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the-moons-tears · 4 months ago

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His siren

Brant x f!siren!reader (spicy but not full nsfw) Wuwa

Evening! This was the top voted prompt from the poll sorry it took so long I had many tests to take and study for 🫠

I’m so ready to pull for him omgggg

Preview: he continued, “I must believe it to be true, as I can’t stop thinking about whether you feel soft to hold, to kiss…”

Scales shimmered in the moonlight, jingling on a rope from the rhythm of waves that jostled the ship. “Siren” scales, so the old man that sold them claimed to the curious sailor. They were so enchanting where they hung in the corner of a large bay window in Brant’s quarters. The light reflected off them, casting the scale’s color along the walls and other items that captured his interest. A myth, he told himself, but ended up paying for the trinket anyway. Sometimes he could swear a certain jostle would cause the scales to create a melody as they touched. The sounds would return in his dreams, so much so that the urge to search for this “myth” became too much. It wouldn’t hurt to look, as the sea often hid many secrets. Glancing again at the scales, drink in hand, he thought of an idea. If he wanted to find something in the sea, he’d have to offer something in return.

You cursed as you stared at your reflection from atop the rock. The waves weren’t the best source of a mirror, but you could still tell where the healing wound was on your beautiful but not so flawless anymore tail. You were missing more than seven scales. Seven! They took ages to grow back, and they were missing all in one spot from a fisherman’s spear throw that happened to strike true. The embarrassment you felt was huge, although there were no other sirens around to make fun of you for it. The worst part was that you couldn’t find your missing scales. You liked to keep them, make jewelry from your own beauty by putting it in your hair, on your ears, or to your breast coverings, but after scraping the sea floor and coming up empty handed, you gave up on looking.

It frustrated you. Clearly you underestimated the old man’s sight as you swam closer than usual under a boat. You guess he had seen your shadow and immediately thrown his weapon. It hurt of course, and you panicked, swimming quickly downward and out of sight, bleeding from your tail as seven precious scales floated up to the surface.

Sighing, you turned away from the water, resting your head on your palm. The air was nice, something you couldn’t feel under water. The small retractable gills under your jaw helped filter oxygen through water, but having another set of lungs allowed you to breathe air like a human above the sea. Often you’d think about the human’s and their activities on the ocean. Pirates were the most interesting to you. You’d heard that in the distant past, pirates used to hunt for your kind, keeping them as treasures among their hoards of wealth. Crazy as it might have sounded, you were curious about their treasures. Pirates seemed to have the same taste in all things that glittered under the sun as you did. Would it be so bad to be a pirate’s beloved treasure that they tended to be so possessive over?

In exploring the shipwrecks that had sunken to the depths, you always found the captain, clad in gold and shimmering gems that were still in those skeletal hands. They all seemed to love their treasure, dying covered in it with their ship. A fascinating attachment to their material things you thought. Some even had gems embedded in their teeth, many of those teeth hanging around your neck as decor now.

Your fingers ran over the sensitive barred flesh where your scales were missing, annoyed at the absence of the hard sheen that coated the entirety of your tail. The beautiful fins attached to your back and tail end flopped on the rock, much like an annoyed cat thumped its own tail on the ground to let it be known they were frustrated.

What could you do to lift your spirits? Spirits?…drinks…Sometimes when rummaging through sunken pirate treasure, you’d find closely sealed bottles that hadn’t broken under the pressure of the water, containing some dark colored liquid that made you feel hot and funny. You really liked those when you drank them on your rock, and since they were pretty hard to find, you usually kept them for rare occasions. This seemed like a very important occasion you reasoned with yourself, and quickly retreated back into the depths to gather a bottle to bring back up.

After several minutes of turning your fingers red trying to get the damn cork off, the bottle popped, little drops of the liquid flying out. The tang of it hit your tongue nicely, and soon the bottle was almost gone. You kind of forgot about your scale dilemma, singing to yourself your favorite songs that the sea had taught you.

In the middle of your one siren performance, you heard a familiar chime. It was too distant to come from your own scale made trinkets, but you knew the sound well. They were yours. Shaking your head from the heat of the drink, you set down the now empty bottle haphazardly. You were going to get those scales back. The sound of your body crashing into the water was muffled by the waves bashing up on cliffs and rocks, your water dynamic form cruising through the deep. You could hear the sounds underwater, the uncanny magic of your own scales calling out to you. There, they were hanging from a string above a ship. Swimming closer to the surface, you noticed other shimmering items beside your scales, glittering like the gold and jewels found on pirate captain remains. Your eyes gleamed with want, so quickly you dive deep before dashing upward with your tail, preparing to make the leap above.

Brant wasn’t planning on making contact with a siren, even seeing the shadow of one drawn by the sound of what was hopefully its scales would be enough to satiate his curiosity. The last thing he wanted to do was take a mythical creature captive for his own gain. Holding out the scales on a string, he let the wind do its work, moving the shards against each other to create the sound that haunted his dreams. The myths seemed to lead him to believe that siren’s were quite possessive over their things, often vain with carefully put together visages to attract sailors. Brant didn’t know if it was true, all he knew was that the song enchanted him, though no voice came from the scales.

Looking down in the waters, he saw it, a human-fish like shadow that moved fluidly. It disappeared just as quickly, retreating to the depths. A smile spread on his face, and his hand almost went to drop the scales, returning them to their owner, but before his fingers could fully loosen, a giant splash of water came from below. The sound prompted him to look quickly, quickly enough to see you, a beautiful real creature coming up to him, eyes locked with the string that had the same colors as your tail. Your momentum sent you tumbling into his, your giant tail over his legs with you on top of his chest.

The human’s chest had a very strange mark along it, and touching it let your fingers feel a bit of a hum, like the sensation of a current. The skin was soft and warm, but what attracted you most were the sparkling trinkets adorning him. There were shining circles that punctured his ears, and a big square like piece on his waist. Your hands went to fiddle with it, to which the man made an embarrassed yelp, trying to slide away. The weight of you on top held him down, your tail a bigger weight due to your years in the sea. Before you messed with it more, you heard a slight clink on the deck right beside his shoulders. Quickly your hand shot out to grab the string of scales, your scales.

“Beautiful siren, do you speak?” The human man below you voiced, a wide incredulous smile gracing his handsome features, like this encounter was the most magical thing that ever happened to him. Holding your scales close, you eyed him up and down narrowly. This man was not the one that attacked you, so how did he have them? In the end, you thought, it didn’t matter as long as you got them back. Your movements caused the many decor pieces on you to jingle, catching light on your already graceful form. His eyes sparkled, widening when you respond,

“I am familiar with many human languages.” You brought your hands up, adjusting your wet hair now that you were above water. When he looked as if to carry a conversation, you turned sharply, hearing whispers. The pirate under you was cautious, telling the crewman and others who were attracted to the strange sight to back up as you sat there unhappy at the people interrupting your time with your handsome new fascination. A short girl with pink and violet hair shooed the crowd away with the help of a box, knowing a creature like you probably didn’t want that kind of distraction when you were focused on the thing, or man, of your interest. Mythical creatures deserved respect. The annoyance faded quickly, as your attention returned to the man you had below you. Leaning down, your chests touched as your hand fidgeted with one of his earrings. “Do you have many of these shining things? I want to see them.”

“Yes, our fool’s troupe has many wonders! I…never expected they would grace the sight of a mythical siren. Captain Brant at your service miss…” He paused, allowing you to tell your name. you told him, the origin sounding foreign to the rinascitan man. The captain seemed theatrical, a fiery personality that you hoped kept some shiny treasures. Your hand left his earring to reach for his hat, holding it up and inspecting it. You didn’t know what it was, but copied how he wore it. Brant laughed lightly in disbelief at your curious behavior, but you were getting a little impatient. You wanted to see the hoards of pirate treasure that must have been stowed away somewhere.

As Brant sat up carefully, you threw your arms over him, causing him to steady you both a little awkwardly, one of his hands supporting your side. His warmth was very attractive to you, a contrast to the waters that were often very cold where there wasn’t much sun. “Do siren’s drink?” The captain sounded surprised, the smell of alcohol defined now that you were so close. You couldn’t tell what he meant, too focused on the strange anatomy of the man below you, and how his warm hand felt on your hip.

The gills on your neck had retracted into your skin to suit your lungs breathing in oxygen outside of water. Brant’s clothes were soaked, sticking to him from where you landed on him, which was almost his whole body. Accounting for tail length, you would have beaten his height by many inches if you laid side by side to compare. Brant took a breath before speaking to let you know he was going to lift you up. “Alright, let’s get you up then.”

Brant adjusted his hand on your waist, the other hand coming under your tail to position you more in his lap. With your arms around him as added support, he lifted you up before using his long legs to get a stance on the deck. Your shimmering tail hang low with the lustrous fins almost touching the wood deck, but the pirate captain made it seem like no big deal. His expression was curious, the texture of your tail certainly something new to him. The hat on your head was still secure as he walked down stairs in the giant ship, briefly pausing to put his back to the doors to his quarters.

The smell of the sea was still present even in the room. Jeweled trinkets hung from different places, and different vases had gold almost woven into the ceramic. There were chests, open and full of necklaces and fabrics. Closest to you, was a little moving creature. It looked like the other ceramic things, but it was filled with water, and gave a little bark like an animal when you were carried in.

“I figured you can’t be out of water too long, so I had one of my crewmates bring a tubpup down full of seawater. You don’t mind if I set you in it do you?”

You nodded, still taking in the different aspects of the room, eyes landing on the bed like structure covered in intricately designed pillows and metalwork of the frame. You also noticed several bottles laying around, asking, “are those bottles that have the dark liquid? They make you feel warm.” Brant glanced at them as he lowered you into the water, hands slipping away from you.

“So you do drink wine! Where would you get things like that in the sea?”

“Many sunken ships have tightly sealed chests which have ‘wine, and they are quite good, although the pressure makes most of them break, making them a rare find.” Watching closely, your eyes followed Brant’s movements to grab two glass cups and the bottle of what you now knew as wine. He brought them over, setting them down before pulling a chest full of gems over. Your finger went in quickly, pulling out a handful of sparkly things. A jeweled necklace with rubies like his eyes, earrings that were wire wrapped around polished peridot gems, and a silver cup with embedded citrine gemstones.

Coins fell from your handfull into the tub, metal reflecting off your scales while Brant poured the dark wine into the two glasses. The shimmer caught Brant’s eyes, and he moved closer to look. Your tail hung out of the tub a bit, too long for the whole tub to fit, but it wasn’t uncomfortable for you. His eyes sparkled with curiosity about your scales, the glistening seeming to entrance him the same way when he had your string of scales. Handing you a glass full of your favorite drink, he took a sip of his own and rested his arm on the top of the tub, simply looking at your tail and uniquely strung together jewelry. The seven missing scales were tied to a string you wore, probably to be taken off later for some other purpose.

His hat was still on your head, so he figured you quite liked it. Your cup was empty before he could fully take you in, and you handed it to him for him to fill it again, your lower fins moving contently under the water in the tub. After handing you a second glass, the captain asked softly, “would it be intruding to ask your permission to touch your tail?”

Lifting much of your tail out of the water, you let the larger fins and scaled parts land practically in his hands, making him have to move his glass away so as to not drop it from the sudden weight. The iridescence was fascinating, and the rays from outside cast an ethereal glow on your already luminous form. His calloused hands ran over your scales gently, fingers tracing the pattern they made to protect the flesh beneath. Tilting the glass all the way up, you downed your second large glass, small murmurs coming from your throat.

“Captain Brant, do you sing well?” You sighed out, fins flexing and moving in his grasp. Gently putting your tail back in the tub, he drank the rest of his own share, fingers wiping a stray drop from his lip to answer, “I have my fair share of practice in it. Being on the sea would be a little dull without a song wouldn’t it? I enjoyed the song your scales sang to me particularly before I returned them if I could be so honest.”

“Mm yes, what folk songs do you know that pirates sing? I have never heard any before.” You watched him down a third glass before standing, bowing and turning his back to you. Suddenly he broke out into character, recounting a story he had heard, which then turned into a folk tale you began to quickly like. His theatrical voice and playful tone had you smiling and raising another glass to his wild whimsy. The wine had made you both tipsy, you giving a little hiccup as you started singing the chorus with him after hearing him sing it before.

The behavior was wild and full of merry joy, Brant decorating you with more jewels like a character he described in another story. The festive bonding between the siren and pirate captain lasted for an hour or two more, until you both sang yourselves to near sundown. Being the treasure of a pirate was the best, you thought as you nearly fell out of the tub, your head swimming from the wine. Brant was on the floor beside it laying over soft fabrics, clothes still damp. Adjusting the hat on your head, you climbed over, falling onto him with the rest of your tail landing with a thump on the floor. Your head sought to bury itself into his neck as your hands searched for warmth from his body.

Brant grunted, cheeks flushed from wine and the proximity you shared. His words slurred as he spoke, “beautiful siren, is it true you can enchant sailors to fall in love at first sight?”

Pulling back to peer down at him, you noticed with the boldness the wine gave you how kissable a pirate looked. His lips were wet, and his mouth slightly parted, chest rising heavily as he looked up at your form. “I…” he continued, “I must believe it to be true, as I can’t stop thinking about whether you feel soft to hold, to kiss…”

His eyes were sparkling, holding adventure and a desire for things unknown to him, like the woman above him. Sitting forward from his flat down position with you on him, he tilted his face up, his hands coming where you guided them, up the small of your back and below your shoulder blades. With slow, teasing motions, you peeled the billowy shirt and jacket down, revealing glistening skin where the water hadn’t dried from your encounter.

“I have no such magic, captain…” you whispered back in a subtle tone, encouraging him to keep going. Your hands lightly ran over the black mark over his chest, feeling the hum it made as well as the fast beating heart underneath. He sighed, pleased at how your hand danced on his skin, coming up to tilt his jaw. His eyes open briefly to catch you smiling, before pulling you closer, closing the distance between you. Those lips were indeed soft, warm as every part of him was.

Pushing him back down, you used the movement to open his mouth, allowing your kiss to turn heated. The tang of wine hit you as your tongues met, Brant giving a small whimper like grunt beneath you. His hat had fallen off the the side, forgotten in your desire for more of him. It felt strange, to want something other than shiny things and trinkets. A siren and a pirate intertwined on the floor. His hand was feather light along your curves, gentle and careful in his caresses, dipping down to your side to feel the scales again.

“Brant…” you whispered against his lips, words slurred by the burning heat of the wine in your bodies. His eyes glimmered when his name fell from your mouth, fingers twitching at the syllables. His breath was hot, lips pressing into your neck, jingling the jewels and strings of gold and silver. Time passed slow, and you were sure you’d come to find other treasures he was hiding besides gems and pearls, helping him sing in other ways. Being with a pirate didn’t sound too bad.

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loveesiren · 4 months ago

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𝖢𝗋𝗈𝗌𝗌 𝖬𝗒 𝖧𝖾𝖺𝗋𝗍 (𝖯𝗍. 4)

Choi Seunghyun x f!reader x Kwon Jiyong | Masterlist

a/n: Please read the warnings before continuing this part of the story. If you are uncomfortable with the contents in this story, please don't hesitate to DM me for a quick summary of what happens without going into detail! You are responsible for the content you read and your triggers. MDNI 18+

Also, I have always openly been pro-choice and supportive of women's reproductive freedoms so if that bothers you at all, this isn't the blog for you.

synopsis: Y/n receives some unsettling news. The weight of all her past decisions and now future ones are weighing down on her. But her boyfriend is there for her no matter what.

warnings: ABORTION (pill form), side effects of the pill (cramping, bleeding, vomiting), language, a bit of self-loathing, fluffy fluff, Seunghyun being the sweetest man in the world

wc: 3.8k+

The last month with Seunghyun had been nothing short of magic. You floated through your days on a cloud of warmth and laughter, your cheeks aching from the constant smile he effortlessly drew from you. He had a way of making the world feel lighter, of making you feel cherished in a way you hadn’t even realized you craved.

He loved helping you with your designs, offering input that was sometimes playful, sometimes insightful, but always supportive. And in return, you adored watching him practice his choreography, mesmerized by the way he moved—fluid, powerful, effortless. It was impossible not to be captivated by him. And when he was in the studio, his deep, melodic voice wrapping around lyrics like honey, you sat in quiet admiration, drinking in every note.

You were in awe every single day that this man was yours.

But while your world revolved around Seunghyun, Jiyong remained in the background, distant and unreadable. He only spoke to you when necessary, his words clipped and formal. You barely noticed the way his gaze lingered on you when you laughed at Seunghyun’s jokes, or the way his jaw tensed when you beamed at the older man like he hung the stars.

Jiyong wondered—if he had treated you differently, if he had just let himself be softer with you, would you be looking at him that way instead?

But life was good. You were happy.

Until your annual physical changed everything.

The doctor’s words echoed in your head, reverberating like the aftershock of an explosion.

Eight weeks pregnant.

Your fingers clutched at the crinkling paper beneath you as though it could ground you, keep you from unraveling completely. Your lungs felt too tight, like the walls were closing in, like the ceiling was pressing down on you.

"Y/n?" The doctor’s voice was gentle, too gentle, as if she hadn’t just detonated a grenade at your feet. "Are you okay?"

No. No, you were not okay.

"I…" The word barely made it past your lips, strangled and weak. Your mouth was dry, your throat constricted by an invisible force. "I can’t be pregnant."

But the test said otherwise.

The doctor knelt beside you, her fingers curling around your trembling hand, offering comfort that felt both too much and not enough all at once. "You have options," she murmured, her thumb tracing slow, deliberate circles over your skin.

Options. That was the cruelest part, wasn’t it? That this wasn’t some nightmare you could wake up from, some mistake you could erase. It was real. And there was only one way to make it unreal.

A single tear slid down your cheek. Then another. You swiped at them angrily, disgusted with yourself for crying when all you felt was terror.

"I need it gone," you whispered, the words barely audible. "I can’t do this. Please."

"Okay," the doctor said softly. "Take a deep breath for me."

You obeyed, though it did little to steady the storm inside you.

"If this is what you want, you have two choices," she continued.

"O-Okay…" Your voice shook.

"You’re still early enough to take a pill. You can do it at home if that would be easier for you."

"What’s the other option?"

"A procedure at the clinic. You’d need someone to drive you home. Is your partner in the picture?"

You hesitated. The question shouldn’t have felt like a knife in your chest, but it did.

"Uhm… he—he’s not the father."

The doctor nodded, not pressing for details. "I see. Well, if you prefer, I can get you the pill today. Otherwise we will have to make an appointment for you to come back."

"Can I-" You swallowed hard, your pulse pounding in your ears. "Can I do it tonight?"

"Yes. I’ll give you the first dose here, and you’ll take the second at home later on. You will experience cramping, bleeding—it’s normal. But if anything feels off, call us immediately. I’d like to see you again next week to check in."

"Okay." Your voice was barely more than breath.

"Are you sure this is what you want?"

You nodded quickly, desperation clawing at your insides. "Yes. Yes, please. I need to do this."

The doctor nodded, offering a sympathetic smile before she disappeared for a moment, returning with a small paper cup and a bottle of water. "First, take these."

You hesitated, staring at the tiny pills resting in your palm. The weight of them felt heavier than anything you’d ever held.

Then, before you could change your mind, you swallowed them down.

She handed you a box, containing the pills for later. “Take these at 7 pm. It could take about 1 to 4 hours to start experiencing pain. Everyone is different.” She explained. “Here’s everything you can expect to happen. And I wrote down our 24-hour line if you have any questions.” She said, handing you some paperwork and pamphlets.

“Thank you.”

