in your pocket?" you ask with all the cool coyness you can muster, looking up at him through your lashes.

He smirks down at you like he reads all your thoughts between the lines, as usual.

"If you're a good girl, we'll see…"

With a hand on the small of your back he starts to guide you onwards, but a voice behind you makes Donaka turn.

"Would they even fit in that little cottage you've got up in Shek O?"

You feel Donaka's hand tense upon your back, even if his face betrays nothing.

"Dominic Chiao. I didn't know you had an interest in the arts." His tone is cool as winter in Siberia, and gooseflesh erupts across your arms; you sense something dangerous brewing between these two men, the hostility in the thick as the air before a terrible storm. You're not proud of it later, but in the moment you find yourself half hiding behind the bulwark of Donaka's steadfast form.

"I don't usually care for this old junk." The newcomer glances at his nails, as though bored. He is almost as tall as Donaka, dressed in an expensive suit, his short black hair neatly slicked back. There is something almost familiar in his features, the sweep of his eyes and the line of his jaw. "But these will be the score of the century."

Chiao seems confident that they're as good as his, but Donaka doesn't rise to the bait, merely inclining his head.

"May the best man win."

Chiao smirks and turns back to look at the scrolls, dismissing the two of you from his presence. You have never seen anyone dare to treat Donaka this way, and for some reason a fine tremor has started in your bones.

"Who was that?" you whisper as Donaka leads you away. You expect him to be livid, but when you look up you realize he is smirking with what you can only describe as wicked glee.

"Dominic Chiao, tech tycoon, certified asshole," Donaka answers quietly with a twist of his lips that resembles a snarl.

This doesn't really give you the information you want by half, but you remember you're supposed to be playing it cool. So you walk up the stairs with your arm in his, pretending your heart isn't racing at a mile a minute.

You're met at the top by a host who is polite to a fault, escorting you to a sumtuously upholstered loveseat from which the two of you get to watch the procedings of the auction from above. This cloistered balcony is outfitted with only a handful of these luxury arrangements. Very VIP.

"May I bring you something to drink, Mr. Mark?"

Donaka orders in quick Cantonese, and the two of you get settled on the velvet cushions. There's a little table with just enough room for a plate of gourmet canapés, of which your host brings with a tumbler of bourbon and a glass of white wine.

Seemingly pleased with himself again, Donaka pulls you close with an arm around your shoulders, nipping lightly at your ear. Whatever is about to happen, you can tell he's looking forward to it.

Not long after Chiao is seated at the next station beside yours. You can just see him out the corner of your eye around the wing of your fancy couch, and you feel Donaka's muscle-strapped torso practically vibrate with tension where you're pressed against him.

"So…have you been hating each other long?" you ask casually at a volume below a whisper, taking a sip of the drink Donaka ordered for you. It's crisp, and sweet, and you can tell immediately that it will go to your head if you're not careful.

"You think you're the only one with insufferable half-siblings?"

You blink at this, connecting the dots, fighting like hell not to lean over to ogle Donaka's sworn enemy. No wonder he's such a handsome bastard.

Brothers.

"Your father's second family?" you ask.

"You remember."

"But I thought you said…" That you destroyed him. You're smart enough not to say that outloud, even in a whisper in this crowded lounge. You realize you don't know what that means at all. Did you think Donaka slaughtered his father's whole family? Did you just accept this assumption without a second thought?

Donaka snorts at this, always able to sense the subtext with you. "I ruined their family fortune. A fate worse than death for people like them, I assure you. But he's clawed his way back into legitimate money. Word is Dominic has just come into a great deal of cash and is eager to show it off to the right people. We'll see how that goes for him."

You realize that this is the real reason the two of you are here. Donaka has been plotting all along. Maybe he heard through his spy security network that Chiao had his sights set on the scrolls, and probably intends to break his heart by outbidding him… Typical billionaire flex. And really…a childish playground game, at the heart of it all. You wonder what it will cost him. And you are already thinking about all that money, and the lives of normal people it could change, rather than blowing it on a bauble and sending it down the pipeline from one digital vault to the next, where it will accrue interest but never get used for any real good in the real world…

This all settles over you like a tar-black wave. You were having fun, in your pretty dress with your hair done and dripping with jewels on the arm of your handsome beau…but it's all very stupid. You doubt you'll ever manage to shake this way of thinking for long, no matter how many times Donaka tries to mindfuck you out of it. It's in the very heart of you, no matter how you're done up on the outside.

"Have I displeased you, bunny?" Donaka asks, always aware of the slightest change in your weather.

You're smart enough to shake your head, taking another sip of your plum wine. You're going to need at least two more glasses of this to get through this night. But maybe you are finally learning a thing or two about subterfuge, and misdirection, and getting what you want the long way around. Maybe Donaka's lessons are taking root, in their way.

"Fuck him up, baby. You should donate the scrolls to the museum circuit for everyone to enjoy. That will really piss him off."

Donaka's smile for you is nothing less than a baring of teeth, pleased yet oh so predatory. This is the man you've taken into your bed. Into your heart…into the very fiber of your being—and this is his world. No matter your reservations or your little moments of enlightenment between the bouts of madness…you're in it now, and there's no going back.

💰💰💰

For a moment it seemed like you were right about your 50 mil evaluation on the scrolls. But then Donaka and Dominic blow right past it, locked in a bidding war that has everyone on the edge of their seats. There are others throwing their paddles up too at this level. One of the actresses who you'd seen being photographed outside, and some anonymous bidders attending by proxy over the phone. But every time Dominic offers a number Donaka is right there with the next highest increment.

The younger man is trying to keep his cool, but you can tell that he's livid, sweat beading down his brow. He periodically turns to glare daggers over at the two of you, a thing of which Donaka just meets with his trademark sneer. Maybe your boyfriend is enjoying the battle, but the hatred in his opponent's eyes gives you straight chills. You cannot shake the feeling that something bigger is at stake here.

60 million.

75 million.

Dominic argues heatedly on the phone with someone, somehow barking orders and keeping his voice down. There's a stall, but then he's back at 80.

Donaka doesn't relent, and you can't help but get caught up in the moment too. Even if deep down you know this is ridiculous—it's also exciting, and you can't help but squirm in your seat everytime he increases his bid. It doesn't help that his free hand is affixed through that slit in your skirt, squeezing the inside of your thigh every time he pledges another absolute fortune to acquire these old scraps of silk decorated with faded ink. His fingers are dangerously close to your center, and every nerve in your body sings to life, rendering you agonizingly sensitive to his smallest movement.

These numbers are so huge that they're almost surreal. Unimaginable to someone like you who has worked for hourly wages your whole life. But they're not imaginary, and they can't be fudged on later. Everyone here's been pre-approved by the auction house, and to go back on that isn't done.

It's a deal written in stone—or blood.

90 million.

100.

110.

"One hundred fifty million!"

Dominic Chiao throws down this insane number with the gleam of temporary madness in his eyes, so possessed that he has sprung to his feet, like he intends to leap at Donaka if the security CEO dares to utter one more figure. The attendants are startled, clearly torn as to what to do. Two shadows hover on the sides of the room, the security detail for Christies or Donaka himself ready to act if things get truly out of hand.

The whole room is holding its breath, waiting.

Watching.

You look to Donaka, wondering if he will escalate this madness further. It's crazy, but a part of you wants him to win after all this, if for anything just because it feels like he's truly fought for it. Every cell in your body is on pins and needles—he is inscrutible except for grinding his teeth, his lower jaw jutting as he thinks.

A slow, sly smile spreads on his lips as he looks Dominic Chiao in the eye, and bows his head magnaminously.

The chatter in the room erupts to a roar, excited auction-goers unable to contain themselves.

"Going once? Going twice? SOLD for one hundred and FIFTY million!"

You hear the auctioneer's excited declaration in the background, but it feels like white noise, all your attention affixed upon the man at your side, and the man staring him down from ten feet away.

For a starkly telling moment, Dominic Chiao looks like he isn't sure if he's happy or not to have won this priceless treasure on the auction floor. But then the younger man shrugs it off, turning his back on Donaka to converse with a group of female well-wishers who were seated behind him.

You put your hand on Donaka's, offering him a conciliatory squeeze. Only then does he turn back to you, a dangerous glitter in his onyx eyes, the corner of his mouth turned up ever so slightly. He presses his lips to yours, pinching your thigh lightly, and you know.

This was all his grand plan, and you wonder if he just totally bankrupted his royally despised relative by losing—on purpose.

All warfare is based on deception.

Sun Tzu said that in a little book about the art of war, and wow was he right.

But there's something else you haven't forgotten about Donaka's father's second family, destroyed or not. If they had such unsavory connections back in the day…exactly whose money did your lover just light on fire with a prideful match and a shit ton of kerosene?

Dominic Chiao's…or the 14k Triad's?

TBC...

NOTES: This was going to be just a one shot, honest to god it was! But it got away from me as usual so it will be a 2fer. As always thank y’all so so much for the love and support. It means so much to me. Anywho! Enjoy!

Don’t go in the water.

You’ve heard that your whole life: how the black tar waters were not safe, how you would be swallowed up by the lost souls swimming there.

You lived in Port Knot, born and raised. You lost your parents when you were very young, leaving you to live with your uncle and cousin. The locals called him The Tarman, branded him a hero. With his knowledge of the tar currents, people were able to fish and supply food. The fear, however, remained.

You never really bought into it; the water was no more dangerous than any other natural phenomenon. But you never dared to push it. You usually spend most of your time on the edge of the dock, staring down at the water. It was peaceful, in a way, the endless wonder of what could be in there. You caught yourself tempted to dip a finger, a toe. But you quickly shake it off; it's best not to invite things where they are not wanted.

