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manicrouge · 9 months

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An Ode to Serelia

[𝟷𝟾+, 𝙼𝙳𝙽𝙸] || Part Two

[𝙰𝚕𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚗𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝚄𝚗𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚎: 𝙶𝚞𝚊𝚛𝚍!𝚂𝚒𝚖𝚘𝚗 𝚁𝚒𝚕𝚎𝚢 𝚡 𝚂𝚒𝚛𝚎𝚗!𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛]

[𝙳𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝙿𝚘𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚍]: 01/01/24

[𝙰𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝]: Displeased is the siren who weeps, a sister stolen leading to her finding the man who helps her to her feet.

[𝙲𝚠]: blood, graphic violence, torture, gore, body horror, violence, character death, murder, loss of a parent, angst, mention of suicidal thoughts, smut, loss of virginity, creampie, inexperienced!reader, possessive!Simon

[𝚆𝚘𝚛𝚍 𝙲𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝]: 23,720

𝙿𝚕𝚊𝚢𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝 If you're intrigued in the music I listened to writing, there's a link to the spotify playlist, enjoy !!

[𝙰/𝙽]: HIIII !! This is the story I mentioned the other day on my blog, it's here, it's written (hopefully to a decent standard) and it was a lot of fun to write and I hope you have fun reading it !! Also I did change up the appearences of sirens a little for the sake of being #unique and #different. Greek mythologies version would have been interesting, though I'm unsure how exactly a bird with the head of a woman would translate into a cod fanfiction so please forgive my creative liberties.

Also, there may be the possibility for a part two cause I have an idea if you would like that pls let me know!!

Comments are always appreciated, please let me know what you think... unless you think it's the worst thing you've ever read, then tell me, but in a nicer way pls, i.e. 'bless you, you tried' or 'hmmm, I've read better, good try though!'

(I'm very sensitive).

HAVE FUN!!

P.s. Rhymezone and me were besties while i was writing this. Also I figured out how to make the text tiny... I'm learning guys!!! And sorry for it being so long, tumblr was literally lagging near the end of writing this whoops.

Also!!! Share any request you have for me in my 'Ask me anything'!! I'd be happy to write more alt aus with different characters :))

Please don't post my work anywhere else without my permission !!

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

Illuminated in the night, entranced by the tide, the sailors always come to you, such a mistake they make, too little too late, for they can never ever run. Foolish mortal men, sinking into the watery depths of a sirens den, for a woman in the sea is never just a friend.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

In the dead of night, you awake to a glow. It's seemingly stretching out its arms, calling out to you.

The orange light bends and warps with the movement of the sea, the rolling waves and glaring light for the moon creating a mixture of light which creates a celestial shimmer on the scales on your tail, reflecting off of your black eyes as you turn your head up in its direction.

The muscle in your chest is pounding, muffled words running through your ears as you keep your eyes trained on the light pushing its way from the shore all to make its way to you.

A full moon is never a good thing, although, submerged in the depths of the sea, you find it difficult to make out the shape of the glowing orb in the sky.

Her light confirms your worst fear, though, your eyes struggle to make anything out.

Even at night, the coral surrounding your bed is sleeping, nature reserving its strength for another troublesome day of battling against the grubby hands of the legged folk who rule both land and sea with an iron fist.

'Don't go meddling with the folks of the land, my dear, for trouble is the only thing ye shall find.'

It's the lesson of your mother which courses through your mind, like a shock of adrenaline through the body, a dopamine which has your hands trembling while sitting in quiet contemplation.

Land folk are dangerous, maniacs who believe they can possess the land and all that walks upon it.

To own the world, you would have to be mother nature herself, even then, her presence is discounted for because one of the land folk has in abundance what she lacks: golden coins.

You're familiar with these things, these little circular items they carry on their being, sometimes in small leather pouches, recalling a few of them being in the pockets of silly sailors who though they had the right to the place you and your sisters called home.

During their time spent, they toyed with the land as though she herself can not feel, taking and taking, so much so, you feared your initial silence to their actions would have resulted in you being damned for an eternity.

They massacred most of the fish, took your food as though it was theirs to take, discounting the creatures in the surrounding water. Greedy were the city folk, both of these golden things and your food, so, you followed the rule your mother had introduced.

Holding you on her lap, she looked at you and your delicate little frame, placing her hand against the wound on your tail.

Blood drifted in the the water, swirling with the current of the water and you sniffled in your mothers lap.

How terrible the wound was, throbbing as she plucked seaweed from out of the ground, using it to cover the cut.

The wound had been the fault of the land folk; they mistook you for a fish you supposed, though your little mind really didn't care to stop and acknowledge the truth of what happened.

The hook they had caught your tail with sat beside your mother and as she picked it up, she held it before you, watching as your eyes grew wide, nearly bulging from out of your little head as you began to squirm on her lap. What a monstrous little thing that contraption was, causing such hurt when it was the size of seashell. Keeping it in your view, she shushed you, opening her mouth, showing you her pointed teeth as she cupped your face with her other hand.

'My poor Urchin,' she lamented, 'it can do no harm now; it's not in the hands of the city folk, it's in mine,' she soothed, yet, despite her words you found that your throat was clogged as you recalled the morphed faces of the men who had caught sight of you when you had been caught.

'Is it because we hurt the bad people that they're doing this to the ocean?' you quietly asked, choking out your words as the gills either side of your neck opened.

It felt as though the hook had been stuck in your throat, ripping the insides as you struggled to the words out while sitting on your mothers lap. 'Are we bad people, mama?'

'No dear, we protect the sea and do the job the Lord made for us, it is the folks on her back who are the bad people, we're submerged in her soul, you see, keeping her from harms way and the cruel games of the true beasts,' she firmly stated, 'we hide from the enemy, covered in the current of what gives life to take the lives of those who are much too greedy for this world,' she lectures, 'so you mustn't pity the land folk; if they stray too far from their home and into yours, it is your duty to keep them away.'

'Even if we hurt them?'

'A lesson taught, is a warning sent, my dear,' she sweetly said, 'for a thieves broken neck is easy to repent.'

You acted that day as your mother had intended all those years ago: cruel, brutal, and unforgiving.

By the time you had finished, the water surrounding you was branded with their blood.

You gasped and choked, spitting out chunks of sailor from out of your teeth, plucking chunks of their cotton shirt out of your mouth the remains of a fish bone; it was far too stuck for you to use your nails, no matter how sharp they are.

You cleaned your teeth, watching as the bodies with their organs descended to the bed of the ocean with their gold coins in your hands while their pockets were filled with stones.

It was payment for their crimes and in death, they paid you to keep their bodies down, away from their families, for, you thought of the children on the coast.

They very well may be human, but they are undeserving of seeing one of their own in such a way.

You felt little when as you watched them sink, and upon reflection, all you ever feel is remorse for your silence.

Had you acted sooner, well, you suppose it would have saved you a trip to the deeper part of the ocean when hunting for food.

In the midst of your exhaustion you find your thoughts again, realising in your moment of contemplation, the little light grew closer to the edge of the coast.

Placing your hands against rocks, you push yourself from out of your reserved mellow cove, cocking your head to the side as you reach your hand outwards toward an orange fleck of light which greets you with open arm.

Exiting the cave, a flurry of bubbles pour pass your lips as their chants grow louder, as though they too are underwater.

Your pointed ears twitch as you push forwards through the water.

Your eyes are heavy as you push through the water, growing closer and closer to the source of the light, the sudden shift in the brightness causing them to sting.

You keep your eyes on the mysterious glow, rubbing your face with your hand, the long nail on your pointer finger catching the edge of your lip. Hissing, you watch as a faint trail of rouge seeps from your mouth, pressing the tips of your finger into the wound. Still, your eyes are unmoving, much too interested in the glowing beyond on the water.

Then, you hear voices.

It's the voice of humans, their low grumbles, cheers and chants causing the water surrounding you to vibrate from their ferocious tongues.

'I found one papa!'

Shifting, you turn your head towards the surface.

Whatever they have found is not for their hands, you sure of that much, and your stomach grows weary.

Oh, what catastrophe are they going to muster tonight? What are they going to use for sacrifice?

Your throat begins to knot, its as though someone is pressing their hands around the gills on you neck as your mind races.

One by the ocean is one of your own. Who else would have landed up on the shore? But it can't be, no it mustn't be; they're smarter than that.

No one else is awake at this hour, you have the consciousness of only yourself and the land folk.

Why would an Urchin be so far out that the spliced fingers of man could get to her?

No, they're in their caves, keeping their ears out for the horn of a ship, or perhaps the merry song of a sailor.

As you break the surface of the water, the waves of the ocean brush against your head, rain pouring from out of the sky, The breeze against your skin rendering you breathless.

You're guilty of feeling a crude interest take hold of you as you peer towards the sure, before ultimately deciding to succumb to temptation, following through your curiosity in the hopes to find what has caused such a disturbance.

It's difficult to see, your eyes are trained for the sea, you have little experience on land and the light above is much harsher than the gentle streams beneath the surface.

As you push forward, keeping most of your body underwater, your ears are greeted with more howling.

Their's excitement seeping from off of their tongues, they're bemused with their discovery.

Perhaps it's one of their rituals; you've found, through the time you have been watching them, they're terribly fond of the sacrifice of their own. Their disregard for the very thing they grew from is disheartening, a reflection of their characters.

Their form of sacrifice is truly despicable, against the order of nature, but they do not care for their own. One could be starving at a table full of food, the very table they set, yet, forbidden from touching a single thing all because of another's self importance.

Yet, it is you and your kind who are the monsters.

It's at times like this you long for your mother.

But, with the rain battering the backs of the humans as they form a circle around their special find, you find both her absence and the shyness of the moon leaves crude goosebumps covering your body as you shift in the water.

'MONSTERS,' a silk tone calls as you grow closer and closer, yet, you are forced to stop; the tide is upset, the moon displeased at such a display of savagery.

The thing in your chest stops, your webbed hands forming fists as you crane your neck forward.

'Monsters you are! Let me go,' the voice cracks as more cheering ensues.

'Cover her mouth,' demands one, 'keep her from singing her murderous song; her voice is as sweet as honeysuckle and it is her barbed tongue which has taken our brothers from us, and we will not let it take us! This is for the men we have lost to the creatures of the sea!'

You watch as the waves grow stronger, the rain landing with a slosh against the sea.

It's difficult to keep yourself in one place, both the fire in your chest and the shoving formation of the water urging you to go forward. You know her tone, though it is shredded and brutal as she speaks, unlike the sweet songs you savour.

Serelia.

'No!' she screams, ripping her vocal cords as you see a webbed hand appear from the circle of bodies, blood dripping from down a wound you spy on her shoulder.

Gripping the sand on the shore, the waves from the water brushing against the tips of her fingers and you feel the crashing body of water forcing you forward.

'Please, we would do no harm if you did none to—'

Opening your mouth, you will a tune to escape you, to pull them away from her to give her time to return to her home. Only, your much too choked up as water floods your mouth, the foul weather proving to work in mans favour.

Pushing yourself further up, you open your mouth, letting out a ghastly wrench as a sudden flood of coldness fills your veins, pulling at your tongue, keeping it pressed against the bottom of your mouth. Your lips quiver from the temperature as you attempt to pry a tune from out of your clogged up mouth.

'I- Illuminated—' you swallow another mouthful of water.

Her hand disappears.

You watch as a hand grabs her wrist, hearing her squeal and scream.

The circle of bodies disperses as you see the ends of her tail held in the forearms of a man.

There's a fire in your eyes, a fire enough to leave the sea bloody as your scaled skin and blackened eyes catch a patch of red staining the sand.

The sea betrays you as it sweeps up, carrying away grains of the red sand as the land folk hold their torches up in celebration as blood drips down onto the sand, the ruined blue scales of your sister turning purple in the light of the moon with the mixture of blood which pours from her wounds.

You watch in horror, hands slapping against the water as you look towards the moon nestled in the sky, peering down at you.

In the light of Luna, you recall her face.

Her innocent little face, doe eyes, cheery grin, how her nose would crinkle at the slightest accusation whenever she had done something particularly troublesome. The colour of her tail, how she looked when she sat upon the rocks singing her merry songs for the passersby to listen to.

A gift for the men she was, a gift spoiled by their grubby, wretched hands.

A sister as such spoke with a silk tongue, cohesive, one of your most prized possessions. A chest of jewels from horrid humans simply never compared to the life of one of your own, nothing.

Not even their dastardly golden coins.

Your head grows light as you keep your eyes trained on the humans marching forward, the light from the sticks they carry in their hands growing weary in the distance as the wind grows stronger. It's all too much, the sight of one of your own, the knot in your throat keeps you from gulping down necessary gulps of air. You feel nauseous, an icy chill freezing the blood in your veins.

Sinking back to the depths, your hand is forced and you're kept away from the dreary sight as the current drags you back under.

In the warped complexion of the surface, you see the moon still staring at you and you bark out in fury, 'you backstabber,' you roar, 'I saw my mother in you and you have betrayed our own for keeping you safe,' you continue onwards in your fury, your face contorting as you point up towards the surface.

'She has done nothing, as innocent as an Urchin can be, and you take her? Why not me?'

The current grows displeased.

'We give our lives, all our lives... my mothers,' you heave, placing a hand against your chest, 'I know not the secrets of the land, I don't possess the means to go upon the surface, how- how do we get her back? Why? Why would you take her and not me?' you choke out.

She shifts in colour, you spy her eyes growing red as you look upwards at her. 'She does not deserve to be a part of their game, neither did my mother,' you cry, 'take me, I'm offering myself up, leave her—'

There's a pull in the current, the rolling waves above the surface plunging downwards with a spiralling head.

You meet the eye of the storm, bubbles escaping your mouth as you bring your hands to cover your face. It hooks you, pulling you into as a ton of water comes crashing down into the small pocket of air you have become trapped in.

The last thing you catch before you're senses are flooded with darkness is the red glint in Luna's eye before you descend into the abyss.

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚ ☾ ˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

It's with the crude calls of village folk that he leaves his post.

There have been some form of disturbance for the past couple of nights, and after the first ending him standing on the shore of the town, his eyes being battered with the wind and sea, he found he has little interest in part-taking in the games of the fools. Fortunately, as he raises from his post, peering from out the window, he hears a shift behind him.

His eyes are unmoved by the chaos beyond the warning, his lids only lifting when he catches a child rushing ahead of the crowd of people.

His words are lost in the hollers of the crowd, though, he bounces with such excitement, the type that can only be likened to when a child gets money for chocolate, or even a new toy.

Only, he's acting as though he has won the biggest and best chocolate bar, his little head bobbing as he bounds down the cobble streets, his hand wrapping firmly around an elder mans wrist, tugging him along eagerly.

From behind him, he hears the scrape of a chair and a weary sigh. 'Another call for me? Swear, they cause mischief in the dark they do,' he comments with a hearty chuckle.

Turning away from the window, the red glow from the fire on the end of their torches lights emits an orange light in the room, though, the man before him is covered as stray arms of light stretch beyond his bulky frame, merely able to catch even the side of the man with a mohawk's face.

'Has Price told y' what they're up to? It's been every fuckin' night for weeks straight,' he asks, tugging down the edge of his mask, tilting his neck either side, a crude snap emitting as he does so.

The man standing in front of him offers him a toothy grin, crossing his arms over his chest with a short nod. Muscles bulge against the white cotton clinging to his frame and he readies himself by undoing the buttons on the cuffs of his shirt, pushing the sleeves to the crease of his forearms.

'Apparently, they're lookin' for merfolk or somethin', y'know what Captains like, doesn't 'ave the time for stupid shit like this,' he explains, 'read too many fuckin' fairytales if y' ask me. Couple ships disappear off of the coast and they believe a fuckin' fish did it?' He breaks out into a spell of roaring laughter. 'They call 'em sirens.'

'Sirens?'

'Aye,' nods the slightly shorter man, rubbing the stubble on his face with his hand. 'Sirens,' he adds, 'lore men to their deaths with their songs they do, supposedly, prettier than any lass on the land... sounds like a story written by a man, eh? Beautiful bonnie's with a good throat on em', paradise if y' ask me,' he proceeds to laugh even harder at his own joke, kneeling over as he does so.

It takes a brief moment for him to realise the masked man standing before him is unmoved by his comments.

Awkwardly, he comes to a sudden stop as he peers up at the man, slowly adjusting his posture, using his hands against his knees to steady himself as he notes the red lights behind him have disappeared.

'Suppose I should go and fetch them back,' he quietly grumbles, 'keep an ear out though, won't ya, Ghostie? Needa make sure they don't try n' sacrifice me to the sirens!'

'Affirmative,' he says briefly, turning his attention away from him, listening to his footsteps against the floorboards as he tucks his gloved hands into his pockets. 'Johnny,' he calls out.

The footsteps stop.

'Doesn't count if I find out y' went into the water to find them yourself,' he warns, looking over as the man nods his head, 'I'll drag you back in and sacrifice y' myself.'

'Gonna take more to get rid of me than that, Lt,' he answers, pushing the door open, 'throw a pint of ale in the sea, an' maybe, just maybe you'd get what y' want,' he laughs, walking out of the door with his hand pressing on the handle of the sword sitting at his waist.

The taller man stands and watches as he disappears into the dead of night, shaking his head in his direction.

'Fuckin' hell,' he grumbles to himself before turning his attention back to the chair he'd perched himself upon, grabbing the dagger he had set down onto the table, grabbing the cloth sitting beside it before kicking his feet back up onto the table, watching as Johnny disappears past the window, heading towards the crowd of chaos.

Turning his attention back to the dagger, he eyes himself in the refection, noting the redness of his eyes before rubbing the cloth over its smudge surface. 'Lost their fuckin' mind, can never excuse shit in a reasonable,' he grumbles to himself, 'better chance of Price quitin' smoking than there is the chance of fuckin' sirens,' he continues on, lifting his head when the candle perched on his desk flickers.

'Bloody lunatics.'

As he sat in the silence of the station, he finds his mind wandering. It's unusual for his mind to ever really escape him, although, with the sight of that little boy jumping up and down in such a manner he finds it difficult to shake a niggling feeling which is poking and prodding at his temple.

His excitement was evident, that much was obvious the longer he focuses on the memory.

If such is the case, if there is truly something behind the little boys excitement, he's there, sitting on his ass, doing absolutely nothing while the man is left to deal with everything to come from whatever has been found. There's something different about the tone of the people, he sees it well.

Terror trickles in, one head at a time, passing by the window in a manic flurry.

At first, he doesn't notice, far too interested in the blade he'd pulled from the sheathe resting on his belt to see the chaos unfolding beyond the window of the station. Their words a muffled, and they seem distant as he eyes the popped blood vessels in the white of his eyes. Moving the metal closer to his masked face, he narrows his eyes, rubbing the cloth over the blade again.

The door bursts open, and while unnerved, outwardly he remains still, snapping his head around.

The man who had left no more than fifteen minutes ago is back, his face wind swept and pale as he heaves out heavy breaths, keeping his arm firmly against the door.

His white shirt is soaked through to the skin, the pinkness of his flesh peeking out from under the fabric, his calf high boots marked with wet sand, crunching as he steps a single foot into the Station, not daring to take one more.

It's easy to read his face, though he finds his brow creasing as he realises that the very look on his face is fear.

Immediately he stands up from his seat, the flame of the candle beside him flickering as he does so. Tossing the cloth onto the table, he sheathes his knife, grabbing his coat from off of the back of his chair, throwing it over his shoulders.

'What?' he asks, 'a fight break out or somethin'? Look like you've seen a ghost,' he breaths.

Johnny doesn't offer him a response for a moment, only looking up towards him with wide eyes, unable to pick his jaw up from off of the ground.

'Fucks sake, Johnny, what—'

'Siren,' he says quietly.

It's difficult to catch what he says with the rain hitting the window and street beyond the office. His lips curve into a crooked smile beneath his mask as he shakes his head.

Sirens? Is he fucking stupid?

The expression on his face doesn't change, even when he hears the small laugh escaping the confines of his mask.

'A lass was on the shore n' she has a fuckin' tail!' he exclaims, pushing himself up after catching his breath, 'tail blue as the sea, eyes black as the void... they bloody exist.'

'And where is she now? She go back into the water to swim off with her friends, hm?' he asks, 'ride away on the back of a horse with a horn on its forehead and wings too?' he scoffs, shrugging his jacket off, only for a hand to reach out, grabbing his forearm.

'Still on the beach.'

'The beach?'

'Aye.' he says, 'ran as fast as I could, woke Price 'n Kyle up, 'told them they had to get to the beach quick. If they keep hold of her, they're gonna kill her- she's a bloody mess, cryin' and screamin'.'

He pinches himself to make sure he's still awake while staring at the soaked man. In no way can he find a single thought in his mind at this moment to make anything make sense.

In fact, he feels a prickling heat flooding his flesh the longer he stands and processes what has just been relayed to him.

They're real, they're real and they have found one.

Despite the implications, it's difficult for him to miss the worry in his tone, and while what they deem to be a monster has just appeared off the coast of Lakekeep, he's still worrying about its safety.

'We have to go, they're gonna kill 'er, Ghost.'

Fixing his coat, he looks down at the dagger resting at his hip, giving a short nod as the man lets go of his arm.

'Price and Gaz followin' along?' he asks.

'Aye, didn't believe me at first,' confesses the man with a short laugh, 'still can't believe it meself and I've seen it with my own eyes,' he says, stepping back out into the rain.

Ghost follows after him, slamming the door of the Station shut as the head down the cobbled path, their boots splashing in the puddles forming in the tight streets as the rain hits the ground harder.

Their chants carry through the village, washing over the usual silence like a tidal wave, flooding his senses with cries and pleads.

As they edge closer, he can hardly believe it as a woman's voice bellows out, 'MONSTERS!'

It's brittle and broken the way she cries, and oddly, he feels that the voice tugs at his heartstrings.

'Mustn't listen to her speak, Lt,' he says, 'what they said is true, apparently the boy found her on the shore and when he approached her, he heard her hummin' a tune- said it had him in a trance,' Johnny says, looking to him.

'Monsters you are! Let me go!'

Stepping down off of the stone steps, the pair of the pursued the scene, hearing stray voices fall from out of the crowd, demanding that her mouth be covered in order for them to fulfil some form of revenge. Watching on, he catches the appearance of a bloody webbed hand poking out from the crowd, landing against the shore with a wet slap.

It's as though she's reaching out for something.

Following the line of her forearm, he watches as the sea climbs up the shore, touching the tips of her fingers as she continues to scream and cry.

Moving his attention from off of the beach, he looks to the water, eyeing the crashing waves as the wind sweeps the fabric of his long black coat to the side. The water is restless, and with the rain pouring from the black sky, it's difficult to make much out that isn't just raging water.

Although, in the glow of the torches which whip and wind in the wind, the light covers a fair distance beyond land, and he spots something in the water. In the darkness, it's difficult to make out more than a silhouette of what appears to be a human head. Only, after another crashing wave, he catches sight of pointed ears either side of the head.

Something is watching them, yet no one sees it.

'No!'

The scream from the centre of the crowd rips him out from his trance as he turns his head, following after Johnny.

'Please, we would do no harm if you did none to us. Please, let me go!' she screams with all her might, her voice piercing to the ears of everyone in the surrounding area.

The crowd dips as they shift, covering their ears with a harsh wince.

Finally, she's unveiled to him.

A gash in her head is pouring blood down her bare breasts as she fights and writhes against the hold of the hold of the men who keep her captive. Her ginger hair is matted and covered with the blood and sand, as is the rest of her body.

The slits on the side of her neck, similar to the ones on a fishes body open and close as she lets out muffled cries.

His eyes trail further down her battered body, the sight of a blue tail stained with blood greeting his gaze. In the light, it appears almost purple as the blood mixes with the shimmer of her scales.

Screwing her eyes shut, she fights with all the fury in her being, and as he watches her, he feels the same heat he felt at the station creeping back onto him, and despite the harshness of the weather, the warmth beaming from his skin is enough to keep him from shivering.

'Alright, move out of the fuckin' way!'

It's the voice of his Captain bursting through the chaos of the surrounding area.

Turning to look over his shoulders, he catches sight of Price and Gaz walking down the beach, and with ease, Price holds his hands up, his words catching the attention of the the booming crowd.

Silence falls upon them, the sirens cries mixing with the crashing sound of the ocean. The man moves past both himself and Johnny, Gaz standing between the pair of them as he parts the crowd with an astonishing ease.

The gasp that passes his lips when making it to the centre is enough to make even his blood run cold.

There's a moment of silence, the sound of the torches whipping against the wind as he keeps his eyes trained on the back of his Captains head.

Clearly, the cogs are turning, expecting what Johnny had told him to be that of a stupid joke, only, it isn't.

It's real and it's squirming around on the ground, staring Price right in the eyes.

'She's a murderer!' a voice shouts from the crowd, 'her and her people, she said it herself,' the continue on, fury carrying their tone past the cries of the woman on the ground.

Price continues to look at her, and as he looks over his shoulder, catching his eye, he turns back to the woman on the ground.

'Take her in,' he says with a firm nod, 'we'll put her in a cell in the Station for now, figure out what to do with her later,' he continues, looking at the two men who held her arms, 'carry her back to the Station,' he rules, resting his hands on his hips as he observes all the other faces in the crowd, 'as for the rest of y', funs over for tonight, get back home,' he demands.

'We'll take it from here. '

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚ ☾ ˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

You awake with a brittle moan.

Your mouth is full of send, a dull ache radiating from your chin as your forehead creases when you look ahead of yourself. You teeth bite down on the sand in your mouth, a disgusting crunch causing you to wince.

Memories are stubborn, not wanting to come back to you, only allowing you to recall the sight of blood on the beach and the crashing waves around you.

With a grunt, you attempt to push yourself up off of the ground, a grunt escaping you as your breasts push against the sand. Tearing your eyes from off of the beach in front of you, you shiver as you feel the water wash up, brushing against your limbs.

Looking to your hands, a startled gasp escapes you as you hold one out in front of your face. No longer are they webbed, no, instead, your fingers are separated. Curling your hand around the dark sand before you, you clench it in your fists, watching as it poured past it. Your hips ache as you shift, placing your cheek back against the sand.

Your head is spinning, you can't think of a single thing aside from the fact that your mouth is dry, horrifically dry.

You muster up what little spit you can, expelling grains of sand as the spit clings the your bottom lip, dribbling down the side of your mouth.

The water moves further up, and as you go to move your tail, you're startled by the sound of footsteps on the beach beside you, only, you're too tired to even check who it is.

I've failed as a sister, so if I must go out like this, then I will.

'Ma'am! Oh fuck, ma'am, are you okay?'

The tone is light, different to what you expected to hear counting you have washed up onto the very same coast you had seen Serelia on the night before... if it was even the same day as her disappearance, that is.

The sand crunches beside you as a shadow looms over you, keeping you from the brutal beams of the sun, a hand pressing against your shoulder.

Picking your head up, you muster out a pained whimper as you look at the man in front of you. Concern is etched on his brow as he stares down at you, shrugging off a piece of clothing, resting it against your shoulders.

Your eyes are narrow as you keep your eyes trained on him, unable to look anywhere else as he carefully places his hand against your cheek.

'Can you tell me your name?' he gently asks.

You swallow hard, your chapped and cracked lips pressing together.

Your eyes grow heavy.

You hear another curse under his breath as exhaustion rattles your body. Your head falls heavy and his hold on you slips away, gently placing your head back against the ground. You hope he leaves you be, allows the sea to swallow you whole so you can be with your own once again.

Two firm hands press against your shoulders, gently guiding so you're lying on your back.

His shadow keeps the sun from you once again as he scoops you up into his arms, keeping a firm grip around your shoulders and tail. his hand slips slightly as he uses his jacket to cover your breasts, and you shift when you feel his hand move lower, being extra cautious to cover up your tail.

His breathing is rough as he rushes up the beach with you in his arms, every step causing you to shift or hiss.

'Sorry, love,' he softly apologises, pulling you closer. You note how his pace slows upon him noticing the pain he's causing you by running, 'do you know where we are?' he asks, looking down at you.

Cracking your eyes open, the back of your neck burns as you attempt to look back at him. Poking your tongue past your lips, sand scrapes against the back of your throat as you open your mouth, all for a hoarse croak to escape your lips.

'Have to get you somethin' to drink,' he says firmly, 'you're okay now, love, I promise,' he reassures, pulling you closer to him.

You muster up a short 'hm', resting your head against his chest, listening to the little muscle in it thumping as he heads up the stairs, taking your further away from the beach.