By the time you reached your car, the numbness cracked, giving way to an avalanche of emotion. You let out a guttural scream, raw and broken, gripping the steering wheel as sobs wracked your body.

You hadn’t seen this moment coming. But your own careless actions had led you here, and now it was yours to bear. Alone. Or so you thought…

You made it back to your apartment in a daze, collapsing onto the couch, the stack of papers and pamphlets feeling like a lead weight in your lap. Your eyes were red, swollen, your chest tight with grief you didn’t know how to process.

You had no idea what to do or how to make this okay. There was only one person who could make this feel even a fraction less unbearable.

With shaky fingers, you picked up your phone and dialed his number.

"Hey, baby! How was the doctor?" Seunghyun’s voice was soothing, filled with warmth and love.

You swallowed the lump in your throat. "Seunghyun…"

His tone shifted instantly. "Baby, what’s wrong?"

"I… I need you." Your voice cracked. Tears welled up again, threatening to spill over.

"I’m on my way." His response was immediate, resolute. You could hear the rustling of his jacket, the jingle of keys. "Fifteen minutes, Jagi. Just hold on, okay?"

"Okay," you whispered, clinging to the phone like a lifeline. "Th-Thank you…"

The wait was agonizing. You sat in suffocating silence, playing out the conversation in your head, the shame curling in your gut like a living thing. What would he say? Would he still want you? The two of you hadn’t even had sex yet. But here you were, knocked up by someone else. Not just anyone else, but his best fucking friend.

A soft knock at the door jolted you from your thoughts. You wiped at your face with your sleeves before getting up to open it.

Seunghyun stood there, slightly out of breath, offering you a small, apologetic smile. "I didn’t have time to get you a flower," he murmured. "Sorry, Jagiya."

The dam broke. You fell into his arms, sobbing against his chest as he held you, his embrace firm, unyielding.

"It’s okay," he murmured, running a soothing hand down your back. "I’m here. I’ll always be here."

And that only made you cry harder.

He guided you to the couch, keeping you wrapped in his warmth, waiting patiently until your breathing evened out. Then, he pulled back just enough to cup your face, pressing soft kisses to your damp cheeks.

"Sweet girl," he murmured, "tell me what happened."

"I fucked up," you choked out. "I fucked up bad."

"I doubt that," he said gently.

You inhaled shakily, glancing at the table where the pills and paperwork sat. "You know how you said our past doesn’t define us?"

"Of course."

You hesitated, then exhaled. "I was with someone before we got together.” You explained slowly. “It wasn’t serious. He was a prick, honestly…"

Seunghyun followed your gaze, his eyes landing on the mess of papers. He wasn’t sure exactly what he was looking at until he saw the word Abortion written boldly across a pamphlet. Understanding dawned in his expression.

"You’re pregnant," he said softly.

He was silent for a minute, processing the news he had just uncovered. You stared at him with glossy eyes, waiting for him to say something. Anything.

Then, he reached for your hand “Okay…so what happens next? What did the doctor say?”

You looked at him, puzzled. He wasn’t mad. He wasn’t storming out, calling you a whore. He was calm.

“I, uhm…I’m not keeping it.” You said. You took a deep breath. “The doctor gave me pills at the appointment. I have to take these ones at 7…”

“Does it hurt?” He asked.

“She said there will be cramping…and bleeding��”

“Okay. I’ll stay with you. I’ll help you however I can.”

You looked at him with wide eyes. “You-You’re not mad at me?”

"Accidents happen," he said, squeezing your fingers. "If this is what you want, I’ll be here. If you’d chosen differently, I’d be here too."

You sniffled again. “I really don’t deserve you.” You said sadly.

“Don’t say things like that.” He said, pulling you close.

“Thank you.” You whispered, clinging to him tightly. You couldn’t believe how calm he was. He didn’t even ask about who you were with before. You just couldn’t believe how perfect he was. You never wanted to do anything to hurt him, ever.

That’s why Jiyong had to stay a secret.

As the night wore on, an unexpected sense of clarity settled over you. The earlier panic had dulled into something quieter—acceptance, maybe. Or just exhaustion. Either way, you felt more sure of your decision than you had before.

Seunghyun had been by your side the entire time, slipping out only to grab a few things—a heated blanket, some soft foods, and a stuffed bunny he thought might bring you comfort. It was small, gray with floppy ears, the kind of thing a child might cling to. And yet, as he handed it to you with a gentle smile, your fingers closed around it instinctively, as if it could somehow anchor you.

He had taken the time to read through every page of the instructions and pamphlets, wanting to understand what to expect, making sure you had everything you needed, ensuring you’d be as comfortable as possible. It was such a small thing, but it made your chest ache. He was trying so hard to take care of you, to protect you from something he couldn’t possibly fix. And God, you loved him for it.

Dinner was light—just something to put in your stomach so you wouldn’t take the pills on an empty one. But eating felt like a chore, each bite turning to sawdust in your mouth. Seunghyun practically had to coax you into finishing your meal, his eyes full of silent understanding. No words, just patience.

Afterward, you curled up in his lap, tucking your head against his chest as the two of you watched a movie. He held you close, running his fingers through your hair, rubbing slow, comforting circles against your back. Every now and then, he placed a soft kiss on your temple, your cheek—reminders that he was there, that you weren’t alone.

It lulled you into a drowsy peace, your body sinking further into his warmth, until—

“Jagi…” His voice was a whisper against your hair. “It’s almost 7.”

Your stomach twisted violently, the words alone had the power to unsteady you. You sat up slowly, pulling the heated blanket around yourself, gripping the stuffed bunny to your chest. Your hair was tousled, your face still puffy from the tears you’d shed earlier, but none of that mattered.

“Are you ready?” he asked, his voice impossibly soft.

You swallowed the lump in your throat. “Ready as I’ll ever be, I guess.”

Seunghyun cupped your cheek, his thumb brushing lightly over your skin before pressing a lingering kiss against it. “I’ll get you some water.”

As he got up, your eyes landed on the box sitting on the coffee table. You reached for it, turning it over in your hands, as if staring at it long enough would change what was inside. The first dose had been easy—nothing had changed yet. But this? This would be final. This would put an end to the madness you had created.

You sighed.

A family. Children. It had never been something you seriously considered before. Your career has always been your focus, your schedule too chaotic to even entertain the thought. But now, for the first time, you wondered—if you had thought about it before, would you have been more careful? Would you have stopped yourself from being so reckless with Jiyong?

But there was no use in wondering. What’s done is done, and all you could do now was face the consequences and make your decision.

At least you didn’t have to do it alone.

“Okay, here you go…” Seunghyun murmured, handing you the glass of water as he settled back beside you.

“Thanks…” You muttered, voice barely above a whisper.

Silence stretched between you. Seunghyun sat awkwardly as you stared down at the pills in your palm, unsure of how to help. There was nothing he could say, nothing he could do to make this easier, and you could see the helplessness in his eyes.

A tear slid down your cheek, unbidden. You weren’t even sure why. Was it fear? Anger? The fact that you hadn’t even hesitated in your decision? Or maybe… guilt.

How would Jiyong react if he knew?

He could never know.

“Am I a bad person?” The question tumbled from your lips before you could stop it. You kept your eyes locked on the pills, afraid to meet Seunghyun’s gaze. “Am I… am I a bad person for doing this?”

“Oh, Jagi…” Seunghyun sighed, shifting closer. “Of course not. It’s a hard decision, but only you know if it’s the right one. Does it feel right?”

You exhaled shakily. “Yeah… Yeah, I think so. I’m not ready for kids. Especially with...” You trailed off.

“And that’s okay.” He said. He didn’t push for answers. He didn’t want to know.

Your breath hitched slightly. “Can this stay between us?”

Seunghyun took your hand in his, squeezing gently. “I won’t tell a soul.”

For the first time that night, you truly smiled. It was small, but it was there. And somehow, that tiny gesture gave you the final push you needed.

Without another word, you popped the pills into your mouth and took a long drink of water, swallowing them down in one go. You wiped your mouth with the sleeve of your hoodie and exhaled.

“C’mere,” Seunghyun murmured, opening his arms. Without hesitation, you scooted into his embrace, letting him tuck you back against him as the movie played on in the background.

You felt yourself start to doze off again, hoping—praying—that maybe, just maybe, you could sleep through the night.

But that hope shattered an hour and a half later.

A violent wave of nausea hit you so hard it was disorienting. Your stomach twisted painfully, bile rising in your throat with alarming speed.

“Oh, God…” you gasped, slapping a hand over your mouth as you bolted from the couch, rushing into the bathroom and slamming the door shut just in time.

The retching was brutal. Your entire body trembled as you clung to the toilet, heaving until there was nothing left inside you. Tears burned your eyes, your throat raw from the force of it. The room spun, and for a brief moment, you thought you might pass out.

After what felt like forever, you finally slumped back against the cold tile floor, utterly spent.

"Y/n?" Seunghyun’s voice was muffled through the door. “Are you okay? Can I get you anything?”

You took a shaky breath. “I’m okay…” Your voice was hoarse. “I just… I just need a minute.”

A pause. Then, gently, “Okay… Let me know if you need anything.” He wasn’t sure what else he could say. He felt helpless standing on the other side of the door as you sat in pain.

You closed your eyes, exhaustion settling in deep. “Thank you…”

This was going to be a long night.

And it was.

The hours passed in uncomfortable waves. The nausea came once more before the cramping set in, sharp and relentless. You curled up on the couch, wincing as each wave of pain rolled through you, trying to focus on the TV for a distraction. It didn’t work.

Seunghyun stayed close, his hand resting softly on your stomach, tracing slow, careful circles in an attempt to soothe the ache. It didn’t stop the pain, but the warmth of his touch was grounding.

And then, it happened.

You knew. Not just because of the blood. You could feel it—the shift, the emptiness, the finality of it all.

You sat on the floor of your shower, your knees pulled to your chest as the warm water cascaded over you, washing away the remnants of the day. Washing away the last piece of Jiyong.

You hated yourself for it, but you breathed a sigh of relief.

Your eyes fluttered open, adjusting to the darkness that still cloaked the room. The faintest traces of sunlight slipped through the curtains, casting soft shadows against the walls. The quiet hum of the city outside was distant, muffled, as if the world itself had slowed to match the exhaustion weighing down your body.

But the ache in your abdomen refused to let you rest any longer. A dull, persistent cramping settled low in your stomach, an unwelcome reminder of everything you had endured the night before.

Yet, wrapped in Seunghyun’s arms, you felt safe.

His strong arm draped over you protectively, anchoring you to him. His chest rose and fell in a slow, steady rhythm against your back, his warmth cocooning you in a way that made the pain feel a little less sharp. You weren’t ready to move just yet. You weren’t ready to leave this moment.

You burrowed deeper into him, your body instinctively seeking out his comfort, your fingers lightly tracing the arm around your waist.

A sleepy murmur came from behind you. “How are you feeling?”

His voice was hoarse with sleep, rough around the edges in a way that sent warmth curling through your chest.

You exhaled softly. “It still hurts a little… but it’s not as bad.”

He shifted slightly, tightening his hold on you as his lips brushed against the nape of your neck, a silent reassurance. “Can I get you anything?”

You hesitated. The answer was yes—there were a hundred things you could have asked for. A heating pad, another blanket, tea… something to help fill the empty space inside you.

But more than anything, you just wanted him.

“Just… hold me a little longer,” you whispered, barely audible in the quiet room.

“I can hold you all day, baby,” he murmured, pressing a gentle kiss to your shoulder. “I already told everyone we wouldn’t around today.”

That made you stir slightly, turning your head just enough to glance at him over your shoulder. “What did you tell them?”

He chuckled lightly, his breath warm against your skin. “Food poisoning.”

You let out a soft laugh, shaking your head. “Of course you did.”

“I had to come up with something, Jagiya. You think I was gonna tell them I wanted to stay home and cuddle my girl all day?” He teased, a sleepy smile tugging at his lips.

Your heart swelled at his words. My girl.

You shifted in his arms, turning fully to face him. He instinctively slid his hand to your hip, keeping you close. His face was still heavy with sleep, his hair sticking up in every direction, his lips slightly swollen. His puffy, half-lidded eyes met yours, full of unspoken devotion.

God, he was beautiful.

“Morning, Angel,” he murmured, his fingers brushing softly against your side.

You smiled, lifting a hand to smooth down the unruly strands of his hair. “Morning.”

Seunghyun leaned into your touch, his eyes never leaving yours. There was something different in the air between you—something heavy, something unspoken.

Your throat tightened as the words formed at the tip of your tongue, pressing against your lips. Was it too soon? Should you wait?

But the truth sat so heavily in your chest that holding it in any longer felt impossible.

“Seunghyun, I—” You paused, gathering your thoughts, trying to find the right way to say it. “I love you.”

The words hung in the air between you, fragile yet absolute.

His eyes widened slightly, the sleepiness dissipating in an instant. “You do?”

You nodded, suddenly feeling shy under his gaze. “Yeah, I do. And what you did for me last night… you didn’t have to do that. But you did. And I just—” You exhaled, shaking your head. “You don’t have to say it back. Just know that I—”

Seunghyun cut you off by pressing his lips to yours.

The kiss wasn’t rushed or desperate—it was slow, lingering, full of emotion that words couldn’t quite capture. He kissed you like he had been waiting for this moment, like he had been holding onto those same words, just waiting for you to say them first.

You melted into him, wrapping your arm around his neck, pulling him impossibly closer. His fingers traced slow patterns along your waist, grounding you, steadying you.

When you finally pulled away, he rested his forehead against yours, a breathless smile playing at his lips.

“I love you too, Y/n.” His voice was steady, sure—like he had never been more certain of anything in his life.

Your breath hitched slightly. You had hoped for it, but hearing him say it sent a warmth through you that chased away all the darkness lingering in your mind.

“Seeing you go through that last night…” He swallowed hard, his thumb brushing over your cheek. “It broke my heart. I hate seeing you in pain. I just—I’m just glad you trusted me enough to let me be there for you.”

Tears pricked at your eyes, but this time, they weren’t from sadness or guilt. They were from the overwhelming love you felt for the man in front of you.

You had no idea what you had done to deserve this. To deserve him.

But God, you were grateful.

You reached up, cupping his cheek, your thumb tracing over the stubble that shadowed his jaw. “I know it’s a lot to ask… but… can we never talk about it again?” Your voice was small, hesitant. “I just want to move forward… with you. Only you.”

Seunghyun didn’t hesitate. He smiled softly, tilting his head to press another lingering kiss to your lips.

“Of course, baby,” he murmured against your skin. “Just you and me now, yeah?”

You nodded, letting yourself sink back into his embrace. “Just you and me.”

Tags: @fr3akyyg1rll @heuningpie @sapph1r3x @moondooll @tranquilty @noharaaa @mariaxman @dear-satan @infinetlyforgotten @staryscorner @blu-brrys @come-as-you-are-111 @nicklet94 @vamplivivi @3mma-lovely @hanadulsetaad @sayugarper @forevervibezzzz1 @shieraseastarrs @mooonologyy @skzdreamz @stillpervert @seunghyunwifey @juliskopf @mirahyun @mattsturniolosbabymama @kai-277 @rotten-toenails @i-might-be-vanny @zzhengyu @petersasteria @manuzicaveyr @maskedcrawford @gdinthehouseee @aizshallnotbefoundhallnotbefound @babygirlewis @multifanxtvshows @readin0nsense @anonymip @lilysdoll @uuchii @pinkpunkdynamite @lariem-blog2 @sherxoo @honeyblossom112-2 @succulentpk @topluvr @bvbgirl21 @1950schick @gdgirl21 @hotbutbothered @ixon-kxnnedy @c1delight @fleabagspurplewife

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souliebird · 3 months ago

Text

[[and then I met you || Ch. 35]]

Series: Daredevil || Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader || Rating: Explicit

Summary:

A one-night stand years ago gave you a daughter and you are now able to put a name to her father – Matthew Murdock. Everything is about to change again as you navigate trying to integrate your life with that of the handsome and charming blind lawyer’s while Matt realizes he needs to not only protect his new family from Hell's Kitchen, but from the world.

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He dreams of hands.

They are soft and delicate, but they do not treat him as such. They wrap around his throat, tightening and cutting off his air until he is left gasping and wheezing - nails dig into him, breaking his flesh and drawing up dots of blood.

But the hands do not hurt him. They do not cause pain.

They only bring him pleasure.

They make him feel Desired.

Wanted.

They claw desperately at him, not holding back as they squeeze and tear at him. He isn’t treated as something delicate - something that will crack and break under the slightest pressure. He arches into them as he is marked with thin lines of scratches - begs with what voice he can muster for more.

More.

He’s teased to the point of almost too much before the hands reset.

Whatever they plan for him, he submits so easily to it.

He yearns for it when one leaves his neck to force open his jaw. He is in bliss as his lips are pushed back so his teeth are exposed like he’s an animal in need of inspection. A thumb tests the sharpness of his canines before more digits are added to completely fill his mouth. His head is tilted and guided so he can be thoroughly examined and he prays the fingers will gag him - be shoved down his throat so all he can taste is their saltiness.

But they don’t. They retract until only the tips remain, keeping him from being able to close his mouth. A low whine escapes his throat in protest, something weak and pathetic and needy, and the response he gets is more pressure to his windpipe until he’s struggling to breathe.

As his lungs become desperate for oxygen, something viscous begins to drip into his waiting maw and he wastes no time drinking down whatever the gift is. It is tangy and musky, but sweet and he wants it to coat the inside of his mouth.

He wants to drown in it.

As he begins to overflow and get his wish, the hands holding him down begin to fade into nothingness and he is left floating in the abyss.

But he is not alone.

He is wrapped within the drumming of twin beats - one is stronger than the other, but they are both steady. They are both warm. They call to him and the beast inside his chest trills out in response - he wants to be with them. To be a part of them.

Soon, the smaller beat begins to morph - it’s firm ‘thuds’ stretching and bending until they are words.

“Daddy, wake up.”

Matt’s eyes blink open.

Despite their uselessness in terms of sight, the act still helps him wake up and fight off his grogginess as he begins to process all the inputs he is receiving. The most obvious and important of the signals he is getting is that of his precious daughter, standing next to the bed, just by his chest.

She does not seem distressed in any way, so he does not panic. He lets himself yawn and for his brain to catch up to being awake before he responds.

“Yes, princess?” he asks, voice still thick with sleep. He doesn’t move, hoping that whatever has his daughter out of bed is trivial and he won’t have to get up just yet. He has no idea what time it is, but he gets so little rest that even an extra few minutes will do him wonders.

“Daddy!” Minnie’s voice is filled with absolute delight at his acknowledgement, but is also a fraction above a whisper - like she is just barely breathing out the words. Matt’s lips turn up into a soft smile as he realizes she’s trying to be quiet so she will not wake the other person sleeping in his bed. You are deep in Dreamland, but you have a Mother's Ear. If you hear Minnie up and talking, you'll jump to attention, and neither he or his princess want that.

He rolls so he is on his side facing his little one, and reaches out to run the back of his index finger over one of her full cheeks, “Why are you awake, baby?”

Mouse preens at the affection, a wide smile taking over her face as she leans into his touch, “I needs help, please thank you,” she starts, her soft voice coming out a little rushed as she tries to tell him everything at once. “I gots up all by myselfs and went pee in the toilets. All by myselfs. Buts, Daddy, I can’t…I can’t reach the sinks. I trieded but it's too high and I can’t reach it. I tried really really hard! Mommy says, Daddy, she says, Mommy says if I can’ts do it myself I gotta ask for help. So I need help, please thank you.”

Matt takes in the information slowly, letting it roll in his brain and combine with everything else he senses.

He can hear the toilet gurgling and refilling after being flushed. He can smell the traces of urine on Minnie’s fingers from her efforts to clean herself. The world begins to bloom around him as he processes what is being asked of him.