That was the funny thing about fate: if it was meant to be…there were ways for it to come to fruition.

“There was another attack today,” your uncle said during dinner. You didn’t need to ask what he was referring to, idly twirling the noodles without looking up.

Recently, there have been reports of people going missing. At first, your uncle thought nothing of it; people ran away or got caught up in something all the time. However, when he arrived at one scene, he discovered it was far worse.

A body was washed ashore, covered in golden crystals and tar. Their face…it was as if someone sucked the soul clean out of them! This was no ordinary attack from the waters, your uncle observed. Once someone got in the water, they were never found again. Whatever did this…this was deliberate. Your uncle spent sleepless nights trying to figure out what was going on, finding his answer while he and your cousin went out fishing.

You remember him bursting through the door, grabbing a book off the shelf, and frantically flipping through its pages. You watch as he stops, staring down at a page, and for the very first time, you see terror on his face.

Cecaelia, they were called; legend has it they were highly intelligent but also extremely dangerous due to their violent nature.

“Bastard took my boy…it took my boy,” you hear your uncle mutter. That was when you noticed that your cousin didn’t come through the door.

“What happened?” You ask, trying to pull him from what spiral he was in.

“Came out of nowhere, yanked him off the boat,” your uncle muttered. “I…I tried to pull him out, but…that fucking bastard!”

He slams his fist on the table, making you jump.

“There was a Timefall storm coming, we were trying to leave when we felt something hitting the boat, trying to turn us over. He thought he saw something under the water. I told him not to get too close, but… it was too late. I just saw tentacles, black tentacles wrap around him and yanking him into the water. God, I can’t get his screams out of my head.”

He was never the same after that, finding your cousin’s body days later in the same state the others were. From then on, you went strictly to work and home only; your days of sitting by the dock were long gone. But that didn’t stop you from sneaking out late at night. He became more determined to hunt down the creature that had been doing this, leaving every day out into the waters only to come back empty-handed.

“Bastard’s taunting me,” your uncle continued, pulling you from your thoughts. “We won’t have any population left if this keeps on.”

You don’t say anything, finishing your dinner and waited until it was late enough to sneak out. You sit on the edge of the dock, letting out a breath as you look up at the night sky. You weren’t sure how much more of this you were going to take. Yes, you hate what happened to your cousin, mourned him. But he wouldn’t want this to happen, for your uncle to live a life filled with hatred.

You had to leave, but where would you even go? There was no other city for miles; the chances of you making it there alive were slim to none. You could feel tears threatening to spill from your eyes as you blinked up at the sky, fighting them back.

“See the sunset, the day is ending,” you softly sing to yourself. A lullaby your mom used to sing to you whenever you had a bad dream or were upset. It used to comfort you, but even the song couldn't ease the dread bubbling inside you.

“Let that yawn out, there’s no pretending. I will hold you and protect you. So let love warm you, till the mor-“

You hear movement in the water, making you jump. You scan the area, even though it was far too dark to see. Nothing, only the moon reflecting against the black waters. You let out another breath as you slowly stand back up. Maybe this was a sign to go back inside; the last thing you needed was something happening to you and your uncle losing more of his sanity.

You walk back to the house, not noticing a head peaking out of the water. Their sharp, blue eyes watching your every move.

~*~

“Fucking bastard!”

You woke to your uncle yelling outside, and you rushed to see what was going on. As soon as you walk out the door, you see a crowd circling something as your uncle pushes past them.

“Let me through!”

Your heart drops at the sight of another body, covered in gold crystals and tar. Their eyes permanently rolled back with their mouth agape. You recognize them instantly: a local porter visiting from another city. They were only staying a few days and planned to head back home by first light.

Your uncle let out a roar, storming toward the docks while grabbing a weapon along the way.

“Where are you going?!” You cry out as you chase after him.

“I’m going to find that beast and put an end to this!” Your uncle replies. “If I have to be out there all day and night, I’ll do it.”

“What if that’s what it wants?” You try to reason with him. “You can’t go out there alone, it’s dangerous enough!”

“Go home,” he instructs, but you keep your ground.

“No! I can’t allow you to continue on this-this crusade! This is not what he would want!”

“Don’t you dare talk about him,” your uncle sneers. “You have no right to talk about what he wanted.”

“Yes, I do, he was my family too, you both are! If I lost you, I…I’d have no one left!”

That made him pause for a moment, looking at you before continuing to set up the boat.

“If anything happens to me, you are in charge,” he tells you. “You tell them, tell them all that I died trying to protect this city.”

“Please don’t do this,” you beg. Tears rolling down your face. “At least let me go with you!”

“No! You stay here, and you do as you are told!” He demands, before pausing again, and pulls you into a deep embrace.

“I’ve lived a long life, I’ve made peace with what I’ve done. You still have a long life ahead of you… And I want you to live it without fear. Don’t you worry about me, I’ve fought ocean beasts before. This one will be no different. I love you.”

You couldn’t stop him, knowing it was a losing battle. Once your uncle made up his mind, he was dead set on it. All you could do was stand by the dock as he rides off, shaking from both fear and heartache. By the time nightfall came, and you saw no trace of him coming back, you broke out into a sob.

This was bound to happen, you knew that. But you had hoped your uncle would have given up and made peace. As long as bodies were washing up on the shore, the concept of peace was just as far-reaching as the chances of you getting out.

You sink to your usual spot at the edge of the dock, the realization overwhelming you. He wasn’t coming back, and you were all alone. You had no one left to call your family…no one.

Then you hear something, whistling in the tune of your lullaby, making your blood grow cold in fear.

“Let that yawn out, there’s no pretending…”

The voice was male and eerily calming. Your eyes frantically searched to see where it was coming from.

“I will hold you, and protect you…”

You suddenly see clawed hands reaching toward the edge of the dock, making you gasp and back away.

“So let love warm you, till the morning…”

You lock eyes with a pair of sharp blue eyes outlined with black eyeliner. The golden markings on his browless forehead shine under the moonlight.

As golden as the crystals on the bodies.

You could feel your heart pounding, panic washing over you as you watch him rest his arms along the dock to hold himself up.

“Well now,” he spoke with a dangerous drawl. “Look what we have here.”

That’s when you see it behind him, a black tentacle lazily rising from the water and giving you a “wave”. Your eyes widen, backing up more as he chuckles.

“No need acting like that now. I’m not gonna hurt you,” he gives you a predatory smirk as he speaks.

This man, this…thing. This had to be the creature that had been taking people, who killed your cousin! You turn your head, opening your mouth to cry for help, but he lets out a deep growl of warning.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” his eyes narrow. “‘Sides, by the time someone does show up, it’d be far too late for you. So let’s keep this little visit between us, hm?”

You turn back slowly, watching him give you a pleased look once he knows you have decided to comply.

“Now that’s a good two legs,” he purrs. “I knew you’d see reason. Why don’t you come a little closer?”

“Absolutely not,” you snap.

“Aw, that’s no way to treat a visitor,” he playfully pouts.

“Where the fuck is my uncle?” You ask sharply.

“Oh, he’s fine,” the creature replies, waving his hand dismissively. “Still out there playing Moby Dick. Don’t you worry, nothing will happen to him…not yet anyway.”

You see red and quickly get up.

“You’re the beast who killed my cousin! Killed those innocent people!”

“Innocent? That’s a loaded word,” he replied. “Killing and stealing our resources, our kin…but you’re upset over an innocent few.”

Was this why he was doing this? Out of revenge?

“I’m sure you think your precious uncle is innocent too, The Tarman,” he continued with a mocking tone. “Trust me, sweetheart, what I’ve been doing is child’s play compared to the things he has done. But you wouldn’t know that, would you? I’m sure he’s been keeping very important details on how he got to be where he is.”

“What do you want?” You ask.

“I’ve come with a peace offering! One I know you won’t pass up. I’ll leave this little hole in the wall and your precious uncle alone, in exchange for you.”

You? Why the fuck would he want you for?

“I’ve been watching you for a while,” he goes further. “Found myself taking quite the shine to you, so I figure this would be a fair exchange. You keep your people out of harm’s way, and I get to have you!”

Your knee-jerk reaction was to accept his offer so the killings would stop. But you also knew that if your uncle did come back…If you were taken.

“My uncle is already hunting you down. What makes you think he wouldn’t continue to do so if I’m gone?”

“Clever, I like that,” the creature smirked. “Good thing I’m good at hiding, old man hasn’t caught me yet, has he?”

“I’m not going with you,” you shake your head. “You expect me to believe you’re just going to stop killing if I do? No, I don’t buy that for one second. I hope he gets you and rips you apart.”

You can see the creature’s skin start to change, growing whiter as golden tear-like markings formed around his eyes.

“I would tread very carefully if I were you,” he spoke with a calm voice, but there was an underlying threat. “He’s still out there for open season, you know. I can easily find him and make sure there is not a hint of him left. Are you sure you want to live with yourself knowing you sealed his fate like that?”

He then looks up at the moon hanging in the sky.

“I’ll give you two moons to decide correctly. If you’re not here on this dock by the second moon, then it’s bye-bye Port Knot, bye-bye uncle. You’ll make the smart play, I know you will.”

And with that, he sank back down in the water, tentacles waving around as he swam away. You couldn’t sleep, staring at the ceiling as the sun rose over the horizon. You even called in sick, claiming you weren’t feeling so hot.

Your uncle was still not back from the waters, and your grief was now quickly replaced with worry. If you didn’t accept the creature’s offer, he was going to kill him. If you did, who knows what would happen to him. But there was another feeling: curiosity about what the creature said.

“What I’ve been doing is child’s play compared to the things he has done.”

You then realize you had really no idea what your uncle did before you were born. He helped this city find food resources and build it into what it is today. But how exactly did he do it?