The pair of you remain in silence and you hear the passing giggles and whispers of passersby as he keeps you against him.

You're unsure of what they're saying, though you're sure they're most likely laughing at your tail.

It's surprising hearing such a humorous reaction from them, figuring they would respond in a similar manner to how they did when you had heard Serelia screaming on the shore.

Mustering up a grunt, you flinch as your body is lightly pressed into a door. It squeals as it opens, and the very first thing you hear is a booming voice. It causes the dull ache in your head to worsen as you flinch.

'Am tellin' ye, it's straight out of a fuckin' fairytale it is,' booms the voice, 'can y'—'

There's silence.

Your eyes crack open as you observe the room you're in.

It's different to home, there's a rich smell, similar to the smoke from the lights on the beach.

'Found her on the beach,' confesses the man holding you, 'Johnny, go get some water, please,' he asks, 'she's got a mouthful of sand, she can hardly speak.'

There's a short answer, you can't quite hear it, as he moves you further into the room, setting you down.

Your damp hair hits the plush fabric of a pillow and something is pulled over your body. It's light, harmless.

'Where was she?' asks an unfamiliar voice. It's low, his accent is thick and as you turn your head to the side, you note the man has a thick brown beard, his hair quite short. Stepping towards you, he rests his large hand on your forehead. 'She's burning up.'

'She was near the same spot as last night where that... siren was,' he says.

It's as though life is breathed into you as you quickly sit up, ignoring the dizziness wrecking your mind. The man quickly pulls his hand from off of your forehead, moving it to your shoulder. 'Calm down, love,' he gently instructs, looking to the man standing beside you, 'you reckon she was attacked by it?'

'Could have been; she seems shaken,' he confirms.

Confusion hits you as you lift your tail, only to find that is has vanished.

As you lift your legs, a distraught gasp escapes you as you catch sight of legs.

Two legs- the same as the three men in the room have.

Quickly, you slap your hands to the side of your ears, your chest heaving as you realise your ears have shrunk, resembling that of the legged folk. Everything seems to come tumbling down in front of you, your head pounding as your eyes begin to sting.

'Hey, hey, you're fine,' hushes the man who found you on the beach. The door opens again and a cup of water is handed to him. Taking a seat beside on the bed beside you, he brings to the cup to your mouth. 'Have a drink,' he instructs.

You want to tell him no, to demand to know what they have done to her, yet, you know you can't do anything until you have something to drink.

So, you press your dry lips against the rim of the cup, allowing him to pour it into your mouth. The feeling is euphoric, unlike any sensation you've ever dreamt of, and you eagerly swallow down mouthful after mouthful of water, taking the cup in your own hands.

You're aware of the eyes on you, but you don't care, drinking from the cup until it is empty. With heaving breaths, your wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, keeping tight hold of the cup.

A hand settles against your knee, and as you look back up, the man who was sitting in the corner is now standing behind the two closest to the bed. You note the man who brought you water has an odd haircut, while the much taller man's face is completely covered aside from his eyes.

It's strange, the fabric of a thick hood pulled over is head, his eyes peering through the holes of a skull.

Is that real?

'Sorry, sweetheart, I didn't mean to upset you,' says the brown-haired man, squeezing your bare shoulder.

You look at him with your lips pressed together, bringing the cup closer to you as you swallow hard.

Despite his caring words, you find yourself unable to open your mouth- unable to trust him. He's going to hurt you if he finds out what you are, then what? You're forever bound to their land?

'What's the last thing you can remember before you washed up on shore?' he asks.

You look at him with beady eyes, and the man with his hand on your knee pats you gently, 'you're safe here, we're not gonna hurt you,' he reassures. 'You seemed panicked when we mentioned the mermaid, does it have something to do with her- or more of them?'

Your mind is racing trying to piece together a narrative.

Confirmation that she was the thing that put you in such danger will surely be a death sentence- if she isn't already dead. Living with that on your consciousness is a horrid thought to even think of, so, you distance yourself away from creating an accusation, though you find yourself in trouble as you realise how you reacted to the mention of her.

Essentially, you've acted on impulse and no matter the response, you're unsure if it's going to suffice.

'I- I...' you begin, your throat burning as you bring your hand up to clasp it, 'I was on a ship,' you answer, 'I remember it in water- b- but then there was a storm,' you explain, your voice choppy and broken as you rub your hand up and down your throat finding that even your gills have disappeared. 'The siren,' you begin, clearing your throat, 'she tried to help me.'

'Help you?' mutters the one with a strange haircut. 'How'd she do that, lass?'

'I- I was stuck,' you say, 'I couldn't get out an' she tried to, uh, pull me out,' you explain, 'but she got hurt- it might not even be the same one but... there was one, a good one,' you explain, gulping hard as the masked man standing beside the man with his hand on your shoulder shifts on his feet, his eyes burning into your flesh, the sunken eyes behind the skill mask leaving goosebumps on your flesh.

He's harsher than last nights current.

Keeping your eyes trained on the man, you observe him as he peers down at you, his built frame making you feel small. Most definitely, you do not want to get on his bad side; he could probably crush you with one hand.

'Couldn't have been the same mermaid,' he answers, his tone causing your chest to almost rattle, 'took an entire night for you to even wash up here, you wouldn't have survived if it was her,' he notes, the others around you shaking their heads in a collective agreement.

Your heartbeat is pounding in your ears, you feel blood coursing through your veins as you look up at him with teary eyes.

Your bottom lip protrudes as water begins to pour from your eyes. It's unlike anything you've ever felt, and, despite your burning eyes, you find the sensation oddly relieving.

You throat grows tight as you sharply inhale, allowing the cup to rest against the covers as you press the tips of your fingers into your cheeks.

A hiccup escapes your lips as your mouth trembles, all the misery of being lost and having lost escaping you in a cathartic sob that causes your entire body to shake.

'I- I don't know where I am, I- I'm scared,' you confess as more water clings to your eyelashes in little droplets, clinging on, only for their grip to fall loose as you blink, releasing more fresh streams onto your flesh.

Releasing a hand off of your shoulder, the man stationed beside you looks to the man who has his hand on you knee, 'you think you can go and get her some clothes? Poor things on show for the entire village to see,' he says. The man purses his lips for a moment, 'she's gotta have something that she doesn't want.'

'Has so many fuckin' dresses she won't even notice one has gone missing,' he says, standing up from off of the bed, 'I'll go and try and find something, as long as I don't take her cyan one I don't think she'll be too bothered,' he shrugs, 'keep an eye on her for me, won't you?' he asks, looking at the three.

The man with the peculiar haircut places his hand against his shoulder, patting it, 'she's in the best hands of the entire village,' he reassures, 'go an' find the lass some clothes, Gaz, we'll kep 'er safe,' he promises.

Gaz. What an odd name.

The rest of their conversation is lost on you as you're far too caught up in the tightness in your chest and the sounds of the screams you heard on the beach the night before to even think about anything else.

Only, when the door shuts, you startle at the sound of the slam, snapping your head up.

'MacTavish, I need you on patrol today,' says the brown-haired man. The disappointment on his face is notable as his eyebrows curl, 'everyone's on edge with the entire mermaid incident, the last thing I need I people trying to cause more trouble or almost drownin' going to find one of their own,' he says, 'speaking 'f which, need to go and check on her myself, make sure the head wound isn't goin' green,' he huffs, turning to the masked man standing behind him. 'Keep an eye out on her,' he states, turning his attention back to you.

Inwardly, you breathe a sigh of relief, allowing yourself to bathe in your emotion as you come to terms with the fact that she's alive.

Your eyes meet with his, your heart burning at the sight of pity burning in his gaze.

If things were any different, you very well would have wiped the soft smile off of his face, but you look at your options and his uniform, likening it to one your mother had described to you in the past.

'They like to think they have control, dress up in clothes just to make the isolation of their species more capable,' she explained while sitting in upon one a rock. You accompanied her, looking at her. She had such knowledge of the world beyond the water that you were simply awestruck with every story she told you. 'Fabric makes people listen, they're scared of the people with the golden buttons and sharp metal swords.'

'If you need anything, ask him and he'll get it for you,' he asks, looking over his shoulder at the man.

His tone grows harsher upon the mention of him doing his duty, your eyes falling to the man.

'Won't you, Ghost?

The masked man grabs the chair he was sitting on when you first entered the room, moving it as the brown-haired man and MacTavish move in the direction of the door. The chair settles at the side of your bed, as the pair move towards the door.

'Affirmative,' he grunts, taking a seat beside you while the two leave the Station, leaving you alone with the masked man called Ghost.

You look at him briefly, swallowing hard.

It's difficult to sit in silence, your stammering breath a reminder of all you've lost.

Beady eyes look at the masked man as you attempt to choke up the courage to say something to him. Despite sitting, his frame is much bigger than anyone else's you have ever seen, and as he leans forward, resting his forearms on his thighs, you flinch.

'Where's the mermaid?' you ask.

You watch his eyes scan the area surrounding you.

The fabric of his black mask moves as he sucks in a breath, 'can't say,' he confesses, 'confidential; unsure if anyone is listening out to try an' find her. If word gets out where she is, she'd be dead by tonight- if not sooner,' he explains.

'Why do they want her dead? Has she done something to you?'

You want to scream.

The man beside you is short with his responses, speaking of her as though he understands the whole picture, when in reality, their confinement of her is a crime punishable by death.

'She said somethin' she should've have,' he answers simply.

His words drag against his throat as he speaks to you.

'Oh,' you muster, resting your back against the wall behind you.

'Where were you goin'?' he asks.

You raise an eyebrow in his direction, tilting your head as you attempt to process what exactly he means by his statement.

'You said you were on a boat and you were rescued by one of the sirens,' he reminds you, your face flushing with colour as you realise you have already forgotten the tale you were twisting.

'I was with my sister,' you say, 'the memory is quite fuzzy,' you confess, knowing your knowledge of the surrounding land is limited to a map of the sea, not what is beyond it. 'It was for one of her trips, she was travelling to see her husband and then the storm hit.'

'The sea isn't too fond of forgiveness,' he remarks.

'Neither is the land,' you say, falling back into the security of the covers over you, allowing your back to slip from off of the wall, lying down.

Pushing himself up, he looks down at you, mustering a small hug as you sleeping exhale.

All the emotion and crying has your eyes drooping, disregarding your conversation. The man doesn't judge you for that, however, as you watch him looking over you with gentle eyes behind the mask.

'Get some sleep,' he says.

You expect him to say more to that, yet, instead, he pulls his chair from beside you, moving to it back to the corner he was sitting in before.

You keep your eyes on his broad back, watching as he sits down, kicking his feet up on to the desk, keeping his eyes out of the window.

Your eyes stay there as you drift off to sleep.

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚ ☾ ˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

When the door eventually bursts open, he's quick to send his eyes in the direction of Gaz as he walks through it with a bundle of garments. His mouth is open as he goes to speak, only to quickly shut his mouth when he is eyes falls to you, sleeping in the cot.

Holding the handle of the door, he pushes it shut so the lock clicks as quietly as possible, even going as far as to wince while doing so.

'I managed to find some clothes for her,' he says, 'not sure if I'm going to be a single man when she gets home, but I'll cross that bridge when I come to it.'

Setting the clothes down on the desk, Ghost stands up, picking the green cotton frock up from off of the table holding it out.

'I've never seen her in it,' Kyle says, 'don't even think she remembers having the thing, so she can't be upset about it if she completely forgot it existed, right?'

'Affirmative,' Ghost responds, 'wouldn't be too sure about it, though. She has an eye for the strangest things,' he warns, to which he laughs.

'You're right with that,' he says, 'I saw the Captain while I was out, he was comin' back from checking on the siren, told me to ask you if you're alright taking the girl in until she can remember what day it is; we can't leave her alone.'

He feels his chest tighten as he looks to you, seeing you peaceful sleep as you turn under the covers, your bare arm over your covered torso. 'You're the only one without someone... not too sure how—'

'I'll do it,' he says keeping his eyes trained on you.

Kyle looks at him with wide eyes.

'Well, she has no money does she? Not like an inn keeper is gonna give up a room for her, and I don't want to pay out of pocket to house her when she can just stay at my place.'

The man in front of him grins brightly.

'She'll hardly be any trouble, I'm sure of it,' he reassures, leaning against the desk, 'did she say anything else to you after I left?'

'She was with her sister on a ship heading somewhere to meet her sisters husband and that's then a storm hit and the ship was swallowed by the sea,' he says, 'she didn't say much, too out of it to really make much sense of the world around her.'

'Poor thing,' Gaz sighs, looking at Ghost, 'be nice to her, hey?'

'Wasn't planning on bein' cruel to her.'

'Good, good,' Kyle nods, 'Price told me to tell you that y' can have the rest of the day off if you get her out of the station, by the way. Take her home, get her something proper to eat and see if she wants to talk about it- he's sending something out to other villages to see if they have anyone who fits her description.'

'Doubt there'll be any news back for a while,' he says, approaching you, 'they don't care much for their own.'

His hand rests upon your shoulder and you grunt.

'I'll leave you to it,' Gaz calls from behind Ghost, 'gonna go and try and catch up with Johnny on patrols, doubt my lady would be too pleased with seein' another girl naked,' he chuckles, heading towards the door.

Waiting until the door is closed, Ghost proceeds to crouch down in front of you, rough hand nudging you again.

Your eyes crack open, a startled gasp escaping as you're greeted with the sight of his bone mask right in front of your face.

He feels you tense in his hands.

'Didn't mean to scare you,' he says, 'got you some clothes to keep people from starin' at you love, and then you're coming back to my place,' he explains.

His voice is softer than the tone he held with you prior and you swallow hard.

'Your place,' you croak, your face burning red from the sudden scare from your sleep.

'Yeah; until you're back on your feet and until that head of yours start workin' you're gonna have to stay here,' he explains, 'Price has sent messages out to local villages, see if any family members pick it up.'

Your face falters.

You're going to be here a while.

'Gaz got you some clothes,' he says, motioning over to the table.

Pushing yourself up, you manage to move your legs so your feet are planted against the floor. Ghost averts his eyes away from you, turning away. Sinking your teeth into your bottom lip, you look at the ground at your feet.

Surely it's not that difficult.

Pushing your self up off of the bed, you take a short breath, your legs wobbling as you land back onto the bed.

Despite being gifted the ability of legs, you find it quite pointless that you cannot use them. The water is much easier to navigate than the land is, that much you're sure of.

Looking up at the man in front of you, you let out a small breath.

'Can you help me?' you ask.

He doesn't bother saying anything to you, simply walking over to the table with the dress on it, it's an ugly green colour and you catch yourself grimacing at the fabric. Though, as soon as his eyes are on you, the sneer on your face fades away.

He's rough in the way he pulls the dress over your head, though you manage to get your arms through the sleeves with ease. It's an odd feeling, feeling the fabric against your skin, the elastic cuffs of the sleeves clinging to your arms.

Helping you to your feet, you stagger forward, your face growing red as you grab his arms for some form of support. Yet, he doesn't move, he doesn't even flinch, busying himself with pulling the skirt down, it stopping mid-thigh.

Your legs tremble as you wince, you grip growing tighter on him as you fight to stay on your feet.

'Guess I haven't quite found my footing after the accident,' you awkwardly laugh, wishing to be relieved of this torture.

Your face is beat red as you continue to curse the moon for putting you in such a position, cursing the your words during that night.

Leading you back down onto the bed, you're quick to let go of his arms as he looks at you. He knows you're not going to be able to walk to his house, and he fights off the urge to huff.

There's something so simple yet so difficult about the task... he's a fucking lieutenant in the village guard and he's been put on babysitting duties.

Be nice to her, hey?

Kyle's voice is like a dagger through his skull, and even though you can't see his face under the mask, he musters up a tight-lipped smile, swallowing all his pride for himself and his position.

'I'll carry you.'

Neither of you are happy about this, though a tight-lipped smile of your own appears on your face.

'Great... thanks.'

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚ ☾ ˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

His home is humble, quaint, tucked away in a quiet pocket of town.

Pushing open the door, he tilts his head towards the entrance of the house. With uneasy feet, you wobble as you take a step up into his house, his hand grabbing your forearm when you nearly loose balance.

During the course of your travels, you had fought against him, insisting after catching people staring at you for him to put you down and let you walk freely.

At first, he doesn't listen, keeping his eyes trained on the path in front of him, though, fortunately, he relented after you started to squirm in his arms.

It was difficult at first, but you got the hang of it... as long as his arm was around your waist.

It finds its way back around your waist for a short moment as he helps you up the steps.

'Careful,' he utters.

'Thanks,' you respond, holding the sides of the doorframes as you walk into the living room.

It's a quaint and simple little space, although, your cove is much better than this place. Yet, you suppose you cannot be picky while undercover, his hospitality rendering you speechless.

The mystery of the red moon and her tide is still very much fresh and new, you know you must not do something to compromise your safety or your chances of finding Serelia.

Even if it is resulting in you finding shelter in a man with a skull masks home.

Pulling his hood from off of his head head, he shrugged his cloak from off of his shoulders, hanging it up on a wooden stand placed beside the door.

You stand and watch, your arms pressed to your side, still trying to understand how exactly humans manage to stand so straight on their legs.

He turns to look at you, you see his eyes shift under his mask, 'it's not much, and you're going to have to be okay with sleeping on the couch.'

'Much more than what I have right now,' you respond with a soft smile on your face.

'Thank you, Ghost,' you say

'Of course,' he says with a short nod, 'you can help yourself to whatever you want, all I ask from you is to keep out of my room.'

'I can do that,' you reassure, nodding your head.

He doubts you'll even be able to climb the stairs as he can only liken the way you're walking to that of a baby deer learning how to walk for the first time.

He can't complain however; it's entertaining to watch you, and he does so as you make your way over to your new bed, holding your arms out either side to balance yourself before toppling onto the couch with a large exhale.

Sometimes his limited compassion still manages to get him into terrible situations, and as he looks at you, he can't help but worry about what he has gotten himself in for.

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚ ☾ ˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

After spending some necessary time in his home, you eventually find your feet... both literally and figuratively.

It's difficult for you to stay confined to the four walls of his house, granted, you don't really do much and find joy during your first day there reading through an old shabby collection of books on his shelf.

There's nothing interesting, and you're unsure as to whether or not he himself has read any of them as when you open one, you sneeze from the amount of dust covering it.

It's a fun past time you find, especially during the few attempts of being more steady on your feet. The moon must have heard your complaints as, during the second day, you're nearly unstoppable, aside from the burning in your calves each time you take a step forward.

By the third day, you're almost sprinting out of the house into the village.

It's difficult to adjust to first.

The land is unknown to you, yet, you don't threat.

Instead, you search the village high and low, walking into every store, listening to every conversation of the locals in the village. You feel your skin crawl whenever you hear their laughter, though, it's as though talk of the siren has disappeared completely.

From spending time reading in the library to simply perusing the streets, you're wounded by the lack of information.

Why isn't anyone talking about her? Surely they know where she is; humans hate us and they'll want us gone for the issues we've caused.

The question follows you for a while, only stopping when you see the door open during your fifth night of staying inside Ghost's home.

He appears tired and as his hand moves to his cloak, he quickly stops himself from pulling it down when he sees you in front of him.

It's an odd thing, you've observed him over the past few days, and not once has he shown his face.

Still, you don't care for his habits as you open your mouth over dinner after swallowing a mouthful of food. Your hands is grabbing for the water next to your plate as you state, 'how come no one in town is mentioning the siren anymore?'

He looks at you, chewing under his mask which he holds up after each bite. 'Price has made it a rule,' he states, 'Lords out of town right now on business, until he comes back, we have to hold her per his request,' he explains, 'we've gotta keep her safe and if anyone is heard discussin' her, he's treating it as though it's treason.'

You offer a short nod, going back to eating your food.

'Why?' he eventually asks.

'I just thought, with something as big as this discovery, it would be the talk of the town for years,' you say, 'I thought it was strange, that's all.'

The look he gives you makes you think that he doesn't quite believe what you're saying to him, though, he doesn't press on the matter, going back to eating his dinner.

It's strange to spend time with a human, especially living with them.

He doesn't speak much, only really talking to you at dinner time or greeting you after returning from his shifts around the village to make sure everything is in check.

'You can take the mask off, you know,' you say, observing his discomfort, 'your identity doesn't make a difference to me, besides... this is your home,' you say softy.

Truthfully, the mask is just as much as an annoyance to him as it is to you.

Surprisingly, he listens to your words, pulling the mask tied around the back of his head off of his face allowing you to see his mouth.

Really, he does even know why he committed so long to wearing the stupid thing, growing especially frustrated as dinner grew to be more of a chore than something of enjoyment.

Old habits die hard, he supposes, and the habit of wearing around you died that night thanks to your comment.

While eating, he attempts to ignore your eyes on him, though he is far too aware that you're staring at him, not missing the way your cheeks have a light tinge of red to them.

Grinning to himself, he shakes his head at a crude thought that suddenly pops into his mind, narrowing his eyes as he lifts his head to look at you.

You drop your head immediately, focusing much more on your food than on him, though your embarrassment is difficult to miss.

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚ ☾ ˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

Simon seems warmer to you after you've been at his house for a little longer. The longer time passes by, the more trips you're taking to the ocean.

It started with one in the early morning, although, you find yourself walking there at the beginning of every day all to talk to the waves, hoping you'll see the familiar face of one of your sisters in the water. Yet, you don't.

Part of you is happy with this fact, not wanting them to see you in such a state wearing the ugly green frock, the only thing you own aside from a pair of sandals which Ghost brought with him upon returning from a shift.

On occasion, you bump into one of the men you saw when you first stop at the station. You learn that MacTavish's name is actually Johnny, and Gaz, the man who found you on the beach, is named Kyle.

They stop to talk to you for a while, sometimes walking with you to the beach where they speak with you.

Nothing interesting really comes from the conversations until, a month into your stay in the village, Johnny blabbers a little too much.

'He enjoys your company, bonnie,' he confesses after complimenting your new pink dress Simon bought you, 'was telling me that he's enjoying giving you little gifts and having you with him for dinner. I'm tellin' you, he like you more than you think.'

'How can he like me when I don't do anything but steal his food and sleep on his couch?'

'Couldn't tell ya, lass, strange man is our Simon.'

You hold your breath.

'Simon?' you ask slowly, a smile creeping on your face.

He slaps a hand over his mouth, his face growing red.

'His names Simon?' you ask, craning your neck forward to look at the blushing mans face.

'Forget I said anything,' he demands, rubbing his face with his hand. 'Please,' he almost begs. 'What I mean to say, lass, is that he does like you, and if you haven't thought of doing something for him, maybe consider it.'

His words follow you into the nighttime as you're helping Simon cook.

It's been something you've been doing for a while, intrigue taking you down the strangest path.

'My mum used to make this soup,' he explains, 'the recipe for it is somewhere, I don't know where it's gone though. It was great for nights like there.'

You hear a bell chime in your ears, thinking back to Johnny's words. Simon doesn't miss the smile on your face.

'What? What did I say?'

'Nothing, Sim-'

You freeze.

The pair of you stare at each other.

'Ghost, I mean Ghost!' you exclaim, holding your hands up, realising that you have most definitely gotten poor Johnny in a hell of a lot of trouble.

'Johnny told you didn't he?'

'He slipped up while he was talking to me today, he didn't mean it and I'm sorry if-'

'Say my name,' he cuts you off quickly and your eyebrows furrow.

'Simon?'

He grins to himself, turning his head away acting as though you have just done him the greatest act of service. 'I like how it sounds when you say it,' he says, going back to chopping up the vegetables, 'much better than Ghost.'

Redness spreads to your cheeks as you admire the look of joy on his face, finding that you want to do that more in order to see that look on his face.

So, as you're eating dinner that night, and even when you're lying on the sofa, you scheme like a criminal.

You toss and turn before you eventually get up and begin your search. Holding a lit candle, your eyes scan through his shelves looking high and low.

You spend what must be hours flicking through books, moving things, looking under the sofa, attempting to squint your eyes to look through floorboard before you find it tucked between the countertop and stove in the kitchen.

Only then can you rest easy, your eyes closing as you think about the mission you have got to complete tomorrow.

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚ ☾ ˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

Walking through the bustling village main street, you listen to the bright tunes of the surrounding marketplaces, small stalls on either corner of the street, pushing everyone on the main road closer together.

You brush shoulders with a few people, keeping your arms out in front of you as you walk with a basket in front of you, the gold coins Simon has given you per your request rattling in your other hand.

It's rare you're outside as you spend most of your times in the library or back at Simon's home. Though nothing is going to stop you from making Simon the soup he mentioned last night.

Your heart flutters at the thought of how much he has done for you, and as a form of a thank you, you're going through the crumpled up recipe you stole from out of his kitchen, going to different stalls to get the things you need for the recipe.

The trip renders you exhausted, and by the time you're back at his house, you're fighting against sleep as you chop up the vegetable, putting them into the pot. You're unsure if you're doing it right, although, the longer you leave it to simmer, the more it takes the shape of something edible... you suppose.

You keep it on the stove until you hear the door open, and whether or not it tastes good, you're fine enough with the delightful smell that is exuding from the pot on the stove, looking in the direction of the door as it opens and Simon steps into the room.

'You're back,' you cheer, dropping the wooden spoon in the pot, approaching him.

The door shuts and he pulls his takes his hat from off of his head, pulling off his mask.

A crooked smile greets your eyes.

'What's all this?' he asks, his arms resting on your shoulders. It's common now, him touching you, and you sink into his hold on you with a sigh.

'Well, I thought you'd appreciate me making dinner for you,' you say sweetly, grabbing his hands, pulling him through into the kitchen, motioning to the table set. 'Also, you mentioned the old recipe your mum used to make for you, so, I thought I'd try my hand at it, see if I'm a good cook or not.'

He lets out a small ‘hm' as he grabs two bowls from out of the cupboards, placing them down on the countertop beside the stove. His hand hand is touching the small of your back as he grabs hold of the wooden spoon you left in the pot, tugging down the black mask covering his nose and mouth.

You watch, holding your breath as you await his reaction.

'Is it terrible?' you quietly as, looking on his face for any form of reaction, yet, he's unmoved. 'We can get something else to eat if it's really terrible,' you offer, pushing down the cuticles on your nails as you keep your eyes on him.

Setting the spoon back into the pot, he exhales. 'Needs a tad bit more salt, sweetheart,' he gently says, 'but considering this is your first time making it, I think you've done a pretty good job, hey?'

You can't stop yourself from smiling at his gentle words, feeling the warmth of his large hand pressing against your back as he reaches beside the stove, grabbing a salt shaker. 'A little more practice and I think I'm going to have my own personal chef,' he comments, adding some more salt into the soup.

Grabbing the spoon, you stir the mixture, scooping up another spoonful, holding it out to him with your hand underneath it, 'how's it now?'

His eyes are on you as he places his mouth against the spoon.

'Much better,' he says with a smile, 'go sit down, I'll do this.'

'Are you sure?' you ask, feeling him move his hand from off of your back. He gives you a short nod.

'Don't want you to burn yourself, go sit down.'

Over dinner, you share brief words, but it is in the silence and the company of him that you find you're most at peace.

There's nothing from either of you, and you take time to eat the soup you have been working on all day. It's okay, a little on the watery side, and you do think that Simon is still definitely a much better cook that you.

He thinks the soup tastes a tad funny, but he doesn't say it to you.

Such thoughts leave the pair of you to sit together, silently thinking about each other, yet not having the heart to disrupt the peaceful silence.

After dinner, you attempt to help him clean up, only, he refuses your help, requesting you stay in the living room.

'Simon you always do stuff for me,' you whine with a huff, 'let me help you- washing a dish isn't gonna kill me, y'know?

'I have a surprise for you and you're not going to get it if you keep going against what I've asked of you,' he warns, 'be a good girl for me, yeah? Go sit down, I'll be right through and you can have your gift.'

Suddenly, it's like your legs don't work anymore.

Knees almost buckling at his words, you gulp hard, managing out a short breath as you nod your head, not saying another word to him as you approach the living room, taking a seat on the plush sofa, sinking into one of the many black cushions.

Pressing your face into your cupped hands, you fight off the urge to scream at the very fact he only has to speak to you and you melt like butter in a pan.

Death would be easier than this.

Eventually, he reappears holding a box in his hands. Setting it down on your lap, you smile at the sight of a white ribbon tied into a bow. It's a charming sight, and you fight off the urge to rest your head on his shoulder as he sits next to you.