A small amount of Pride fills him at her attempts to take care of herself. She wears pull ups to sleep because she is still learning to control her bladder at night, but since Matt has known her, there have been no accidents he is aware of - even in this new environment. It isn’t her fault he has a tall pedestal sink with no step stool for her to use so she can wash her hands.

Rest is important, but his little girl needs him, so Matt rolls himself out of bed.

As soon as he is up on his feet, Minnie is holding up her arms to be picked up, so she is scooped up onto his hips, and her tiny arms go right around his neck. His shirt covers the bruises and cuts that make up his entire torso, but it does nothing to cushion the pain of thirty pounds being bumped into him. He's far too disciplined to wince or grunt, but he reminds himself this is why he needs to work on his defense.

He can't play with his daughter with broken ribs.

As he carries her to the bathroom, he becomes more and more awake and Minnie’s attempts to turn on the sink become more and more obvious.

The faucet is dripping the smallest amount of water, one drop at a time - the handle has just barely been nudged to turn on - and something semi solid has been dragged over to be in front of the sink. Only when Matt is right in front of it and can feel the item with his foot does he realize it’s his empty laundry hamper, but tilted over to be on its side.

He huffs a soft laugh as he imagines his daughter trying to figure out a solution to her hand-washing problem. He loves her cleverness and outside the box toddler thinking.

“Did you try to climb up on the hamper to wash your hands?” he asks, curious as to what the response will be. He's curious about her logic and curious if she'll admit to moving the hamper.

“It’s not strongs enough to hold me,” she grumbles into his shoulder and Matt does nothing to suppress his grin. He likes the answer. He likes how honest and direct she is.

He likes that she follows the rules her mother gave about washing her hands. He likes that she realized she had a problem and attempted to find a solution, and when that didn't work, she came and asked for help.

Matt loves her so so much and he loves all the values you have instilled into her. They are the values that you hold, that you cherish, and think are the most important. Every time he thinks about what a wonderful mother you are, his heart swells and he can't believe God is being so gracious with him.

He thanks the Lord everyday for you and the precious angel you have brought into his life.

Matt gets his foot under the hamper and lifts it back up right with ease, explaining as he does, “It’s made of wicker - that’s a type of tree. It’s hollow inside and that means it can’t support any weight. It’s only meant to hold clothes, not people.” He wants her to understand why her problem solving didn't work. He selfishly wants to encourage this type of behavior. If she can get up at night and wash her own hands, he gets more sleep.

“But I’m a peoples.”

“You are a peoples. But Daddy overlooked not having a step stool for you,” he says, owning up to his oversight. He admittedly has not been around too much during waking hours, unfortunately. The firm has been busy, so Matt has been getting to work at seven thirty in the morning and Minnie gets tired around eight at night. That doesn't give him a lot of time when he gets home at six in the evening. “I’ll get one for you today, okay?”

“Can it be pink?”

Matt agrees to the request as the hamper is returned to its usual home, and once that is done, he assists Minnie by holding her up to the sink so she can thoroughly wash her hands. He is no longer surprised at how seriously she takes the task - his angel always wants to follow any rules her Mommy gives her and he knows first hand how overwhelming dirty hands can be on the senses - and the combination results in Minnie scrubbing enough to make a surgeon jealous.

As his daughter focuses on her task, he lets his hearing open up to the world outside the apartment. He gets the feeling it is still a few hours until sunrise - there is a distinct stillness the city gets between four and six am, and that is just beginning to waiver. In his quick scan, no one gives him an exact time, but he knows well enough that however early it is, his day has started. By the way his little girl is humming while she works, he knows there is no chance of getting her back to sleep. She is up and about and there is no way Matt is going to rouse you from your slumber when he’s perfectly capable and taking care of his angel.

He’s used to working on no sleep and he’ll happily sacrifice a few hours of rest to be able to be with his daughter. Plus, he’ll be in court all day, supporting Foggy as second chair - with all the breaks and waiting around that normally occurs, he can sneak in a few power naps.

He’ll be fine.

As for his morning with his sweet girl, Matt has been wanting to cook with Minnie for a while. Despite his diet of take out and leftovers, he does know his way around a kitchen and he knows for a fact Mouse is the best sous chef New York has to offer. She will be thrilled to help him do something special for her favorite person in the world.

And she will be even more thrilled when Matt tells her the plan is to make her Mommy breakfast in bed. He very much wants to spoil you after you took such good care of him the night before and letting you sleep in will just be the tip of the iceberg.

You deserve the Sun, the Stars, and the Moon, and while he can’t manage that at this exact moment, he can wrangle up a few physical reminders of his adoration.

Minnie gets the last of the soap off her hands and Matt pivots so she can reach the towel to dry herself off. As he does, his mind refocuses to the morning routine and the steps he needs to take before he can enact the first steps of his plan - he needs to get his daughter ready for her day. That means getting her dressed and doing her hair.

He sees no reason to beat around the bush, so he bluntly asks, “how do you want to do your hair today, Princess?”

Mouse gives a tiny gasp and looks up at him with what he can only guess is wonder, “you’re gonna do my hair, Daddy?” Her little hands shoot up and she begins patting around her bed-head curls and he can practically hear the gears turning in her mind as she determines what she wants. You’ve told him a few times that you have been letting her make this big decision in the mornings, so he waits patiently, understanding the need for independence.

“A ponytail!” is the final verdict and Matt is slightly relieved it is nothing complicated.

“We can do a ponytail. Can you pick out some clothes that will go nice with a ponytail?” he asks, knowing the answer will be an enthusiastic ‘yes’. Hair is something he can deal with, but picking out a toddler approved outfit is beyond his skill level for obvious reasons. Minnie is a little fashionista with all her tulle and party dresses and he would hate to make her look like a jester instead of the royalty she is.

He adjusts his hold on her before leaving the bathroom and as he makes his way back to the bedroom, he drops his voice low, “we need to be quiet so we don’t wake Mommy, okay?”

“Quiet,” Mouse breathes in agreement, her face scrunching up with determination as she does. “So we don't wake Mommy.” He knows then that she will try her best to obey him and it makes his heart swell.

He has the sweetest little girl in the world.

He sets her back down just outside the doorway, and to his great surprise, she instantly pushes up to be on her tip toes. She is a bit wobbly, but she has far more control than he expected for a four year old. She turns to him, and in the most authoritative voice he’s heard in a while advises, “we gotta be quiets” before sneaking into the room.

Her steps are exaggerated - she lifts her foot up way too high to be practical before setting it down again and between each movement is a pause to check for noise. He is reminded of an old timey bank robber and he guesses that must be the reference she is mimicking - some Bugs Bunny or Scooby Doo cartoon where silence was crucial. Her antics make him smile and he takes a moment to observe them - noting how she is true to her nickname. She makes no excessive noise and he’s sure if he didn’t have his superior senses, he wouldn’t be able to detect her.

It is amazing to him that something that took years of training for him to master comes so naturally to Minnie. She truly is his miracle, and if he thinks about it for too long, he gets overly emotional and philosophical, so he tucks all his awe away for another time and follows her into the bedroom.

While Mouse follows her mission of picking out some clothes, Matt grabs the bucket of hair supplies from his dresser. He doesn’t know what all the different bottles and products are for, but he takes them all anyway. He is hoping a few more sessions will have him graduating out of the novice category of hair styling and he will be able to do more than the basics.

Apparently, asking Minnie to pick out clothes while being quiet also made her focus, as she selects something from her suitcase in record speed. She exits back into the living room the same time he does, a big smile on her face as she holds up her prizes to present to him. He's pretty sure she's showing him a pair of leggings and a t-shirt dress, but such small clothes are a little harder for him to figure out.

“I wanna wear these.”

“With your ponytail?”

“Yes, please! Thank you!”

With the hard decisions made, he guides Mouse over to the couch and that begins the process of changing her into her day clothes. He’s so very lucky that she finds novelty in him being the one to assist her, because she wants to show him all the right way to do things and that she can get dressed all by herself. He’s only needed to help straighten everything out and to tell her she looks perfect in her apparently pink dress.

Her hair is almost just as easy - Matt finds joy in running his fingers through her bouncy little curls and Minnie can't soak up the affection quick enough. He’s gentle as he manually detangles any knots and he forgoes the brush completely in favor of pulling her hair up with his hands. It is far from the smoothest of ponytails, but as soon as his hands are away from her head, Mouse is running to the nearest reflective surface to examine herself.

She twirls and poses, pretending she is in front of a camera while declaring, “Daddy made me extra pretty!”

He does not need anymore ego boosting, but the compliment goes right into his front pocket and he will be telling Foggy about his accomplishments.

He lets her spin around and have her fun, in no rush to move the morning along. He knows better than anyone that these types of small moments are what his Soul and Heart need and he will cling to them as long as he can. He does wish he knew how to get his phone to take video and pictures, because he knows how much you would cherish them. It is something he plans to work on - not only for you but for him as well. He has daydreams about attending dance recitals and spelling bees and he wants to be the proud dad in the crowd filming everything. He wants to be able to go back to those moments and listen to them anytime he wants to.

But until he actually has the energy and patience to learn more about his phone, he will treasure this time only in his memory.

Minnie gives a final peace sign to her reflection, then she turns and hurries over to Matt with her arms held out to be picked up.

“I’m a kitty!” she eagerly tells him as he once again swings her up onto his hip. She not-so-gently headbutts him in the shoulder, then starts rubbing her cheek against his shirt. “Meow meow meow!”

Her gleefullness is infectious and Matt is quickly grinning while he begins to exaggeratedly pet at her back, “Well, Miss Kitty, I was thinking about making some scrambled eggs and toast for breakfast and I was hoping to have an assistant. Since my daughter seems to have disappeared, do you think you can help me?”

Minnie pulls back so she can look at him, then she reaches up, fingers curled up to make a paw, and starts playfully, but so gently, batting at his cheek. “Meow meow, scrambled eggs and toast? Meow meow. I knows how to make those, I can helps, meow meow!”

“You can help?” He confirms and she nods so hard her curls bounce around behind her. “And you won’t get any fur in the eggs? This is an extra special breakfast.”

“Meow meow, extra special breakfast, meow meow?”

He hums in affirmation and begins to carry his little girl towards the kitchen. “Extra special breakfast. You see, someone I love very very much is still asleep and I think it would be nice to wake her up with breakfast in bed. What do you think, Miss Kitty?”

Matt gets another light bop to the face just as Minnie asks, “Meow meow, is it for Mommy, meow meow?”

“It is for Mommy.”

He sets her on the back counter, away from the stove, and starts to pull out everything he will need to complete his task. As he does, Mouse begins to swing her feet.

“Meow meow, Mommy likes red stuff on her eggies. Meow meow meow,” she tells you, but he has no idea what she is talking about. He’s never noticed if you add something to your eggs, but he’s not entirely sure if you have eaten eggs together. Most of your meals together have been lunch or dinner, and he doesn’t recall any breakfast for dinner scenarios.

“I don’t think I have any red stuff,” he advises as he takes out the milk, eggs, cheese, and butter from the fridge. She is completely nonplussed by the update and keeps up her kitty-time play.

“Meow meow, she likes cheese, toos. Meow meow.”

That makes him chuckle and instead of putting the bag onto the counter, he offers it to his daughter, who eagerly hugs it to her chest. “Do kitties like cheese, too?”

“Meow meow, kitties love cheese! Meow meow meow!”

“What about whisking eggs, do kitties love to do that?”

He doesn’t get a verbal response and he gets about a quarter of a second of warning before Minnie is leaping down from the counter. He darts forward, catching her by the waist as her feet miss brushing the floor by a centimeter, but his hold is no match against a wiggly toddler and she’s running out of the kitchen before his mind can process what just happened.

He stands slowly, his heart slamming in his chest with adrenaline over his sweet girl jumping off something twice her height. She had no fear or second thoughts about it, but all he can imagine is her little body crumbling to the ground in pain.

Is this what he puts Foggy through everytime he puts on his helmet?

He pales at the thought.

“Sweetheart, it wasn’t safe to do that. You could have gotten hurt,” he tells her, feeling like the biggest hypocrite in the world. He’s only very recently started caring about his own well being and he’s thrown himself in danger without thought so many times that he’s pretty sure even God has lost count.

“Kitties land on their feets!” Minnie tells him from across the room, rummaging in her bag of toys. He has no idea what she could possibly be looking for and at the moment, as long as she is safe, he doesn’t care.

He drags a hand over his face, very suddenly understanding why being a parent is a full time job. He is definitely going to add on to his plans to spoil you - Minnie is a sweet angel but you need more than praise for raising her.

She finds whatever she was looking for and runs back towards him with it held high over her head - it is plastic and by the smell of it, he’s pretty sure it came from her kitchen playset.

“I knows how to whisk, meow meow!”

Matt takes a deep breath to reset himself, then lets his affection and love for his daughter take over, “you do, do you?”

“Meow meow, yeah, I can whisk lots of things!” She waves the toy at him, clearly proud of herself, and he chuckles at her sweetness and eagerness. He wanted her help in the kitchen and he is certainly going to get it.

“Okay, then, Chef Miss Kitty, let's make some eggs.”

First thing first, he gets the coffee going. He switched to the brand you prefer the morning after your first time in his apartment and he’s made sure to memorize exactly how you take it so he can give you the perfect cup every time.

Next, he cracks eggs into a bowl while Minnie watches like a hawk, her toy whisk clenched tightly in her hand and waiting to do her job. He adds a dash of milk and as soon as he sets down the carton, his shirt is being tugged on so he can lift up his little angel - so he does.

Determined doesn’t even begin to describe what Matt witnesses. Minnie takes the task as seriously as a professional chef, hunched forward and silent as she works. There is a little pout on her lips and he has to latch onto his own professionalism so he won’t laugh.

There is no need for him to direct her - she was not telling tall tales about her abilities. She blends the eggs beautifully and when Matt senses there is no point in continuing to whisk, he kisses her cheek.

“I think you got them, sweetheart. They are perfect, thank you.”

“I love whisking,” she whispers to him like it is a secret and he takes note of it. He’s sure that when Minnie finally gets to meet Foggy’s parents, there will be lots of desserts in his future. Anna loves baking and loves grandkids and letting her have an afternoon with a toddler who loves to cook will probably be like an early Christmas.

She stays on his hip as toast is started and butter is dropped in the pan to melt. She keeps surprisingly quiet, only piping up to ask to switch her whisk for a spatula. She gets a real one as the time comes to start cooking the eggs.

“You have to let them bubble a little and start to become firm,” Matt directs, hoping his directions make sense. “When the parts touching the pan get solid, you have to push them out of the way so the liquidy part can cook, too. Got it?”

“Meow meow, got it, meow meow.”

He doesn’t know if she really understands what he is saying, but it is clear that you have let her stir the eggs before. She is gentle as she nudges things around, like she is aware too much will make a mess and again, she stays sharply focused, seemingly wanting to make your breakfast in bed as perfect as possible. He is quickly learning that tomfoolery is not tolerated in Chef Miss Kitty’s kitchen and he is more than fine with that. He thinks it is absolutely charming that she is so dedicated.

She sits up straighter when the eggs begin to firm and form into a runny scramble and Matt hums out soft praise, “You’re doing so well, sweetheart.”

“I knows how to make eggies, meow meow.”

“You sure do. Do you want to add the cheese now?”

“Meow meow, yes, please. Meow meow.”

He gives her another kiss and a minute later, Minnie is telling him the newly cheesy eggs are done and he sets her down so he can transfer everything to plates. She stays in his shadow but out from under his feet as the toast is buttered and cut, and coffee is poured. It is only after everything is ready to go that he realizes that he does not have a tray to properly present breakfast in bed.

He considers his options, then decides on just bringing the plate as is, with a dish towel under it to keep you from burning your hands. He’ll make sure he has the correct set up for the next time he does this - because he knows very well there will be a next time, and a time after that, and many more after that.

The moment Minnie steps out of his small kitchen area, her demeanor changes completely. She is back to being an excited toddler and Matt lets himself throw his head back and laugh as she takes off towards the bedroom. He follows after her, his heart swollen and glowing with love for both her and the woman who changed his life for the better. He prays this is one of the moments he will remember for the rest of his time on Earth and can replay in his mind over and over again.

“Mommy! Mommy! Wake up! We made you breakfast!”

---

@two-unbeatable-beaters @kiwwia-wiwwia @1988-fiend @xblueriddlex @loves0phelia @ninacotte @lovelyygirl8 @littlenosoul @ednaaa-04 @astridstark13 @hashcakes

@lovingkryptonitehideout @moongirlgodness @soocore @bluestuesday @midnightwonderlan

@starry-night-20 @rebeccapineapple @writtenbyred @cherrypie5 @capswife @silvercharacterchaos @resting-confused-face

@Specialagentjackbauer @yarrystyleeza @ofmusesandsecrets @buckyssugarchick

@the-devils-angel @savvyreyes4587 @diasnohibng @blobygree18 @givemylovetoall

@xoxabs88xox @bluerobin35 @lovely-foxes-exe

@midnightreids @cloudroomblog @yeonalie @thychuvaluswife

@petrovafire39 @ghostindeath @roxytheimmortal

@allllium @waywardcrow @thatkindofgurl @waywardxrhea

@anehkael @akilatwt @lostinthefantasies @reluctanthalfwayoptimism @ethereal-blaze

@nennia-2000 @seasonofthenerd @abucketofweird @mattmurdockstateofmind @imagineswritersblog @hazelhavoc @smile-child-13 @allst4rsfall @hashcakes @kezibear @mapleaye @sammanna @gamingfeline @moon-glades @nightwitherspring @phoenix666stuff @dare-devil

@ladyoflynx @hobiebrowns-wife @sarcasm-n-insomnia @lillycore

@dorothleah @mattmurdocksstarlight @mars-on-vinyl @mywellspringoflife @sleepdeprived-barelyalive @simmilarly @soupyspence @darkened-writer @akila-twt

@murc0ckmurc0ck @groovycass @sumo-b98 @just3rowsing @tongueofcat @zoom1374

@theclassicvinyldragon @aoi-targaryen @lunaticgurly @nikitawolfxo @shireentapestry @snakevyro @yondiii @echos-muses @honeybug-victoria @the-bisaster @ristare

@mrs-bellingham @eugene-emt-roe @cometenthusiast @stevenknightmarc @yes-im-your-mom @hunnybelha @actorinfluence @capbrie @prowlingforfood @jupitervenusearthmars

@mayp11-blog @danzer8705 @thinking-at-dusk @remuslupinwifee @akila-twt @nommingonfood @mattmurdocks6thscaleapartment @dil3mma @allllium

#soulie writes #fanfiction #and then i met you #matt murdock x reader #daredevil #matt murdock x you

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i-heart-slashers · 2 months ago

Text

You Smell Like Trouble

𝖕𝖆𝖎𝖗𝖎𝖓𝖌: David (Lost Boys) x Reader

𝖘𝖚𝖒𝖒𝖆𝖗𝖞: You meet David, with his predatory charm on the Santa Carla boardwalk, and a thrilling, tension-filled night ride leaves you craving more of his dark allure.

𝖜𝖔𝖗𝖉 ��𝖔𝖚𝖓𝖙: 1.4k

𝖜𝖆𝖗𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘: suggestive themes. sexual tension. implied danger.

The Santa Carla boardwalk is alive with chaos—neon lights flickering, the air thick with the scent of sweat, sea salt, and cheap cotton candy. Laughter and screams from the roller coaster mingle with the crash of waves in the distance.

You weave through the crowd, your sundress catching the warm breeze, feeling the pulse of the night like it's a living thing. You're not here for the rides or the games. You're here because something in this town calls to you, a pull you can't explain, like a moth drawn to a flame it knows will burn.