“Killing and stealing our resources, our kin,” the creature’s words echoed in your mind. With newfound determination, you go into your uncle’s office. Whatever he was hiding from you, it was sure to be there. You don’t see anything right away, looking at old documents and photos from his research about tar currents. But it was one particular file buried deep in his records that made you pause.

A photo of your uncle when he was younger, standing proud next to something hanging from a hook. Your eyes widen, recognizing the form instantly.

It was a Cecaelia, a female one. Dead, by the look of her…the hook they were holding her with was cutting right through her back. You click to see another photo, hundreds of young Cecaelia children lying along the very dock you sat on countless times. All of them dead… mutilated. You gasp, covering your mouth in horror as another article pops up.

“Tar Monster infestation cleared by local fisherman and scientist: Beached abominations not welcomed at Port Knot.”

Then more photos, more of these creatures being killed and displayed. Notes on each one regarding origin and findings on them. Their bodies… used to make supplies. Supplies you use every day!

Your uncle wasn’t a hero; he was a poacher!

You turned off the computer, taking a shaky breath to steady your nerves. It all made sense, why the creature was on this spree. Your uncle massacred his people, had them on display…fucking experimented on them! Then it hit you, that was why your uncle looked so afraid after losing your cousin. He knew… he knew what he had done, and now something was taking its revenge.

But the question remained: why did the creature want you? Was this the tipping point of his plan? He already took your cousin; he had every opportunity to give you the same fate if what he said about watching you was true. So why were you only given the option to go with him willingly?

There was only one way to find out, you thought as you walked to the edge of the dock by the second moon. There was no sign of the creature anywhere as you sat down. Looking down at the peaceful black waters, but not daring to lean in.

Where was he? You kept your end of the deal by being here. You thought, for a brief, hopeful moment, that your uncle had destroyed him, and he would be coming back to shore. You even looked out for any sign, only to find none.

Just then, you catch something moving in the water, and your chest tightens from nerves. You stay perfectly still, watching the waters as the creature finally makes himself known.

“I knew you’d choose wisely,” he says, looking up at you with a pleased smirk.

“I know what he did to your people,” you finally speak up. You watch his jaw tighten in anger, his skin turning white for only a second before returning color. “I-I’m sorry.”

“We’re way past that, darlin’,” the creature replied. “It ain’t gonna bring them back, but…at least with this little exchange I’ll be satisfied.”

“Are you planning to kill me too?” You ask. “Is this…just some trick to do what you’ve done to the others?”

“No, this is for my own personal goal,” he explained. “But I’ll explain all that later, just dip your pretty leg in the water, and I’ll take us home.”

Home, you could only imagine what or where his home could be.

You look at the water nervously, the warning echoing in your mind. Don’t go in the water.

“You’re scared, I get it,” he pulls you from your thoughts. “And I don’t expect you to just welcome me with open arms, but…I promise I won’t do anything to you.”

He meant it; his words held no danger like before. But you couldn’t move; everything in your body was screaming at you not to do it.

“I can’t swim,” you admit, causing him to give you a small chuckle.

“Yeah, I figured that much,” he shrugged. “Don’t worry…I got plenty of limbs to hold you tight.”

You could feel your body shake as you carefully stretched your leg and dipped it into the water. The sharp coldness causes you to gasp, quickly followed by a squeak as you feel something slick wrap around your leg. It’s suckers latch onto your flesh, a very weird sensation. But it did distract you as you were pulled from the dock to the creature's embrace.

He was…surprisingly warm, chuckling again as you clung to him for dear life.

“Settle now, it’s okay,” he spoke gently in your ear. “It’s gonna be okay.”

You weren’t sure whether it was from the shock of the cold or from your anxiety, but you don’t remember anything that happened after that. You only remember waking up soaking wet, lying on a rough, cold surface. You blink, taking in your new surroundings as you slowly sit up. You were in a cave, your only light coming from an opening right above your head that hit a pool of water. It was pretty clammy to say the least, your body shivering from your wet clothes.

“There’s my sleeping beauty,” the creature’s voice echoed in the cave as he came out of the shadows. His black tentacles guiding him toward you. “I’m sorry for leaving you in such a state. I forgot that two legs have different body heat.”

You watch as a tentacle hands you a delivery box.

“Been collecting lost deliveries,” he explained. “Don’t know if they’re gonna fit, but it’s worth a shot.”

You take the box from him, giving him a soft thank you before looking around.

“Um…is there a spot for me to change?” You ask shyly. The creature looks at you, confused, only to let out a laugh.

“Two legs and their modesty,” he comments. “But fine, I’ll play along.”

You watch him move into the pool of water, disappearing from view. You take your time, turning away from the pool as you remove the wet clothes. You do find a pair of pants and a top that were loose, but it worked nevertheless. You jump at the sound of water splashing, causing you to turn quickly and see the creature’s eyes peaking from the edge of the pool. It seemed he had been watching with a sly look on his face.

“Couldn’t help myself,” he confirmed your suspicions. “I wasn’t gonna pass up seeing you in your more…natural form.”

You could only huff, trying to ignore the sudden heat in your face.

“So this is where you’ve been hiding?” You ask, quickly changing the subject. “Where are we anyway?”

“This is all I have left to call home,” he replied as he moved from the pool. Sitting on the edge, as he pats a spot for you to sit. “Been living here since my daddy died.”

You pause, feeling your heart drop.

“Was he…was he killed by my uncle?” You asked. The creature lets out a harsh laugh.

“Oh, I wish,” he shook his head. “But no, he wasn’t. I had the satisfaction of killing him my own damn self. He wasn’t my real daddy, though; he took me in after my parents croaked. Guess we got that in common, don’t we?”

You took your time as you got closer to him.

“What happened to them?” You ask, watching the creature look up at you, before you were suddenly picked up by one of his tentacles and placed right beside him.

“Your uncle didn’t kill them himself, in case you were wondering, but his reign of terror certainly played a part. Daddy used to tell me stories all the time about the two legs who hunted us. Before he came along, we used to rule these waters. We never bothered anyone unless they crossed into our territory. Because of him, we were pushed out of our homes. Had to reside in parts that were darker, more dangerous. But that wasn’t enough; those fishermen…those people you claim are innocent. They still went after us. I was only a hatchling when they killed my parents, left them to die…only taking what they needed.”

You could see him look down at his tentacles, feeling almost sick at imagining what he was referring to.

“I grew up thinking he and I were all that was left. That this big, wide ocean was a dangerous place as long as the two legs were still out there. If I ever asked questions about it, well… he’d sure make me regret it. Guess he thought me a runt, weak. He found out the hard way that I was anything but once I got big enough. After that, I’ve been on my own, found this cave. I did find some others, but I was never welcomed.”

You notice that as he was telling his story, he had more of the golden markings, much like the ones on his forehead, along with healed scars in various places.

“The stories about your uncle were what fueled me, gave me my strength. I wanted nothing more than to make him suffer for what he had done to me and mine. So I surveyed the area, followed some fishermen from a safe distance until I knew I found what I was looking for.”

He then looks at you once more.

“The first time I saw you, I had every intention of yanking you into the water from the dock.” He said it so casually, as if commenting on the weather. “You made it so easy to do it. But then I got a good look at you, heard you singing that pretty tune you like so much. It didn’t really dawn on me until that moment when I realized that while I was perfectly okay with being alone…I was still lonely.”

You shivered as you felt a tentacle gently brush across the side of your thigh.

“Daddy always told me I had a weakness for pretty things, used to get so mad at me for hiding items I found floating near our home. Course that never stopped me before, sure as hell wasn’t gonna stop me now.”

“So that’s it? I’m just something to collect?” You asked, watching him shift until he was intimately close, facing you fully.

“What do they call you?” He asked with a head tilt. “I’ve watched you so many times and yet I never got to hear your name.”

Your eyes widen slightly at how close you both were, taking in his features. You didn’t want to admit it, but he was rather attractive. You finally let out your name, seeing a smile stretch across his face.

You apply yourself to your lessons, not just because Donaka has paid a lot of money for this man to basically commute to Hong Kong four days of the week from Beijing, but because you know there's nothing more maddening than a student who doesn't pay attention when you're teaching something you're passionate about.

You like Tiger too. 

He is kind, and patient, and he shyly admits to you that one day he hopes to go to America to be in movies. So after your sessions over tea, you make a point to help him improve his English. You feel like it’s the only thing you can really offer him. 

Slowly, it all starts to click, and you find yourself carrying the forms even into your everyday movements, the way you move around the room, the way you reach for things on a shelf…

The philosophy is harder.

You’ve barely seen Donaka since you started your lessons with Tiger, and you have no idea where he’s been. He leaves early in the morning and doesn’t come home until late, if at all. You cannot shake the thought that maybe Donaka sought to manipulate you somehow with instilling this go with the flow mindset. 

Did he think it would make you more complacent? Did he think it would make you forget that you haven’t been allowed off the grounds since he took you out in the Bugatti? It’s begun to feel like a lifetime ago, and no matter how much you meditate in your new little space in the library with your books and your orchids…the captivity mixed with loneliness grinds in you. 

It occurs to you that perhaps you’re his dirty little secret and he doesn’t want to be seen in public with you. You’re not his wife by any means. Are you even his girlfriend? Eventually the horrifying thought occurs to you that maybe you’re not even the only woman in his life. 

On a rare occasion when he’s actually home in the evening you invite yourself into his viewing room, sitting beside him on the black leather couch. “Hi.” 

He sort of growls in answer, his eyes still glued to the screen, but he lifts an arm for you to snuggle into him. You take that as some sort of sign. 

But the silence between you stretches on, and in the end you’re the first to break. 

“Can we yum cha again soon? I’ve really missed you.” 