'You didn't have to,' you whisper.

'Well, you don't have many dresses, sweetheart,' he comments, 'my mum would have my head if she found out you only had two dresses,' he said with a short chuckle, his eyes narrowing as he sighs, 'I saw it the other day, been trying think of a good time to give it to you.'

Carefully, you untie the ribbon, pulling the top of the box off, setting it aside.

Peering up at you is a white cotton frock. Small flowers stitched into the open neck of the dress.

Pulling it out, you hold it out in front of you, letting out a squeal as you see the fabric touching all the way to the ground.

You jump into his lap, pressing a firm kiss onto his cheek.

'I love it!' you exclaim, holding the dress to your chest, before quickly pushing yourself off of him, shrugging off the sleeves of the green frock you've had since arriving in the village. 'I don't even wanna wait to try it,' you say brightly.

He watches amused as the fabric falls from off of your body, pooling around your feet. You're unapologetic of your appearance, tits on full show without a single care in the world.

Pulling the white dress over your head, you wiggle your hips as it hugs your waist, covering your legs.

He watches you, his hands on his thighs as you clumsily spin around in a circle, your skirt raising as you do so. 'What do you think?' you ask, 'does it look nice?'

He exhales deeply.

'Was made for you, sweetheart,' he replies with a bright grin on his face, 'gimme another spin.'

Your cheeks flush red, though you comply, your heart swelling at the request.

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚ ☾ ˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

In the midst of the night is where you roam free, walking through the streets of the village, treading down to the shore all to sit by the water. You watch as the waves roll in with a joyous glint in your eye, knowing home is right at your fingertips.

But oddly, you find home is also on land in the form of your sister and the tall man with a strange mask.

The very thought of him makes you feel nauseous, the thought of him washing all your sentence just as the waves do the shore.

Dinner tonight was almost too much for you to handle, to have someone so close to you, to feel his hand on your back and to hear the humans terms of affection leave his mouth with the intent of the meeting your ears... everything.

You blame the dress you're wearing too.

You feel like you're betraying the words of your dear mother.

She has warned you time and time again of the dangers of the human folk, and here you are, wearing their legs, missing your tail and your vibrant scales, yet, prepared to throw it all away all to hear him utter your name and call you sweetheart just one more time.

All that for a human who doesn't even know the truth of who you are.

'I thought you were here,' you hear a voice call from behind you, almost submerged in the crashing waves.

Turning your head, you see Simon approaching you, his boots leaving prints in the sand.

Stopping beside you, you turn your head as he sits beside you. 'Why 'ave you come all the way out here at this time?'

'Needed some fresh air,' you mumble, resting your chin against your knees, hugging your legs.

'You'll find her again,' he says.

Your blood runs cold.

'Sure that siren saved her just as she saved you, yeah? You'll be with her again some day soon, and who knows, maybe she's become one of them herself.'

'She'd like that,' you whisper, looking at the tide.

I'd like that too.

'Until you know where she is or receive a letter from home, you're stuck with me,' he says, 'sorry.'

You laugh.

'You've been the thing to keep me sane through all this, Si',' you reassure, 'without you I would've lost my mind. I need you, and what you've done for me means more than anything any else has ever done for me.'

'Thank you,' he speaks with his chest, you can hear the smile on his face as he speaks. 'I've enjoyed the company, it's nice to have someone to come home to, makes a change from the constant silence, gets me down sometimes.'

You will die before he is ever alone again, you're convinced.

Letting go of your legs, you pull away from the shore, moving towards him.

The light of the moon bouncing off of the water illuminates his features deliciously and you can't help but think of how he would look beneath the water where the pair of you could live out your days together.

Placing his hand on your knee, you rest your head against his firm shoulder, letting out a small breath as you look out onto the sea.

'Do you want to go back home to your village?' he asks.

'I don't have attachments to places, only people,' you respond, 'doesn't matter where I am as long as I have the people I care about with me- and if they wish to go somewhere else, then I'll will let them to do so.'

'So, when your sister finds you, you're gonna go back home?' he quietly asks, looking at the calm water.

'I don't know,' you say, 'so used to having you with me, and she's found her love now, she doesn't need me anymore. If she even is still alive that is.'

Leaning into the narrative is bruising, and in his silence you sit and think about whether or not you would return to the sea once you finally know that Serelia is safe.

These are the people who have hurt her, the man beside you is keeping her from you, yet, there you are in his arms, seeking comfort in the idea of living out the rest of your life at his side.

Really, you should want to put the entirety of the village under water.

'I want you to stay,' he quietly confesses, 'too used to y' now,' don't think I could go back to normal if you left.'

The feeling of nausea hits you again.

'I wouldn't know what to do with myself,' you say, feeling his grip on your knee tighten.

He holds his breath and you turn to look at him. Half lidded eyes stare back at you, and you find your hand reaching out to slip beneath the mask of the skull on his face, hooking your fingers beneath the fabric of the mask.

'Can I?'

He looks at you, though says nothing.

As you pull your hand away from his face, he pulls the hood down off of his head, undoing the tie around the skull mask on his face, allowing it to fall onto his lap.

Pulling the mask down, allowing it to pool around his neck, he looks you in the eyes. You stare back, settling your hand against his cheek. As you listen to the calmness of the water and under the watching eyes of the moon, you have little issue in leaning in closer.

His hand finds the back of your head as your lips ghost each others and you can feel hit hot breath fanning against your mouth.

'Am I gonna regret this?' you asks.

'You might,' he replies, 'but I won't judge you for it if y' do.'

Your breaths mingle as your lips finally meet, a soft and hesitant connection which sends shivers down your spine. Its delicate, the feeling of his mouth against yours as he holds you as though you're seconds away from turning to ash, leaving him forever.

And while your lips were against his, the thought of doing such doesn't cross your mind.

Not even once.

Upon returning to his house, you walk past the couch you have been lying on, his hand on the small of your back pulling you past, guiding you up the stairs to his bedroom.

Nothing like what you have read happens, instead, he helps you out of your dress, leaving you in your panties. You ask for nothing from him as you climb into his bed as he undresses.

It's intimate, the feeling of his hot flesh against yours setting a light afire in your stomach as you curl into his side, just as you curled into your cove hidden within the depths of the sea.

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚ ☾ ˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

Days progress and your search for Serelia quells as you keep an open ear on the talks of the city folk.

You could have ended all of this a lot sooner with a song, louring all of them into the water to give you an ample opportunity, but you haven't.

Some other time you would have, though, you've heard your voice while humming a song as you clean your flesh in the mornings, and it's devoid of the deepness to travel as far as it did while sitting upon the rocks on the sea.

She is still alive and well wherever she is, and you're quite sure she has been moved around quite a bit as a safety precaution, and with Price's willingness to keep her from the wrath of the village folk, you know that at least some of the men in the village are good.

The more days roll on, the softer the touches from Simon grow, and as you're sitting in the village library again, holding a book in your lap, your fingers trace over the words written, leaving your words caught in your throat.

Reading has been the one thing to keep you from the curse of whatever has happened to you, and you find the stories written by humans to be quite amusing.

Perilous speculation at it's finest! Your favourite.

Though, you find it's difficult to breathe as you progress further and further through the books in the library until you were greeted with one covered in dust.

The lady didn't see you pull it off of the shelf when you did, and as the sky grows orange before eventually fading to darkness, you're unaware of the change in workers as you press your thighs together, hot breath fanning against the pages of the book.

Only, it's not the story that has you blushing.

Rather, your own thoughts as you replace the characters in your head, seeing the same set of eyes that have been greeting you for the past week while waking up.

It's wrong and it's dirty, but you can't help but think of him.

Perhaps this is simply how humans show affection, and it's not like you haven't been close to doing it; your bare breasts have been pushed against his chest when the pair of you wake in the dawn, and neither of you have moved an inch during the closeness, relishing in the closeness.

'I've got work, love.'

'I don't care, too comfy for you to leave me.'

Your mouth grows dry as you contemplate whether or not he has thought of you in a similar manner, if the thoughts carry onwards to his mind from your own, or if he sees you in a different manner.

A voice calls out your name, the flame of the candle on the table beside you causing you to jump, and as you look up, you're quick to slam the book shut, clearing your throat as you tightly smile at the man standing in front of you.

'Scared me,' he says to you, 'I thought you were home.'

'I got bored,' you shakily say, gripping the book in your hand tightly, holding it as you push your chair in, 'I got caught up reading.'

Even though you try to keep the book out of his view, you find he doesn't care about the stupid collection of pages, his eyes dragging down your body as though they're scanning for any source of possible harm.

'I'm fine, Si',' you whisper.

He nods shortly, 'c'mon, it's late and you need to eat,' he says, stepping to the side, allowing you past.

Keeping hold of the book, you walk along side the man and out of the library.

'You didn't have to drag me out, y'know?' you ask, walking alongside him.

His eyes fall on you, you know it without even looking at him, your eyes scanning over the words in the book, 'could've left me in the library to live with the books, let the pots of colours ink stain my skin and cover me up. Wouldn't have bothered you every again.'

The book is ripped from your hands, slamming shut as the man standing beside you takes it off of you.

'Strange woman,' he remarks, keeping the book in his right hand as you proceed to walk through the town.

Your frustration is obvious but he clearly doesn't care, you see the way his face settles beneath the mask.

'Strange man,' you remark, 'walking around the village with a skull mask on, especially in the dark.'

He only grunts in response to your words, pulling your book in front of him, looking at the title with a raised brow. 'Saccharine?'

He looks at you with a look telling that he knows what's beyond the pages, the possibility of such making your cheeks flare red as he flicks through the pages.

'What's it about?'

'Uhm,' you look at him with weary eyes, 'it's an... adventure.'

He nods his head.

'An adventure,' he says, eyes scrolling down the page he lands on, reading aloud, ''use that pretty mouth of yours for me, sweetheart, tell me what y' want,' he grunts, watching her squirm below him.''

Your face is bright red.

'Something fuckin' adventure that is, huh?' he barks out a laugh, as you elbow him in the side, snatching the book out of his hands. 'You dirty thing reading that out in public,' he mocks, your throat growing dry as you look at him.

'Shut up,' you grumble, slamming the book shut.

His laughter doesn't cease as you head towards his home, 'maybe I should have left you in the library by yourself.'

You wish for the ground to swallow you whole, longing for the cold ocean to reach right into the village and pluck you right from his side, placing you right back into the ocean.

Grabbing his key from out of his pocket, he heads up the steps to his house. You don't miss the glance he gives you.

'Who says I can't sort it out here?' you ask.

The keys fall from out of his hand.

Reaching down, you snag them before he can even muster the strength to breathe after the comment you've just made.

'You'd have an audience,' he says, grabbing your waist as you put his key into the door, turning it.

'I don't care,' you whisper, placing your hand against his cheek, 'especially if it's you.'

You don't quite process what happens until his lips are pressed against yours, the pair of you clumsily stumbling into his house, a giggle escaping you as he keeps you pressed against him.

The next couple of minutes are lost to clumsy steps, giggles and kisses as the pair of you waste no time rushing towards his bedroom.

Somewhere along the line, your dress is discarded, as is his shirt, all for it to be put on you as you sit in his lap clumsily doing up the buttons as the cuffs fall past your hands.

It's an alien feeling, the feeling on someone's lips against yours despite all the chaste kisses you have shared during sleepy mornings, and as he grabs you with greedy hands, you feel yourself melting into his hold, pressing your chest against his as you stifle out a short sound in delight.

You're unsure what exactly the sound was as it's muffled by your lips pressing against one another's, your hands clutching at his shoulders as his hand holds the small of your waist.

You feel the little muscle in your chest flutter as he tilts your head slightly with his other hand, deepening the kiss.

Keeping your eyes close, you feel as though you are one with the tide of the ocean, your limbs become that of liquid, flowing with whatever he wills as you fall apart in his arms.

Your firm grasp against his shoulders melts away as you loosely wrap your arms around his neck, your chest growing tighter as it grows harder to find gasps to take a breath from the kiss.

Placing another kiss against your plush lips, he pulls away, placing his hand against your cheek, rubbing the pad of his thumb against your cheekbone, letting out a gentle sigh as he looks at you.

Such gentleness is unheard of, no man should be so kind, yet, here he is, holding you as though you're the most fragile seashell on the seashore, intending to hold you close to keep you as a memory.

There's an odd heat flooding your stomach when he pulls away, a pulsing in the area you're somewhat familiar with. It's a dull ache, a bruising urge and you began to squirm in his lap in an attempt to chase the feeling away.

The feeling of his pants against you brings a satisfying wave over your body, willing to continue squirming in his lap in the hopes to find some form of quick fix. A breathy whimper escapes you as you continue to grind hopelessly in his lap, chasing after the release you so crave.

Only, your his are grabbed by his hands, as he holds you in place, grunting.

'Hurts,' you grumble, your hands falling to grab his wrists in an attempt to pull them away. Yet, his hold on you persists, keeping you firmly in place.

'Please,' it escapes your lips before you even understand what it is that you're begging for, though there's something that you can only describe as longing to extinguish the fiery blaze in the pit of your stomach.

You continue to fight against his hold on your hips, you lips pressing together in an unhappy manner.

There's a glint you spy as desire in his eyes, though, much to your displeasure, he keeps himself from acting on whatever that particular desire is, leaving you teary eyed in his lap.

'Sweetheart,' Simon breathes, shaking his head, 'hey, hey, it's alright, what are you getting teary eyed f'r? Haven't hurt you, have I?' he asks as your try to blink back the tears forming in your eyes. You're frustrated, unable to tell him what exactly you want because, truthfully, you've only read about such in the books in the library during the times he was busy with work.

All of it is new, and you wish for the blessing of experience you wash over you as you look at him with a lingering frustration.

'No,' you say, 'it's not that, it's that I...' you're unsure what to say, so, you let go of his wrist, lifting your hips as you look him in the eyes, placing a hand against your core.

He looks at you with a crooked smile when he finally catches onto what exactly it is, and all you can muster, in pathetic whisper is, 'need you.'

Sinking your teeth into your bottom lip, you're relieved when one of his hands is pulled from off of your hip as he gently moves his hand against you, cupping your cunt, pressing his thumb up in a particular spot.

You let out a whimper at the strange, yet welcome sensation, noting how his hand is far better than your own.

There should be something shameful about this, only you push into his hold, hoping he returns your enthusiasm.

It's in his arms you feel the most safe you have ever felt, even the tide of the ocean cannot compare to him in this moment as he pulls you loser, looking upon you with moons for eyes, conveying the idea that, maybe, he does think you're the prettiest thing he has ever set his eyes on.

Your back is pressed against the bed, the absence of his touch like a dagger through your heart. He looms over you, arms either side of your head. The lack of light, the flickering flame of the candle and the beams of light from moon shooting through the window render you speechless as you look at him.

'My pretty girl,' he utters underneath his breath, his hand brushing under the cotton shirt, moving further up your skin. Goosebumps form on your flesh as he does so, cheeks red the longer he keeps his eyes on you. 'Made with wind an' sea, you are,' he says, brushing his hand down your stomach, resting it against your pubic bone as he looks you. 'Tell me what you want, sweetheart.'

Opening your legs for him, you muster up a small whimper, looking him in the eyes, 'want you to touch me,' you quietly say, 'please, Si', need you to make me feel better,' you beg, feeling as though you're seconds away from collapsing.

A breath escapes you as he pushes your panties to the side, trailing his fingers up and down your folds with a groan.

There's a distinctive wet noise as he does so, spreading your cunt open with two fingers. Looking down between the valley between your breasts, you swallow hard at the sight of him touching you, jolting when his fingers brush against your clit.

It's unlike anything you've ever experienced.

Continuing in a fluid motion, your back arches as pretty moans escape your mouth, writhing beneath him. The heat in your stomach only grows as he does so.

'That's it, sweetheart,' he utters, sliding his fingers downwards, pressing one digit against your hole. 'Gonna be good for me an' take my fingers?' he asks, to which you eagerly nod your head.

'Y- Yes, please,' you respond, your back arching against the bed as he pushes a finger into you.

An odd stinging sensation causes a tear to slip past your eye as you fist the sheets below you, letting out a small sob. He pauses, you catch the orange light from the candle in his eyes as his mouth falls.

Then, you begin to feel him pull away.

'No,' you quickly exclaim, 'no, no, don't pull away, it's just...' you sink your teeth into your bottom lip, 'I've never done this before.'

He looks at you with wild eyes as he expression softens. Leaning forward, he places his lips against your and you cup his face with both of your hands, your mouth falling open as he begins to thrust his finger in and out of you.

Pressing his forehead against yours, he sighs, 'I didn't know, love,' he confesses under his breath, 'I shouldn't have made assumptions—'

'It's not your fault, Si', you didn't know,' you reassures, 'but I don't want you to stop,' you say, toes curling as his finger presses against a spot which almost has you seeing colour.

The air in the room is hot, only growing when you see a crooked smirk on his face as a crude squelch sounds.

You feel another finger against you.

'Gonna make sure your pretty cunt is taken care of,' he says, 'won't want anyone else after you've had me,' he utters, pushing another finger into you.

It burns for a moment, the stretch aching, yet working to contribute to the cord tightening in your stomach.

You're unsure as to what to expect as a delicious heat envelopes yous body, clumsy hands letting go of his face, moving to his shoulders. More tears slip down your cheeks, a loud moan escaping you as both his finger brush against a spot which has you falling apart in his hold.

You expect him to relent, though, he positions his fingers to proceed to hit that spot. By now you're a babbling mess under him, all the while he's grinning at the pretty mess you're becoming, soaking his fingers as you edge closer and closer to the edge.

You're not going to last much longer, he knows such as you clench around his fingers, his cock hardening at the very thought of having that pretty pussy around him.

There's a panic in your eyes as you edge closer to the edge, so he presses a chaste kiss against your lips, 'you're okay, princess,' you gently says, let go, cum for me, cum around my fingers, let me see how pretty you look,' he says, cautious not to make a demand as he continues to work his fingers into you, stretching you out.

Your chest heaves as you screw your eyes shut, your muscles tensing as you find yourself bracing for the coil in your stomach to snap.

It's odd to be scared of something that is making you feel so good, and you relax realising you're in his arms.

Your thighs begin to tremble as you let out small moans, drool trailing down your chin as you press your head back into his pillow, the heat in your stomach dispersing, crashing down into a pleasurable wave which has you almost sobbing.

Your hole clenches around Simon's finger, your entire body turning stiff as you stifle out a crude gasp, your orgasm washing over you. You watches as you completely fall apart, your juices flooding his fingers as you cum. 'That's it, you're okay,' he breathes, 'I got you, you're okay,' he reassures, his fingers fucking you through your orgasm.

Your raging breath steadily quells as he pulls his fingers out of you, sitting back on his thighs. Your hair is sticking your back as sweat soaks into the shirt you're working.

Whimpering, you watch as he presses the two digits he used to fuck you between his mouth, cleaning the mess you made of his hands with his tongue, letting out a short moan as he pulls his fingers out of his mouth, 'as sweet as honey,' he remarks, taking a moment to admire your glistening cunt.

Instinctively, you close your legs, all for him to tut, placing his hands on your knees, pulling them open again.

'Prettiest cunt I've ever seen sweetheart,' he say, 'don't try and keep it from me, yeah? You're not gonna be cumming around anyone else's cock aside from mine; gonna ruing you, shape that pretty hole for my cock and my cock only,' he gruffly speaks.

You hear the shift of fabric.

Pulling his underwear off, he tosses it somewhere into the room, sifting upwards, a crude wet slap filling the room as he slaps his cock against your clit.

You let out a small yelp as the sensation, your cunt still marked with sensitivity from your orgasm. Though, as you feel the blunt head of his leaking cock between your folds, you find the heat returns with a vengeance, leaving your mouth dry as he presses himself against your hole.

'It's gonna hurt for a second,' he warns, grabbing your hip with his hand, 'just keep breathing for me, let that pretty pussy stretch around me- I'll give y' all the time you need, just tell me,' he utters.

His tone is much darker than any you've ever heard, and as he begins to push himself into you, your mouth closes as you sink your teeth into your bottom lip so hard that you're quite sure you're going to draw blood.

A filthy moan escapes your lovers lips as he pushes into, the heat around his cock making it hard to keep a clear mind as the longing to fuck you until you're sobbing possesses him.

It won't take much, he knows that, counting on the fact that he's not even half way in and tears are already pouring down your cheeks.

Gripping your hips, he eases himself in to the hilt, moaning as you clench around his cock.

'Good fuckin' girl,' he curses, his nails digging into your skin as you wince. Never have you felt so full, feeling his cock pulsing in your core as you squirm beneath him.

Without even moving, you're sure he's pressing against that spot that brought you to your release just moments prior, you stomach twisting.

I'm not going to last.

Your legs merely wrap around his waist as he looks to you, and with a trembling mouth, you nod your head, 'y- you can move,' you say with a small nod, hissing as he pulls out, only to thrust back in.

Your skin is hot as sweat drips down your silky flesh, pushing downwards to meet his thrusts as he picks up the pace. The sound of you skin slapping together is vulgar, though neither of you care as you burble out weak 'ahs' under your breath as he drives his cock into you. Simon isn't quiet either, vocal grunts through gritted teeth as his bruising grip on you maintains a steady pace.

'Fuuuckkk,' he moans, grabbing the bottom of his shirt, ripping it open. You offer him as startled look as he drags his blunt nails up your stomach, grabbing your tits, rolling your nipple between his fingers. 'Prettiest fuckin' girl to ever walk the land,' he claims, 'made for me and my cock, and it's all mine, isn't it?'

'A- All yours,' you confirm, unable to keep a sane mind about you as he's fucking you dumb.

All your mind is sticking to is the thickness off his cock as it's hitting all the right spots. You're sure you're drooling from the sensation, your eyes falling back into your head as you babble out nonsense.

'No one else's,' you manage to get out before you're completely at his disposal, the feel of your next orgasm creeping up on you.

'You gonna cum for me again, princess?' Simon asks, greedily sucking in air as he looks at you, feeling your cunt clenching around him. He himself is edging closer to the edge, the tightness of you around his thick cock simply being too much to bear.

'Yes, 'm so close... so fucking close, please, please let me cum,' you dumbly beg, not able to keep the words from flowing past your lips.

'Go on, sweetheart, cum around my cock, make it yours,' he demands, his thrust growing much more sporadic as he chases after his own release.

A moan escapes your lips as you arch you back off of the bed, your entire body spasming as you allow yourself to fall into the pleasure of your orgasm as the cord in your stomach snaps, forcing a gasp out of you.

Squeezing your eyes shut, you let out a brittle sob, tightening around his cock as you cum. The sound of your skin connecting is wet as Simon fucks you through your orgasm, his curses and grunts filling your ears.

'Fuck, fuck, fuck, that's right sweetheart,' he moans, 'gonna make you mine, fill you up with my cum, no one else is having you, you're mine,' he grunts out, pressing into your, your cunt against his pubic bone as his hands tremble.

He lets out a moan as he fills you up.

It's a filthy feeling, but you love it terribly, your hole twitching as you feel his pulsing cock empty his load inside of you.

A short breath escapes him, and you moan feeling him push deeper inside of you, thrusting and out of you to ensure you're not missing a drop of it.

Remaining inside of you, he moves to lay beside you, keeping bodies pressed against you, the smell of sex and sweat in the clammy air of the room, but he doesn't even think of pulling out, let alone pulling away. Instead he settles with his cock inside out you, pressing another kiss against you.

Your eyes feel heavy, your entire body sluggish as you press your face into the crook of his neck.

'Good girl,' he utters against your skin.

You lay together for a short while before he eventually pulls his softening cock from out of you, you whimpering from oversensitivity as he does so. Your inner thighs are wet, and as your hole clenches around nothing, you're face grows red as you feel his cum dripping out of you.

He leaves you alone for a short while and you lay, your body blanketed in the moonlight. Beyond the window in his room, you spy the ocean in the distances, seeing the rolling waves, your throat tightening are your eyes move around the room, spying his side of the bed, then lifting back to the water.

You can't possibly stay here forever? Can you?

You have people, you have your sister still to find, getting no closer to having Simon confess to you where she is being kept.

When you uncover it eventually, what are you going to do? Free her and stay here? Will the even want you back when you return with the marks of a human all over you?

Your eyes water when he comes back into the room with a cup of water and a damp cloth in his hands, approaching you.

He sees the furrow of your brow and the discontent on your face, taking a seat beside you, pressing his hand against your face.

'I haven't hurt you have—'

'No, no,' you quietly state, sniffling, 'just...' you look at him, holding his wrist. 'I like you,' you whisper, his eyes growing wide at your confession, 'I- I know it's soon but—'

'I like you too, sweetheart,' he reassures, setting the cup of water down on the nightstand.

You rejoice in the outcome of your diversion, noting it works well as he looks at you with all the adoration the human heart can muster. 'Let's get you cleaned up, yeah? Can't leave you like this,' he utters, to which you nod in appreciation.

The night is sleepless for the most part as you're in his arms. It's difficult to confess to yourself, but you're aware of the lies you have told and of the possible consequences to come from it.

Even if he isn't fearful of what you are, there's still the fact that the betrayal will be too great as, essentially, everything you have together is built on a lie, and you're only encouraging it through playing the role of human.

A part of you wishes to wake him from his current sleeping state and tell him, yet, you cower in the thought of conflict destroying the night the pair of you have shared.

So, you tell yourself that you'll tell him tomorrow instead before falling into the heat of his body, closing your eyes.

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚ ☾ ˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

In the morning you wake with a dull ache between your thighs, looking to the side of your bed.

Simon isn't there and you sit up quickly, eyes scanning around the room, a panicked breath squeezing out of your lung as you search for him.

Has he left for work already?

You feel an odd sense of betrayal well in your breast as you shuffle from under the sheets, stopping in your tracks when you hear the creak of the staircase leading into his room. His head appears first and you quickly fall back onto the bed, eying him.

'I thought you left for work,' you confess as he climbs the final step. He shakes his head, looking out of the window to the early morning sun. It covers his frame in a delicious light and you take a moment to admire him. How his white shirt settles against his chest, the mask on his face right back where it usually it.

It's a shame though; you want to see his blond hair in the light of the sun.

'I'm not that cruel, sweetheart,' he reassures, 'want you to come with me today; I'm sitting in the Station by myself while the other three do whatever, want some company with me,' he says, we'll stop by the library and bakery before we go there, I'll get you that pastry you like,' he offers, fixing the buckle of his belt, 'what do you think?'

Propping your head up with your hand, you look as hm with rosy cheeks and a bright grin on your face. 'Make me a cup of tea when we're in the station too?' you ask.

'If I must,' he says, laughing, moving towards one of the drawers in his bedroom, pulling it open.

Grabbing a dress and panties, walking up to you. Shifting in the bed, you push the sheets back, standing up, taking the panties from his hands.

Stepping into them, you look up to see him holding your dress, the skirt bunched up. 'Hold your arms up,' he instructs, to which you giggle at, but comply, holding your arms up.

Placing the fabric of the dress over your head, you slip your arms inside of the sleeves, as he kneels down in front of you, pushing his mask up slightly so he can press kisses onto your stomach as he lowers the skirt of the dress further and further down.

More laughter spills past you as you watch him with do so. The skirt reaches your ankles and he stands up, grasping your waist. 'Happy I got this dress for you,' he comments.

You quirk an eyebrow.

'I thought you said it was plain.'

'Nothing's plain when you're wearing it, sweetheart,' he responds, pressing a kiss onto your lips. You roll your eyes at his sappiness despite melting into his hold.

'You're an idiot,' you say.

'And you're slow,' he retorts, letting go of your waist, 'finish up getting ready and meet me downstairs, don't take too long; don't wanna be stuck in a queue at the bakery.'

'You're the reason—'

'Don't wanna hear it, princess,' he calls as he walks down the the stairs, leaving you alone in his bedroom, crossing your arms over yourself as you watch him disappear.

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚ ☾ ˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

He cannot take his eyes off of you as you sit in the station, stray crumbs of the pastry around your mouth as you babble on about one of the books you found in the library.

It never occurred to him until now that it's very much possible to be a love drunk fool, and he feels himself grinning under his mask as you speak with such passion, it's making him lightheaded. He has little understanding of what you're talking about, but that doesn't matter.

He sits and listens to you, only stopping you when he reaches out his hand, brushing away the clumsy flakes of pastry from around your mouth. You stare at him, eyes panning down to your skirt as you blush at the sight of golden flecks on the white fabric.