That's when you see him.

He's leaning against a sleek black motorcycle, one boot propped on the curb, a cigarette dangling lazily from his lips. Platinum blond hair, leather gloves, and a long coat that shouldn't work in this heat but somehow makes him look untouchable. His smirk is sharp enough to cut, and his eyes—god, his eyes—are locked on you like he's already decided you're his.

The boys around him, all leather and menace, are watching, too, but they fade into the background as the two of you gaze at each other like your eyes are locked and unable to look away.

Your feet don't stop as you walk toward them, almost floating through the crowd with only one destination in mind. The blond's smirk grows when he sees you slowly walking to him.

"You're not from around here," he says, voice low, a gravelly drawl that slithers down your spine. He doesn't move and doesn't need to. The words are a hook, and you're already caught.

You stop a few feet away, tilting your head, a grin tugging at your lips. You've never been one to shy away from trouble, and this guy? He's trouble wrapped in leather and moonlight. "And you look like you bite."

His eyebrow twitches upward, a flicker of surprise in those predatory eyes. The cigarette glows as he takes a drag, exhaling smoke that curls in the air like a warning. "Only if you ask real nice."

The boys behind him snicker, their laughter rough and wild, but you barely hear them. Your focus is on David and the way his gaze burns gold under the streetlight like a wolf sizing up its prey.

You should walk away. Every instinct screams that this is a game you don't know the rules to, that he's dangerous in ways you can't even fathom.

But you've never been good at listening to instincts.

Instead, you step closer, close enough to smell the leather and smoke clinging to him and feel the heat radiating from his body. You tilt your chin up, meeting his stare head-on. "What if I like danger?"

The air between you crackles, the moment stretching like a rubber band pulled taut, ready to snap. His eyes darken, pupils dilating, and for a heartbeat, you think he might lunge, close the distance, and devour you right there.

Instead, his gloved hand shoots out, wrapping around your wrist firmly but carefully, like he's testing how easily you break.

"You're riding with me tonight, sweetheart," he says, voice dropping to a near-growl. "Don't ask questions you aren't ready to answer."

Your pulse hammers under his grip, but you don't pull away. You should. You know you should. But the thrill of it, the way his touch sends electricity skittering through your veins, makes you reckless. You flash him a defiant smile. "Lead the way, then."

His smirk widens, dangerous and approving, and he tugs you toward the motorcycle. The boys whoop and holler, their voices fading as David swings a leg over the bike, pulling you onto the seat behind him.

The leather is cool against your thighs, but his body is warm and solid as you press against his back. Your arms slide around his waist, fingers brushing the taut muscle beneath his coat, and you feel him tense, just for a second like your touch surprises him.

"Hold on tight," he murmurs, and the engine roars to life, a growl that vibrates through your bones. The boardwalk blurs as he peels out, the neon lights smearing into streaks of color. The wind whips your hair, stings your cheeks, and you laugh—wild, uninhibited, the sound swallowed by the night.

You don't know where he's taking you, and you don't care. The Santa Carla coastline flashes by, cliffs and ocean blending into a dark, endless expanse.

David's laughter, low and rough, cuts through the roar of the engine, and you feel it in your chest, a dangerous harmony to your own reckless joy.

Eventually, he slows, pulling off the road onto a rocky overlook perched above the sea. The bike rumbles to a stop, and the sudden silence is deafening, broken only by the distant crash of waves. You slide off the seat, legs shaky from the ride, and turn to find David watching you, one arm draped over the handlebars, his gaze unreadable but intense.

"Nice view," you say, gesturing to the ocean, but your eyes stay on him. He's still straddling the bike, all sharp angles and coiled power, like a panther deciding whether to pounce.

He doesn't answer right away.

Instead, he climbs off the bike, slow and deliberate, and steps toward you. The space between you shrinks, and your breath catches as he stops just close enough for you to feel the heat of him again. He's taller than you realized, his presence looming, and his voice is a low, dangerous purr when he speaks.

"You smell like trouble," he says, echoing the vibe of that first moment on the boardwalk. His gloved hand lifts, brushing a strand of hair from your face, the leather cool against your flushed skin. "And I'm starting to think you know exactly what you're doing."

Your heart skips, but you don't back down. You never do. "Maybe I do," you reply, voice softer now, laced with a challenge. "Or maybe I'm just curious how much trouble you really are."

His lips twitch, not quite a smile, but something darker, hungrier. He leans in, close enough that you can feel his breath against your neck, cool and teasing. "Careful, sweetheart," he murmurs, and there's a hint of something sharp in his tone that makes your skin prickle with both fear and want. "Curiosity like that can get you in deep."

You tilt your head just enough to meet his gaze, your lips inches from his. The tension is a live wire humming between you, and you're not sure if you want to close the gap or see how long you can make it last. "Good thing I want that."

A low chuckle rumbles from his chest, and for a moment, you think he's going to kiss you. His hand slides to the back of your neck, fingers tangling in your hair, and your breath hitches. But then he pulls back, just enough to leave you wanting, his eyes glinting with amusement and something far more dangerous.

"Not yet," he says, voice rough. "You're not ready for me yet."

The words are a promise and a threat, sending a shiver down your spine. You want to argue and push, but there's a small, quiet part of you that knows he's right.

There's something about him, something beyond the leather and the smirk, that feels like it could unravel you completely.

He steps back, releasing you, and the sudden absence of his touch leaves you unsteady. He jerks his head toward the bike. "Come on. Night's not over."

You follow because, of course, you do.

The ride back is quieter, the tension still simmering but softer now, like embers instead of a blaze. Riding through Santa Carla at night on the back of his bike felt like a fever dream.

When he finally drops you off at the boardwalk, the crowd has thinned, and the neon lights dimmer. He doesn't get off the bike this time; he just watches you with that same unreadable intensity.

"See you around, trouble," he says, and the nickname feels like a brand like he's claimed a piece of you without even trying — without even asking.

You watch him ride off, the engine roar fading into the night, and your heart is still pounding, your skin tingling where he touched you. You don't know what he is, and you don't know what you've just stepped into, but one thing is sure.

You're already in too deep, and you wouldn't have it any other way.

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gladiatorcunt · 9 months ago

Text

- ICEBREAKER / III.

i am the sun, you know you need me

cw: kinktober prompt (boot worship-ish), yandere behavior, confinement, mob boss!sunday, pet play without actually acting like a pet, canon typical controlling sunday, reader has a pussy, slight dehumanization, mean mean mean husband sunday but he loves you really, stockholm syndrome, pretend all the flowers & stuffed mentioned actually exist in hsr, sunday wins!au, one mention of halovian!reader

please do not repost, translate, or feed this work to ai

kinktober 2024

The invisible thread connecting you to Sunday has been spun into gold when you were not aware. You think you might’ve snuck in his cobblestone heart and done it in your sleep. It is an unspoken thing that festers within and eats you up from the inside until baby blue and white flower petals float down from your mouth, pleasantly aromatic bile becoming a fervent garden in your lungs. Overgrown but visually decadent and overwrought with confectionery and symbolism. Soul Glad spiked with an Aeon’s ichor.

Violets, baby’s breath, hydrangeas, forget-me-nots, sweet williams.

Not a single speck of dust is ever on him, and that includes his shoes. Dark brown leather and custom made, a gift he bought for himself that he was happy to say really came from you. A leader of a wealthy criminal organization could buy himself anything he wants, but it warms his icy heart to attach your name to it in his mind.

“You know I would never have you lick them if they were dirty, dove.” Sunday purrs, chin propped on his palm. “This isn’t to degrade you, you’d know what my vitriol would feel like. You’ve seen it directed towards less worthy patrons.”

He strokes a thumb down one of the wings on your head, fluffing the feathers and preening you as you “clean” his spotless shoe.

“Mmfh!” You slip your tongue in the grooves of his shoe, embracing the abrasions and coarse texture. “Yes, sir, I have.”

Interrogations, horrid screams, pleas for the gift of life and promises to pay back the money they owe, loud gunshots and his men dragging their bodies away. To be tossed over the edge of the dreamscape into the lilac depths. They’re always missing from the dream pools, a second death on the second day.

You’re slobbering now, your palms flat on your bare thighs as you work your mouth along the bottom of his left shoe.

Sunday chuckles and reaches out to wipe some of your drool away from the corner of your mouth, “Messy angel, you’re better than that.”

You’re not, the dampness seeping through your panties has you dead to rights. The wings on Sunday’s head flutter in amusement, nothing escapes his sight, he knows you down to the sparks of energy that make up your entire being. You’re the center of his eternal dream, his shining monument to what one would do for love.

“Teething on my shoes, you’re darling.” His even tone is basked in all the pleasure a man with the world at his feet (quite literally) could feel.

He nudges your jaw with the end of his right wing tip shoe, raising your head to make eye contact with you. You’re teary, but you still lap your tongue over the top of his left shoe, sucking it off like it’s a cock as you stay perfectly still. There’s always an unspoken test to see if you’ll give in to your baser urges and hump your slutty cunt against nothing.

But he does adore watching you squirm, his beloved pet rat in a golden maze of his own design.

You keep eye contact and lick a strip up the side of his shoe, tenderly kissing the tip before whining and moving your head after the one under your jaw.

“P-please, sir, let me finish my task before your next meeting. I don’t want you to be stressed.”

Sunday casts his gaze towards the oak doors, his wings tensing at the oncoming headache of his men surrounding him and awaiting his orders on how to further micromanage their territory. No matter, that’s the future, and he would much rather drift in the more pleasant present moment.

“The fish swim in the river however I tell them to. Take your time, my love.”

He can offer anything to you, whatever you want appearing before you in a flash, kept under lock and key at his extravagant manor. You never ask questions about what exactly he does or where he goes, but you don’t have to, he whispers it all to you freely. The truth holds no power over him when Sunday lives every day with the absence of lies.

You dot kisses on the leather toe of his right shoe, one your hands comes up to run your fingers in circles over his ankle. What makes this even better is that you ask for these sessions more than he orders them, an anxious little thing, being subservient helps quiet your racing thoughts and cabin fever.

Sunday feels generous, he taps his shoe against your cheek and takes it away, setting his foot firmly on the floor.

He beckons you with a come hither motion, “What would truly calm my nerves is to see my pet fall to pieces on my shoe. I’ll even let you get this pair messy with your spend, your scent would only make them my favorite.”

You hold in a happy squeal and eagerly straddle his foot, humping your panties down on the cool leather. The motion is slightly awkward, the friction brings you only a fraction of what you’re after. But the look in Sunday’s eyes as he watches you debase yourself for your husband, the thrill of doing such an act in a room that causes so much harm to everyone but you.

“That’s it, dove, dancing so beautifully for me.” He coos and keeps his foot still, content to be an audience member to the debauched show you’re putting on.

You whine, speeding up your movements and slicking up his shoe and the marbled floor beneath you. It’s not enough without him actively touching you, Sunday knows, so he shushes you and keeps patting your head rhythmically. Accompanying you on a fruitless journey towards an unsatisfying climax.

Sunday would never edge you, not when he could drown you and ply you with orgasm after orgasm. He would also never let you properly feel good without his touch. His lips quirk up as you whimper and come on the strip of skin where his ankle and foot disappears into his shoe. You keep pumping your hips, slipping and sliding with your come splattered on the leather and easing the glide.

If he takes them off after he sends you off to bed with a pat to your ass, and sniffs the soles, then that’s no one’s business but his. Another scene in the dream.

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heartfullofleeches · 1 year ago

Text

Moonlight Waves

Yan Alien Human Guy Person + Jellyfish Hybrid Reader

Word Count: 1.5k

Warnings: None, pure fluff

“If you put some thought into it…The ocean and space have a lot in common.”

Vast, boundless frontiers- Depths and reach never to be fully unveiled to the eyes of man. All imposing surfaces blanketing both heaven and earth. Two opposing bodies that on nights just like this might align, conjoined by midnight and the luminous orb mirrored upon them both. The full moon was a blessed companion for those who found themselves alone on eves similar to this- Solace and guidance found in her radiance.

“Whelp- Guess it's time to throw myself.”

Wiser folk have said desperate times call for desperate measures- While there were lesser extremes he could have gone to, this seemed like the quickest solution to their predicament. Twenty-four years on this planet and they had still yet to conquer the strenuous feat that was learning how to swim. His mothers were gentle in their upbringing- Apparently too gentle as they never pressured their child into braving the horrors of the swimming pool. On one hand, the biggest factor to their child's fear may have been the fact that it was their neighbor’s pool - and it'd be quite difficult to explain the eerie glow to their toddler's tears and the stains they left on clothing.

They were fine with it early on, but as he grew - Alien realized how much he was missing out on being unable to swim. Most humans know how to swim by their age anyway which would give less credit to his claims of an earth born and raised member of the population….Which they were regardless of whether or not they knew how to swim.

Alien squares his shoulders, testing the binds of numerous weights anchoring various parts of their body. Unsatisfied with the distribution, he plucks a stone from the moist sand surrounding his legs - unfastening the velcro of their right breast pocket and adding it to the collection. A horde of trinkets ranging from shells to stones to a couple marbles crowded each pocket from the vest they wore down to the swimming trunks they purchased for the occasion. So what if his body was more buoyant than the average human being- requiring additional weight to avoid floating off into the endless sea. Alien had always been a scrawny person-

“That should be enough- Wait…Is that?”

Srounging for more space to stuff the final stone, a gentle glow envelopes their fingertips following a faint- snap! Alien pushes the rocks and shells aside, wrestling the shining band from beneath them with minimal effort.

*Jackpot! I thought I used all of these already. With this baby on, I'm definitely ready for this. Wish me luck up here!”

Alien gazes up at the moon as they slip the glow-stick bracelet onto their arm. It's the last thing they see as their legs carry the rest of them towards the end of the cliff. Had it not been a full moon or the sky so clear- tonight may have gone different for them. They could've swallowed their pride, and went to bed with intentions to sign up for the nearest swim class come morning. Realistically, Alien knew he'd never go through with that plan, but it was nice in theory. Safer too-

Head lost in the cloudless sky, Alien yelps as the ground is swept from beneath them - their screams swiftly snuffed by gallons of water as they're dragged into a plummet off the cliff's edge. Their body connects with the sea, pockets of air bubbling to the surface from the force at which they collide. The oxygen escaping him would have been alarming - had they any need for it. Whether they could hold their breath or their biology simply skipped the stage where their lungs depended on air was a secret they'd take to the grave.

Sinking fast, Alien realizes what some might call a flaw in their ingenious plan.

Perhaps, just maybe, they potentially added too much weight for them to claw their way back to the surface.

…

Ah well.

Since they're already down here, there's no harm in exploring. Hard to see much beyond the gleam of their jewelry dangling freely around their wrist, but they dig the vibe of it all - drifting weightlessly without aim or reason. The deeper they dove, the brighter the natural fluorescence of their skeleton bled through their skin. Alien had heard of a condition that made people's skin slightly yellow before. Surely the green glow of their bones had to be in the same family. The shine widens their range of sight. By now, it was hard to decipher which way they were facing. The moon had long since faded from view….

Oh, wait. There it is..

….

Is it?

Stranging their eyes through the blackened depths of the ocean, Alien can clearly make something out miles away from them - shrouded by a halo of light. It almost mimics their guideless descent - floating off course before gradually aligning itself in a mostly linear ascent towards them. That alone was enough evidence whatever they were looking at was not the moon. The fluctuation of its surface and the four, almost crescent shaped markings atop only served as further proof. Inch by inch, as the space between them grew narrow, Alien could make out more of its features. Flowing tendrils, a pair of arms floating freely at its sides, a face adorned with a dopey smile.

Face to face, the near angelic like figure raises one of its hands - waving its fingers at the unfamiliar face within its territory. Alien’s eyes tighten from the phosphorescence of the creature's skin. Ignoring the sting, Alien lifts his own hand, mirroring the entity’s motions. The corners of its smile peak higher upon its face, head following the dim glow of their bracelet. The lightly draws focus to the stones bulging from his pockets. The creature's grin falters into tight lipped confusion.

“Hey…Hey!”

Alien struggles to make a sound as its hands paw at the straps of their pockets. Successfully tearing the sleeve open, the creature yanks out every rock, every shell- It pauses briefly to marvel at the eye of the marbles in Alien's pocket before shoving them beneath the cap of their head as they continue. Depleting their vest of its contents was all it took to send Alien on their upwards rise towards the surface. The angel waves again before swimming its way to the top, gliding gracefully as a true angel would through the sky. It grabs onto Alien's wrist, tugging him along with them as he apparently took too long for their liking.

Alien could only watch on in awe as the darkness peeled away - moonlight adding on to the ethereal, otherworldly glimmer that was this being and its flesh. Could this be Alien's first encounter with an extraterrestrial? There was no possible way a creature of this radiance was from earth. They just couldn't be-

The creature releases their hold on Alien's wrist as they breach air. Alien finds himself searching for their touch, and another item he appeared to be missing. The angel, the only term Alien found fit for them, wandered towards the shore without him- back facing the sand as they spun a glowing band around their finger. Alien channels the knowledge of every training video they viewed before their trip as they doggy paddle in the general direction of the shore. Thankfully, there was still enough weight in their shorts to keep them perfectly balanced between drifting off and going under.

The energy is depleted from their very soul by the time they reach their destination. The angel sits with its lower half still bathed by the oncoming tide, rolling a marble through the crystalized sand. It throws its arm into the air as Alien appears.

The angel waves. Alien, running on fumes and the strange heartache that would come from not reciprocating their kind gesture- waves back.

The angel helps Alien sit upright, returning the marbles they had borrowed back into the land dweller’s pocket from which they can. Alien fishes out of the marble they saw the angel toy with and gives it back to them.

“Keep that one… So- you got a name?”

The angel’s mouth falls open in a “O” of both surprise and honor at the present. They brush the sand smooth before rolling the marble through it once more. Inspecting their craft, Alien can make out letters the further along the angel continues.

“Y/n? That's your name?”

You clap your hands in praise, sound and ferocity increased by the wetness of your palms. Cute.

“You, uh, come here often?”

The point of your finger towards the water states the obvious fact that you live here. A murmur akin to laughter slips past your lips at that one.

“You got me there… The sea’s pretty big, though. What I'm asking is can I see you again?”

You tap a finger to your chin in thought, head dipping towards the bracelet now hanging from your own wrist. You point to it, hope and wonder present in your grin.

“You like the bracelet? You can keep that too. I can bring you more if that's what you're asking.”

Clapping again, you latch onto Alien's side - merging your fingers with theirs as you hold them both to the sky. Moonlight pours through your skin and theirs, transparency muddled by the existence of their bones. Your head falls to their chest- a whisper so quiet they almost missed it.

“Like me…”

They're glad that they didn't.

#alien my oc #yandere oc #yandere x reader #yandere imagines #yandere #yandere headcanons #yandere x you #yandere scenarios #yandere blurb #yandere insert #yandere fluff #yandere drabble

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kittenan2 · 1 month ago

Note

Heyyy I love your stories!! They're so amazing and the way you write oh my god

I have a request💕 a jin ff where he's some supernatural being like a Sea Prince.? Idk but I wanna read something of that sort where he falls for yn who's his destined human but he leaves her as some threat poses to harm her

I want lots of angst, add some tragedy or sadness too for the tears (I'm wanting to read some tragic romance for weeks now)

But make it a happy ending with lots of fluff and ofc Smut too with lots of sexual tension 😈😈😈 we need torture haha

I know you'll write an amazing fic on this...looking forward!!!!