“Sweetheart, you realize I work during the week?” he says to you in what you think is the most patronizing tone he can muster. 

So much for delegation.

“What about this weekend then? Can we go somewhere?” You admit you’ve thought more than once about that motorcycle in the garage with all the supercars. “Oooo, what about the Big Buddha? Or the Dragon’s Back? Or Wong Tai Sin Temple? Or…” You find yourself excitedly rattling off things from your bucket list, only for it to shrivel upon your tongue from the withering look he pays you. 

“Do I look like a tour guide to you?”    

This is when you realize you gravely misjudged his mood this evening. 

Or maybe, this whole situation as a whole? You’d thought things were getting better, and you realize you’d begun to feel safe around him, thanks to his little presents and his gestures that seemed meant to cater to your happiness. But the truth, you stupid girl, is you’re still just a prisoner, and you may as well be like one of the antique vases or Elder statues he likes so much to collect–pretty to look at, but with much less value. 

Did you actually think you mean something to him? 

You hate how much this hurts, even if you should have been preparing yourself for it all along. You feel the sting of tears forming in your eyes and the aching roots of your teeth. 

Fine. You guess you’ve finally got your answer.   

You shift on the couch to get up, needing to be anywhere but in the same room as him to nurse your heartbreak. 

“Where do you think you’re going?” He reaches for you, and you do something very stupid. In your defense, it was also just reflex, something very basic Tiger taught you, which is actually on Donaka, right? And you're sure it never would have worked, had he been even slightly expecting it. You deflect the force of his reaching hand with a turn of your wrist, moving just out of reach of his long arms with one smooth step. 

Yet you freeze when you realize what you’ve done, and to whom. 

The sharp flash of challenge in his eyes could cut you to ribbons, and you brace yourself. Your every instinct urges you to run, but this time you know this is serious, and if you do…there’s no telling what he might do. 

“Look who’s been paying attention to her lessons,” he snarls, standing to tower over you. “My money well spent.” 

He’s been watching you train with Tiger, of course, on his laptop at work when he needed to be doing other things. You’re a good student, and the two of you get along, and deep down Donaka knows he’s a little jealous for the easy way you smile for your teacher. 

And he certainly never fathomed you might dare use your new knowledge of tai chi on him. 

Even if you tremble, you close your eyes and stand your ground, waiting. You feel his long fingers close around your throat, not squeezing, but just resting there with all the promise of what those huge hands could do to you. 

Once upon a time you might have begged him to let you go. 

Now you realize it’s worse than that. You want him to pay attention to you any way you can get now, and if not on something resembling your own terms, you'll settle for the battlefield. When did you turn so suicidal?

His next question is deceptively soft, his thumb sliding over your fluttering pulse. “Have I been neglecting you, bunny?” 

A question loaded with fifteen in the clip and one in the chamber. But what the hell? If he tries to kill you at least it will be something to do. 

“Yes.” 

You do not expect his delighted laughter; as ever, this man keeps you off balance, and you don’t think any amount of lessons in tai chi or anything else will ever truly prepare you. 

“Alright. I’ll try to make it up to you.” There’s mockery in his tone, but you dare to open your eyes anyway. You’re surprised to see he’s watching you like you’ve done something interesting; something he didn’t expect either. Maybe it gives you just enough courage to open your mouth again. 

“Am I so demanding?” 

He snorts in answer to this, bending down to slant his mouth over yours. His fingers slide from your throat to the base of your hair, pulling just this side of too hard as he bends you over with his ardor, his teeth nipping at your lower lip. 

You have no idea, of course, but he’s been in a mood because he’s been auditioning fighters for his next big offshore expo, and no one has truly caught his interest. No one has felt right, and he’s afraid that something that once brought him such fierce joy has become boring to him. 

It alarmed him, looking back, how quickly he'd confessed his favorite thing to do as of late is you. You’re changing him, and he sees it now. He thought it would be best to return to his nobler pursuit: the search for the perfect warrior. It has yet to truly recapture his passion the way it once did.

He wants something new, something exciting. 

Maybe it was right in front of him all along. 

🐉🐉🐉       

A few days later, Donaka let you know in no uncertain terms what he expected that evening. When I come home I want you waiting naked on our bed. Understood?

He would choose that night to come home an hour late, and you are chilled to the bone by the time he walks through the door with an alarmingly smug smirk curling his lips, heartbreakingly handsome in one of his tailored dark suits. Charcoal sharkskin over jet black silk, and a silvery tie…it’s too flashy just for the office. Where did he go today?  

You’re not sure if you invent it, that you think his eyes seem to soften as he sweeps his gaze over you. 

“Aw. She can follow direction when it suits her.” 

“I’m freezing,” you grouse, still annoyed. A trill of excitement makes its way down your spine as you watch him loosen his tie as he approaches, standing at the foot of the bed before you. 

“Is this going on your eyes, or in your mouth, bunny?” 

You glare, but say no more. “That’s my good girl,” he purrs. “I’ve brought you a surprise.” 

You bite your lip, looking him up and down, thinking that maybe this tall dark dream of a man in this wicked mood is surprise enough. It’s been over a week since he last touched you, you’re pretty sure you’re ovulating, and you’re about ready to climb the walls. 

He chuckles darkly as he affixes his tie as a blindfold over your eyes, the silk sliding over your skin. His fingers are deceptively gentle as he affixes the knot behind your head, careful not to hurt you.  

“What? No smart remarks?” His fingertips trace the lines of your body possessively, the curve of your neck to the sweep of your collarbone, down to circle your taut nipple. You squirm and press your thighs, but keep your hands planted on the bedspread, the way you suspect he wants you to. 

Finally you answer with the truth: “I missed you.” His touch hitches upon you, even if only for a moment, before he strokes down your arm with the backs of his fingers. 

“I missed you too. Lie back.” 

You do as you’re told, and it’s interesting how you can sense his movement above you, even while deprived of sight. He rifles in his jacket pocket, and you hear something click clack clack. When something startlingly cool and smooth brushes over the skin of your belly you about levitate out of your skin. 

“What–” 

“Shhh.” 

The things pool and slide over your skin, heavy and cool, though quickly warming to your body. There are a lot of them, seemingly on a string. Multiple strings? Your back arches as they graze over your nipples, your loins clenching and pulsing with this exquisite torture. 

“Oh my god, Donaka…” you sigh. “Are those…pearls?” 

“Would you like that, y/n?” 

You whine in answer as he affixes a clasp behind your neck. 

“Hmm?” he teases, and you hear the smile in his words. 

“Maybe?” You try to sit up, but he prevents you with a finger on your breastbone. 

“Be still. This is a sight I want to remember.”

You’re too keyed up to catch the ominous undertones of that statement, practically vibrating in your state of arousal. If it’s real…you cannot fathom what that many strands must have cost. 

Who knew that your recent lessons in breath control would aid you in this situation? You lay there like a pearl-draped pin-up with your pulse thundering in your ears, and only once you’re certain he’s going to leave you there like that all night does he touch you, your skin quivering under his fingertips as he skims down the lengths of your thighs, then back up again, seemingly determined to drive you mad.

“Donaka…” you sigh. “Can I take this off?” 

Your hands lift towards your blindfold until you receive an unequivocal, “No.” 

Your growl of frustration wins you a villainous chuckle. “So impatient.” Suddenly his thumb dips between your legs, testing the readiness of your weeping hole. “And so wet.” You move your hips, desperate for friction on your needy clit, but he holds you at bay with his large hand over your mound. “Ah ah,” he scolds. 

“Donaka…” He’s reduced you to pitiful whining, and you’re sure he’s just eating it up. 

“So, my darling isn’t impressed with rare handbags, but she does like expensive jewels…” 

“That’s not fair.” 

“No?” He strums at your slit again with his thumb, and you tilt your hips desperately, needing his touch. “I’d say the proof is in the–” 

“If you say pussy I will scream.” 

This wins you hearty laughter that warms your soul, even if he sounds like a Bond villain. “C’mon, bunny. Let me have my fun.”

“I think you’re having all the fun,” you grouse, winning you a pinch on the inside of your thigh that makes you squeal.    

“So you don’t like them then?” he taunts you, referring to the bounty of the sea strung round your neck. 

You hate to say it but…you love them. They’re heavy and luxurious and you’ve never owned anything so fine. 

“Can I see?” you ask with a shyness that betrays your approval. 

“It’s not enough that I think you look beautiful?” he taunts you. 

“Are you…taking me somewhere I can wear them?” you dare ask. 

“There it is, my clever girl.” 

You're sure your relief is written plain as day for him to see, your body relaxing on top of the counterpane. “Where?”

“You’ll see.”

“When?”

“You’ll see.” He nips at your thigh, and even though it hurts you giggle with delight, the promise of some modicum of freedom in the future.

“Oh, now someone's happy.”

“Yes.”

“Well, that was worth an hour of my time at Harry Winston today.”

You know what that means, if only because your step mother used to lament that your father couldn’t afford to shop there for her.

“Oh my god. Donaka…you didn't have to do that.”

“This again. Just admit that you like them.” 

“They’re not the point.” 

“Yes they are,” he insists hotly. “Or at least, part of it.”  Suddenly he is manhandling you off the bed. You yip with surprise, though he doesn’t let you fall, holding you steady with a strong arm about your bare waist. His long body is firm and unyielding behind yours, his obvious hard-on pressing into your back; the smooth fabric of the suit against your bare skin is an interesting contrast. 

His voice rumbles low in your ear with warning as he tells you, “No more pretending you don’t enjoy luxury. You and I both know you’re no saint.” He tears off the blindfold, catching some of your hair with it, making you wince. The pain is forgotten, however, when you see he’s positioned you in front of the full length mirror. 