Brushing your hands over your covered thighs, you brush them away, looking back at him. Opening your mouth, you go to speak, all for your moment to come crashing down as Kyle barges into the Station.

Taking one look at the pair of you, he lets out a comically loud wretch, 'save it for the bedroom, please,' he breathes, closing the door behind him.

'What are you doin' back?' Simon asks, checking your face for any more crumbs, letting a small grunt when he's satisfied there are none, pulling his hand away from you. 'Thought you were going to be out all day.'

'I've been looking for Rhys,' he says, 'he's supposed to be keeping an eye on her and I haven't seen her, when I went to the cabin the door was locked, all the curtains were drawn too,' he explains, rubbing his head.

Your ears perk up with the mention of a cabin, glancing at Simon before back at Gaz.

She's in a cabin somewhere nearby and she's still alive.

Your heart settles with the thought.

'He couldn't have gone far,' Simon says, 'might've slept in or something- if something was wrong, he wouldn't disappear on us.'

'You're right,' Kyle says, closing the door behind him, 'he's a good kid, shouldn't be thinking badly of him in the first place, just difficult not to worry when he's usually there at the crack of dawn, you know?'

'Are people still demanding a trial?' you ask.

'Yeah,' Kyle responds, approaching the fireplace to the right of the bed you're sitting on, pulling the lid off of the kettle. Fortunately, Simon replenished it after making you both a mug of tea. 'We're trying to push it back; she's a nice girl from what I can tell, doesn't speak much though- to me at least,' he explains.

'Why don't you just let her go?'

'Letters from the Lords telling us we can't act until he's back home,' he says, 'unfortunately, we work for him. If it was up to me, she'd be back in the water; I think everything people are saying about her is nothing more than fairytales.'

You smile at his words; he's right, in terms of her, they are all fairytales.

If he's looking for the sirens from fairytales, he's already eyeing her as he talks to you.

'Do you want another cup of tea?' Kyle asks, looking at the pair of you. Simon shakes his head but you nod, though, before you can reach for your mug, it's taken from out of your reach as Simon holds it out for Kyle.

You give him a short look which he returns after handing your cup to to Kyle who busies himself with minding his business.

'You my servant now?' you ask.

'Can be if you want me to be,' he answers.

You roll your eyes, leaning your back against the wall, dusting the remnants of your breakfast off of your hands.

'You're sweet talk is making me sick,' Kyle calls, approaching you, carefully handing you your mug of tea, 'need some lessons in it, Simon,' he adds.

'Fuck off,' barks the man.

'I've got nothing to do so you're not getting rid of me for a while,' he says, 'I'm gonna stay here for a while before heading back up to the cabin, haven't had a moment to relax this morning,' he scoffs, 'could do with a moment of rest.'

Sitting forward, you move your legs off of the bed, allowing Kyle to take a seat beside you, sipping from your mug, 'there's always something to be doing,' he begins to complain, 'never a fuckin' quiet moment in this—'

The door to the station bursts open, slamming against the wall opposite.

'She's dead!'

The cup in your hand drops as you jolt from the sudden noise, the hot liquid merely missing your thighs as you shift out of the way, hearing the tea cup shattering as it meet with the stone floor.

You curse under your breath, looking at the mess you have made as you go to drop to the ground to clean it up, all for Kyle to shake it head while Simon stands up to address the man at the door.

'It's fine love,' reassures the man sweetly, 'you'll end up cuttin' your fingers, I'll clean it up,' he says, looking down at the shattered tea cup on the ground.

Frankly, you appreciate his kindness as you raise to your feet, looking around Simon's bulky frame to the man who scared you.

He's shaking as he speaks looking at Simon, his eyes blown wide, reflective of the surface of the moon as he tugs at his fingers while attempting to express the horrors of which he has witnessed.

'I left for the night, an' when I returned she was dead,' he says, 'bloody and beaten, whoever it was took all her scales, left them around the room like it's some sort of fuckin' confetti.'

Scales.

You're sure you hear Kyle yell, but you're unsure what he actually says.

There's anger in the young man's eyes, genuine emotion as he details every single gruesome detail of the scene.

Serelia.

The siren.

'W- Where?' you manage to get out, not caring if Simon is about to say something in response. 'Where is she?' you roughly demand.

The young man standing in front of you looks at you with wide eyes as you move in front of Simon.

Your lover doesn't say anything.

'Tell me!' you demand, grabbing his shirt.

'T- The cabin just beyond the Lords house,' he stutters.

Without much thought, you're rushing out of the station without any hesitation, rushing through the streets as your heart rages in your chest.

Your mind is racing with his confession, shoving past and barging shoulders with everyone as you push through the busy town square, staggering up the steps towards the direction of the Lords house.

You're aware of the man behind you; Simon never really did let you out of his sights, after all.

Everything seems so much smaller in your eyes as you stumble further and further up, tears flowing freely down your cheeks.

Perhaps it's some form of sick joke- she's okay, she's just playing dead; she's a smart girl, even having tricked you a few times.

She's okay- she's got to be okay.

You're in a fit of hysterics as you pull the door open to the small, reserved cabin.

There are footsteps behind you, a distant call for your name, only, when you pull the door open, you seek the sister you had lost that night on the shore. Still bleeding as she was when she had been taken despite her pleads for freedom, only, she isn't moving.

She lays on the wooden ground of the room, her hand open in your direction, as stray tear slipping down her face as her open, bruised eyes stare into nothingness.

You stand at the door, your bottom lip trembling as you scream out, 'SERELIA.'

Rushing up to her side, you collapse onto your knees, trembling hands hovering over her swollen body, blood seeping into your white frock as you simply sit and stare in horror.

Placing your hand against her cheek, you flinch at the icy feeling of her skin, trailing the tips of your fingers over her soft flesh. Stray scales sit on the ground from around you, plucked like petals from a daisy.

Her body is destroyed, pretty face so swollen, you hardly know who you're looking at.

Nausea hits you, though you fight against the urge to vomit up your breakfast, lunging forward, slipping your hand beneath the bleeding body of your sister, resting your forehead against her shoulder as you pull her close, her body falling over your lap as you sob, brushing your hair through her dirty ginger locks as your body shakes against her still one.

This all feels like a bad dream that you wish to wake from, only, you cannot.

'I- I'm sorry, my urchin,' you manage to get out between spouts of hyperventilation and nausea, your nails digging into her flesh as your arm settles in her blood.

'My beauty, they have destroyed you,' you mumble under your breath, unmoved by the stench in room as your chest swells.

Pulling your head off of the corpses shoulder, you press your hand firmly against her rotten cheek, observing the countless amount of cuts.

You feel the room spinning as you observe the true brutality of mankind, how they are so careless towards the rest of natures creations and you feel like a fool.

A fury burns within you, your tongue ceasing as two hands are placed on your shoulders, attempting to move you away from Serelia. Looking up over your shoulders, you spy the bewildered eyes of your lover.

'Let go of me, Simon,' you demand, turning your head back to the woman on the ground.

His hands stay firmly on your shoulders.

You wish for him to relent, but that's not in his nature. No, he wishes to keep you from all danger, and with the mess you have made of yourself and the crime scene, somewhere deep inside, you understand that you cannot have the very thing you desire.

You're pulled to your feet, crying as you kick and scream in his arms, the bloody skirt of your dress sticking to your legs as you fight against him.

'Let me go!' you cry, turning in his hold, bringing your hands to his chest, weakly hitting him as though it is he who caused the bloody slaughter. 'Let me go,' you hiccup as you're pulled out the door, away from the sight that is sure to haunt you for the rest of your life.

Pushing your hands against his chest, you shove him with all you might, though he does not move.

Placing you against a tree, he gently guides you to the ground as your legs give, kneeling on the ground before you as you chase after your breath, your legs laid out in front of you, your hands resting flat against your thighs.

Looking up towards the sky, you spy the moon staring down upon you despite the morning sky, proceeding to cry as you recall the lights on the shore the night Serelia was taken.

Your throat burns with the desire to scream and scream until you have torn the very vocal cords nature gifted to you, seeing no use in them as you come to realise that you will never call her name and get a response ever again.

'You were never on our side,' you sniffle harshly, hot tears flowing free as Simon simply stares at you. 'I see their torches in the light of your stars. You make us the villains, fool us into doing your dirty work, and then leave us stranded when you want no more to do with us,' you seethe, turning your head to the side as you continue to sob.

Simon's hand presses against your flushed face, pushing your head up from off of your shoulder, 'love, you need to calm down,' he utters gently. 'You're gonna make yourself sick if you keep on like this,' he warns.

He means well, you love him enough to acknowledge that in the midst of your fury.

Yet, your punishment leaves you weak and weary, missing the water you grew up in, missing life prior to that night.

'I already am sick,' you retort in a broken tone, 'infected with the parasite that makes me you, that separates me from her,' you cry, 'no longer a siren, only human.'

You don't care what happens, and, if you do, your emotions keep you from logic.

'W- What?' the man beside you chokes out.

You don't miss the way his hold on your face tightens, yet, you do not flinch, permitting his harsh hold as you look him in the eyes, swallowing harshly.

'I'm not a human,' you whisper, 'I don't know what I am anymore... I never had a sister, I was never in a wreckage, I was looking for her, my Urchin,' you admit, turning your head in the direction of the cabin. 'And now she's gone.'

Your sobs fill the void of silence, only, nothing fills the void of warmth against your face as he pulls his hand away from your face. Looking at him, your bottom lip wobbles.

Every lesson your mother has ever taught you is urging you to hate him, telling you that it is his fault that there she's lying there alone in a puddle of her own blood, unrecognisable.

However, no matter how much you wish to lunge forward and claw his eyes from out of his head, you find heart and mind conflict easily.

'Please say something,' you beg, caving to the gaping hole in your chest, longing for the return of his touch for, what is left after him? An outcast? Nowhere to return, even the ocean doesn't want you, and your bleak reality begins to settle in as his eyes do not change. 'Please, please talk to me, I- I've already lost her—'

He's unsure how to tread, you see the weariness in his eyes. 'What part of you is real?' he asks, 'or are you just a liar?'

'My love for you is real,' you blurt out, 'I cherish you, all of you for caring for me and for taking care of me when I needed it the most,' you continue, 'but I couldn't tell you, Si'- I- I've been trying to think of a way to tell you the truth and I was gonna do it today- I swear to you.'

'Why?' he lowly asks, 'are you afraid of me?'

'Are you afraid of me?' you question, looking him in the eyes as a stray tear falls past your eye.

He pauses.

'Your people murdered one of my own, Si',' you choke out, a flurry of emotion blowing over you as your face and skin prickle with an insatiable heat. 'We act accordingly, you treat us violently, we react with violence, but she...' your words trail, 'she did nothing to anyone, Simon. Had a voice as sweet as honey, charming, loving to the creatures of the sea, and look at what happened.'

'What's stoppin' you from hurting me?'

His voice and tone are raw as you look at him.

Truthfully, in the midst of your misery, you're unable to see the reason which keeps your fury at bay, though, when you look into his eyes, you understand for a moment long enough to form a response.

'You tried to keep her safe,' you whisper, 'keeping her from everyone, keeping her out of the way. They got to her, you didn't.'

And I can't let myself get to you for something you haven't done.

He exhales, looking towards you with bleary eyes.

Always, the desire to push him away is going to nestle within after the events of today, but nothing stops you from lunging into his arms, wrapping your arms around his neck with as you sob.

His large hand presses against your head as he pulls you close, his hold on you almost crushing as you cry into the nape of his neck. If he is hushing you, you can't hear him.

You're in his arms and he's got you.

His hold feels the same as the one you have became accustomed with during your time on land, nothing has changed.

Feeling him tug at his mask, you settle when you feel his lips press against your forehead, and with a small voice he utters, 'I love you,' he says, 'human, siren, sea monster, sea urchin, I don't fuckin' care,' he states firmly, placing another kiss on your forehead.

'I love you too,' you tightly say, feeling the urge to smile at his words, but you don't, simply remaining in his arms.

'I'm sorry, love,' he utters. 'She didn't deserve any of this, neither did you.'

With your face buried into his neck, you nod your head.

'I know.'

You lay in his arms for what seems like an eternity, holding his bloody shirt as he rubs your back.

There's nothing that can be said, you know that.

Both of you do.

A man of few words can hardly be expected to become a flowing fountain of knowledge in the span of an hour.

Anyone else would curse him for not trying to make you feel better, maybe even say he doesn't care about you. But his rough touch turns gentle with you. His boisterous manner is reserved to calmness.

Oddly enough, it's in the most violent man that you find your faith in humanity is kept from drifting off of the cliff, toppling over into the ocean.

Eventually, you feel him shift beside you and you're moved as though your a doll in a child's arms. Looking down at you, he brushes his hand against your face, wiping away the tears that have flooded your face. You place your hands over his much larger ones, looking him in the eyes as you sniffle.

'We can't leave her there like this,' he utters, 'they'll wanna burn her body, 'not gonna let that happen.'

You mouth grows dry.

'We'll bury her up here, there's a clearing near the cliff, overlooking the water so she's not too far from home.'

No words leave your mouth so you simply nod your head in agreement as the pair of you raise from the floor.

Her helps you up and keeps you steady, not daring to let go of you, seemingly fearful that, if you fell, you would shatter and leave him forever.

He does all the work, leaving you to sit and watch as he carefully raps the girl in a sheet, lifting her into his arms with ease.

You standby and watch idly, holding a shovel in one hand and a lantern in the other, unable to look the dismal sight in the eye.

As, you step outside of the cabin, keeping your head bowed as you follow after him, heading towards the burial sight he mentioned.

It's hidden, private, and you stand near the edge of the cliff, looking down into the darkened abyss of water below you as you hear the occasional grunt from behind you as Simon busies himself with digging the gave.

At this moment you're resentful, wishing for some form of blow to the head to send you over the cliff, rejoicing in the short fall before you're able to escape from the consequences of your failure.

Only, you cannot will yourself to go over the cliff on your own accord, knowing if you did, Simon would most likely blame himself- if not follow right after you.

Living in the idea is enough to keep the action at bay, the resounding guilt and regret you imagine you would feel after taking the leap filling you with dread.

So, you turn yourself around and sit next to the woman wrapped in white while Simon makes a grave for her to finally rest her weary head.

It's difficult to say goodbye.

It was difficult when you said goodbye to your mother, a bitter pill to swallow when old age claimed the crazed woman on the seas, though, the guilt stabbing into your heart like a dagger proves to make this send off much worse.

Never did you dream of doing something so horrible, yet, here you are, unable to escape reality.

It's the dead of night by the time the grave is ready, the lantern in your hand flickers as Simon holds the body of Serelia in his arms, lowering her into the grave he constructed using a shovel.

The sheet she's wrapped in is stain red, marked with her blood, and while your chest grows heavy at the sight you find solace hiding in the shadows away from the moonlight.

Kneeling to the ground beside him, you tear the edge of your skirt, placing it onto her body with a shaky sigh.

He looks at you.

'When someone passes, we pull one of own scales and lay it with them to rest so they always have a piece of us with them,' you explain, 'I can't do that for her, but I'm not going to leave her with nothing,' you state.

Grabbing the edge of his shirt, you watch with a sunken smile as he rips a piece of his shirt of, laying it beside the piece of your dress you laid upon her.

'It's an apology,' mumbles the man, 'couldn't be there to keep her from harms way in this life, but she'll have me in the next. She'll have the both of us, yeah?'

'Forever and always.'

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚ ☾ ˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

You return to his home covered in blood.

He helps you wash, rubbing a sponge around your back as you lean forward, chin resting against your knees with void eyes. You say nothing to him, only listening to his gentle requests.

While doing so, he feels a heat growing his stomach. It had been set alight from the very second he heard you screaming and crying, and the longer he focuses, the more he finds his blood boils. Someone in the village knew where she was and they killed her- perhaps even multiple people.

A poor young girl was murdered, and in the process they murdered your spirit.

And now he is scared as he looks at you.

There's nothing to tie you to the land anymore, he understands that as he wraps you in a towel, carrying you up the steps to his bedroom in a woeful silence.

There's nothing to tie you to him and he wishes to paint the town red for the crime committed against you, swearing to himself that he will find the perpetrator.

The next time he's cleaning blood from under his fingernails will be the time he has avenged you.

Until then, however, he's committed to being beside you until you no longer want him there as he looks onto you after helping you get ready for bed, lying on his back beside you.

Nothing is left in you, your soul devoid of anything as your mind wanders to her body wrapped in that white sheet, and as you look to the dress discarded on the floor, you find you're not too far off her fate.

Laying your head upon his head, you listen to his heartbeat to make sure he's alive, fearful that he will leave you before you get the opportunity to leave him first.

'I love you,' you croak.

'I love you too, sweetheart.'

After a while he his breathing calms, soothing and melting as a wave on the beach did.

Your mind has been made up since he placed his shirt beside yours, and as you watched him cover her with dirt, you stood with crossed arms and contemplated for a while. The crashing of the waves over the cliff edge called for you as you stood there.

You cannot stay here.

For the good of yourself and the good of him.

Too much is at risk now, and too much has been lost.

Too many thoughts fill your head, bad thoughts. Bringing him to the water all to sing a song to pull him into it.

You'll watch as he fights for air, trying to break the surface of the water once more, but you will not care, simply watching him fight and fight until all life leaves him and his soul has left you.

Foolish mortal men.

You hear your mothers voice ringing in your ears as you look at his sleeping eyes, then to the blood beneath your nails.

Sinking into the watery depths of a sirens den.

Crawling from beside him, you offer him one final look at you lean over the sleeping man, pressing a kiss onto his temple, watching as his hand curls around the pillow on your side of the bed.

Misery strikes you as you look at the empty spot, something within you urging to you to crawl back into bed beside him, only, you're reminded of the celebrations litter through the town, the festering buzzing of the flies in the cabin, and the swollen face of Serelia.

How is one to move past such when they lack the very emotion of remorse?

And how are you supposed to keep your emotions at bay when you feel an unquenchable urge to bring the village into the water?

Both are impossible to solve, and somethings are better off left broken, for, if you act on your anger, you betray the man you love with all your being.

But, if you act on love, you betray the women in the sea who are most likely worried sick with your disappearance. So, you take hold of the first dress he bought you, pulling it over your head, eyes teary as you look at him sleeping.

You're making the right choice in leaving, you say that to yourself when you place another chaste kiss against his cheek, allowing the thought to follow you as you push the door of his house open, stepping onto the pavement.

It follows you down the twists and turns of the street, leading you from place you have both loved and lost back to the ocean where you have only ever know strength and family.

The land is cruel, harsher than the sea.

Even during a violent storm you find you prefer the sea for the land houses people capable of despicable things, maintaining the ability of hurting you, not only on the outside, but also on the inside. You long for normality, for a sense of belonging again, and while you know you will always have a place in his bed and arms, you have a duty to fill elsewhere, an anger to keep at bay, people to keep safe.

You have to go, and you hope he understands.

A man of few words yet the only man who could ever hold your heart and not shatter it, and as you're walking on the sand, stumbling towards the water, you allow yourself to cry an ugly and loud cry as you fist at the fabric of the dress he gifted you, pulling the skirt to your mouth, pressing your lips against the fabric. Your legs carry as you remain with the skirt bundled in your arms, inhaling the scent of the place you have grown to know as home.

But it's never going to be home again.

The water greets your feet as you allow your arms to drop to your side, walking into the sea.

The waves crash down, soaking the bottom of the pink fabric and you continue to sob as you edge further and further into the water, cupping your face in your hands as you stiffly wade through the waves.

Wiping under your eyes with your fingers, you raise your head in the direction of the sky, seeing the moon sitting above the sea. You keep your eyes trained on the red moon, unmoved by the winking stars in the night sky as you turn your back to her.

Observing the land one last time, you fall backwards into the water, whispering an ode to Serelia under your breath as the ocean swallows you whole.

𝙼𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝

TAGS: (If you would like to be added to the tag list let me know!) @forever-twenty-two-years-old

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thndrs-wrtr · 11 months

Note

Hello!! That Chan pic with the baby is just sjdjsjdj and the entire video, lord. I was wondering if u could write something like thar pls, needing fluff dad Chan 🥹

OMG YES. ABSOLUTELY . Also, golden star for you for being my first request ⭐️

Let's see what I come up with.

Warnings: Dad Bangchan. Fluff, extreme domestic fluff.

Big hugs

Ever since Chan came back to work after his hiatus, he promised he would come back home earlier. In the end, he had to come back not only to his house, but to his home. It wasn't just you waiting for him, now there was a tiny little human being that would wait for him.

However, Chan's promise was forgotten that day. It was already 10pm and he was nowhere to be seen. The apple didn't fall far from the tree, for Daesung refused to sleep for the entire day. No nap time, and he was definitely far from falling asleep anytime soon. He's definitely his son, you thought when the tiny almost two year old refused closing his eyes.

Walking around the place, singing, showing him toys, begging, anything worked. Instead, his tears kept flowing and so did your stress. His diaper was clean, he ate his dinner, he didn't seem to be hurt, the thought of taking him to the hospital faded when he finally sat still on the floor and started playing with his toys, and if he was not sleeping, at least he have you some peaceful minutes to a quick trip to the bathroom.

Chan finally arrived home, quietly. He smiled when he saw the boy giving his entire attention to his tiny, tiny guitar, pulling the nylon strings one by one, thank you uncle Han for the present.

He hid behind the wall, just showing his face when he finally spoke, calling the baby's attention.

"Hello there"

His dimples appeared on his cheeks and his eyes became smaller thanks the smiling expression. The baby quickly turned around, and started moving his legs and arms in an attempt of getting up.

The older man left his hiding and went straight to him, kneeling as to pick him up. Daesung started giggling right away, gripping onto Chan's shirt without hesitation.

"Your eyes are so red, had you been crying, hm? No, don't cry! Let's whipe those eyes, yeah? Don't cry, I've got you, ok?."

He said with a downward smile, rubbing his nose against the chubby cheek after cleaning the dry tears on his cheeks, making you melt right away when you appeared in the room once again, leaning in the doorframe for a few seconds while Chan didn't notice you.

"Two good looking boys and I look like if I'm back from a camping night" you said in between giggles.

"Ah, baby" Chan laughed as well, walking towards your way and kissing your shortly as a hello. "I'm sorry, yeah? I knew I said I'd arrive early and-" you cut his words.

"Watch him while I take a quick shower. I need it. Then I'll forgive you."

"Sounds like a fair deal"

Chan agreed, and his attention went back to Daesung. He lifted him in his arms in swift motions, the baby giggling and kicking his legs whenever Chan would lift him up in the air, and then back down using his mouth to immitate the sound of a rocket. Their tiny game continued for a few minutes, until Chan took him back to the bedroom.

"Shall we put you on your pj's, yeah?" He said with a kind of high pitched voice, "yeah, you need to be in your pj's. Is late and you gotta sleep, ok?" He told him as if he'd get a solid answer in return.

"I wrote so many verses for you today, probably a bit cheesy but yeah. Ah, you're gonna hate me when you're fifteen aren't you"

Chan giggled while he was changing Daesung into his onesie. He leaned forward, gently tickling the boy's belly, and the multiple "nom noms" on his neck, hands and belly didn't take long in appear, making the baby giggle and kick his feet at his dad's attention.

You had no idea how time you spent taking your quick shower, but after a long day after barely eating, constantly trying to calm down Daesung's crying, you really needed some time alone, and you knew Chan had it all covered outside.

However, when you got out the silence made you worried. Usually, Chan would be singing, or holding conversations with no replies back other than babbles, or music playing in the background. But now? Silence. Pure, and absolute silence.

The dim light of your bedroom made you walk towards it, the scene making you feel like sit down in that same spot and cry.

An unsual, asleep shirtless Chan under the sheets, accompanied by the image you wanted to see the entire day. Daesung finally, finally asleep. And not only asleep. He was soundly asleep using Chan's chest as bed, his tiny hands holding onto him while Chan's arms were perfectly wrapped around him a very, very big hug.

You walked towards them very cautiously, keeping your hand on Daesung's back for brief seconds as you leaned forward to kiss his head, repeating the gesture but this time on Chan's temple. Apparently, someone was refusing to sleep without his dad.

And you understood your son perfectly, you couldn't fall asleep easily when Chan wasn't there, how could you, if not wrapped in his arms?

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dollydaisies · 8 months

Note

Can I pls request a BTS reaction? They have a crush on their friend who is not a celebrity, so they can't confess to her because of their reputation/job, but they are really close. One day someone from their company revealed a sensitive information about them. So, the members and the company accused her of it because they thought that she was only with them to become famous. They didn't believe her and also told her many hurtful things. But later it was revealed that it was not her but someone else and she was telling the truth. Later they try to reconcile with her and asks her to forgive them but it was too late. Can you please write it as angst?

If it's too specific for you, you don't have to write it. Thank you anyways ☺️☺️

my first ask! thank you so much for sending this! my bts skills may be a tad bit rusty, so i'm sorry if this isn't up to par with your expectations. im doing allll the research i can! some things may be changed up a bit, but i'm trying to stick to your prompt the best that i can!

summary: forbidden love hurts, and it sometimes builds up frustration inside you, which then turns into flipping out on the person you love nonsensically solely because you're overwhelmed. they had to learn to think before they act, and, now, they're suffering from the consequences of their actions.

characters: just to test the waters and see if you like what i'm doing, i am only doing kim namjoon. if you like this, i will continue with the other members i’m comfortable writing! please tell me if i did well or was a lil' off. i'll always take constructive criticism:)

kim namjoon never meant to hurt anyone, but he especially made sure that he would not hurt you. he cares about you so much, to the point where seeing you even slightly sad could mess up his whole day.

you're bts's songwriter and producer, but also their friend. when they make plans, they want to include you, always. even if they go to the beach for a run bts episode, they want YOU to be there after the cameras are off. of course, every single member of the group wants you to be around, but namjoon insists on it. you're his safe place, the person he confides in when times get hard--why wouldn't he want you there?

"are you sure you don't want to come with us on this tour?" namjoon looks at you with full passion in his eyes. he wants you to come with them, even if he won't directly say it. "you know that we will always want you to come with, right?"

that little "we" always gets you every time. sure, you know that it's true, and so does he, but that's not what you want to hear and that's not what he wants to say. you want to hear him say "i want you to come with," but it feels like he refuses to say it. he's only not saying it because it'll make his feelings too real, and he can't deal with the reality that you can never be his.

"ah, i know, joonie... but i need to work on the ideas you all gave me for this next album. it's the final one before you all go on hiatus, so i can't take a break," you respond, playing with your bowl of ramen without eating it. you're the only two in the kitchen, and it's quiet. "i'd love to go, but i just can't afford to right now. you know i'm short on money."

namjoon sighs, but nods. "i understand. it's just gonna be hard to be on tour without you."

you send him a sweet smile, then giggle softly. "you're such a baby, did you know that?"

"it's our little secret, keep it hush."

that wasn't the secret that destroyed everything you've built with him over the past decade, but it was more of a foreshadow. you felt excited at the idea of having a secret with him, but also dread--this is silly, though. you guys have thousands of secrets. you're best friends, and you always have been, so why is your gut telling you to fight or fly?

around a week later, dispatch reports on news that namjoon has never told a soul about--except for you. the moment his brain processes the information told to him by the higher-ups, he immediately gets up from his seat and marches to your usual spot that you linger in.

"get out."

"huh?"

your face is full of pure confusion, a bit like a deer in headlights. sure, you've had your arguments and fights before, but he has never been this harsh off the bat--hell, he was rarely ever truly harsh.

the way his eyes look at you with pure disgust, and the sarcastic laugh he lets out... it feels like you don't know who's standing in front of you. yeah, it's namjoon, but... it's also not.

"i knew you were desperate for money, y/n, but i didn't think you'd be this desperate. if i knew you were like this, i would've fired you sooner."

"namjoon, what the hell are you talking about?" you stand up from your seat, yelling at him a bit. it's obvious you aren't even mad, you're just a mix of confused, scared, and worried.

"you know what i'm talking about, y/n. hell, the rest of the world does as well, since you decided to go to dispatch about it."

he holds up his phone so you can look at the site he pulled up. you scrolled and scrolled in pure shock, confusion, and disgust. "i... namjoon, i did not rat you out to anyone. why would i?"

"people like you only care about money. figure it out, and get out of this dorm."

absolutely stunned, you walk to the door in complete silence, then turn around. he looks a bit lost in thought, then he finally sees you. you, whose eyes are full of tears; you, whose cheeks are red due to how panicked you got from him yelling; and you, who refused to yell at him back even when he disrespected you.

while he was so sure he was right, a pit in his stomach grew larger. he feels like he’s doing something bad, something wrong, and he doesn’t know why.