Take careee have a great day love💕

he's such a fluff ball I wanna squish him and hide in my arms forever hfhfhhffhhf

The Sound Beneath

Pairing: Sea Prince/Siren!Jin × Human!Reader Genre: Supernatural Romance | Angst | Tragedy | Smut | Fluff Ending Warnings: Intense emotional angst, near-death experiences, abandonment, deep grief, heavy smut (oral, penetrative sex, possessive sex, biting, magical binding, tail play), siren magic seduction, memory loss, protective obsession, explicit 18+ content, suicide attempt (in "The Journal" section), graphic violence (in "The Battle" section). Please proceed with caution. Word Count: ~11k Summary: A broken human hears a siren’s song that pulls her into the sea—and into the arms of Jin, a prince with silver-blue eyes and a voice that haunts her soul. Their love is fated, forbidden, and fraught with danger. When a vengeful Sea Witch tears them apart, erasing Jin from her mind, their bond is tested by grief and madness. Will their love survive the tides, or will the sea claim them both?

The coastal village of Eldermoor was a forgotten corner of the world, its cliffs jagged, its beaches kissed by a restless sea. You’d come here to escape—burnout from a soul-sucking job, a broken engagement that left your heart in shards. The salt air was supposed to heal, but at night, alone in your rented cottage, the waves mocked your loneliness.

One moonless night, you wandered the shore, barefoot, the cold sand grounding your spiraling thoughts. Your sundress clung to your thighs in the damp breeze, your hair loose and tangled from the wind. The sea was black, endless, whispering secrets you couldn’t decipher. Then you heard it—a melody, low and haunting, weaving through the crash of waves. It wasn’t a song you knew, yet it felt like it knew you, tugging at your chest, pulling you toward the water.

Your toes touched the surf, the cold biting your skin. The melody grew stronger, wrapping around you like a lover’s arms. You waded deeper—knees, hips, chest—until the ground fell away, and the sea swallowed you. You thrashed, lungs burning, but the song drowned out fear, promising something greater. As darkness clawed at you, strong arms encircled your waist, pulling you under—not to drown, but to save.

“Breathe,” a voice said, warm and resonant, vibrating through the water into your soul. You opened your eyes to find a man—inhumanly beautiful, with silver-blue eyes glowing like moonlight, dark hair floating like ink, skin shimmering with faint luminescent lines. Against all logic, you inhaled, and the water didn’t choke you. It cradled you.

You woke on a smooth stone ledge in a hidden grotto, the air thick with salt and ancient magic. Bioluminescent coral lined the walls, casting a kaleidoscope of blues, greens, and purples that danced across the cave like living stars. A pool of still water shimmered at your feet, reflecting the glow of waterfire—a strange, flickering flame that burned without wood, its heat warming your chilled skin. Your sundress clung to you, soaked and heavy, the fabric outlining every curve of your body.

A figure rose from the pool, water sluicing off his broad shoulders, dripping down the planes of his chest. He was tall, lean yet muscular, his skin pale but alive with luminescent markings—delicate, glowing lines that traced his collarbone, chest, and hips like veins of starlight. His dark hair fell in wet waves, framing a face that stole your breath—high cheekbones, full lips, and those silver-blue eyes that seemed to see into your soul. He wore only a pair of loose, silken pants, tied low on his hips, the fabric translucent in the water’s glow.

“You’re awake,” he said, his voice a melody even without singing, rich and deep, vibrating through you like a caress. “I was worried.”

You shivered, not from cold but from the intensity of his gaze. “Who are you?” you whispered, hands clutching the damp fabric of your dress, your heart pounding.

He stepped closer, the water rippling around his thighs, his presence overwhelming. “I am Jin, Crown Prince of the Siren Kingdom. This grotto is my sanctuary—a place between your world and mine.”

“Siren?” The word sent a thrill of fear and fascination through you. Sirens were myths, creatures who lured humans to their doom. But he’d saved you.

“Yes,” he said, kneeling before you, his hands resting lightly on your knees. His touch was warm, electric, sending sparks up your thighs to pool low in your belly. “But you’re not like other humans. You heard my Song and lived. You’re my fated one—the only one destined to be mine.”

Your mind spun, but your body leaned toward him, drawn by an invisible thread. “Fated one? What does that mean?”

His fingers traced slow, deliberate circles on your knees, his touch igniting a fire under your skin. “Our souls are bound,” he said, his voice dropping to a husky whisper. “I’ve felt you across oceans, waited centuries for you. You’re the only human who can hear my Song without breaking.”

His words were a spell, weaving around your heart. You stared into his eyes, seeing not just beauty but a profound sadness, a mirror to your own. “I don’t even know you,” you said, but your voice trembled, betraying the pull you felt.

“You will,” he promised, his hands sliding up your thighs, slow and reverent. “In time, you’ll know me as I know you.”

The air thickened with tension, desire crackling like the waterfire. He leaned closer, his lips brushing yours—soft, tentative, tasting of salt and something sweeter, like honeyed wine. You sighed into him, and the kiss deepened, his tongue teasing yours, slow and sensual, exploring every corner of your mouth. His hands pulled you closer, pressing you against his chest, the luminescent lines on his skin flaring brighter where you touched, warm and pulsing like a heartbeat.

“Jin,” you gasped, your fingers tangling in his wet hair, the strands silky and cool against your skin. Need pulsed through you, a throbbing ache between your thighs.

“Let me feel you,” he growled, his voice low and desperate, laced with that hypnotic melody. “Let me hear your song.”

You nodded, breathless, trusting him without reason. He guided you back onto the stone, the surface smooth and warm against your spine. His hands moved with purpose, peeling away your soaked dress, the fabric sticking to your skin as he tugged it over your head. You shivered as the cool air kissed your bare skin—your breasts, your stomach, the curve of your hips—exposed under his hungry gaze. Your underwear was next, his fingers hooking into the damp fabric, sliding it down your legs with agonizing slowness.

You were bare before him, vulnerable, but his eyes held reverence, not possession. “So beautiful,” he murmured, his fingers tracing the curve of your hip, up to the swell of your breast, circling your nipple until it hardened under his touch. You whimpered, arching into him, the heat of his skin a contrast to the cool cave air.

He knelt between your thighs, spreading them gently, his breath hot against your skin. “I need to taste you,” he said, his voice trembling with restraint, his eyes locked on yours, seeking permission.

“Please,” you begged, your voice thick with need, your body trembling with anticipation.

His lips brushed your inner thigh, soft and possessive, trailing kisses that left a burning path. He murmured in siren-tongue—words you didn’t understand but felt in your core, vibrations that made your muscles clench. His kisses moved higher, teasing the sensitive skin at the apex of your thighs, until his breath grazed your core, already slick with arousal.

When his tongue finally touched you, it was a shockwave—slow, deliberate, licking a long, languid stripe up your folds. You moaned, loud and broken, the sound echoing off the coral walls. He hummed against you, a low, melodic vibration that sent pleasure crashing through every nerve. “So sweet,” he whispered, his tongue circling your clit with expert precision, teasing, tasting, then plunging inside you, exploring your depths with slow, deliberate strokes.

His hands gripped your hips, pinning you to the stone as he devoured you—lips sucking gently, tongue flicking and curling, his siren voice weaving magic into every movement. The waterfire flared brighter, casting prisms of light across your skin, the cave pulsing in time with your racing heartbeat. Your fingers fisted in his hair, pulling him closer, hips bucking against his mouth as the pleasure built, a tidal wave ready to crash.

“Jin—please—” you gasped, your voice breaking, your body trembling on the edge.

He growled, the vibration pushing you closer to oblivion. “Sing for me,” he commanded, his voice laced with magic, and you shattered. Your climax tore through you, a scream ripping from your throat, your body arching off the stone as waves of ecstasy drowned you. The water in the pool swirled, glowing brighter, as if the sea itself celebrated your release. Your thighs trembled around his head, your chest heaving, your vision blurred with stars.

He didn’t stop until you were spent, trembling and limp, his lips glistening as he crawled up beside you. His markings glowed brighter, his eyes feral with need. “If I take you fully,” he said, voice rough, “I might never let you go.”

You reached for him, desperate to feel him inside you, your fingers brushing the hard length straining against his pants. But he caught your wrists, pinning them above your head with one hand, his grip firm but gentle. “Not yet,” he rasped, his eyes dark with conflict. “Loving me will destroy you.”

You leaned up, kissing him softly, tasting yourself on his lips. “Then destroy me,” you whispered, but he shook his head, his breath ragged, leaving you both aching with unfulfilled desire.

For weeks, you returned to the shore every night, drawn by a pull you couldn’t resist. Jin was always there, waiting in the shallows, his silver-blue eyes glowing like beacons in the dark. Some nights were charged with desire, a dance of longing and restraint; others were soft and playful, filled with love, chaotic bickering, and teasing that made your heart light. Each meeting wove you deeper into his world, a tapestry of passion and tenderness.

The first night after the grotto, you met him in a secluded cove, the water warm and shallow, the moon a crescent above. He pulled you into his arms, his tail—shimmering with iridescent scales—coiling around your legs, anchoring you to him. “You came back,” he murmured, his lips brushing your ear, sending shivers down your spine.

“Of course I did,” you said, your hands sliding over his chest, feeling the luminescent lines pulse under your touch. They flared brighter, a sign of his arousal, and you smirked, teasing your fingers lower, grazing the edge of his pants.

He growled, capturing your lips in a kiss that was all heat and hunger, his tongue delving deep, tasting of salt and desire. His hands roamed your body, slipping under your shirt to palm your breasts, thumbs circling your nipples until you gasped into his mouth. You straddled his lap, the water lapping at your thighs, grinding against the hardness you felt beneath his pants.

“Careful,” he warned, his voice rough, his hands gripping your hips to still you. “You’re playing with fire.”

“Then burn me,” you challenged, nipping his lower lip. He groaned, his tail tightening around you, pressing you closer, but he stopped short, his breath ragged.

“Not yet,” he said, kissing you softly, his hands cradling your face. “I want you too much to rush this.” You pouted, but he held you close, whispering stories of the Siren Kingdom—coral palaces, songs that shaped the tides—while you shared your pain, your broken engagement, your longing for something more. His eyes softened, and he kissed your forehead, murmuring, “You’re more than enough.”

Another night, you met him on a sandy stretch of beach, the stars bright overhead, the air warm and salty. Jin was sprawled on the sand, his tail half-submerged, looking ridiculously smug as he tossed a seashell into the air and caught it. “Took you long enough,” he teased, his grin wide. “What, did you get lost in your own village?”

You rolled your eyes, kicking sand at him, which he dodged with a laugh. “Oh, please, Mr. I-Live-In-The-Sea. Some of us have to deal with things like doors and shoes.” You plopped down beside him, crossing your arms. “And stop looking so smug. It’s annoying.”

“Annoying?” he gasped, clutching his chest dramatically. “I’m charming. You’re just jealous of my natural glow.” He flicked his tail, sending a spray of water your way, and you yelped, swatting at him.

“Jin, you’re such a child!” you said, but you were laughing, your heart lighter than it had been in months. You grabbed a handful of sand and tossed it at him, and he retaliated by pulling you into his arms, rolling you both until you were sprawled in the sand, breathless and giggling.

“Admit it,” he said, pinning you gently, his silver-blue eyes sparkling with mischief. “You love my chaos.”

“Love is a strong word,” you teased, poking his nose. “I tolerate you.” But you leaned up, kissing him softly, your lips lingering against his. The kiss was sweet, not heated, just a quiet promise of love. He hummed happily, his tail brushing your legs in gentle strokes, and you spent the night building a lopsided sandcastle, arguing over whose tower was better. “Yours looks like a drunk octopus made it,” he said, and you shoved him, both of you collapsing in laughter under the stars.

One night, you swam together under a starlit sky, his tail propelling you through the water with effortless grace. He led you to a hidden lagoon, where bioluminescent algae glowed like a galaxy beneath the surface. You floated on your back, his arms supporting you, his lips brushing your temple.

“You’re beautiful like this,” he said, his voice a soft melody. “Free.”

You turned in his arms, wrapping your legs around his waist, feeling the scales of his tail against your thighs. “Show me more,” you whispered, kissing him deeply. His hands slid down your back, cupping your ass, pulling you flush against him. You felt his arousal, hard and insistent, and you ground against him, eliciting a low moan.

His kisses trailed down your neck, teeth grazing your collarbone, his hands slipping under your bikini top to tease your breasts. “You drive me mad,” he growled, his tail curling around your legs, spreading them slightly as he pressed himself closer. The friction was torture, your core aching, but he pulled back, panting.

“I can’t,” he said, his eyes tormented. “Not until I know you’re safe.” You pouted, but he kissed you softly, his hands stroking your hair, promising, “Soon.” You floated together, his tail brushing your skin, his voice singing soft lullabies that lulled you into a peaceful daze.

Next evening, you met him on a cliff overlooking the sea, where he’d somehow managed to drag a basket of food—fish, fruits, and some questionable seaweed snacks—from the sea. “I’m treating you to a royal feast,” he declared, spreading a blanket with a flourish, his tail flicking proudly.

You raised an eyebrow, poking at the seaweed. “This looks like something I’d find in a drain, Jin. You sure this is edible?”

He gasped, clutching his heart. “You wound me! This is a delicacy in the Siren Kingdom. You’re just uncultured.” He popped a piece into his mouth, chewing dramatically, then made a face. “Okay, maybe it’s an acquired taste.”

You burst out laughing, shoving his shoulder. “You’re such a liar! You don’t even like it!” He grinned, unabashed, and tossed a grape at you, which you caught in your mouth, earning a mock cheer from him. “Show-off,” he muttered, but his eyes were warm, crinkling with affection.

You bickered over the food—him insisting you try the fish, you teasing him about his “fancy prince manners”—until you were both sprawled on the blanket, your head on his chest, his fingers playing with your hair. “You’re a mess,” you said softly, tracing the glowing lines on his arm.

“And you love it,” he replied, kissing the top of your head. “Admit it, I’m your favorite disaster.” You didn’t argue, just snuggled closer, the sea breeze carrying your laughter as you watched the sunset, your heart full of him.

One stormy night, you met him on the same cliff, rain soaking your skin. He pulled you into a cave, his hands rougher, more desperate. “I can’t stop thinking about you,” he said, pinning you against the wall, his lips crashing into yours.

You tugged at his shirt, exposing his glowing markings, tracing them with your fingers until he shivered. “Touch me,” you begged, and he obliged, his hands sliding under your skirt, fingers brushing your core through your panties. You moaned, head falling back, as he teased you, slow and deliberate, his siren voice humming against your skin.

He knelt, pulling your panties down, his mouth finding you with a hunger that made you tremble. His tongue was relentless, licking and sucking, his hands gripping your thighs as you bucked against him. “Mine,” he growled, the word vibrating through you, and you came undone, screaming his name as the storm raged outside.

He held you after, his arms warm and secure, whispering, “I’m falling for you, and it terrifies me.” You kissed him, promising you’d face the fear together.

The Siren Court was a world of shadows and teeth, and Jin was its crown prince, bound by duty. Lysara, a Sea Witch scorned by Jin years ago, saw you as his weakness. Her rage was a storm, her magic a blade. One night, as you swam with Jin in the cove, her shadow struck.

The water was warm, Jin’s tail coiled around your waist, his lips brushing yours as you floated in the moonlight. His hands were gentle, tracing your spine, his voice humming a soft melody that made your heart ache. The world felt perfect, his touch a promise of forever. Then the sea turned cold, the current violent, ripping you from his arms with a force that stole your breath.

A voice cut through the water, sharp and venomous, laced with centuries of bitterness. “You chose her?” Lysara emerged from the depths, her black eyes glinting like obsidian, her hair writhing like eels, her presence radiating malice. Her beauty was cold, a blade wrapped in silk, and her gaze fixed on you with murderous intent. “A human over me, Jin? After everything I offered you?”

“Leave her!” Jin roared, his Song erupting in a wave of power, a melody of fury and love that shook the sea. But Lysara’s magic was stronger, a dark wave wrapping around you like a noose, squeezing your chest, flooding your lungs with icy water. You thrashed, your screams muffled, bubbles escaping your lips as you clawed at the invisible chains binding you. Her laughter echoed in your mind, cruel and delighted, as your vision darkened, your heart slowing.

Jin’s arms found you, his Song a desperate plea, a melody of anguish that clashed with Lysara’s darkness. “No!” he screamed, his voice breaking, his hands clutching you as he fought the current. The water churned, a battlefield of light and shadow, his markings glowing brighter as he poured his soul into saving you. But the sea was relentless, dragging you deeper, your limbs heavy, your thoughts fading into a haze of pain and cold.

His lips pressed against yours, forcing air into your lungs, his hands trembling as he held you close. “Stay with me,” he begged, his voice raw, cracking with despair. “Please, you’re my heart.” His Song wrapped around you, a lifeline, but your body was limp, your pulse a faint flicker. He pulled you to the shore, laying you on the rocky beach, his hands pressing against your chest, coaxing water from your lungs.

You coughed, gasping, your body shaking as air burned your throat. Jin’s face hovered above you, pale and frantic, tears streaming down his cheeks, mixing with the seawater on your skin. “I almost lost you,” he whispered, his voice shattered, his arms crushing you to his chest. His body shuddered, his markings dim, as if the effort had drained his very essence. “I can’t do this,” he said, his voice barely audible. “I can’t let her hurt you again.”

You reached for him, your hand trembling, your voice hoarse. “We’ll fight her, Jin. Together.”

He shook his head, his eyes haunted, shadows pooling beneath them. “You don’t know what she’s capable of,” he said, his voice thick with fear, breaking on your name. “She’ll kill you to break me.”

Days later, in the grotto, Jin was a hollowed wreck, his silver-blue eyes dulled by grief, his luminescent markings faint, flickering like a candle in a gale. The waterfire sputtered, its glow weak, casting long, mournful shadows across the coral walls. He sat slumped against the stone, his hands trembling, his face gaunt, as if the sea itself had carved away his vitality. You knelt before him, your heart shattering at the sight of him, your hand cupping his cheek, feeling the coldness of his skin, the faint tremor beneath your touch.

“Jin, we can face her,” you said, your voice fierce but trembling, laced with a desperate hope. “I’m not afraid. I love you—more than life itself.”

His eyes met yours, and the agony within them was a physical blow, stealing the air from your lungs. His gaze was a storm of love and despair, each tear a shard of his breaking heart. “You don’t understand,” he whispered, his voice a fractured sob, each word dripping with torment. “She won’t just kill you, my love. She’ll unravel you—slowly, cruelly—until there’s nothing left but pain. She’ll make me watch as she tears your soul apart.”

His hands shook violently, clenching into fists, his nails drawing blood that shimmered in the dim light. “I can’t—” His voice cracked, a sob tearing from his chest, and he buried his face in your hands, his tears hot against your palms. “I can’t survive losing you. It would destroy me.”

“Then don’t lose me,” you cried, tears streaming down your cheeks, climbing onto his lap, your hands framing his face, your thumbs brushing away his tears that fell like rain. “I’d rather die in your arms than live a single day without you.” You kissed him, your lips trembling against his, desperate and raw, pouring every ounce of your soul into the touch. It was a kiss of fire and saltwater, your tears mingling, your heart pounding so hard it felt like it might shatter your ribs. “You’re my home, Jin. My everything.”

He kissed you back, his lips fierce and broken, his hands gripping your hips with a desperation that bruised, as if he could meld your bodies into one, shield you from the world’s cruelty. His tongue traced yours, tasting your tears, his breath a shuddering gasp as he pulled you closer, his forehead pressed to yours.

“I love you,” he whispered against your lips, his voice an anguished prayer, each syllable tearing him apart. “I love you so much it’s tearing me apart. But I can’t let her take you. I can’t watch her destroy the only thing that keeps my heart beating.”