You almost don't recognize yourself like this, draped in lustrous black Tahitian pearls like a  goddess of the sea, the ominous shadow of your dark consort towering behind you. You stare for a long time in silence, not just at yourself, but the whole picture. Enough time goes by that eventually he gives a sardonic chuckle; you feel the mockery of it in your bones. “I knew there was a streak of vanity in you,” he says low in your ear, kissing your cheek.

Is he right? Are you just as pathetic and crass as your gold-digging mother or your social-climbing step mother?

You don't think so, because you are as fascinated by him as the pearls or yourself or this opulent house you live in with him. It’s everything that bewitches you–but he is the grand epicenter of it all. 

“Say thank you, bunny,” he prompts you, nipping at your jawline. “I’m feeling unappreciated.” 

After he left you alone for so long with no explanation, your annoyance flares in you like a flash in a pan. “Then maybe you should come home more often,” you fire back, winning a snarl of a smile. 

“As if you haven’t had plenty to keep you occupied, with your books and Mei and your new friend Tiger.” It’s so subtle that at first you think you imagined it; but no. That was jealousy in his tone. “And furthermore…” Your treacherous cunt throbs for the possessive hand upon your waist, trailing higher to caress a peaked nipple. “I think I want to hear you admit how much you enjoy living here in my beautiful house, my staff catering to your every whim.”

The truth is you still help the staff keep up with this massive house. You even cooked dinner with Mrs. Wong the other night. Or rather, she yelled at you, while teaching you how to make Donaka’s favourite wonton soup. You going to take care that man? You better learn. I not be around forever. 

He hadn’t even come home to eat it, the ingrate. 

“I enjoy it a lot more when you’re actually here.” 

“Oh? I thought you wanted to leave so badly?”

“With you!”

He only growls in answer to this, sucking sharply at your neck, both hands trailing up to cup your breasts. He pinches your nipples in punishment, making you squirm. He will not let you slip away though, his arm squeezing you like a band of iron. You can never best him like this, with force against force. You have to re-direct, and maybe your new lessons are useful after all. 

“Fine,” you surrender, reaching back to encircle his neck in your arms, leaning back against his solid form. 

“Fine?” 

“You want me to admit it? I am greedy. I do like the house and the cars and the things. But only when you're in the picture, Donaka. When you leave I hate it all.” He meets your eyes in the mirror then with the black eyes of a shark cruising the reef for a kill, and you don’t know where you get the courage to demand further, “Where were you?” 

“That’s my business.” 

“Do you have another mistress?” 

He snorts at you like you’ve said something incredibly stupid, and you practically sag with relief in his arms, believing his tell before he even says a word. 

“No.” 

“Then where did you go?”

He pays you a long, considering look in the mirror, weighing you with that unnerving stare that you know misses so little. “If you're good tomorrow night, and don't embarrass me, maybe I’ll show you.”

You practically quiver with excitement at hearing this, and you know you're damned. You think you would follow this man anywhere, just to unlock one more small part of his mystery. 

“Did I embarrass you at lunch?”

“No, but you look at everything with such wide-eyed fucking wonder. It’s adorable between us, but my crowd will eat you alive.” 

Really, all they’ll do is talk behind your back. 

You know this game from listening to your half-sisters gnash their teeth over their perceived victories and slights at school, who was the best dressed, who said what about whom, and you suppose it only amplifies later in life with the uber rich who have nothing better to do than spend money and gossip about each other. 

The elation you were feeling starts to evaporate as you mull over this, and he sees it written across your face. “Re-thinking leaving the house, bunny?” 

Maybe. 

Resting Bitch Face definitely isn’t your forte, and hobnobbing isn’t your idea of a good time either. 

“Are these people your friends?” 

Again, he huffs like you’ve said something cute, squeezing you in his arms. “They’re either clients, prospective clients, or rivals, sweetheart. That’s the truth of my world.”

“What about enemies?” 

“Mmm, those are the most fun.” He starts kissing your neck again, and as you go weak in the knees you wonder where the hell he’s taking you.  

“Donaka?” you sigh, melting under his mouth and his insistent hands. 

“What, bunny?” 

“Are we friends?” 

He seems amused by this, a new wicked sparkle entering his jet black eyes. “Depends, y/n. What is a friend?” 

Well, that is the million dollar question, isn’t it? So simple, yet complex. And you have to admit that thinking about it isn’t exactly coming easily, while his hand is on your breast and his other seeks your molten center. You can’t stop yourself from arching back against him, practically hanging from his neck while you pant, “Someone…you like to spend time with? Someone you like to talk to?” 

“Hmm…” He seems to think about this while orchestrating your undoing, circling your clit with his middle finger, and you’re heartened that he doesn’t immediately fob you off with the answer he thinks you want. “Then I suppose you’re my best friend, y/n. Who I very much like to fuck.” 

He slants his mouth over yours then, allowing no more opportunity for talking as he devours you whole, but your silly little heart soars.  

You’re nearly at the apex of your pleasure when suddenly his fingers between your legs go still– the jarring disappointment tears a whine from your lips that only seems to delight him. You sense that he is looking at you in the mirror again, and it takes effort to force your eyes open to meet his gaze. His pupils are blown wide and black as polished onyx; your darling really does like to watch.

“Do you promise to be a good girl for me tomorrow?” he asks low in your ear.

Perhaps there is some petulance in your tone when you answer, “Believe it or not, I can behave in public.”

“Hmm. Remains to be seen, bunny. You know I have a certain image to uphold?”

“I don't think…I can pull off aloof and scary the way you do.”

He gives no correction to this, only a dark chuckle. “I don't need you to be scary, bunny. Just poised. Can you do that for me?”

You look upon the waterfall of jewels cascading from your neck, and you don't know why you were so slow to grasp what’s really going on, but it finally dawns on you. He wants you to be a silent mannequin, an object from which to display the coveted display of his wealth. You really are following in your step- mother’s footsteps. “You mean you want me to be pretty, and quiet.”

He hears the acute disappointment in your tone, your earlier elation deflating like a balloon. Why does that affect him like it never has with any other mistress? You are maddening, and he has half a mind to sink his teeth in your shoulder to punish you for it. His eyes bore into yours, twin black holes that threaten to swallow you whole.

“You don't have to be quiet. But if you embarrass me with one of your cheeky quips to the wrong person you can be damn sure you'll regret it later. Understood?”

“Yes.” 

“Yes, what?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Mmm.” He strums at your clit again in reward, and once more your body is tensed in anticipation, your eyes sliding closed. “Ah ah, look at me, bunny. I want you to watch. I want you to look at yourself.”

 “I can't…” you protest, arching back against him as he finds that perfect spot once more, your knees trembling beneath you. 

 “Then you're not going to cum tonight.”

 You believe him too, and it feels like some Herculean feat to force open your pleasure-heavy lids. Trapped in a lustful daze, you are annoyed by his seemingly impossible demands. And yet the electricity in meeting his gaze while he pleasures you is something unexpectedly heady; the hunger in his eyes could swallow the world, and it’s all for you. There's something powerfully intoxicating in that; he reads the exact moment this shifts in you, a slow tear of a smile pulling at his lips.

 “That’s right, bunny. You're beautiful, and these expensive trappings become you. I’m enjoying it. You should too.” 

“You don’t have…to buy me expensive things…to please me…you know.”

 Even while he has you literally on the edge between paradise and sanity, you can’t help but argue with him. Maybe he does have cause to be alarmed to bring you into public.

 “This is my world. If you want to be a part of it with me, then get used to it. No more protests. You already admitted you like them. Are you afraid it makes you a bad person?” You hear the amusement in his voice, and you hate yourself a little more. Yet underneath it all, there's an edge of something else. Nothing is ever as it seems with this man. 

“Yes,” you pant, so strung out yet knowing that if you want your ends, you have to play his game. 

You can tell he’s enjoying himself, even as he’s exasperated with you. His eyes shine, dark and lustrous as the pearls around your neck. But no precious stone could ever hold such depth of knowledge and forbidden temptation therein. You never felt so much solidarity with Eve facing down the serpent as in that moment. 

“Maybe you're not a good person, y/n. Have you considered that?”

“Why does everything have to be such a mind fuck with you?” 

His grin is nothing less than a baring of teeth, and he walks you forward to bend you over the bed, making sure you can still see yourself in the mirror. 

“What's wrong, y/n, is this juicy little pussy jealous?” 

You have to admit, even if you won't say it aloud, that you're relieved when you hear the descent of his fly, and soon feel the soft kiss of his broad tip at your entrance. You betray your eagerness as you cant your hips towards him, craving the stretch of his cock filling you. You don't even care that he laughs at you, delighting in your need. Your moan as he buries himself inside you is beyond incriminating.

“Greedy girl.” He swats your backside with his big hand, you suspect just for the sound of it, the pearls clacking around your neck as they pool on the silk sheets beneath you.

You watch him in the mirror, unable to tear your eyes from his magnificent form, and you think he's on to something with his penchant for voyeurism. 

“Avarice for my cock. Lust. Vanity. It's not looking good for you,” he teases darkly, barely brushing your clit with his fingertips.

“That doesn't make me a bad person,” you snarl beneath him, frustrated and bewildered by all this. A gift can never just be a gift from this man. An outing cannot just be for fun. There are always layers upon layers, and you are dizzy from it all. 

“Oh, add wrath to the list too. It’s nothing personal. No one is truly good. Not really. Some people are just a little less terrible than others, and if you ask me, anyone who insists they are good are just fat, fucking, hypocrites.” 

“What an uplifting view of humanity.” Are you really having this debate right now? 

“I'm a realist. I watch all the naughty things people do when they think no one’s looking for a living,” he insists, holding your hips as he drives himself inside you to the hilt. You shudder as he leans over your body, his lips to your ear again. “And I'm trying to set you free to enjoy this adventure with me without over analyzing every little moment of it. Do you have to fight me at every turn?”