"i just want to say," you pause for a second, then continued. "if this is the real you, kim namjoon, maybe i should've been the one to expose you after all."

you slam the door.

months have passed, and you work at a local music store. sure, you write songs still, but they're not for anyone else except you. you refused to talk to all of them, talk about all of them, or even think about any of them. in your mind, bts disbanded the second he broke your heart, and your trust. truthfully, it’s unfair, as all the other members have texted you so many times and begged for a response, but you can’t think of them without thinking of him.

the store is completely empty, so you're scrolling through every single social media app you have downloaded brainlessly. the words you're reading are not completely processing in your head at all, they kinda just look like funky shapes.

one title, though, caught your attention.

"kim namjoon talks about trust, compassion, and friendship in recent SEVENTEEN interview."

your jaw clenches, and you slam your phone down. your tears are threatening to come out, but you refuse to let yourself still be hurt by him. he doesn't deserve your time, your tears, your anything. that's, at least, what you keep trying to convince yourself of, anyways.

the bell at the door rings, and you try to regain your composure. you

"welcome to good vibes, home to all of the--"

you freeze. you don't know what to do, what to say, or how to even move. are you supposed to say anything? it's not like he’s saying anything—hell, he has a mask over his face and a hood on his head, but you KNOW it’s him. now, he’s just staring at you blankly. you’re wearing a mask, so maybe there’s a chance—

“y/n,” namjoon softly says your name, and your heart pangs against your chest. it’s a mix of heartbreak, anxiety, and all the leftover love you have for him. “i was looking for you.”

you’re so nervous, you could burst into tears. you want to hop over your desk and run into his arms and tell him how much you miss him, but also how much you hate him for hurting you so much. why do you still love a man that said such unforgivable words?

“why?” your words were a bit breathy, and you began to chuckle a bit while shaking your head. “there’s nothing left to say—unless, y’know, you’re gonna tell me all i care about is money again because i have a job.”

“i’m sorry,” namjoon sighs, then walks to you. the desk separates you, but you wish you could fall into his arms. you keep your composure all the same, though.

“that day, i was so stressed. it felt as if so many things were happening at once, and to know that a secret that i only told you got out… i felt so much betrayal all at once, i didn’t want to hear you out. if i’m being completely vulnerable, i wanted to go cry,” he let out a small chuckle.

looking at you, your face was completely unreadable. it’s like you were thinking of so many things, but also of nothing at the same time. was he doing well? he doesn’t know. he’s just going with what he feels in his heart.

“in my heart, i knew i should’ve ran back to you and apologized; in my heart, i knew i should’ve heard every single word you said, because you would never lie to me,” namjoon balls his hands into a fists, then looks at you in the eyes, “so i’m sorry it took so long for me to realize that i was wrong.”

the store was tense, and all you could hear is the music playing so softly in the background as you stare at him. he’s trying to read your expression, to see if there’s any bit of leftover love in your eyes, but it just feels cold.

after a minute, you begin to laugh. it’s a full laughing attack, actually, and namjoon just stares. his heart dropped to the bottom of his stomach, because he’s not stupid—he knows this means he’s fucked up.

“what, did you think was a kdrama, namjoon? did you think i was going to hear that apology, jump into your arms, and say, ‘oppa, never hurt me ever again!’ or something?” you say these words while still laughing, and namjoon is still stunned. “what happened for you to come up here and say this to me? based on your new change in personality with… hating poor people and all, i can’t imagine you just woke up one day and did it.”

“we found who actually did it. it was our stylist, sooyoung.”

“so that’s what it took for you to finally realize i was innocent? instead of thinking back ro everything you said to me and how hurt i was, it took them finding out the real person behind the crime for you to realize i was telling the truth?”

you slam your hand on the desk, and your body is trembling. you’re on an adrenaline rush, but you’re also sad, scared, and angry. namjoon notices this and places his hand on yours, like he always used to.

“y/n, you’re shaking, please ca—“

“i don’t give a fuck, namjoon,” you yell, and namjoon is completely frozen. “i’ve known you since you were a trainee, and, yet, you still thought that i was some… freaky gold digger that would sell her friends out for money. do you know how much that hurts? to know that you think i have the potential to be like that?”

namjoon’s eyes begin to tear up, while your eyes have already overflown. your cheeks are entirely red, and you let out a choked sob. your head drops, and you let out a dry chuckle.

“for over a decade, i have been nothing but loyal and true to you; yet, it takes a full-blown investigation for you to realize how you did me wrong,” you then look up at him with no sympathy in your body. “it’s my turn to tell you to get out, namjoon. and, for your sake, never come back. i never want to see you again.”

he hesitates to walk away, and you’re staring at him, emotionless.

“what, are you deaf? get out.”

namjoon finally leaves, walking quickly towards his car, and you fall to your knees. you’re on the cold floor, shaking and crying, as you realize your life will never be the same ever again.

#bts #bts scenarios #bts x reader #namjoon scenarios #namjoon!‎ ‎𖹭 #namjoon x reader

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plus-i-miss-you · 9 months

Note

I LOVED THE OREKOTO AND MIKOTO HEADCANONS AUUAU!!! If it's not a bother, could you pls write a prisoner gn!reader comforting mahiru, fuuta, mikoto and amane after t2? Sorry if this is too vague !!

Seeing them all tired and beat up made me miserable... they deserve a kiss on the forehead or smth

▷ listening to:

"but i still forgive you" (gn!reader)

⇆ㅤ ㅤ◁ㅤ ❚❚ ㅤ▷ ㅤㅤ↻ ılıılıılıılıılıılıㅤ

♪ note: HI HI ELI so sorry this request has been gathering dust in my inbox for more than a month.. i really wanted to write this but life be life-ing.. i really enjoyed writing this and i hope you enjoy reading this too! (also so sorry if i sound weird but i'm assuming you meant comforting them after t1? ^^'')

♪ summary: es may have done some.. pretty strange decisions and now not only the guard and the guilty prisoners, but everyone has to deal with it, including you. you can't help but feel bad for the guilty ones, and hopefully, you can offer them at least some kind of support.

♪ warnings: description of fuuta and mahiru being in pain because of their injuries, the reader character doesn't know about mikoto and john being a system, but still treats them as respectfully as possible, mentions of cults and religious trauma in amane's section. fuuta, mahiru and mikoto parts can be seen as both romantic and platonic, meanwhile amane's part is strictly platonic.

fuuta kajiyama.

♪ fuuta was.. in terrible condition, to say the least. his personality was so different from the fuuta you knew, too. sure, you've met him not so long ago, but seeing him act like this felt.. weird. you actually kinda missed the old fuuta, yes, he was kinda rude, loud and said things without thinking, but you'd prefer that than seeing fuuta in pain and not being able to say a word. you wish you could help him somehow, but.. what could you do? you doubt that convincing es to forgive him is possible..

♪ you tried to support him at least in an emotional way, even though you knew that might not work. it's highly possible he won't be able to see with his right eye ever again, of course, that's extremely traumatizing. he also got beat up by kotoko out of all prisoners, who actually seemed to be similar to him in a way. but you told him that if fuuta wanted to talk to you about anything, like complain about something or vent, he could always do that. fuuta found your kindness weird and even suspicious at first, but.. fine, he could use a friend in a situation like this. or at least a person who could hear him out.

♪ fuuta finds himself coming to you more often than he thought he would. it's not like he has that many people to talk to here anyway. he's grateful to kazui (even though he doesn't want to admit it), but.. he's not sure if there is anything he can talk to him about. haruka and muu are really close now, it honestly feels like haruka has forgotten about everyone else. oh, but surprisingly, fuuta's been getting along with amane lately- what do you mean, you "have a bad feeling about this", y/n?..

♪ you will never actually hear this from him, but you can feel that fuuta is glad to have someone like you here. he looks calmer with you around and if he can't open up to anyone else about something, at least he can open up to you. it's easier for him to fall asleep when you're next to him, so you may find him suddenly doing so with his head on your shoulder or your lap. just, uh.. be prepared for him to be really flustered when he wakes up and sees you.

mahiru shiina.

♪ she's honestly surprised that you want to spend time with her and help her feel better despite her being voted guilty. she immediately starts joking (or maybe half-joking?..) about falling in love with you because of your kindness and you just roll your eyes and ask if she's okay and if she's in any pain. you remind her to take her medications, you ask shidou for help if her condition gets worse and you help her move around with her wheelchair, so that she doesn't feel isolated from the rest of the prisoners. being in milgram is already isolating enough.

♪ you try to help her feel better by doing things that are small and simple to you, but very meaningful to her. you brush her hair, you paint her nails (even if you can only do so on one hand for now..), you tell her that she still looks beautiful, and every time you do that, it makes her smile. it's still different from that usual smile of hers, but it's a smile that shows even though she's still suffering, she appreciates you being around.

♪ mahiru doesn't understand why you're still helping her. is this because you love her?.. ah, please forgive her, that's just her being her usual silly self. but still.. she wasn't forgiven, right? that means she was in the wrong.. but she doesn't understand what made es vote her guilty. all she did was love her boyfriend a lot, right? does that mean that her love itself is a sin?.. is she not allowed to love at all?.. you gently interrupt mahiru and say that you don't know why es refused to forgive her, but you personally don't think mahiru's love is a sin at all. in fact, it's a blessing.

♪ mahiru feels like the sun itself personified to you and you hope that she gets better soon, but you're also grateful for the opportunity to take care of her like this. she always gives so much love to everyone, you wonder how much she gets back. you softly pat her head while making sure it's not painful considering her injury and ask what she wants to do today, but it takes a while for mahiru to answer because of your words still ringing in her head, but in a good way.

amane momose.

♪ .. so why exactly es decided to vote a child guilty? you know you probably shouldn't say anything about the guard's decisions, but.. this just doesn't make any sense to you. just what did es see in amane's video? or maybe something happened during the interrogation? amane's behavior has changed a lot, but you don't blame her for it. of course she would start acting differently. she's a 12 year old who was voted guilty and almost got beaten up by kotoko, kotoko ending up not doing anything to her was honestly a miracle. of course she would be mad. she should be.

♪ you try to talk to her and she kinda ignores you at first. however, you're not as bad as shidou, so.. fine, maybe she can hang out with you a little bit. it's hard not to feel sorry for her though, because of how messy her hair is and how empty her eyes are. you try to cheer her up somehow, like maybe you can do something really cute with her hair or maybe you can cook something for her (while still respecting her dietary restrictions and not forcing her to eat something she's not allowed to).. amane finds your attempts to become closer with her strange, but.. maybe she could use some company.

♪ every time she mentions her "god" around you though, you try to change the topic. you like amane and you genuinely want this kid to get better, but you're not really feeling like becoming a part of a cult.. amane just sighs and says you'll understand it someday. sometimes you catch her mumbling something about being forgiven this time and es needing to make the correct judgement. you can't really help her much when it happens and you can't do anything other than say that es will definitely forgive her, but amane manages to turn even something simple as that into rambles about her god. you can't help but wonder what amane's life used to be like.

♪ you can't convince amane that her family wasn't as kind as she thinks they were. you can't convince her that the way she was raised was too cruel. you know she won't believe you. and you know you're not a therapist. but at least you can be her friend. at least you can gently guide her, while still giving her a choice, so that she feels more free. more free than she possibly ever was in her life. and even though amane never talks about it, she does appreciate it. she feels strangely warm when you're around. she wonders if it's okay to feel this way and if god would ever forgive her for that.

mikoto kayano.

♪ you didn't know why mikoto suddenly started to act like this. you tried to get at least some information from others, including es, but nobody gave you a proper answer, even though you had a feeling like kotoko and es know what's going on. for some reason, this mikoto just didn't.. feel like mikoto to you. it's like it was.. different mikoto? no, that doesn't sound right. it felt like it was a completely different person. you couldn't prove it and when you tried to say it out loud, it sounded weird, but.. it felt like a correct answer to you.

♪ when it felt like it was the mikoto you knew, you always made sure to tell him what's going on, what happened, basically all the information he needed. he always looked so lost and confused, you couldn't help but feel sorry for him. you assumed that it was probably because of the trauma related to being voted guilty. you actually couldn't understand es's decision at all. just why would they vote someone like mikoto guilty? was his video really that bad? it didn't feel like mikoto was pretending to be less smarter than he is. why would he even have to do that? you all are murderers here, there's no reason for him to try and trick anyone.

♪ when it felt like it was someone else, you still tried to treat him with kindness. you couldn't understand why everyone started to avoid this person so suddenly. yes, this person was.. quite different from mikoto, but.. maybe at least they could try to accept him? you actually found it surprising how quickly he calmed down after you showed him that you don't intend to hurt him or mikoto. maybe this was the only thing he needed: someone telling him that he's safe and that he's not in danger. or maybe it was something they both needed.

♪ both mikoto and this person seem to actually like you a lot.. well, it's not like they have much of a choice here, considering that other prisoners don't really want to spend time with them. but it looks like they don't mind it that much. yes, mikoto is definitely still worried about it and he doesn't seem to remember what happens when the other person is here, but the other guy doesn't really care about the other prisoners and the only thing that bothers him is how possibly dangerous they can be. and even though he still has his suspicions.. you don't seem that dangerous to him.

#💌 requested!#milgram #milgram x reader #fuuta kajiyama #fuuta kajiyama x reader #mahiru shiina #mahiru shiina x reader #amane momose #amane momose x reader #mikoto kayano #mikoto kayano x reader #john kayano #john milgram #john kayano x reader

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sohyxn · 9 months

Text

SLIPPED AWAY⠀───⠀HUH YUNJIN.

TAGS : REQUESTED, fluff, angst, yunjin is confused w her feelings, yunjin is too late, reader is part of le sserafim, 02 liner reader.

PAIRINGS : yunjin x fem reader, kazuha x fem reader.

REQ BY ANON : yunjin losing yn to another le sserafim member

NOTES : sorry it took so long anon, pls forgive me i was occupied w exams + writer block got me 💔 also this is kinda shitty tho, i'm so sorry in advance 🤕

it was another day of intense rehearsals for the girls. yunjin couldn't help but steal glances at le sserafim's main dancer, y/n as they performed practice together at the practice room. yunjin's heart skipped a beat at the sight of y/n's radiant smile every time.

the latter has no idea why her heart did that every time she glanced at the younger — or is it because she has feelings with her?

"no, it can't be." yunjin whispers. "what can't be?" a voice appears. yunjin broke out of her thoughts and searched for the source of the voice and she found y/n who's staring at her with a curious look. "huh?"

"-yunjin" y/n continues with a giggle following after. "you get it? huh? yunjin!"

and there, it happened again. yunjin's heart skipped a beat hearing the sound of laughter coming from y/n. again yunjin wondered why she felt like this.

"unnie." y/n said softly. "are you okay? is there something on your mind? you keep staring at the distance. you know you can tell me anything right?" the latter continued.

yunjin feels her heart race at the younger affection. "i'm okay y/n. just feeling tired." yunjin said softly. "hmm if you say so." y/n hummed even though she knows the latter is lying. "i'm gonna go to kazuha unnie. tell me if you need anything okay?" yunjin hummed in response.

yunjin watched as y/n strolled towards kazuha and back hugged the latter. yunjin felt her heart dropped at the sight. these past few months, y/n have been annoyingly close towards kazuha. not like it's a problem but for some reason yunjin do not like it — whenever kazuha makes you laugh, the way you cling to kazuha's side and the way you always cuddle with kazuha during movie night.

and there she thought, "do i have feelings towards y/n?" it hit her like a tidal wave, leaving her breathless and confused.

during a short break, as the girls gathered in the dressing room, yunjin found herself lost in her thoughts. the sound of laughter and chatter faded into the background as her mind replayed their moments together. the way y/n's eyes sparkled when she spoke, the warmth of her touch during group hugs, the way her voice resonated through yunjin's soul during their performances — it all became clear to her.

yunjin's heart raced as she tried to come to terms with her newfound emotions. she knew that confessing her feelings could potentially jeopardize their friendship and the group bonds.

that evening, after rehearsal, yunjin mustered up the courage to seek solace in the comfort of her favorite spot — a secluded bench in a nearby park. the moon hung low in the sky as she sat there, her thoughts consumed by y/n.

"i never expected to feel this way... y/n has become the center of my universe. how did i not realize it before?"

as yunjin pondered her next steps, a voice interrupted her thoughts.

"unnie, there you are. i've been looking all over for you."

yunjin's heart skipped a beat as she turned to see y/n standing before her, concern etched on her face.

"y/n, can i ask you something?"

y/n sat down beside yunjin, her eyes filled with curiosity and genuine care. "of course, unnie. you know you can ask me anything." y/n replied.

taking a deep breath, yunjin gazed into y/n's eyes, her voice trembling but determined. "how do you know if you like someone?"

y/n's eyes widened, a mix of surprise and confusion crossing her face.

"oh well, for me, if i like someone, I can't stop thinking about that person and how i want them to be mine. also my heart will beat so fast whenever i'm with them and spending time with them is something that i'm looking forward to every day."

yunjin nodded. "why do you ask unnie? do you like someone?" with curiosity y/n ask. "yeah, there's someone that i like, a lot." yunjin said while staring at y/n with loving eyes.

"and you, how about you y/n?" yunjin asked. "yeah i do have someone that i like." y/n said with a blush on her cheeks. "ooh, and who is that lucky person?" yunjin teased.

"well, sorry unnie that's a secret!

yunjin laughed at the younger antics but soon replied with a question "do you think i should confess?"

"of course unnie, what if they like you back? wouldn't that be great!" yunjin hummed. "maybe i will, thanks y/n."

"you're welcome unnie." y/n said and gave the older a warm hug. "i'm gonna go back to practice. don't stay here too long unnie!" y/n said to remind yunjin.

a few days have passed and yunjin still hasn't confessed her feelings towards y/n. the fear of rejection has been consuming her mind. "what if the person that y/n likes is someone else?"

but today is different, today is the day huh yunjin gonna do it.

the rain poured relentlessly as yunjin stood at the doorstep of y/n's house. hybe give the group holidays break after finishing their latest comeback promotion.

yunjin knocked on the door of the house and her voice quivered as she spoke, her words laced with softness. "y/n, i... i need to tell you something. please hear me out."

the door opened and y/n's eyes met yunjin's, filled with a mix of surprise and apprehension. "yunjin unnie? what are you doing here? it's raining? let's go inside first."

yunjin bit her lip, as she sat on the couch. "here." y/n gave the older a towel to wipe the wet rains off her soak body.

"so... unnie, what's the important thing you need to tell me until you need to soak yourself in the rain?" y/n asked.

yunjin can hear her heart pounding in her chest "remember when we had a conversation about confessing my feelings to the person i like? well actually the person i like is—"

"babe?" yunjin whipped her head to the source of the voice and was surprised to see kazuha.

"babe? what do you mean by babe zuha? w..what is going on?"yunjin said while looking back and forth between kazuha and y/n.

"unnie." y/n audibly called. "zuha and i, we are seeing each other."

"i know we should've told you and the others and i swear we're going to do it after our break ends." kazuha continued.

tears welled up in yunjin's eyes as the weight of her unrequited love crashed down upon her. "i..i don't know what to say — but i'm happy for you guys and i'm not going to tell the others, i promise." y/n reached out, their voice filled with appreciation. "unnie, thank you so much."

"now about our conversation earlier—what about the person you like?" y/n ask as kazuha leave to give them some space. "oh, nothing. it just—i found out that she likes someone else and well" yunjin's voice trembled, her pain evident.

y/n's eyes glistened with unshed tears, her voice filled with sadness. "oh unnie." she reached out to hug yunjin and she whispered softly in the latter ear "i'm so sorry unnie, i know it hurts but i promise you will someone's that will love you the same."

yunjin nodded, her voice barely above a whisper. "i know, y/n. i just... i love her so much. if only i can turn back time to confess earlier."

as the rain continued to pour, y/n comfort yunjin as the older sobs on her shoulder in silence, her heart heavy with the weight of her shattered heart. the echoes of what y/n and her could have been lingered in the air, haunting yunjin.

"do you feel better now?" y/n pulled away, her voice filled with concern. yunjin forced a weak smile, tears streaming down her cheeks. "i am, thank you, y/n. I'll try my best to move forward, even if it feels like my heart is breaking."

her heart ached with regret and longing, knowing that she had realized her feelings for y/n far too late. she had finally mustered the courage to confess her love, only to find y/n in the arms of her best friend, kazuha.

with a final glance, yunjin eyes filled with unspoken pain as yunjin parted ways. the rain continued to fall, washing away the remnants of what could have been, leaving behind only the fading echoes of a love that was never meant to be.

#angelicvity #gg imagines #gxg #gxg imagine #kpop gg #huh yunjin x you #huh yunjin x fem reader #huh yunjin x reader #huh yunjin imagines #huh yunjin #jennifer huh #le sserafim imagines #le sserafim x fem reader #le sserafim #le sserafim x reader #gxg angst #yunjin x reader #yunjin

260 notes · View notes

kimsohn · 9 months

Text

even if the world caves in,

pairing . chanhee x gn! reader (ft. vernon of seventeen) about . 13.5k words, fluff + angst, e2l fake-dating warnings . smoking, alcohol, cursing, suggestive (allusions to sex at the end), descriptive food mentions, y/n and chanhee are idiots chanhee lowkey doesn't deserve y/n, the plot kinda doesn't make sense but fuck it we ball ok, pls lmk if i missed things bc i probably did, also i wrote most of this at ungodly hours of the night and this is not proofread take this as your warning

synopsis . after your big break in cinema, the last thing on your mind is a relationship. unfortunately for you, the public has other plans, forcing you together with the journalist who's entire career is dedicated to your downfall. note . this is my submission for @deoboyznet's secret santa fic exchange! hihi @heemingyu i'm your secret santa!! (i'm so sorry this is like two days late and probably rushed forgive me) i went through like four different plots before settling on this one and writing it in one week 😭 i hope you enjoy!!! also thank you to @juyeonszn for staying up until 6am to beta for me what the fuck. ilysm. tagging . @invuwrld @gfksn @stealanity

Lately, the only thing that seems to greet you is the buzzing sound of your phone, incessant until silenced by your tired fingers.

You reach over as you stir awake, the action almost second nature to you as your hand catches ahold of the sleek object. You hit random buttons until your desired effect comes into play, answering the phone call and putting it on speaker, and you already know who it is before their voice even drifts through the microphone.

“Y/N! Get your ass up, you’re on the headlines.”

“Again?” you whine, rolling over in bed. “Is it good news or bad news this time?”

The man on the other end laughs, bitterly, and you push yourself off the bed in response. Your manager laughing, especially like that, is nothing amusing, and you rub your eyes as you try to get yourself awake.

“Oh, it’s bad, alright. Open your fucking phone, Y/N.”

You do exactly that, immediately thumbing over to Twitter and seeing your name trending. Afraid of which one of your many stupid decisions has made the headlines today, you press the hashtag, cringing at the first picture.

“Of course, they got pictures of me drunk,” you mutter, scrolling through the list. “Wasn’t this Juyeon’s private party, like months ago? How did these photos leak?”

“It doesn’t matter Y/N,” your manager sighs from the other side, and you feel a twinge of guilt for always putting him through this situation, “you’re an actor. Nothing in your life is private anymore, especially you pole dancing on top of the bar.”

Your facial muscles twitch as you come across the aforementioned picture, seeing yourself busting out dance moves on the marble. You have to hold back a laugh, seeing how something so ridiculously insignificant is dragging your name through the mud right now.

“But Vernon, you have to admit, the pictures are kinda hot.”

He grumbles on the other side before he cuts the call, and you fall into bed giggling, scrolling through other pictures. You have a cigarette in one hand and a tequila glass in the other, and that explains why you remember absolutely nothing about that day.

A text notification appears at the top of your screen, and you swipe down to see none other than Vernon who you were on call with five seconds ago. He’s sent you the link to an article followed by a message.

This is the article that leaked the video. Check out the name.

You click on the link, and your face falls at the name of the website. It falls even more when you see the name of the writer, and you press your fingers to your forehead. You immediately call Vernon again, watching the phone ring twice before he picks up.

“Can we fucking blacklist him, Vernon?” you seethe, gripping your phone tightly.

“I’m afraid not. He’s just a journalist, not a stalker.”

“He might as well be with the way he’s always up to date with my private information.”

You punch your pillow, watching your fist pathetically curl into the bedding. It doesn’t have its intended effect, only reminding you of how weak you are physically and mentally. You don’t get into scandals often, probably because you’re a rare, good person in the horrible field that is Hollywood, but whenever you do, you have one journalist to thank for it.

“I told you, nothing is private in your life anymore.”

Vernon goes off on a tangent about how you should’ve been more careful, how you shouldn’t have drunk your ass off, but you can’t find it within you to care. There was technically nothing wrong with what you did (except for maybe the indecency, but it’s a bar for fuck’s sake), but as a famous actor with a huge fanbase, you understand why your manager is angry. Dancing on top of a counter and smoking should not be the kind of precedent you set for your fans, especially the younger ones, and your actions have a lot more weight to them now that you’re in the public eye.

It’s just stupid because you’re a regular person. At the very least, you deserve to have some privacy regarding decisions you make, especially ones that are so insignificant.

“Vernon,” you interrupt, “it’s okay. My movie is coming out later this week, so I think it’ll die down quickly.”

“I know, but you’re lucky that this was a trivial issue. If you get caught in something truly fucked up, another movie won’t be able to save you.”

“I’ll be more careful. I promise.”

He hangs up, reminding you that you have a screening to attend later today and an interview. Your eyes drift back to the article again, reading the headline.

Hollywood’s favorite celebrity turned dancer.

You shut your eyes, breathing in and out so you don’t lose your composure. The universe is lucky you’re a rational, decent human being because if you weren’t, the writer who’s been practically harassing you would’ve been long eliminated by now.

Choi Chanhee, you read, familiar with the name. The infamous writer that’s always on your tail. It’s as if he dedicates his whole life to ruining you because he’s always the first to write things that make your crown slip. Almost all of your scandals, from particularly stupid ones at the beginning of your career to your most recent one, have been written by him. He’s practically obsessed with you at this point, and you don’t know what it is about you that ticks him off.

You toss your phone to the side, trudging over to the bathroom to get ready. Unlike Chanhee, you don’t have the time or patience to worry about trivial things like gossip pages. Choi Chanhee is just one, minor obstacle in your way. Just someone insignificant.

A long time ago, the flashing lights of cameras would’ve blinded you. Now, as a seasoned actor, you’re quite immune to the brightness that surrounds you when you walk the red carpet. You smile and pose, reveling in the cameras and the interviews that follow, asking for details about your current movie and the process behind the scenes.

You’ve just finished off an interview about the movie’s wardrobe when a black-haired man comes up to you. The lens of his thick glasses shines against the cameras in the background, and you have to look down to avoid the glare from the reflection.

You read his name tag and your face drops. You immediately look up, putting on a forced grin.

“Choi Chanhee. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

He smiles, and the corners of his mouth curl as if he knows of your extensive distaste for him.

“It seems you know who I am already. Let’s get started with the interview then. First question: do you have anything to say regarding your latest scandal at the bar?”

You’re gritting through your teeth as you answer.

“No comment. Next question, please.”

“What are your opinions on the latest controversy surrounding Lee and Co., the production company behind your movie?”

He fires off a few questions, all as controversial as the last, and the only thing that keeps you from slapping him right there and then is your media training that Vernon had drilled into you while in the car.

“He will be there,” Vernon had said, fixing your watch, “don’t give him anything to work with. Just focus on promoting your movie.”

You’ve followed his advice for the solid ten minutes Chanhee has bombarded you, but even your patience is wearing thin. You’re tired of being asked about the same scandals repeatedly from different angles, and you have to admit that even if he’s doing an amazing job as a journalist, it’s not looking good for your conscience.

“Chanhee,” you interrupt, watching him pause in the middle of a question, “do you have any substantial questions about the movie, or are we done here?”

His face contorts as if he had just been thrown tomatoes at, and the devil in your brain beams from his expression. He flips through his notes, flicking through a couple of pages before landing on one that’s up to his liking.

“Okay, one last question then. Who was your favorite person to work with during this movie?”

You pause, mulling over the question. You watch as his eyes traverse his notes, and you wonder what trick he has up his sleeve. You guess that he will probably bring up something about the person who’s name you’ll recite, so you think carefully before answering.