You shook your head, panic clawing at your chest, your hands clutching his shoulders, nails digging into his skin. “No, Jin, please—don’t do this!” you begged, your voice raw, but his hands cupped your face, his thumbs brushing your cheeks with a tenderness so gentle it shattered you. His eyes were red, swollen, his tears falling freely now, his lips trembling as he looked at you, memorizing every detail—your eyes, your lips, the way your hair clung to your damp skin.

“I’m so sorry, my love,” he whispered, his voice a fractured melody, each note saturated with unbearable grief. “I can’t watch you die. This is the only way to keep you safe.” His Song rose, a melody so achingly beautiful it was a wound, weaving through your mind like a tide—soft, then relentless, a lullaby of love and loss that broke your soul. It carried every moment you’d shared—your laughter on the beach, the warmth of his kisses, the way he’d held you as his fated one. Each note tore away a piece of him: his smile, his touch, the sound of his voice calling your name.

“No!” you screamed, your voice a raw, desperate wail, clawing at his arms, your nails drawing blood that mixed with his tears. “Don’t do this! I love you, Jin!” You thrashed against him, your body trembling, your heart shattering as his Song drowned your cries, its magic seeping into your mind, unraveling you. His eyes were red, his face a mask of agony, his chest heaving with sobs as he sang, his voice cracking, “Forget me, my heart.”

You reached for him, your fingers trembling as you brushed his cheek, a final, fleeting plea. “Jin, please—don’t take you away from me,” you sobbed, your voice breaking, but his Song was too strong, a relentless tide erasing him—his silver-blue eyes, his gentle voice, the love that had become your anchor. Your vision blurred, your body growing heavy, and you collapsed in his arms, his body shuddering as he held you, his tears soaking your hair.

“I’ll love you forever,” he whispered, his voice a broken vow as he pressed a final, trembling kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering as if he could pour his soul into you one last time. “Even if it kills me.” The world faded, and you were gone from him, the grotto silent, save for the echo of his anguished sobs, his heart a hollowed-out shell.

You woke on the beach, alone, the cruel waves mocking your emptiness with their ceaseless rhythm. Your mind was a shattered mosaic—flashes of silver-blue eyes, the ghost of a touch on your skin, a melody that tore at your soul without reason. The loss was a living thing, a jagged blade twisting in your chest, each breath a fresh wound. You stumbled back to your cottage, your body trembling, your eyes burning with tears that fell without explanation, as if your heart knew a grief your mind couldn’t name.

“Who are you?” you whispered, your voice a broken sob, your fingers clawing into the sand as if you could claw the answers from the earth. “Why does it hurt so much?” Your tears soaked into the sand, your body shaking as the pain consumed you, a hollow ache that felt like it would swallow you whole.

Days bled into weeks, your life a descent into despair, each moment a battle against the void within. You stopped eating, your kitchen a graveyard of untouched plates, your cottage a chaotic shrine to your unraveling—scattered papers, unwashed clothes, mirrors you avoided for fear of seeing your own haunted eyes.

You’d sit by the sea for hours, your hands trembling as you clutched your knees, staring at the horizon as if it could summon the source of your pain. The sea was your only solace, yet it was a traitor, trying to remember fragments of a name—that you carved into your heart with every sob. “Whoever you are... Come back to me,” you whispered, your voice raw, your tears falling into the waves like offerings to a god who’d abandoned you.

Nights were a torment, your mind a prison of dreams so vivid they felt like memories, each one a fresh cut to your soul. In one, his blurry silhouette stood before you, his silver-blue eyes glistening with tears, his voice a melody of despair. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, his hands sliding over your body, fingers slipping inside you, curling slow and deep, his lips on your neck, kissing away tears you didn’t shed. He entered you, his lips on yours, each thrust a plea for forgiveness, his body trembling as he made love to you. You woke with a scream, your body aching with need, your sheets damp with sweat and tears, your fingers clutching the pillow as if it could hold him. The emptiness was unbearable, a gaping wound you couldn’t reach.

Another dream brought you to a glowing grotto, his arms around you, his tail coiling around your legs as he kissed you—your eyelids, your cheeks, the curve of your breasts. “You’re my heart,” he said, his voice a song that broke you. “Come back to me,” you begged, your voice raw, reaching for him, but he faded, your fingers grasping air, your cries echoing in the dark. You woke sobbing, your throat burning, your heart a raw, pulsing wound, the loss of him a weight you carried into every waking moment.

In the depths of the Siren Kingdom, Jin was a wraith, his once-vibrant markings now dull, his body wasting away under the weight of his longing. His Song, once a melody that could command the tides, was now a discordant wail, echoing through the coral palaces like a ghost. He’d thought erasing your memories would free you, but it had only chained him to a new kind of hell—a life without your laughter, your touch, the light in your eyes that had been his salvation.

He lingered in the grotto, his fingers tracing the stone where you’d lain, the memory of your warmth a knife in his chest. “I did this to you,” he whispered, his voice breaking, tears falling into the water, shimmering like lost stars. He’d watch you from the shadows of the sea, hidden beneath the waves, his heart shattering with every tear you shed. He saw you by the shore, your eyes hollow, your voice trying to recall his name, and each syllable was a lash, a reminder of the love he’d stolen from you. “I thought I was saving you,” he murmured, his hands clutching his hair, his body trembling. “But I only broke us both.”

Sirens who lose their fated ones descend into madness, and Jin was falling—his body weakening, his Song fading, his soul unraveling without you. He’d curl up in the grotto, clutching the echoes of your voice, your scent, the memory of you in his arms.

“I love you,” he whispered, his voice raw, his tears a tide that drowned him. He sang to you in the dark, a soft, broken melody, hoping it might reach you, might ease the pain he’d caused. But the sea was silent, and his love was a wound that bled him dry, a longing that would haunt him until the end of time.

One rainy afternoon, you found it—a leather-bound journal under your bed, its pages worn and water-stained, the leather cracked from exposure to the sea. Your hands trembled as you opened it, your breath catching at the sight of your own handwriting, scrawled in frantic, desperate strokes. Sketches filled the pages—a man with silver-blue eyes, his face sharp and beautiful, his body traced with glowing lines that shimmered even in pencil. His expression was tender, haunted, his lips curved in a smile that broke your heart.

Your words spilled across the margins, raw and unfiltered:

“His voice is a spell, wrapping around me like silk. I want to drown in him.”

“He kissed my thighs, and I saw stars, felt the sea move with my pleasure.”

“I love him, and it hurts, because he’s not mine to keep. I’m already destroyed without him.”

Each sentence was a dagger, piercing the fog in your mind, bringing jagged shards of memory—his touch, his song, the way he looked at you like you were his entire world.

But the memories were broken, cutting deep, driving you into a feral madness. The name Jin seared your lips, a whisper that ignited chaos within you. You clutched the journal, tears streaming, a sob tearing from your throat. The fragments of him—his eyes, his voice, his love—were a torment, a puzzle you couldn’t solve. They consumed you, pushing you to the edge of sanity, your mind unraveling under the weight of a love you couldn’t fully grasp.

You screamed, hurling the journal across the room, its pages fluttering like wounded birds. “Get out of my head!” you cried, your voice raw, your body collapsing to the floor. The memories were a curse, a ghost you couldn’t escape, the pain unbearable. You couldn’t live with these shards, couldn’t survive the madness clawing at your soul.

That night, driven by desperation, you stumbled to the shore, rain lashing your skin, the journal clutched in trembling hands. The sea roared, its waves mirroring your chaos. “I can’t do this,” you whispered, tears mixing with rain, your voice breaking. You wanted to be free of him, of the agony that devoured you. In a moment of feral despair, you waded into the surf, the cold water biting, and let the waves pull you under, intending to drown the memories forever.

His heart stopped as he felt your soul falter, a sharp, searing pain through the fated bond he’d tried to sever. He’d been in the depths, drowning in his own grief, when your despair hit him like a tidal wave. “No, no, no!” he screamed, his voice a raw, panicked cry, his tail slashing through the water as he raced to you. The sea fought him, but he was relentless, his Song erupting in a desperate plea, weaving through the currents to find you.

The sea surged, dragging you down, your lungs burning as you surrendered to darkness. But a melody pierced the water, faint then fierce—a Song of love and desperation, calling you back. Strong arms seized your waist, yanking you to the surface. You gasped, coughing, as Jin’s face loomed above you, gaunt and hollow-eyed, his markings dim, his silver-blue eyes wild with terror.

When he saw you sinking, your body limp, his world collapsed. “Not you!” he sobbed, his voice breaking, his hands trembling as he pulled you close, his Song pouring life into you. He surfaced, clutching you to his chest, his tears falling onto your face as you coughed, alive but fragile.

“I did this. I am responsible for this.” he whispered, his voice shattered, his body shaking with guilt. “I erased you to save you, but those memories—they were all you had, and they drove you here.” His silver-blue eyes were red, swollen with tears, his markings flickering erratically as he rocked you in his arms.

“I thought I was protecting you, but I pushed you to this. I’m so sorry, my love.” His voice cracked, his face buried in your hair, his fear and guilt a weight heavier than the sea itself.

“You,” you whispered, tears mixing with seawater, your voice trembling with love and rage. “You’re real.”

He held you tighter, his body trembling, his tears soaking your skin. “I felt you slipping away,” he said, his voice raw, anguished.

“I couldn’t let you go.” His Song had summoned him, your pain a beacon, and he’d come, unable to stay away, his love for you stronger than his fear.

Memory flooded back, a tidal wave of love and betrayal that nearly knocked you off your feet. You stood on the beach, rain lashing your skin, fury and grief burning in your chest like a wildfire. Jin stood before you, his silver-blue eyes wide with hope, but you couldn’t see past the pain. “You left me!” you screamed, your voice raw, cracking with anguish. You shoved his chest, your hands shaking, tears streaming down your face. “You made me think I was crazy! Do you know what that did to me?”

Jin flinched, his own tears falling, his hands reaching for you, but you slapped them away, your nails catching his skin, leaving red marks. “I was trying to save you!” he said, his voice breaking, each word a plea. “Lysara would’ve killed you. I couldn’t—” He choked, his chest heaving, his eyes red and glistening. “I love you enough to watch you die.”

“You abandoned me!” you shouted, your voice echoing over the storm, your fists pounding his chest, weak against his strength but fueled by rage. “I couldn’t eat, couldn’t sleep, couldn’t breathe without feeling like I was drowning! I thought I was losing my mind, Jin! Every night, I cried for someone I didn’t even know, and it was you! You did that to me!”

His face crumpled, his hands trembling at his sides, his markings flickering like a dying flame. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice barely audible over the rain, his tears mixing with the water on his cheeks. “I thought I was protecting you. I thought—” He broke off, a sob tearing from his throat, his body shaking as he sank to his knees before you, his head bowed. “I was wrong. I broke us both.”

You froze, your anger faltering at the sight of him—so broken, so vulnerable, his hands clutching the sand as if it could anchor him. Your heart ached, torn between rage and love, and you dropped to your knees, grabbing his face, forcing him to look at you. “You left me empty,” you said, your voice cracking, tears streaming down your face. “I loved you, and you erased me. How could you do that?”

His hands covered yours, his touch warm and desperate, his eyes searching yours. “I love you,” he said, his voice raw, trembling with every word. “I love you so much it’s killing me. I thought I could let you go, but I can’t. I’m nothing without you.”

The words broke something in you, and you kissed him—hard, angry, your lips crashing against his, teeth clashing, tears mixing with the rain. He groaned, his hands gripping your hips, pulling you against him, his kiss desperate, hungry, a plea for forgiveness. You fought him, shoving at his shoulders, your nails digging into his skin, but he held you tighter, his lips claiming yours with a ferocity that matched your own.

“Prove it,” you hissed, yanking his wet hair, forcing his eyes to meet yours. “Show me you mean it, or I swear I’ll die and never come back.”

His eyes darkened, a feral edge to them, and he shoved you against a jagged rock, the rain soaking you both. His hands tore at your dress, the fabric ripping under his fingers, leaving you bare in the storm. You gasped, the cold air biting your skin, but his touch was fire—rough, possessive, claiming every inch of you. He kissed you again, teeth nipping your lower lip, his tongue delving deep, tasting of salt and tears.

“You’re mine,” he growled, his hands roaming your body—one cupping your breast, thumb flicking your nipple until it hardened, the other sliding between your thighs, finding you slick and ready. His fingers circled your clit, slow and deliberate, teasing until you moaned, your head falling back against the rock.

“I’ll never let you go again,” he said, his voice thick with possession, his lips on your neck, biting hard enough to mark, his siren magic sparking under your skin like electricity.

You clawed at his shoulders, nails drawing blood, your body trembling with a mix of fury and desire. “You left me,” you said again, voice breaking, even as you arched into his touch. “Don’t you dare leave me again.”

“Never,” he vowed, his lips on your shoulder, his teeth grazing your skin, leaving marks that pulsed with magic. He pushed two fingers inside you, curling them, pumping slow and deep, his thumb still teasing your clit with maddening precision. You cried out, your body shaking, the pleasure laced with the pain of your reunion.

He pulled his fingers free, and you whimpered at the loss, but then he was lifting you, pinning you against the rock, his tail coiling around your legs to spread you open. He freed himself from his pants, his cock hard and thick, the tip glistening in the rain. “Look at me,” he commanded, his voice a low growl, and you did, your eyes locked on his as he thrust into you—deep, hard, filling you completely.

You screamed, the stretch exquisite, his rhythm relentless, each thrust a declaration of love and regret. His hands gripped your hips, bruising, his teeth grazing your neck, leaving marks that burned with magic. You clawed at his back, your nails raking red lines, your body shaking as pleasure built, wave after wave, your anger melting into desperate need.

“Jin,” you moaned, your voice breaking, tears mixing with the rain as you clung to him. He kissed you, swallowing your cries, his thrusts slowing but deepening, each one hitting a spot that made you see stars. His voice sang your name, a low, hypnotic melody that bound you to him, weaving your souls together.

You came undone first, your climax shattering you, your body convulsing around him, a faint siren note—new and raw—blending with his Song. You screamed his name, your tears falling as you shook, the pleasure overwhelming, your heart laid bare. He followed, spilling inside you, his warmth flooding you as he groaned your name, his body trembling against yours, his arms holding you like you might vanish.

You clung to each other, panting, the storm raging around you, your tears mixing with his. “I love you,” he whispered, his lips brushing your ear, his voice thick with emotion. “I’ll spend forever making this right.”

You buried your face in his chest, your sobs muffled against his skin, the weight of your reunion crashing over you. “Don’t ever leave me again,” you whispered, and he held you tighter, his promise silent but unbreakable.

Under a blood-red moon, the sea churned violently, waves towering like jagged teeth against the cliffs of Eldermoor. The air crackled with ancient magic, thick with the scent of salt and iron, as you and Jin faced Lysara in a cove ringed by razor-sharp rocks. Nerys, an old siren ally with silver-streaked hair and eyes like storm clouds, stood at your side, her coral staff glowing with protective runes. The sea roared, a living beast, its surface split by bioluminescent currents that pulsed like veins, casting an eerie glow on Lysara’s form.

She hovered above the water, her black eyes gleaming with malice, her eel-like hair writhing as if alive, each strand tipped with venomous barbs. Her skin shimmered with dark scales, her claws long and curved, dripping with a viscous, inky poison that hissed as it hit the sea. “You dare challenge me?” she snarled, her voice a discordant screech that clawed at your mind, sending shivers of pain through your skull. “A human and a broken prince? I’ll flay your souls and feed them to the abyss!”

Jin stepped forward, his tail lashing the water, his markings blazing silver-blue, illuminating the cove like a beacon. His Song erupted, a melody of raw power and love, its notes weaving a shield around you and Nerys. “You’ll never touch her,” he growled, his voice a thunderous harmony, shaking the rocks around you. His eyes burned with defiance, but you saw the fear beneath—fear not for himself, but for you.

Lysara laughed, a sound like shattering glass, and thrust her hands forward, unleashing a torrent of dark magic. Black tendrils shot from the sea, each one tipped with barbed hooks that gleamed with a sickly green glow. They lashed toward you, slicing through the air with a whistle, aiming to tear you apart. Jin’s Song shifted, a sharp, protective note sending a wave of light that shattered the tendrils mid-air, their fragments dissolving into hissing smoke. But Lysara was relentless, summoning a whirlpool beneath you, its pull so strong it dragged jagged coral from the seafloor, hurling them like spears.

You ducked, a coral shard grazing your arm, blood welling instantly, the saltwater stinging the wound. “Stay behind me!” Jin shouted, his voice raw, his tail coiling around your waist to anchor you. Nerys chanted, her staff flaring, casting a barrier that deflected another barrage of coral, but the effort made her stagger, her face pale.

“She’s too strong,” Nerys gasped, her voice strained. “Her magic feeds on her rage—it’s boundless.”

“Then we break her,” you said, your voice fierce despite the fear clawing your chest. You clutched the coral dagger Nerys had given you, its blade etched with ancient siren runes that pulsed with a faint golden light. “Jin, distract her!”

Jin nodded, his eyes locked on yours, a silent vow to protect you at all costs. He sang louder, his Song a blazing crescendo, each note a blade that cut through Lysara’s magic. The sea responded, waves surging to form a towering wall behind him, crashing toward Lysara with the force of a thousand storms. She shrieked, her claws slashing through the water, parting the wave, but it gave you the opening you needed.

You dove into the sea, the cold shocking your senses, the dagger clutched tightly. The water was a chaos of light and shadow, Lysara’s dark magic clashing with Jin’s Song, creating currents that threatened to crush you. You swam toward her, your lungs burning, guided by the dagger’s glow. Her tentacles—summoned from the depths, each one thick and lined with pulsating suckers—lashed out, one grazing your leg, tearing through your skin. You bit back a scream, bubbles escaping, and kicked harder, your heart pounding with determination.

Lysara’s eyes widened as you closed in, her focus split between Jin’s onslaught and your approach. “Foolish human!” she hissed, her voice echoing in your mind, a psychic assault that made your vision blur. She raised a claw, aiming for your heart, but Jin’s Song hit a piercing note, a sound so pure it stunned her, her claw freezing mid-strike.

“Now!” Nerys shouted, her voice carrying through the water, her barrier flaring one last time to shield you.

You lunged, driving the coral dagger into Lysara’s chest, the blade sinking deep, the runes blazing as they burned through her dark magic. She screamed, a sound that shook the sea, her body convulsing as golden light erupted from the wound, spreading like cracks through her form. Her tentacles thrashed, one striking your side, sending you spiraling through the water, pain exploding in your ribs. But the dagger held, its magic unraveling her, her screams fading into a gurgle as her body dissolved into black ash, carried away by the tide.

The sea stilled, the blood-red moon softening to silver, the waves calming as if exhaling. Jin’s arms found you, pulling you to the surface, his Song now a soft, trembling lullaby. “You did it,” he whispered, his voice hoarse, his silver-blue eyes scanning you for injuries, his hands trembling as he brushed blood from your arm. “You’re alive.”

You clung to him, your body aching, your chest heaving. “We did it,” you corrected, your voice weak but fierce, kissing him softly, your lips trembling against his. Nerys surfaced nearby, her staff dim, a tired but triumphant smile on her face. The cove was quiet, the sea’s wrath sated, but the scars of the battle lingered—on your skin, in Jin’s haunted eyes, and in the memory of Lysara’s scream.

Few days later, in the grotto, the waterfire glowed warmly, casting a soft, flickering light that danced across Jin’s face, highlighting the gentle curve of his smile. You sat on the smooth stone ledge, your legs dangling in the pool, your hair still damp from a swim. Jin was beside you, his tail lazily swishing in the water, his silver-blue eyes sparkling with a mix of adoration and mischief. His luminescent markings pulsed softly, a quiet reminder of his otherworldly beauty, but tonight, he was just Jin—your Jin, playful and utterly smitten.