It’s impressive, how quick he is to pivot in his methods of manipulating you. You told him once that you didn't really care for ostentatious wealth, despite your obvious fascination with him. Expensive things are not quite enough to tempt you, but to have his company? You must accept them all. This will become clear later, as you're looking back with bewilderment on the night’s events, but your brain is not functioning well enough to totally piece it together now. There’s just a fuzzy outline, a suggestion of what he’s doing to you, and you don’t know what to say back to him that won’t sound stupid or childish. 

You hate it that tears of frustration fill your eyes, and you hide your face by glaring down at the bed.

“I don't want to fight you,” you whimper with your face in the sheets, finally worn down by this man’s exhaustive games. All you really want is him, but he talks circles around you until you’re unsure of everything. 

All I want is you.

It’s stupid, but true, If you say it aloud you fear he’ll take everything. Because he is not a good man. You know that in your bones; and maybe you always have, but you want him anyway. What does that make you?

He goes still above you, caressing the curve of your spine, and you shudder like a nervous filly beneath the warmth of his hand. He's gentle with you now, almost as though to soothe you through the shock of your disillusionment. “It’s alright, y/n,” he purrs. “I've seen you all along.”

You're afraid he's telling the truth about that. Maybe he’s always known the weave and weft of you, and how it all ties together in the binding of your heart and soul. You are no great mystery, and he was certainly right when he said you’re no saint. 

What does it say about you, that a man like him wants you so much? You don't know, and you're definitely not going to suss it out now. You are tired, and half crazy with lust and unsure if the rest of what you feel is actually love, or just a stubborn craving for his approval. 

You feel him undressing behind you, divesting his jacket, unbuttoning his shirt leisurely while still warming his cock inside you. You wait with a new sense of patience, feeling strangely disconnected from yourself, almost meditative as you kowtow with your head bowed.

With a hand tangled in your hair he pulls you upright on your knees, his arm about your waist supporting you. The press of his bare torso engulfing you from behind is a splendid thing; you can't help but sigh for the solid wall of warmth behind you, and for the umpteenth time you know you are utterly lost to this man. 

He stares you down in the mirror, those black holes for eyes boring into your very soul. He lets you get away with closing your lids this time, allowing you to retreat into yourself as his possessive touch slides up your torso, beneath the pearls to press over your thundering heart, then higher to your throat, your pulse beating like a trapped butterfly against his fingertips. “Don’t cry, bunny,” he consoles you, his tone deceptively gentle as he kisses a tear away, savoring the taste of your mourning for the death of something you’d clung so dearly to. “How many times do I have to tell you that I’ve got you?” 

Despite how many times this man has already taken what he wants from you, somehow this is the moment it really, truly sinks in. You will remember the turning point of this night until the day you die, as though something inside you stretched and finally snapped like a rotten rubber band. He reads this shift in you as surely as writing on a sign, the tilt of your head on his shoulder and the submission of your body in his arms, as though your very bones have finally wilted in surrender to him. 

He doesn't make you say anything more, revelling in his victory as his lips claim yours, and his arms wrap around your body possessively, holding you hard as he pistons his cock inside you. With an all too knowing curl of long fingers between your legs he sets you free, and you cum on his dick with a moan that is tellingly close to a sob. He swallows it all with his mouth over yours, shuddering as he spends inside you with a triumphant growl.

When you collapse at the foot of the bed, too wrung out body and soul for anything more, you feel the whisper of dextrous fingers at your neck relieving you of your precious neckwear. He goes off to the closet, presumably stashing them for safe keeping. Then you are surprised when he spoons his long body behind yours, indulging in a post-coital cat nap with his freshly-conquered prize caged in his arms. 

When you wake later the room is dark, and Donaka is gone. You can’t decide if you are disappointed or relieved, and you are still confused about it by the time you shower and crawl back under the sheets. 

TBC...

Mostly though, it's become just... a part of your days. His and yours. They frustrate him still, but mostly it's better. It's okay.

That is until he's panting over you, lips pressed to your neck as he moves slowly. Hips thrusting between your legs, trying to bury himself and stay there forever where it's warm and safe.

And he pulls back to smile down at you. And you see it long before it happens. The gloss washing over. Bright blue eyes greying over.

And Johnny just.. stills.

"Johnny..." You manage, hand coming up to cup his face.

He's still for a long moment. Longer than usual by your count.

Your eyes sting before you can stop them. Hand brushing back Johnny's hair. The other stroking absently over his arm.

"John..." You try again, throat squeezing down around his name.

And finally he inhales. Blinking back to you. His eyes find yours. And that familiar realization passes through them. His forehead drops to your shoulder. He doesn't move for a moment.

"I'm sorry, Love. I'm so sorry—"

You feel him shift, like he's going to move to get up. You wrap your arms around him, holding him close.

"Shh don't apologize. Are you alright?"

He manages a nod.

"Want to keep going?"

He's still for a moment. His breath is warm, shakey against your chest.

Finally, he shakes his head.

"Alright," you whisper. "That's alright."

He moves slowly out from between your legs. Only moving as far as to lie next to you, head still buried in your neck.

You lie there for a little while, just breathing together. His weight against your side something solid to hold onto.

Your hand moves through his hair, slow and steady. The other rests against his arm.

His tears come gradually. He doesn't make a sound, just the wet against your skin, and the occasional unsteady breath.

At some point his grip on you shifts. Tightens, his fingers finding yours and holding.

You feel the moment his breathing evens out. A slow exhale. The tension leaving his shoulders by degrees.

You press your lips to his hair.

"Bath or shower?"

He breathes. Then, quietly: "Bath."

You ease yourself up and pad to the bathroom, running it warm. Not hot, he'd told you once, early on, that too much heat made it worse.

When you come back for him he's sitting on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees. Staring at the floor. You can see the wet at the corners of his eyes he's still trying to hold back.

You stand in front of him and open your arms. He folds into you without a word, face pressing into your stomach. His shoulders shake.

You hold him and let him cry into you. Your own tears dripping from your cheeks to his head.

It takes a moment. Moving slowly from the bed to the filled tub. But eventually, you're both in the water. His back to your chest, your chin resting on his shoulder. His hands have found yours beneath the surface and he's holding on with both of his.

"Still here," you murmur.

His grip tightens.

You press your lips to his cheek. The corner of his jaw. The soft skin just below his ear. And then longer on the back of his neck.

"Love you," he says, voice rough and quiet.

When you ask him how long he’s been into this he admits that it was his sport of choice as a young man, and going to the Kung Fu school across town was how he kept up with his Cantonese while living in the West. 

He warns you with a gimlet stare that if you make a Karate Kid crack he will put you over his knee–then delights in watching you stew and squirm with the urge to tease him. You manage to swallow it like a good girl, even if you can feel it bubbling inside. 

He tells you that eventually he branched out into other fighting styles, and, you gather, gained real world experience on the streets. The latter part saddens you, even if you absolutely know now that it's an intrinsic part of how he became who he is.  

You can’t help but notice that watching this sanctioned violence on the television screens more often than not ends in fucking on the angular black leather couch for the two of you. It gets him going, and you reason it must have something to do with caveman urges and elevated levels of testosterone. Vicarious battlefield relief. 

Men. 

It amuses you, for some reason, but you know better than to tease him about it. You’re coming to like this little evening ritual, and you don’t want to spoil it with your insouciance. 

Besides. 

Who are you to throw stones from your big fucking glass house? You know very well that watching him fighting awakens something ridiculously primal in you. Something with a direct line straight to your loins. 

You’re not a violent person, or so you tell yourself. So why does that turn you on? It must be some deep-seated natural bullshit that betrays you in the back rooms of your brain. Would be good protector of cubs? Shut up, Hind Brain. You don’t have any of those and nor do you want any. 

You’ve always managed to resist that natural gravitation towards Manly Men™ before now, perhaps reasoning that if they were good at hurting anyone who threatened you, they could just as easily hurt you too. But as you’ve fumbled through life you’ve found that all kinds of men can be toxic in such varied and delightful ways...  

All you know is that you’re in it now, and you couldn’t turn back even if you wanted to. May as well revel in it while you can. 

On a morning you know he’ll be training with his sparring partner you sneak out of bed to watch him through a crack in the door. 

He is magnificent. 

Powerful but graceful, and brutal when he goes in for the finishing move. 

You don’t think his partner is paid to lose, from the way he fights back…but Donaka wins more often than not. 

You almost get away with spying on your paramour, until you make the mistake of gasping when his partner lands a solid blow on his cheek. They are wearing gloves, but it still rocks Donaka’s neck to such an angle that for a split second you’re afraid it might break. Donaka’s head swivels like a hawk’s, his attention zeroed in on you.

You’re not sure why you run. 

It’s not like he’s forbidden you from watching, but the glint of something bestial in his eyes triggers your instinct for flight.  

Did you really think you could outrun those magnificently long legs, you stupid girl? 

You feel him closing in behind you, and in that moment your fear is as real as your elation.

You juke him twice, around the couch, and then up the stairs.

Haven’t you ever seen a horror film?

Don’t you know that you never run upstairs?

He finally catches you in the hallway to your bedroom, grabbing you up with an arm around your waist, and you squeal like a rabbit caught in the tiger’s jaws. You are both feral and panting, and you wriggle like a little worm but all for naught, for he soon has you pinned against the wall with his weight and his big hands and his punishing mouth on yours. 

“Spying on me, bunny?” he practically growls into the bend of your neck, nipping your flesh hard enough to leave a bruise. 

You’re not proud that all this reduces your voice to a breathless suggestion of a whisper. “Just…watching.”

“Oh? See anything you liked?” 

“Some of it.” 