“I don’t have one particular favorite. I love them all,” you answer honestly and safely, with no room for scrutiny.

He nods, shutting off the recorder before packing his bag and giving you a slight bow. The narcissist in your brain revels in how good he looks bowing down to you, but you pay your respects in return.

“Thank you for your time, Y/N.”

You watch as he saunters off, probably off to his crew, and you blink a few times before shifting your attention to the next reporter with an eager smile.

Hours later, you find yourself outside, exchanging the chaos inside for a fresh breath of air. Your director has indulged in an after-party, one you’re grateful for too, but after a couple of glasses of wine and many more hours of talking to fellow celebrities, you need a moment of solitude.

The air outside is crisp and cool, and you find yourself wishing you’d brought your jacket out to accompany you. Your vision is slightly blurry and your stance is wobbly, but you find a bench nearby to take a seat at. You stare at the pond across from you for a while, throwing rocks into the water and watching how far they travel.

A cigarette accompanies you, and the puffs of air you release are visual representations of how relaxed you want to feel. You’ve just released a movie, and you should be thankful, but as an actor, your mind never rests due to the endless possibilities you can ponder over. Moments like these where you find yourself completely alone, with nothing to worry about, are rare, and you try to curb your mind from ruining the moment by overthinking.

However, your moment of peace is interrupted by a loud shutter behind you, and you quickly turn around, afraid of what the paparazzi would say if they caught you like this. A figure disappears around the corner, but as you hear the clacking of their footsteps, you know exactly who it must be.

“Chanhee, I know it’s you.”

Moments pass before he steps out from behind the wall, holding a camera in his hands. The object, in contrast to the suit he wears, is so uncoordinated that you burst into a fit of laughter, over-emotional from the wine you had earlier.

“Why are you laughing?” he asks cautiously, treading the waters.

“I didn’t know you were a photographer too! You’re an all-rounder for sure.”

“Look,” he whispers as if his guilt will excuse his actions, “I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s okay.” You pat the empty space next to you. “Here, sit next to me.”

He takes a seat warily, as if you have a gun in your hands, but relaxes once he sees you dangling your feet. It’s uncharacteristic for him to be sitting next to you, heck, even interacting with you, but you don’t seem to really mind as you throw another rock into the water.

“Why do you hate me?” you ask, staring at him with glossy eyes. “What did I do that was so wrong?”

“Are you drunk?” he asks instead, realizing this isn’t the pristine condition he saw you in a couple of hours ago.

“It doesn’t matter,” you sniffle. “What did I do to make you absolutely despise me?”

Chanhee sighs, staring at the ripples in the pond. He picks up a rock, swinging it as far as he can before it settles to the bottom of the pool. It goes way farther than any of the rocks you’d thrown before, and you pout miserably as you cease your ministrations.

“It’s my job. I get paid for writing about your downfall.”

“But… you don’t have to be so mean about it.”

Chanhee recognizes that he won’t get anywhere with this argument because you’re drunk, so instead, he turns to you, placing his hands on your shoulders so you look at him.

“Look, I’m sorry, okay? Here, I won’t even post the pictures that I took today.”

He deletes the pictures from his camera, showing you after it’s done, and you surprise him by throwing your arms around him. You’re too far gone to realize the weight of your actions, but he isn’t, so he tries to gently pry them off his shoulders.

“Thank you,” you whisper after he’s done, slumping across the bench half-asleep, “thank you for being nice. For once.”

He blinks once, twice, before he exhales, turning around on his heel and disappearing into the darkness. Later, when Vernon picks you up from the bench, you tell him that a pretty fairy saved you from disaster. He won’t believe you, but you know it’s true in your heart.

You’re nursing your hangover when you decide to turn on the news. You settle into your comfortable couch, holding a bowl of hangover soup and trying not to succumb to the pain radiating throughout your forehead.

Not often do you watch the news, choosing to opt out because it’s usually annoying and gives you a headache, but Vernon’s somehow using two devices to watch his show on Netflix so you’re forced to resort to this. You think you might die if you don’t distract yourself from the migraine that’s been occupying your senses, so the news will have to suffice.

You flick through the channels, not interested in the politics or the weather, but your fingers pause when a bright pink headline catches your eye. It’s the gossip channel, and this is usually the channel you’re warned to stay far away from, but you can’t help but watch the video playing when the headline specifically features your name.

Y/N caught in a secret relationship, embracing a secret lover by the pond.

Your mood turns sour when the clip features events from last night, ones that are still fuzzy in your brain. You didn’t expect to be reliving this situation, but your heart all but drops when you realize the snippet features you and Chanhee in the frame, hugging each other as if you had indeed been lovers. The worst part is that Chanhee didn’t even reciprocate, but that isn’t featured in the headline, so it truly does look like you two have a thing for each other.

This time around, you call Vernon first instead of the usual.

“Y/N,” he whispers groggily as if you had woken him up, “what happened?”

“Please turn on the fucking news Vernon.”

You hear shuffling from the other side, a few minutes of rustling before you hear the blaring of the TV and a similar sound drifting through his microphone. You get a few minutes of pin-drop silence before all hell breaks loose.

“Who the fuck is that?!” he exclaims, and you hear his feet angrily pacing around. “Was this last night? I thought I told you to be more careful, to look out for your surroundings—”

“Vernon, it’s Chanhee.”

The only thing you hear from Vernon is his angered breaths, and it takes mere seconds before you burst into tears, fed up by this situation and the terrible migraine you still have. You just want to curl up into a ball and never step foot into the universe again, and your resolve only strengthens when the line goes dead. You can’t help the tears that come to bay, rippling through you like a shockwave that never seems to end.

Insistent knocking at your door a few moments later is the only thing that stops the tears from falling, and you quickly wipe them before opening the door. Vernon stands at the other side, his hands in his pockets and eyebags above his cheeks, but his gaze softens when he sees your puffy eyes and you hugging yourself.

He brings you into his embrace, your tears staining his hoodie, but neither of you can find it in yourselves to care. Vernon just caresses your back, knowing the only thing you need right now is a gesture of comfort, and you burrow into his chest further. Right here, in the middle of your entryway, Vernon provides you with the best version of reassurance he can offer: a simple, caring hug.

“I was drunk,” you mutter when you’ve calmed down, speaking through the sniffles that escape you, “and we were just talking. You know I get touchy when I’m tipsy.”

“I figured,” he says, unraveling himself from your embrace. “Does the press know it’s him?”

“No, but I expect they’ll find out soon enough.”

You follow him as he takes a seat on the couch, watching the headlines on the TV. The gossip channel has long moved on from your news, but you haven’t, and fear of what will happen to either you or Chanhee is killing you.

“We need to contact him before then,” he voices, grabbing his phone from his pocket. “I think I know someone from his office.”

“Wait, why?” you ask, trying to peer over at his phone, watching him scroll through his contacts. “Wouldn’t it just be best to let the rumors die down?”

“If this was a celebrity, we could’ve done that. But Chanhee is a regular human being, and this could potentially destroy his career.”

“Isn’t that a good thing?” you murmur under your breath, watching Vernon deadpan.

“Look, I know you hate him, but he doesn’t deserve to be criticized for something he didn’t even do. Let’s just talk to him and see what he has to say, okay?”

You nod, falling back on the couch. The migraine still bothers you, and you rub your fingers across your forehead to massage it.

Five days ago, you would never have expected to be in this position. To you, Chanhee was just a name on a screen, a faceless figure haunting your dreams. How fitting is it that his very first encounter with you led to your worst nightmare?

You hear Vernon dial his contact, watching the phone ring several times before a line picks up. Vernon speaks gratefully, grabbing the pen and paper that you have lying around on your coffee table as he scribbles down some information.

“We have a meeting,” he says, showing you the piece of paper, “in five hours. Be ready by then.”

Just what exactly have you gotten yourself into?

The bright lights and white walls in the meeting room make it look like a prison cell, and the atmosphere does absolutely nothing to calm your nerves. You’re tapping your foot anxiously, sitting in an unfamiliar space in an unfamiliar building, but Chanhee requested a meeting in his office building, and you have no other choice but to go with it.

You’d be lying if you said you were nonchalant about the whole atmosphere, but you try to keep yourself composed as you wait for him to enter. Vernon sits beside you, going through some papers in his briefcase that only a manager would know about, and his presence is the only thing keeping you grounded right now.

“Just let me do the talking, okay?” he’d said before entering, “The last thing we need is another argument on our hands.”

Even though the comment offended you, you honestly would be better off trusting his judgment. You and Chanhee don’t exactly have the best track record, and if either one of you says something even slightly off, the room would probably explode into insults. You honestly don’t even have the strength anyway to hold up a fight, so you slump into your chair, adjusting your jacket and reeling in your patience.

The doorknob twists and you and Vernon straighten your postures, trying to look presentable for your audience. Chanhee enters, followed by a blonde-haired who you’d assume to be his boss, and you rise so you can shake their hands. Chanhee ignores your attempt at waving a white flag, choosing to shake Vernon’s instead before sitting down at a seat, but his boss smiles and grabs your palm tightly in his.

“Hello, I’m Sangyeon. It’s nice to meet you.”

You exchange pleasantries as you sit down, and once you get over the initial awkwardness, you shut your mouth and wait for Vernon to speak up.

“So, I’m sure you guys have seen the news and are well aware of why we’re here.”

Sangyeon nods, urging him to continue.

“I understand what you might be feeling right now Chanhee,” Vernon follows, catching Chanhee’s gaze, “and we’re extremely sorry for the trouble that this has caused you. However, I have a proposition that might benefit both parties, if you are interested.”

Chanhee’s silence prompts Vernon’s explanation, and you lean in, curious about what he has to say too. Vernon had offhandedly mentioned that he had a deal to make, but you don’t have the slightest clue as to what he’s about to propose.

“I was thinking we play into the rumors. We can say Y/N and Chanhee met at a press conference and hit it off a couple of weeks ago. After we plan a few more appearances, we can stage a public breakup in a few weeks so that everything can go back to normal.”

You blanch, ready to refuse the idea, but Chanhee beats you to it.

“Why would I agree to a relationship with Y/N?”

“Hey,” you start, offended by his implications, “what’s wrong with dating me?”

Chanhee scoffs.

“Don’t even start, Y/N. This is all your fault after all. I didn’t know you liked me that much that you couldn’t keep your hands off me.”

You’re seeing blood red, crazed at the malice behind his words.

“I was tipsy! And how was I supposed to know that someone was stalking us? If anything, it was your fault for deleting those pictures and being nice to me.”

The room erupts into chaos as you throw petty insults at each other, similar to a catfight. It takes Vernon holding you back physically to get you to calm down, but even after you’ve calmed down, you’re still staring daggers at him.

“Look, Chanhee, I understand this is not ideal for either of you given the nature of your jobs. But if you think about it, when the press finds out that it’s you in the picture, how will you be able to resume your writing? Who will take you seriously if you write hate articles about the very person that you were caught with?” Vernon asks, trying to reason with him.

Chanhee falls into silence, and he looks at his manager. His manager offers him a pitiful glance, knowing that Vernon is right.

“You don’t have to be lovey-dovey with each other,” Vernon continues, hoping to ease the terms. “You just have to appear in public for a couple of dates. We can use your old articles to prove that you guys have had romantic tension, so we’ll have background evidence too. When Y/N breaks your heart in a couple of weeks, you’ll have the perfect reason to continue writing hate articles.”

“It’s like enemies to lovers to… enemies, right?” Sangyeon asks, humming after Vernon nods, “I think it’s a good idea Chanhee. You’ll gain a lot more exposure after the whole thing is over too. If we continue going as it is, the press will ruin your career, and I’d have no other choice but to fire you. I think this is the best decision for your future and the company.”

Chanhee sighs, rubbing his temples. As much as you despise him, you can sympathize with the fact that he has a difficult decision looming over his head. The fate of his career rests in your hands, the person he’s dedicated a lifetime to ruining, and you can imagine just how insane his internal conflict might be.

“I’ll do it,” you voice, watching the room’s reactions carefully.

Chanhee’s eyes shoot up at you, clearly not expecting your admission.

“I would hate to be the reason you had to quit something you love. Besides, I’ve been in too many scandals recently anyway; I think a relationship could do my career some good.”

You don’t know if your attempt at a joke resonated with him, but his shoulders relax and he bores his eyes into you. His eyes are sharp and feline-like, but his brown pupils are almost the exact opposite, thoughtful and deep. He’s a little pretty, you realize, when he’s not trying to sabotage your entire career.

You’ve tried to stay level-headed after your argument earlier, as a gesture to Vernon, but you can’t contain your surprise when he nods a few minutes later.

“Okay, I’ll go with your plan. But I want four weeks, not five.”

“Deal,” you say, reaching over with an open palm before Vernon can even say anything.

This time around, Chanhee does reciprocate your gesture, shaking your hand firmly. The white flag flies freely over your heads, and you can only pray that these next four weeks will be over just as quickly as they started.

The news blows up fairly quickly after it’s published, even faster than any of the scandals you’ve been in. After the announcement your companies sent out confirming your relationship, you posted a picture of Chanhee to your Instagram story to show support from your side. Never have you garnered so many notifications in a single day, but you’re not complaining. You suppose your fans have also been waiting for you to get into a serious relationship, seeing that you’ve been single since your acting debut, so the update is received with a mostly positive reaction that you’re thankful for.

However, just the news and a picture alone aren’t going to cut it. Arguably, the hardest part of this whole ordeal is your interactions with Chanhee, making your relationship believable enough so your fans don’t think this is the PR stunt like it really is. Your first order of business is taking Chanhee along on a date tonight to a movie premiere, the first actual public appearance you two will be making.

To say you’re nervous is an understatement. The last time you saw Chanhee, it took Vernon’s presence to stop you from biting his head off. How will you even survive a whole event together, let alone act like a couple?

You tell Chanhee to show up a couple of hours earlier so you can plan out the details, unable to keep your nervousness at bay. You don’t know if Chanhee is as anxious as you, but Vernon always says it’s good to stick to a plan, so calling him over isn’t the worst idea you’ve ever had.

Actually, it might be a little bit bad.

“Wow,” you say, your throat suddenly parched from seeing his clothing, “you clean up nicely.”

Nice is the simplest you could describe his outfit. He’s wearing a black suit, indented polka dots scattered across the black cloth. Paired with a white shirt underneath and matching tie, along with those round glasses that are definitely growing on you, he looks just like another A-list celebrity in the crowd. Maybe even a model if you would care to admit it.

“Thanks,” he mutters, unbuttoning the jacket to strew it across your couch, “it’s kinda hot in here, no?”

You would agree, but your mind is currently occupied with how delicious he looks in just a simple white shirt and a tie. You have half a mind to tell him that he really should quit his job and become a model instead, but you settle for nodding instead.

“It’s probably because of all the facial stuff we did earlier,” your stylist Kevin says, walking over to place clips in your hair, “it’ll calm down in a little bit.”

Chanhee’s eyes widen when Kevin enters, his eyes staring at you in panic and moving over to Kevin before they travel back to you. You laugh, amused with how seriously he’s playing the part.

“He knows,” you reassure him, “most of my close staff know, so you don’t need to worry.”

Chanhee exhales in relief, his head drooping down into his arms. Kevin meets your gaze before quirking an eyebrow, and you shake your head, not wanting to indulge in his teasing.

“Okay,” Chanhee says after he’s calmed down, leaning into the couch, “what’s the plan?”

“Well, since this is our first time in public together, we can keep it simple,” you start, wincing when Kevin tugs on part of your hair a little too hard, “maybe holding hands, walking next to each other, maybe a hug if we’re up for it.”

Chanhee looks disgusted, and you honestly can’t even disagree with him. You’re not exactly happy about jumping straight into skin-to-skin contact with the guy you hate, but this is the bare minimum for a relationship and you intend to follow through.

“Don’t look at me like that,” you sigh. “You do know that we’re going to have to kiss at some point, right? This is probably the tamest we’ll get.”

“Hey, don’t haunt the poor guy,” Kevin says, pulling out a makeup palette. “Just take it slow, okay? It’ll be a while before you get to that stage.”

You disappear into your bedroom to change after Kevin is done with your styling, and Chanhee visibly relaxes once you’re gone. It’s not like he wants to murder you with every fiber of his being, but something about you puts him on edge, and he can’t tell what it is.

“Are you still stressed about the kissing thing, dude?” Kevin asks while packing up his supplies. “Y/N’s just saying that to scare you, so don’t worry. Besides, after you see them in this outfit, you might change your mind.”

Kevin leaves with a wink, and Chanhee is left to scramble for its implications. You can’t possibly look good enough to kiss, right? He’s seen you countless times, and the only time his resolve ever-so-slightly wavered was when he saw you in person about a week ago. That was because you were drunk, though, of course. Not because he was facing you, flesh to flesh, for the first time in his life.

His overthinking ceases though when you step out of your bedroom, and he can’t stop Kevin’s words from floating through his brain.

You’re beauty personified, he thinks, from the tips of your curled hair to the bottom of your glass footwear. The silver-length outfit you adorn is something to die for, heck, you are someone to die for, and Chanhee can’t even breathe because he just imagined you standing next to him and the room is suddenly very, very hot.

“Ready to go?” you ask, adjusting a couple of rings on your fingers.

Chanhee dumbly nods, now realizing why literally everyone is in love with you, and he stands abruptly. He follows you to the front like a puppy dog before you turn around and start giggling. He doesn’t even register you speaking because suddenly, your giggles aren’t annoying and all of your sounds are like songbirds from heaven.

“You forgot your blazer, silly. Here, I’ll get it.”

While you turn back around, walking to the sofa, Chanhee slaps himself. Gently, of course, because he doesn’t want to ruin his face before the red carpet, but just enough to remind himself of his position in this whole scheme. You’re a celebrity, obviously you look good, and he can’t lose his morals just because you look stunning after being dolled up.

You’re a celebrity and he’s a journalist. A journalist who gets paid to antagonize you. Realistically speaking, even just meeting you should have him seeing red. He should not of all things, be pretending to date you, and he definitely should not be reconsidering his life decisions after spending two hours with you.

He just has to get through these four weeks. You’ll be out of sight, out of mind before he even knows it.

“When the cameras start flashing, just look forward. Don’t ever look at them straight in the eye, otherwise, you’ll feel dizzy.”

Chanhee grumbles as you continue rambling, but you can’t find it within you to stop. You’ve never had a public relationship like this, especially with someone who’s not a celebrity, so the desire for perfection is getting to you.

Any small thing could fuck this up and not only ruin Chanhee’s career but yours too. What would the public think if they found out you were lying about a relationship? Heck, you wouldn’t be able to trust your own self after that, let alone the public.

“Y/N, it’ll be okay. It’s just handholding and a hug, right?”

“Yeah, but we need to look like we’re in love,” you huff, your head drooping as you play with your fingers in your lap.

You feel a hand cup the side of your chin, bringing you up to Chanhee’s gaze.

“Look at me,” he starts, thumbing your cheek, “we’ll be fine. Just stare into my eyes like this, and no one will ever doubt us.”

You don’t get to tell him that you might be believing it too with the way you can’t stop gazing at the twinkle in his eyes and the fondness in how they crease. You’ve met many gorgeous celebrities in your life, but not once have you ever felt your heart beat so heavily until this moment.

“We’re here,” Vernon interrupts from the front seat, breaking your intense gaze, “get ready.”

The flashing blinds you as soon as the car door opens, but you’re immune to the glares at this point. Chanhee, however, is not, so your only focus is being by his side until you walk inside the venue. You exit first, waiting until he steps out beside you before interlacing your fingers together and offering him a chaste smile, hoping it’ll calm his nerves.

He grips your hand tighter as you walk, and you both ignore the press shouting from around you. The screams seem extra prevalent today due to his presence, and you hope he isn’t feeling bombarded by the chaos around him. You focus on Chanhee, watching as he stares back at you to ground himself. You walk quickly in unison with him, counting your steps and smiling for the camera as you finally step inside the entryway.

“Are you okay?” you ask after you’re situated, having a few minutes of peace before you’re off to star on the red carpet. “I know that must’ve been a lot.”

“It’s fine. It’s over now. It was chaotic, but it helped to just focus on you.”

A twinge of heat flutters across your cheeks, but you pay no attention to it.

“I’m glad. Don’t worry, we don’t have any more red carpets in our schedule.”

He unlaces his fingers from yours, something you’d completely forgotten about, but you don’t have time to mull over the loss of his warmth before Vernon pushes you to the red carpet to get ready for the pictures. You take deep breaths, reveling in the mere seconds you get before the flashing starts again and you are simply an object for the camera. You pose, striking a big grin for the camera and remembering your media training. This is what you do best, being a celebrity, and suddenly you find comfort in this familiarity after all the turmoil you’ve been through the past couple of days. No Chanhee, no relationship, no headlines, just you and the camera like always.

However, you can’t stop your eyes from wandering when you get a break, watching Chanhee converse with Vernon. You let your daydreams drift, wondering how he would look like posing next to you for the camera, how he would laugh and answer questions about your relationship so giddily, or even how he’d stare into your soul like earlier before, bearing his heart for the taking.

You know that he won’t even meet your gaze after the four weeks are over, but you let yourself indulge in your imagination anyway. You’ve been touch-starved for so long, so it’s only natural that you have these thoughts about affection, right?

You walk back to Chanhee after you’re done, joining him and Vernon as you travel the venue. The place looks spectacular, with intricate chandeliers and a whole buffet of delicacies, and you make it a point in your mind to compliment the mastermind behind this all, Juyeon, when you see him.

Vernon leads you guys over to the food, piling the spring rolls on his plate until you glare at him to stop. Chanhee restrains laughter behind a mouth full of cupcakes, but even you have to agree with Vernon’s eagerness when you take a bite of the macadamia cookies. You’re on your fourth one when Juyeon saunters over to you, his goofy grin ever-so-present on his face.

“Y/N! Long time no see, right? I haven’t talked to you since my party months ago.”

“It’s been too long. I love the venue, by the way. You always outdo yourself.”

“Don’t talk to me about outdoing things. Look at you with your new boyfriend!”

You glance over at Chanhee, who’s busy trying to see how many spring rolls Vernon can fit in his mouth. You grimace, turning back to Juyeon. You know Vernon’s your manager, but sometimes it feels like you have to keep him on a leash instead of the other way around.

“Yeah it’s… a recent development, but I’m happy.”

“I’m surprised you got into a relationship in the first place. After you rejected me, I kinda thought you weren’t looking for love.”

Juyeon clutches his chest in fake agony, and you roll your eyes. Juyeon asked you out years ago when he was the director of your film, and he never fails to bring it up whenever he sees you. You still aren’t looking for love, of course, but your recent news is probably a shock to Juyeon and the many other people you’ve rejected over the years.

“I’m not incapable of love, Juyeon,” you sigh, looking back at Chanhee again, “I just needed to find the right person.”

The word love has never meant anything special to you, but when you look at Chanhee, you feel your heartstrings pull at your chest. Finally having a boyfriend, even if he’s fake, means you have the ability to love and be loved, and maybe you’ve been denying yourself happiness far too long for the wrong reasons.

As you wave Juyeon goodbye, sauntering over to Chanhee, you walk with a change in mindset. The situation you’re stuck in isn’t perfect, but you decide that it’s best to make the most out of it.

“Y/N, watch out!”

Suddenly, your whole world turns upside down, and you brace yourself as you fall backward, watching the twinkling of the chandeliers above you. You shut your eyes as a reflex, expecting the hardness of the wooden floor beneath you, but instead, you feel a strong hand supporting your back. You open your eyes to see Chanhee, but as his orbs bore into yours, all words tie on the tip of your tongue.

This close to him, you can see his faint eyeliner, the slight curve of his nose, and the barely visible mole on his top lips. It feels like the world is spinning still, but as Chanhee breathes, exhaling a soft puff of air, your gaze remains grounded only on him as he cradles you gently.

The sound of a camera startles you both, and Chanhee pulls you up, staring at Vernon. You smooth down your clothing, clearing your throat as you eye the culprit.

“What was that for?” you ask, throat slightly parched by what happened mere seconds ago.

“Whatever practice you guys did together before coming here definitely worked, because this picture definitely looks like you’re in love. I’m gonna leak it to a local magazine, so good job for today’s work.”

Your cheeks burn as he shows you the picture, and your gaze flits over to Chanhee. His expression is indiscernible, and you have the sudden urge to know exactly what’s running through his mind. Was he just as affected as you, or was this just a mere act of kindness?

The rational part of your brain hopes it’s the latter, but the heaviness of your heart might have different aspirations.

Your phone dings as you finish applying the last bits of your mascara, and you pad over to your couch, seeing Chanhee’s text message on the top of your screen.

Be there in five.

It’s been a week since Juyeon’s movie premiere, a week since your heart has practically gone haywire. You’re a celebrity, if anything, you’re the last person to be looking forward to a text, but you found yourself checking Chanhee’s chat every morning and being disappointed when nothing rolled in. Even when Vernon’s picture leaked and the internet blew up over your coupling, his message bar still remained dry and lifeless.

He didn’t have any reason to text you anyway, so you wonder why you always looked forward to one.

You were the one to reach out first, letting him know that you had a date scheduled for Saturday night according to Vernon’s schedule. A meeting once per week was mandatory, just to keep up the image, and today’s plan was a nice, fancy dinner at a restaurant.

Chanhee, like a true gentleman, offered to pick you up instantly after you’d sent him the message, and you let yourself feel elated for five seconds before you texted him the time and place. You don’t know why Chanhee reduces you to a middle school girl longing for her crush, but you suppose it’s just because you haven’t been on a proper date in so long.

You’re dressed in blue satin, a dress you’d had no real reason to wear until today, and you’ve tried your best to clean up without Kevin’s help. You send a quick picture to your stylist as you wait, asking for advice even though you know you always look good, but Kevin just sends you a string of heart emojis in return and tells you that you look perfect.

Three sharp knocks on the door indicate Chanhee’s presence, and you open the door. The words on your throat die down when you realize he’s wearing a similar blue satin to yours, and it only takes one flicker of your eyes to meet his for him to start laughing.

“Are you stalking me or something?” he teases, pulling out a bouquet of fresh flowers.

“What’s this for?” you ask, setting them on the vase inside.

“Vernon told me to. He said you always like getting flowers on a date.”

You haven’t been on a date in years, so you don’t know where Vernon got this information from, but you appreciate the gesture nonetheless. The arrangement of peonies, lilies, and daffodils looks stunning on the countertop, and you post a quick picture to your Instagram story before heading out with Chanhee.

“Do you want the aux?” he asks when you’ve situated yourselves in his car.

The wind blows freely as he drives, the night sky twinkling through Chanhee’s open convertible. The rich red color of his Toyota Solara stands out against the deepness of the blackness around you two, but you can only focus on Chanhee’s side profile and the glittering earrings he’s wearing. Up until this point, you’ve only ever been in spaces you were familiar with. Seeing Chanhee in his own car is a completely different atmosphere for you, and you’re not sure how it makes you feel.

“I’m good. Play whatever you like,” you reply, truly interested to see what type of music he listens to.

Paris in the Rain drifts through the speakers, and you have to fight back a smile at the tune. Of course he would play this song on a night drive, judging by its mellow atmospheric feel, but you’re not mad about it.

“Why did you choose this restaurant?” he continues after the song settles, looking over at you when he pulls to a stop in front of a red light.

You have to recenter your thoughts to answer him, bringing your vision back from how ethereal he looks against the red tones of the stoplight.

“It’s been on my list for a while,” you admit honestly. “It’s also not super high scale, so someone will definitely notice us being there.”

Chanhee nods before quieting down as the red light fades into green. You’ve noticed that Chanhee tends to sit in silence when he’s with you, not interacting as much as he had with Vernon at the premiere. You wonder if he’s just naturally silent and hit it off with Vernon or maybe if he’s just hates you.

“Are you always this quiet?” you voice when he slows down due to traffic, not wanting him to feel alienated by the question.

“Ah, not really,” he says, scratching his head, “I just didn’t know if you were comfortable with me talking since we’re technically just coworkers.”

“Oh,” you voice, not expecting his admission.

You didn’t foresee him being so considerate of your feelings, enough to stop talking completely, and the thought warms your heart. Maybe he’s not such a bad person after all, you think, staring at him expectantly.

“Sorry, I shouldn’t have admitted that,” he expresses. “I can go back to sitting in silence.”