“So,” he said, leaning closer, his voice teasing, a grin tugging at his lips. “Big decision time, princess. Do you stay human, living your cute little land-life with boring things like… what, taxes and toast? Or do you dive into my world, where you get to swim with me, eat questionable seaweed snacks, and be the luckiest person alive because you’re stuck with this face forever?” He gestured to himself, striking a dramatic pose, his tail flicking water at you for emphasis.

You laughed, swatting the droplets away, your cheeks flushing with warmth. “Oh, please, Jin,” you said, rolling your eyes, but your smile betrayed you. “You’re not that irresistible. I mean, taxes are pretty thrilling, you know. And don’t get me started on toast—crispy, buttery perfection. What’s your seaweed got on that?”

He gasped, clutching his chest as if wounded, his eyes wide with mock betrayal. “Toast? Toast? You’d choose bread over me, your dashing siren prince?” He leaned closer, his nose brushing yours, his breath warm and teasing. “I’ll have you know, my seaweed is a delicacy, and I’m way crispier than some boring old bread. Plus, I come with cuddles and songs that make the stars jealous.”

You giggled, pushing his face away playfully, your fingers lingering on his cheek. “You’re ridiculous,” you said, but your heart was doing flips, your body soft and relaxed against his side. “But seriously, Jin… what’s it like? If I choose your world, I mean. Will I… miss being human?”

His expression softened, the teasing edge giving way to something tender. He took your hand, lacing his fingers with yours, his thumb brushing your knuckles in a soothing rhythm. “It’s not about losing anything,” he said, his voice gentle, his eyes locked on yours. “You’d gain a whole ocean—coral palaces, glowing lagoons, a family of annoying siren siblings who’ll probably tease you as much as I do. And you’d have me, every day, every night, singing you to sleep or driving you up the wall.” He grinned, nudging your shoulder. “But yeah, you might miss toast. I’ll figure out how to make you some, just to keep you happy.”

You smiled, your heart swelling, but you couldn’t resist one more jab. “You? Cooking? I saw you burn a fish last week, Jin. I’m not holding my breath for your toast-making skills.”

He laughed, the sound bright and infectious, pulling you into his lap so you were straddling him, your hands resting on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart. “Rude!” he said, his hands settling on your hips, his tail brushing your legs in a ticklish caress. “I’m a prince, not a chef. But for you, I’d learn. I’d burn a thousand fish if it made you smile like that.” His voice dropped, softer now, his eyes warm and earnest. “I just want you with me, love. Wherever that is. Your world, my world—it doesn’t matter, as long as you’re mine.”

Your breath caught, your cheeks flushing at the sincerity in his gaze. You leaned in, kissing him softly, your lips lingering against his, sweet and slow, tasting the salt of the sea and the warmth of his affection. He hummed happily, his hands sliding up your back, pulling you closer, his kisses playful, nipping at your lower lip, then your nose, making you giggle.

“Stop that!” you said, laughing as you swatted his shoulder, but you couldn’t stop smiling. “You’re gonna make this decision impossible if you keep being so cute.”

“Cute?” he said, raising an eyebrow, his grin wicked. “I’m devastatingly charming, I’ll have you know. And you’re already falling for it, admit it.” He tickled your side, making you squirm and laugh, your arms wrapping around his neck to steady yourself.

“Okay, okay!” you said, breathless, your voice bright with joy. “Fine, you win. I choose you, Jin. Your world, your sea, your terrible seaweed snacks—all of it. Just… promise you’ll keep being this annoying, because I kind of love it.”

His eyes lit up, and he kissed you again, this time, a kiss so full of love and relief that it stole your breath—a slow, happy exploration, his lips moving with yours in perfect harmony. “Deal,” he whispered against your lips, his voice a playful vow. “But you’re stuck with me forever now, princess. No takebacks, not even for toast.”

You laughed, resting your forehead against his, your heart full. “No takebacks,” you agreed, and he pulled you close, his tail splashing water around you, both of you giggling like kids as the grotto glowed brighter, as if the sea itself was celebrating your choice.

You lived between worlds now, your cottage a chaotic haven of love and mischief, the sea a playground for endless adventures. Mornings in Eldermoor were a battlefield of pancakes and teasing, proof that Jin’s siren chaos had fully invaded your human life.

You stood at the stove, flipping pancakes, when Jin sauntered in, his hair dripping, his markings glowing faintly under a loose shirt you lent him. “Morning, princess,” he chirped, snatching a pancake from the stack and shoving it in his mouth, crumbs flying. “These are almost as good as my kelp cakes!”

You whirled around, brandishing a spatula like a weapon. “Jin, you’re getting water everywhere! And kelp cakes? Those were a crime against taste buds!” You swatted at him, but he dodged, grinning, and flicked a droplet of seawater from his hair onto your cheek.

“Crime? You ate three!” he retorted, leaning against the counter, stealing another pancake. “Admit it, you’re obsessed with my cooking.” He winked, but you notice he’s left a puddle on the floor, and you groaned, tossing a towel at his face.

“Clean that up, you aquatic disaster, or I’m banning you from the kitchen!” you said, but your voice cracked with laughter as he caught the towel and started “mopping” the floor with exaggerated flair, singing a silly siren tune about “landlubber princesses and their fussy floors.” You tried to stay mad, but he pulled you into a damp hug, spinning you around until you’re both giggling, the pancakes forgotten.

After breakfast, you and Jin dove into the sea, bound for the Siren Kingdom’s coral reef city—a dazzling sprawl of pearl palaces and bioluminescent gardens, where fish darted like comets and currents hummed with ancient magic. Today was a “family day,” which meant chaos courtesy of Jin’s younger siblings, Lira and Kael, who were itching to test your half-siren skills and torment their brother.

Lira, a sprite with violet markings and a sharper tongue, swam circles around you, her tail flicking like a taunt. “So, you’re the human who tamed Jin?” she said, smirking, her voice carrying through the water. “Bet you can’t keep up with me in a race!” Before you could answer, Kael, a lanky teen with green-tinted scales, cut in, “Yeah, she’s probably slow as a sea slug. Jin, you picked a land girl?”

Jin scowled, his tail swatting Kael’s shoulder, sending him spinning. “She’s faster than both of you barnacles combined!” he snapped, but his silver-blue eyes twinkled as he pulled you close, his breath warm against your ear. “Show ‘em, love. Make them eat their words.”

You grinned, accepting the challenge, and dove into a race through a maze of coral tunnels, their twisting paths lit by glowing algae. Your half-siren form glided smoothly, your markings flaring with effort as you dodged a sudden current, spun past Lira’s tail, and darted through a narrow arch to cross the finish line first. You surfaced, laughing, as Lira pouted, her arms crossed, and Kael muttered, “Not bad… for a half-human.”

Jin beamed, his tail coiling around you possessively, his markings pulsing brighter. “Told you she’s amazing,” he bragged, planting a loud kiss on your cheek. Lira gagged, splashing him with a flick of her tail. “Gross, Jin, save it for the grotto!” she said, her violet eyes rolling. Kael, not to be outdone, tossed a handful of glowing algae, which stuck to Jin’s hair like glitter.

“Oh, you’re dead!” Jin roared, lunging at Kael, sparking a chaotic water fight. You teamed up with Jin, splashing Lira until her shrieks echoed, then turned on him, dousing his face for good measure. “Traitor!” he gasped, grabbing you and spinning you through the water, your laughter blending with the siblings’ taunts. The sea sparkled, the fight dissolving into breathless giggles as you all collapsed on a coral ledge.

Lira propped herself on an elbow, smirking. “You’re stuck with us now, Y/N. Hope you like chaos!” Kael nodded, tossing a stray algae blob at Jin, who dodged it with a glare. You nudged Jin, grinning. “I’m used to it, thanks to this one.” He feigned offense, tickling your side until you begged for mercy, the siblings cheering him on, their laughter a wild melody that made the sea feel like home.

That night, you and Jin slipped away from the cottage for a secret swim in a hidden lagoon, a pocket of sea where bioluminescent algae painted the water like a galaxy, stars mirrored above in a velvet sky.

You dove in, your half-siren form shimmering, your markings glowing softly as you darted through the warm, glowing waves. Jin followed, his tail a flash of iridescent scales, his silver-blue eyes glinting with playful intent.

“Catch me if you can!” you called, your voice bubbling through the water as you wove through a coral arch, your laughter trailing like bubbles. Jin was faster, his tail slicing through the current, cutting you off as he caged you against a glowing coral wall, his arms braced on either side. “Got you,” he murmured, his lips brushing your ear, his voice a low, teasing melody that sent shivers down your spine.

“Not fair,” you pouted, poking his chest, your fingers tracing his markings, which flared brighter under your touch. “You’ve got that fancy tail!” He grinned, his tail coiling around your legs, the scales tickling your skin as he pulled you closer, your bodies pressed flush in the glowing water.

“Fancy, huh? You love it,” he teased, his lips capturing yours in a soft, slow kiss, warm and tasting of salt and starlight. The kiss deepened, his hands sliding down your back, fingers grazing the curve of your hips, but you pulled back, splashing his face with a smirk.

“Not so fast, prince,” you said, your voice playful. “You’ve gotta earn it!” You darted away, and he chased, his laughter a bright counterpoint to the lagoon’s quiet glow. The game became a tangle of limbs, your tails brushing, his hands catching your waist only for you to slip free, both of you breathless with giggles.

Finally, you let him catch you, floating together in the center of the lagoon, your tails entwined, your markings pulsing in sync. His arms wrapped around you, his lips brushing your forehead, your cheeks, your nose, each kiss sparking laughter. “You’re a menace,” he said, his voice warm, teasing. “Making me chase you like some lovesick minnow.”

“And you love it,” you shot back, nipping his jaw, your hands tangling in his hair, now threaded with tiny glowing algae. He hummed a silly siren tune, making up lyrics about “sneaky siren princesses” who steal hearts and splash their princes. You splashed him again, muttering, “You’re the worst,” but your smile was radiant, your heart swelling as the sea cradled you both.

One sunny afternoon, you and Jin were at your favorite beach, a sandy cove littered with shells and seaweed, the waves sparkling under a cloudless sky. Your half-siren form felt like a second skin, your faint markings glowing softly, matching Jin’s, a sign of your shared bond. You were sprawled on a colorful beach towel, trying to read a book, while Jin, ever the menace, was determined to make that impossible.

“Oi, landlubber!” Jin called, his voice loud and teasing, as he emerged from the water, his tail flicking droplets that glittered like diamonds in the sun. He held up a massive, slimy clump of seaweed, grinning like he’d found gold. “Look at this beauty! I’m thinking we hang it in the kitchen. Instant aesthetic, right?”

You lowered your book, glaring at him over your sunglasses, your lips twitching with a smile you couldn’t hide. “Jin, that’s disgusting! You’re not bringing that slime-fest into my cottage. It smells like a dead fish’s nightmares!” You pointed at him, your voice dripping with mock outrage. “And stop dripping on my towel, you walking aquarium!”

He gasped, dropping the seaweed dramatically, his hand flying to his chest. “Walking aquarium? I’m a royal siren prince! This is ambiance, you uncultured human!” He shook his head like a wet dog, sending a shower of water over you, soaking your book and towel. You shrieked, leaping to your feet, your sunglasses falling into the sand.

“Jin, you absolute menace!” you yelled, grabbing a handful of sand and lobbing it at him. It hit his chest, sticking to his wet skin, and he laughed, his eyes crinkling with mischief as he dodged another handful.

“Missed me!” he taunted, sticking out his tongue, his tail flicking more water your way. “You’re gonna have to do better than that, princess. What, did you forget how to aim on land?”

“Oh, it’s on!” you declared, grabbing a nearby bucket and scooping seawater, splashing it at him with a vengeance. He yelped, stumbling back, his tail slipping on the wet sand, sending him sprawling with a hilarious thud. You doubled over, clutching your stomach as you laughed, pointing at him. “Who’s the clumsy one now, huh? That’s what you get for messing with my reading time!”

He grinned, not even trying to get up, his tail swishing lazily in the sand. “Clumsy? This was all part of my plan to lure you into my trap!” He lunged suddenly, grabbing your ankle and pulling you down beside him. You landed with a squeal, sand sticking to your skin, your book forgotten as he rolled you both over, pinning you with a smug grin.

“Trap, my ass,” you said, shoving his chest, but you were giggling, your heart light as he hovered over you, his silver-blue eyes sparkling with affection. “You just wanted an excuse to get me all sandy and annoyed!”

“Guilty,” he admitted, leaning down to nuzzle your nose, his lips brushing yours in a teasing peck. “But look at you’re so cute when you’re all riled up and covered in sand. My little sand monster princess.” He booped your nose, leaving a smear of sand, and you swatted his hand, laughing.

“Sand monster? Have you seen your hair?” you shot back, reaching up to ruffle his wet locks, which were tangled with seaweed and sand. “You look like you fought a squid and lost. Badly.” He pouted, but you could see the laughter in his eyes, his hands tickling your sides until you were writhing, shrieking with laughter.

“Take it back!” he demanded, his voice playful but firm, his fingers dancing over your ribs. “Or I’ll drag you to the sea and have you sorting my seashell collection for a week!”

“Never!” you gasped between laughs, squirming to escape, but he was relentless, his tail flicking sand onto your legs for extra chaos. “Okay, okay, you win!” you finally surrendered, breathless, grabbing his face to pull him down for a kiss. It was quick, sweet, and a little gritty from the sand, but it made your heart soar.

He pulled back, grinning, his hands cupping your cheeks. “That’s my girl,” he said, his voice softening, his thumb brushing sand from your cheek. “You’re stuck with me, chaos, and all. No escaping the seaweed prince.”

You smirked, poking his chest. “Only if you promise to stop leaving seaweed trails in my kitchen, you aquatic disaster. I’m not running a kelp farm!” But you snuggled closer, your head on his chest, his heartbeat steady under your ear, the bickering fading into comfortable silence.

He chuckled, wrapping his arms around you, his tail lazily brushing your leg. “No promises, princess. But I’ll sing you a song to make up for it.” He hummed a soft melody, playful and silly, making up lyrics about “sassy princesses” and “sand-covered kisses.” You laughed, joining in, your voices blending into a messy, joyful harmony that made the sea shimmer, the waves dancing to your tune.

“Forever’s gonna be a mess with you,” you said, nudging him, your grin wide.

“Forever’s gonna be a blast,” he corrected, kissing you again, his lips warm and teasing. “And you love every chaotic second of it.” You couldn’t argue, not when your heart was this full, your life a whirlwind of love and laughter with your infuriating, irresistible siren prince.

A/n: It took me long enough to complete this request as I was out of ideas mid-story. But I finally completed it, I hope it turned out well as per the request. Thank you for reading! Reblog, like, and let me know if you cried, screamed, or melted into a puddle! 🌊💖

Taglist: @the-djarin-clan . @jeonjamiekim . @moonjinniecafe . @minpdrecs . @bontensbabygirl . @this-most-assuredly-counts . @taolucha . @mytaegiheart . @dear-mono . @lilyficrec . @janeluvwonuuuu . @k-fan-fics . @iztrouble . @pikajooni . @namluvili . @alonahh . @paradise172 . @stay-tiny-things . @micdropitlikeitshot . @softhaes . @littlebluhellfire . @niqueesthings . @nocturnalsingularity . @syudoeslove . @namjoonbaby17-blog . @mar-lo-pap . @naesarang07 . @diame93 . @themwordsblog . @crizoosblog . @bebabido

#seokjin fanfic #seokjin smut #jin fanfic #jin smut #bts smut #bts fanfic #jin fanfiction #bts fic #BTSFanfic #SeokjinSmut #seokjin x reader #jin x reader #bts x reader #kittenanwrites #kim seokjin #seokjin #bts jin

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eeechooo · 1 month ago

Text

I Bled Where You Were

Fandom: Lockwood & Co Prompt: It was supposed to be a simple retrieval mission. In and out. But of course, nothing’s ever that simple when ghosts are involved. You take the hit—shielding George without thinking—and everything goes sideways. By the time Lockwood and Lucy fight the ghost off, you’re unconscious and bleeding, and George is spiraling. He won’t leave your side. He keeps pressure on your wound with shaking hands and mutters under his breath like it’ll keep you tethered. “You’re not allowed to die. Not before I tell you I—” And then he freezes, realizing what he just said out loud. When you wake up, pale but alive, your first words are, “Tell me what, George?” Bonus: He tries to brush it off. You grab his wrist and whisper, “Say it again. I heard you.” by @dearhnymn Pairing: George X Reader TW: Mention of blood, angst, but also they're so cuttteee

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It was supposed to be easy.

An in-and-out retrieval. The kind they could do blindfolded by now—get in, find the Source, contain it, get out. Quick. Clean. Controlled.

The house was quiet when you stepped inside, unnervingly so. Every breath felt like it echoed. The wooden floorboards creaked beneath your boots, as if the house remembered pain. Dust hung in the air like old breath, and the cold—it was already curling around your ankles, soft and slow, like fingers testing your pulse.

Lockwood led with his torch raised, coat sweeping behind him like a story in motion. Lucy followed close, her grip steady on the hilt of her rapier. George walked beside you, one hand fumbling in his satchel for his notebook, muttering the details from the case file under his breath.

“Male. Died on-site. Age unknown. No documented burial—body was likely lost in the collapse. Cold spot reported near the northeast room.”

You nodded, listening more to the rhythm of his voice than the words themselves. It was easier to stay calm when he talked like that—steady, focused, George.

The northeast room was the library, or what had once been one. The shelves had mostly caved in, spilling mouldy pages and shattered glass across the floor. A grandfather clock stood frozen in the corner, its pendulum stilled mid-swing. Something in your chest clenched at the stillness.

And then the temperature dropped. Fast.

The kind of cold that didn’t creep—it sank. Bone-deep, soul-shaking. Your breath fogged instantly. Lucy’s torch flickered once, twice, then steadied.

You all stopped.

The ghost rose from the debris like it was waking from a long dream. Slow. Drifting. Not angry, not at first. Just… there. A boy, maybe seventeen, maybe younger. His eyes were wide, glassy, unblinking. He didn’t float—he hung, suspended in something invisible, arms limp at his sides.

George inhaled sharply beside you.

And then, he faltered.

Just for a second. Split-second of stillness. He stared at the ghost, face unreadable, fingers tightening on his rapier but not moving. Like he saw something—someone—in that face. A flicker of recognition, or regret, or too many nights spent studying names that didn’t belong to living children.

You didn’t think. You moved.

One step. Two. You cut in front of him, arms raised, body squared. You were used to his pauses. Used to being the first one in, the one who acted while George still processed. It never felt like a choice—just instinct, fierce and fast.

Then everything shattered.

The ghost lunged—not at George. At you. Its face twisted, mouth stretching open in a scream that made no sound, just a piercing ache inside your skull. You felt it, the impact—not physical, not exactly—but like being knocked backward inside yourself.

The cold tore through your ribs like knives of ice. You screamed, or maybe you didn’t, because sound didn’t matter anymore. Your limbs lost their shape. Your chest caved inward. You fell to your knees, the shield you tried to build slipping from your fingers.

Then came the blood.

A thin, hot trickle at first. Then more. From your nose, your mouth, somewhere deeper. You collapsed sideways, vision splintering at the edges.

"No!" George’s voice cracked. You barely heard it over the thudding in your ears. His hands were on you in seconds, frantic and too warm, pressing somewhere on your side where it burned and pulsed and hurt like your body had turned against itself.