With a growl he lifts you with hands on your thighs, pinning you against the wall again. “Only some?” 

Before you can answer his mouth is on yours again like he means to devour your very soul. 

“Well?” he demands as he withdraws, as though you could have answered him through the onslaught. 

“I don’t like…seeing you hurt,” you answer, gasping for air, your fingers like claws in his powerful shoulders. 

“Do I seem like I’m hurt?” 

This wins a shaky laugh from you. “I guess not,” you answer, touching the side of his face lightly. He does nothing so telling as a wince, and maybe it's just your imagination that he leans into your touch, but the flesh is red and a little swollen. There might be a bruise later. 

He answers you with another low growl from deep in his chest, leaning in for another kiss that is more merciful, but no less claiming, his tongue deep in your mouth like he’s counting all your teeth. Your thighs clench around his narrow hips, your treacherous center purring with approval, as ever. 

“You’re a bad girl.” 

“Am not!” you protest, and maybe the fact that you would talk back to him at all speaks volumes as to how far you've come. 

“Are so. Skulking around, spying…”

“Literally your favourite pastime.”

“Second favourite,” he corrects, sucking the skin below your collarbone. You will have a bruise for sure.

“What's the first?”

“Fucking you until you forget your own name.” 

Growling out of excited dread, you struggle again. That's when he throws you over his sweat-dewed bare shoulder, smacking your ass before hauling you to the bedroom. You wiggle and squirm against his inexorable hold, but it’s all for naught. 

He’s got you now, and he’s not letting go until he’s finished with you. 

Your bottom is still smarting by the time he tosses you down on the bed like a sack of rice, and you only bounce once on the mattress before he has pounced upon you again. It’s hard to tell, if this is lovemaking or an outright onslaught, the way he takes you with teeth and harsh kisses and a possessive tongue, his grip and the solid weight of his body pressing you down. You hear silk rip under his strong hands, and the sound of your surprised yip only seems to spur him on more. He does not prepare you any more than what the sight of him locked in battle has already called up in your prehistoric little heart and your absolutely idiotic loins. 

The moan torn from your throat by his broad tip at your entrance and his thick length burying inside you has very little to do with pain. 

Like he knows all too well, your captor turned paramour smirks down at you with an absolutely devilish glint in his eyes. Yet maybe you’re not entirely imagining things, when you think there is a softness there for you too, a glimmer of fondness that should only feel like a pittance, yet the things it does to your obviously damaged pre-frontal cortex. Danger assessment? Forgot all about it. 

Sometimes you think you are no better than a lab rat junkie running down your next fix of poisoned dopamine. 

“Awfully wet, for a reluctant little rabbit. Admit you enjoyed watching the violence. You are a blood thirsty little thing,” he declares in a deadly purr, stretching you further with a slow thrust of his hips, his fingertips in the flesh of your thighs digging hard enough to leave bruises. “It made you want to be run down and devoured like the soft little bunny you are.” He punctuates this point by sucking upon the pebble of your nipple, just this side of too hard. Yet he blurs the edge of your pain with his thumb upon your clit, and you think you can endure anything he deals you, so long as he doesn’t stop touching you there.  

“I don’t know,” you hiss desperately, your spine arched like a bow as he wrecks you, every muscle in your body strained and focused on finding release. You screw closed your eyes, taking the fury that is his cock driving relentlessly inside you, your fingers tangling in the sheets.  

“Yes you do,” he insists through gritted teeth. “I think you know very well.” 

You sense the thread of exasperation in his tone, and perhaps you are not the only one who resents the demands this obsession wreaks upon you.

“I…”

“What did I tell you about lying to me?”

“Donaka…please…” What are you begging for, exactly? The lines have all blurred with this man. Does he think you are actually capable of reason, when he has you on your back with his cock stuffing you full?  

“You better figure it out, bunny,” he warns you, flipping you on your belly, manipulating your body like you weigh nothing at all. “I’m not letting you cum until you do.”  The stretch and glide as he fills you from behind is an exquisite torture, your body all too happy to accomodate his invasion. You’re still not used to the size of him, and now you’re not sure you ever will be. 

“I wanted…” What did you want? You really should know by now, even if Donaka’s courtship has been nothing less than buckling down for a typhoon. Hold on. It’s all you can do, some days. Yet the answer rings true as a bell, rising from the fug of your lust-addled thoughts. Once you might have rather died than say it aloud, but something has been changing between you, and in you. Despite your attempts at self-preservation, you know you will never be the same after this man has had his way with you. 

Why is there a ringing in your ears, so you can barely hear yourself as you admit into the blankets, “Just you, Donaka. All my roads…lead to you now.” It’s like you were too close to the explosion of a bomb. 

There it goes. Your last shreds of your dignity, your last card to play, up in smoke and flame.

He does not answer you with words, but his punishing pace slows, gliding deliberately inside you so that you can feel every last delectable inch of him, his tip dragging over that spot that drives you wild. 

“That’s my good girl.”  

It’s unholy, what this man’s praise calls up in you–blinding, mind-numbing pleasure isn’t even the half of it, but you scream his name as you cum on his dick like the needy little slut you are. He locks against you not moments later, growling as he fills you with his seed, gripping your shoulder hard enough to bruise you. Tomorrow your outside will mirror your soul within, forever marked by this man’s love, too foolish or too weak to remember that once, you’d actually intended to escape him. 

He’s got you now, as neatly as locking you in a cage and throwing away the key, and the real crux of the trick? 

As you lay gasping for breath, your skin plastered to his with the glue of your sweat and other mingled body fluids, revelling in the animalistic mess of it all…you’re not sure you even care, anymore.   

🐅🐅🐅     

A week later you are in the library reading a mystery novel set in Hong Kong, as you’ve taken to spending your afternoons, when Donaka appears in the doorway. 

“You’re home early!” It’s damn near domestic, the way you skip to greet him, kissing him hello. The delight you feel is genuine; you still haven’t quite figured out what to do with yourself during the day, now that you don’t have to clean the house, but you aren’t really allowed to go anywhere. The writing bug still eludes you. Sometimes you help Mei with her daily allotment, even if it annoys the hell out of Mrs. Yeung.

This warm welcome seems to please Donaka greatly; he has the look of a sated tiger when he smiles down at you, sweeping your hair out of your face.  

“I have a surprise for you.”

Perhaps you should be wary, considering this man’s track record, but silly thing that you are, you can’t conceal your intrigue. “What is it?” 

He makes a sound through his teeth, chuckling at you. “Come and find out,” he tells you, stealing another kiss before leading you out with a hand at the small of your back. You make your way across the house, and soon you realize you’re going to Donaka’s training space. He holds the door for you, ever the outward picture of a gentleman, even if you know he’s a predator underneath.

A man is standing with his back to you in the center of the mats, looking around politely with his hands clasped behind him. When he turns you have to admit you gasp a little with a thrill of excitement; it’s like meeting a celebrity, after watching him for so many hours on Donaka’s bank of screens. 

“Y/n, this is Tiger Chen. He’s going to instruct you in Tai Chi.”  

TBC...

Higgs paced in his room. Perhaps room was far too kind of a word for it; cell suited much better. Boredom gnawed away at his bones. Ever since his failure to end the world, for a second time, he never thought he’d wish for something to make life feel worth living.

The crew aboard the DHV Magellan had imprisoned him on the ship for months. They were discussing what the best course of action would be for the dangerous man, all while he slowly lost his mind. Higgs found himself praying for death, company, or even just a goddamned slice of pizza.

“Ugh,” he groaned, pressing his forehead against the wall. The cold room contained an uncomfortable cot, a toilet, and a sink. He didn’t even get a window. Or a blanket.

A knock sounded from the door. Spinning, his heart pounded as it always did during that time of day. He was either getting dinner, or finally being sentenced to death. Unluckily for him, he was presented with only more of the insipid food.

Fragile glared at him through the small window of his door. She bent down, and slid the tray through the opening at the bottom, “Eat.”

Approaching the door and reaching a hand out, Higgs begged, “Fragile, wait–”

She left before he could finish his sentence. He deflated. At least when Die-Hardman came around, the two would engage in conversation for a few minutes, even if the shorter man didn’t really seem to want to.

Plopping down on the floor, Higgs crossed his legs and began to consume his bland sustenance. He had thought about not eating before, as death seemed better than what his life had become most days. Yet, when you came around pleading that he eat, he couldn’t help but cave.

You; it always came back to you. Higgs pondered as he ate, Why do they bother with me at all? Not that I’m complainin’ but… it doesn’t make sense. We seem to get on well, but I’m their fuckin’ enemy, right? There’s something different about ‘em, that’s for sure. But just what the hell is it?

He went to bed that night with those puzzling thoughts flooding his mind, as they had for as long as he’d been a prisoner. Fragile didn’t like you coming around his cell often. You were too ‘kind hearted’ as she’d put it. She worried Higgs would manipulate you, or worse, hurt you somehow.

Another knock sounded throughout the dim space, pulling Higgs from his shallow sleep. He sat up, and looked towards the door.

“Hey,” you whispered, popping into view in the small slit.

You found ways to sneak to him anyway.

Higgs jumped out of bed, bounding over, “Hey.”

“You’ll never guess what I found,” the corners of your eyes wrinkled, and Higgs wished he could see the smile decorating your face.

“What is it?”

You disappeared from view, and slid something under the door. Higgs’ breath caught in his chest.

The Wisdom of the Egyptians; a book he read countless times in his youth. It helped shape the man he had become and he never thought he’d lay eyes upon it again.

“How did you get this?” He picked up the book and stared at it in awe.

“I have my ways,” you drawled, coming back into view.

“Sure fuckin’ do,” he laughed, getting closer to the door. Peering down, he was able to take in more of your face.