“No!” you exclaim, and he looks over at you with slight alarm, “I mean, it’s fine. You talking is fine. You don’t need to restrict yourself from speaking just because we’re in a work setting. I don’t mind you talking.”

His shoulders relax as he steps on the gas, maneuvering through the gaps of the traffic that’s slowly clearing.

“That’s good,” he mutters, flicking on his blinker, “cause otherwise, this would’ve been a very awkward dinner date.”

You fight back a smile as he pulls up to the restaurant, and you don’t even have a chance to open your own door before he’s unlocking it for you. You thank him politely before walking inside, side by side with Chanhee. You follow the receptionist to your table once she gets your section cleared, and you’re offered complimentary chips and salsa as you wait for your food to arrive.

“You said this place was not ‘super high scale’?” Chanhee questions, looking around at the décor.

Okay, so maybe it is a little bit classy. The mediterranean themed restaurant has a cozy interior, and you’re currently sitting on wicker chairs by a huge glass window. The setting feels very exposed, as if you truly are sitting outside with the stars hanging over your heads. Subtle things about the place remind you that it’s elegant, such as the intricate menus and the tons of cutlery that sits next to you, but you hoped that it was something more comfortable for Chanhee to acclimate to.

“Why, is it too much?” you ask, picking up a chip.

“It’s not, but this is definitely fancy in my world.”

You smile, watching Chanhee be starstruck by his surroundings.

“Just because I’m famous now doesn’t mean I always was,” you start, “before I got my big break, my version of fancy was a dine-in restaurant.”

He laughs, relaxing a little.

“I didn’t know we were so similar. I just always assumed you were a nepo baby or something like that.”

“Just because you hate me doesn’t mean I’m privileged. I worked hard to get here, you know.”

Chanhee nods as your waiter brings out your food, and the two of you immediately dig in. The appealing smells make your stomach hungrier than usual, and it takes a good few minutes for you to settle your appetite before you start conversing with Chanhee.

Now that the awkwardness is gone and that you have a simple understanding of each other, talking with him is easy. Putting aside all the hatred that’s spewed up these past few months, you find out that Chanhee is actually an amiable person, someone you could’ve seen yourself being friends with if you two weren’t so different. He shares stories about growing up and his family in exchange for yours, and you have to clutch your stomach in laughter when he slips in a joke that matches your taste exactly.

Being with Chanhee is natural, so much that you wish you had met him under different circumstances. In addition to being a friendly person, he’s also a gentleman, from the way he slips his card under the menu without you noticing (you definitely scolded him for it later) and opens the car door whenever you get in and out. As he walks you up to your apartment, you thank him honestly for tonight, regretting that your time together is already over for the day.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers suddenly when you’re outside your door. “I’ve written so much shit about you without being an honest judge of your character.”

“It’s okay, Chanhee. This is what you do for a living, I get it.”

“No, you deserve an apology. You’re an amazing actor and an even better human being. You didn’t deserve a single word I wrote about you.”

You’re not tipsy this time around, but you pull him into a hug anyway. This time, you actually mean it though, and you try to disregard the loss of warmth when he pulls away after a few moments.

“Thank you for tonight,” you murmur, stepping into your apartment. “See you next week.”

He smiles, and suddenly, the room is filled with sunshine.

“No, thank you. See you soon.”

You woke up the next morning with a text from Chanhee. The texts have not stopped coming in ever since you responded, as if you’ve opened the floodgates of interaction. You wish he’d texted you sooner, because even though he bombards you with everything in the world from funny memes to just crying about his day, you love returning the same energy.

Where are you rn, a text flies in, and you smile when you see who it’s from.

on set. wbu?

Driving to somewhere special!

oooh spill??

I’ll let you know after I get there

You frown, not so pleased with his secrecy. You hate secrets, and so does Chanhee, so why is he indulging in one right now?

You don’t have time to mull over it as your director calls you back over, ready to continue with the shot. Your costar Younghoon stands before you, smiling as his assistant fixes up his hair before clearing his throat.

“Ready for this scene? It’s a lot,” he comments, reading over the script one more time.

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” you sigh, watching for your director’s call.

The line starts rolling a few seconds later, and you immediately straighten your posture, preparing yourself for the scene.

“Hey,” you whisper, “what was so wrong about what I did?”

He laughs bitterly, pointing to the papers on the desk beside him.

“What was so wrong? You ruined my entire career!”

The papers fly around you as he wipes them off the desk in one sweep, and tears well up in your eyes once you look at his angry gaze.

“I’m sorry,” you plead, clutching onto his arm, “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know this was going to happen, I swear—”

“You didn’t know?” he asks, although it’s more of a statement, “you’re the editor for the goddamn newspaper! Of course you fucking knew this was going to happen!”

He rips his wrist from your fingers, inching away from you.

“It’s my job to write the news, darling. You have to understand—” you cry, dropping to the ground.

The papers shift around you, and you watch your tears drip onto the headlines.

“We’re done,” he utters, one final phrase before he rips off his ring, throwing it by your feet. “Never speak to me again.”

“And cut!” your director shouts, “good work guys. Take 30.”

Younghoon helps you up from the ground, and you whisper gratitude before brushing off your ankles. The wooden floor was uncomfortable to kneel on, but you’re grateful that it was only for a short period of time.

“Y/N!” you hear from the other end of the room, and you peek over Younghoon’s broad shoulders to see a familiar figure waving.

“Chanhee?” you gasp, walking over to him once he register his voice. “What are you doing here?”

“Surprise?” he replies, giving you the bouqet of flowers he was holding. “I wanted to be a good boyfriend and surprise you on set.”

“Thank you,” you reply, grabbing the flowers from his hands before leaning in closer, “did Vernon put you up to this?”

“Um…” he starts, scratching the back of his head, “yeah, definitely. It’s the middle of the week, so why else would I be here?”

You roll your eyes, leaning back before you reach for his arm, squeezing it tightly.

“Thank you, regardless. No one’s ever visited me on set before like this. Even Vernon.”

“Really?” he asks, sounding surprised, “I thought you would have a lot of people around you like that.”

“I have acquaintances, but they’re all busy too. The most someone’s ever done for me is send me a food truck, and that was from my own mother.”

“Well, I’ll be here from now on, then.”

You feel a pang in your chest, and Chanhee must notice the shift in the atmosphere too because he clears his throat. You both know that this arrangement is already halfway over, so why do Chanhee’s words feel so comfortable, as if you both were in a regular relationship from the very beginning?

“Hey, I didn’t mean it like that—”

“Y/N? Is this the boyfriend?” Younghoon interrupts, walking up from behind with an outstretched arm. “Hey, I’m Younghoon, the costar. Nice to meet you, man.”

Chanhee smiles, plastering a smile to cover his previous frown before taking Younghoon’s hand in his, shaking it firmly.

“Nice to meet you too. Y/N’s been telling me about you, so it’s nice to finally put a face to the name.”

Younghoon laughs, removing his hand from Chanhee’s grip.

“Yeah, it’s surreal working on this movie. It’s kinda funny how Chanhee’s a journalist because Y/N plays one in this movie too.”

Chanhee turns to you, surprised by this new piece of information. You’ve been pretty lowkey about the role, not wanting to tell anyone until the movie wrapped up filming, but Younghoon seems to trust Chanhee with the information because he’s your boyfriend.

“Really? I didn’t know.”

You nod in confirmation, grinning slightly.

“Yeah, we just finished up a heavy argument scene before you arrived. Wanna see the set?”

You and Younghoon parade Chanhee around, introducing him to other actors and cast on the set working diligently. Chanhee is in awe, starstruck by the unfamiliar environment and you can’t really blame him. The movie industry in and of itself is a dream, and witnessing it for the first time is probably exhilarating for him.

After your break wraps up, you lead Chanhee out, standing by the front of the garage. He still has stars in his eyes, and you have to nudge his shoulder twice before he pays attention to you.

“Sorry, I just… I wanted to be a director once, so seeing this all is kind of a dream come true.”

Your eyes widen. Whatever you were expecting to come out of his mouth was not even close to what he just said, and you’re still processing his words when you voice your confusion.

“Yeah, that’s how I learned writing and photography. I used to write screenplays and direct them, but I never made it big like I wanted to. Luckily, Sangyeon took me in when I was struggling, and that’s the only reason I have a job today.”

Suddenly, you know nothing about Chanhee. If events had played out a little differently, Chanhee could be standing right in front of you, not as a fake boyfriend but as a director. You wouldn’t be from two separate worlds anymore, and the thought is killing you.

“Do you still direct?” you ask uncertainly, unsure of what to even say after his confession.

“Nah, not anymore. I help my friends out with short films sometimes, but that’s about it.”

“If you ever want to get back into directing, I can help you out.”

Chanhee looks like his breath has been stolen away, staring at you dumbly.

“I don’t know if I can give you a position directly, but I can definitely link you up with fellow directors of mine and see if there are any film festivals looking for submissions.”

“Thank you,” he mutters hoarsely, “I don’t have an answer for you right now, but what you just said means the world to me.”

Chanhee does the unexpected, wrapping you in a hug this time around. It’s meaningful and tender, and he burrows himself into you as he clutches your shoulders tightly, never wanting to let go. The same shoulders that he once tried to pry your hands off are now encircling you, and you smile against his cheek.

“It’s no problem,” you voice honestly, pulling back to look at him. “I’m always here for you, just remember that.”

You told him the last date would be a little different, but seriously, Chanhee was not expecting a van.

You wave from the front seat, putting aside your phone as he scrambles into the front seat. Chanhee quirks an eyebrow at you, urging you to spill, and you take in a deep breath as you struggle to get the words out.

“So… um, you know how celebrity couples usually have pictures of them making out in their cars, right?”

Chanhee stares at you incredulously, and you grimace, biting your lip.

“I know it sounds bad, but it was Vernon’s idea, I promise! We just need to kiss a couple of times for the pictures, that’s it. It can’t be too bad, right?”

“Y/N,” Chanhee sighs, massaging his temples, “are you crazy? We haven’t even kissed once before this.”

“Well, now is a good time to start, right?” you ask sheepishly, “Look, Vernon paid some guys to photograph us, so they’ll be here any time now. Let’s just get this over with.”

Before he can even blink, you clamber over into his lap, resting your legs on either side of his and holding onto his shoulders. Chanhee gulps, too loudly for the silence that settles between you two, and he’s close enough to you that he can feel your heartbeat thumping wildly.

Good to know that you’re just as affected as him too.

You guide his arms around your waist, securing them tightly before looking back up at Chanhee. The last time he’s ever seen you this close is from when he saved you from falling, and somewhere in the depths of his heart, he admits to himself how much he actually missed it. The fluttering of your lashes, the indents of your mouth, and the sliver of your jawline are all something he wants to commit to memory, to burn into his mind before he loses you.

Chanhee would write a whole article just about your lips if he had to.

“Ready?” you ask, so close that he can feel your breath on his.

He nods, and before he can even lick his lips, you lean in, meeting him halfway with yours.

Chanhee feels like he’s in oblivion, completely succumbing to the darkness that you’ve slowly been feeding him with. You’re like poison, and as he slots his lips against yours, he can’t get enough. You’re killing him with the way you pull him in closer, imperceptibly close as if you two aren’t practically molded together already, and as Chanhee uses one of his arms to tilt your neck, you reciprocate with just as much fervor.

You pull back, catching your breath and your chest heaving, but it takes Chanhee only one glance at your swollen lips before pulling you back in again. He’s addicted to the way your tongue swipes across his entrance, the way you shiver as he gently tugs your bottom lip between your lips, and the way you clutch onto his hair as the two of you exchange life through your kisses.

“Just a couple, baby?” he whispers, pecking down the side of your face, “I can give you a lot more than that.”

He tugs your sleeve down as you whine, tilting your head to give him better access to the area. He nips and sucks at your collarbone, biting hard enough to bruise in spots that you’ll probably scold him for later. He wants them to be deep enough, red enough that you won’t even be able to cover them so the whole world will know you’re his, and he knows it’s well worth it with the way you groan as he keeps going.

“I wish could stay like this forever,” you gasp, preening away when he nips behind your earlobe. “I never want to let you go. My boyfriend. Mine. Forever.”

He hums in agreement, pressing a kiss to your neck before he stops. You whimper, angry at him for pausing his ministrations, but as he processes your words, the hazy fog he was in moments prior fades away, and all that is left is the consequences of his actions.

“What’s wrong?” you ask when you realize he’s stopped completely.

Chanhee is shaking from underneath you, glassy-eyed, and his fingers tremble as he removes them from your body.

“Boyfriend,” he dumbly repeats, and you nod before realizing the mistake you made.

“Chanhee, I—”

“Get off me. Please.”

You stare at him incredulously, and when he doesn’t make any move to take back his words, you climb off him and into the seat next to you.

“This is all fake. Why do I keep forgetting that?”

He laughs bitterly, watching as your face morphs into a frown. How could he be so careless, to lose himself in you when this is all clearly just an act?

“Chanhee, I know this was planned, but the way I kissed you was definitely not fake.”

You sound hurt, and if he was in a better headspace, he would be calmer with his words, but the weight of what just happened is sinking down on him hard. Suddenly, he needs to leave, to never see you again and to not spend any more time in this stupid, suffocating van. He opens the door, climbing out before shutting it behind him firmly, breathing in heavily as he staggers away from the vehicle.

“Chanhee,” you cry, running up behind him and grabbing onto his wrist, “you don’t understand!”

“Then help me understand!”

“I like you,” you whisper, and suddenly, his whole world shatters.

“Of course you like me,” he laughs, running a hand over his face. “Do you not realize that you have an insane amount of privilege to be saying that? I can’t even like you in return because my career hinges on hating you! Don’t you get it, Y/N?”

You’re full on sobbing now, observing as he wrenches your hand away from his. Your fingers fall limply to your side and all you can do is watch as he walks away, shaking his head.

“Don’t contact me. I never want to see you again. Fuck you, for real, for playing with my feelings.”

You can only stare as the love of your life walks away, leaving your universe in shambles.

Unfortunately, just because you encountered the worst breakup of your life does not mean the world stops moving.

You’re at another after party, one that you’d been looking forward to for months because it would finally mean you’d get to catch up with some of your old costars. However, after the chaos that had befallen you earlier this week, going to some stupid nightclub was the last thing on your mind.

Really, you’re only here because Vernon is sick and tired of you wallowing in your misery. He thinks that you’ll be getting a change of scenery by being here, but the only thing you’ve been getting is shots filled with the strongest alcohol the bar can offer. Your one goal is to successfully forget about the black-haired man that ruined your life, and your plan is effective until the bartender stops you from getting another round and tells you to get some fresh air.

You grumble as you stumble out of the bar, finding a home on the gray sidewalk in front of it. Your sequined outfit digs into your skin as you sit down, but in your drunken stupor, you can’t find it within yourself to care. You’re lucky enough that this is a nicer venue, because there’s no one around to bother you to find another spot. It’s just you and your thoughts, and you can’t tell if that’s more dangerous or not.

Your first order of business is to pull out your phone, scrolling through your recent contacts. You have half a mind to call Vernon, to curse him out from condemning you to the hell that is this place, but instead your finger hovers over a familiar contact.

You are so going to hate yourself when you wake up.

The line rings, once, twice, thrice, and just as you’re about to cut the call, a voice answers from the other side.

“Y/N, it’s three in the morning. I thought I told you not to contact me,” Chanhee whispers groggily.

“Well too bad! You’re the one that said all that shit to me and left, so how unfair is it that I don’t get my turn?”

The line goes silent before Chanhee scoffs, and you can hear the bedsheets rustle around him as he gets up.

“Are you drunk?”

“Doesn’t matter,” you answer, giggling from how similar this is to when you first met him.

“Where are you right now?”

“Outside a nightclub,” you sing, holding your phone out behind you so he can hear the EDM music from inside a little better.

“Send me your location.”

“Nope! I don’t owe you anything, you piece of shit!”

“Y/N, wait—”

You cut the call, laughing as Chanhee’s name disappears on your screen. He calls again, neverendingly, but you never once pick up, feeling glee from how he’s the one chasing after you now.

You play Candy Crush on your phone until a car screeches beside you, and you scoff as you recognize the familiar red Toyota Solara pulls up beside you. You’ve sobered up by now, but you still hate him just as much.

“Hell no,” you whisper, getting up as Chanhee steps out. You try to run, but the highness of your shoes make it hard for you to run properly, and you stumble as attempt to escape.

“Y/N, look, I’m just going to drop you off at home, okay?”

You stop in your tracks, turning around to see Chanhee behind you with his hands stuffed in his hoodie. You note the eyebags on his face and his chapped lips before speaking to him with a softer tone, grateful that even if he despised you, he didn’t make an attempt to grab onto your wrist and coerce you into something you didn’t want.

“How do I know you won’t kidnap me?” you ask, folding your arms over one another.

“I asked Vernon for your location. If you go missing, he’ll know it was my fault.”

You grumble, staring at him angrily before walking towards his car. He opens the door for you, but you stick your tongue out at him and find a spot in the backseat instead.

The ride is silent, but you feel him watching you through the rearview mirror as he drives. Usually, you don’t mind his silence, but now the stillness is bleak and uncomfortable, just like his presence near you.

“Why did you call me?” he asks, and it takes you a moment to register it because of how intensely you’d been ignoring him.

“I wanted to cuss you out.”

“Okay, so cuss me out then.”

You sigh, rubbing your temple.

“You know what your problem is, Chanhee? You’re self-centered. You think everything is about yourself, even down to our breakup. Who are you to even say things about my privilege when you know damn well how hard I worked to get here? Do you think I’m unaware how my feelings will affect your career? Hell, Chanhee, I literally told you I could help you find another job! I did so much for you to protect you, to support you, all for you to throw it away because you’re scared of the stupid future.”

“Y/N, I—”

“Let me finish. I love you for who you are. Even if we were destined to be opposites, I still found a way to fall in love with you. I was able to love you despite all that you have written about me in the past, so why can’t you love me for the person I am today?”

He pulls up to the front of your apartment, and you clamber out, not wanting to see his face anymore. The rain falls heavily as you step into the lobby, and Chanhee follows suit, shrugging the droplets off his jacket.

“Let me follow you up,” he asks.

You shake your head, but he trails you into the elevator anyway, watching as you press the button for your floor. He opens his mouth to speak, but you’re not in the mood, putting up a palm in front of him.

“Save it. I said what I needed to say. I might be drunk but my words are true. I don’t want to hear anything you have to say in return.”

Despite your words, you let him into your apartment anyway, throwing a towel at him so he can dry off. He pats his hair dry, wiping his glasses against the fabric, and suddenly you’re reminded of how devilishly handsome he is. You shake your thoughts off, chalking it down to good taste in men before wiping down your neck.

The thunder booms outside, startling you as your towel falls to the ground. When you pick it up, Chanhee stares at you, an indiscernible expression on his face.

“Thanks for the towel. I better get going.”

He spins on his heel to leave as the storm crackles, and against your better judgement, you call out for him to stop.

“It’s storming outside. You can’t drive in this weather.”

“What are you suggesting?” he asks, turning back around to meet your gaze.

“You can take my bed. I’ll sleep on the couch.”

Chanhee laughs, as if your idea is so atrocious he can’t even fathom it.

“You’re funny. I’ll just drive home, don’t worry.”

“Chanhee, I’m being serious. I don’t want you to die, for god’s sake.”

Maybe he registered the concern in your voice because he exhales, contemplating in his head if this is a good idea or not. The loud thunderclap outside has him reconsidering, and soon enough, he shakes his head in agreement.

“Alright, but you have to sleep on the bed. I’ll take the couch.”

“Chanhee, I’m not fucking arguing with you. You know what? We can both take the bed if it makes you happy. A pillow between us should work.”

Before Chanhee can even respond, you’re walking into the bedroom, flicking on the light. You grab your pajamas from the closet and change in your bathroom, slipping into the sheets quickly once you’re done. Chanhee follows suit, taking the right side of the bed and placing a pillow between you two for added measure.

“Thank you,” he whispers after a few moments of silence. “I’ll be gone in the morning before you know it.”

“No need,” you grumble, shoving your face into the pillows, “just don’t roll over to my side, okay?”

He hums in agreement, and he watches as your eyes flutter shut.

“Good night, Y/N.”

You’re far too asleep to even respond.

You wake up to the sound of your head pounding in your ears. You grumble, shifting around before you open your eyes, expecting to see empty sheets, but instead you see a man with a very familiar face.

You as the events of last night rush back to you, and you hold yourself back from groaning as you recollect your thoughts. You should’ve just let him leave when he wanted to, but you didn’t, and now you have to deal with his beautiful bare face and his deep morning voice as if you haven’t fallen enough for him already.

You don’t register his eyes fluttering awake until he pokes your side. You shake, startled by his actions, and he tries to hold back a smile.

“Good morning. Sorry I overslept.”

“It’s okay. I won’t be nice enough to let you stay for breakfast though.”

“Wait,” he whispers, clutching onto your arm as you attempt to get out of the bed, “can I say something?”

You nod, and his arms falls back on the bed as he sits up, clearing his throat.

“You were right. I was selfish, and the words I said that day were extremely uncalled for. They were useless too, because if I had just expressed my feelings to you, we wouldn’t have needed to have this conversation now.”

You cock your head, confused at what he’s trying to imply. He takes in a deep breath, as if he’s preparing himself to say something.

“I love you. I love you so fucking much that it hurts to breathe when I think of you. I love you so much that I’m willing to quit my career just to be by your side. I was scared then of ending up on the streets like I did in the past, but I was stupid enough to not trust your words when you said you would help me. I didn’t even like that job anyway, so I was an idiot for trying to fight for something I would eventually end up leaving myself.”

“Chanhee, you’re not—”

“No, I am stupid. And selfish. And self-centered. But I am also just Choi Chanhee, the Choi Chanhee who is irrevocably and utterly in love with you, and even though I can imagine a future where I won’t be working for Sangyeon, I cannot imagine a future without you by my side. I know you deserve better, but I’m begging you to just give me one chance to rectify my mistakes. We can take it slow and not rush things like we did in our four weeks. We can go on silly restaurant dates and I’ll practice getting used to the lights at red carpets. I’ll visit you on set every day with flowers and I’ll rent out five billion vans for us to make out in. I’ll do all this and even more because you deserve it, and because I love you. Will you please let me have one chance to make this fake relationship into a real one?”

You’re kissing him before he can even respond, letting him press you against the bed. He kisses you like he’s been starved, inhaling you and memorizing every inch of your presence as if you’ll let go of him again. Like before, you’re not restricted by the millions of voices against you and Chanhee, and as he lets himself go, you follow suit, dragging him down under until you’re writhing against him, begging for more.

“I love you,” he whispers when he kisses down your collarbone, “I love you,” he whispers when your clothes join the ground, “I love you,” he whispers when you shake against his fingers and mouth.

“I love you,” he whispers one last time, cradling you gently as he becomes one with you. “I’ll never let you go. Never again.”

As you lay against him, bare skin to bare skin, you trace the tips of his hair as you smile. You don’t know what the future holds for you two, but there’s one thing you’re certain of as you press another kiss to his mouth.

"I love you. Even if the world caves in, it’ll be you that I lie with. Endlessly, until my last dying breath.”

This time around, you take things slow, not restricted anymore any more by four weeks, four months, not even four years. You have the entirety of your lifetime to spend with him, and you intend on using every single bit of it.

First, however, you let him make it up to you. Just because you bared your soul to him, figuratively and literally, after his apology doesn't mean you've completely forgiven him.

Chanhee doesn't disappoint though, reminding you every single day why he deserved the second chance you gave him. Once upon a time, he called you privileged, and that's exactly what you are now for having such a sweet boyfriend. One that doesn't leave the vase on your countertop empty by gifting you fresh flowers, one that always opens the door for you when he takes you on apology dates, one that sits with you in silence when you want to and one that chatters just as much as you do when you can't shut your mouth.

He visits you on set when he can despite his busy schedule as an assistant director. Surprisingly, you played no part in this, just the source of his determination when he finally decided to give the movie industry a chance again and bagged a job with none other than your close friend Juyeon. He surprises you for late-night drives and lets you have the aux even without you asking for it. He accompanies you to movie premieres despite hating the cameras and if you ever get asked questions that you don't particularly like, he'll glare at the reporters until they shoo away.

And god, the kisses. If the world counted kisses as an apology, Chanhee would be the CEO. Every slot of his lips against yours is like an unwritten confession from him to you, and every purse of his lips is a ballad from the depths of his heart. He kisses you for trivial things, like when you finally get that one specific line right as you're practicing for a script or when he's pecking you against the makeup trailer walls as he wishes you a successful day at work. He kisses you in the earliest of mornings, murmuring sweetness with his tongue against your hot skin, and he kisses you in the depths of the night, trailing his fingers down as you gasp against his mouth and exchange breaths through each swipe of his tongue.

Even after you do end up accepting his apology, he doesn't stop showering you with the affection you deserve. On nights you're feeling particularly insecure, Chanhee beats himself up and vows to never make you feel those emotions again, waking up the next morning to prove exactly why you're worth it. He takes care of you gently, the gentlest lover you've ever seen. He's the personification of a comfortable morning, the desire to stay in bed despite all the things you have going on. You never want to leave, forgetting all reason and staying in his embrace forever.

You're by his side when his first cinema blows up, when his first screenplay wins an award, when he gets his first nomination for directing, and today when he's on stage with an Academy Award in his hand and a smile you'll remember for ages.

You watch the twinkling in his eyes when he thanks his cast and crew, holding onto his assistant director tightly as he expresses his gratitude. What takes your breath away, however, is when he turns to you in the audience and whispers a confession that you'll never forget in your lifetime.

"And lastly, thank you, you know who you are, for being the best I could ever imagine. I will never regret the moment by the pond where you hugged me, the one that changed the trajectory of our lives forever. If anything, you deserve this award more than me. I love you, my Y/N."

You smile as the audience erupts in cheers, but as his assistant director hugs him on stage, his eyes only bore into yours.

"I love you too," you mouth back, watching as he grins when he recognizes your words.

"Forever and always."

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jolapeno · 1 year

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v. a new day

javier peña x dea! f!reader | chapter five of nowhere to run

Summary: Determined to do it better this time, Javier Peña returns to Bogotá to take down the Cali Cartel. With a new promotion, office and team, what he doesn’t expect is the pretty thing outside his office—or why they’re not allowed in the field. chapter warnings: season three narcos spoilers. no use of y/n. smut. oral sex (man receiving), angst. bit of emotions are coming outttttt. Wordcount: 6.3k AN: apologies for the lateness, my personal life has just been throwing things at me and I didn't want the emotions to bleed in when i was editing. also, if there's errors, i'm so sorry, i have had no sleep. pls forgive me. as always, huge thank you to @yeyinde who allows me to ramble continuously and to @guyfieriii who is on her way to get me a magazine and send it to me. I adore you both.

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“I can’t believe you caught him?”

“Me neither.”

You lean back, eyes wide, twisting the cord around your finger.

“I did call you—last night. After we’d seen him. Rang your place, work...”

Swallowing, you smile. “I, um—“

Looking up as Peña steps out of his office, sliding his tie through the loop, eyes staring over you. Drinking you in. Making every part of you burn up under his gaze.

“—had a date.”

“Oh. How did it go?”

Biting your lip, you watch him. How his brows furrowed, letting your eyes descend down before noticing his tie. How it sat off-centre—all threaded in a rush.

You suspect he’s been ordered to attend a meeting. One likely about the day's events, one with a lot of Colombians, officials and higher-ups. So, you gesture.

The corners of your lips slightly rise, watching his smile slowly grow.

“It was good. Nice.”

Van Ness snorts. “You going to see them aga—actually, fuck this, I don’t think I wanna hear anymore.”

“Wasn’t about to tell you, Van Ness. Hey—I have to go, please be safe.”

“Always am.”

“Says the man catching Narcos—anyway, Stoddard is here, speak soon.”

“He best not be making you drinks…”

“Promise he isn’t.”

You place the phone down, standing up as Peña comes to a halt barely an inch away from you.

“That my name now? Stoddard.”

“Well, you’re struggling to sort your own tie, does seem a Stoddard thing to do, sir.”

He twitches his fingers at his side. Has been doing so since he guided Gilberto out to the flashing lights and clicks of cameras.

The significance of what they’d done—what he had done—crashed into him. Not knocking him off his feet, not even knocking him off his axis. But it kickstarted something.

It truthfully only slid over him when he slid into the seat of a car.