Lucy's blade sliced the air with a scream. Lockwood barked orders, but you couldn’t catch the words. Everything was muffled now, like cotton had been stuffed into the world.

You could still feel George’s hands. One shaking as it pressed on your wound, the other gripping your arm like he could anchor you to the floor.

“Stay with me—come on—don’t you dare—”

You wanted to look at him. Wanted to say something. Joke about how dramatic he was. But your eyes wouldn’t stay open, and your lips were too heavy to move.

His words were inaudible, you could not process them. They were just sounds, music to your ears as if it was the last, the most beautiful one. The last thing you clearly heard was George’s voice—cracked and trembling, full of panic and something else, something sharp and breaking.

“You’re not allowed to die. Not before I tell you I—”

The sentence ended in a silence so loud it hurt.

And then—

black.

There was blood under George’s fingernails.

He couldn’t stop staring at it.

It dried in the creases of his knuckles, caught beneath the edge of his bitten nails, warm once and now turning tacky. It didn’t feel real—not on his hands. Not yours. It was supposed to be theoretical. Distant. Something in reports. Not something he pressed his palms into.

But your blood soaked through his sleeves. It was real.

You were too still. Wrongly still. Not unconscious like sleep, like the gentle collapse of someone at peace. No, this was stillness like a paused heartbeat, a body frozen mid-fall. Your lips were pale, eyes closed, lashes twitching like they were trying to dream their way out.

George pressed harder on the wound, his hand sliding as more blood welled up. “Please,” he whispered. “Stay with me. Just stay.”

Lockwood stood near the door, coat torn, face pale. His voice had lost its usual brightness. Lucy was crouched nearby, torch gripped so tight her knuckles looked like ghosts of their own. Neither of them spoke. Neither tried to touch you.

Because George was the one breaking.

“I shouldn’t have hesitated,” he choked out. “I should’ve moved. I should’ve—God, you’re such a bloody idiot, why’d you—why’d you jump in for me?”

He pressed his forehead against your shoulder, breathing shallow and hot. His glasses had slid to the tip of his nose, fogged and streaked with tears he didn’t remember crying.

“Stay with me—come on—don’t you dare—”

The pain didn’t matter. Not the ache in his back from kneeling too long, not the way his wrists shook from the effort. The only thing that mattered was keeping your chest rising. Just. One. More. Breath.

"You’re not allowed to die,” he said again, lower this time, like a ritual. “Not before I tell you I…”

He stopped.

The words spilled out like a broken pipe, and the silence that followed was worse.

He hadn’t meant to say it. Not like that. Not with blood on the floor and your pulse fading beneath his fingers. Not when it felt like the world was caving in.

He looked at your face, eyes searching for some sign—anything. A twitch. A flinch. A miracle.

Nothing.

So, he stayed there, hands red and heart raw, saying nothing more. Just breathing for you, holding pressure like penance.

Until help came.

And then the rest was noise—paramedics, lights, movement. But George didn’t move from your side, not even when they pried his fingers loose. Not until they promised you were still alive.

Not until he saw your fingers curl, just slightly, against the edge of the stretcher.

Only then did he allow himself to fall apart.

The world returned in fragments.

A beep.

The prickle of warm light behind closed eyelids.

The heaviness of limbs weighted by sleep—or something deeper.

Your mouth tasted like metal and cotton, and your throat burned as if you'd swallowed fire and tried to apologize for it. There was a dull throb somewhere in your side. Not sharp. Just present. Like a bruise made of memory.

And then—

A voice. Quiet, hoarse, too close.

“—still not awake. That’s fine. I can wait. I’ve got all night.”

George.

You didn’t open your eyes right away. His voice was cracked at the edges, the way old records skip when you listen too hard. He was trying to sound normal, you could tell—still mumbling facts, little tangents, telling you how many types of ghosts had been miscategorized in the last Fittes Journal of Psychic Studies—but every word trembled.

There was a weight on your wrist. Warm. Familiar.

His hand.

“…you scared the hell out of me,” he whispered eventually, and now the facts had stopped. “You looked like you were gone. I didn’t know what to do. I just—” He stopped. Exhaled. “You can’t do that to me again, okay?”

You finally opened your eyes.

It took effort, like peeling back layers of something thick and stubborn. The light was low, and everything hurt—but your gaze found him instantly. Slumped in the chair beside your bed, glasses smudged, curls a mess, hoodie stretched and wrinkled like he hadn’t changed in days.

He looked like he’d fallen through grief and landed in a chair and stayed there.

“…George?” Your voice barely made it past your lips. A scrape. A ghost of a sound.

He bolted upright. Eyes wide. Like you’d just come back from the dead—which, technically, you had.

“You’re awake.” He blinked hard, and then again, and you thought he might cry. “You—bloody hell, you’re awake.”

You managed a tired smile. “Tell me what, George?”

He froze.

Like a record skipping again. He stared at you, breath caught between ribs like it didn’t know if it should leave.

“I heard you,” you whispered. Your fingers found his—weak but insistent. “You said something. When I was bleeding out and you thought I couldn’t hear. Tell me what.”

His hand twitched in yours. “You… You weren’t supposed to hear that.”

“But I did.”

Silence.

His jaw worked like he was chewing through a thousand possible denials, trying to swallow them before they left his mouth. But you saw it. In his eyes. The thing he’d been burying behind sarcasm and science and safety.

Your thumb brushed his knuckles. “Say it again.”

He didn’t look away this time. His voice was barely a breath when it came.

“I love you.”

The words trembled like a confession to a god he wasn’t sure believed in him.

“I was supposed to tell you when you weren’t covered in blood,” he added weakly. “When we were both, I don’t know, breathing properly.”

Your laugh came out like a wheeze. “Terrible timing, George.”

“I know.”

“…I love you too.”

He blinked, stunned. Like all the air had been knocked out of him—but softly, this time. Like the fall was worth it.

And when he leaned forward, resting his forehead lightly against yours, you realized he was still shaking.

But now you were awake.

And he wasn’t letting go.

The scar isn’t large.

A small crescent near your ribs. Pale, healing, insignificant by battlefield standards. But for George, it’s a fault line.

And ever since you came back—lips pink, pulse steady, eyes burning with life again—he hasn’t stopped watching you. Not in a romantic way (though, yes, that too). No, it’s something deeper. Sharper. Like his eyes are trying to memorize every movement in case you blink out of existence.

You call it hovering.

He calls it being thorough.

Lucy calls it “creepy as hell, George, back off, she’s fine.”

But he doesn’t back off.

Not when you go upstairs without a word. Not when your laugh drifts from the kitchen and he doesn’t see the context. Not when you flinch slightly while pulling your shirt over your head and he rushes over like it’s day one again.

"Does it hurt?"

"No. It’s healing."

“Let me see anyway.”

You sigh, roll your eyes, let him check. His fingers hover just above the scar like he’s scared to touch it, like pressure alone could undo the stitches that already dissolved. He doesn’t speak while he looks. You let him. You know this isn’t really about your side.

It’s about his.

Because something inside George broke that night.

And he’s terrified it’ll break again.

On missions, he doesn’t stray more than a few feet. If you’re near the Source, he’s next to you—torch ready, heart in his throat. He startles when you gasp, stiffens when you run. He sleeps with one ear turned toward your door.

“George,” you say one night, gently. “I’m here.”

He’s sitting on the floor outside your room, back against the wall, knees pulled up like a kid lost in thought. His eyes lift to meet yours, haunted and tired and heavy.

“You stopped breathing,” he murmurs. “On the floor. Just stopped. And I thought—what if that’s the last thing I ever remember of you?”

You kneel down in front of him, touching his face. “But it’s not.”

He leans into your palm like it’s the only thing tethering him to gravity.

“I can’t lose you,” he whispers. “Not when I only just—when we only just—”

“Started,” you finish.

He nods.

You slide your hand into his and press it gently against your chest. “Feel that? That’s mine. Still going.”

“It better keep going,” he mumbles. “Or I swear to God I’ll fight death itself.”

You smile. “Dramatic.”

“Desperate.”

He kisses your knuckles.

And maybe he’ll stop hovering one day.

But tonight, you sit beside him in the hall, tangled in silence, in shared breath, in a love that clings tight like ivy around a scar.

—

Tag list: @dearhnymn @neewtmas @35-portlandxrow

#lockwood & co #lockwood and co #george karim x reader #anthony lockwood #george karim #incorrect lockwood and co

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shadowandlightt · 1 year ago

Text

Of Nightmares and Memories | eight | Azirel X reader

Series Warnings: Kidnapping. Mistreatment. Cursing. Pining. Violence. Depression. Talks of suicide. Eventual smut

Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four Part Five Part Six Part Seven

A/N: I'm very nervous about this part and the ones coming after it. I hope you still enjoy it, even though it's probably what you're expecting.

When the darkness faded, all you could see was the Moonstone Palace that you’d spent so much time in as a child. You could finally fill my lungs with air, a sweet jasmine scent floating in it. Feyre was gently laid on a couch in the center of the great room. Mor, who didn’t seem to know what to do, ran forward and wrapped her arms around you, squeezing you so tightly the newly fresh air was knocked from your lungs.

“You were dead,” She cried, “We mourned you. For years we mourned.”

“I’m sorry,” You choke out, “I tried, for years I tried.”

But then you gave up. And you accepted your fate in the Spring Court. You didn’t fight hard enough when Amerantha still had control. Or in the days following her fall. You could have made it, surely you could have. You thought you could winnow short distances at that point, though you hadn’t tested it. You should have been able to jump from place to place until you made it to the border of the Night Court. Until you made it to safety. But you didn’t. You threw up in the rose and gave up.

You gave up on them.

Dread filled you. Because how could you explain everything that happened to you? How could you explain that you’d given up on ever seeing any of them again, and that your only thought had been of death. Because then, maybe the Mother would grant you access to your own mother. Maybe she would allow you to look after Rhys and the others from whatever world exists beyond your own.

Guilt swirled in with the dread. How could you tell your brother that you’d been praying for death for hundreds of years? How could you tell him that your mother didn’t beg for herself that day, or her wings, she begged for you. Begged for them to spare you and send you on your way. Begged as they started to cut into your back, leaving behind two long and ugly scars.

How could you explain any of it?

“How are you alive?” Rhys questioned, pain lingering in his eyes.

“Tamlin begged for my life that day,” You reply, feeling an icy cold settle over you.

You hadn’t spoken of it. Hadn’t voiced what happened that day. Saying it now makes it all too real. Before you could imagine that your mother was still alive, flying around Valaris, but now….now saying it aloud you knew she was gone. You could feel it deep in your bones.

“He begged his father and brother, said it would be better to keep me as a bargaining chip,” You explain, “He ended up just keeping me as a toy, after everything happened.”

Then a thought accrued to you. Tamlin was so desperate to get Rhys to release Feyre from their bond, he said he would do anything. Perhaps he would have let you go…perhaps he would’ve finally used you as a bargaining chip against your brother.

“He probably would’ve offered me on a silver platter for you to release Feyre,” You laugh.

“All these years, you’ve been right there?” Rhys asked, voice cracking.

It's been years since you’d seen him cry. The stone exterior was crumbling, leaving behind a broken boy who lost his mother and sister in the same day, only to have one returned to him. You want to move to comfort him, but you’re locked in where you stand. As if there is a spell over you, keeping you from moving.

You’re afraid to move, truly. Because if you move you might wake up and find that this is all a dream. A beautiful and cruel dream. So you stay put as the tears fall from both yours and Rhys’ eyes.

“All this time,” You reply, “I’ve been locked away in the Manor House. I was there that night that you and father came, and I was there when you first met Feyre, and every moment after that.”

“Calanmai,” he says suddenly, “You were there that night. Gods above, you spoke to me.”

The tears are falling harder now. Unstoppable against the emotions you both feel. Mor is still standing close to you, you could almost lean against her for support. But she’s somehow also giving you and Rhys your space to work this out.

“I was praying to the Gods and to the Mother and to the Cauldron that you would be able to see beyond the glamor and see me,” You verify, “That’s why I said I was like the wind, I hoped you would hear it and realize.”

His head shook, “I couldn’t allow myself to believe. I heard you, Mother I heard you, but I couldn’t believe it. You didn’t smell like you.”

“Scents change, besides, I was wrapped in Lucien’s clothing to disguise my scent,” You explain, “I expect I smelled like Lucien for a long time. He was the only constant visitor I had for years.”

“Y/N-” His voice broke as he surged forward to wrap you in his arms, “My sweet baby sister. I’m so sorry.”

You shake your head. If anyone should feel guilty about all of this, it should be you. You should have fought harder that day. Even at such a young age, you could have misted all of them if you really wanted to. But you’d never killed another fae before. Never killed another living thing. So you hesitated and that was long enough for them to overpower you both and kill your mother. They’d come for Rhys that day, but they got a better prize in the form of the Princess of the Night Court.

“No, you don’t get to feel bad about this,” You warn him, “You are not to blame.”

“If I hadn't trusted him…if I would’ve just met you both in the woods thay day,” He all but cries out.

“No, it’s no one's fault but Tamlin and his family’s,” You stay sternly, hoping maybe one day you’ll believe it.

Maybe one day you’ll finally believe that you aren’t to blame for your mother’s death. That none of it was your fault. She had no real power of her own, no way to protect herself. It was on you to do that. It was Rhys’ responsibility to protect you both. Not that you would ever, ever blame him for what happened. He couldn’t have known what Tamlin was planning with his family. He couldn’t have known that his friend wanted him dead because they saw him as such a threat.

Suddenly your body felt heavy and weighed down. You couldn’t move even if you wanted to. All you felt was pure exhaustion. Your eyes flutter and Rhys seems to notice the change in your body.

“You’re exhausted, aren’t you?” he questions.

You try to smile, but you know it doesn't reach your eyes, “I don’t sleep well anymore.”

He sighs deeply and wraps an arm around you as he slowly leads you towards the bedrooms, “I can have a tonic brought up for you.”

“No need,”You shake your head, “I’m sure just being back here will put me at ease.”

You wished you believed the words you were saying. But you didn’t. You weren’t sure that anything would put you at ease again. All you could feel was anxious energy swirling in your belly. Threatening to boil over at any moment. You couldn’t fully wrap your mind around the fact that you were free. Couldn’t fully understand that you were here, and safe, and with your family again. Or at least part of them.

“Cassain and Azirel won’t know what to do with themselves,” Rhys lets out a small laugh as he wipes at his eyes.

“You can’t tell them,” You halt suddenly, “Oh, Rhys, you can’t. I’m not ready.”

“Don’t you want to see them again?” he questions, brows drawing in.

“Of course I do, but I-” You shake your head, feeling your whole body start to shake.

How could you explain it to him in a way that would make sense? How could he understand where your head was at? Seeing them would push you over the edge. Seeing Az…knowing his shadows would tell him your darkest secrets…you couldn’t handle it. You couldn’t handle seeing him disappointed in you…disgusted with you. It would break you in more ways than Tamlin ever could.

To lose Azirel was like to lose the air you breathe. It would kill you to lose him. You could feel it deep within you. You wouldn’t survive Azriel turning his back upon you. So it was best that he just didn’t know you lived. Maybe you could live out the rest of your days in a cabin in the mountains. Yes…that would be good. You were used to the solitude anyway.

“You can’t tell them,” You begged your brother, “Please Rhys. I can’t bear them knowing.”

“But Y/N, they’re our family,” He tried to reason with you.

“Please Rhys,” you shake even harder, “I can’t bear it. I’m not ready.”

“Okay,” He finally relented, “Okay. I won’t tell them.”

Your body sags with his agreement. Your breath comes out in heavy pants, because your lungs seem to be constricting and not allowing the proper amount of air into them. Everything just feels wrong now. Nothing feels right. You feel as if you shouldn’t be here, shouldn’t be allowed to have a moment of happiness with your brother.

You shouldn’t be allowed happiness when it’s your fault that your mother is dead. You should have done more to save her that day, instead of going limp in the arms of Tamlin’s brothers. You should have done everything in your power to save her. Instead you let her die, and you still live. It would have been better if you just died that day.

“Here we are,” Rhys said, unaware of the thoughts you were having, “Try to sleep. I’ll come check on you in a while.”

“Okay,” You sigh, pushing the door open, “Rhys?”

“Yes?”

“I love you.”

“I love you too, Little Star. Now sleep, before you drop in a heap on the floor.”

You couldn’t sleep though. No matter how hard you try. Because all you could think of was how it should have been you to die. It should have been you, and not your mother. She could have helped Rhys with his transition into High Lord, she could’ve been there for Cassian and Azirel, who desperately needed a mother.

But instead you lived. And now you’re too cowardly to tell them that you lived. Too cowardly to ask to return home to Valaris. Too cowardly to do anything.

Rhys didn’t come back for hours, when he did you pretended to be asleep. All the while tears quietly slid down your cheeks. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Your life wasn’t supposed to happen like this. What did you do to make The Mother punish you so?

“I’m taking Feyre to Valaris,” He spoke, somehow knowing you’re awake, “Please consider coming with us.”

“No,” You say firmly, not rolling over to see him, “I’d like to stay here.”

“It’s your home, Y/N,” He pleaded, “You can’t hide from it forever.”

“I can’t go back Rhys,” You can’t explain it to him. He would never let you out of his sight if he knew.

“Please consider it,” He begs, “Please, Little Star, I don’t want to be separated from you again.”

“Then don’t leave,” You snap at him.

“You know I have to go back.”

“Then take her and get out,” You snarl, “I’m not going back.”

“Y/N-”

“Go Rhysand!” You yell, reaching for anything to throw at him.

You can feel yourself losing control of the little power you had access to. Darkness seeping from your body. There were no stars in this darkness, only a black void. Much like the cocoon that Feyre created. Only this was something you never did. Your darkness always had stars, but now you aren’t sure if you could conjure them even if you tried.

That light inside you had been snuffed out long ago. It was only now that you realized it. It was only now that you accepted it as the truth. Your light was gone, the stars were gone. You weren’t Rhy’s Little Star anymore. You were something worse. Something made hard from years of captivity and cruelty. You weren’t sure you would even recognize yourself if you looked in the mirror.

“Fine,” You’d never heard him sound so defeated. You were sure if he had wings they would be dragging on the ground as he turned to leave your room. He stopped at the door and looked back at you, “I’ll send Mor to check in on you.”

“Don’t bother,” You mumble, “I’ll be fine.”

Only you wouldn’t be fine. You weren’t fine. And You weren’t sure that you ever would be fine again. The darkness threatened to swallow you whole and you wanted to let it. You wanted to give into it and let it take all that you were. Maybe it would be better that way. Easier.

When your door clicks shut and you hear Rhys’ footsteps moving away from you, you allow yourself to fall apart. When the house goes silent you let out an anguished cry loud enough to almost shake the whole mountain. Life wasn’t supposed to happen this way. You were supposed to be overjoyed at being freed, not whatever this is.

You feel as if you’re going to rip yourself apart, and for a moment you wish you would. You wish death would just come for you. You yearned for the sweet release that death would provide. Because at least then you might be able to find peace.

Tag List

@historygeekqueen @hnyclover @saltedcoffeescotch @queerqueenlynn @thelov3lybookworm @one-big-fangirl @witchymomfrien @wallacewillow0773638 @sstrohma @maddybraps @minnieoo @mariahoedt @amara-moonlight @st0rmyt @annamariereads16 @hunterksmith @sleepylunarwolf @sh4nn @emryb @mikatanazaki @nickishadow139 @ilovespideyyy @mysticalfuncollectorus @judig92 @tele86

#acomaf #acotar #acotar fanfiction #azriel #azriel x reader #azriel x you #acotar fic #azriel acotar #azriel fanfic #azriel shadowsinger

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