Eyeliner framed your captivating eyes. He recalled when you asked about his makeup around when he was first captured, and how the simple question allowed him to break free from his vow of silence. He rambled endlessly about the ancient Egyptians after; their ways of life, religion and culture. Anything and everything; he went on about it all. The kohl, he told you, made him feel more comfortable; more himself. You had managed to scrounge some up afterwards, and ever since, your eyes matched what his own used to look like.

It was then that he told you about the book too. He looked down again, “I can’t have this.”

“I know,” you whispered, looking over your shoulder to ensure no one had entered the hall. “Read some, then I’ll take it back with me.”

“You’re stickin’ around?”

“Duh,” you teased.

He smiled, and nodded. Turning, he pressed his back to the door and slid down. The book trembled in his hands; a piece of himself, given through you. It finally clicked.

What was different about you was how you saw the man he used to be. You saw his interests, his humor, alongside his pain and his loneliness. You saw Peter, not the failed pharaoh he tried to become.

He gulped, and opened the book. However, his eyes were unable to make sense of any of the words, for all he could think about was you. Slowly, traitorously, hot tears began to spill from his eyes.

All his life he had failed. No matter what he did, how powerful he became, or how much of his humanity he threw away, it never amounted to shit. He was nothing, and yet, you made him feel like he could still be something.

“Hey,” he whispered, voice raspy from the tears.

“Yeah?”

Higgs put the book down, and slid it back underneath the door.

“Um, hello? That was a pain in the ass to get for you.”

“I know all the words anyway,” he retorted.

“No way. I had to go through BT territory for that.”

“Give it a read yourself then. It’s just,” he trailed off.

“It’s just what?”

He couldn’t find the words at first. It felt like a betrayal unto himself, but when he finally spoke, the sentence lifted a weight he didn’t realize he was carrying. “It’s not me anymore,” his lips trembled with the growing fear of not knowing who he was at all.

You shifted on the other side of the door. Higgs heard the book open, as you began to read in silence to yourself. An hour passed. The two of you sat in a peaceful quiet while you read through the pages that made a man Higgs was now putting to rest. It was odd, but your presence comforted, as it always had since he met you.

“Shit,” you whispered, “I think Die-Hardman’s awake. I gotta go.”

“Wait,” Higgs rose, pressing against the door to catch a glimpse of you.

“Don’t worry,” you met his eyes through the small window, “I’ll come back soon. Fragile finally stopped guarding me so heavily.”

“Better not be lyin’ to me now,” Higgs attempted to sound more grounded than he felt.

“Oh? And what will you do about it if I am?”

“I’ll uh…” a snarky reply failed him, his mind still jumbled from the mess you had made of it. “Whatever. Fuck you.”

You giggled, and hurried off just as footsteps grew louder around the corner.

–

Many nights passed, and soon the depression began to tug Higgs back down into its endless darkness. He hadn’t realized how spending time with you made things a bit more bearable; to have someone look at him without hatred in their eyes, but rather, a form of understanding.

At last, you finally arrived again with the rising moon.

“About time, was close to losin’ my damn mind…” Higgs quickly dropped the indifferent facade, stopping in his tracks. His eyes went wide as a wonderful smell entered his nose, “No fucking way.”

“Way,” you smiled, sliding a plate under the door.

The most glorious, beautiful, downright sexy view he’d ever seen greeted him. An actual slice of pizza.

“I could kiss you,” he whispered, picking up the plate and holding it with a sense of worship.

You blushed, the act definitely one you had daydreamed about before, “When’s the last time you brushed your teeth?”

“How long have I been locked up here?”

“Um, are you serious?”

He smiled at you, and relished the hint of yours in return, “Thank you.”

“Whoa…”

“Shut up. Pizza is worth being grateful for.”

“Okay, Higgs. Okay,” you put your hands up defensively, even though he could not see the action.

He paused. Ever since your last conversation, a single thought plagued him more than any other. It became a battle in his mind, and he found himself in constant turmoil over it. Yet, being in your presence again, he found it wasn’t that arduous at all.

“Peter.”

“What?”

“Just,” he stuffed a greedy mouthful of food into his face to mask his nerves, “Peter.” The name came out muffled, and almost shy, but a new beginning for him nonetheless.

That night, you grew determined. The man had done terrible things, but he had also served a very long sentence for such already. He was kept under lock and key, even though his DOOMS had entirely left him after returning from the Beach. There was nothing to occupy his mind, and the cruelty of it at last forced you into action.

Somehow, someway, over the next few weeks, you managed to convince Fragile that he deserved another chance. You continued to visit him in secret, and felt a growing sense that if given the opportunity, he might finally get things right. And if it came down to it? If he proved he was still the same man Amelie helped craft? Then his death sentence could be passed.

But just one more chance, because third time's the charm after all, right?

–

The wind blew in Peter’s hair. With his eyes closed, he breathed in the crisp, morning air. Upon opening his eyes, he froze, seeing you matching his stance.

Your eyes were still shut, your hair framing your face in a way that made him lose himself in the details. Heavy packs strained both of your muscles, and your legs cramped from the hike, but the view atop the mountain was worth all the aches and pains it brought.

You had seen him, despite all the reasons for everyone to give up on the man, you had seen him, and decided to help him. He stepped in front of you, blocking the sun that caressed your face in the most lovely way. Your eyes opened, confusion working its way over your features. A hand reached up to your cheek. Then the other. Unable to stop himself, he pulled you into him, pressing a soft kiss against your lips.

And you absolutely melted.

The kiss deepened, neither of you wishing for it to end. Peter could feel his heart racing; you could feel yours. With the wind blowing, and snow gently hitting the ground, the world felt as if it only existed for the two of you then. The warm sun despite the cold air, the feel of each other against–

A cough.

The two of you were pulled from your stupor; Sam’s presence at last remembered.

“Can we get goin’ now?” He mumbled, feeling awkward.

“Ya always know how to ruin the moment Sammy boy.”

You blushed, embarrassment and elation at war within you, as you listened to the exchange.

“Whatever. I’m goin’ and if you ain't comin’ with,” Sam held up a small remote, “I’m usin’ this.”

“Okay, fuck off, I’m comin’…” the taller man gave in, catching your eyes before following after Sam.

Fragile insisted that Peter wear a shock collar of sorts whenever he went out on deliveries. She still didn’t fully trust the man, and wanted to ensure that not only her people were safe, but the rest of the world was as well. And just maybe, it was a little bit for his own good too. You didn’t like it, Peter even less so, but it was the ultimatum she gave and the one that was ultimately accepted.

You walked up next to him, and he slipped his hand into yours.

Sam watched out of the corner of his eye. He, like Fragile, had worried about you. Ever since Higgs, Peter, came aboard the ship, you were practically glued to the man in a way no one understood. Your kind heart was a detriment, he had thought, but now, he saw that it was his own beliefs that were.

All Peter needed was someone; someone who gave him the chance to find himself; his true self. You showed him you were willing to give him such grace, and in turn, he showed everyone that there was still something buried deep within him that had the capacity for good.

Peter kicked a foot out, and Sam stumbled.

It was like a secret thing between the two of you. The type of thing no one else caught on nor did they want to.

It was first discovered while Die Hardman was going over something to the Drawbridge Crew. You tried to pay attention, but the more he droned out the more you could feel your eyes start to glaze over.

“You may want to change the level of difficulty on this task of yours,” Higgs commented with crossed arms. “‘Cause all I’m hearing is it’s gonna be a pain in the ass to do.”

You were quick to snap out of your dissociation, a small laugh leaving you as you comment right back. “He must think we’re on Honor mode or something.”

The two of you made eye contact, an unspoken praise of approval as Higgs gives you a playful smirk. You became inseparable after that, there was not a moment where one was without the other.

You were quick to discover that Higgs was pretty fun to be around. Every now and then he had an episode, a trigger about his past or when he was on the beach for so long. But all you had to do was speak your lingo, and it brought him right back from the seam.

The feeling you had was quite mutual for Higgs as well. Always waiting at your door to begin the day and stayed close by if you had to go for a run. You learned more about him that way, who he used to be before he went all crazy about the end of the world.

You noticed overtime his comments were getting more flirtatious, something you playfully pushed off at first.

“Look, your charisma level is pretty high, but you’re not high enough to get a reaction out of me.”

“Oh? Is that right?” He smirked down at you. “Bet I can find a glitch.”

“Good luck with that,” you walk away with an eye roll. Not knowing that those words were going to be your famous last ones. After that, Higgs turned up his advances, and boy did he turn it up.

Walking past you but making sure to give your hips a lingering touch as he passes by. Standing behind you to “reach for something” as he presses against you making your heart tense. He even made sure his voice got deeper and close to your ear when he was talking to you. Eventually you had enough, confronting him as he was stocking up on supplies.

“Alright I get it. You have proven your point,” you speak up. “You can kindly cut it out”

You see him give you an innocent look, but there was still a mischievous glint in his eye.

“I ain’t not got the foggiest idea what you’re talking about,” Higgs replied, causing your eye to twitch. “Cut what out?”

“You know what don’t play dumb!”

He leans back against the shelves, arms crossed as he gives you a little grin.

“You’re cute when you get all flustered,” he comments. “Now what was that you said about not being high enough of a level?”

“You’re an asshole,” was all you could think up to say. Higgs only chuckled as he stalked towards you.

“Now don’t be like that babydoll, ain’t nothing wrong with admitting your coding was easier to solve than you thought! But think of it this way, we can finally get this stupid will they won’t they shit out of the way and go back to main storyline.”

You roll your eyes, trying your best not to look up at him but he gave you no choice as he almost pressed against you.

“Although…we can also shut that little door and I can show you just how high of approval rate you got me at.”

That got you, jerking your head up at him in shock as he laughs.