They’d done it. Proved that surrender wasn’t the only option—that they could be caught. Because they had caught one of them. The ones they all said were untouchable. Right in his fucking home, hiding away.

A new lease of life spreads as Javi swallows. A thrum of energy, one which has been missing since before he was sent back to the States, rippling through him as though it had never gone. Disturbing the regret he’d been feeling since…

They’d done it. The thought rolls around, his finger occasionally stroking his bottom lip—sometimes pinching his thigh as the streets flash past the window. Doing so even as his knee hits the door, needing to, just to be certain he’s awake, and not dreaming.

The truth it’s all a reality weaves into his muscles, the adrenaline bursting into his bloodstream—beautifully blending with the newly rejuvenated oxygenated cells that swim to his heart.

He knows there's a shitstorm waiting for him at the embassy. For what he’d done—but, then, they hadn’t really wanted him here for the accolades.

Stechner hadn’t vouched for him because he’d been a rule-follower. More someone to blame, to use.

And now, he’d shown them the sheer proof that it could be done—the surrender could be nil and void. They could get more.

That’s what he’d thought as he had hammered his knuckles into Martinez’s door, pulling on a string marked ‘do not touch’. Hoping he’d be forthcoming—that he’d trust him to work alongside him.

Javi hadn’t been sure if a speech on how much he wanted to do right would make up for what had already transpired. Less excuses spoken, and more acknowledged errors that he’d been determined—foolishly so. Blinded and only seeing through tunnel vision. Focused on the wrong thing; determined, but for what? None of it became clear even when he’d sat in his childhood home—or stood out in the field. The more he looked for answers, the less weight his reasonings had—the fewer excuses he could grasp at why he’d let things poison and ruin.

In the end, he was grateful he hadn’t needed to spout any of that. The sheer opportunity that Javi had brought it to him, had been enough.

Not sure any of his truthful ramblings would have made sense, anyway.

It was a true second chance. A hope which had been living in some recess, brushed off and placed front and centre at his feet. His hand outstretched, watching as Martinez shook his—a truce, of some sort, a promise. Maybe, in the smallest way, an element of forgiveness—not that Javi would allow it. It didn’t mean he’d squander or wreck it either, using it to stand a little taller and ensure his shoulders were a little more square.

It’s why he takes a moment when the car pulls up outside the building. Sitting, spreading his palms in long strokes over his thighs. Catching his breath.

He can already feel how things have changed. Already knows there will be faces turning when he steps inside, the burden of it meeting his shoulders again. Having temporarily moved it, placed it on the floor while he focused on what needed to be done. Now, the music was playing, and the true heaviness of what a second chance meant began to rest on his bones. The true power of doing good didn't just provide accolades, but gifted in moon-eyed agents and hopefulness he felt guilty squashing.

It begins when he steps down the embassy stairs, bodies stopping, turning. His cheeks warming, ears burning as they murmur and mutter. Focusing on it, while another part blindly wants to ignore it as he enters the office. It’s why the first clap doesn’t register.

It takes a moment, the applause slowly raining around him, covering him. Layering in thick noise that soaks into his skin and makes him feel cold, rather than joyous.

The worst thing is, deep down, he knows there’s an old version of him who would have smirked at all of this. Who’d have relished in it. Likely lifted his chin, and shook each hand—man or woman—rather than sinking his chin to his chest like he’s currently doing. Trying to shy from it, get through them all as they begin to move closer, ready to congratulate him—shake his hand.

A part of him knows he should be glad. Should be proud he has somewhat earned the notoriety he walks around with now. A slither of it, anyway.

Finding Stoddard’s hand, he’s the only one he shakes. Not sure what to do with the rest of his body as he lets his eyes move across the room, seeing the closing circle of those wanting to thank him, celebrate and pat him on the back. But, his eyes land only on the pair which pulls him to shore.

Yours.

The one person not clapping—leaning against your desk, head tilted to the side, doing your trademark smirk. The one Javi likes to think is just for him because he pulls it from you so frequently. The one which hits your eyes and shines like the sun on a cloudless day and warms him, even if he keeps trying not to let it.

His heart sinks, just a touch. It’s still floating on the surface of the day and is the only explanation for why it doesn’t fall to his feet. Because as he lets his eyes fall over you he realises it’s the first opportunity he’s had to think of you. To allow himself to think of you.

How he hadn’t had a chance to make sure you got home okay. The last sight of you had been in his office, lips swollen, eyes shimmering with post-lust bliss and your clothes a little off-pristine. Your hand on his wrist, sliding circles into his pulse—all thought-out and considered. You’re gonna get him, Javi. Your teeth chewed the skin of your lip as the words washed over him, a nervousness to you he rarely ever noticed—a slight discomfort in your forced expression.

But he hadn’t asked.

Swallowing, he releases the hand in his.

“–Where you going? C’mon, we want to toast you…”

Hearing Stoddard, but watching you. “Start without me.”

He never questioned the tight expression when you released his wrist, his hand grabbing at things from his desk—all set to walk out, to leave. Be safe, Javi.

It echoes through his ears as he crosses the room, watching as you take a deep breath as the gap between the two of you closes.

Javi could let himself feel it now—the spark and the concern. Could question it—let it fill him. He could find the words to ask why Cali undoes a part of you, why you always place one particular type of mask up when it's mentioned—when someone goes. Unpicking it all, seeing it all as though someone was showing it to him all on video.

Having been so laser-focused before, he’d missed it. Placed them all to the side, noticing the other things—the ones inflicted by others' words and actions, and not the looming one hovering over you as you worked.

Something had happened to you in Cali. Something that was left from the reports.

He tucks you away, hides you—keeps you purely for the times he can spare a second to truly think and consider you. Sometimes, it’s in the quiet—in the calm. A welcomed retreat, a safe haven. A person who populates a carved space in his mind, one you had barely needed to hack at to make. Because, in truth, he made it for you, found a place that he could store you in for when he felt safe enough to let you out, and he wasn’t sure what that meant.

Now just watching in slow motion as you try to hide what he assumes is relief.

It’s a gift, how you keep people out. One he would admire if he wasn’t on the other side of it and wasn’t able to recognise how quickly and smoothly you were able to slide up the veil which isn’t breachable. While he doesn’t know what monsters live in your wardrobe or which ghosts haunt you, he knows there’s a reason why you can’t tell him too.

A reason why you talk in riddles whenever bureaucracy is mentioned.

A discomfort which ebbs and flows, but never truly meets the two of you, even if it tries to. It did so before he fucked you on his desk. A look so similar to the one you gave him in his office, all soft eyes he wasn’t sure if he could ever earn deserving.

He knows people consider you to be a storm. A restless bundle of anger and lightning—thunder rumbling with every step of your heel.

But, as he comes to a stop in front of you, Javi realises he hadn't seen you like that, not since the first day when you'd tried to convince him you were. Not even as you slide around your desk, using the wooden furniture as a barrier between the two of you.

Ironic, really. When the two of you used one similar as a surface for relief, hours and hours ago.

Javi thinks you’re something more akin to a rain cloud—all set to burst and let whatever it is you hold close fall like raindrops. Maybe they’d be acidic, maybe they’d burn those unfortunate to be underneath, but he’d only care for the relief on your face.

The one he’s sure is hiding behind the smile he’s being presented with.

“Congratulations, sir.”

He slides his shades from his shirt, nodding at you. Thanking you.

Continuing, you clear your throat, “I think the Ambassador would like to see you.”

You let your words wash over him, before dropping your hand close to your mug, slowly pushing it toward him. A gesture, a bold one in a sea of eyes.

Voice dropping, you flick your eyes up to his, “You can have one sip.”

“And, if I take one more, cariño?”

Your lips scrunch, a real smile—all teeth and lines in your cheek—so desperate to break out. “You wouldn’t want to know, sir.”

Each time he swallows, he tastes your coffee.

Desperate to find a mug, to enjoy one more sip in some silence—even light up a cigarette, if he could be spared. But, it’s one thing, then another. Almost feeling the flutter of anxiety and adrenaline merging into something unheard of.

From the meeting to the note in his file, right to the press conference he had needed to lead.

As soon as it ended, he was led to the staircase—practically shoved off. His feet all heavy, legs like lead as he steps down, ready to hide in his office and release many heavy, simmering breaths.

That had been his plan. His only focus—until he finds you waiting.

Then he thinks of the file room, his place, his desk…

It knots all inside of him—that thrum of disbelief that blends so disastrously with the sudden acknowledgement he doesn’t deserve you. Something he thinks a lot, yet is finding it harder to fight off under tiredness and waning adrenaline.

It isn’t just whatever it is between you—the fun, non-committal thing neither of you are likely to acknowledge—but your mere attendance in his life.

The way you make things brighter, shine something that makes the edges a bit more colourful and meaningful. Not quite ready to allow it closer to the centre, to let it touch the parts of him still tainted in darkness and regret. He doesn’t think even your shine can do that alone.

Wiping a hand over his face, he moves towards you. Absently wondering when you’ve snuck in, having not seen you arrive or between his meeting finishing and arriving here. He’d looked for you, met Stoddard’s eyes and nodded for him to come.

Yet, here you are, shaking someone’s hand as Javi moves past another person, noticing that you’ve removed your jacket, so that he can see the outlines of your bra straps through the back of your blouse. He spots the clipboard pressed to your chest, hand wrapped around another mug—one he soon realises is the one you always give him.

It diminishes, the part of him which wants to protect you from him. From the disappointment he tends to bring and the fact he’s so thoughtless. That even under your occasional frostiness and many secrets, you’re kind… sweet.

It’s why he should blink, and turn away—not that he can tear his eyes away enough to solidify his thought of walking away. Your presence practically demands his attention, even if you’re talking to someone else. Your leg crossed in front of the other, a white pen tucked away behind your ear and hearing, as he moves closer, the Spanish flowing from your tongue. It’s crisp, and clear—rolling beautifully to his ear as the conversation nears an end. The man’s hand in yours, another placed on your arm—squeezing—bidding you farewell.

Something unfurls, and stretches its legs inside of him. Only settling when the man’s hand leaves your arm, leaves the close proximity and is walking away.

“You making friends?”

Shrugging, you smirk. “Apparently so. You looked good by the way.”

“I did?”

Nodding, you hand him the mug. “Yeah. Like you were supposed to be up there. You know, before you get into your head, it should have been someone else.”

He nods, taking a sip, wincing at the strong taste of alcohol—frowning at you as you smile wistfully.

“Thought you could do with something stronger. Also, you doing the conference is smart, I like it—takes the heat off Chris and Dan.”

He nods again, taking another sip. More prepared this time to coat his throat in amber, staring, wondering how you managed to sneak a mug of bourbon to him. Not that he should be surprised. You seemed to manage to do a lot, keep things turning, keep things organised.

“So, sir. How do you plan on celebrating?”

He takes a long drag, raising his brows that hopefully says, I think you already know, and from the smirk, you shoot him back, you do. The two of you fall into a walk, one where your strides match, where your eyes can be on the other but not walk into a thing or soul. Not speaking, not for a minute, your eyes taking him in—raking over him, assessing him for something (or nothing) he can’t be sure.

“Are you waiting for an invite for that or…”

Shrugging, he watches you take the mug back as he narrows his eyes. “Never been one to wait to be asked to be somewhere, cariño.”

“Somehow, that doesn’t surprise me,” you comment, sliding closer as you press the button for the elevator. “So, what? You want to take me home and fuck the day away?”

He looks at you, flicking from your eyes to your lips. Watching as you swipe the tip of your tongue against your lower lip. Your body heat is almost smothering his skin—even through his shirt and jacket. “If I ever say no to doing that, cariño. I’ve got brain damage.”

Smirking, you nudge him, the ding of the elevator's arrival making you step back. “If we have a choice, I choose yours. It's fancier.”

“I don't know, I bet you have candles and decorative pillows.”

“That what makes a place fancy in your eyes? The amount of candles someone has.”

“I have no candles.”

Snorting, you shake your head as he presses the button for your floor.

As the doors close, he glances at you, how your expression is fixed on the metal doors.

“I’m glad you came back, Peña.”

He hears it, and conjures another set of words. Ones he heard, ones he had been meaning to acknowledge—until the phone rang. Until life hurtled a thousand things, and then he was flying to Cali.

Javi… I was worried. I was worried about you.

You turn your head, flicking your eyes over him. “Another night, I’d show you how unfancy my place is. Tonight, though…”

He knows. Knew even before the teasing had begun about his place or yours. His thumb strokes over his middle and index finger as he chews his cheek.

“Plus, someone must have come in and knocked all your files on the floor,” you say, a lightness to your tone, “Left your office in a right mess.”

The doors pinged open, only able to watch as you step out—not waiting for him, just leaving him behind, chewing his smirk.

The moment Martinez left his office, he just remained sat on the edge of his desk.

It had taken longer than it should to sink in. The power people had, the corruption, how it bled and rotted in every corner of the place. The enormity of it all, how without his sacrifice and him handing his notice in, it would have all been undone.

Martinez was the good one. The one who hadn't toed the line, hadn't stepped into the grey, hadn't even been selfish. Not like him.

He drained the glass, finished his cigarette—staring at a patch on the floor until his fingers wrapped around the edge, feeling marks along the wood. For a solid minute, he traces them, feels the lines, the deepness to them, until his mind wonders if they’re from you.

No, Javi. Just you. Only you.

It’s instant, the way he darts to his bottom drawer, rummaging through until he retrieves the file—the one marked with your name. The one he’d sourced before, now paying attention to the parts he had ignored then.

From the look on your face, you’re as surprised to see him, as he is that he knocked. A wine glass in hand, the red of it sloshing from side to side as he observes you process his arrival. That he even got out of the car.

“You… know where I live?”

He drops his hand from leaning on the door frame, wiping his mouth. “I know where you live.”

Opening the door, you step aside—hands tugging at your cardigan to wrap it around yourself. “Some could call that stalking, sir.”

“Y’gotta stop with the sirs.”

“Do I?”

You smirk—it spreads up your cheeks until it hits your eyes, before your hand pushes the door closed behind him, keeping your eyes on him.

All he can think is how pretty you are. How beautiful you look, even if you’re all undone—nothing on your face, a baggy t-shirt and some shorts, the thickest socks on your feet.

“Drinking alone, cariño?”

It’s slow, how you lean against the door. Not letting the two of them head further into your place. “Some days justify it. Don’t you think?”

He does.

More than he wants to say—not wanting to spoil your evening. Taint your home with talks of work and bureaucracy. Things he suspects you know more than you’re likely to share. The thick lines through your file are all an indication of it.

You take a sip, and then another.

Adding nothing, just letting him stand there, and he half wonders if you expect him to plead his case here—or whether you’re assessing whether to eject him out of your place as quickly as you left his prior.

Mainly, he focuses on the fact it smells like you. Floral with a hint of darkness—your decor not all that different from his, just with additional touches. Some candles, some colour—some attempt at making the place feel like a home and not somewhere to rest your head.

It’s only in the growing silence does he hear the faint sound of music, something low, involving a guitar thrumming in the background.

“Are you lonely, Agent Peña?”

He places his hand in his pocket, leaning against the wall opposite you.

“No.”

You nod, rolling your lips. “Just in the neighbourhood then?”

He wipes his mouth as his other hand rubs his palm against his index finger in his pocket. Suddenly unsure why he was here—why he’d found your address and come.

Javi wasn’t lonely. Didn’t have the time to be. A sea of paperwork on his desk, the guilt weighing down on him, hearing the colonel's voice over and over—the once pleasant taste of liquor now turning bitter in the back of his throat.

“You forget I know where you live, so I know you’ve come out of your way.”

A laugh escapes and falls from his lips as he dips his head.

It all of a sudden catches up with him, how the day has been a range of emotions. The delicate way things had needed to happen, the thrum of adrenaline—the joy, the meeting, the conference…

Lifting his chin, he finds you still watching him.

No smirk. No smile. All soft edges and a comforting presence—waiting. For what, he can’t be sure, but he kicks off the wall all the same. Sliding his hand from his pocket, softly wrapping it around your hip as he places his forehead against yours, walking you backwards, taking the glass from your hand and placing it down.

He tells himself he needs a moment. A stolen one that doesn’t bleed and change into others. A break in from everything, for a second.

It only shifts when he wraps each finger on your hip, pulling you close. He keeps your shoulder blades against the wall, the guitar strumming increasing as much as his heart is beating. It’s all rhythmic, a remix of a song he isn’t sure of—but one he is tuned into all the same.

It takes his breath away how you look at him. How it’s harder to stop himself from falling into them, worsening as your hand cups his elbow. At first, it’s all shared breath and waiting. Neither moving, his forehead just remaining against yours.

“Are you okay?”

It’s so soft. Barely audible if his body wasn’t pressed against you, as he shakes his head, feeling your fingers slowly sliding in gentle circles around his elbow. Cupping him, keeping him as close as his hands keep you.

“What do you need?”

He says nothing. Afraid that saying ‘you’ is too much. Having hoped the action would speak louder than the words as he stares into you—mixing brown with yours to make a colour artists dream of.

“Hey,” you say again. More demanding, assertive. “Javi, what do you need?”

He doesn’t think, doesn’t attempt to. Embodies the former version of him—the one which had gone to the Colonel’s home, to begin with—the one who takes and takes and takes.

“You drunk, baby?”

He hears you swallow, before slowly shaking your head.

“Good,” he whispers.

Closing his eyes, he lifts his forehead before dipping his head, his mouth captures yours. Javi merges the taste of sweet wine, whiskey and his cigarettes together, creating a taste so intoxicating and delicious he’s not sure he ever wants to come up for air.

Just need you, he thinks as his tongue slips past your parted lips.

Only want you, he urges as he feels your other hand sliding around his neck, deepening the kiss, his tongue able to taste that small whimper you do when he squeezes your hip.

It’s different—but then each time he kisses you is. It has been needy, and passionate. Another, it has been soft, almost meaningful. Now, this time, he’s able to feel how warmth consumes him as you kiss him more purposefully. He deepens it in search of more, kissing you more hungrily, full of need and want.

It’s only when he feels your hand skate over the back of his neck, fingers teasing the bottom of his hair, does he slow. In time, pulling back, pressing his forehead against yours—bruising your hip with his fingers as he takes a few deep breaths.

“Whatever it is…”

“We can’t fix it, cariño.”

It’s cold—the way he says it. Wishing he could retract it the moment he sees your brows scrunch. Instead, he shows no sign of letting up his grip on you. Hoping it’s enough to wordlessly explain that he needs you close, wants you—in fact. Needed to just be around you. Even if he shouldn’t, couldn’t…

He presses two fingers to the side of your cheek, curling them. Your mouth parts, words—likely reassuring ones, knowing what he knows about you—are all desperate to fall and heal over the cracks. But, he shakes his head, watching your lips close as quickly as they had opened, your fingers continuing to draw shapes at the base of his hairline, studying him—searching his eyes.

Then, like a light in a dark room, understanding spreads across your gaze. Illuminating everything, likely connecting the dots in that beautiful—but deeply fascinating—way you do.

“Martinez…”

“Cariño… not, not right now.”

Slowly, you smile, spreading your fingers in his hair—tugging on him, pulling him with far too much ease until his forehead presses back against yours.

“You did this… before.”

A breath escapes his lips. “Yeah…”

“Why’d you come, Javi?”

I needed you.

It wasn’t a lie. If anything, it was more truthful than he cared to admit or accept. Which is why he didn’t say it—didn’t let on that the moment the walls began to tremble, he thought of you. Looked through the blinds, bitterly disappointed you weren’t there to be witty and sarcastic, smirk in that way that gets under his skin and make some flirtatious comment that makes it hard not to kiss you.

He could tell you that. Be honest.

Instead, he says nothing, staring into your eyes until he feels your other hand, the one which has been continuing to grip his elbow, squeeze.

“Okay. Lemme look after you,” you whisper, before kissing him.

Brushing your lips against him, before pulling away and then kissing him again. Testing the waters, looking for some form of permission as he grips your hips, giving it to you. He doesn’t protest when you begin trailing kisses down his jaw. Your fingers sliding around his arm, to his waist, to the belt holding his trousers up.

Holding the base of your neck, he stares into your eyes, feeling your palm brush suddenly over his cock. “You don’t have to, car—“

“Shh,” you whisper.

Slowly, he watches as you lower yourself to your knees, his throat going dry at the mere sight of you. Watching as you grip his cock. All teasingly slow, dragging it out—your tongue sweeps across your bottom lip as you continue to stroke him.

Eyes closing, he lets his head meet the wall. Needing more—almost asking for it.

It’s what you want, he assumes. Because as soon as he reaches the point where he’s going to ask, you wrap your pretty lips around him. Taking note of the way you run your tongue around the head of him before licking a stripe along the underside of his cock. Finding that your eyes don’t leave his—watching what you do to him, enjoying it.

It’s endearing.

A desire building, suddenly wanting nothing more than to watch—how he wants an unrestricted view of such beauty—of you taking him down your throat, of your cheeks hollowing, even if your actions are compelling him to close his eyes.

You’re always pretty—but this is something else. You are on your knees for him.

Taking as much of him as you can, your hand working what you can't fit—his own hand tightening around your head as you wrap his cock in warmth.

He feels you smirking, your mouth pulling back as you swirl your tongue over the head of his cock, a hand grasping the back of his thigh as you hum around him.

“So fuckin’ pretty, cariño.”

The tip of your tongue slides over his slit, making him hiss again—making your name tumble freely from his tongue as he leans himself against the wall for leverage.

“I know,” you whisper, tracing your lips with his slick head, “Come down my throat, Javi.”

He grunts, nails digging into his palm as you take him down your throat. His other hand bites into your head as you take him deeper, his hips spluttering, thrusting against your tongue.

Your eyes have closed.

The window into your need to please him vanishes, and he wants to ask you to open them. To let him see. His finger strokes the top of your cheek, feeling the dampness from a tear at how deep you’re taking him.

How deep you want him down your throat.

His hand aids you, fucking into you as you hollow and moan—it vibrates all around him. It covers and smothers his own grunts and groans. The one you pull from him with ease, because everything with you he is slowly learning is easy. Not complicated—even if the situation is.

All he can think is you’re a fucking goddess, an angel—something he’s now one hundred per cent sure he doesn’t deserve.

He hisses out your name, feeling your hands clutch at him for balance, his moans filling the hallway of your place until he’s coating your throat in his pleasure. You lap up every drop of it, swallowing it—swallowing all of what he’s given you.

You don’t move, not for a minute. Him slowly pulling himself from your mouth, your hand wiping any spend from your lips to your tongue.

“You’re… fucking—”

“Something?”

He snorts, arranging himself before he fastens his trousers, shaking his head. His hand offers out to you, pulling you up from your knees as he adjusts your cardigan—as he places his lips against yours.

“I didn’t… this wasn’t why I came around.”

“Why did you… come round?”

His muscles tighten, swallowing as he stares at you.

Then you smile, placing a hand over his chest, palm flat, fingers spread. “You got anywhere to be, sir?”

Javi is frowning, before the rest of your words sink in. His hand captures yours, holding it flat against him as he shakes his head.

“Because you’re here, may as well let me toast you.”

Some mornings greet him loudly—sweat clinging to his skin, head hammering, and the world chirping.

The morning, it greets him gently, softly. The sun slides through open curtains, a calmer sound of occasional passing cars greeting his ears.

It’s only then that he registers he’s waking beside you. Your warm, soft skin curled against him—his own arm holding you close, keeping you close.

It takes a second for the sleep to flutter past his eyes, glancing at the clock on your bedside table—the one which ticks ever so loudly now he’s awake. It’s obvious the two of you have managed to catch a few hours, remembering how he’d brought you in here—thrown your decorative pillows to the floor with a smirk that you kissed immediately from his mouth.

He had told you he wouldn’t stay.

But, here he is. Now, though, he should move—even if he’s unsure if he wants to.

It’s never been his favourite thing, waking up outside of his own space. Never mind besides someone else. There were occasions and exceptions. He’s not prepared or currently capable of assessing whether you’ve slotted yourself there, either.

All he knows is… he likes it, being here.

Enjoying the fact he’s been allowed to steal a moment of this—of you. Letting himself enjoy it, the sound of your soft inhales and exhales, the way you fit against him—not in a way that looks perfect but simply feels it.

And it scares him. Just a little bit.

That thought returning, the one which bellows and beats the drum that you deserve better: than him, than what he can give you and the life you’d have being around him.

Pinching his nose, he knows he should go to the office. Should begin to unravel the highs and lows of the day prior. Make a start on the paperwork that is already mounting higher than he expected.

Instead, he turns his head. Selfishly admiring the way you sleep so peacefully, how he’d somewhat expected to find a creased forehead or a tightened jaw. A part had also expected to hear nightmares plague you, knowing there’s something there—living in your mind. A bad memory, a past which hammers at you to get out.

He’d half expected to have his own rear its head too.

Instead, he’s sure none had greeted the night air.

If anything, he slept peacefully, soundly. Almost oddly, for the most consecutive hours since way before Escobar was caught. He shuffles against the pillow, eyes widening when he realises and feels your head rolling ever so slightly on his chest. The smallest of movements that had rippled out into hearing you murmur.

Freezing, it dawns on him that he doesn’t want the bubble to burst. Studying, secretly praying he hasn’t woken you, as your lashes flutter and your lips don’t press back together. He’s a passenger, unable to stop the undoing as your brows dip, your fingers spread over his chest—

“J-Javi?”

It’s full of sleep, his name. And fuck, it has never sounded so nice.

He thought it bellowed or screamed as he fucked someone was good, but this… is something else. It takes a chunk from him, snatches it, and renders him thoughtless as you turn your head on his chest, looking up at him, blinking.

“Morning,” he whispers, thumb stroking your cheek. “I’m… I should go, cariño…”

You frown, not like normal—smothered in sleepiness that it doesn’t quite form.

A string is plucked in his chest when your fingers slide over his chest, watching them rub at your face. A desperation rises in him to kiss you, to taste what morning and goodness is like—even if it's coated in unbrushed teeth and last night.

But, it’s his moment to move—his chance. To relieve you of his presence.

Not that he takes it. Instead, he absorbs the moment he was robbed of the first night he took you to his—of seeing you without armour or walls.

“If y’give me…”

“—cariño—“

“… like fifteen, maybe twenty minutes,” you say, words monotone and low as your hand slowly drops from your face to his chest. “I need… really need a shower. Then can come wit’you.”

As soon as you sit up, cool air brushes over the places you’d been against him—goosebumps appearing over his skin as you stretch. His hand lightly grasps your forearm, keeping you from sliding out the sheets completely as he whispers your name.

Lets it slide into the air of your home, around the two of you—the room he secretly wishes could pause time so neither of you had to leave.

Not ready to face the fallout from Martinez, the look of ‘what’s next’ on everyone’s face. Never mind the note clearly from Stechner.

“You don’t… you don’t have to, I need…”

His fingers move to your cheek, sliding over your jaw, only managing a half-breath as you flick your eyes to look over him—stunning him in a shade, he’s not sure truly has a name.

“W-what?”

“Nothing,” he lies.

Following your suit, he sits up, your sheet falling to his waist as he marries his lips back to yours. Fingers finding your chin, keeping you there, stealing another moment, and another. Doing so until your hand wraps around his wrist, thumb stroking a line up and down his wrist.

“I need a shower…”

He snorts. “You don’t have to come with me.”

“I’m normally in an hour or two later anyway—plus…”

“Plus?”

Your lips slide, less of a smirk but more than a smile. “I have to come and ensure you don’t fuck with my organisational system. No other reason.”

“Not one?”

“No.”

He tuts. “I can keep things organised.”

You scoff, light and airy. “Peña, you’ve been here five minutes, and your desk already looks like it’s amassed ten years of files, so—I’m gonna call bullshit. Respectfully.”

“Respectfully?”

“Yes.”

He allows a laugh to escape, light and airy, it falling from him with far too much ease. Pulled from some depths he hasn’t allowed himself to explore.

Sliding from him, you stand, grasping at a t-shirt that begins to mist over your body—hiding your skin, your curves and the marks he’s left from view.

“I… I should say, I don’t mind that you showed up at my place, Javi.”

He traces his mouth with his thumb, looking at you. “Javi, huh?”

You smile, rolling your lips as you sigh. “You wore me down.”

“Go shower, I’ll wait for you.”

Pausing at the door frame, you glance at him, half your body framed in shadow and the other in the morning light. He’s not sure he’s ever seen someone look more beautiful in the earliest hours of a new day.

chapter six ->

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